Harry Potter and the Truest Power by JustLikeHermione

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 12/08/2003
Last Updated: 25/07/2005
Status: Completed

WARNING: CONTAINS RAPE. Despite the events following the Triwizard Tournament, everyone sees
Hogwarts as a safe haven and ignores ensuing Dark magic. But when someone he cares deeply for is
harmed, Harry can no longer ignore the truth. H/Hr, R/OFC. Started before OotP release.




1. Back to the Burrow
---------------------



Chapter One

BACK TO THE BORROW

**Author's Note:**

Thursday, October 7, 2004

Yesterday I received the devastating news that ff.net had decided to remove *Truest Power*
on account of its rating, despite proper warnings, disclaimers, etc. throughout. I'm excited
that portkey.org will likely become my story's main home, though I wish I did not have to go
through the process of editing and uploading 700+ pages!

I am one chapter away from completing TP, and there will be sequels. (Year six is tentatively
called *Harry Potter and the Eagle's Sapphire*.) I would probably have gotten done this
weekend if I did not have this story to edit and upload. I have all the edits on paper, you see,
but it's a big job just correcting everything on the computer.

To everyone from ff.net, thanks so much for all your support there. To everyone from
portkey.org, I appreciate so much having a place to host TP so much. Those of you that have been
reading for awhile will notice a change in my chapter system here. I am combing as many as five of
the earlier chapters together and renumbering accordingly to have a more regular length. Thus, the
first four chapters have become “Back to the Burrow,” chapter one, and the most recent chapter,
chapter 99, “Come Back to Me,” should be chapter 37.

Please e-mail if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, or if you want me to add you to
my update list. Everyone, thank you so much. I love you!

Elle

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling does. I do not intend to infringe on her
copyrights or the copyrights of Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Warner Bros.,
Inc., or any others. I'm just a fan with a lot of extra time.

**WARNING: THIS FAN FICTION CONTAINS MENTIONS OF ABUSE, A NON-GRAPHIC RAPE SCENE, MANY MENTIONS
THEREAFTER OF RAPE, AND SOME VIOLENCE, AS APPROVED BY MODERATORS. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU FEEL
THIS WILL BE OFFENSIVE OR WILL TRIGGER PTSDS. E-MAIL ME BEFORE HAND ABOUT THE NATURE OF ANY OF THE
AFOREMENTIONED IF NECESSARY: I DON'T WANT ANYONE TO BE NEGATIVELY AFFECTED BY** **TRUEST
POWER****.**

* * *

It was, without a doubt, the worst summer Harry Potter had spent with the Dursleys since he had
begun attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry just short of five years before. It was
much worse than the summer Aunt Marge had come to visit, and he hated it even more than the diet of
his cousin Dudley's that he'd been forced to follow the summer before. Harry had always
hated summers, but he hated this one with a particular passion.

If he had had all of his magic things and, perhaps, any correspondence from his two supposed
best friends, Harry might have been able to bear all the foulness of the season. On his very first
day back from Hogwarts, when Aunt Petunia had insisted Harry set the table for a fine luncheon with
some of her friends, he had dropped and broken one of her finest china plates in his haste. Both
his aunt and uncle were furious, and they took away his small bedroom and locked him in his
cupboard once more. An entire weekend went by before the lock turned again, an entire weekend with
barely any food and without clean clothing or even Hedwig, his pet owl, for company.

When they finally did let him out, Uncle Vernon had taken every last bit of his Hogwarts things
and hidden them so securely that Harry hadn't been able to find them once, even after weeks of
searching the house each night after the Dursleys had gone to sleep. Uncle Vernon had even gone so
far as to clear out Hedwig's cage, sending the snowy owl out the window and shutting it firmly
behind her. Much to Harry's relief, however, his pet reappeared several days later, albeit in
much shakier form. It appeared that she had been in some kind of tango with a bird from the Muggle
world, and it didn't look as if she'd taken the better end of it.

Harry had cared for her at least another week before she was well enough to flutter around the
cupboard in slow circles, and he had a feeling she wasn't going to be up for a long flight to
any one of his friends or Sirius Black, his godfather. Uncle Vernon seemed quite pleased with the
state of Harry's beloved pet, and Harry had come to suspect that his uncle had something to do
with the condition Hedwig had fallen into. If his godfather had known how Harry was being treated,
then there would have been a hefty price for his Muggle family to pay.

The Dursleys' opinion of Harry had, indeed, reached an all time low, yet Harry couldn't
see how the breaking of just one dish could make them despise him so much more than last summer.
Perhaps the answer lie in their son, Dudley. It was just before breakfast, one morning early in
Hedwig's recovery, and Harry was feeling particularly down, when he first got such an
inkling.

Dudley, who was just Harry's age and about ten times his size, had begun attending a private
school, Smeltings, the same year Harry had started at Hogwarts. Their summers overlapped, and the
last time Harry had seen Dudley, he was roughly the size of a young killer whale. Now, Harry
supposed it was more accurate to say his cousin was the size of a killer whale, plain and simple.
He even had a notion as to why Dudley had grown to such an enormous size: ever since he had been
expelled from Smeltings, Aunt Petunia had been consoling him with as much television and junk food
as the large boy could handle.

On the particular morning in question, Harry had woken early and reached the kitchen before
either his aunt or uncle. Dudley, on the other hand, was still parked on the sofa, still as glued
to the television as he had been the night before. Dudley had grown so large that Aunt Petunia
rarely made him go up to his room to sleep if he didn't want to. Half of the time he tried to
walk up the stairs, he found himself stuck tightly between the wall and the railing. Harry
couldn't help but regard these scenes as hilarious.

Noticing Dudley was awake, Harry crept as quietly as possible to the kitchen, hoping to grab
something—anything—to eat without being noticed and slip back into his cupboard. Dudley must have
been waiting for him.

“Good morning, cousin Harry!” he called out in a singsong voice filled with mock sincerity and
cheer. “How are you this morning, good cousin Harry?”

With that, he broke out into an all-consuming laughter. Harry stood in the doorway of the
kitchen, silently, without moving an inch. He didn't particularly want to do anything to
provoke Dudley if harming him wasn't already the plan. There was little doubt in his mind that
Dudley could crush him flat if he ever had the opportunity to sit on him.

“How come you won't answer me, cousin?” asked Dudley, his voice full of contempt now.
“How's that dumb owl of yours?”

“Hedwig's just fine, Dudley,” Harry offered bravely. He took two more steps into the
kitchen.

Dudley snickered. “That's an awful dumb name for a pet, even for someone as awful dumb as
yourself.”

Harry whirled around. The older Dursleys weren't in the room, and he couldn't resist.
“If I'm dumb, Dudley, I'd hate to see what they consider you. I'll be going back to
Hogwarts at term and you won't be going back to Smeltings ever again—”

Harry caught himself from saying more, but the sound of heavy footsteps told him that it was
already too late. Uncle Vernon appeared before him, looking like some sort of angry demon.

“THERE WILL NOT BE ANY TALK OF YOUR SCHOOL AND ITS MAGIC NONSENSE WHEN YOU'RE WITHIN THESE
WALLS!” he roared. In no time at all, Harry found himself lying on the floor. Uncle Vernon was a
blur above him, and Harry faintly realized he'd been knocked across the room and lost his
glasses. However, Uncle Vernon wasn't done with him yet.

“AND DON'T YOU DARE INSULT MY SON!” he hollered, stomping his foot. Harry cringed at the
loud crunch, knowing his glasses were little more than shreds of plastic and glass now. “How many
times must I tell you that Dudley's expulsion was nothing more than a clerical error? Just you
see! It will be resolved before the start of the next term! As for your... your... your
*magic*, one more word about that nonsense, and I will have you taken to the nearest
orphanage, which is just where we should have put you fourteen years ago!”

There had been a lot of rough shoving following Uncle Vernon's outburst, and Harry found
himself locked into the closet again, a stay that would last for two more long days. Outside the
door, Aunt Petunia, who had come down at the sound of her husband's outburst, was soothing
Dudley.

“Oh, sweetums,” she cooed. “Oh, popkin, don't you let your ignorant cousin's words go to
your head. He's just a fool.”

“Why does he stay here? Can't his stupid school keep him over the summer? We should just get
rid of him completely!” Dudley whined.

“Oh, oh! I'm so sorry, Dinky Diddydums. I won't let him ruin another minute more of your
holiday. I'll see to it personally that your father punishes him justly. We'll see to it
dear, I promise.” Harry could almost imagine her pinching Dudley's overly plump cheeks and
patting down his thin blonde hair. He could actually hear Dudley make a whimpering sort of noise,
the same one that he always used to get some kind of sweet or candy out of his mother. “Oh, you
poor precious. How would you like a nice jelly donut? Two? I'll see right to it...”

Harry heard one last disturbing tidbit before lying down on his bed and trying to fall back
asleep.

“We've been too soft on him,” Uncle Vernon was saying. “You shouldn't be afraid to use
some good old-fashioned discipline on that kind of child.”

And so began the worst of Harry's must hideous summer yet.

* * *

With no other options, Harry became particularly adept at working without his glasses. Uncle
Vernon had made no apologies for breaking his first pair, and Aunt Petunia made no attempt to
replace them. On their orders, Harry spent all his time out of sight, in his cupboard. It was for
the best, of course, for both parties. If they had allowed Harry any free roam of the house, his
uncorrected eyesight would just lead to more disasters and more trouble with the Dursleys. He
concentrated on nursing Hedwig and prowling the house at night in search of his things from
Hogwarts. Harry also spent a lot of time peeking out his window, in hopes of receiving any kind of
letters or parcels from his friends. None came, and, even if they had, Harry would still have had a
lot of time on his hands. With nothing to busy him, his worries about Voldemort's revival and
his remaining guilt about Cedric Diggory plagued him almost constantly.

A week or so passed, and Hedwig slowly regained her strength. Harry was still utterly baffled by
whatever it was that had left her so hurt. He was sure she'd encountered troubles before,
delivering his mail to every sort of place, and she'd barely needed more then a day to recover
from any delivery. It made him wonder what kind of torture Uncle Vernon had surely exposed her to,
all without the use of magic. Even though he had grown up among Muggles, Harry was starting to look
at everything they did from the perspective of someone raised as a wizard.

Things were strangely quiet during that time. Uncle Vernon hadn't resorted to another round
of “old-fashioned discipline,” and Harry quickly realized why. Even though Hedwig was injured, the
Dursleys were worried his godfather had ways of knowing what was going on. But after seeing the
lack of owls going in and out, it seemed the Dursleys had more confidence in their ability to be
mean to Harry without anyone knowing or caring. They made Harry come out of his cupboard more
often, and then they turned their backs at Dudley's tormenting him. At one particularly low
moment, on the eve of his fifteenth birthday, Harry landed in a Muggle hospital for the first time
in his life, for Dudley had “accidentally” broken his arm.

The day of his fifteenth birthday had been no better. Harry refused to come out of his room for
obvious reasons, and he also refused to lose hope of receiving an owl. By nightfall, nothing had
come. Last year, his best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, along with his godfather, and
even Hagrid, his friend and teacher at Hogwarts, had sent him cakes and presents. More then
anything, Harry was holding out for a cake of some sorts—Dudley might have been allowed to eat
whatever he wanted, but Harry was still following a rough version of the diet that had been
instated on Dudley the previous summer. He had shot up three inches that summer, and he had lost
more than three times as many pounds.

Somewhere in the week that followed his birthday, Aunt Petunia showed a little mercy on him
after seeing him run into the same wall on four different occasions. She got him a new pair of
glasses and advised him not to call any attention to them while in his uncle's presence. Her
act of kindness confused Harry thoroughly; he couldn't believe she was offering him so much
kindness after her suggestions to Uncle Vernon on punishing him.

Exactly a month and a day after having it taken from him, Harry managed to locate his school
things. Hidden away in a corner of the basement whose existence he had never really noticed, it was
quite a struggle for Harry to get the heavy trunk, along with Hedwig's cage, up the stairs and
into the small doorway of the cupboard without waking the Dursleys or using his broken arm. He was
delighted to have his things back, and Harry immediately went to work on his summer homework.

Three days later, Harry was positive he was in the clear about retrieving his magic things, so
he figured he no longer needed to hide his work during daytime hours. Early that afternoon, knowing
that his aunt was cleaning and his uncle surely at work, he quietly set out to finish the last of a
grueling report Professor Snape was forcing them to write for Potions. He was so intent on getting
it done and so happy to be doing anything that reminded him of Hogwarts that he began to hum to
himself.

“What are you doing in there, Harry?” Uncle Vernon's growling voice startled him so much
that he knocked his ink well over, creating quite a clatter and mess. Harry struggled to put his
things away and conceal the spilled ink as the small door swung open.

“Un-un-uncle Vernon,” he stammered, mentally screaming at himself. Uncle Vernon wasn't a
complete idiot; he'd know Harry was hiding something if he started acting too nervous.

“I checked the basement this morning,” said Uncle Vernon, lifting his nose. He grabbed Harry and
dragged him out into the hallway, obviously not enjoying the scent of Harry's cramped quarters.
“I was quite surprised to see your trunk missing from where I stored it.”

He shoved Harry, hard, into the wall. “When I was growing up, any kid that did something wrong
in front of my dad got more then just a disapproving lecture; he got a hard smack. I believe that
practice is quite effective for keeping things normal. But, if you screw up again this summer,
you're going to get more than a good smack. Come September, I'll send you right to that
alternative school that I've said you went to all along instead of your abnormal institute. Now
put all that nonsense away!”

Perhaps Uncle Vernon was right. After he got through with him, Harry went feebly back into his
room and placed everything back in his trunk. He had no intention of doing anything to toe the line
again, not for the rest of the summer. He had several angry red welts on his back at the moment,
and that was more then enough.

The next day, when things had began to look exceptionally grim, Harry found a bright spot in the
image of a small gray owl soaring in the direction of four Privet Drive. He recognized it at once
and opened the window to allow Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, into his room. Harry had never been so
eager to receive an owl in his entire life.

*Harry—*

*I can't believe we go back to Hogwarts in just over a week! Even more then that, I
can't believe the entire summer went by without a single word from you. I kept thinking
you'd send Hedwig, but you never did. You wouldn't believe the number of owls that Mum sent
in Professor Dumbledore's direction to ask when you could come stay with us. She's had Pig
flying back and forth nearly every day now, and Errol's not in any shape to do much of
anything. Mum keeps muttering that she has an even worse feeling about those Dursleys than usual—I
sure hope, for your sake, it's not true.*

*Anyway, Dumbledore finally gave us the okay to let you come yesterday, so I sent Pig as soon
as he was ready to make another trip. Inside the parcel is enough Floo powder to get you to the
Burrow, Dad got the Dursleys' fireplace connected again for this one time.*

*We already got our Hogwarts letters, and yours was—oddly enough—delivered in the lot.
Mum's already been to Diagon Alley and wants me to tell you not to worry. She picked all of
your things up with all of ours.*

*See you as soon.*

*—Ron*

*PS—Hermione's coming any day now. She ended up not going to Krum's for the summer...
it sounds like they had a falling out. I don't know about you, but she didn't send me a
single owl for the biggest part of the summer. You probably already know this, but her parents had
another baby right after we got home from Hogwarts. I can only imagine how busy good, responsible
Hermione must have been helping out... Maybe there'll be another witch in the family.*

Harry smiled. His friends hadn't forgotten about him after all, and he was finally going to
get to leave his aunt and uncle's wretched home. He grabbed the tiny parcel from Pig and
unwrapped the very top corner. Sure enough, there was a bit of Floo powder carefully wrapped up
inside. Traveling through chimneys with Floo powder wasn't exactly Harry's favorite thing
to do, but one thing was for sure: he wasn't about to complain about anything that took him out
of this house and landed in a place with his two best friends.

* * *

Ron's post had asked to see him as soon as possible, so Harry decided to waste no time. As
soon as he heard Uncle Vernon's unusually loud snores, he loaded his trunk and wrestled it out
of his tiny cupboard. Once he had dropped it in front of the fireplace, he went back to grab Hedwig
and her cage. He reached through the bars to touch the soft owl, pleased that she had regained
nearly all her strength. Hedwig let out the softest of hoots, but Harry silenced her anyway. He
wasn't about to risk his chances of getting out of the dreaded house by making noise.
Fortunately, she seemed to understand, affectionately nipping at his fingers. He'd sent Pig
back to Ron without any note; Harry knew he'd be there before the little owl.

Harry took out his bag of Floo powder and tossed a pinch of it into the fireplace, giving a
silent prayer that he'd be able to get safely to the Borrow with all of his things, including
Hedwig, without too much incident. He tucked his glasses in his pocket and stepped into the emerald
green flames.

“The Burrow,” said Harry, in a loud, clear voice.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut to block out the whirl of green flames, trying to keep a firm grip
on both his trunk and Hedwig. A few seconds later, he tumbled, slightly stunned, into the
Weasleys' fireplace. Hedwig was squawking, and he coughed a few times. He let go of his trunk
to check if his glasses were still in once piece. Much to his relief, they were, and he slid them
onto his nose. When he had cleared away the soot, Harry was greeted with the welcome sight of
Weasleys peering in from the kitchen.

“Harry!” called Ron, rushing to the living room. “Glad you could make it! It wasn't too
awful at the Dursleys', was it? I'm sorry for not writing. Here, let me help you with...
bloody hell, what's that thing on your arm?”

A grin broke across Harry's face at first sight of his friend, even when Ron started in with
his barrage of questions. He could tell that Ron had genuinely missed him, and it made him glad to
know that at least someone cared.

“That, Ron, would be called a cast.” Harry looked around at sound of a second familiar voice.
Sure enough, Hermione had just appeared on the stairs, with Ginny, Ron's younger sister, right
on her heels. “How ever did you manage that?”

“Oh, I didn't really manage anything,” said Harry, grateful when Ron plucked Hedwig's
cage from his arms and his twin brothers, Fred and George, appeared on either side of him to drag
away his trunk. “Dudley decided to get a bit rough with me after accusing me of stealing the remote
control.”

By this time, Hermione had rushed down the stairs to give Harry a very welcoming hug, which he
gladly returned. She looked to Ron, and, noting the still confused look on Ron's face, she
said, “Harry broke his arm. In the Muggle world, there's obviously no instant fix for it.
Instead, they set the bone and put a plaster cast around it for about six weeks until it heals...
and a remote control is a part of a television.”

“Oh, you poor dear!” Molly Weasley, Ron's mother, was next to him in an instant. “No wonder
I had a bad feeling about your situation all summer! I just can't believe that Dumbledore
insisted on keeping you there for so long. Boys, take Harry's things up to his room... you must
be starving! I've never see a boy look so skinny... Ginny dear, can you get Harry out something
to eat? That's it, love... thank you... here, here, you should really sit down, Harry. I'm
sorry, but I don't really know what to do for your arm... I'm afraid I'd end up hurting
it even more... are you sure it's okay? Well, if you really think you can wait for Madam
Pomfrey to do it—”

“It's really okay, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you,” Harry paused, accepting a piece of bread and a
glass of pumpkin juice from Ginny. “I'm really okay. Thanks so much for letting me come.”

“Oh, it's no trouble,” said Mrs. Weasley absently. She was conjuring up a meal of some sort.
Harry was about to tell her that she didn't have to, but a disapproving look from the various
Weasley children and the pang of his empty stomach stopped him. “I swear, those dreadful Muggles!
What did you ever do to earn such awful relatives? If you had to be raised by Muggles, why
couldn't they have been nice and accepting... oh, if Dumbledore even thinks he's going to
send you back there next summer, he'll be lucky if he gets past me!”

As she continued muttering, Harry saw Ron and Hermione slide into the chairs on either side of
him. It was the first good look that he got at either of them; he immediately noticed that Ron had
somehow gotten much taller since Harry'd last seen him. Harry had grown some himself, but Ron
was still towering over him, even more then before. On the other hand, the difference between
Harry's height and Hermione's was even more noticeable. If he didn't know better,
he'd declare that his friend had shrunk over the summer. There was something else different
about her, though, something that Harry couldn't quite pinpoint.

Fred and George got back down to the kitchen at the same time Mrs. Weasley placed a bowl of
homemade soup down in front of him. Ginny was already seated at one end of the table, and the twins
pulled up chairs on the other.

“I'm sorry it's not much, dear,” apologized Mrs. Weasley. “We honestly weren't
expecting you to come so soon.”

“Yes,” said Ron, quite animated. “Pig must have really flown to get to you. We didn't reckon
you'd even get my letter until tomorrow, or the day after.”

“I sent him to fly back,” said Harry between bites of the soup. It was, quite possibly, the most
wonderful thing he had ever tasted. “He doesn't have a letter with him. I knew that I would get
here before he possibly could, and I couldn't manage him with the rest of my things in the
fireplace.”

“He's a finally getting to be a good post owl,” said Ron proudly. He leaned over to Harry
and whispered cheerfully, “He's gotten a lot of practice going to Dumbledore so many times! We
normally would have sent Hermes, but Percy's gone and moved out!”

Harry could tell Ron was still squirming with excitement over that last bit of news, even though
Mrs. Weasley was looking at down at him disapprovingly. She had obviously caught the tail end of
his statement. Harry figured it would be a good time to change the subject.

“How was your summer, Hermione?” asked Harry. “Ron says you have a baby sister now.”

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione. Her tone of voice was very awkward, and Harry couldn't read it at
all. “Her name is Angelica.”

She offered no more information, and Harry didn't press for any. From across the table, the
twins were growing quite fidgety, and Harry could only imagine what was on the two
troublemakers' minds. “What have you two been cooking up this summer?”

There was a sigh and an eye roll from Mrs. Weasley, who was refilling Harry's bowl for the
third time. She muttered, “They'll be quite pleased to tell you, I'm sure.”

George winked at Harry, and Fred sniggered. “We have no idea what she's talking about,” they
said in unison, and Fred added, “I just can't believe she thinks we're up to—”

At that moment, the door to the house swung open, and it dawned on Harry that he had not yet
seen Mr. Weasley. Sure enough, Arthur Weasley stepped into the kitchen, but the look on his face
was anything but normal. His normal expression of curiosity and fun was gone, replaced with
something of grim seriousness. As soon as everyone saw him, the happiness in the room seemed to
vanish, and even the twins stopped fidgeting. Harry looked around, completely confused. For the
first time ever, he was feeling uncomfortable in the Weasleys' presence.

Suddenly, Harry realized that everyone in the room was staring at him. “Wh-what's going on?”
he stammered.

Mrs. Weasley's had flew to her mouth. “You mean you haven't heard?”

Ron didn't look nearly as surprised. “He wouldn't have. He hasn't heard from anyone
this summer.”

“And he doesn't receive the Daily Prophet like I do,” added Hermione.

Harry was growing confused. “Then would someone tell me what's happened?”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “It's happened, Harry, it's happened. There's no denying
it anymore...”

“Ron hasn't told you yet?” said Mr. Weasley with a frown. “They've confirmed
You-Know-Who's return, Harry. There was an attack on Beauxbatons just four days ago. Not a
single person on the grounds lived, and their castle was destroyed. They found the Dark Mark,
Harry. Not even Fudge can pretend it didn't happen now.”

Harry could practically feel his jaw drop as he looked around the table to gage the
Weasleys' and Hermione's reactions. Everyone looked stunned despite having certainly heard
the news before. He figured that it was just the shock of hearing the news, so plainly put, that
had everyone looking so startled. He tried to say something, but he couldn't find any words.
The first thing to break the silence was the screeching noise of a chair as Mr. Weasley pulled it
out and sat down.

“The attack was most unusual,” he said, talking directly to Harry. “No one in the Ministry was
convinced by the tale of the Triwizard Tournament's conclusion. Now, there isn't a single
person that doesn't believe that You-Know-Who has returned. There were obviously a few Death
Eaters that remained loyal after he vanished fourteen years ago, but there is no way they could
have pulled something like this off without their full forces and his physical leadership.”

Harry felt his stomach churn. He had long stopped eating his food to pay attention, and he had
completely lost his appetite. So he had been justified in his fears over the summer. “But how come
my scar hasn't been hurting?” blurted Harry. “It always hurts when Voldemort is near!”

Mr. Weasley, along with everyone else, cringed at the name. “I'm honestly not sure, Harry. I
think he may be hiding out far away, very far away, too far to have an impact on you. I believe
that's why Dumbledore wanted you to stay with the Muggles for so long. He had less of a chance
of reaching you amidst them.”

There was more silence. Finally, Fred had the courage to ask the question on nearly all of their
minds. “What was the emergency the Ministry had to alert you about? Have they found out something
new?”

“Ah, no, nothing new. Cornelius Fudge...” said Mr. Weasley, and he cleared his throat.
“Cornelius Fudge has announced his resignation in wake of what happened. He's aged over the
incident, and he claims he isn't capable of helping stop You-Know-Who. Everyone's in an
uproar because we're currently without a Minister of Magic, but I can't say I'm not
relieved. Not too many of us were feeling confident in Fudge after finding he had been told of
You-Know-Who's return weeks and weeks earlier without doing anything about it.”

“At a time like this,” said Mrs. Weasley, her words nearly a whisper. Harry couldn't tell
whether they were a statement or a question. “But who will replace him? Surely Dumbledore...”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “Things would probably be best under his guidance, but you know as
well as I do that he'll never leave Hogwarts, not when it may need him the most. The school
might be the safest place—” he stopped abruptly. “It's a worry for another day. Perhaps
everyone should head to bed now?”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Head upstairs, everyone. Off to sleep,
all of you.”

No one complained, let alone disobeyed. It wasn't even until they all reached the landing
that another word was spoken, and it came from downstairs.

“Harry!” called Mr. Weasley, as if he were surprised. “I'm glad you could make it!”

* * *

An extra bed had been placed in Ron's room for Harry, and he was still lying awake in it
over an hour after they had been sent to bed. He wondered if Ron was also having trouble falling
asleep, but Harry didn't want to wake him if he wasn't. It turned out that he didn't
have to.

“Harry?”

Harry rolled over to face Ron's bed on the other side of the room. “Yes?”

“Are you still awake?” whispered Ron.

He had to resist the urge to laugh. “I'm still awake. I just can't fall asleep. All I
can think about was what your dad told us tonight.”

“Same here,” Ron agreed. There were a few more moments of silence. Then, Ron let loose a burst
of quiet anger. “Why does he go around terrorizing everyone? Why did Beauxbatons deserve to be
destroyed? Bloody hell, if it's power he likes so much, why didn't he work his way up the
ranks at the Ministry? He could have become Minister eventually!”

Harry didn't know how to respond to Ron because he felt the same way. For every wizard or
witch that had gone bad, there was a handful of those that remained good. He simply couldn't
figure out why that small group had to ruin things for everyone else.

“I don't know, Ron,” said Harry finally. “I guess he just gets some kind of kick out of
ruining lives and controlling those better at heart than he—”

He broke off because he heard footsteps in the hallway. He pulled his covers up, pretending to
be fast asleep, and he could hear Ron doing the same. If it was either of Ron's parents, they
probably won't get in trouble for being awake, but neither of them really wanted to worry the
senior Weasleys anymore. There was a light rapping sound on the door.

“Harry? Ron?” whispered a soft female voice. It was Hermione. Before she got a chance to finish,
Harry had gotten up, crossing the floor carefully so that the loose boards didn't creak. Once
she was in the door, he shut it softly behind him, once again careful not to make any noise.

Ron was sitting up in bed by now. “So you can't sleep either?”

Hermione shook her head. She had sat down on Harry's bed and pulled her legs up under her
long nightgown, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Ginny was fast asleep before I was even into
my dressing gown. I couldn't sleep, and I kept tossing and turning. I just had a feeling that
you two were still awake.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, and Ron leaned over the end of his bed, rummaging around in the
dark for something. He tossed an extra blanket in Hermione's direction, which she gladly
accepted.

“I can't believe that he got to Beauxbatons,” Harry admitted. “That's the part of it
that I can't get over. It would almost be easier to take if he'd attacked a village or
something, but he attacked a school...”

“And if he can destroy them, then he could be able to get to Hogwarts,” finished Hermione
quietly.

“That's insane,” said Ron, but his response was almost too quick. His voice had wavered, and
both Harry and Hermione had noticed. “Okay, I was thinking that too. But remember how they're
always saying that Hogwarts is the safest place in the wizarding world? Remember how Hagrid said it
would be even safer to keep something at Hogwarts then at Gringotts?”

“That's true, but you couldn't have forgotten the Philosopher's Stone,” reminded
Hermione. “Even after all the defenses that were put in place, he and Quirrel managed to get to it.
Had it not been for Harry, he probably could have taken it.”

“I think our experiences over the last four years are enough to prove that Hogwarts isn't
foolproof, but, then again, no place is completely safe. I agree with Ron. No place is going to be
completely protected from Vold... You-Know-Who's grasp, but I think you'd have as good of
chance as any there,” reasoned Harry.

Ron and Hermione were both nodding in agreement. “I trust Dumbledore, too,” Ron added. “You
could tell from the way Mum and Dad were talking that he's involved with the choices the
Ministry is making. He knows what's going on, and he cares about what happens. Above all that,
though, he cares about his students. He wouldn't let us all go back to Hogwarts if he thought
we were safer somewhere else.”

“That's true,” said Hermione. There was silence again, and then there was a loud creak from
another part of the house. Hermione was on her feet in a moment, careful not to make any noise.

“I'm not supposed to be here,” she said hurriedly. Hermione rapidly folded the blanket Ron
had thrown her, shoving it back to him while giving him a one-armed hug. She was back on the other
side of the room a moment later, giving Harry one also. A few seconds later, she was out the
door.

“We'd better go to sleep,” said Ron. “I just had a feeling that Mum will come up to check on
us sometime soon. G'night Harry.”

“'Night, Ron,” whispered Harry. A few seconds later, he heard Ron settle into a slow,
regular breathing patter, and he was sure he was asleep. Harry was left to his own thoughts and
confusions, and for him, sleep was a long time coming.

-->



2. The Minister of Magic
------------------------



Chapter Two

THE MINISTER OF MAGIC

Harry wasn't quite sure what hit him in the moment before he woke up, but he was vaguely
aware of his face and pillow being all wet. From across the room, Ron groaned, and a steam of
laughter came in the direction of the doorway as Harry fumbled around for his glasses.

“Bloody hell,” muttered Ron. Harry looked over to the doorway, where, sure enough, Fred and
George were standing with looks of sheer amusement on their faces.

“Great trick, isn't it?” asked Fred. “They're Muggle water balloons!”

“Those Muggles are ingenious!” exclaimed George between guffaws. “We weren't sure if they
worked the same as ours until yesterday. Dad came across them at work and brought them home to put
in the shed, and Hermione told us all we had to do was fill them and throw them—no charm
necessary!”

Harry had to laugh at their fascinated attitude to Muggle things, which got Ron laughing,
too.

“Besides,” added Fred, “Mum told us to wake you up.”

“There are other ways of getting people up,” Ron grumbled. He pulled himself out of bed and
checked his reflection in the glass window pain. “I just love waking up looking like I've been
caught in a downpour.”

“There might be other ways,” said George, “but this, without a doubt, was the most fun. So cheer
up, little brother!”

“And hurry up!” called Fred. The two of them were on their way back downstairs already. “Mum
won't let the two of us eat until the two of you show your faces at the table, too!”

“You're lucky it's just water this time,” said Ron. He informed Harry about some of his
brothers' other methods of waking him earlier that summer.

“Gloorip?” interrupted Harry midway through Ron's rundown.

Ron cringed. “You really don't want to know,” he said grimly. “It was there own creation.
Smelled like old socks and nearly smothered me with its stickiness. My hair was rock hard for
days.”

Harry grimaced. He could only imagine what it must have been like. The look on Ron's face
was anything but pleasant.

“Come on,” said Ron, grabbing Harry's arm. “We can eat in our pajamas this once. Fred and
George won't be pleased if we make them wait another minute for their breakfast. Besides,
I'm starved!”

The two boys were down the stairs in a matter of minutes. Fred and George already had their
spoons poised above their porridge bowls and dug in the second Ron and Harry had stepped from the
bottom step onto the kitchen floor. Hermione and Ginny were also at the table; Ginny looked about
ready to fall asleep in her breakfast, but Hermione was alert, dressed, and chattering away with
Mrs. Weasley.

“Good morning!” Mrs. Weasley called. She was still washing a pile of dishes leftover from dinner
the night before, but she pointed her wand in their direction for long enough to conjure up two
more bowls of breakfast. “I hope the twins didn't give you too much trouble when I sent them
up.”

“No trouble at all, Mum,” said Fred hastily.

“You better not have,” Mrs. Weasley warned. “Did you sleep well? I could have sworn I heard
noise coming from your room, but you both appeared to be fast asleep when I looked in on you.”

Ron, Harry, and Hermione shared a quick look. “Just fine, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry.

“That's a relief,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Oh, you'll all have to excuse me for a minute. I
commanded the broom to get sweeping the house, but I do believe I just heard him stop.”

The twins and Ron finished their first bowl of porridge just moments after their mother had left
and jumped up to refill their bowls. Ginny, who had nearly drifted off on top of her toast, opened
her eyes with a start.

“You guys eat as much as pigs!” she exclaimed with disgust. At the same time, George had missed
his mouth when he went to shovel in another bite, so he had his breakfast dripping down his chin.
Ginny shook her head as she carried her own bowl to the sink. As she walked over to the stairs, she
muttered, “And have about as many manners.”

Harry looked to each of the Weasley brothers. They looked as perplexed as he felt. Ginny was
usually so calm and mild-mannered, especially in his presence. He leaned in as soon as she was out
of earshot and whispered, “Is something wrong with her?”

Ron, George, and Fred exchanged looks and shrugs. “No idea,” declared Fred, “She's been like
this most of the summer.”

“She's always exasperated with all of us,” added Ron.

“Always putting her friends before us,” finished George.

“Oh, she's just growing up,” said Hermione. She got up to put her own bowl in the sink, but
she sat back down at the table with the boys instead of traipsing back upstairs. “I think she's
just tired of being little Ginny to all of you.”

“She still is little Ginny!” exclaimed Fred.

“Yeah, she'll always be our little sister!” agreed George.

“Girls!” muttered Ron.

There was a moment of silence, for Harry chose not to comment. Instead, he got up to refill his
own bowl. He didn't eat as fast as any of the Weasleys, but that didn't mean he wasn't
as hungry. However, he couldn't quite manage the ladle and his bowl because his cast had his
left elbow locked at a ninety-degree angle.

“Do you need some help, Harry?” asked Hermione, breaking the silence. Without waiting for a
response, she jumped up and took the bowl from him. He gave her a grateful smile; he really
couldn't manage the task very well on his own.

“Thanks Hermione,” said Harry, returning to his seat. “You're the greatest.”

“It was no problem.” Hermione's words were slightly muffled because she looked away from him
for a moment. Harry could have sworn her saw her cheeks turn a little pink, but there wasn't
any time to question it. At that moment, a dignified brown owl flew in the window holding some
post. He circled the table, dropping a letter and parcel each to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. All
three of them opened the letters in unison.

Hermione was the first to speak. “I'm a prefect!” she exclaimed, but she didn't seem
completely surprised.

Harry, however, did. “Me too.”

“So am I,” said Ron. He sounded the most amazed of all.

“Let me see that!” called Fred. He snatched the letter from Ron, and he read it eagerly with
George.

“But they always have two from each—” said George. He stood up to throw his and Fred's bowls
in the sink.

“Eh, great job, Ron,” interrupted Fred. He mussed Ron's still-damp hair as he walked by. He
and George looked proud of their little brother, and they walked up the stairs exchanging quiet
whispers of astonishment. It wasn't until they were completely out of sight that anyone
spoke.

“This is great!” Hermione had a huge smile on her face; it was at least twice as large as the
one she had when announcing she had been made a prefect. “I—well, I kind of wanted to be a prefect,
but I didn't want the two of you to be left out. This is wonderful!”

“It is,” Harry agreed. “We might actually get to spend more time together this year than
before.”

“Have you seen some of the rooms the prefects get to use?” Hermione lowered her voice. “One of
the Ravenclaw prefects showed me their common room last year. It's simply magnificent!”

“Ced—I saw their bathroom last year,” said Harry. He cleared his throat. “They have a bathtub
comparable to a swimming pool in there.”

Harry and Hermione kept on chattering for a few more seconds, but Ron remained strangely
quiet.

“Ron, what's wrong?” asked Hermione.

Ron sighed. “The two of you were made to be prefects. I'm sure the only reason Dumbledore
and Professor McGonagall made me one was because they didn't want me to feel—don't give me
that look! You saw George and Fred! They couldn't believe it!”

“That's not true,” said Harry. “You're smart, Ron. Sure, you might get into trouble
sometimes, but I'm always involved, too. Don't worry about it. They wouldn't have
chosen you if you weren't meant to be a prefect.”

“Harry's right, Ron,” Hermione said. “Come on, smile. We're going to have great fun next
year!”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron. He had a sly smile on his face, and he looked a lot happier now that he had
his friends' assurances. “We'll have a lot of fun helping enforce the rules.”

“Us? Enforce rules?” asked Harry innocently. Ron smirked, but Hermione frowned.

“That is what prefects do,” she said. The boys burst out laughing.

* * *

It was a long time before Ron and Harry went upstairs to clean and dress for the day. They had
been about to leave the table when Mrs. Weasley had returned, and she had nearly burst with
excitement when she found another one of her sons had been made prefect. Mr. Weasley had been
called in from outside, and he, too, had expressed his pride in Ron, as well as Harry. By the time
the boys were able to get away from the kitchen, the twins and Ginny were on their way back down,
all freshly washed.

“I just can't believe it,” said Ron again, once they were safely in the confines of his
room. “I'm happy that we all get to be prefects, but I just don't understand it.”

Harry shrugged. “I'm not totally sure, either. Dumbledore likes the three of us, though. You
know that. He also trusts us. I bet that's why.”

“Maybe,” Ron said. “Percy'll have a heart attack when he hears. He won't dare say a word
around Mum and Dad, but he'll give me a lecture about upholding the rules and performing to the
best of my abilities and what an honor I've been granted. But I'm sure he'll be
glowering on the inside. He was so sure he would be the last prefect in the Weasley family!”

“Why did he move out? I got your very first letter this summer, and you didn't mention
it.”

Ron scratched his head, obviously trying to remember. “It was that next week,” he said finally.
“The Ministry needed him on site somewhere, blah blah blah. They've switched him departments,
and I didn't care enough to listen. Mum had Pig all tied up then, though, so I couldn't
tell you. I kept thinking you'd send Hedwig with something, but she never came.”

At the mention of her name, the snowy white owl fluttered a wing in her cage, which was hanging
from the ceiling about Harry's bed. Harry pushed a finger through the bars, which she
immediately nuzzled. “Hedwig wasn't doing too well this summer,” he explained. “I broke one of
Aunt Petunia's china plates, and there was hell to pay. Uncle Vernon let her out, and she came
back days later, barely alive.”

“Poor Hedwig,” said Ron, offering Hedwig a finger. Harry's owl had grown much friendly in
her recovery.

“I wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with her injuries,” said Harry darkly. “I
don't think I can go back there next summer, no matter what Dumbledore says.”

“You'll come here,” insisted Ron. “I could tell by her first glance at you that Mum had no
intention of ever letting you back there.”

“Why's that?”

Ron scrunched up his nose. “Look at yourself, Harry,” he said. “I'm not trying to be mean,
but you don't look so great. There's your arm, and you've got a huge scratch by your
eye and a bruise on your chin. That, and you're about as skinny as a pole. You looked like you
hadn't eaten a think all summer!”

“Barely,” muttered Harry.

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Harry quickly. “How was your summer?”

“It was okay,” said Ron, but Harry could tell he was a little glum. “It would have been a lot
better if you were here. The twins are convinced they're going to open their joke shop after
school ends, but don't you tell Mum that. Ginny doesn't want anything to do with anyone,
and there's been a lot of misuse of Muggle artifacts this summer. It wasn't so bad, but I
can't wait to go back to Hogwarts.”

“I can't, either,” said Harry, glad that the conversation was shifted from him. It
didn't seem like any of them had had a very good summer. He'd been miserable at his aunt
and uncle's, Ron hadn't been too keen on being alone at The Burrow, and, even though she
hadn't directly said it, Harry had a feeling Hermione hadn't had the greatest time, either.
“I think it's going to be a good year. You, Hermione, and I, prefects! Who would have
thought?”

“Not me!” Ron said with a laugh. Suddenly, his face changed to look very serious. “Harry? I
don't want things to be like last year.”

“What do you mean?” Harry was genuinely confused.

“Well, more like the last couple of years. If Hermione and I weren't fighting, you and I
were. I don't want it to be like that anymore,” confessed Ron. “I just have this feeling that
it'll be more important than ever to be friends.”

Harry immediately got what he was saying. He had a feeling that Ron was indirectly referring to
what happened at Beauxbatons. He nodded. “I agree. A pact, then?”

Ron grinned. “I guess so. Should we inform Hermione of it?”

“It might be a good idea.” Harry paused. “Something's changed about her over the
summer.”

“She's not nearly as bossy, that's for sure,” said Ron. “I'm not complaining,
though. Hermione's cool.”

“Yeah, she is.” Harry bit her lip. “It's something else, too, though.”

Ron let out a low whistle, followed by a sly grin. “You noticed too?”

“I noticed what?”

“Hermione!” exclaimed Ron as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She looks like a
girl now.”

“Ron, aren't you missing something?” asked Harry. He was puzzled. “Hermione is a girl! Of
course she's going to look like one!”

Ron laughed. “No, not like that. I guess I mean woman.”

Harry sucked in his breath, and he blushed. Ron was right. Hermione had grown up, but, then
again, they all had. Ron was still laughing.

“I know, I noticed it too,” said Ron, and he grinned slyly. “But I didn't realize what I was
noticing until Fred and George said something!”

Harry was blushing furiously at this point. “I didn't mean it like that, Ron!” he muttered,
but Ron just kept laughing. He tossed Harry a towel.

“I know. I just couldn't resist the urge to put you on the spot? You and Hermione?
Ridiculous!” Ron looked quite pleased with himself. “Now hurry up and get showered! Mum's not
going to let me off from chores just because I got made prefect!”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the two boys, looking much fresher, were back in the kitchen. Hermione,
obviously waiting for them, was standing at the counter, flipping through one of Mrs. Weasley's
cookbooks. A pudgy little witch on one of the pages seemed quite frustrated with the array of sharp
objects zooming around above her head.

“Good!” she exclaimed when she saw Harry and Ron. “I was beginning to think you weren't
going to come down again! I offered to help your mum out with anything she might need, but she told
me just to wait for the two of you!”

“Mum never wants to let the houseguests work,” Ron grumbled, “no offense or anything. I'm
just not looking forward to de-gnoming the garden again.” Nonetheless, he grinned at Harry,
obviously remembering Harry's very first visit to the Burrow. “I've never had a problem
before the garden gnomes before this year. Bit me four times last week alone!”

“We'll help you, Ron,” Hermione and Harry both said immediately, and Ron smiled. Together,
they started to walk towards the garden door of The Burrow. They were standing right in front of
the back steps when Ron stopped to tell Hermione about his and Harry's pact. She seemed
delighted with the idea.

“I think you're both right. If something should happen—” she stopped herself. “I mean, not
that anything is going to happen, but if something did, we wouldn't want to be fighting with
each other.”

“Times like these require that we stick together,” said Ron, making his statement sound overly
sincere.

Hermione swatted him. “They do!”

“No fighting, you two, remember?” Harry said with a laugh, but he quickly went back to being
somber. He put his hand out.

Hermione placed her hand gently over his, and Ron followed. They shared a look of complete
understanding before breaking apart.

The silence was broken from shouts from the other side of the house, in the direction of the
shed. “Ron!” Mr. Weasley was shouting, “can you come help me for just a second? I can't quite
manage—”

Ron grimaced with the loud crash that followed, and he sent his friends an apologetic look
before dashing around the house.

“Meet you out by the garden!” he called.

“I hope everything's okay—” Harry stopped, noticing the strange look Hermione was giving
him. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said, “not really. It's just—”

Hermione reached up, obviously on her toes and touched Harry's hair, obviously patting
something back into place. This time, she wore the apologetic smile. “I'm sorry,” she said.
“Your hair's always unruly, but there was one hair sticking straight up all by itself in
back.”

Harry smiled. “It's no problem. In fact, I should probably thank you. I didn't bother
looking in the mirror this morning.”

Hermione laughed as the two of them headed toward the garden.

* * *

The de-gnoming went quickly, partially because Fred and George had gotten to work tossing the
gnomes before Ron, Harry, and Hermione had even left the house. The Weasley brothers were all quite
good at the task, and all of them got quite a thrill from sending the little devils flying.
Hermione had never de-gnomed anything before, but she caught on quickly with a little guidance from
Ron and Harry. In no time at all, not a single gnome was peeking out from his hole. The five
tumbled back into the house, laughing and joking. It was just past noon, and Mrs. Weasley was busy
throwing around various ingredients in the kitchen.

“Sit down at the table!” she called as they came into the kitchen. She caught a stray tomato as
it flew by. “I'm running just a tad bit late. They've made a decision at the Ministry, and
your father had to go in. He should be home at any minute.”

“Do you think they've named a new Minister?” Fred asked, ducking as kitchen knife soaring
over the table, dangerously close to his head.

“I suppose that's why he was called it,” said Mrs. Weasley, straining to grab another
tomato. She wasn't fast enough, and the tomato went whizzing into the wall with a large splat.
At the same time, the knife spun when it bounced off the wall, heading back over the table. This
time, it was Harry that had to duck.

“Oh dear!” Mrs. Weasley said, whipping out her wand. “I try to keep the magic to a minimum, but
it's no use! I'll end up killing someone! I guess it's all or nothing.”

“Just do what works best for you, Mum,” said Ron, ducking one last time as a variety of kitchen
utensils flew back to their usual spots in the drawers and cabinets. “Did Dad say when he'd be
back?”

“They sent him an express owl,” explained Mrs. Weasley, “important, but it came with the promise
that it wouldn't take long.”

She went about summoning this and that from the cabinets, pausing every once in a while to throw
this or that into the skillet. Ginny, who usually helped her cook, was nowhere to be found, so
Hermione jumped in to assist Mrs. Weasley. The boys absorbed themselves in a discussion about
Quidditch, and Mrs. Weasley was setting the meal floating the meal to the table just as Mr. Weasley
appeared in the kitchen.

“Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley called. “Come on downstairs, dear! Your father's home, and lunch is
ready!”

The look on Mr. Weasley's face was unreadable as he took his place at the table. A few
seconds after he sat down, Ginny rushed down the stairs and followed suit. No one made a move to
eat anything; instead, they all directed their attention towards Mr. Weasley.

A sly smile formed on his face. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, reaching for a roll from
the center of the table. “Your mother's fixed a lovely lunch, and you're not eating.”

At his seemingly stern look, everyone began eating. However, they kept their eyes glued to Mr.
Weasley, waiting for him to rely whatever news he had received at the Ministry. He didn't budge
until every single person around the table had started to eat.

“Well,” he started, “the new Minster has been named on the suggestion of Albus Dumbledore.
Sagesse Bom will be Fudge's replacement, effective immediately.”

“Sagesse Bom?” Mutters and whispers erupted around the table, and Harry shot Hermione and Ron a
confused look. He figured that he was only confused because he had not grown up with news of the
wizarding world, but he realized it wasn't so when he saw that all of the Weasleys were also
perplexed.

“Who's Sagesse Bom, Dad?” asked George. “I've never heard of him before.”

“Neither have I,” volunteered Fred. “Has he worked in the Ministry long?”

“Barely a part of the Ministry in the eyes of most, Fred,” said Mr. Weasley with a peculiar
smile. “Bom trained at Hogwarts directly under Dumbledore's guidance a few years after your
mother and I. He would have been there at the same time as your father, Harry.”

His statement brought even more confusion to the table. “Don't get me wrong, I trust
Dumbledore,” said Mrs. Weasley, “but why not elect someone higher in the Ministry?”

“Frankly, no one in the Ministry is brave enough to take responsibility at a time like this,”
said Mr. Weasley seriously. “Dumbledore was the most obvious choice, but he won't turn his back
on Hogwarts. He feels that Bom would be able to handle the job, and I'm apt to agree with
whatever he thinks is best. Dumbledore is a wise wizard, and he usually knows best on these sort of
matters.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. After the brief pause, Ron spoke. “So what's he been doing
since he left from Hogwarts?”

“Fighting the Dark Arts,” said Mr. Weasley vaguely before turning to his wife. “Excellent meal,
Molly, as always. Bom has been working as an Auror since leaving Hogwarts, but he was to return
this year as the new Defense teacher, which is why I have so much faith in someone I've never
met. If Dumbledore was willing to sacrifice the teacher for a subject that has gone through so
many, Bom must be just what the Ministry needs.”

* * *

“Ron?” This time, it was Harry who rolled over because he couldn't sleep.

“Just like last night,” muttered Ron. “You can't sleep, either?”

“No, I can't. I can't stop thinking about what your dad said at lunch today,” Harry
admitted.

“Imagine that,” said Ron. “Sagesse Bom? I reckon Dumbledore's finally cracked. He had to
know what was happening at your aunt and uncle's, but he still wouldn't let you come stay
with us. Then, he made us all prefects! Hermione anyone can justify, we're in trouble at least
half the time. Now, he convinces the Ministry an Auror to the highest position?”

“It all sounds a little crazy, doesn't it?” responded Harry.

“Are you starting to wonder if old Dumbledore has gone nutters, too?”

“Well,” started Harry. “Maybe he's not going crazy, but it all sounds a little peculiar when
you put it like that. I still trust him, through.”

There was a sigh from the other side of the room. “I know. I do, too. I just don't get it.
What if this Bom character isn't who Dumbledore thinks he is?”

Harry didn't get a chance to answer because he was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Harry? Ron? It's me again.”

“Just like last night? Maybe Divination really is your subject, Ron.” Even though Ron
couldn't see it in the darkness, Harry grinned at his best friend as he hopped off his bed to
let Hermione in.

“I'm sorry to bother you again,” she whispered as she tiptoed across the room and sat down
next to Harry on his bed. Ron had already tossed her the same blanket from the night before, and
she gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Ron. It's unusually cold for summer up in your
sister's bedroom.”

“Ginny out like a log again?”

“Yes, except I've never known a log to snore like she does.” The boys snickered as Hermione
unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around herself. “I didn't wake you, did I?”

“No,” said Ron. “We were both still up.”

“We wouldn't have heard you if we weren't. I'm sure Ginny's snoring is nothing
compared to Ron's.” Harry ducked, but the pillow Ron sent hurling in his direction still hit
him square in the chest. He tossed it back.

“I just can't believe this about Sagesse Bom. I know Fudge put great trust in
Dumbledore's ideas, but I had no idea that the same went for the rest of the Ministry,”
whispered Hermione. “I feel better knowing Dumbledore approves of Bom, but something about the
whole situation doesn't feel right.”

“I wonder what he would've been like as a Defense teacher,” said Ron.

“And, even more important, who will the Defense professor be now?” added Harry.

“Four days isn't very long to find a new teacher,” said Hermione. “It's even shorter
when you consider how many Dark Arts professors Hogwarts has been through in the last four
years.”

“Snape might finally have the chance he's been looking for,” said Harry grimly. “Hopefully,
there isn't anyone to fill the Potions position, either.”

“Maybe Gilderoy Lockhart is back to his old self by now. He could be the Defense professor
again,” teased Ron. Even in the near darkness, Harry caught the flush of pink that rose to
Hermione's cheeks.

“Oh, quiet,” warned Hermione. “I doubt it will be any of our old professors.”

“I wonder if we'll ever have a Dark Ages professor that lasts more than a year,” said Harry,
shifting positions because his leg was starting to fall asleep. When he accidentally brushed again
Hermione, he quickly muttered an apology.

“I just have a feeling it's going to be different this year,” said Hermione quietly.
“Everything, I mean, not just the Dark Arts professor.”

“It seems as if everything is changing,” Harry agreed.

“Tell me about it.” Hermione, who was sitting cross-legged, rested her elbow on her knee and her
chin in the palm of her hand. She looked off to the side.

“Is something wrong, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“It's really nothing, Harry,” said Hermione. She pulled the blanket tighter. “I probably
should be leaving.”

She started to stand, but she sat back down when Harry touched her shoulder. “You don't have
to, not if you don't want to. Come on, what's wrong?”

A loud snore came from Ron's side of the room, prompting Harry and Hermione to share a
smile. “How does he do that?” Hermione muttered. She turned to Harry. “I don't want to wake
him.”

Harry shrugged. “Trust me, he won't wake up. Ron over there could sleep through just about
anything. Just talk quietly. What's wrong?”

“Harry, honestly, it's nothing,” Hermione insisted. “I'm not about to complain about my
summer when you had to spend yours with those horrible Dursleys. Merlin only knows how they were
treating you!”

“It's okay, Hermione. I got through it—without the intention of ever going back, mind you,
but I still got through it. I want to know what's bugging you.”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione sighed. “I feel awful complaining. My parents are wonderful, they love me,
and Angelica isn't bad. It's just... it's nothing. I'm sure I'm just making too
big of a deal over this.”

“Hermione,” said Harry, a hint of warning in her voice.

“Well, I don't really want to take anything out on Angelica because it's not her fault,
but it's really not my parents' fault, either. They're usually so excited to hear about
my year, but they never asked about it once over the holiday. Angelica was born just a few days
after I got back. They expected me to help them with everything concerning her, and I hadn't
even known before that my mum was pregnant. It... Oh, I must sound so silly!”

“You don't sound silly,” Harry insisted. “Now what were you saying?”

Hermione sighed. “At first, I guessed I was just jealous of all the attention Angelica was
getting because I wasn't used to sharing my parents with anyone else, but that theory stopped
making sense because I just adore my baby sister. Somewhere in there, Mum started criticizing
everything about me. First, she just disapproved of the amount of sweets I ate all the time, but
before long, she was making comments about my weight and hair and asking me why I never wore any
makeup. Soon, she started talking about how awful my appearance was in general.

“It just went downhill from that. She didn't want to hear a single thing about Hogwarts, be
it you or Ron or the grades I pulled. She started accusing me of doing things I hadn't done,
and she constantly demanded me to help with the baby. My dad eventually started doing the same
thing. I just don't get it, Harry. It doesn't make any sense! I can't ever remember my
parents acting like that before.”

Harry did the only thing that felt right at that moment, which was to put his arm around
Hermione. She didn't protest his gesture and rested her head against his shoulder. He could
tell by her tone that she was on the verge of tears, and he couldn't blame her. He'd never
heard Hermione speak anything but the best of her parents, so she was right in saying their recent
behavior made no sense.

“They don't want me to be a witch,” said Hermione. “Mum finally told me that three days ago,
right before I left for here. She said that she and Dad have been talking about it for a long time,
and they don't think it's a good idea anymore. Do you think they're right? I don't
want to make them angry, but I've never been happier than I am when at Hogwarts. I love you and
Ron and all the professors, even Snape. I love my classes and the Fat Lady and the ghosts. I never
felt this happy at home. I didn't have any friends. I was just Know-It-All Hermione, the ugly
girl with buck teeth and bushy—”

“Hermione?” interrupted Harry.

“What?”

“You're a great witch, the best I know. You belong at Hogwarts, no matter what they say.
It's obvious, and they'll see it soon enough.”

“Do you really mean it?”

“I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Hermione,” said Harry. “I'm not going to lie
to you. You should know that.”

There was a moment of silence, but it didn't seem uncomfortable. “Thank you,” said Hermione
finally. “That's one worry out of the way.”

Harry released her, and she had turned to face him. “One? What, do you have another?”

“Not exactly...”

“Don't make me drag it out of you again. Wasn't once enough?”

“It has to do with Viktor,” said Hermione softly.

“Viktor Krum? That's right,” said Harry, “I was meaning to ask you what happened. I thought
you were going to visit him this summer.”

“I did.” Hermione looked away again.

Harry didn't try to turn her, but he did rest his hand on her shoulder. “I thought Ron said
you didn't.”

“Yes,” said Hermione. She sounded kind of ashamed. “That's what I wrote in my letter. I
didn't want to trouble the two of you.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, really,” said Hermione. “I guess Viktor and I just aren't right for each other. I
felt uncomfortable the second I arrived. He wanted too much from me, and there was something
that—”

“There was something that what, Hermione?” asked Harry, wondering why she stopped suddenly.

“Nothing.” Hermione had stood up. “I'd better go back up to Ginny's room. I doubt
Ron's parents would be happy to find me here. Thank you so much for listening, Harry. I feel
much better.”

She hugged him, just as she had the night before, and she was gone as quickly as she had
arrived. Harry was left sitting upright on his bed, wondering what had suddenly made Hermione so
nervous.

-->



3. Platform Ten and One Half
----------------------------



Chapter Three

PLATFORM TEN AND ONE HALF

The next three days passed quickly, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione interacted just as would if
they were already at Hogwarts. The conversation Harry and Hermione had had after Ron had fallen
asleep was both the first and last of its kind. For the remainder of their time at the Borrow,
there were no heartfelt exchanges, and Hermione didn't make another midnight appearance in Ron
and Harry's room. In other words, things were unusually normal, considering the surrounding
circumstances deep within the magic community.

Mrs. Weasley went easy on the boys and Ginny in their final days before leaving Hogwarts,
keeping the chores she required of them at a minimum. She left them to do their own things, be it
developing new practical jokes for the twins or spending time alone in her room for Ginny. Harry,
Ron, and Hermione spent their last days of freedom doing everything imaginable in The Burrow. One
particularly memorable experience came on the afternoon they discovered a secret entrance at the
edge of The Burrow. It turns out that the lovely, enchanted swimming hole they spent hours
splashing around in was Mr. Weasley's present to Mrs. Weasley when they first purchased the
property.

The night of August the thirty-first was filled with a lot of last minute scrambling and dozens
of anxious cries about where particular belongs had disappeared to. Fortunately, by the time the
four Weasley children, along with Harry and Hermione, had grown quite tired, everything was ready
for their trip to Hogwarts the next day. The Ministry had been kind enough to provide Mr. Weasley
with two Muggle cars for the trip, and Mrs. Weasley began commanding everyone off to bed right
after the cars arrived. However, her directions were halted when a dark brown owl swooped into the
window, carrying several pieces of parchment addressed in green ink. He deposited six of the posts
into the correct set of waiting hands before flying back out the window, presumably to make more
deliveries.

Harry immediately recognized the Hogwarts stationary when he opened his letter. He had just
finished reading the note silently when Hermione began reading the message out loud for the Weasley
parents to hear.

“We hope this letter reaches you excited and prepared for beginning of tomorrow's term. In
light of recent events in the magic community, some new safety regulations will be announced at
your arrival tomorrow. Also, please make note that the departure location for the Hogwarts Express
has been moved from platform nine and three-quarters to platform ten and one half at King's
Cross Station. The same entrance procedure will apply. We look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Ten and one half?” questioned Mrs. Weasley, but looking back she didn't seem all that
surprised. “When did this come about? Oh well, I'm sure you'll find out when you get there.
Off to bed! We have an early morning before us!”

* * *

It wasn't difficult to pass through the wall between platforms ten and eleven, just as it
hadn't been difficult to do the same between platforms nine and ten. The trick to boarding the
Hogwarts Express lay instead in how well one could pass through the wall without attracting any
Muggle attention. It wasn't always an easy task for the Weasleys, considering just how many
people, trunks, and pets they always needed to get aboard the train.

“Remember to write your poor mother at least an owl or two this year!” called Mrs. Weasley as
the twins disappeared through the wall. She turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were standing
right behind her. “They didn't send me a single letter last year! Not even at Christmas!
Harrumph... Harry and Hermione, you're next.”

There were good-byes and waves as they leaned casually against the wall. A few seconds later,
they were standing on the Hogwarts platform, which was, now, at ten and one half. Just a few short
seconds after Harry and Hermione had passed through the wall, Ron and Ginny tumbled through with
all of their things.

“Back to Hogwarts!” said Ron, passing his trunk to one of the handlers while opting to hold onto
Pig's cage. Harry and Hermione did the same, except it took Hermione longer to calm
Crookshanks, her cat, than it did either of the boys to settle down their owls.

They had arrived a bit early this year and were easily able to find an empty compartment. Ginny
had immediately disappeared with her own group of friends, but they left plenty of room for Fred
and George in case the twins chose to join them.

“Do either of you know anyone to be sorted this year?” Harry asked, settling down into his
comfortable seat. He'd been racking his brain since he'd boarded the train for names of
anyone's younger siblings.

Ron shook his head, but Hermione bit her lip in thought. “I know Padma and Parvati have a
younger sister,” she said finally, “but I'm not sure if she's old enough to attend Hogwarts
yet.”

She had just finished her statement when the Hogwarts Express threw itself into motion. Harry
and Ron both lounged in their seats as the three friends started their usual chatter about their
hopes for classes, professors, and such, but Hermione kept better posture. The twins didn't
come in to sit with them, but a few minutes after the train started, Neville Longbottom stopped by
to greet them and managed to trip into their compartment. Other then that, the first thirty minutes
of the ride were fairly uneventful.

Hermione heard the witch getting closer with the snack cart, and she excused herself to the
girls' lavatory at the back of the train. On her way back, she was startled so much by a
familiar voice that she nearly screamed.

“Hermione Granger! It's good to see you again. Fifth year now, correct? A prefect? Well, I
can't say I'm not surprised.”

Hermione's jaw nearly dropped when she turned around to see Professor Remus Lupin chuckling
behind her. “Professor Lupin!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You aren't, by any
chance, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher again, are you?”

“Correct you are, Hermione, as usual,” said Lupin with a smile. “I was thrilled when Dumbledore
offered it to me just two days ago, even though the circumstances I received it under aren't
the best. I've missed Hogwarts.”

Hermione turned back to smile at him. He had walked behind her towards the Ron and Harry's
compartment, which was near the front of the train. “I'm glad you got the position! I don't
think Professor Dumbledore could have picked anyone better.”

“You're too kind, Hermione,” said Professor Lupin. It had been two years since she'd
seen him, but he looked about ten years older. Still, his eyes were twinkling merrily. “Harry and
Ron wouldn't happen to be around here somewhere, would they?”

“Did I hear my name?” Ron had gotten up from his seat and poked his head out the compartment
door. “Professor Lupin!”

Ron's exclamation also drew Harry from his seat, and within moments, the three students and
their favorite Defense professor were having a lively conversation about the upcoming studies. Once
the witch with the snack cart arrived, however, Professor Lupin excused himself back to his own,
private compartment at the back of the train and promised to talk to them once they reached
Hogwarts.

The rest of the trip was completely uneventful, with the exception of Draco Malfoy's usual
visit. They didn't let his sourness ruin their good moods, however, and the three friends were
still talking excitedly about the return of their former professor when the train arrived at
Hogwarts. The weather was much more pleasant than the year before, and none of the first-years had
to fear their boat capsizing, which elicited many scornful glances from the second-years that had
met such a fate the year before.

The older students arrived first, piling out of their carriages and looking up and the castle
that would be their home and school for the next months. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were a little
behind everyone entering the castle because Crookshanks had tried to squirm away from Hermione when
she exited the carriage, but they still made it.

Their fifth year at Hogwarts had officially begun.

* * *

As the students gathered in the Great Hall to watch the Sorting, Ron and Hermione pulled Harry
off to the side and attracted Professor McGonagall's attention. Harry explained the slight
predicament he was in with his broken arm, and she quickly dismissed the three of them in the
direction of the hospital wing.

“Harry Potter!” exclaimed Madam Pomfrey when she caught her first look at him. She obviously
hadn't been expecting patients so soon, as she was still setting up this and that in various
corners of the hospital wing. “Why, the first dinner hasn't even been served yet! What kind of
trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“No real trouble,” said Harry quickly, noticing Ron and Hermione had dropped behind him. “I stay
with my Muggle relatives during the summer, so when I broke my arm, it was set in a Muggle
hospital. I was wondering if you could—”

“Oh, oh, of course,” said Madam Pomfrey instantly, leading Harry over to one of the beds and
pushing on his shoulder to get him to sit down. She brought out her wand and began to inspect his
cast. “Well, first I'm expecting this will have to go, and then you'll need nothing more
than a simple mending spell. How did this happen?”

“It was just a fall,” said Harry, automatically using the Dursleys' excuse. He could
practically feel Ron and Hermione shooting him their disapproving looks.

“It was not,” said Ron.

“His hideous cousin did it,” added Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, and Harry felt a slight tinge in his arm. When he looked down, it
seemed to be healed. “All better,” said Madam Pomfrey cheerfully. “Though I would watch out for
such Muggles in the future. Hurry along now, and you might get to see part of the Sorting yet.”

“Just a moment, Madam Pomfrey.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione all turned around at the familiar
voice. Sure enough, Professor Dumbledore was standing at the entrance of the hospital wing, a
cheery smile on his face. “Don't look scared now. You may go on, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, but
I'd like to have a short word with you, Mr. Potter. Don't worry; I'll return you to
your friends at no time at all. Come along now.”

Harry gave his friends one last glance before following Dumbledore. He had no idea what the
Headmaster wanted with him, but he had no choice but to follow.

* * *

A few moments later, they were sitting in Dumbledore's quarters, and Harry had been amused
to find that the password to his office was, once again, “Sherbet lemon.” Dumbledore's cheerful
smile relaxed him, and he'd ceased to worry about the meeting.

“I'm sorry to pull you away from your friends and the Sorting, but I wanted to get a quick
word in with you,” said Dumbledore. He was standing at the window, his back to Harry. “Most of all,
I wanted to express my apologies.”

“Your apologies?” Now, Harry really was confused.

“Yes, my apologies,” said Dumbledore. He almost looked amused. “I'm sure you heard about the
volume of owls I received from Molly Weasley asking me when you could leave your relatives to stay
with them, and I'm sure you heard about how long it took me to give permission for you to
come.”

“Well,” said Harry, “yes.”

“I kept you there for so long because I felt it would be the safest place for you. If one wants
to keep track of a witch or wizard, it is much easier to do so when they are within the wizarding
world. I was quite worried that Voldemort would try and seek you, and I knew it would be more
difficult for him to do so when you were with the Muggles. However, I never fully realized how
awful your relatives were until I heard about your immediate need for a visit to the hospital wing
from Professor McGonagall, and I felt that an apology was in order.”

Suddenly, everything made more sense to Harry. He had to admit that Dumbledore was right: he
would much rather be subjected to the Dursleys for several weeks than become Voldemort's next
victim. “I'll admit that I was a bit confused,” said Harry, “but it makes sense now that
you've explained it.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Onto the next order of business then. I could tell that you and your friends
were a bit perplexed by my decision to make all three of you prefects.” Seeing Harry's
perplexed expression, he gave him a knowing wink. “Like I said before, it's much easier to keep
track of someone when they're within the wizarding world.

“First, your prefect announcements came so late because a certain staff member fought Professor
McGonagall's initial decision bitterly and only relented in that week before the beginning of
the term. He simply couldn't argue that anyone else in school had as much experience in
fighting Voldemort as the three of you. After what happened at Beauxbatons, security here is more
important than ever. I feel confident in your abilities to recognize the presence of Dark Arts, and
those possessed by Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, than the abilities of any other student. It is for
that reason that I chose you as prefects.”

As Harry nodded, he had yet another sudden realization. “Oh no!” he said, wondering why the
thought hadn't dawned on him earlier. “Hagrid! I haven't seen Hagrid yet. He wasn't at
Beauxbatons with Madame Maxime, was he?”

Dumbledore shook his head fervently. “Fortunately, neither of them was at the castle at the time
of the attack. Madame Maxime was obviously devastated by the occurrence, and Hagrid asked me to
stay a bit longer with her in light of what happened. I granted his request, and they should be
back, together, sometime this week.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “That's good to know. I—I have one more question.”

“Go on,” said Dumbledore. His smile was almost grandfatherly. “You do not need to be shy in
front of me, and you do not need to ask permission to speak, Harry.”

Harry knew this already, but there was a lot to take in at the moment. “Is Sirius okay?”

“Your godfather is doing find. I have been owling him almost daily since you arrived at the
Weasleys to inform him of how you are doing. He is leading the `old group,' as we might call
it, now that I have requested Professor Lupin's services here. I would not be surprised,
Harry,” said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye, “if you saw him sooner than you might
expect.

Harry nodded as he turned to leave Professor Dumbledore's office, thinking the Headmaster
was done talking to him.

“Oh Harry?”

Apparently not. Harry turned back to the seasoned wizard, who wore an all-knowing smile. “Yes?”
he said.

“I just wanted to let you in on a little secret, one that you might want to pass along to your
friend, Miss Granger.”

“What is it?” asked Harry.

“It was a very, very long time ago that I was once your age and attending Hogwarts.” Dumbledore
chuckled. “It was either the summer before my fifth or six year that my Muggle parents, too,
doubted my studies here.”

Harry was dumbfounded, but the look in Dumbledore's eyes told him that he wasn't joking.
“Your Muggle parents?”

“Don't sound so astonished,” said Dumbledore with a wink. “Everything eventually worked
itself out. They always are if you give them enough time. Best of luck this year, Harry.”

* * *

Harry returned to the Great Hall just in time for dinner. He had no sooner sat down in the seat
Ron and Hermione had saved for him when great amounts of food appeared instantly on the table. He
was eager to pass Dumbledore's secret onto Hermione, but he had decided it would be best to
wait for a time when Ron wasn't around, so Harry quickly thanked his friends for saving him a
seat as he helped himself to a large serving of roast chicken.

“How'd it go?” asked Ron once everyone around him had begun eating. His own mouth was filled
with a generous bite of boiled potatoes.

“Don't talk with your mouth full,” snapped Hermione, pausing to chew. “And don't chew
with your mouth open, either. But how did it go, Harry? I would hope you're not in trouble for
something already!”

“It was fine,” said Harry, answering Ron's question. He looked across the table to Hermione.
“He just wanted to tell me something.”

“What would that be?” asked Ron. This time, he made a great show of chewing with his mouth shut
and without talking. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.

“He apologized to me for making me stay with the Dursleys for so long,” said Harry. He lowered
his voice. “He seems really concerned about Voldemort's return. Dumbledore told me how it's
easier to keep track of someone within the magic world than the Muggle one. If anyone happened to
be looking for me, he wanted to make it as difficult as possible to find me.”

“My family doesn't exactly live in the middle of an all witch and wizard village like
Hogsmeade.” Ron scratched his head.

Harry shrugged. “I guess it's close enough. It's for that same reason that he made us
all prefects. He thinks we'd be most capable of spotting signs of the Dark Arts because
we've had so many run-ins with them.”

“I knew it!” exclaimed Ron, receiving quite a few stares from either direction. He pretended to
be highly interested in his potatoes as his face flushed to the color of his hair. “Sorry,” he
mumbled.

“Oh, stop it,” said Hermione. “I know you don't believe us, Ron, but you really are good
enough for the job. Don't be so hard on yourself!”

Ron blushed again; he was obviously embarrassed that Hermione had instantly known what his was
thinking.

“Madame Maxime wasn't at Beauxbatons when it was destroyed,” said Harry. “I hadn't even
thought about her, and Hagrid, until I was with Dumbledore. He assured me they were both fine.”

“Oh!” said Hermione. “I can't believe we hadn't thought of poor Hagrid, and Madame
Maxime! I can't imagine how she must feel!”

“Like hell, I'm sure,” Ron suggested, and Hermione glared at him. “What? I didn't do
anything this time! I've been chewing with my mouth closed! I'm not trying to talk through
a mouthful of food!”

“I think,” said Harry, laughing, “she gave you that look over what you said. There's
probably—er, more polite ways to put it.”

“Harry's exactly right,” said Hermione, giving him a nod and smile.

“Girls,” Ron muttered, rolling his eyes and becoming very interested in his plate once more.
Harry was reminded of another conversation they'd had, days before, back in the Burrow. He
didn't have much time to remember, however, because Dumbledore had just stood up in front of
the four tables and waved his arms for silence.

“Thank you,” said Dumbledore as silence moved swiftly across the Great Hall. “I have a few words
for you now that all your bellies are full, and I have a few more start-of-term reminders than
usual. First things first, though. Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!”

Claps and cheers rang from each of the four tables before him, and the Weasley twins both stood
to give him a standing ovation. They took great bows, and Dumbledore chuckled when they finally
returned to their seats.

“Very nice, Mr. Weasley, and you too, Mr. Weasley,” he said. Suddenly, his look grew much more
serious. “As you all know, there's been much cause for concern lately in the magical world, and
I'm sure some of you have had your fears. When I alerted you of Voldemort's return at the
end of our last term, I simply meant to prepare you. I am more thankful than ever to have spoken
those words. You may be feeling anxious after the attack on Beauxbatons, and I'm not going to
fill your heads with false assurances. There are more important things to fill them with, and the
panel of teachers seated behind me is more than willing to do that filling. Therefore, I am pleased
to announce Professor Lupin's return as our Defense Against the Dark Arts master!”

Once again, George and Fred stood to clap and bow, and this time, Harry, Ron, and Hermione
joined them. However, for each cheer that Lupin's name brought, it all brought an equal amount
of hisses and mutters. Dumbledore waved his arms again to quiet everything.

“Now, I'm sure that the attack on Beauxbatons was as much of a shock to you as it was for
me. While the odds of an event of such magnitude happening at Hogwarts are miniscule, they do
exist. For that reason, several new precautions have been put in place this year.

“First, I warn you not to stray near the edge of the Hogwarts property. I won't spoil the
surprise in the event that you still wish to do so, but I will warn you that it will be one great
surprise. This—we'll just call it the Surprise—has been put in place to keep unwanted visitors
from leaving Hogwarts undetected, as well as keeping students in.

“Next, the set punishment for wandering the halls after hours is three detentions to be served
with whoever catches you, along with an automatic deduction of ten points from your house. Should
you be caught a second time, the amount of points deducted will be fifteen. Don't do it.

“Finally, I strongly recommend that you travel in pairs wherever you go. Should you need to
leave class for any reason, the teachers will reinforce my advice.”

Dumbledore started back towards the head table, but he stopped suddenly and turned back around.
“Oh,” he added. “All of last year's rules still stand, which includes those about performing
magic in the hallways and entering the Forbidden Forest. Quidditch tryouts will be held two weeks
from tomorrow. And any student that looses more than sixty points from his house during the first
term might be denied the right to attend the first ever Hogwarts Christmas Dance. Good luck this
year, and sleep well!”

Everyone stood at once, making it much harder to exit the Great Hall. Hermione headed straight
into the commotion to help the first years, but Harry and Ron only followed when she called out
their names and gave them a very stern look. A few minutes later, someone else yelled for them as
well.

“Ron? Harry? May I have a word?”

“You're popular tonight, boys,” whispered Hermione. The three friends were at the rear of
the group of Gryffindors scrambling through the hole concealed by the Fat Lady's portrait. The
process was taking longer than usual that night, for the Fat Lady was feeling particularly chatty.
However, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been so engrossed in their own conversation that none of them
had noticed Professor McGonagall walk up behind them.

“I'll only need a moment of your time, boys,” she said with a wave to Hermione, who promptly
disappeared through the portrait hole.

“We aren't in trouble, are we?” asked Ron immediately.

“No,” said Professor McGonagall. She raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask, Mr. Weasley? Have you
done something I should be made aware of?”

“No,” said Harry quickly. “It just seems that we've been pulled aside for a lot of talks
today.”

Professor McGonagall gave them a small smile. “Nothing too personal, I hope,” she said. “If the
two of you hadn't noticed already, we don't have nearly as many first year students as
usual. We filled the dormitory, and there were two empty rooms left on the boys' side. Our
prefects from years six and seven took the first room, but I was wondering if the two of you would
like the second?”

Harry and Ron shared a look of amazement. At the same time, they grinned and exclaimed, “Of
course!”

“I figured that you would,” said Professor McGonagall, “so I already directed the house-elves to
move your things. I also wanted to inform you of a prefect meeting tomorrow afternoon immediately
after class in the Great Hall. Would one of you please inform Miss Granger of the meeting, as
well?”

“I will,” said Harry.

“Returnus vargas,” said Ron to the Fat Lady, and the two friends darted through the portrait
hole and up the stairs to explore their new room.

* * *

Sure enough, Ron and Harry's things were already in their room when they arrived, and a note
had been left on one of the nightstands informing them that their owls had already been taken up to
the Owlery. The room really wasn't any different than their old room they had always shared
with Seamus, Neville, and Dean, but it seemed much bigger because it only had two beds in it. To
fill the extra space, two comfy chairs, just like the ones in the common room, had been placed
along one curve of the room.

“All right!” exclaimed Ron, taking in the area. He grinned at Harry. “No offense to Neville or
Dean or Seamus, but I'd rather just share a room with you. They're all fine and jolly, but
I get kind of tired of them after awhile.”

“Yes,” said Harry, nodding as he kneeled in front of his trunk. He wasn't very tired yet,
and he knew he'd have to unpack the thing eventually. “Besides, it's hard to get any time
alone with that many people around at all times.”

“Oh bloody hell,” muttered Ron. Harry turned around, wondering what he'd done.

“Did I say something?” Harry asked.

“No,” assured Ron. “I think Mum—or at least Mum's wand—got a little confused when she was
helping us pack last night. I have an entire trunk full of clothing, but not a single book or
caldron or anything like that.”

Harry wandered over to Ron's side to inspect the trunk. He pulled out the first thing in the
trunk, which happened to be a robe. He scrunched up his noise as it fell towards the floor.

“I'm pretty sure this isn't yours,” said Harry finally. “It's not nearly long enough
and made for something a little stockier.”

“It's George's,” said Ron. “I recognize that rip on the bottom seam.”

Harry looked down. Sure enough, there was the slightest tear at the bottom of the robe. “Do you
think they have some of your things?”

“I have to hope so,” said Ron seriously, but Harry could tell he wasn't too worried. “Why
don't you go tell Hermione about tomorrow afternoon's meeting? It looks like I have to make
a visit to my lovely older brothers.”

“Good idea,” said Harry. He helped Ron fold George's robes back into the trunk, and together
they dragged it out into the hall and to the door of Fred and George's dormitory. Ron knocked
on the door, and Harry headed on down to the Gryffindor common room.

A few students, mostly sixth and seventh years, were still sitting around, along with two third
years that were playing chess next to the fireplace. Hermione was nowhere in sight, but did see a
familiar flash of red hair about to head up the stairs to the girl's dormitory.

“Ginny!” he called, and the youngest Weasley turned to face him. She was actually wearing a
smile for once. “I was looking for Hermione. Would you mind telling her that I'm down here, and
I need to talk to her?”

The smile immediately turned into a scowl. “That's nice,” she mumbled, and she started to
walk up the stairs again.

“Ginny! I really need to talk to her!” said Harry.

Ginny whirled around, glaring at him. “I never said I wouldn't tell her,” she said
exasperatedly, and she disappeared into the dormitories.

Harry sighed. He had no idea if she was going to get Hermione or not, and he really did need to
talk to her. He'd seen her looking a little glum at various times throughout the day, and he
had a feeling that he knew why. He also had a feeling that she'd feel better if she heard what
Dumbledore had said.

“I think Ginny's in one of her moods,” said Hermione.

Harry looked up. Hermione had just come from the direction of the girls' dorms. “I
wasn't sure if she was going to get you or not.”

“I'm surprised she did,” said Hermione. “We're in the same room this year. She came in,
looking scornful, and she announced that you were looking for me. Then, she snapped at Lavender
because the house-elves had placed her trunk in front of the bed she had last year!”

Harry shook his head as the two of them settled into two comfortable chairs in the corner of the
room, away from the handful of people still there. He leaned forward and quietly relayed what
Dumbledore had told him.

“You're kidding,” said Hermione sharply as soon as he had finished.

“I'm not!” insisted Harry. Hermione still looked unsure. “Come on, Hermione. Would I make
something like that up?”

“No,” said Hermione finally. “You wouldn't. Thanks for telling me, Harry.”

Harry studied her intently for a few seconds. “Do you feel any better about what happened with
your parents this summer?”

“A little, I guess.” Hermione shrugged. “I'd better get to bed.”

“I should, too.” Harry wasn't sure what came over him, but he reached forward and gave
Hermione a hug. “Oh, I'm also supposed to tell you that we have a prefect meeting tomorrow,
after classes, in the Great Hall.”

Hermione nodded, and she waved to him as she headed back up into the girls' dormitories.
“Thank you, Harry!” she called. “See you in the morning!”

* * *

The next morning, both Harry and Ron managed to oversleep, but Harry still managed to get down
to breakfast at about the same time as everyone else. Ron, on the other hand, still hadn't
emerged from the Gryffindor tower when the food appeared on the table.

“Where's Ron?” Hermione asked as soon as she noticed Harry.

“Grooming himself, I think,” said Harry with a laugh. “We both overslept, but Ron took a little
longer in the showers than I did. I'm trying to figure out why he's suddenly so concerned
with his appearance.”

Hermione shrugged, but she had a devilish grin on her face. “You never know.”

The two of them took their usual seats at the table, and Harry put his bag in Ron's usual
seat to save it. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing at all,” said Hermione airily. She took a single piece of toast and an apple from the
table while Harry loaded his plate with generous helpings of everything from warm, freshly baked
cinnamon rolls to scrambled eggs. “There is something I can tell you, though.”

“What's that?” asked Harry, still wondering what she had meant earlier.

Hermione leaned forward. “Ginny must have snuck out of the dorm last night,” she said quietly.
“She wasn't in the room when I woke, and her bed didn't even look like it had been slept
in.”

“Where did she go?”

“I'm not sure,” admitted Hermione. “She breezed in a few minutes after the other girls got
up. Lavender asked her where she'd been and nearly got her head bitten off.”

“Are you going to tell Ron?”

“Should I?”

Harry bit his lip. He figured Ron had the right to know, but Harry also knew that his friend was
already worried by his little sister's behavior. “Not yet,” he said finally. “See if she does
it again. We'll tell him if she does, but otherwise, no. I don't want to get Ron worked up
over nothing.”

“That's a good idea,” said Hermione thoughtful, finishing her toast. “I really don't
know what's going on. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.”

One thing was for sure: Ginny Weasley was definitely acting strangely.

-->



4. Forveret Bursen
------------------



Chapter Four

FORVERET BURSEN

“If Potions has been your hardest class in the past,” said Professor Snape one morning a few
days later. It was Friday, and if they could just get through the next two hours, then they would
have survived their first week of classes. Professor Snape paused for effect, grinning rather
evilly. “Then I pity your poor soul.”

He hit his wand against a desk on the front row, causing poor Neville to fall backwards in his
chair. Once again, the Gryffindors had Potions with the Slytherins, but this time, even some of the
Slytherins looked terrified.

“Ask anyone ahead of you and I am sure they will tell you just how difficult this year will be.
We've been building up to this over the last four years, but only a few of you are prepared for
the demands of this year.” Professor Snape smirked. “It's a pity they require this class.
Otherwise, that would be my cue to tell you to get out while you still can.”

Harry remained silent, not wanting to get in trouble with Snape on the very first day. He knew
full well that the Potions master hated him, and he wanted to steer clear of his wrath for as long
as possible. He glanced at Hermione, who was sitting up one row and over one seat from him. It
didn't make him feel any better about Snape's words when he saw the terrified look on her
face.

“Well, there's no use worrying you!” said Snape, his voice suddenly full of mock cheer.
“I'm sure today's lesson will do enough of that. You're all big kids now, and I see no
need for babying you. Get in groups of three. We'll start the term by concocting Forveret
Bursen.”

The students quietly filtered to the back of the room. Ron and Hermione immediately joined
Harry, and he offered his two friends a small smile. Ron returned it, but Hermione looked more
startled than before. Next to them, Malfoy and his two henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle, were
sniggering.

“Can anyone tell me—” Snape started, but stopped when Hermione's hand immediately went into
the air. He started over. “Can anyone besides Granger tell me what Forveret Bursen is? Anyone?
Well, I guess the question is all yours, Miss Granger, though I have no choice but to take five
points from Gryffindor for being too eager.”

Hermione looked stunned, but she knew better than to question Snape's authority. “Forveret
Bursen is also know as the Potion of Eternal Burning and is considered just as torturous as most
curses. When it makes contact with something—”

“That's enough, Miss Granger,” said Snape. “You may have two of the five points back for
knowing the material. Does anyone know what this particular potion does? No one? Well then,
I'll have to tell you.” He smiled another evil smile. “First, if I was to nickname this
particular potion, I feel that the `Potion of Eternal Agony' would be even more appropriate
than its current epithet. It produces no real flames, but it produces a similar effect on anything
it might touch. It has the most peculiar effect on all people, wizards and witches and Muggles and
giants alike. Instead of burning them to a crisp, it creates a burning sensation for which the
curing potion is nearly impossible to make. Forever and then some, someone unfortunate enough to
come in contact with the potion is in agony.

“You will find instructions on the third to last page in your book. If I were you, I would be
extremely careful in your work today.”

* * *

Everyone worked much slower on the Forveret Bursen than they usually worked on their brews.
Professor Snape even seemed to be keeping a more watchful eye than usual, despite his apparent joy
in giving his students such a dangerous task. He walked around careful, observing every group,
actually barking out advice and even praise every now and then. Harry, Ron, and Hermione's
group was the last that he came to, and he watched them for a long time as they stirred the
bubbling mixture slowly.

“Very well done,” he said reluctantly. “You're the first group to finish. I want you to get
a jar from the back counter and fill it with that. Use caution, as well as your gloves, and it will
be perfectly safe. I want you to see what kind of effects this dangerous of a potion has.”

The three students nodded solemnly, and Harry went to fetch the jar as Ron continued stirring.
Meanwhile, Hermione had gotten her gloves and prepared to ladle out some of the mixture.

“Everyone will want to watch this,” called Professor Snape, “so they know the proper procedure
once they'll finished. Careful, Granger, and hold the jar steadily, Potter, or you won't
have use of your hands much longer—Weasley, did I say you could stop stirring?”

Harry could feel the jar heat, even through the glass of the jar and the dragon skin of his
gloves, as soon as Hermione began pouring in the Forveret Bursen. He quickly placed it on the
counter, and the entire class was silent as they watched the jar singe and melt. Before long, the
potion had evaporated and nothing was left on the counter but a pile of melted glass.

“Back to work, everyone!” Snape ordered. “If you feel as if you're above the safety
precautions, just imagine the effect of that on your skin!”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged relieved looks. Never before had they been so happy to get
something done. Snape had never acted that cautiously before, and he had never warned them so many
times. Their demonstration had proven to everyone just what kind of a dangerous substance they were
working with.

“I'm glad that's over,” Ron shuddered as Harry and Hermione pulled off their gloves.
“That stuff is vicious.”

“I'm glad you noticed,” said Hermione, trembling a bit herself. “I read about it in a book
once, *The Dangerous Creations of Wizards*. It was about all the horrible potions and charms
and curses that have been created on—”

She never got a chance to finish, for everything happened so fast. There had been a faint clink
of metal, followed by a splash. Looking back, no one realized what had happened until they heard
Hermione's tortured screams of pain. Malfoy was staring at her, a sinister smile on his face.
He looked oddly pleased with himself, as did Crabbe and Goyle. However, they were the only ones
smiling.

Harry and Ron had never seen someone run as quickly as Snape did at that moment. The rest of the
class may still have been sorting out what happened, but he had already done so.

“Get her up to the hospital wing! Now!” he barked. “NOW! Tell Madam Pomfrey to give her the
strongest pain relief charm she knows and not to worry about the effects. No matter how awful they
might be, it's better than the agony she's in. Go!”

Neither Harry nor Ron was really sure what to do. They were already at Hermione's side and
had been since her first scream. Her robe had been already been scorched away in the places the
potion had touched. Her skin looked as if it had ceased to exist in those places, and Harry had to
swallow hard to keep himself from gagging at the sight. Together, they helped her up, careful not
to touch her burns, if that's even what they were called.

The three were out in the hall before any of them dared speak a word. Hermione was leaning
completely on Harry, and he had his arm supporting her waist. On her other side, Ron was doing his
best to steady her. Hermione had stopped screaming, and it was obvious she was biting her lip in
her efforts not to cry.

“It's okay, `Mione,” said Harry as they reached the stairs. “We're not going to think
any less of you if you cry or scream.”

“I—I—I—I'm o—o—okay.” Hermione was shaking in her attempt to talk. It was at that moment
that they heard the explosion from the Potions classroom. It wasn't the Forveret Bursen, and it
wasn't any equipment. Instead, it was Professor Snape himself, and his words were something no
one had every expected to hear.

“Don't think I won't have you expelled for this!” he was screaming. “Don't even try
to give me that look, Mr. Malfoy! Not even your father's name will give you an edge this time!
If I had things my way, I'd overturn every single cauldron on top of you at this instant and
let you suffer in the same manner as Granger!”

* * *

The next three days passed so slowly that it was safe to say that they were the longest in
Hogwarts history, at least for the trio. Harry and Ron left the hospital wing exactly twice, and
both times were at Professor Snape's insistence. It was only because of Hermione's weak
pleading that they were allowed to stay; otherwise, Madam Pomfrey would have been more than willing
to throw them out. She flat out refused to let the boys visit with Hermione, and a curtain put up
around her bed that very first afternoon kept them from even seeing their friend. Their only
indication that Hermione was even there came in the anguished screams and wrenching sobs that
occasionally arose from her corner of the hospital.

Even so, things were probably calmer in the hospital than outside of it. No one could stop
talking about what happened in the Potions dungeon that Friday morning. Most of the talking was
done in hushed whispers, and nearly everyone showed some kind of compassion for Hermione. However,
by Sunday evening, the novelty of the incident had worn off, and the conversation shifted to a
different aspect of the event: Draco Malfoy's punishment.

It was the students that did all of the gossiping and wondering, for the teachers were too busy
with their fallen student to worry about the one that had made her fall. Everyone was still so in
shock of what had been done that classes were canceled for Monday, and at least one staff member
kept vigil in the hospital wing at all times. As for Malfoy and his cronies, Professor Snape was
openly calling for their expulsion, but Dumbledore insisted it was something to be worried about
when Hermione's condition was a bit more certain.

The Weasleys had arrived almost immediately upon hearing the news. It worked out well, for the
owls sent to Hermione's own parents were either not received or simply not responded to. Harry
overhead Dumbledore explaining the predicament to the Weasleys, and he began to hope, for
Hermione's sake, that it was the first possibility.

As for Professor Snape, he may have coveted the Dark Arts position, but he proved his worth once
more as the Potions master. It took several attempts, but he was finally able to create the counter
potion to the Forveret Bursen late Friday afternoon, and he proceeded to create a complimentary
pain remedy based on his own knowledge and the procedures for other such remedies. He requested
Harry and Ron's assistance in the making of both potions, and he treated them with a kindness
and respect like no other. The boys found out later that he had only asked for their help on Madam
Pomfrey's insistence, but just the same, the once-callous professor showed he had a good
side.

By late Monday afternoon, Madam Pomfrey had reported Hermione to be doing much better. Still,
the nurse continually reminded everyone of the recovery Hermione still had in front of her. With
each of her reports and reminders, Harry and Ron grew more squeamish. They'd never seen the
nurse look so serious before, and they'd never seen her come across anything she couldn't
cure with a wave of her wand (or a particularly memorable bottle of Skele-Gro).

When dinnertime rolled around on Monday evening, the Weasley parents had gone to Ron and Harry
with looks of determination on their faces.

“I know you two want to be here for Hermione,” said Mrs. Weasley, “but you probably won't be
allowed to see her for several more days. It won't hurt to be away for just a few hours.”

“You really should come get some dinner,” Mr. Weasley jumped in. “You can come right back here
when you're done.”

“I'd kind of like to stay here, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley,” said Harry.

“Yeah, Mum. We promised Hermione that we'd stay here with her,” added Ron.

The parents exchanged looks. “She'll understand if you leave for just a little bit,”
insisted Mrs. Weasley.

When Harry and Ron still wouldn't give in, it had been Mr. Weasley that put his foot down.
“Fine, fine. One of you stays here while the other eats, and then you can switch, but both of you
are going to leave this room for at least a few moments tonight.”

There had been no arguing with that, and the Weasley parents had forced Ron to be the first to
go. Without his friend, the hospital wing suddenly seemed a lot more *forbidding* to Harry.
Madam Pomfrey immediately took notice of Ron's absence and started pestering him to go on as
well.

“I don't think I can handle another sick patient,” she said, “and I'm afraid the two of
you are going to fall ill if you continue to sit around like that. Go! Eat! Sleep! Just go about
your normal business!”

“I promise we won't make ourselves sick,” Harry swore. “We have been eating and sleeping and
all that stuff, you know. We'd really just like to see Hermione. Just once, you know? I'd
like to see how she's doing.”

For some reason, Madam Pomfrey's face softened, and she sighed. “Ten minutes!” she said
suddenly. “I'll let you go in there for ten minutes but not a second more. Your redheaded
friend may have his when he gets back, but that's it. If I let you have that, you have to leave
the wing for the night and not come back until morning!”

“Thank you,” said Harry sincerely. He smiled gratefully, and Madam Pomfrey led him over to
Hermione's little corner of the hospital. He was about to slip through the sheets when the
nurse caught his arm.

“I'll give you fair warning,” said Madam Pomfrey quietly. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“You're not going to like what you see. It's horrendous. Her arm, her shoulder, her
back—it's gone. I'm simply trying to let the wounds heal before I try to do anything with
skin. Be gentle on her, Harry.”

Harry pushed his way between the sheets. Hermione was lying on her side, and she looked as if
she was fast asleep. However, her eyes flew open as soon as Harry walked in.

“Harry!” she said, obviously trying to sound cheerful. It was hard to tell from her tone, but
Harry could tell she was happy by the way her eyes lit up. She struggled her way into a sitting
position. “Oh, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!”

“Kind of like you don't how happy I am to see you?” Harry questioned, sitting down on the
edge of her bed. “Merlin, it's good to see you, `Mione.”

“Oh Harry!” At that moment, Hermione did something that caught Harry completely off guard. She
threw her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. As if by instinct, Harry
wrapped his arms around her waist. She seemed a lot smaller than he remembered her being.

“I'm sorry,” she said, pulling back suddenly, tears still streaming down her face. “I
don't know what's gotten into me. Never mind me, I'm probably going mad.”

“You are not!” exclaimed Harry, not blaming her a bit. She was wearing a nightgown as loose as a
bed sheet so it wouldn't rub much against what was left of her skin, and when she shifted,
Harry caught sight of where the Forveret Bursen had touched her. He couldn't even find words to
describe it, and he found himself looking away. “I'm proud of you,” he said finally. “I
can't imagine what you've been through, Hermione. Ron can't either. We've barely
left since Friday. We didn't want to leave you.”

Hermione's sobs had reduced to sniffles. “I know,” she said softly. “I've heard you
arguing with Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore and Snape and Ron's parents. Thank you so much for
staying. I felt better knowing you were there.”

“Does it still hurt?” asked Harry. He gingerly touched her arm, and she immediately winced.
“I'm sorry!” he said, feeling awful. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“It's not your fault,” assured Hermione. “So, how ugly has it made me?”

“What?” Harry hadn't been expecting that.

“Come on, Harry,” said Hermione patiently. “I have eyes. I know what it looks like.”

“I don't think you've ever been prettier.” Harry's words were sincere. In his eyes,
she never had been.

Hermione sighed. “I'm sure you're lying to me, but it's sweet of you nonetheless.”
She paused, and her voice grew much more timid. “I—I have to ask. What happened to Malfoy?”

“Nothing, yet,” said Harry, wishing he didn't have to tell her that. “Personally, I agree
with Snape's first idea, the one where he pours that stuff all over Malfoy. Now, Snape's
just calling for his expulsion, but Dumbledore insists on seeing how you pull through before doing
anything to Malfoy. I'll bet he just wants to wait until you're well enough to get out of
here, so you can be there when they snap his wand in half.”

Hermione smiled, and Harry was glad to see he'd brought a twinkle into her eye. He and Ron
had spent countless hours worrying that Hermione would never be the same after what happened. Now,
Harry realized with a start, they had been right in a sense. She'd been through a lot, and she
would carry the scars and memories of the incident forever. But she was still Hermione. There was
no changing that.

There was a long silence, and Hermione rested her head on Harry's shoulder again. At that
moment, Harry felt something change deep inside of him, but he couldn't identify exactly what.
Everything was the same again, but it was different, too. Time passed quietly, but it wasn't
until much later that Harry realized his ten minutes had ticked off long ago.

* * *

Hermione's fifteenth birthday fell during the second weekend they spent at Hogwarts, eight
days after the incident in the Potions dungeon. She was still in the hospital wing, but Madam
Pomfrey had been much more lenient about letting her have visitors. By the end of the week, Harry
and Ron had nearly free run of the ward, and they came and saw Hermione as they pleased. Together,
along with a little help from the house-elves, Ron's siblings, and Hedwig, they managed to put
on a small, quiet birthday celebration on Saturday afternoon.

The passing of time and Madam Pomfrey's healing abilities had done wonders for Hermione. She
still had a lot of recovering left to do, but both Harry and Ron had been pleased to watch her
improve steadily throughout the week. Not only was she looking healthy again, but she also seemed
to be in less pain each day.

So it was on Saturday afternoon when Harry and Ron slipped silently into the school Hospital.
They were each carrying a present for Hermione, and a well-mannered house-elf they had often seen
with Dobby scurried behind them with a lovely cake. The two boys were surprised when they saw
Hermione, as she was propped up again a wall of pillows and engrossed in her Arithmancy homework.
She looked up at the sound of their footsteps and smiled brightly when she saw Harry and Ron.

“Harry! Ron!” said Hermione brightly. “Professor Vector was so kind to drop off my Arithmancy
work, and I figured I'd better get to work if I didn't want to fall miserably be—” she
broke up with a wide-eyed expression when she noticed the packages they were holding and the little
house-elf carrying a gorgeous cake.

“Happy birthday, Hermione!” exclaimed Harry and Ron together. Ron leaned down to hug Hermione as
Harry set her presents at the end of the bed, and then it was Harry's turn. She hugged him
tightly and gave him a kiss on the cheek as he was standing back up. Hermione had done the same
thing nearly every day that week, and it continued to cause Harry's cheeks to turn pink.

The little house-elf stepped up with a bow, presenting Hermione the cake. She expressed her
thanks, causing the little house elf to smile humbly before scampering back towards the
kitchen.

“You did this for me?” said Hermione. She sounded dumbfounded as Harry took the cake from her
and set it down on her table. Ron had found a roll of crepe paper and was waving his wand wildly to
get it to decorate Hermione's little area. At one point, the roll flew off into the distance,
and Ron had to summon it back. His face was nearly as red as his hair.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Maybe I should just try to do this without magic.”

Hermione giggled as Ron climbed up on the empty bed next to her, muttering curse words, to
finish hanging the decorations. When he was done, he sat down on the empty bed; Harry had already
taken a seat on the edge of Hermione's bed and helped her put away her quill, parchment, and
Arithmancy book.

“You guys didn't have to do this for me!” said Hermione. There was still a touch of
astonishment in her voice.

“Of course we didn't have to,” started Ron.

“We did it because we wanted to,” finished Harry.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Ron cut her off, thrusting his present in her
direction. “Now open your presents,” he commanded. “Fred and George will be here any minute with
your surprise!”

“My surprise?” asked Hermione, inspecting Ron's heavily taped parcel and giving it a gentle
shake. “You say it like you haven't already done more than enough! But—Fred and George? I'm
not sure if I like the sound of that!”

“Just open your package!” insisted Ron. The taped proved a little trying, however, and she still
didn't have it open when the Weasley twins crept silently into the room. They were carrying
something, and it seemed to be moving.

“Crookshanks!” exclaimed Hermione in quite excitement. At the sound of his name, the ginger cat
leaped out of Fred's arms and bounded to his owner.

“Oh, Crookshanks,” said Hermione, cuddling her beloved pet. “You guys are the greatest! How did
you even—”

“You mentioned how much you were missing him yesterday,” explained Harry. “So Ron and I decided
to employ the talents of Fred and George—”

“And Ron here,” said George, tousling his younger brother's hair, which brought a scowl to
Ron's face, “spent a good hour convincing our slightly stubborn sister to simply bring
Crookshanks down to the common room.”

“Then,” continued Fred, “we used our supreme knowledge of Hogwarts to slip down here
undetected!”

“Consider that our present to you,” said George sheepishly. “We didn't even know what these
two were planning until yesterday.”

“It's a wonderful present,” declared Hermione, stroking Crookshanks. He had settled down in
her lap and lazily shut his eyes.

“Oh, I nearly forgot these.” Fred pulled out a sack from behind him, which no one had noticed in
the commotion of Crookshanks's appearance. “From some of your girl friends, I think.”

“Thank you, George, Fred,” said Hermione happily. She sat the sack by the side of her bed.
“Perhaps we should have the cake?”

“You haven't opened your present yet!” protested Ron.

“Maybe you don't remember, but you have a detention in twenty minutes, Ron,” said Harry
slyly. “So we really should get to work on the cake.

“Ron has a detention?” said Hermione disapprovingly.

“Yep,” confirmed George.

“Rumor is, he hasn't been paying attention in History of Magic all year,” said Fred.
“Instead, he keeps scribbling things in the margin of his notes about some girl—”

“Shut up!” exclaimed Ron, hitting his older brother square in the chest. However, he didn't
deny their accusations.

A few minutes later, the small group was happily gorging themselves on cake. She looked
particularly happy and ate an entire piece. Harry felt sorry for her. He had a feeling that she
wasn't getting the same food that was served in the Great Hall.

“We heard something interesting on the way down here,” said Fred suddenly, his mouth stuffed
with cake.

“Yeah,” agreed George. “Professor Dumbledore was telling Professor McGonagall something. It was
very interesting, indeed.

The three younger students looked at the twins expectantly, waiting for them to continue. Fred
finally sighed. “Oh, all right,” he said. “We're only telling you this because it's too
good not to share.”

“Sagesse Bom is planning to visit the school—” said George.

“—In light of the recent events,” finished Fred. “I'm willing to bet that's when they
plan to punish Malfoy.”

“Punish him?” argued George. “They're going to do a lot more then that.”

Ron broke in. “The new Minister is coming to Hogwarts?”

The twins stopped minor quarreling to nod ferociously. “Don't look so surprised,” said Fred.
“Fudge came here pretty often.”

“Yes,” said Harry, “but Fudge always seemed to rely on Dumbledore for advice on everything.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “Besides, you just said it was about what happened to Hermione!”

Hermione blushed. “That's not what he said,” she muttered. “I'm not nearly important
enough to elicit a visit from the Minister.”

“Yes you are!” said the four boys at once, giving her a look. There was a moment of silence. Ron
looked up at the clock, cursed slightly, and shoved his present in Hermione's direction.

“Here, open it now,” he said quickly. “I have to be in Professor McGonagall's office exactly
three minutes ago.”

Ron's present turned out to be, unsurprisingly, a book. She had spent the first week of
school complaining about the long waiting list for it in the library. As soon as she had opened it,
however, Ron took off with a quick good bye and a promise to come back later. The twins headed back
to the Gryffindor tower at that time, too, taking Crookshanks with them. Only Hermione and Harry
remained in the hospital wing.

Hermione watched the twins leave, calling her goodbyes out to Fred, George, and Crookshanks.
When she turned around again, Harry noticed that tears were glistening in her eyes. “What's
wrong?” he asked immediately, wondering what could have happened.

“Nothing at all,” said Hermione, wiping her eyes. “Everything's wonderful, actually! You
guys are the greatest! I'd been dreading spending my birthday here, but your thoughtfulness
made it the best birthday ever!”

Harry blushed slightly, and Hermione dabbed away her tears again. “I don't know what's
gotten into me,” she said apologetically. “I can't figure out why I'm so emotional about
everything.”

“Don't be sorry,” said Harry firmly, putting his arm around her shoulders. “How many times
do I have to tell you that we're not going to think any less of you if you cry? You've been
through a lot, `Mione. We understand that.”

Hermione smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Harry,” she said. “You're very sweet.”

“Right,” he said quickly, grabbing his package to her and thrusting it in her direction just as
Ron had. “You haven't opened my present yet.”

Hermione giggled, and muttered her thanks when she saw it wasn't so wrapped in tape. Inside,
there was another book she'd been wanting, along with a bag full of her favorite candy.

“Sorry,” said Harry immediately.

“For what?”

“We always get you books,” he explained.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. “It's not like it's something I don't want!”
she said. “I always get you candy!”

Harry laughed, and there was a moment of comfortable silence. “Do you think it's true?” said
Hermione at last.

“What?”

“About the Minister coming because of Malfoy.”

“I'm not sure,” admitted Harry. “I think George is right about one thing, though. I
can't see Malfoy not getting expelled.”

“Maybe,” said Hermione quietly. “It seems a bit harsh.”

“Harsh?” sputtered Harry. “'Mione, look what he did to you! I can't think of anything
harsh enough!”

Hermione was quiet. “I guess not,” she said.

“You aren't nearly as confident as you used to be,” observed Harry.

“Maybe not.” Hermione sighed. “I don't know what's gotten into me.”

“You're still you,” said Harry with a shrug.

“But is that a good or bad?”

“Good,” said Harry, and he grinned

* * *

By the fourth week of school, things at Hogwarts had essentially returned to normal. Hagrid had
returned midway through the second week, and the class resumed at the beginning of the third.
Madame Maxime floated through the castle like one of the more mournful ghosts at first, but she
soon maintained a more collected exterior. The buzz of gossip even died down, despite the fact that
Hermione still remained in the hospital and Malfoy was yet to receive his punishment.

Things even seemed normal for Harry and Ron, though it was hard to ignore Hermione's empty
seat in every class. They visited her religiously, sharing news of everything happening at Hogwarts
and sneaking in food the house-elves prepared especially for her. They helped her catch up with her
studies and even tried to review the curses and charms they had learned in class, but Madam Pomfrey
put a stop on the demonstrations when a charm of Ron's sent scalpels and surgical scissors
flying madly around the room. Hermione's condition continued to improve each day, yet Madam
Pomfrey showed no signs of releasing her.

And, for the first time since they started at Hogwarts, Malfoy avoided Harry and Ron as much as
possible. A few of the Slytherins informed them that he was absolutely terrified at the prospect of
being expelled; otherwise, Harry and Ron figured he would have spent a lot more time gloating about
the horror he had inflicted upon Hermione. It wasn't until a sunny Friday afternoon in late
September, a few weeks later, that Malfoy dared try anything.

* * *

“Yeh urn't gonna get an'where with `im like that,” said Hagrid. He walked over to the
hursle and gently began to pat its head. Lavender Brown stepped back; she seemed more then willing
to let Hagrid work with the animal. “Hursels, `ey like to beh loved, jus like a pet. Play with `em
an' pet `em an' ey'll be yehr bes' friends.”

Harry and Ron shared an uncertain look, but they knew better than to question Hagrid's
advice. The hursle looked almost like a small, feathered horse, and neither boy was quite sure of
its parentage. Giving Ron a shrug, Harry leaned down and began rubbing the hursle's head, just
as he would Hagrid's dog, Fang. Almost immediately, the creature rolled over, its blue tongue
hanging leisurely out of its mouth.

“Well,” said Ron, wiping his hands on his robe. “At least he's more lovable than the
skrewts.”

Harry grimaced, thinking of the nasty creatures they'd encountered in Hagrid's class the
year before. He sat down on the ground by the hursle, waiting for the other groups to calm down
their animals, and Ron followed suit. Harry absently began to pat the hursle's head again.

“Anything would be better than the skrewts,” said Harry. “I don't think a word exists to
describe those things.”

Ron scratched his head. “I can't think of one either,” he said at last.

Harry gave the hursle an odd look as it rolled over contentedly and fell right asleep. He
pointed at it. “I think I can put up with these. Once you're on their good side, all they do is
sleep.”

Ron sniggered. “I think we might have just gotten the lazy one.” This time, he did the
pointing—right at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. “And they're not the only ones still trying to
figure it out.”

“They never will,” said Harry bitterly. “You heard Hagrid; he said you had to be kind and gentle
with the hursles. There isn't a bone in Malfoy's body that's kind or gentle. He's
just cruel.”

“Can't say I don't agree with you,” said Ron. “How long do you think it'll be before
Dumbledore finally does something about him?”

“I don't know,” said Harry. He looked down at the hursle as it let loose a little snore. It
seemed so content that Harry couldn't help feel a little jealous. “He should have done
something by now. It's not fair that he still has free roam of the school while Hermione's
still confined to her bed in the hospital.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “Do you think Crabbe and Goyle will get in any trouble?”

“I'm not sure. They didn't do anything,” said Harry. “It doesn't really matter to
me. All the two of them are good for is following Malfoy. Without him, they're not smart enough
to do anything.”

“Too true,” said Ron, laughing. He opened his mouth to say something, but his words were halted
by a flurry of angry screams.

“You stupid animal!” screamed Malfoy. The poor hursle assigned to his group cowered in front of
him, covering its eyes with its paws. “Why won't you listen to me? Worthless!” With a final
shout of anger, he kicked the hursle as hard as he could, sending it flying. It landed several
meters away, looking stunned. Suddenly, it lost its terrified expression and bared its teeth in a
low growl. It stepped closer to Malfoy.

“Uh-oh,” whispered Harry. “Didn't Hagrid say that hursles have quite a temper if you upset
them?”

From a few feet in front of them, their own hursle began to stir. It bared its teeth and growled
in the same fashion, as did almost all of the hursles assembled around Hagrid's cabin. Ron
backed away.

“Yes,” said Ron nervously. He gulped. “He also said that they travel in groups—”

The words were barely out of his mouth when the hursles took off, chasing Malfoy around in
circles. They didn't touch him; they just jumped around him, nipping in his direction and
barking frantically. Harry and Ron exploded in laughter as Malfoy started to scream in fright.

“You goons!” he was yelling in Crabbe and Goyle's direction. “Why aren't you helping me?
Do something! Get these things away from me!”

Crabbe and Goyle shared a look before rushing over to assist Malfoy. However, before they could
get to him, the hursles had cornered him into running another direction.

“Hey,” said Harry, loud enough so only Ron could hear. “They're trying to run him off
Hogwarts grounds!”

Ron's eyes went wide, and a smile stretched across his face. “Damn right they are! Think
they'll run him over the boundaries?”

“I sure hope they do!” sniggered Harry. “I'm anxious to find out what Dumbledore's
surprise was!”

“Dumbledore's surprise?”

Harry looked over at Ron, who seemed confused. “Yes, the surprise. Don't you remember him
warning us not to leave school grounds that first night?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Ron. At about that moment, there was a loud hiss and a pop, and Malfoy seemed to
be suspended in the air. A few seconds later, he fell back to the ground with a hard thud, and the
hursles scattered. The entire class rushed in his direction.

“Do you think that was it?” asked Ron quietly.

“It might be,” said Harry. He broke off when he saw Malfoy, who was rolling on the ground,
sputtering and cursing. His hair had turned completely white, and his skin was unusually pale.
Harry began to howl with laughter.

“It's like an electric fence!” he exclaimed.

“Eceletic fence?” Ron tried to repeat.

“It's a Muggle thing,” Harry explained quickly. “They use it to keep their dogs from getting
out of their yards. They bury a cable on the limits of the property, and when the dog tries to run
through it, a sensor in its collar shocks it!”

Now Ron was laughing, too. Crabbe and Goyle had cautiously approached Malfoy before finally
helping him up. Once he was standing again, he continued to rage.

“That thing tried to kill me!” screamed Malfoy, his hand pointing at nothing. “Oh, you'll
pay for this! I'll get all of those stupid hursles killed just like I did your damn
hippogriff!”

“Yeh will not!” said Hagrid sharply, parting the crowd. He gave Malfoy a stern look. “Yeh
won't do nothin' `cause yeh ain't gonna be at `ogwarts much longer.”

“That's what you think! They're afraid to touch me!” raged Malfoy. “They're afraid
to admit that the Know-It-All deserved it! It's just a shame it didn't kill her!”

The crowd backed away from him. Hagrid had to rush over to Harry and Ron to keep the two of them
from jumping Malfoy. He had one hand on Harry and one on Ron, holding them back.

“Yeh don't wan' to get yeh selves in trouble,” he warned quietly. “Let me handle it.”
Then, he gestured to Seamus and Dean, who were the burlier boys of the Gryffindor house, and
cleared his throat. “Would the two o' yeh mind takin' `im to Dumbledore? Be sure to tell
`im what he said abou' `Ermione.”

The boys scrambled over to Malfoy, ducking his swinging arms and forced him along. As soon as
they were out of sight, Hagrid turn to the rest of the class. “Would yeh please help me round up
the `ursles? Then yeh'll be free to go.”

* * *

Harry and Ron had stayed with Hagrid until the very last hursle had been rounded into the pen
behind his house. They had offered to stay and talk to him, but he'd waved them on. He said he
was going to talk to Dumbledore about what Malfoy had done. The two of them walked silently back
into the castle.

“Are you going to visit Hermione?” asked Ron once they were inside. “She'll be eager to hear
what happened to Malfoy.”

“She could use a good laugh,” said Harry grimly. “She's seemed kind of down the last few
days. Everyday she gets her hopes up about leaving when Madam Pomfrey starts talking about how much
better she's doing, and then she gets told she's still got a long way to go.”

“Poor Hermione,” said Ron sincerely. He stopped in the hallway before the hospital wing.
“I—well, there's something I wanted to do today. Think Hermione would be offended if I came by
after dinner?”

“Nah,” said Harry.

“That's right,” said Ron. Harry could have sworn he saw a sly smile creep onto Ron's
face. “She won't even notice I'm not there.”

“Ron!” exclaimed Harry. “That's not true.”

Ron sniggered, rushing towards the Gryffindor tower. “I'll see you at dinner, Harry!”

Harry shook his head as he watched Ron retreat. He wasn't sure what Ron had meant by saying
Hermione wouldn't notice his absence. Hermione wasn't dumb; of course she would realize
that Ron wasn't there. He shrugged it off and walked into the hospital wing and over to
Hermione's area. He pushed the curtains apart.

“Hermione—”

A sense of unexplainable dread washed over Harry. Hermione wasn't there. Her bed had been
made up, but her things were still sitting on the nightstand, and her book bag was still resting on
the floor at the end of the bed. Harry reminded himself that Hermione had been fine the day before
and that there was no need to panic. From somewhere else in the room, he heard a door swing
open.

“Harry!”

Harry turned around so quickly that he nearly found himself tangled up in the curtains. Hermione
was walking slowly back toward her area, Madam Pomfrey's hand on her shoulder, gently guiding
her, the mediwitch's wand at the ready. She was dressed in Muggle clothing—an oversized shirt
and a pair of loose fitting cotton pants, but to Harry she had never looked lovelier.

“Hermione,” said Harry, resisting the urge to run over to her. He'd never been so happy to
see her than he was at that moment. When he had seen her empty bed, he was sure something horrible
had happened to her.

Madam Pomfrey leaned over him when he reached the two of them. “Help her back to her bed,” she
whispered, keeping her voice low enough that Hermione wouldn't here. “You'll have to
support her. She's weak.”

Harry nodded, one of his hands already on Hermione's arm and the other at her waist.
“You're up,” he said with a grin. Madam Pomfrey took a step back, a pleased expression on her
face.

“I am,” breathed Hermione. “Oh Harry, I was seriously starting to think that I'd be forced
to stay in that bed from now on. Then, after lunch, Madam Pomfrey informed me that she thought
I'd been sitting around for much too long! I don't think I've ever been so happy to
bathe and dress!”

“Does this mean you get to leave?” asked Harry. Her face instantly fell, and he immediately
regretted saying anything.

“Not yet,” said Hermione quietly, and Harry helped her sit back down on her bed.

“I'm sorry, `Mione,” said Harry as he sat down next to her.

“I asked Madam Pomfrey the same thing,” admitted Hermione. She looked about ready to cry. “As it
turns out, the burns aren't even healed yet. She said it would be several more weeks.”

Harry didn't say anything. He gently wiped a tear from her cheek and put his arm around her.
“I guess those kind of things just take a long time to heal. At least you're in the best
possible hands.”

Hermione managed a weak smile. “Come on,” said Harry. “I have something to tell you that I think
will cheer you up.” He proceeded to tell her what had happened to Malfoy that day, and she started
laughing when he compared the invisible barrier around Hogwarts to an electric fence.

“I do hope they deal with him soon,” said Hermione when he finished. Harry was grinning, for her
could see the corners of her mouth turning up into a genuine smile. “Why does he think it's his
right to pick on everyone and everything? I feel bad for the poor hursle he kicked.”

“Me too,” said Harry. “He started screaming that he was going to do the same thing to the
hursles that he did to Buckbeak. I think he's forgotten that Buckbeak managed to escape his
execution.”

“Did Hagrid get upset?” Hermione wanted to know.

“No,” said Harry. “Malfoy started to yell about you next, and Hagrid defended you. He had a
couple of the boys take him straight to Dumbledore.”

“What was he saying?”

Harry shook his head. “You don't want to know, Hermione,” he said honestly. Her face fell,
but she didn't press him. Suddenly, Harry remembered he had something for her.

“Oh!” he said, digging around in the pockets of his robe. His hand clasped around the small
object, but he waited to take it out. “We've started a new unit in Transfiguration. It's
all about creating specific objects with detail. Since you didn't get to take part in the
lesson, I thought you might like the output.”

Harry dropped the object into the palm of her hand. It was a beautiful silver necklace. He'd
been given a piece of rope to work with, and Professor McGonagall kept telling them to picture
something they'd seen before, and change their object into that. Harry wasn't sure where
he'd seen such a necklace before, but he'd been able to create it almost as soon as
he'd thought of it.

“It's gorgeous, Harry,” said Hermione softly. “Thank you.”

“Do you like it?” asked Harry. “I don't have any use for it, but I thought you might like
it. It's a girls' necklace. I thought it might cheer you up—” Harry was vaguely aware that
he was rambling.

“I rather think it's the nicest thing I've ever been given,” said Hermione softly.

* * *

That night, Harry climbed into bed only a few short hours after dinner. It was unusual for him
to do so, but it had been a fairly unusual night. Ron hadn't shown up at dinner time; in fact,
Harry hadn't seen him at all since they'd gone their separate ways after Hagrid's
class. Several other people had also been absent from dinner. Malfoy was nowhere to be found, and
several of the teachers, including Dumbledore, never showed. However, halfway through the meal,
Snape had appeared, and he made quite a commotion when he drug Crabbe and Goyle off in the
direction of his office—by their ears.

After dinner, Harry had returned to the hospital wing, and he tried to help Hermione with her
charms homework. In all actuality, it was Hermione that ended up helping Harry, but he'd had a
good time just talking and being with her, but Madam Pomfrey had shooed him away earlier than
usual, insisting that Hermione needed her rest because she'd been up and around that day.

There really wasn't a point in arguing with Madam Pomfrey, so Harry had said his good-byes
to Hermione and went back to the Gryffindor tower. Ron was nowhere to be found, and Harry had
already finished his homework. With nothing better to do, he put his pajamas on and climbed into
bed.

That had been well over an hour before, and Harry was still lying awake in the dark. It was
nice, surprisingly, and he went on thinking about nothing in particular. He had nearly drifted off
to sleep when the loud creak of the dormitory door and the sound of footsteps on the old floor
pulled him from his semi-conscious state immediately. The overhead chandelier lit up, and, sure
enough, Ron was standing in front of the doorway, looking a little sheepish, but nothing could hid
the overwhelming grin that kept creeping back on his face.

“Ron,” groaned Harry. “What's with the sneaking in after lights out thing?”

“Er—nothing,” said Ron, rummaging through the wardrobe for his own pajamas. “Sorry I woke
you.”

“You didn't wake me,” muttered Harry, fumbling around for his glasses. “I hadn't
completely fallen asleep yet.”

“That's good to know,” said Ron heartily. Harry gave him an odd look.

“Okay, I give up,” said Harry. “What's gotten you in such a good—no, don't put out the
chandelier yet; I want to be able to see your face. Your expressions always give you away.”

This time, Ron groaned. He hopped onto his bed, a guilty smile on his face. “What were you
asking?”

“I was asking about your good mood,” said Harry. “While you're explaining that, you might
also want to touch on your absence from dinner and why you stood Hermione and I up.”

“Like you cared,” muttered Ron, but Harry didn't catch it. “Fine, fine. You've caught
me.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, inspecting his best friend closely. Ron's cheeks had begun to
flush. “Well?”

“Well,” said Ron, “you probably noticed I've been doing my own thing a lot of the time.”

Actually, Harry hadn't noticed, but he didn't want to admit it. He bit his lip. Come to
think of it, Ron had been acting a little strangely lately. Ron always seemed to have somewhere
else to be, which Harry attributed to all the time he had been spending with Hermione. Harry had
noticed at first, but he hadn't said anything because he didn't want to pry.

“Sort of,” said Harry.

“I've got a girlfriend,” blurted Ron.

Harry sat straight up in his bed. “You have a what?” he demanded sharply.

“A girlfriend?” Ron said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “You know, `a girl that one is
romantically involved with'? Come on, Harry. Don't tell me you don't know what that
is.”

“I know!” said Harry defensively. “Who is it?”

Now, Ron blushed flat out. “Anna Clemens.” Harry looked at him blankly. “She's a year behind
us,” Ron quickly explained. “Ravenclaw. I was looking for Ginny after class one day, took a corner
too fast, and ran into her—literally.”

“I can't believe you didn't tell me about her,” said Harry, shaking his head. He
jokingly added, “And I call you my best friend—”

“Now wait just one minute,” protested Ron. “I just—er, well, I didn't want to say anything
about it until I was sure. I mean, until I was sure she liked me too. I—er, well—”

Harry burst out laughing. He'd never known Ron to be so shy, so he had a feeling that he
really liked this Anna Clemens girl. “How long?”

“How long what?” asked Ron, looking perplexed. “Oh! Er, I just asked her out tonight.”

“So where were you at dinner?” asked Harry slyly.

“That's none of your damn business—but don't you bloody smirk, Potter, because it's
not what you're thinking.”

Harry continued sniggering until Ron tossed a pillow in his direction. Even then, he had to
cover his mouth to keep it in. “Shut up,” insisted Ron. “It's not funny. Don't even get me
started on you.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Ron said quickly.

Harry lay back against his pillow. “I just can't believe it—it's quite difficult
imagining you being romantic.”

“I'm capable!” Ron insisted. “Don't think you're the only one capable of it.”

“Capable of what?”

“Being romantic!” Ron sounded exasperated. He shook his head.

“Me? I'm not romantic,” said Harry.

“Bull,” said Ron. He leaned back against his pillows, and, with the wave of his wand, put out
the chandelier's candles. “Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking
about.”

“Ron, that's the point,” said Harry. He shifted around in the dark until he was comfortable.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Never mind,” said Ron lazily. There was a moment of silence, but then Ron spoke again. “Did you
give it to her?”

“Huh?”

“Hermione,” said Ron, like Harry was the dumbest person alive. “Did you give Hermione the
necklace?”

“What? How did you know?” Harry took off his glasses and put them on the nightstand. It was a
good thing it was so dark; he didn't want Ron to see him blushing.

“So you gave it to her?”

“Yes, I did,” admitted Harry finally. “She needed a good cheering up.”

He heard Ron roll over in his bed. “And you say you don't know what I'm talking about,”
grumbled Ron.

Harry was about to ask Ron what he was talking about when it suddenly dawned on him. “Ron!” he
exclaimed, not caring how loud he was probably being. “Where'd you get that notion?”

“Gee, I wonder,” said Ron sarcastically.

“Well, get rid of it.”

“Hey,” said Ron defensively. “Don't get mad at me.”

“Good night, Ron.”

“Hmm… maybe you should just call me Ronald Weasley, concerned best friend,” started Ron. “Wait,
on second thought, maybe amused. Yes, yes, amused. That's right—”

“Good night, Ron,” Harry said again. He rolled over, ready to go to sleep. It was difficult
though, considering Ron was still sniggering in the background.

* * *

Harry was in somewhat of a foul mood when he arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast the next
morning. He'd managed to oversleep, and Ron hadn't woken him until he himself was getting
ready to leave. It wasn't a big deal, seeing that it was a Saturday, but it still did wonders
to put Harry in a grumpy mood.

As soon as he walked into the hall, he was overwhelmed by the peculiar silence. There was a
small amount of fidgeting and coughing and an assortment of excited whispers, but it was nothing
like the usual excitement at Saturday breakfast. Ron was nowhere to be found, but a sweeping glance
over the tables told Harry that he wasn't late at all. They were, at best, half full, which led
Harry to believe that Ron had simply left early to be with Anna. Parvati Patil and a large group of
her giggling friends already occupied Harry's usual spot, so he slid into the vacant seat next
to George Weasley. The Weasley twins looked unusually demure.

“What's going on?” whispered Harry, as it seemed to be the right tone to use at the
moment.

“We're not completely sure,” whispered Fred, obviously speaking for both the twins. Harry
still found it uncanny how they were able to finish each others' thoughts, but he found himself
doing it every once in a while with Ron.

George was quietly fiddling with one of their fake wands, and he looked up when it turned into a
bouquet of plastic flowers. “It's being said that Malfoy is going to be expelled today—”

“And the new Minster is here,” explained Fred with a flourish. “We're almost sure of
it.”

“We were `exploring' the halls yesterday evening, and we think we saw Dumbledore ushering
him in,” said George, “but of course, neither of us has ever seen him, so we can't be
sure.”

“If it is him,” added Fred, “he's nothing like we imagined.”

“Why?” Harry couldn't resist asking. “Is there something deformed about him?”

“Oh, no,” said George dismissively. “He's just unusually short.”

“That he is,” agreed Fred. “He's also much younger than we expected.”

“He would be the same age as my father,” reminded Harry. “At least, your dad said they were at
Hogwarts at the same time.”

“Well, that's completely true,” said Fred.

“That is young,” explained George. “I forget the only Minister you've known is Fudge.
They're usually even older then that. Fudge looked young in comparison to some of them.”

“Yes,” added Fred eagerly, “and this guy makes Fudge look decrepit.”

Harry was about to say something more, but he caught sight of Ron at that moment and closed his
mouth. Sure enough, his best friend had a girl on his arm when he walked into the Great Hall. Harry
studied the girl, and he couldn't help but laugh.

Now that he'd seen her, he knew he'd seen Ron with her before. That wasn't what made
him laugh, though. Harry laughed because, if he didn't know better, he would have mistaken her
for an eighth Weasley sibling. She was very pretty, but she had a mess of extremely curly red hair
and, Harry noticed, as they got closer, a good sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
When they reached the Ravenclaw table, Harry watched Ron peak around, then give her a quick kiss on
the cheek before rushing off toward the Gryffindor table.

“Did you see Anna?” breathed Ron, his voice low so his brothers wouldn't hear him.
Obviously, that peak had been to see if his brothers were watching. Harry didn't blame him; he
knew the Weasley twins would delight in giving their little brother hell if they knew he had a
girlfriend.

“I saw her,” returned Harry, just as quietly. He didn't say anything more, for he knew it
would put Ron on the spot.

“Well?” said Ron. “Go on. What did you think of her?”

“She looks nice,” said Harry. At that moment, a burst of laughter erupted from the midsection of
the table, where the giggling girls were sitting. “She's not like that, though, is she?”

Ron shook his head furiously. “I don't think there's anything out there more annoying
than that. She's nice and normal. I'll let you meet her today.”

Harry gave him the thumbs up sign, for at that moment Fred seemed to take a keen interest in the
two of them. For Ron's sake, Harry just hoped neither he nor George had heard any of it.

“You missed out on a great dinner,” said Harry loudly, though it was no more than a whisper
compared to the tones they usually had to use to be heard over the din.

“I heard about it,” said Ron grimly. “Apparently Malfoy was missing?”

“Dumbledore, too,” said Harry. “You missed out on Snape dragging out Crabbe and Goyle, though.
There aren't words—”

He stopped short, for Dumbledore had just stood up from the staff table and was working his way
to the area at the front and center of the four house tables. He waved his arms, and a complete
silence enveloped the hall.

“I have an important announcement to make. Last night, a visitor of great prestige was received
here at Hogwarts, and he will be staying with us for several days,” said Dumbledore. “I hope that
everyone will be on their best behavior and show the Minister of Magic, Sagesse Bom, what excellent
students we have here at Hogwarts. And, of course, I expect you to treat him with respect and
welcome should you see him during his stay. Thank you.” Dumbledore made his way back to the staff
table, and it was only then that Harry caught sight of the extra chair that had been pulled up to
the table and the figure sitting in it.

“Ron, look!” he hissed, pointing madly in that direction. Ron swiveled around, and he looked
back at Harry with a grin of delight on his face.

“Awesome!” he whispered. It was apparent that most everyone had overlooked the short, stout man
tucked into the table between Snape and Dumbledore. Even though he had never met Bom, Harry liked
him immediately. He had dark, messy hair, and he wore plain black robes, a major contrast from
Fudge's frivolous extravagance. “Think we'll get to meet him?”

“Perhaps,” said Harry. He shrugged, but he couldn't help thinking how interesting it would
be. At about that time, the food materialized onto the tables, and both boys began to eat

* * *

When Harry reached the hospital wing that morning, Hermione's bed was once again empty. He
didn't worry this time, for he assumed she was with Madam Pomfrey, getting ready for the day.
It had taken him longer than expected to get down there that morning because breakfast had run
later than usual, and then he had gone with Ron to meet Anna. However, he didn't get a chance
to; one of the Ravenclaw girls informed Ron that someone had spilled their drink on Anna, so she
had rushed off to change. Ron had shrugged and promised Harry to bring her down to the hospital
wing as soon as he found her.

Harry pulled a chair inside of Hermione's area, figuring it wouldn't be too much longer,
and he was right. He had no sooner sat down than heard the door swing open. He scrambled out
between the curtains and over to Hermione's side. Smiling reassurance to Madam Pomfrey that he
hadn't forgot her words of caution the day before, Harry helped Hermione back towards her
bed.

“You look excited about something,” said Harry as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I do have something to tell you, if that's what you mean,” said Hermione. She seemed to be
captivated by something, almost to the point of being awestruck. She sat down heavily on her bed,
looking over at her bedside table. Harry looked in the same direction, and he noticed two sticks
laying there, both smooth and polished with the exception of their jagged ends.

“What's that?” he asked, taking a seat in the chair.

Hermione glance between the Harry and the sticks, and it was then he noticed the tears in her
eyes. “They expelled Malfoy last night,” she said happily, an almost triumphant tear running down
her cheek. “Dumbledore came in here afterwards to tell me all about it. He's wanted to do so
the entire time, but he left the final decision to the new Minister. Dumbledore said he thought I
might like to keep the broken pieces of Malfoy's wand.”

-->



5. The Overhead Rouge Apparition
--------------------------------



Chapter Five

THE OVERHEAD ROUGE APPARITION

Madam Pomfrey finally agreed to release Hermione from the hospital wing eight days before
Halloween. It was a Thursday afternoon, and Professor McGonagall allowed both Harry and Ron to
leave class a few minutes early to help Hermione get settled back in. There was a lot of quiet
cheering on their part and even a few tears on those of Hermione and Madam Pomfrey, but they
managed to get Hermione settled back into her dormitory and back down to the common room before the
whole lot of Gryffindors returned from their classes.

Things had been oddly quiet around the school since Malfoy's expulsion. Just as Harry had
predicted, Crabbe and Goyle were utterly lost without their leader and didn't give anyone a bit
of trouble. Even so, that didn't stop them from being in particular foul moods. Their
involvement in both the Potions and Care of Magical Creatures incidents had lost them a combined
total of four hundred points. Both boys were completely ineligible to go to the Christmas Dance,
and Slytherin actually had a point total in the negatives for several days.

With Hermione out of the hospital, things slipped farther into the depths of normalcy. The three
friends carried on as usual, just at a slightly slower pace. Hermione still wasn't up for her
normal level of activity and tired very easily. She admitted it to no one but Harry, but her
injuries also continued to hurt her. The group's numbers fluctuated as well; Anna was welcome
to hang out with them at any time, and at other times Ron chose to spend his free time with only
his girlfriend.

The Quidditch tryouts, postponed after the many disconcerting events of September, finally took
place in late October, coincidently over Hermione's first weekend out of the hospital. With two
open positions—Oliver Wood had graduated, and one of the Chasers, Katie Bell, didn't think she
could handle both the team and her Head Girl duties—on the Gryffindor team, Ron was eager to try
out, so the two boys helped Hermione into the stands, at her request, so she could watch. Anna, who
had nearly as many brothers as Ginny Weasley, had grown up playing Quidditch, and Ron convinced her
to try out for the Ravenclaw team. When the final teams had been posted, both were ecstatic; Ron
was the third chaser on the Gryffindor team, and Anna would be playing Keeper for Ravenclaw.

In other words, everything at Hogwarts was as normal as it every was. However, the tide shifted
on the eve of Halloween, and things would not be normal at Hogwarts again for a long, long
time.

Halloween had never been a calm event during any of the years Harry had spent at Hogwarts. A
troll had been let loose in the castle his first year, and he had attended a Deathday party his
second. The Fat Lady had been slashed from her portrait his third year, back when everyone feared
his godfather, Sirius, because he was an escaped criminal. Just last year, it had been the day
before Halloween that students had arrived from Durmstrang and the now nonexistent Beauxbatons. He
had hope that this year would be less eventful, but he knew as soon as he woke up on October 30
that something peculiar would happen that next day, for when Harry looked out his window that
morning, a fog the color of blood had descended around the castle.

* * *

It seemed as if Harry and Ron both valued their sleep a great deal that year, for there had
scarcely been a morning so far on which one of them hadn't overslept; the day before Halloween
was no exception. Ron stumbled into the Great Hall ten minutes after breakfast had been served,
sputtering and cursing, his hair sticking up and off in one direction. The first thing Harry
noticed when his friend sat down next to him was the faint scent of last night's dessert, which
Fred at one point had chucked at his younger brother, and he had a good feeling Ron hadn't had
time to shower that morning.

“What's outside?” asked Ron, spearing his sausage so violently with his fork that Harry
scooted away from him. “It looks foul.”

“It's called an Overhead Rouge Apparition,” informed Hermione. “In other words, it's the
most forbidding fog in the magical world, except it isn't truly a fog. It's a byproduct of
a mid-twelfth century curse gone wrong, and legends say it's the blood of the townspeople
killed in the failed curse. It travels from place to place, undetectable to Muggle eye, and it
scares wizards and witches wherever it goes. It sometimes signals death or destruction or
misdoings, but it's usually just looking for a place to stay between signals.”

Ron rolled his eyes, but Fred and George seemed intrigued. “That would explain it,” said
George.

“Explain what?” asked Hermione. “I'm only relaying what I read in a book once.”

“I know,” said George. “I was talking about the atmosphere surrounding the staff table.”

Fred cast a look in the direction of the Head Table. “They're all talking in hushed
whispers, and half of them look ready to pass out in fright. Obviously they know the story behind
the mess out there.”

* * *

Halloween fell on a Friday that year, and in light of the gloom settled just beyond the castle
door, no allowances had been made for early dismissal of classes. Instead, Harry and Ron had
suffered through double Divination that morning, followed by double Potions. Potions actually
hadn't been as bad as Divination because Snape had been a slightly kinder person since what
happened to Hermione. Still, he had about as much compassion as a pet rock, and he had the class
prepare a brew so complex that not a single person managed to do it just right. He hadn't
screamed, however, which would have been his typical response the year before. Instead, he shook
his head, informed them they had received a failing grade for the day, and sent them back to their
common rooms. Crabbe and Goyle had not shown up for class that afternoon.

“I still hate him,” said Ron as they reached the Gryffindor tower that afternoon. They skipped
the main area and headed straight for the prefect common area. There had been no real need for them
to spend much time there in the past, for Hermione had been in the hospital, and the boys had their
own room to retreat to. Now, it was coming in quite handy.

“He's not the easiest guy to get along with,” said Harry grimly, sitting down on the
overstuffed, amazingly comfortable sofa. “Today was really unfair. You could tell that he
didn't expect anyone to be able to put that stuff together. I'm still not even clear on
what it was.”

“Queaselium,” said Hermione as she reached the sofa, nearly collapsing on it. “It might not
sound like it, but it's supposed to prevent you from getting stomachaches for the rest of your
life.”

“Too bad it didn't work,” said Ron. He lounged back in one of the armchairs and kicked his
feet up on the ottoman. “I have a bad habit of eating myself sick whenever we have feasts
here.”

Harry laughed, but Hermione had rested her head against one of the sofa pillows and looked ready
to fall asleep. He shared a look with Ron. She'd taken a bad tumble down the stairs on her way
to Potions, and they'd been worried about her ever since. “Are you okay, `Mione?” asked Harry,
for what was probably the tenth time since the incident.

“Yes,” said Hermione, a tinge of stubbornness in her voice. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Because the last time I fell down those stairs, I dislocated my shoulder?” offered Ron. Harry
would have laughed, but he knew Ron wasn't kidding. He was starting to wish the Queaselium had
worked out, too.

“I'm fine,” said Hermione again. As if to prove herself, she sat up as fast as she could.
“See? Just fine. The only thing that might—mind you, I said might—be wrong with me is that I'm
a bit tired. I didn't sleep that well last night.”

Harry could have sworn she was doing her best not to look at Ron, but he didn't say
anything. If she was, he had a good idea who was somehow connected to her restlessness. “Why
don't you go take a nap, then? We'll make sure you don't miss the feast.”

“That would be nice,” said Hermione, and she stood up. With a hug for Ron and a quick peck on
the cheek for Harry, she disappeared back into the main part of Gryffindor tower.

“Shut up,” said Harry as soon as she'd left. The words were out of his mouth before Ron
could even start sniggering. “Come to think, that's a good idea. Go—er, go hang out with Anna
or something. If you let me sleep through the feast, I'll make sure you aren't able to
snigger anymore.” With that, Harry disappeared in the same direction as Hermione.

“Merlin,” he could hear Ron saying. “I didn't even get a chance to laugh that time!”

* * *

There was no need for Harry's threat because Ron woke him a good hour before the feast, and
they spent almost the entire time between then and dinner convincing Ginny to get Hermione up for
them. She only relented when the two of them exchanged a shrug and nearly entered the girls'
dormitory themselves.

The quality of food at Hogwarts was always exceptional, but it was even kicked up several
notches whenever there was a feast. For that reason, the first fifteen minutes of each dinner was
usually a fairly quiet one, filled with a lot of chewing and savoring. In those fifteen minutes,
the three Weasley brothers alone managed to consume two entire turkeys. No one really spoke until
Ron nearly met his demise when he chocked on a turkey bone.

“Honestly, Ron,” said Hermione, almost gleefully. “You really should let that serve as a sign
and slow down your eating a bit.”

Ron shrugged, scooping another helping of scalloped potatoes onto his plate and digging in. “You
just don't appreciate a hearty appetite,” he said bitterly, through a mouthful of potatoes and
turkey, just to spite her.

“Easy there, you two,” said George, laughing. “The school rules frown on fighting.”

“The school rules frown on a lot of things that you do,” snapped Hermione.

“That's why we do them,” said Fred, without missing a beat. Like his younger brother, he was
still shoveling in food at a pace like no other. Around him, a lot of the girls had slowed their
eating or stopped all together, but a few of the sturdier boys were still cramming their faces.

“That's disgusting,” muttered Hermione. George must have overhead her statement, for her
opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, revealing an unappetizing combination of beans, turkey,
roast beef, and a dinner roll. Upon seeing this, Hermione turned a bit green and pushed her plate
away.

“Can I eat that?” asked Ron, eyeing her chicken, which was barely touched. There was no more of
it left on the table. Hermione gave him an odd look, and he snatched it off her plate. She
shuddered.

Suddenly, there was a scream coming from the direction of the Slytherin table, and every head in
the hall turned at the sound. A shocking plume of black smoke was rising from the table, and sparks
were being emitted from seemingly nowhere. The smoke filled the room, just as the fog covered the
outside grounds. Suddenly, Harry felt an odd choking sensation as the smoke filled his nostrils.
Burying his head in a fold of his robe, he found it much easier to breathe.

Hermione was sputtering beside him, and he motioned for her to do the same. When she did, she
gave him a thumbs up to show she was okay. The Weasley twins and Ron were doing the same thing, as
were students up and down every one of the tables. However, the smoke had gotten so thick in places
that it was impossible to see, and some students collapsed, having sucked in too much of the smoke.
The room had grown darker and darker, and the heat seemed to be rising also. Dumbledore had jumped
onto the staff table, waving his wand frantically and muttering all kinds of spells, but nothing
seemed to diminish the amount of choking black smoke. If anything, more and more seemed to spill
into the room from nowhere. A shower of sparks flew from the ceiling, and Harry began to wonder if
a fire had started within the school.

Then, as quickly as it began, the smoke seemed to disappear from the room. Everything was
covered in gray ash, and students started coughing and sputtering as they took in their first
breathes of fresh air. All around, others bent down to assist those that had collapsed. Harry gave
a long look down the Gryffindor table in either direction, and he was relieved to see everyone
standing, looking as well as could be expected. The only person that seemed to be having any
trouble was Hermione, and he put his arm around her for support.

“I'm really okay,” she said, “just feeling a little light headed.”

“I think we all are,” said Harry with a cough. Even with her assurance, he didn't let go of
her. He doubted Mrs. Pomfrey would be able to handle anyone else collapsing that night. He felt
someone tap his shoulder.

“Harry, look!” said Ron, pointing.

The smoke still hovered in one corner of the Great Hall, and it had taken the shape of words:
You will pay. It seemed as if everyone had noticed the message at the same time, for they were all
pointing and gaping in the same direction. It was several more moments before they noticed what lie
under it, a sight that was arguably more disturbing.

Crabbe and Goyle hovered a few inches above the floor, looking just like several of the students
that had collapsed after breathing the smoke. However, there was one major difference.

The students that had inhaled the smoke merely had been stunned. What had happened to Crabbe and
Goyle was much more permanent.

* * *

The panic that ensued after the smoke disappeared was like no other. A handle of students that
had not passed out due to the smoke, mostly first year girls, simply fainted in fright. The
Hufflepuff prefects had the sense to hold an impromptu meeting and try to restore order to their
house; however, the plan backfired when a sixth year prefect took a nasty fall from the table as
she tried to give instructions. There was a lot of frightened screams and dashing around on the
part of students with friends in different houses. A first year Gryffindor managed to escape the
commotion and drag Madam Pomfrey in for assistance. Even the professors were so concerned with the
smoky message and collapsed students to worry about order at first.

Ron was one of those students to go wandering in the direction of another house. Harry barely
noticed his absence, not even realizing Ron had left until he saw his friend shoving his way back
towards the Gryffindor table. He had a grim look on his face.

“We're lucky,” were the first words out of his mouth. Ron cringed as he was elbowed hard in
the side. “Half the Ravenclaws and most of the Slytherins are lying in a heap on the floor.”

“Is Anna okay?” asked Hermione, sounding concerned.

Ron nodded. “She said the smoke was so thick around their table that a lot of them didn't
see everyone covering their mouths.”

“*SILENCIO!*”

The three friends turned around quickly to see Dumbledore hovering in midair, his wand in his
hands. He did not look well. Everyone waited for him to say something more, but he just turned and
floated back to the ground. Harry turned to say something to Ron and Hermione, but he noticed
Professor McGonagall pushing her way through the aisle between the tables.

“Harry! Ron! Hermione!” The three looked at her, surprised to see the stern witch look so
frazzled. She looked rattled, but very relieved to find them, and wasted no time giving them
directions.

“Get everyone back to the Gryffindor tower. Do not let them go into the separate dormitories.
Stay in the common room, and don't let anyone for any reason. I'll be there in a few
minutes,” ordered Professor McGonagall. She turned to leave almost immediately, and Harry saw the
older prefects pushing their way towards them.

Fifteen minutes later, all the Gryffindors were packed into their common room. While the room
was usually bursting with sound, it was unusually quiet, as if everyone had finally realized how
awful the situation was. Some of the prefects were pacing at the back of the room, nervous looks on
their faces, and others had sat down, looking stunned. Hermione was part of the latter group, but
Harry and Ron weren't calm enough to do so. While everyone was anxious, probably no one was
more so than the three of them. They didn't admit it, but it was obvious they were all thinking
the same thing: Voldemort.

Finally, Ron got the courage to speak. “It's been almost an hour,” he said nervously. “Do
you think Professor McGonagall will be back soon?”

“I'm sure it can't be much longer now,” said Harry. His teeth were clenched, almost like
he was angry. That wasn't the case. He was afraid of what he might start saying if he
didn't keep his mouth shut. He didn't want to start in with his suspicions about Voldemort
and the Dark Arts and send everyone into a panic.

“Surely,” said Hermione airily. She looked paler than anyone else in the room. Ron stopped
pacing and sat down next to her. Most of the other prefects had already done so, and Harry was the
only one in the entire room left on his feet. However, he did not sit down, but he did step closer
to his friends.

“Something's not right,” said Harry in a low whisper.

“You noticed?” hissed Ron. “Half the school just passed out because smoke filled the Great Hall,
and then the smoke clears to reveal a slightly disturbing message! I say something's not
right.”

“No, I know,” said Harry, still whispering. “I just have this feeling. Professor McGonagall
should have been back by now.”

Hermione's eyes grew wide. “Your scar isn't hurting, is it, Harry?”

Harry hadn't even thought of his scar, but at her words, his hand flew to his forehead. He
began shaking his head. “No. I'm not sure what it is, but something's just not right.”

At about that moment, Professor Lupin burst into the Gryffindor common room. There were mutters
and gasps all around; never before had a teacher other than Professor McGonagall entered Gryffindor
tower.

“Everyone but the prefects needs to go straight to their dormitories. Do not stop along the way,
and lock the door once you're in there,” barked Lupin. The Gryffindors just stared at him, not
moving. “Go!” he commanded.

The room cleared almost immediately. In just over a minute, the only people left in the room
were the prefects and Lupin. He turned to them, looking much kinder.

“I can't tell you what's happened now,” he said, “but I can tell you that it will be a
very long night. I must get back to the rest of the staff, and it is up to you to watch over this
tower. There is a good chance someone may try to enter the school tonight, and there is nothing to
assure the Fat Lady can stop them. Have your wands, and be alert.”

“But what are we supposed to do if someone does enter?” one of the seventh years wanted to
know.

Lupin did not answer him directly. “Dumbledore has recommended that you sleep in shifts. Should
anything—and I mean anything—out of the usual happen, you are to wake the others at once. We will
be able to tell if any magic is used in this room,” he said sharply, and he turned to face Ron and
Hermione. “The two of you will have the first watch. The rest of you—to sleep!”

He scrambled back towards the portrait hole, bumping against Hermione on his way. When he passed
a small parcel into her hand, she realized it was deliberate. She was about to say something, but
he leaned in and whispered.

“Don't open this until the rest are asleep. Show no one but Ron,” he whispered. He cleared
his throat and returned to his normal voice. He waved his wand nonchalantly. “Pardon me, Miss
Granger.”

Lupin was out the door in an instant. Harry sent an apologetic look to his friends and was about
to offer his help, but he felt himself growing drowsily. All around him, the other prefects were
already fast asleep. His eyelids grew heavy, and that was the last he remembered.

* * *

Hermione was startled to see all the prefects drop to sleep right where they were. Her eyes grew
wide, and a glance at Ron told her that she wasn't nearly as startled as he was. He'd grown
unusually pale and looked ready to pass out himself. Harry was the last prefect to close his eyes,
and when he let out a snore, she began to open the note.

“He must have cast a sleeping spell,” muttered Hermione, beckoning Ron over to her side. “He
gave me this,” she said quietly. “He told me to open it with you once they were all asleep.”

*Ron and Hermione,*

*I apologize if I've startled you. There was no other way. You will receive a visitor
tonight, but he will not be a cause for alarm. His information is for you and for you alone. Tell
no one what you see, not even Harry.*

*Moony*

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, not saying a word. They both sat down again, their backs
against the wall. After the longest time, Ron spoke. “I think it's going to be Sirius.”

Hermione looked at him strangely. “Why do you think that?” she asked. She didn't give him a
chance to answer. “If it was Sirius, why would Professor Lupin's note tell us not to tell
Harry? Surely he would allow Sirius to see his own godson.”

Ron shook his head. “I'm still positive it's Sirius. Maybe it's something about
Harry. I don't know why Professor Lupin said that, but Sirius is the only logical
possibility.”

“Logical?” scoffed Hermione. She didn't look trusting. “And how did you come up with your
prediction?”

“It's the only thing that makes sense!” said Ron fervently. “First off, he wouldn't
knowingly allow us a visitor if he knew he wasn't someone safe, and Sirius wouldn't do
anything to us. Then, when Lupin was talking to all us prefects, he said all that about getting
past the Fat Lady. Sirius has gotten into the Gryffindor tower twice before, he could do it a third
time! Finally, he signed the note, `Moony'! If he didn't have a reason for doing that, he
would have just signed it `Professor Lupin'! It all makes sense!”

Hermione looked at him uncertainly, but Ron could tell by looking in her eyes that she was just
disappointed she hadn't seen all the signs herself. “So we're going to be visited by
Sirius,” she said finally.

“I'm willing to bet on it,” said Ron. “I just hope he comes soon, if he's coming.”

“If he's coming? Who's uncertain now?” asked Hermione.

Ron blushed. “I know it's him,” said Ron. “I just think it's odd that he hasn't come
yet—”

He was interrupted by a slow creak of the door as it opened. Ron and Hermione were on their feet
immediately, but the shadows cast by the few candles still burning made it impossible to see just
what was moving in the darkness.

“Get out your wand,” said Ron nervously. “Just in case.” Hermione brushed against him as she
reached into her pocket for her wand. He had been so sure that Sirius was the visitor, but now he
felt uncertain.

There was no need. A shaggy black dog emerged from the shadows, and its mouth was open in a dog
sort of smile. The dog ran over to Hermione and Ron and began to nudge them in the direction of the
shadows. They followed him willingly. Once they were in the corner, away from the sleeping
prefects, the dog turned into Harry's godfather. He looked better than he had the last time
they'd seen him; he wasn't nearly as thin, and he'd finally cast off the shaggy robes
he'd escaped from Azkaban in for tidy gray ones. He greeted both Hermione and Ron warmly.

“You're both looking well,” said Sirius, giving them awkward hugs. “I don't have long,
but I have to talk to you. I have to warn you.”

Ron wasn't paying attention. “Do you know what happened earlier tonight?”

“Why us?” wondered Hermione. “Why didn't you want to talk to Harry? He's your godson,
after all!”

Sirius shook his head. “In good time,” he said, not explaining what he meant. “I can't tell
you what happened tonight, Ron, not yet. You'll know soon enough. As for Harry—” Sirius broke
off, stepping out of the shadows towards the prefects. He bent down over Harry's sleeping form.
He returned to Hermione and Ron, his eyes sparkling.

“It's good to see him,” he said finally, “but the timing isn't right. It's not my
time to talk to him, but it is my duty to speak with you.”

“Why us?” asked Ron impatiently.

Sirius chose to ignore their questions this time. “I don't have long,” he said, beginning to
pace. “Voldemort has returned. He's been to Beauxbatons, and he's been to Durmstrang—”

He broke off, looking annoyed with himself. “Forget you heard that,” he ordered, and his voice
grew gentle, but rushed, once more. “Voldemort is trying to bring himself back to power by
attacking our most valuable resource. If no schools exist to teach the youngest witches and
wizards, they will not have the ability to fight him. There is no guarantee, but it's likely he
will try to return to Hogwarts—”

“So what happened tonight was because of You-Know-Who?” interrupted Hermione.

“Voldemort,” said Sirius sternly. “Don't be afraid to call him by his name, Hermione. That
goes for you, as well, Ron. It is essential that you both stop this You-Know-Who nonsense. I
haven't the time to explain, but you must do it!”

“We will,” said Ron. Hermione nodded.

“That's good,” said Sirius. He stopped pacing. “We aren't sure what he will do in the
manner of Hogwarts. He wants to return to power, but there is only one person who could possibly
stop him, and that person is here.”

“Harry?” asked Hermione, her voice barely a whisper. Ron sucked in his breath.

“Yes,” said Sirius gravely. “It is Harry. All along, he's been the only one capable of
stopping Voldemort. However, he's also been used to restore Voldemort to his form, and for
that, Harry's abilities are weakened. Harry cannot defeat Voldemort again, not alone, he
can't.”

Sirius stopped. His face was very grim, very serious. He touched Ron's shoulder, and then he
tapped Hermione's. “If,” he said, “or when Voldemort comes here, the power to destroy him lies
in the two of you. I can't explain why or how, you will understand that if the time comes. I
warn you only because you must know.

“You mustn't be afraid,” said Sirius, “even in the face of Voldemort. The situation in which
it must be done could involve either of you, or even both of you. It will be dangerous, and
sacrifices will be made—”

He broke off again, and this time, there were tears in his eyes. “It could be either of you, or
it could be Harry. I shouldn't be asking you this, but you must be willing. If the issue is
death, it will find you no matter what you try. It is your decision to let it come in the face of
bravery or in the face of cowardice. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” said Ron weakly.

“Yes,” echoed Hermione. Suddenly, Sirius stepped forward, reaching toward her neck.

“Hermione,” he said oddly, “what are you wearing?

Hermione's hands flew to her neck. “This?” she asked nervously. Sirius nodded. “It's
just a necklace. Harry gave it to me—”

“He made it in Transfigurations,” explained Ron. Sirius had begun rocking back and forth on the
balls of his feet, reaching his hand to his face.

Then, he stopped as suddenly as he had begun. “Yes,” said Sirius. “I know. I—I'm sorry if
I've scared you. I'm the only one that wanted to tell you. Everyone else thinks you to be
too young. I look at it this way,” he paused, “if you are old enough to take on Voldemort, then you
are old enough to hear the consequences of doing so. I haven't meant to scare you. I just want
you to know. The key is within you. Do not tell Harry.”

He smiled apologetically, and he backed away, as if to transform back into a dog. Hermione and
Ron began to step back, but he grabbed Ron's shoulder as soon as Hermione was out of
earshot.

“If anything should happen to Harry,” whispered Sirius, “protect Hermione. If anything should
happen to Harry, it will have to be her.”

There was no explanation. The great black dog had leapt past Ron and scampered out of Gryffindor
tower.

* * *

By the next morning, the rumors were circulating with full force. Dumbledore had ordered the
teachers to keep silent until he made an announcement the next morning, but some information had
still leaked. Crabbe and Goyle were, indeed, now deceased, and twenty-seven other students had
spent the evening in the hospital wing, and not a single student was unaware of either detail by
the time breakfast appeared on the tables. Everyone talked in low, eager whispers throughout the
meal, and, by the time the plates had been cleared, there wasn't a single person that
hadn't heard about the mysterious person that had tried to break into the Slytherin dungeon the
night before, either.

However, not a single person had a clue about the visitor received in the Gryffindor common room
the night before, and Hermione and Ron weren't about to talk. There was no talking about the
incident on any level, for both Hermione and Ron were so sleep deprived that next morning that it
was a struggle for them to not pass out into their toast and fried eggs.

Seeing his two sleepy friends, Harry couldn't help feel guilty. He still wasn't sure why
they hadn't woken any of the other prefects for duty, and neither Hermione nor Ron seemed eager
to tell. Both insisted that it hadn't been a big deal, but Harry still felt bad. He'd slept
better than he had in a long time; Ron had just fallen face first into his jam-covered toast.

“Ron!” said Harry, shaking his friend's shoulder. Ron sat up with a start, cursing under his
breath. Harry cringed when he noticed the glob of jam stuck in Ron's hair and passed him a
napkin. “Are you okay?”

“Never been better,” said Ron with false sincerity.

“I'm sorry—”

“No, don't be,” insisted Ron quickly. “I didn't mean to be so snappy. I just want
breakfast to be over so I can go back up to our room for some sleep.”

Harry nodded, knowing Ron needed it. Just as Ron reached for a fresh piece of toast, Harry felt
something lean heavily against his arm.

“I think she's out,” observed Ron. Sure enough, Hermione had dozed off and was using Harry
as a pillow; however, Harry made no move to push her away.

“Probably a good thing,” said Harry. “What do you think Dumbledore's going to tell us?”

Ron shrugged. “I'm still not sure there's any explanation for what happened last
night.”

“I really am sorry I went right to sleep on you,” said Harry for the fifth time that morning. “I
don't know what hit me.”

“Everyone else fell right asleep,” said Ron, giving the most information about the night he had
all morning. “It's not a big deal. Hermione and I will be just fine after we get some rest.
Better that just two of us are a little out of it than all of us grumpy from lack of sleep.”

He almost had a point. Harry sighed and finished his toast just as the morning mail came flying
in by means of dozens of owls of various sizes and colors. Hedwig was still upstairs in the Owlery,
as was Pig, but a brown owl almost as hyperactive as Ron's little pet had a delivery for
Hermione. He flapped noisily around her sleeping head before Harry reached up and snatched her mail
from it, shooing it away. Too late. The little owl had startled Hermione awake.

“What?” she muttered groggily. Her eyes flew open and she sat up. “Did I miss anything?”

Harry and Ron both shook their heads. “Your mail just got delivered,” said Harry, passing the
paper to her. “I think it's just your Daily Prophet subscription.”

“Think they'll have anything about what happened here last night?” asked Hermione.

“Open it and find out!” demanded Ron. He had leaned over from his side of the table, looking at
the paper upside down. As it turns out, there was a small mentioning of the incident at Hogwarts,
but it certainly wasn't front-page news. That had been reserved for an article about another
school—Durmstrang.

Seeing the name in the headline, Ron made a grab for the paper, but Hermione jerked it out of
his grasp. “Just a second, Ron! I'm trying to read that, too!”

“Give it to me when you're done,” said Ron. Harry, meanwhile, was looking over
Hermione's shoulder, trying to read as fast as she was. Both of their faces must have gone pale
the farther they read, for Ron said, “Is everything okay? You both look like you've just seen a
ghost!”

Almost like a reminder to where they were, Nearly Headless Nick swooped over their heads. He
didn't even stop to say hello; he was headed in the direction of the staff table. Meanwhile,
Ron was about to go crazy from not knowing.

“Hurry up, will you?” he said. “What's going on?”

Hermione pulled away from the paper first, passing it to Harry so he could finish. She looked
very nervous.

“Hermione!” Ron was whining now. “What's happened?”

“Durmstrang,” whispered Hermione, her expression unreadable, “was also attacked last night.”

“So we were attacked?” pressed Ron. “Was it the same smoke and message kind of thing?”

Hermione shook her head. She looked to Harry. “Nothing like that,” said Harry carefully. “It—er,
it seems to have met the same fate as Beauxbatons.”

“What?” screeched Ron, grabbing the paper right out of Harry's hands, before he'd even
had a chance to finish the article. Half the people in the Great Hall seemed to look towards them
at the sound. Ron's face paled as he read the paper, just as Hermione and Harry's had.

“Durmstrang reduced to rumbled,” whispered Ron, pushing the paper away, as if it were a vile
substance. He looked sick. “What's to say we're not next?”

Hermione shushed Ron. “Don't talk so loudly!” she hissed. “You don't want everyone to
panic. Did you both read the bit about Hogwarts at the end?”

Ron nodded, but Harry shook his head. “They mentioned Hogwarts at the end,” explained Hermione
quickly. “They said that there was an unfortunate event leaving two students dead, but that it is
being regarded as more of a prank than a sign of the Dark Arts.”

“A prank?” asked Harry. “Two students dead, and they're calling it a prank?”

“Maybe they've stopped counting Crabbe and Goyle's type as people,” suggested Ron, and
Hermione kicked him under the table.

“That's not nice, Ron,” she said softly. “They might not have been the kindest of people,
that didn't mean they deserved to die.”

Ron blushed, looking away. Harry didn't blame his friend for his words, but he had a
tendency to agree with Hermione. Then, he remembered his decision to let Peter Pettigrew live after
admitting his role in the deaths of his parents, and Harry couldn't help but shudder. Maybe he
didn't have a real opinion of the matter.

“May I have your attention, please?” Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned in the direction of the
staff table, where Dumbledore was standing. He looked as if he had aged, and his expression was
unusually dour “Thank you. As you all know, Hogwarts played host to some very peculiar, very
unfortunate events last night. However, what happened at our school yesterday evening pales in
comparison to other events last night.

“I regret to inform you that the wizarding school of Durmstrang was taken under siege last night
and destroyed,” said Dumbledore. “This is most certainly the result of some very dark, very evil
magic. Only one person is behind this, and I feel that you are all well aware of whom that is.
There is no denying the strength being gained by Lord Voldemort.”

The Great Hall filled with flinches and gasps, but Harry immediately noticed that Ron and
Hermione had not recoiled as they usually did when they heard the name. Dumbledore looked around
disapprovingly, but continued.

“We might not teach mathematics here at Hogwarts, but I feel you are all smart enough to add the
casualties of recent attacks. With Beauxbatons and Durmstrang destroyed, Hogwarts is the last major
school of magic remaining. Nevertheless, we will carry on as we always do. There is no use fearing
the unknown while it remains unknown. As for last night's events—” Dumbledore paused and
cleared his throat. “As for last night's unfortunate events, it has been confirmed as a very
serious prank. Those responsible have already paid dearly, and you may rest assured there is not a
more serious punishment.”

The Great Hall was silent, and everyone seemed to be having trouble believing that last night
had simply been a prank. Dumbledore started to walk back to his seat, but a small voice from the
Gryffindor table stopped him.

“Professor Dumbledore?” said Ginny Weasley. “Did anyone at Durmstrang survive the attack?”

Dumbledore faced the four house tables once more, taking off his glasses. “No, Miss Weasley,” he
said sadly. “There weren't any survivors.”

You would have had to have been blind to miss the stricken look that immediately appeared on
Ginny's face.

* * *

Ginny had been keeping her secret from the very beginning, long before school even started for
the term. In fact, the origins of her secret stretched back to the school year before. Considering
what the secret was, it was surprising that the first person she came clean to was none other than
Hermione Granger.

“Ginny?” called Hermione gently. She knocked again on the door to the dorm room she shared with
Ginny and three other girls. She tried the doorknob again, but, of course, it was still looked. She
sighed in frustration. “Come on, Ginny. Please open the door and let me in. If you don't,
I'm going to let myself in.”

“Just go away!” exclaimed Ginny. Hermione stopped tugging on the doorknob, pressing her ear up
to the door. She could tell that Ginny was crying, and she just didn't have the heart to force
the door open with magic. “I just want to be alone!”

“Ginny,” pleaded Hermione. She took a step back from the door. As soon as Dumbledore has
finished his announcement, she'd ran out of the Great Hall, looking close to tears. Ron had
begged her to follow his little sister and figure out what was wrong. He had been genuinely
concerned, and so had Harry. Hermione was worried, too, even though this was just one thing on the
list of odd things Ginny had done this year. “Please let me in? I didn't get a chance to sleep
last night, and I just want to rest. I promise I won't bother you.”

The door opened, and Ginny stood there, tears still running down her cheeks. “Can't you go
somewhere else?” she sniffled sullenly, blocking Hermione from entering the room. “Go to one of the
prefect rooms or something. Ron and Harry have their own room; go bother them!”

Noticing how darkly Ginny had spat out her brother and Harry's names, Hermione decided to
take a shot at what was getting to her. “Are you mad or jealous of Ron about something, Ginny?”

“No!” Ginny looked angry now. “I don't care about Ron or what he does, and the only person
I'm mad at right now is you!”

“Me?” Hermione was dumfounded. “Why are you mad at me?”

“Don't act so shocked!” screamed Ginny. The rest of the Gryffindors had returned for
breakfast, and the two girls got several curious glances as the other girls headed back to their
rooms. Ginny took no notice. “Not everyone likes you, Hermione Granger, or did you forget that?
Just because you had Viktor wrapped around your finger, and now Harry, doesn't mean you're
better than everyone else!”

Now the rest of the Gryffindor girls weren't even making an attempt to cover their interest.
They came to the door of their dorm rooms, staring at Ginny and Hermione.

“Ginny,” said Hermione, trying to keep calm. “I don't know what you're talking
about.”

Ginny wasn't listening. She had wandered back to her bed and thrown herself on it, in tears
again. Hermione gave a spiteful look to all the gaping girls in the hallway and slammed the door
shut. She walked over to Ginny's bed and pulled the hanging's back. She tried again.

“I really don't know what you're talking about,” said Hermione, trying again.

Ginny sat up, clutching her pillow, still crying. “I'm sorry, Hermione,” she sobbed. “I
didn't mean to yell at you. I—I—I—”

“What's happened, Ginny?” Hermione said. She wasn't sure what to do for the sobbing
girl.

Ginny wiped her tears away with closed fits. She looked up at Hermione with wide eyes. “Do you
promise not to get mad at me?” she whispered.

“I promise,” said Hermione, still baffled by what could possibly be upsetting the girl.

“And do you promise you won't tell Ron?” she asked, still sniffling.

“I won't tell your brother anything you don't want me too.”

Ginny smiled at her gratefully. “I've—I'd been seeing Viktor Krum.”

Hermione scooted away from Ginny, looking surprised. She hadn't even been aware that Ginny
knew Viktor. She was about to ask Ginny when that had come about, but Ginny cut her off.

“I was so in awe of him last year,” explained Ginny. “When you grow up with six brothers,
you're familiar with almost every famous Quidditch player. He saw you in the library last year
and wanted to get to know you better,” she said miserably, “and he'd seen me talking with you
before. He started talking to me because he wanted to know more about you, but then he stopped
asking about you and started asking about me. He told me how pretty he thought I was, and how smart
and nice.”

Hermione was truly dumbfounded. She'd had no idea that Krum had even talked to Ginny before.
Now, it seemed that they'd know each other quite well. “I didn't know,” she said
numbly.

Ginny nodded, and she suddenly tossed the pillow she was clutching as hard as she could against
the wall. “Then he asked you to the Yule Ball! I went with Neville just because I wanted to see if
Krum really liked you.” The younger girl closed her eyes as if she was remembering the events of
the year before. “It was so hard to act like I didn't care! No one was supposed to know I liked
Viktor! Oh, I'm so sorry, Hermione!” She was wailing again.

“Shh, it's okay,” said Hermione comfortingly. Ginny had buried her face in her hands, and
Hermione patted her back gently. “It's okay, Ginny. A lot of girls liked Viktor last year.”

Ginny looked up, her cheeks stained with tears. “You don't understand,” she said miserably.
“I—er—well—Viktor would always spend time with me after he spent time with you. On the very last
day of school, right before we went to get on the Hogwarts Express, he caught up with me and
promised to write me all summer and suggested that I come and visit him. I had no idea he'd
done told you the same thing, Hermione!”

Hermione's head was spinning. He had told her the same thing, and Ginny obviously knew that
now. She still couldn't Viktor had something going with Ginny the last year. Her mind was
racing. Ginny didn't know what had happened between them that summer, did she?

“Ginny,” said Hermione cautiously, careful of where she tread. “You said that you had been
seeing Viktor? Was that—recently, too?”

Ginny nodded furiously. She seemed unable to form words for a moment. “Oh, Hermione. I felt so
bad about it because of you! He's been with me alone since the two of you had your falling out!
I thought—I thought he told you about me.”

“Oh, he did,” said Hermione darkly. Everything was starting to fall into place. She remembered
Krum screaming that he had another girl he liked much better than her. She didn't tell Ginny
that, though.

“I wanted to go see him,” said Ginny. “He sent me letters every single day during the second
half of the summer. I tried to tell Ron about it, and he laughed at me! He just shook his head and
said, `Ginny, you're being delusional! I know Krum's a fantastic Quidditch player, but
he's all Hermione's!' I was so upset! Now, he's gone, and I'll never get to see
him again!”

Hermione could only think that was probably for the best, but she chose not to say that, either.
Ginny obviously had no idea what had happened this summer, and she wasn't about to fill her in.
Ginny was obviously enamored with Krum, and Hermione had a feeling she'd get things thrown at
her if she tried to convince her otherwise. “It's going to be okay, Ginny,” she said
soothingly.

“That's easy for you to say!” said Ginny. The tears had begun again. “You never cared about
him like I do!”

She had cared about him, probably just as much as Ginny. Hermione shook her head. It was
probably best Ginny had never found out about Krum what she had. “I did too,” she said carefully,
and quickly added, “but of course, that was over a long time ago.”

“It's not fair,” sniffled Ginny. “You had Viktor, and now you have Harry. You're so
lucky, Hermione. They're the only two guys I've ever liked.”

“Harry?” asked Hermione, perplexed. “What are you talking about, Ginny? Harry's my friend,
just like Ron's my friend.”

“That's not true,” Ginny scoffed. “Have you ever noticed how he looks at you?”

“Ginny!” exclaimed Hermione. “Harry is my friend!”

“That you're in love with!” added Ginny angrily. Suddenly, her tone softened. “Oh, Hermione,
I didn't mean to yell at you again. I'm just so upset about Viktor! I can't believe
he's gone!”

Hermione chose to ignore her wails. She doubted Ginny even understood love; it seemed that what
she had with Viktor was just a one-sided adoration. Hermione had seen a side of him that most
people didn't get to, and it wasn't his charming wizard act. She'd seen his sinister
side, and she had her own dark tale about it. In all actuality, she was still mad at herself for
being sucked in.

“Is that why you've acted so strangely lately?” Hermione wanted to know. “This summer—you
were in a foul mood with your brothers, and you always sneak around school.”

Ginny nodded, miserably. “I send him letters all the time,” she said. “I didn't want anyone
to know because I was afraid they'd tell you or Harry or Ron or Fred or George or someone like
that. So I sneak out every night to the Owlery.”

Now, it all really mad sense. Hermione patted Ginny's back gently once more. “Are you going
to be okay?”

“I might,” said Ginny, a bit dramatically. “I would like to be left alone for awhile, though—do
you mind?”

Hermione shook her head. “I'll go up to the prefect common room and get my rest,” she lied,
having no intention of doing so. She might have promised not to tell Ron, but she needed to talk to
Harry. Slipping quietly out the door, she noticed that a lot of the girls were still listening from
the doorframe of their own rooms.

“Hermione!” called a short second year with long blonde hair. Hermione remembered her as being
quite a little gossip. “What's going on with Ginny?”

“It's none of your business,” snapped Hermione, making her way to the stairwell. Several
older girls looked at her anxiously, as if they expected her to tell them.

“Oh, get a life!” Hermione chided, her conversation with Ginny having given her a second energy.
She'd been dead exhausted before talking with Ron's little sister, but now the only thing
she could think about was finding Harry. She'd put off telling him for a long time—too long,
she realized. She only hoped that he remembered their conversation back at the Weasleys' all
those weeks before.

When she got down to the common room, a quick glance around told her that Harry wasn't
there. Hermione let out a sigh of frustration. There weren't any boys hanging around there,
either, so she couldn't very well send someone into the boys' dormitory to find him for
her. She was about to give up when she remembered that Ron had been up with her the night before.
Ron had said at breakfast that he wanted to sleep, and she figured Harry wouldn't hang around
for that. Hermione headed up in the direction of the prefect common room.

“Dally shanks,” said Hermione when she reached the discreet portrait of Godric Gryffindor's
daughter at a young age. The girl in the portrait smiled at her as moved out of the way.

Sure enough, Harry was sprawled out on the couch with his large History of Magic textbook. He
might look relaxed enough, but Hermione could tell by the expression on his face that he was still
bothered by what had happened.

“We need to talk,” said Hermione as she burst into the room, slightly out of breath, and so
suddenly that Harry jumped and dropped his book.

“Hermione!” he exclaimed, sitting up on the couch and making room for her next to him.
“What's wrong? You look—frightened?”

“You could call it that,” quipped Hermione. She had caught her breath and sat down next to him.
“I just got done talking to Ginny.”

“That bad?”

Hermione scrunched up her nose. “I'm not sure what you'd call it,” she said finally. “It
was pretty surprising. I wasn't expecting it, that's for sure.”

“Can you tell me about it, or has she sworn you to secrecy?” Harry wanted to know.

“Well,” said Hermione. Ginny had specifically asked her not to tell Ron, but she hadn't said
anything about Harry. Hermione decided she'd just have to take that risk. “She told me not to
tell Ron.”

“But nothing about me?” Harry seemed to be on to her train of thought. “I don't like keeping
things from him, but I won't tell Ron.”

Hermione smiled gratefully, but she couldn't help but think of what she and Ron were hiding
from Harry. There was no time to worry about that, however, and she quickly relayed to him
everything Ginny had shared with her. By the time she reached the end of the story, Harry was
looking every bit as surprised as she had felt.

“Wow,” he murmured as she finished. “I can't believe that's been going on this whole
time! How could we have not noticed something was wrong?”

“We did notice something was different,” reminded Hermione. “Ron and his brothers noticed how
strangely she was acting this summer, and we saw that with our own eyes, even.”

“You said it was just her growing up,” said Harry.

“I thought it was,” said Hermione grimly. “I—well, Viktor told me he had another girl, but I
never imagined it was Ginny Weasley!”

“It just sounds absurd,” agreed Harry, saying exactly what Hermione was thinking. He looked
astonished, but he suddenly blinked a few times. Hermione realized he was looking at her
intently.

“Why,” he said quietly, and he took her hands in his for a second. He looked up and met her
gaze. “Why do I have a feeling that this ties right in with what you wouldn't tell me this
summer?”

So he hadn't forgotten. Judging by the look on his face, he might have given what Hermione
hadn't told him more thought than what she had. She had known when she rushed up here that she
wouldn't be able to communicate what Ginny had shared with her without explaining what had
happened between her and Viktor. Hermione took a deep breath.

“Because it does,” said Hermione. She locked her eyes with his.

“I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or put you on the spot,” said Harry quietly,
“but I'm here to listen if you want to tell me about it.”

“After I spent a solid week begging my parents for permission, they finally agreed to let me
visit Viktor. It was just the third week of summer, and I planned to stay there for three more,”
whispered Hermione. She hadn't told anyone the story before, and she wasn't even sure where
to begin. Harry seemed to sense this, and he grabbed her hand and offered her a reassuring smile.
“It didn't exactly work out that way.

“Viktor was different than he was at school. He didn't `waste time' with being sweet or
romantic. When he took me to meet his friends, I felt like I was some kind of trophy he had won. I
thought I had done something wrong to make him act that way,” said Hermione miserably. “He started
to want more of me, but I wasn't willing to give him that. I just wasn't ready. I tried to
explain that to him, and he got so angry with me! He started throwing things around and yelling at
me. He eventually calmed down, but he then he tried to talk me into it. When I refused for a second
time and then a third, he wouldn't accept it. He pinned me down and wouldn't let me up. Oh
Harry, I was so scared he was going to—to—that he was going to—”

Harry had her in his arms immediately. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, a few tears
making their way down her face. She felt safe with Harry; he always had a way of making her feel
better.

“You don't have to say it,” he said reassuringly. Suddenly, he pulled back, a look of fear
on his face. “Wait, you said tried to. Merlin, Hermione, he didn't, did he?”

“No,” said Hermione. “I had my wand with me. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I had to.
Jelly-Legs was enough to get him off of me. He started screaming about how I was just a worthless
Mudblood and how he had another girl that was `much more willing.' Then it seemed to dawn on
him that there is no restriction on using magic during the summer at Durmstrang.”

“It doesn't apply to them?” Harry cut in.

“No, it doesn't. I never understood why until that evening,” said Hermione lightly. Her
throat suddenly felt dry, and she wished desperately for a glass of water. “Harry, Viktor was being
trained as a Death Eater.”

“Krum was what?” spat Harry. “Hermione, that's impossible!”

Hermione shook her head grimly. “I scarcely believed it myself. He went off about Lord
Voldemort's return to power. He said that he only wanted me to get closer to you, and since
that hadn't worked, he had no use for me anymore. He pointed his wand at me and told me to
prepare to die—”

Suddenly, Hermione realized just how absurd what she was saying sounded, and Harry was looking
at her with disbelieve. She quickly slipped off her Hogwarts robe and began fumbling with the
buttons on her shirt.

“Do you remember what Professor Lupin taught us the very first week about the Death Eaters?”
asked Hermione. She would have to show him before she lost her nerve. Harry nodded, but he was
looking at her like she was crazier than ever. “Do you remember what the Dark Scar is?”

“Of course I do,” said Harry. “It's sort of like the Dark Mark. The Death Eaters have their
own spells for their misdoings, and anyone that gets caught in the middle of one ends up with the
Dark Scar, whether they live or die. Hermione, why are you getting—”

There. Hermione could feel her cheeks burning bright red, but she had to show it to him. Harry
had stopped in mid sentence. He looked up at her in utter disbelief, but his cheeks too went
scarlet. Hermione was already buttoning the top of her blouse back up, silently wishing the mark
was somewhere other than right above her chest. That had to have been the most embarrassing
situation she'd ever been in.

“No wonder you looked so uncomfortable that day in class,” said Harry finally.

-->



6. The Belwit Curse
-------------------



Chapter Six

THE BELWIT CURSE

After a lot of discussion, Harry and Hermione had finally decided there wasn't really
anything they could do about what had happened with Ginny. What they both wanted was to tell Ron,
but they couldn't because of Hermione's promise to Ginny. Harry had also wanted Hermione to
go to Dumbledore about Krum's truest identity. However, Hermione had been more opposed to that
idea than telling Ron about Ginny.

“Harry!” she had protested. “Dumbledore has more than enough to worry about right now! The last
thing he needs is to worry about is my old romantic interests! Besides,” Hermione had added, “what
would he think if you went in there saying you'd seen I had Dark Scar? He'd be wondering
what we were doing when you happened to notice that!”

When she had put it like that, Harry had been a lot less eager to go to the headmaster. However,
that meant that nothing was done about any part of the situation, and second thoughts about it hung
over both Harry and Hermione's heads for a long time.

* * *

Harry and Hermione might have been preoccupied with their worries about Ginny and Krum, but
everyone else in the school had their own worries as well. A few of the more overdramatic students
managed to convince themselves in the weeks after Durmstrang was destroyed that Hogwarts would be
next, and the unfortunate deaths of Crabbe and Goyle were enough to captivate everyone else's
attention.

Hermione was worried about all those three things, but she had a fourth and fifth worry as well.
Try as she might, she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling she had had since Sirius's midnight
visit. She and Ron spent a lot more time together after that night, discussing what they had been
told. As for that fifth worry, it was more of a secret, and the only thing she shared it with was
Crookshanks, and even that was only after everyone else was fast asleep.

Slowly but surely, the majority of students abandoned their fears. They had more important
things to talk about, namely the Christmas Dance. Unlike the Yule Ball, this event was open to
every grade; however, most of the first, second, and third years had no interest in going or had
been dissuaded by a teacher or older student. For the most part, the majority of them still felt no
need to spend any more time with the opposite sex than absolutely necessary.

But then, in the third week of November, even the gossip about the Yule Ball was discarded. The
long-delayed first game of Quidditch, between the ever-exciting match up of Gryffindor and
Slytherin, fueled almost every minute of conversation for at least ten days.

* * *

“Okay women,” said the new Gryffindor team Quidditch captain Angelina Johnson gleefully,
obviously exercising her own, revised version of Oliver Wood's speech. Instead of correcting
her, Ron, Harry, Dean, George, and Fred rolled their eyes. She continued. “This is the best team
Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it.”

Her speech sent her and Alicia Spinnet into a fit of giggles, but it was obvious she was very
serious with her borrowed words. She gave them a wide-eyed, slightly nervous expression.

“We are going to win,” repeated Angelina. “I'm not kidding, you guys. We've been
practicing every day for nearly a month, which is almost more than the other three teams combined.
I have faith in you guys—so get out there and kick some Slytherin butt!”

Her speech ended up serving its purpose. As they marched out on the field in their scarlet
robes, cheers flew up from the Gryffindor section of the stand and even from the commentator's
box. Lee Jordan shouted his own unique brand of encouragement as they mounted their brooms.

The Slytherin team did the same, only they looked much more nervous than the Gryffindors. Harry
recognized about four of the burly boys on the brooms, and he was pretty sure that the third year
at the end of the row was the younger brother of Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain from four
years before. The other two had to be new recruits, and he knew they weren't in his grade
because he had never seen them in class before. With Malfoy gone, he was sure it had been
interesting trying to assemble a team that year. Still, Harry didn't want to be too quick to
judge. He'd never played against three of the Slytherins before, and he wasn't about to
make the mistake of underestimating them.

“Keep it fair, everyone,” commanded Madam Hooch, mounting her own broom. “I won't tolerate
any illegal play.” Seconds later, she gave her silver whistle a shrill blast, and fifteen brooms
rose higher and higher in the air.

“They're off!” exclaimed Jordan in a booming voice. “It looks like Captain Angelina Johnson
of Gryffindor has the Quaffle, and she's taking it toward the goal posts. Wow! Ten points for
Gryffindor already! Slytherin Keeper Gregory Flint wasn't even on the same end of the field
that time! Quaffle taken by Slytherins, no, Gryffindor—well, it looks like Slytherins have it
again! YES! That had to hurt! One of the Weasley twins sent a Bludger in the direction of Slytherin
Chaser Moon that nearly took him off his broom! Gryffindor has the Quaffle, and Chaser Ron Weasley
puts it in! Once again, Flint's nowhere near the goal, but maybe red hair isn't the only
thing those Weasley brothers have in common! Slytherin has the Quaffle, but an excellent play by
Keeper Thomas keeps it out of the goal! Gryffindor has the Quaffle, Spinnet passes to Johnson, and
she's going for the goal—whoa, that—that's a FOUL! THAT'S A DIRTY ROTTEN—”

Obviously, Professor McGonagall had snatched the microphone away from Jordan, but his loud
curses were still easily identifiable. He was right—it was a foul, and Madam Hooch called it as
one.

“Flint creams into Johnson on his way to defend the goal, so penalty to Gryffindor—of course,
they put it away cleanly—Slytherin in possession. There's a lot of passing going on between
those Chasers—wow, it looks like they might actually—never mind, folks. Gryffindor Keeper Thomas
manages to block it, even with two Bludgers heading straight for him! Chaser Weasley has the
Quaffle again, and he's making a beeline for the goal post—LOOK OUT! That was a close call for
the youngest Weasley, but he still manages to—SCORE FOR GRYFFINDOR! If I were Slytherin, I'd
watch it with those Bludgers, because it's getting personal for the Weasley twins. Slytherin
has the Quaffle again; they're nearing the goal—and another excellent play by the Gryffindor
Keeper stops them from scoring! How many does that make now?”

At about that moment, up in the air, one of the Slytherin Beaters had started following Angelina
as soon as soon as she'd gotten the Quaffle. He beckoned to the second Beater, who sent him a
Bludger that he smashed straight into the side of Angelina's head. Harry was just feet from her
and positive she was going to fall off her broom, and he was amazed when she not only managed to
stay in the air, but she also sent the ball in Ron's direction, who got it into the goal.
Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor side of the field, and Madam Hooch called a penalty for
unnecessary roughness. Even though she still looked a little dizzy, Angelina put it in the goal,
bringing the score up to fifty to zero, Gryffindor.

Back on the ground, the commentating had stopped for a moment while Professor McGonagall yelled
at Jordan for cursing into the microphone. It resumed a few moments later. “Er, sorry folks, had to
have a bit of talk with Professor McGonagall. Great lady, that Professor McGonagall. Johnson put
the penalty shot in cleanly; Gryffindor leads by fifty points, and there's still no sign of the
Snitch! Gryffindor still remains in possession, passing furiously, and those Slytherin Beaters look
like they're about to go crazy with that many directions to send things. OUCH! Now I know that
hurt! Just as he went to knock a Bludger in the direction of Chaser Johnson, Slytherin Beater Marks
took a Bludger right in the stomach! I can't tell them apart, but I think that was Fred, Fred
Weasley, Mr. Fred Weasley. He and Johnson have been having quite a thing for awhile, and it
wouldn't surprise me if—”

“If I commentated for the rest of the match,” said Professor McGonagall. From next to her,
Jordan started howling, and ten minutes later, she gave his job back to him. Up in the air, the
Gryffindors were completely shutting out the Slytherins, ninety to nothing. Harry hadn't seen
the Snitch yet, but he was having a great time darting around, faking dives, and whirling around in
the air to confuse the other Seeker.

Pulling up from his umpteenth dive, Harry leveled out, getting ready to seriously look for the
Snitch. However, he never got the chance. Just as his Nimbus 2000 had started jumping about in his
very first Quidditch match, the Firebolt started to buck widely. Harry struggled to hold on, and he
noticed that he wasn't the only one. All around the field, brooms were shaking and diving and
spinning at seemingly their own will. Ron, on one of the school brooms, seemed to have the worst of
it, and Harry steered the Firebolt, to the best of his abilities, toward his friend.

“Something's—wrong—with—this—broom,” Ron was yelling. It jerked to the left, away from
Harry, and plummeted into a tailspin. At the last minute, the broom pulled upwards and flew
straight upward into the air, leaving Ron behind. Harry tried to get control of his broom as he saw
his best friend suspended in the air for the shortest moment, but there was no controlling the
Firebolt. With a sick lurch, it slid to one side as Ron fell swiftly back to earth.

Angelina screamed. Her own broom was performing a similar tailspin, but she seemed more
concerned about her fallen teammate than her own safety. Harry could relate to the same hopeless
feeling. He tried to guide the Firebolt to the ground, but instead, it started careening sideways,
and he smashed into George Weasley. The impact nearly knocked them both from their brooms, but they
were able to gain control afterwards.

Harry was the first one to reach the ground again, and he realized that he had only been in the
air a few seconds longer than Ron. The teachers were still running towards him, and from
Harry's prospective it did not look good. He had no time to think, however, because Alicia
Spinnet was the next to tumble out of the air. Together, he and George, the only two that had any
kind of control on their brooms, managed to catch her just in time.

All around him, the other Quidditch players were finally descending on their brooms. Harry
tossed his Firebolt aside and rushed over to Ron. A small crowd had already assembled around him,
and Harry couldn't shove his way through.

“Let me get closer!” said Harry angrily, but no one was listening to him. There was a lot of
muttering and panicked whisper.

“Look up there!”

Harry turned. Angelina had just touched the ground again, but she was looking skyward. In the
same gray smoke, there was another message: Do you believe me now?

* * *

Hogwarts was unusually silent. Back in the Gryffindor common room, no one was talking. There
wasn't a one of them that hadn't been at the Quidditch match, they had all seen the out of
control brooms, and they had all seen Ron fall. There was nothing they could do but wait. Even the
Slytherins were quiet, back in their own tower. They seemed to realize that it could have easily
been one of them that took a fall.

Several of stall members, including Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch, had been permitted
inside the hospital wing. Dumbledore had even been called from his office; he was the one that
permitted a small group of students to wait right outside of the hospital even after Madam Pomfrey
had shooed them away. Harry and Hermione, being Ron's closest friends, were there, along with
Anna. The three other Weasley siblings were there, along with Angelina Johnson and the rest of the
Gryffindor Quidditch team. There was very little talking at first.

George was the first one to break the silence. He'd been sitting with his arm around Ginny,
looking stunned, but had still managed to comfort his little sister.

“This is torture,” he said finally.

“Ron's tough,” said Harry, trying to be optimistic. Someone had to be. “He'll pull
through this. They'll probably let us in there any minute.”

“And Ron will be sitting up in bed,” added Hermione with a slight giggle, “asking who won the
match and declaring he feels fine and wants to leave.”

Anna had been the quietest of all. She was sitting a little off from the rest of the group,
sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees. “That sounds like Ron,” she said weakly.

“He's been through worse, Anna,” said Harry, catching the misery in her voice. He'd been
sitting with Hermione, but he moved over to Anna's side. “You'll see. Madam Pomfrey's a
miracle worker. She'll have Ron fixed up in no time.”

“Harry's right,” said Dean Thomas, catching on. He, too, went to Anna's side. “Just give
it a little more time. You'll see.”

Anna nodded, a look of resolve on her face. “The other day he was trying to climb some tree
outside,” she said, “and he kept slipping. I told him that if he managed to kill himself, I'd
kill him again. I reckon the same applies here.”

“Good girl,” said Alicia approvingly.

“That's the spirit,” said George brightly. “Come to think, if you killed Ron, he probably
wouldn't mind, since it's you and all.”

Everyone managed a laugh, weak or not, except for Fred Weasley. He'd been staring blankly
ahead of him since they'd arrived at the door to the hospital. While they had all tried to push
their way through the crowd to see Ron, he was the only one that managed to get through. It seemed
as if that glimpse had been enough to take him out of it. Suddenly, though, he sprang to life.

“Don't you get it?” said Fred angrily. “He tumbled over fifty feet to the ground! He hit his
head! You won't be joking about it when they tell you he's dead and gone!”

“Don't say that, Fred,” said George, looking astonished by his brother's outburst.
“Ron'll pull through. Remember? He's been through worse before! Didn't you hear
Harry?”

“You didn't see him!” Fred was on his feet. “It was all that stupid school broom! The rest
of us have our own, and we didn't fall!”

“Fred,” said Alicia carefully, “I fell, and I had my own broom. I know you're upset, but
please calm down.”

“Calm down?” Fred was pacing. “It's my own fault! He'd be fine if it hadn't been for
me! I'll see you all later. I have to go send an owl to Mum and Dad telling them what
happened.”

Everyone stared at him in astonishment as he slunk down the hall. Angelina was the first to say
something, a wide-eyed expression on her face.

“What's he talking about?”

George looked back down the hall grimly. “Ron had an old broom of Charlie's this summer. It
wasn't a Firebolt,” he explained, glancing at Harry, “but it was a decent broom. Fred—er, he
accidentally blew it up. Long story, but he's obviously blaming it on the school broom, which
means he's blaming himself because Ron had to use it.”

“It wasn't the school broom!” said Angelina suddenly. “One of the Slytherins was on a school
broom, and he didn't fall off! He got close, yes, but he didn't fall.”

George sighed. “Give him a chance to cool off. He's got himself convinced one way and
won't think otherwise no matter what you tell him. I'll work on him tonight.”

“Have they let you see Ron yet?”

The group had been so transfixed by Fred's sudden outburst and George's explanation that
they didn't notice Professor Lupin approaching them.

“No,” said Hermione, “I guess Madam Pomfrey is still working on him. Dumbledore and Professor
McGonagall are in there, too.”

Lupin stroked his chin a few times as if he were thinking. “I know,” he said absently. “I hate
to sound unsympathetic, but I need to see your brooms, the ones you were flying on. Do you know
where they are?”

“Mine's right here,” said Harry, jumping up, grabbing the Firebolt, and handing it to Lupin.
He stepped back.

“Thank you, Harry,” said Lupin. “Do the rest of you have yours? We need all of them to figure
out what's wrong.”

All the Quidditch team members were passing their brooms to him. George handing him Fred's
as well, and Lupin smiled gratefully.

“I'll let you know whatever we find out,” he promised. “Tell Mr. Weasley, when you see him,
that I'm wishing him the best.”

“We will,” said Anna. A few seconds later, Lupin was gone, and the door to the hospital wing
opened. Professor McGonagall was holding it open, her expression unreadable.

“You may come in,” she said softly, “but you must be quiet. Madam Pomfrey frowns upon your
entering, but she is permitting it on Ron's behalf.”

The group stood up eagerly. Harry could see Anna was smiling, as was Hermione. He couldn't
help but smile, too. Surely, Ron was doing all right. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be able to let
them in if he wasn't.

Or would she? The first thing they noticed was not Ron, but the school nurse, who was
sobbing.

“There hasn't been one yet I wasn't able to heal,” she was saying to the headmaster. “I
don't know what's gotten into me. I—”

“You did all you could, Poppy, which is your job. It's not your fault that there's
nothing more for you to do,” said Dumbledore grimly.

* * *

Harry was at the back of the group when it pushed silently through the door. Hermione walked in
on one side of him, and Anna was on the other. His face went pale when he heard Dumbledore's
words. The next thing he felt was Hermione clutching onto him and burying her face in his shoulder.
On his other side, Anna started backing away. Harry stopped her, catching her with his other
arm.

“What are you two—” Harry broke off. He had seen Ron.

Ron was not, in fact, sitting up, laughing and joking with his well wishers. His face was ashen,
and he was lying back on one of the stark white hospital beds, not moving. His head had been
wrapped with a white bandage, his arm was in a sling, and his eyes were closed. He looked—

“Is he—you know—is he?” whimpered Ginny.

Dumbledore shook his head; he stood. “He's not dead, dear,” the old headmaster said
soothingly. He patted Ginny's shoulder.

“Then why does he look like that?” George wanted to know.

“He's suffered a great head trauma,” said Madam Pomfrey, pulling herself together and
standing up. She touched Ron gently, and he did not stir. She faced his family, friends, and
teammates, her eyes full of pity. “I'm so sorry. I can't do any more for him.”

“He's not going to be like that forever, right?” asked Anna. Hermione had let go of him and
was standing about a foot away with her hand over her mouth in shock. Anna, on the other hand, was
still glued to Harry's side. Usually, Harry wouldn't feel right with his best friend's
girlfriend hanging on him like that, but this wasn't a usual circumstance. The poor girl had
silent tears streaming down her face, and she was trembling.

“I don't know,” admitted Madam Pomfrey. She was moving around, cleaning up the area around
Ron. “Even if he does wake up, he might not ever be the same.”

“Now Poppy,” said Dumbledore, passing through the group. He worked his way to Harry and Anna.
“Don't be so pessimistic. This is a Weasley that we're talking about.” He gave Anna a
reassuring smile. “George, Ginny—I'm sure you all remember when your older brother Charlie took
a nasty tumble off his broom all those years ago. We thought we'd lost him, too,” said
Dumbledore, “but he pulled through for everyone, just as Ron will. Have faith.”

The headmaster left then. Harry watched him walk out of the hospital, noticing the look on his
face. His words were reassuring, but his expression was grim. However, Harry wasn't about to
call attention to that fact. He swallowed.

“Dumbledore's right, you guys,” said Harry. “He wouldn't tell us something if he
didn't believe it himself. Ron'll be okay.”

“That's a good attitude, Mr. Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Now, I'm going to have to ask
you to leave. There's no use for you all standing around until Mr. Weasley is up. Go, go on
now!”

Everyone filtered out silently, without protest. They stopped in the hall, just looking at each
other. Surprisingly, it was George, again, that acted as a leader.

“Come on,” said George finally. “Let's go back to the Gryffindor tower—you too, Anna.
I'm sure we can make a few allowances in a time like this.”

* * *

That had been late afternoon on Saturday, and Ron's condition had not changed a bit by
Monday morning. Classes would continue despite everyone's somber attitude, and breakfast that
morning was a terse affair. It had been hard to get through meals with Ron's empty seat glaring
at them. After breakfast, Harry and Hermione headed straight to Defense Against the Dark Arts
without talking; the rest of the Gryffindors followed suit a few minutes later.

“It's hard to focus on anything with Ron gone,” said Harry, glancing over at Ron's empty
seat. Hermione sat down on his other side.

“Don't let it get you down,” whispered Hermione. She gave Harry a reassuring smile and
squeezed his hand. “Madam Pomfrey is known for assuming the worst. Remember? She nearly had you
convinced I wasn't going to make it, either, and I'm right here!”

Hermione had a point. “I won't,” said Harry. “Do you think Lupin's figured out what went
wrong with the brooms yet?”

“I still don't understand why he wanted them. The last time this happened,” said Hermione,
glancing at Harry, “it wasn't the broomstick; it was a person.”

“I think it's because it happened to all of us,” said Harry. “I don't think a person
could make everyone's go bizerk at same time.”

It wouldn't be much longer before they had their answer, but neither Harry nor Hermione knew
it. At about that moment, Professor Lupin entered the classroom from his office. The Friday before,
he'd told them they'd be working out of their books at the beginning of the week, but he
didn't have a book in his hand. He stood before the class, leaning against his desk.

“I know I said we would be taking some notes from our books today, but there's been a change
of plans,” informed Lupin. He clapped his hands. “So put those away—you won't be needing them.
We will continue our study of Dark creatures and their involvement with Dark wizards of the past
sometime next week. I know you went in-depth about the unforgivable curses last year. I would to
talk about curses today.”

Lupin walked around his desk to the blackboard. He wrote out the names of the three unforgivable
curses—Imperius, Cruciatus, and Avada Kedavra—and turned to face the class. No one was talking,
even though it was the first time they had swayed from the curriculum that year. Lupin tapped his
wand against the board to make a point.

“It is these curses—these three curses—that we consider the `unforgivable curses.' However,
I have always felt a fourth should be included in this group, and it is the Belwit Curse,” said
Lupin. “Most do not agree with me, for the Belwit Curse cannot be used directly against fellow
witch, wizard, or Muggle. How many of you have heard of the Belwit Curse before?”

The majority of the class raised their hands. Every single student with witch or wizard
parentage but Harry raised theirs, and the only student with two Muggle parents to raise her hand
was Hermione.

“But Professor Lupin,” said Lavender Brown, “the Belwit Curse isn't bad! My mother uses it
all the time to enchant brooms into sweeping the floor and stuff. How could that be as bad as—”—she
lowered her voice—“Avada Kedavra?”

“There is no curse as bad as Avada Kedavra,” said Lupin sharply. “What other ways have you seen
the Belwit Curse used?”

Now that he thought about it, Harry had seen the Belwit Curse before, at least. He raised his
hand. “Mrs. Weasley has pots and pans that cook dinner for her.”

“My grandma used it on a pair of knitting needles one Christmas,” said Neville, “so she could
finish everyone's family sweaters in time.”

“My mam uses everyday,” declared Seamus. “When my sister was a baby, she fixed the changing
table to do the job for her!”

“Very good examples,” said Lupin proudly, “but none of you have said the example, in particular,
that I'm thinking of. Miss Granger, may I count on you to provide the class a definition of the
Belwit Curse?”

“It's a simple curse that gives an inanimate object the ability of thought,” said Hermione.
“It enchants them to perform exactly one specific function when given the command.”

“Very good!” said Lupin. “Can you tell me what curse it is an offshoot off?”

“Imperius,” said Hermione automatically, “and it is sometimes associated with Transfiguration.”
Harry gave her a grin and thumbs up for her answers, and she blushed.

“Hermione is correct,” said Lupin. “It seems harmless enough, right? A curse that cooks dinner
and sweeps the floor? What's wrong with that?”

Hermione's hand was up in the air again. “An object could be cursed to do harm against
someone.”

“Excellent. What about this? Has any one of you seen it used improperly? No one?” Lupin shook
his head. “That's not the right answer. You have all seen it before.”

He was behind his desk, bending over, picking something up. He stood, holding what looked like
an ordinary broomstick. Suddenly, Harry caught the sight of the word “Firebolt” in gold script on
its handle. Harry was the only person in school that owned such a broom.

“This belongs to Harry,” said Lupin, tossing the broom gently to him. He was back behind his
desk again, and he pulled out several more brooms. “This is Angelina Johnson's, Dean
Thomas's—catch—these identical brooms belong to the Weasley twins, this one is Alicia
Spinnet's, and this—” He held up the last broom, more ordinary look than the other six. “This
broom belongs to the school, but it has been checked out by Ron Weasley for the majority of the
school year. Can anyone tell me what these seven brooms have in common? Neville? Why don't you
give it a shot?”

Neville was trembling; he had not had his hand in the air. “They—they—they're being used by
the Gryffindor Quidditch team?”

Lupin nodded his head from side to side. “That's true,” he said finally, “but not the
response I was looking for. What I was hoping you would say is that the Belwit Curse bewitched them
all. The brooms used by the Slytherin team two days ago were enchanted with the same curse.”

There were gasps from around the class. Harry went pale, as did Dean. Harry, who had been
clutching his Firebolt since Lupin had thrown it to him, dropped it onto his desk as if it were
lethal.

“Now,” asked Lupin. “Who doesn't believe that Belwit Curse can't be as dangerous as
those considered unforgivable?” No one dared object to Lupin's claim. “Then we'll continue
with our lesson..”

Lupin spent the rest of class providing demonstrations of the Belwit Curse. He taught them how
to perform the simplest level of it, which could not be used for Dark magic. Then, he began talking
about the counter curse. He was about to demonstrate when the end of class was called.

“We'll finish next time,” said Lupin, ushering students in the direction of the door.
“Harry, may I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure, Professor Lupin,” said Harry, shoving his Defense Against the Dark Arts text into his
book bag. “Save me a seat at lunch, Hermione.”

“You can stay, too, Hermione,” said Lupin. He finished beckoning Neville out the door and shut
it behind him. “Don't forget your Firebolt, Harry. I already performed the counter curse on
it.”

Harry looked relieved. He grabbed the broom and joined Hermione in front of Lupin's desk.
“Thank you.”

“It's no problem,” chuckled Lupin, and his expression then turned serious. “How's Ron
doing?”

“No change,” said Hermione grimly. “And Madam Pomfrey won't let more than two or three
people in at once. Fred, George, and Ginny don't exactly want to leave.”

“Well, he is their brother,” said Lupin, “but that's not what I wanted to talk to you
about.”

“What is it, then?” Harry wanted to know.

“Other than Ron's misfortune,” started Lupin, “I don't know if you realize how serious
Saturday's events are. Someone out there has it in for you, Harry.”

“Don't you mean that someone has it out there for the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch
teams?” asked Hermione. “Both teams' brooms were bewitched, after all.”

“True, true,” muttered Lupin, “but didn't you find it curious that Ron was the only one that
fell?”

“Alicia Spinnet fell, too,” corrected Harry. “George and I caught her before she hit the
ground.”

“Is she always the steadiest on a broom, though?”

Harry thought for a moment. “No,” he said finally, “she's fallen in practice before.”

Lupin nodded knowingly. “Harry, I'm not telling you this to scare you, but the curses put on
your and Ron's brooms were stronger than the other twelve curses combined. Whoever did this was
targeting the two of you—it was more of a wrong place, wrong time scenario for the rest of the
players.”

“Why would someone waste time cursing all the brooms if they only wanted to hurt Ron and Harry?”
asked Hermione. “And why did Ron fall while Harry didn't?”

“I'm guessing whoever did this doesn't want to be caught. It would be easier to figure
out what had happened if just two brooms had been affected. When you have fourteen, it makes things
more difficult,” explained Lupin. “As for why Harry stayed in the air, I reckon it was all skill
and broom in the end.”

Harry didn't want to think about someone being out to get him and Ron. “What about the
message in the sky?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yes,” said Hermione. “It was written in the same smoke that the message was at the Halloween
feast.”

Lupin shrugged. “I can't tell you that. It's not my job. I was simply asked to figure
out what kind of Dark Arts had possessed the brooms, which I did.”

Harry and Hermione shared a look. That wasn't like Professor Lupin. He wasn't the type
to stop with the minimum about of work. On the other hand, the look on his face seemed genuine.
Perhaps he really didn't know.

“Well, we'd probably better get to lunch,” said Harry, tugging on Hermione's arm. “Your
lesson today was interesting, Professor.”

“Oh yes, it was,” added Hermione as Harry pulled her toward the door. “See you tomorrow!”

“Good-bye!” added Harry. He shut the door behind him. “That's not like him.”

Hermione had noticed, too. “No, it's not. I think it's time we looked into it
ourselves.”

“I think so,” said Harry, grinning at her. He'd been thinking the same thing. “Are you
really that hungry?”

“No, I'm not,” said Hermione. Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you want to blow off lunch and try to see Ron?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Hermione, “that is, if you don't feel like eating.”

“I can hold out till tea,” shrugged Harry. “Do you want to stop by Gryffindor? You look like
your back is killing you.”

“Would you mind?” As an afterthought, she said, “Yes, it is. I must figure out a way to get by
without all these books all the time.”

“You're not taking any more class than I am this year,” reminded Harry, “and I don't
have that many books in my bag.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his bag
to prove it.

Hermione laughed, wrapping her arms tighter around the books she was holding because they
wouldn't fit in her bulging bag. “I'm not sure what it is,” she confessed. “I'm always
afraid that if I don't take one, I'll need it.”

“That's your problem right there,” he said. They had reached the portrait hole.

“What are the two of you doing, wandering the halls during your lunch time?” asked the Fat Lady.
She looked down at them disapprovingly. “So many kids opting out of eating! Why, the last young man
I let in, he didn't look like he could afford to skip—”

“Just dropping off my books,” explained Hermione, interrupting. She lifted the stack in her arms
to prove it. The Fat Lady shook her head, about to say something, but Harry cut her off.

“Tea cozy,” he said, and the Fat Lady frowned, as she swung open.

“You never talk to me anymore!” she was saying as they scrambled into the tower.

“We should stop and visit her with her sometime,” whispered Hermione. “She's starting to
make me feel guilty. She's usually so nice, and she doesn't have the easiest job.”

Harry shrugged. “Someday,” he promised. “I'll wait down here for you.”

Hermione disappeared up the stairs in the direction of the girls' dorms, and Harry plopped
down in one of the armchairs to wait for her. Five minutes ticked by, and then ten. He was starting
to wonder what was taking Hermione so long. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a scream
from high above him, in the girls' dormitory.

“Hermione?” he yelled. There was no real answer, just another scream, and a loud thud. He was on
the stairs in a second. “Hermione!”

Harry had never been on the girls' side of the dorms before, and he felt guilty entering
them, even under the prevailing circumstances. It was laid out like a mirror image of the boys'
side, and Harry rushed down the hall, not knowing which room was Hermione's.

“'Mione?” he tried again. He heard someone—someone male—cursing. He went in the direction of
the sounds and pushed open the door.

It was Hermione's room, all right. She was standing with her back against the wall, and
Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her, his hand over her mouth. Just as Harry swung the door
open, she managed to dart out of his grasp. He cursed again.

“What are you doing here?” asked Harry sharply. Hermione was at his side in an instant, and he
put his arm around her reassuringly.

“He was digging through my drawers,” said Hermione shrilly. “He has the pieces of his wand in
his hand.”

Malfoy shook his head, taking a step closer to them, but Harry pulled his wand out.

“Don't,” he warned.

“Put it away, Potter,” sneered Malfoy.

“Not about to,” informed Harry, his voice full of sarcastic cheerfulness.

“Look, it's not what you think it is,” said Malfoy. He put his hands up and stepped
back.

“Then what is it?” demanded Hermione.

Malfoy didn't get a chance to answer. Someone else had appeared in the doorway.

“What is going on in here?” said Professor McGonagall. “All of you, to Dumbledore's office
immediately.”

“Professor, Harry and I haven't done anything,” protested Hermione. “I simply came up here
to drop off my books—”

“Miss Granger, the underlying fact is that you should be at lunch, not in your dormitory. Mr.
Potter, under no circumstances should I find you in the girls' dormitory, and Mr. Malfoy,” said
Professor McGonagall, leading all three out of the Gryffindor tower, “you should not even be on
this school's grounds. Come along now, I'm sure Dumbledore will be very interested in your
activities.”

The three marched silently in front of Professor McGonagall. If any one of them slowed, she
poked them in the back with her wand and advised them to pick up the pace. She led them right
through the Great Hall, which motivated a lot of laughter and gasps and mutters. Harry glanced at
the staff table, immediately noticing that Dumbledore was not there. He also got his first good
glimpse of Malfoy. He was scowling, which wasn't uncommon, but he was also still dressed in his
Hogwarts robes—or, at least, Harry thought he was. They were so covered in grimed that he
couldn't be sure. There was even a streak of dirt across Malfoy's cheek. Someone obviously
wasn't right.

Professor McGonagall took great care in whispering the password to Dumbledore's office so
quietly that Harry, Hermione, and Malfoy didn't hear it. She paraded them through the doorway.
Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, working so intently that he didn't seem to notice they had
entered.

“Dumbledore,” called Professor McGonagall, “I thought you would be interested to see who I found
creeping around the girls' dormitory in the Gryffindor Tower during lunch today.”

Dumbledore looked up, a twinkle in his eye. “Mr. Potter, Miss Granger! What a surprise—” He
broke off as Malfoy appeared from behind the two. “Mr. Malfoy.”

“I'll leave them to you,” said McGonagall quickly. She seemed to retreat from the circular
office before the words even left her mouth.

Dumbledore eyed each of his students (and former student) with the same curiosity. Finally, he
waved his wand, muttered a spell, and three chairs materialized in front of his desk. “Sit,” he
demanded.

They did. Dumbledore eyed each of them separately. “Miss Granger,” he said, “why don't you
start? You're the one that's least out of place in that area. What were you doing there
during lunch?”

“I was dropping off some of my books,” said Hermione earnestly. “Professor Lupin wanted to talk
to Harry and I after class, and afterwards, I wanted to drop off some of my extra books because my
bag was getting too heavy. Harry said he'd wait for me in the common room, and he did. When I
got to my room, I saw him—” she pointed to Malfoy, “—going through my things. He tried to keep me
from screaming, but I eventually managed to anyway. Harry must have heard me because he was up
there a few seconds later.”

Dumbledore nodded. He looked to Harry.

“Malfoy had Hermione pinned up against the wall and his hand over her mouth. He was cursing and
looked angry,” said Harry, trying to stay calm. “Hermione managed to get away from him and said
he'd been going throw her drawers and had his broken wand.”

“Although I should be asking what you were doing on Hogwarts grounds in the first place, I will
wait,” said Dumbledore, turning to Malfoy. He had slouched down in his chair and wouldn't look
the headmaster in the eye. “Why were you in Miss Granger's dorm room?”

Malfoy muttered something, and even Harry, who was sitting right next to him, didn't catch
it.

“Say that again, Mr. Malfoy,” ordered Dumbledore. “What is it that you're saying about a
wand?”

“I said I was putting the pieces of my wand back,” said Malfoy sullenly.

“Were you putting them back or were you taking them?” asked Dumbledore, obviously thinking he
had said it wrong.

“I was putting them back,” mumbled Malfoy. He finally looked up, and Harry noticed he also had a
gash underneath his left eye. “I found them in a little bag at the bottom of Granger's trunk,
but I couldn't find the little bag again. I was trying to put it back where it came from.”

“How long have you had it?” asked Dumbledore sharply. He wasn't the only one looking at
Malfoy intently. Hermione and Harry were also.

“About a week,” muttered Malfoy. He slouched again, and he looked at the floor.

“That's enough,” said Dumbledore suddenly. “You may go on, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. I
have no choice but to give you a detention for your actions, however, so report back here tonight
after dinner. Mr. Malfoy, we aren't done yet.”

Harry and Hermione scrambled out of the chairs. They were still curious about Malfoy's
reasons for being at the school, but they weren't likely to know anytime soon.

-->



7. Sagesse Bom
--------------



Chapter Seven

SAGESSE BOM

Two days later, Dumbledore still hadn't offered Harry and Hermione any clues as to why
Malfoy had returned. He hadn't even told them when they had to serve their detentions. He did,
however, give them a stern lecture about doing what they were supposed to and being where they were
supposed to be. Harry and Hermione had come up with a lot of theories as to why Malfoy was still at
Hogwarts, but none of the seemed very likely.

Besides, they had other things to worry about. Ron still wasn't doing any better, and Mr.
and Mrs. Weasley had arrived, for the second time that year, early Tuesday morning. The only time
Harry had ever seen them so distraught was when Ginny had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets
three years before. It was hard enough to see his best friend so helpless, but it was even worse to
see his parents so in pain. Still, he and Hermione had to carry on with their normal schedules,
which was getting harder and harder.

On Wednesday afternoon, Professor Trelawny was having a particularly good time predicting his
demise, and Harry wasn't sure how much more of it he could take. In the last fifteen minutes,
she had predicted he would find great love, but it would be taken from him almost immediately. At
the end of last year, he had felt she might not be a complete fake, but he was feeling that way
now. All she was capable of was annoying him.

They had moved on from crystal gazing and were now practicing reading tarot cards. Trelawny kept
having different members of the class do readings for Harry, and he was getting quite sick of it.
All of a sudden, the door to the classroom burst open. It was none other than Hermione.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, rushing into the classroom. “Come on, we have to go down to the hospital
wing! Mrs. Weasley just pulled me out of class! Ron's woken up!”

* * *

The first thing Harry heard when he and Hermione slipped into the quiet hospital room was
Ron's voice. He sounded tired and a little weak, but it was still music to both their ears.
They exchanged a smile and walked quickly over to his bed. The entire Weasley family, minus Bill,
Percy, and Charlie, was already gathered around him.

“Are you sure, honey?” Mrs. Weasley was asking. “I still think it would be best if you went home
for a few days. I'm sure Dumbledore would allow it—”

“Mum, I'm fine!” protested Ron. “I don't want to leave school. I'll be back to
normal in just a few days, and I'll want to be with my friends.”

“Ron!” exclaimed Hermione. She obviously could hold it in any longer. The twins moved away so
she could lean down and hug him. Harry was right behind her, and he noticed that Fred was looking
better now that his little brother was awake. Harry knew he'd been overly consumed with guilt
since the Quidditch match.

“It's good to see you, Ron,” said Harry warmly, but he didn't hug Ron like Hermione did.
“You scared us all.”

“Scared us is right!” started Mrs. Weasley again. She patted Ron's arm, and gave a long look
to the bandages still wrapped around his head, which made her pale. “I don't know if I like the
idea of you playing Quidditch so much anymore—”

“Mum!” protested both the twins at the same time, as did Ron.

“Molly,” said Mr. Weasley, “you know as well as I do that it wasn't Quidditch that hurt Ron.
He would have been just fine if the brooms hadn't been cursed.”

“That's exactly right, Dad!” exclaimed Ron. He turned to his mom. “See?”

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, but she didn't say anything.

“How long do you have to stay here, Ron?” asked Hermione. She was glancing around nervously,
obviously remembering the seven weeks during which she called the same ward home.

“Not as long as you did, `Mione,” said Ron with a grin. “Madam Pomfrey promised Mum that I'd
be out of here by the end of the week.”

“When is she going to take those off?” asked Ginny, pointing to the bandages wrapped around his
head. She had been the last one, other than Harry and Hermione, to get there, and she hadn't
heard everything yet.

“Ah, these?” said Ron, patting the bandages gently. “I think I might ask to keep them. Don't
you like them? And I thought I looked good with a turban!”

“Worse than Quirrell,” said Harry, grinning. “Say, are you sure it's not just an excuse to
hide your hair?”

“Ron,” said Mr. Weasley, pretending to be stern, “how many times do I have to tell you to
respect the family hair color?”

Ron blushed, and Harry had to think that what Mr. Weasley said wasn't completely a joke. He
was about to ask, but Madam Pomfrey came out of her office.

“Too many people!” she exclaimed. “He needs rest and relaxation! Out, out, out! One person at a
time! One!”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared looks, and Mrs. Weasley bent down to kiss her son's
forehead.

“Ron,” she said, “we'll be back later. Fred, George, back to class—you two can't afford
to miss anymore of it. Same goes for you, Ginny, we have to be fair.”

“Can Harry stay?” asked Ron. “No offense, Hermione,” he added quickly.

“Sure,” said Mr. Weasley, tapping Ron's head, causing him to grimace. “We'll come back
later, like your mum already said.”

His siblings had already filtered out the door, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley headed in that
direction. Hermione leaned down and hugged him once more.

“Would you like me to go find Anna?” she asked. “I'm sure she'd be happy to know
you're awake and well.”

Ron nodded vigorously, and he grimaced again, touching his head. He had obviously forgotten the
condition of his head. “If you wouldn't mind, Hermione.” He smiled gratefully, and Hermione,
too, was out the door. It was just Harry and Ron now.

“How are you doing?” asked Harry.

Ron leaned back against his pillows. “Well, I won't lie,” he said. “I have been better.”

“That's a given. How bad is it?”

Ron shrugged. “Madam Pomfrey changed the bandages right before she let Mum and Dad in, and the
ones closest to my head were soaked with blood. Not exactly a reassuring sight, but I'll live,”
he said, noticing that Harry was fidgeting. “I know you know what happened. What was it? Why did
the brooms start doing that? Someone's said cursed, haven't they?”

Harry sighed, but he quickly filled Ron in on what happened in Professor Lupin's class on
Monday. When he finished, the expression on Ron's face was a cross between anger and
confusion.

“Blimey, why would anyone want to do that?” said Ron. “I could see wanting to hurt you, someone
always seems to want to hurt you, but me? I'm not nearly as important.”

“That's not true!” exclaimed Harry. He looked at Ron seriously. “I don't think you'd
be saying that if you'd seen how everyone's been acting the last few days. Fred's been
kicking himself the entire time about messing up your broom this summer. Hermione says that Ginny
keeps bursting into tears. Gryffindor's been really quiet, and everyone's been pulling for
you. Some of the Slytherins have even asked how you were doing!”

“And Anna?” Ron wanted to know.

Harry gave him a lopsided grin. “We all—well, er, we kind of thought you'd died when Madam
Pomfrey first let us in here. I thought that Anna was pass out when she saw you. She really cares
about you, Ron.”

“Poor Anna!” exclaimed Ron. Color was rushing to his cheeks, and he turned his head away. “I
really care about her,” he mumbled.

“Then you'll be glad to know everyone's started arranging dates for the Christmas
Dance,” informed Harry.

“They have?” asked Ron. Harry nodded. “Am I still even eligible?”

“You are. It's probably a good thing that you've been out of it for the last few days,”
teased Harry, “or you probably wouldn't be.” He informed Ron about what had happened with
Malfoy two days before. Ron was shaking his head when Harry finished.

“He's up to no good,” said Ron, then he stopped. “What am I saying? He's always up to no
good! He's probably the one that cursed our brooms.”

The idea had occurred to Harry, too. “That's what I think, but I'm not so sure.
We've been practicing the Belwit Curse in Defense, and it's not an easy curse. Hermione
thinks it's too complicated for Malfoy, but you never know.”

“Did you guys get in a lot of trouble?” asked Ron.

“Not really,” shrugged Harry. “Hermione and I had a detention with Dumbledore, but all he made
us do was sort a bunch of paperwork. It wasn't even anything interesting, just records of
students from before I think even Dumbledore was alive.”

Ron laughed. “Did he take away any points from either of you?”

“No,” said Harry, “and neither did Professor McGonagall. It's probably a good thing. If I
lose too many more, I won't get to go to the Christmas Dance.”

“You seem pretty excited about it,” sniggered Ron. “I wouldn't worry, if I were you.
Dumbledore didn't say that you wouldn't be allowed to go if you lost more than sixty
points, he only said might. He wouldn't not let you go.”

“Do you think?” Harry hadn't caught the “might” part of Dumbledore's warning.

Ron nodded. “So tell me,” he said, a sly smile on his face, “you seem pretty excited about the
Christmas Dance. You don't already have a date, do you?”

“No,” said Harry. “I don't. It's not like the Yule Ball last year, where I had to take
someone.”

“That's fortunate on your part,” said Ron. “I'm going to take Anna. You could take
Parvati again.”

Harry shot Ron a look to kill, and Ron put up his hands in surrender, but he also couldn't
stop laughing.

“Shut up,” said Harry angrily. “It's not that funny. I could be telling you to take
Padma.”

“No, you couldn't,” said Ron, smirking, “because I have a girlfriend. You don't. Get
there faster, Harry.”

“Whatever.” Harry looked away, focusing his attention on a small spot on the opposite wall. “I
was thinking about what Hermione said last year.”

“What did Hermione say last year?” asked Ron. “I let a lot of what she says go in one ear and
out the other.”

“Ron!” exclaimed Harry, but he had to laugh. He could tell that his friend was really joking.
His attention diverted back to the spot on the wall.

“Are you talking about the thing she said about choosing someone on personality, not looks?”
questioned Ron. “Or the thing about us not asking her as a last resort?”

Harry scrunched up his nose. He looked back in Ron's direction, but his eyes went down to
the floor. He sighed. “Both, I guess. Who do you think she'll go with?”

“Who? Hermione?” Ron pondered the question for a moment. “I don't know. Hermione's a
girl. Girls are hard creatures to understand.”

“Right about that,” muttered Harry. He cleared his throat. “Do you—er, think she'd go with
me if I asked her?” Harry paused, and then rushed on desperately. He didn't want Ron to start
laughing hysterically again. “I mean, I don't want to end up with someone like Parvati again.
Hermione and I are friends—”

“Go for it,” Ron said with a grin, and Harry blushed. He could practically see the wheel's
turning in his friend's head. Fortunately, the door to the hospital wing burst open again, and
Anna made a beeline in Ron's direction. Ron gave Harry a final nod.

“I'll talk to you later,” he whispered. “You've got a question to ask in the
meantime.”

Harry didn't respond; instead, he headed quietly for the door. He figured that Ron and Anna
would want their privacy.

* * *

“Ron! We're not supposed to leave the castle this afternoon!” insisted Anna, but she let him
lead her outside anyway. It had been almost two weeks since Ron had left the hospital, and they
were well into the first week of December, and the Hogwarts grounds were already covered with
snow.

“Shh!” ordered Ron, putting his finger up to his lips and reaching back to touch hers. “I
can't take another minute in there, and I couldn't convince Harry and Hermione to sneak out
here with me! Besides, you've never seen Hogwarts like this.”

“Was your quiz in Potions that bad, Ron?” asked Anna slyly. Ron stopped in his tracks and gave
her a quizzical look. “Don't look so surprised. I heard some of the fifth years in the house
moaning about it at lunch today.”

“It wasn't that bad—if you were Hermione Granger, it wasn't,” grumbled Ron. “Harry and I
walked out, sweating, and she had a big smile on her face. `Oh, I'm glad we've finally
taken a test in there! I always find it so refreshing!' I like `Mione just fine, but I
don't think I'll ever understand her.”

Anna laughed. “So maybe your test was bad, but why not go up to your dorm room? I'm sure
Harry would have given you some piece and quiet.”

“You're not allowed in my dorm room,” said Ron pointedly. “Nah, I just wanted to get out of
there. Snape has a tendency to roam the halls with an evil smile on his face just after he's
given a test. I was afraid I'd run into him if I stayed inside. I wouldn't have even
bothered with magic—I would have just throttled him. Then I'd get expelled—”

“I think I get it,” laughed Anna. “Too bad we were supposed to stay inside today, huh?”

Ron shrugged. “Do you see it stopping me?”

“No,” said Anna, “Why couldn't we leave anyway?”

“I'm not sure,” said Ron. Another shrug. “Maybe it's just me, but Dumbledore's being
awfully secretive this year about everything.”

“He is,” said Anna. Ron stopped suddenly, causing her to bump into him. He turned around,
apologizing under his breath. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah,” said Ron. “I thought I heard something, but I didn't.”

“Hmm, should I be worried now that you're hearing thing?” teased Anna. She threw her head
back dramatically, the back of her hand against her forehead. “My poor Ron!” she moaned. “A broom
took his mind from me!”

Ron was still facing her, and he playfully scowled. “What are you saying, Anna dear? Are you
trying to tell me that my mind is no longer my own? That it's suddenly yours?”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you,” said Anna slyly. “You belong to me, Ronald
Meredith, and don't you forget it.”

“Oh,” Ron glowered, “I'm going to have to get you for that.”

“And what do you think you're going to—” Ron cut her off in mid sentence, grabbing her hands
and giving her a mischievous shove. She had been standing on the slightest bit of ice, and she fell
backward into the snow.

“Ron!” said Anna, but she was smiling. A few seconds later, she had grabbed his hands and pulled
him down into the snow.

“Look what you've done!” said Ron, pretending to be angry. “My robes are all wet now, thanks
to you.”

“Oh, and mine aren't?” Anna giggled as he grabbed her arms to keep her from getting up. He
leaned down, about to give her a quick kiss, when they were interrupted.

“What are the two of you doing out here? Oh dear, I thought Albus said all the students would be
inside this afternoon. Perhaps you aren't students?” Ron and Anna looked up immediately. A
short, stout man stood above them, a hopeful smile on his face. He was wearing a dark blue robe and
cap, and he looked very pleasant.

“Umm,” said Ron, searching his brain for some kind of excuse. He decided to dodge the man's
first question. He scrambled up and offered Anna a hand. “We *are* Hogwarts students.”

“Oh!” said the man, a grin spreading across my face. “I thought so. Are you supposed to be
inside right now? I won't get you in any trouble if you are.”

“We are,” admitted Ron. He glanced down at Anna, who looked particularly terrified. She was
actually very quiet around those that didn't know her, and she never got in trouble.

“Well, it's nice to see that I wasn't the only mischief maker this school has every
seen. It's nice meeting you both,” said the man. Ron stared at him, seeing if he was going to
introduce himself. Almost on cue, the wizard's face lit up. “Oh! You don't know me, do
you?”

“No sir,” said Anna shyly.

He chuckled, and offered his hand in his direction. “I'm the Minister of Magic, Sagesse Bom.
I'm here to meet with some students about recent events here.”

Ron was dumbfounded. This man was the Minster? He was so astonished the Anna had to grab his
hand and shove it in the direction of Minster Bom.

“Ron Weasley,” he said finally, taking the Minister's hand, “and this is my girlfriend, Anna
Clemens.”

Bom gave them both a firm handshake, and then he reached up to adjust his glasses. Suddenly, his
face lit up, almost like a light bulb had turned on in his head.

“Ronald Weasley?” he said almost questioningly, and Ron nodded. “Oh! It's fancy meeting you
out here, then. I'm supposed to be meeting with you after dinner tonight.”

“Really?” asked Ron, dumbfounded. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop. “Why
would you want to meet with me?”

“Don't look so surprised!” declared Bom. “It's about your fall at the Quidditch
match.”

Ron blushed. Now that it was all said and done, he was slightly embarrassed about the whole
ordeal. He hated being the only one that ended up injured. All the Slytherins had stopped feeling
sympathetic for him the moment the news he was going to be okay got out, and they constantly jeered
him, saying that it was sad he was the best Gryffindor could come up with for the team.

“Oh, that,” he said finally. He, Anna, and Bom had begun walking back in the direction of the
school. “What about it?”

“Well, Ron,” said the Minister, “the Ministry is concerned about the safety of students here.
With the formidable destructions of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, we can't afford to let anything
else happen at Hogwarts. When I found there would be an investigation, I wanted to come here
personally and see that it was done right.”

“Anything else?” Anna couldn't help but asking.

“Well,” the Minister said cheerfully, “I'm sure you know I was here before, back in
September, and I wanted to come back after the incident on Halloween, but I couldn't get away
from my office. I must admit, I have a keen interest in Hogwarts, since I was educated here,
myself.”

They had reached the doors to Hogwarts, but the Minister made no move to go in. He faced Ron and
Anna, still chatting. Both of them shared a smile. He was hard not to like, with his enthusiastic
smile. He also seemed to really care about everything going on and wasn't nearly as pompous as
Fudge. Suddenly, however, he stopped mid sentence and took another long look at Ron.

“Why, I can't believe I didn't see it before!” exclaimed Bom. “There's no way
you're not Arthur Weasley's son! Your father is a fine man, son. If it were up to me,
I'd have put him in office before myself! He's just the sort of person the Ministry needs
right now, someone passionate and willing.”

Ron blushed, right to the tip of his ears. It wasn't often that his family was praised;
there were quite a few people within the Ministry that didn't think highly of the Weasleys.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“No need to thank me,” said Bom, “for I'm only speaking the truth. Now—er, well, I probably
shouldn't be asking you this, since it's classified information, but I figure you'll
know soon enough, anyway. Do you know Harry Potter?”

“He's one of my best friends,” said Ron honestly. “Hermione Granger is the other. And, well,
Anna too.”

Bom clapped excitedly. “He's the other student I'm to speak with tonight. Ah, Miss
Granger? How is she doing? I was most concerned to hear someone had been injured with that awful
Forveret Bursen! I personally wish they'd pass legislation against those kinds of potions! I
was quite afraid when I heard about your friend—the last known person to be exposed to it died
shortly after.”

“Hermione's doing okay,” said Ron. “She's tough.”

“How long has it been since you went to school here?” asked Anna politely.

Bom looked skyward, scratching his head. “I'd have been a few years behind your father,
Ron,” he said at last. “I was two years ahead of James Potter and Remus Lupin and Sirius Black and
Peter Pettigrew, that lot. Probably the most famous group to come out of here in a long time,
huh?”

Ron could have sworn Bom winked at him when he said Sirius's name. Did Bom realize Sirius
was innocent? Ron knew he was in close contact with Dumbledore, so he figured he might. He shrugged
it off.

“Oh dear, look at the time,” said Bom suddenly. “Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you
both, but I was supposed to meet with Albus five minutes ago. I'd better head to his
office.”

“Do you know where you're going?” Ron said politely.

Bom laughed, and this time, he did wink. “I think I remember the way,” he chucked, “as I should,
for the number of times I visited it!”

* * *

All Ron could talk about at dinner that night was his and Anna's meeting the Minister of
Magic on their walk around the school grounds, but it was okay because Harry and Hermione were
genuinely interested in what he was saying. They had managed to get seats at the end of the table,
where people were least likely to sit around them and listen in.

“He mentioned your father,” informed Ron through a mouthful of roll. Hermione shot him a
disapproving look, but she didn't correct his manners. “He said he was two years ahead of him.
He mentioned Sirius, too, and Pettigrew and Professor Lupin.”

“All of them?” asked Harry, and Ron nodded. “Did he know them very well?”

“He didn't say,” said Ron. “He was older, so I don't know. The only people I know that
are older than us are Fred and George and their friends, so I doubt it.”

“He said he knew Sirius?” asked Hermione cautiously. “Do you think he knows?”

Ron glanced around to make sure no one was watching. “I think he might,” he said in a low voice.
“When he said his name, I could have sworn he winked. He and Dumbledore are close, and I think
that's the kind of thing Dumbledore would have let him in on.”

“It seems odd that he would come to Hogwarts so often,” said Hermione at last.

“Fudge was here a lot, too,” said Harry. “He seemed to show up everything something
happened.”

Ron sniggered. “You know as well as I do that Fudge only showed up because it looked good on his
part. My dad said before he and Mum left that Fudge was just a face for Dumbledore half the
time.”

“So he really is nice, Ron?” asked Hermione.

“He was,” said Ron sincerely. “He kind of reminds me of Professor Lupin—you know, fairly quiet,
nice, really helpful?”

“I can't wait to meet him,” said Harry.

“You'll have to tell me all about it,” said Hermione, a bit glumly. She took a bite of her
salad and was suddenly very occupied with the act of chewing.

“Aw, Hermione,” said Ron, “I'm sorry. I forgot you weren't going to be there.”

Hermione shrugged. “I really wouldn't mind that much, but you've made him seem so nice
that I want to see if it's true.”

“I'll make sure Ron's not just full of it,” assured Harry. “If he is, it's nice to
know where he sleeps.”

“Hey!” Ron protested, but he too started laughing.

“What's so funny?”

The three stopped laughing when they saw Dumbledore standing at the end of the table, his hands
on the edge, a twinkle in his eye.

“Nothing,” said Ron quickly. He remembered that he wasn't supposed to have met the Minister
yet, and he wasn't supposed to have been wandering around outside in the first place. It would
be one thing to get himself in trouble, but he didn't want to do anything against Anna.

Dumbledore gave him amused look. “There is a visitor here,” he said, “and he has requested to
meet with the three of you directly after dinner.”

Hermione nearly choked, having just taken a drink of milk. She gave Ron a confused look. Harry
and Ron also shared a baffled look. Hermione had a funny expression on her face, but Ron ignored
it. It wasn't like he could explain why she was suddenly included in the meeting.

“I think you'll all be pleasantly surprised by who it is,” said Dumbledore with a smile.
“Whenever you finish with your meal, go ahead and dismiss yourselves to my office. I'll be up
once I've finished myself.”

“I thought you said this meeting was between you, Harry, and the Minister?” said Hermione, an
amused expression on her face.

Ron shrugged. “Hey, I didn't know—and don't look at me like that! You just said you
wanted to come too! Now hurry up and finish!”

* * *

Just as they had been surprised to hear Hermione would get to attend the meeting with the
Minister, they were surprised when they opened the door to Dumbledore's office. Sure enough,
Bom was sitting in there, ready to meet them, but he wasn't the only one. Sitting in the chair
next to the Minister was none other than Sirius.

“Harry!” exclaimed Sirius. It had been a good six months since he had seen his godson. There was
a hug and handshake for not only Harry, but Hermione and Ron as well. “It's good to see
you!”

“You too,” said Harry, a happy grin on his face. Even a meeting with the Minister couldn't
top finally getting to see his godfather after so long. “What have you been doing?”

“Secret business for Dumbledore,” said Sirius, still smiling. He sat down next to Bom again, and
he conjured up three chairs for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “It has to do with Voldemort. He was
afraid the Ministry wouldn't get to work on tracking him until it was too later, but I'm
not to discuss anymore of it with you. Besides, I'm not even who you're here to see.”

“Don't say that, Sirius,” said Bom, smiling warmly at the three of them, just as he had to
Ron and Anna earlier that day. “It's nice to see you again, Mr. Weasley, and it's nice to
finally meet you, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. I'm sure your friend has informed you of our
encounter this afternoon?”

Ron blushed, right to the tips of his ears. “I'm sorry, sir,” he muttered.

“It's perfectly all right,” said Bom, reaching out to shake Harry and Hermione's hands.
“I expected you to do so after you told me they were your friends. Since you're all close, and
since Sirius was able to join us at the last moment, I thought Miss Granger would feel left out if
she couldn't join us.”

Now it was Hermione who blushed. The Minister smiled at her. “Don't do that, dear,” he
advised. “I wanted to meet you. It's good to see you looking so well. The incident in your
Potions class earlier this year had the Ministry in a bit of a worry.”

“So what's this meeting all about exactly?” asked Harry bravely.

“Nothing in particular,” said Bom with a grin. Ron was right; he was instantly likeable.
“I'm here to talk to you about the Quidditch match a few weekends ago. I've read the
official reports—several times, in fact—and I wanted to hear what happened from your point of view.
We're still unsure what those events mean, so we're trying to gather as much information as
possible.”

Harry and Ron both told their stories, with Ron going first. Harry's ended up being a bit
more in depth, since his didn't necessarily end when he reached the ground and start up again
over three days later in the hospital. Bom listened intently, and when they finished, he asked the
two a few questions about what had happened on Halloween night and about Hogwarts in general. When
he finished, it was well over an hour after they'd first left dinner and entered
Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore had slipped in partway through, simply listening in.

“Well,” said Bom after he'd finished, “I'd love to stay, but I must catch my train back
to the Ministry. They seem to frown on me being gone overnight. It also seems to annoy them when I
refuse to have ten guards following me around, but I rather like to think I can handle myself by
now.”

He stood, offered his thanks, and shook hands with everyone in the room. Dumbledore escorted him
out, leaving Sirius alone with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

“What did you think of him?” asked Sirius first thing.

“I like him,” said Harry.

“He actually seems to care about what he's doing,” said Hermione.

“He doesn't talk down to us like Fudge did,” added Ron.

Sirius smiled approvingly. “It's sad that so many people within the Ministry don't seem
to like him. They don't think he stands for the right things; they don't like the way he
bends the rules and refuses to follow their every order. He's a good person, and he hasn't
let his power get to his head. He's also one of the strongest fighters against Voldemort our
side has.”

“Did you know him before he was the Minister?” asked Harry.

“Yes, he was just a few grades before me in school,” said Sirius. “I think he told Ron that. We
were both Gryffindors, and we knew each other from that. I didn't really get to know him until
this summer, right before he was appointed. He was part of the old crowd.”

Harry and Hermione and Ron exchanged looks. They'd heard about this `old crowd' many
times before, but it had never been fully explained to them. Sirius seemed to catch their perplexed
looks.

“The crowd is a secret well kept from almost everyone,” said Sirius softly. “It's basically
the term we use to describe those of us that fought against Voldemort the first time. There are so
few of us left now. Some died, and others left. Your father, Harry, was one of the leaders. Had it
not been for him, Voldemort have never lost his hold on the wizarding world.”

His statement had only succeeded in confusing them even more, and Sirius seemed to realize it.
“Never mind,” he said quickly. “You will all know in due time. Basically, those of us that
originally united to fight the Dark Arts have united once more. We're working for Dumbledore
and Bom, but never for the Ministry. The majority of the people there have good intentions, but
there are some that were on the side of Voldemort the first time, and they could just as easily go
back to him now. Does that make sense?”

“Sort of,” said Harry, and Hermione and Ron agreed with nods.

“Good kids,” said Sirius sincerely. “Which brings me to why I am here tonight. I need to speak
with Professor Lupin later about a matter in which he is highly educated, and I need to inform
Dumbledore of everything we've found so far. Of course, I couldn't resist a chance to see
my godson, either.”

“Thanks for coming, then,” said Harry. He smiled at Sirius.

“It might be a long time before I see you again,” said Sirius sadly. “Trust me to be back if
anything else out of the ordinary happens. I just hope you can finish the year without any more
misfortunes. It seems as if it might be your turn, Harry, to take a fall, considering I think your
friends have had their share of pain already.”

“Are you going to be gone by tomorrow?” asked Harry.

Sirius nodded. “I wish I could make it longer, but it's impossible. I have something to give
you, though.” He walked back to the chair he was sitting in and pulled out a book-sized parcel
wrapped in plain brown paper. He handed it to Harry. “I know Hagrid compiled a photo album of your
parents for you, but I thought you might enjoy this, too. It's a collection of photos from our
years at Hogwarts. I'm sure you'll find them—er, very amusing, probably.”

Harry smiled, accepting the package. “Thank you.”

“It's no problem,” said Sirius. “Now, as for the two of you, I expect you to go through it
with him. There are some wonderful pictures of Remus Lupin in there for you to make good use
of.”

Sirius hugged Harry once more. Before the young wizard could say anything else, his godfather
had turned back into a shaggy black dog. It gave a great bark and curled up in front of
Dumbledore's desk. There was nothing left to do for Harry, Hermione, or Ron, and they headed
quietly out of the room.

* * *

Back in the Gryffindor tower, the three friends headed straight for the prefect common room. The
hour was growing late, and a lot of students had moved from the common room to their dormitory,
even though it was a Friday night. Sure enough, the prefect's common room was empty, and Harry,
Hermione, and Ron all squeezed onto the couch together.

Harry was still smiling from their meeting with Sirius when he tore the paper off the photo
album. Hermione and Ron were sitting on either side of him, both eager to see what was inside.

“What did you guys think of Bom?” Ron wanted to know, “I told you guys it was the truth!”

“Forget we ever doubted you,” said Hermione. “I think it was even nicer with Sirius there.”

“I wasn't expecting that,” Harry replied. “Seriously, I doubted I'd see him at all this
year.”

“So what do you think of this `old crowd' stuff—” Ron didn't finish his question because
he was in gales of laughter. The very first picture in the album was of Professor Lupin at age
eleven, his long hair in a ponytail, a funny smile on his face. There were two other people in the
picture, one of which was a younger Sirius and the other—

“He's identical to what you looked like when we first met,” breathed Hermione. “No wonder
everyone says you look like your father, Harry.”

“You could pass for some kind of time-lapse twins,” offered Ron.

Harry smiled as he flipped the pages. The pictures seemed to tell a story, even before they all
started moving.

“Look at Sirius!” giggled Hermione. “He keeps scowling and trying to get out of the picture! Why
doesn't it surprise me that he doesn't like to have his picture taken?”

“Who's that?” asked Ron suddenly. They pictures they were looking at had been taken during
Harry's father's fourth year at Hogwarts. A young Professor Lupin had a very pretty blonde
girl on his arm.

“I'm not sure who she is,” said Harry.

A wicked smile appeared on Ron's face. “I'll bet anything these are the pictures Sirius
thought we'd find funny!”

“Oh!” exclaimed Hermione, pointing suddenly to the background of one picture. “It's
Professor McGonagall!”

“You're kidding!” said Ron, bending in to look at the same time Harry did. Both boys sat
back with a start after bumping their heads together.

“Merlin, it is her!” said Harry laughing. “That would have been about twenty years ago.”

They kept flipping pages, and soon they were in the middle of Harry's father's fifth
year. Suddenly, there was a picture of a very pretty girl with red hair. They grew silent.

“That's your mum, isn't it?” asked Hermione softly.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it's her.”

“She was really pretty,” said Hermione. She gently touched Harry's arm, and he smiled at her
gratefully.

They went onto the next page, and the next. Harry's mother seemed to be a complete addition
in the group, and before long, there was a slew of pictures with just James and Lily together.
Harry and Hermione had started to laugh at a hairstyle Professor Lupin had tried, but something
else caught Ron's eye.

Lily had a necklace on in almost all the pictures. He waited to look closer until Hermione and
Harry weren't paying attention, and then he glanced at the necklace around Hermione's neck.
Ron looked back down at the picture. It was the same necklace. He remembered Sirius awkward warning
on Halloween night, and he remembered the shocked look on his face when he's seen
Hermione's necklace. No wonder he had been so surprised.

Ron bit his lip, remembering how Sirius had told them all to look through the photo album
together. Had he wanted Ron to see those particular pictures?

“I'm getting tired,” said Ron abruptly, standing up. “I'll see you two in the morning,
okay?”

“Okay,” said Harry, sounding slightly perplexed, and Hermione called good night to him as he
rushed down the stairs. Ron had too many thoughts in his head, and he needed to start figuring them
out.

-->



8. The Christmas Dance
----------------------



Chapter Eight

THE CHRISTMAS DANCE

His time alone in the dormitory did nothing to solve the jumble of questions and thoughts in
Ron's head. He'd left Harry and Hermione just under an hour before, and he was about to
give up on thinking and go to sleep when the door opened.

“Ron?” whispered Harry in the darkness. “Are you still awake?”

Ron sat up in bed. There wasn't any use denying it. “Yeah,” he said finally, “I'm awake.
Did you and Hermione get through all the pictures?”

“Oh, yeah, we did,” said Harry quietly, and Ron could hear him fumbling around in the dark for
his pajamas. “Right after you left, actually. We talked for awhile afterwards.”

“Really?” said Ron. “Did you ask her yet?”

“Did I ask her what yet?” The fumbling stopped, and Ron heard a slight creak as Harry climbed
into his four-poster.

“You said you were going to ask her to the dance,” said Ron. “Have you yet?”

“Not yet.” There was a long silence.

“Are you still going to?” Ron wanted to know.

“I'm not sure,” confessed Harry. “I want to, but it might be a little weird.”

“You should do it,” advised Ron. “It's not like you won't be spending most of the
evening with her, anyway. I'll be with Anna, and the two of you will be talking or whatever
together.”

“Then why do I have to ask her?” said Harry.

“Just—just do it,” said Ron impatiently. “She'll be happy to know you were thinking about
her. Or something like that.”

“How reassuring,” muttered Harry, and he rolled over. “G'night, Ron.”

“You still haven't told me if you're going to do it or not,” pressed Ron.

“I am,” said Harry. “Good night,” he said again, more pointedly this time.

“G'night,” repeated Ron, and he fell promptly asleep.

* * *

For fifth year students and above, breakfast on Saturday mornings was optional, which allowed
both Harry and Ron to sleep in later than usual. Harry pulled himself out of bed when he heard
everyone else pouring back in the dormitory after breakfast, but Ron remained fast asleep. A lot of
the other fifth, sixth, and seventh year boys that had opted out of breakfast were all heading to
the showers at that time, so Harry grabbed his things and made use of the prefect bathroom.

“Harry!”

Harry had just finished getting dressed and was on his way back to Gryffindor Tower to find
Hermione when he heard his name being called. He turned around to see Anna standing behind him.

“Hey Anna,” he greeted her. “If it's Ron you're looking for, he's still out like a
log up in our room. I wouldn't expect to see him any time much before lunch.”

Anna sighed. “All well,” she said finally. “Do you know if he's going to Hogsmead this
afternoon?”

Harry stopped completely. He'd completely forgotten about the afternoon trip into Hogsmead
that day. “I really don't know,” he confessed. “I'd forgotten about it completely. I
don't know if Ron's going or not. Why?”

“Well,” started Anna, who blushed slightly. “He finally asked me—officially, at least—to the
Christmas Dance yesterday, and I don't have dress robes yet, so I'm getting them this
afternoon, and I don't want him hovering around while I'm trying to shop.”

Harry laughed. “Smart girl. Ron will be more than happy to let you do your own thing, if
he's even up when everyone leaves!”

Anna grinned. “Good point,” she said. “Thank you, Harry, I'll see you later.”

Harry waved as she headed back down the hallway, and he headed back to the Gryffindor Tower. He
needed to find Hermione and had a good idea of where she'd be. Sure enough, she was curled up
in the prefect common room with a book.

“Hey `Mione,” said Harry, trying to get her attention. He knew she had a tendency to tune
everything else out while she was reading.

“Hmm?” she muttered.

“Hermione,” Harry tried again, sitting down next to her. There was no response at all that time,
so he finally waved one hand in front of her eyes and covered part of the book page with his other.
“I promise this won't take but a second.”

Hermione finally looked up. “Oh, Harry, I'm sorry!” she exclaimed, shutting the book so fast
he barely had time to get his hand out of the way. “I didn't even realize you were there.”

“No problem,” said Harry, grinning, and he took a deep breath. If he was going to do this, it
would have to be now.

“Well, I was thinking, if you weren't planning on going with someone else, I thought you
might go to the Christmas Dance with me?” said Harry. “Just as friends, you know,” he added
quickly.

To his surprised, Hermione smiled. “I'd like that. Thank you, Harry.” She leaned forward and
kissed his cheek, and he had to fight to keep from blushing.

* * *

The next two weeks flew by. Originally, the Christmas Dance was to take place on Christmas Day,
just as the Yule Ball had. However, the castle had begun to show some signs of disrepair and grime,
and Filch, the caretaker, had demanded a thorough cleaning over the holidays. For that reason, the
date of the dance had been pushed back several days, so more students would go home for the break.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione still put their names down as staying, but they were some of the few.

The term ended on a Friday, the nineteenth of December, and the dance was planned for the next
day. The majority of Hogwarts students would be returning home that Sunday. Nearly everyone year
four and up was go. Ron was obviously going with Anna, and Harry and Hermione were going together.
Neville seemed to find his perfect match with a slightly clumsy fourth year Hufflepuff, and Justin
Finch-Fletchley had asked Ginny. To everyone's surprise, she had said yes. As for Ron's
twin brothers, Fred was taking his girlfriend, Angelina Johnson, while George was going with Alicia
Spinnet, but only as friends.

On Saturday morning, very few opted out of breakfast, and the Great Hall was abuzz with excited
talk about the dance that night. There were, however, a few glum faces in the mix, mostly on those
who had become ineligible for the dance on behalf of their behavior. Even the younger kids, most of
who were not attending, seemed excited. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had put together
separate activities to amuse them with that evening.

“What are those two whispering about?” said Ron quietly, leaning towards Harry. Hermione and
Anna, who had worked her way over to the Gryffindor table halfway through the meal, were engaging
in their own private conversation. An occasional laugh burst through the whispers.

Harry shrugged, taking another bite of his toast. “If you really want to know, I'd ask
them,” he joked. Ron didn't seem to catch that part.

“What are you two going on about?” asked Ron through a mouthful of food. Both Anna and Hermione
broke off, looked up, and giving him a disapproving look.

“That,” said Hermione, “is something for you to find out later.”

“And find out later, you will,” added Anna with the wave of her hand. She turned back to
Hermione, and the two girls started talking again as if nothing had interrupted them in the first
place.

“Girls,” muttered Ron, and Harry laughed.

“You always say that,” he said. “If you really want to know what they're talking about, my
best guess is that it's the same thing everyone else here is.”

“The Christmas Dance?” said Ron, nearly grimacing.

“Don't say it so glumly,” said Harry. “I thought you were looking forward to it!”

“I was,” said Ron, his voice taking on the same glum tone, “then I opened my trunk this morning
to fetch my dress robes, and I remembered that they have to be unraveling and maroon.”

Harry looked immediately down the table to Fred and George, who were laughing and joking with
Angelina and Alicia. He remembered full well instructing them to get Ron a new set of dress robes
when he gave them his winnings from the Triwizard Tournament. He nearly sighed, but he remembered
that Ron knew nothing of that.

“It won't be that bad,” said Harry reassuringly. “Anna isn't going to care about it, and
her opinion is the only one that really matters, right?”

“Right,” agreed Ron, but he was still frowning. “She'll be look smashing, and I'll be
stuck in my secondhand maroon dress.”

“It really will be okay,” said Harry, trying once more to cheer him up.

“Easy for you to say,” grumbled Ron. “Your set is perfectly fine.”

“Ron—” started Harry, but he was interrupted by Dumbledore dismissing everyone from the meal.
Ron stood up immediately, and he headed in the direction of Gryffindor tower before Harry could
hardly blink. He looked down at his plate and shook his head.

“What's wrong with Ron?” asked Hermione suddenly. She and Anna were both looking in the
direction that Ron had just disappeared in.

Harry shrugged. “I think he's a little nervous about tonight. He's embarrassed by his
dress robes.”

Hermione cringed, but Anna looked confused.

“I'm sure they're fine,” she said. “He shouldn't be worried. It's not like
I'm going to care.”

“I tried to tell him that.” Harry shook his head. “Ron's stubborn, but he'll come
around. I'll see you guys later. I better go find him.”

Harry headed off in the direction of Gryffindor, following closely behind the Weasley twins.
Most everyone else was still finishing breakfast. Suddenly, George turned around and gave Harry a
big grin.

“Harry!” he exclaimed. “Is Ron up in your room?”

“I assume so,” said Harry, quickening his pace to catch up with them. “He took off from
breakfast as soon as Dumbledore dismissed everyone. He's a little nervous about tonight.”

“Aww,” said Fred, “little Ronnie shouldn't be worried.”

“We know what's bugging him,” added George.

“And we'll be taking care of that right away,” finished Fred, “with an early Christmas
present.” He clapped Harry's bag, and George winked at him. The two of them took off so quickly
that Harry was left standing in the hallway, confused. He shrugged it off, and he headed toward the
Gryffindor Tower at a leisurely pace.

* * *

Just as Harry reached the hallway of the boy's dormitory, Fred and George were leaving their
room, a wrapped package in Fred's hands.

“Harry!” called George, and once more he headed over to them.

“What's that?” asked Harry, pointing to the package. He noticed its wrappings were covered
in a festive, Christmas print of deep reds and greens. It was wrapped in the same manner that Ron
wrapped things, with lots of tape and extra paper.

“Ron's Christmas present,” explained Fred. “It seems that we made you a promise last summer
on the Hogwarts Express—”

“—And we Weasleys always keep our promises,” finished George. “So if you'll excuse us, we
have a package to deliver.”

Harry stepped aside, and Fred threw open the door to he and Ron's room. Ron was sitting on
his bed, the curtains pulled aside, flipping through a book about the Chudley Cannons.

“Hey Harry,” said Ron, squinting down into the book. He did not look up.

“I'm not Harry,” declared Fred, bursting into the room with George on his heels. He plopped
down on the edge of Ron's bed, knocking his book off in the process.

“We heard you're feeling down, Ron,” said George slyly.

“Shut up, you two,” said Ron angrily. “Who let you in, anyway?”

“We let ourselves in,” said George.

“Don't get mad at us,” added Fred, “because we come bearing gifts.” He shoved the package in
Ron's direction. “It's your Christmas present—”

“—But you won't have much use for it after Christmas,” explained George, “so we want you to
open it now!”

“So hurry along now!” exclaimed Fred.

Ron gave them suspicious looks, but he was already tearing into the paper. “What—what's
this?” he stammered, lifting out a bit of cloth in a deep rust color.

“Merry Christmas, Ron!” exclaimed both twins at once. Then George added, “It's a new set of
dress robes. We thought you might like that as much as anything.”

With a wink and a grin, the twins were out of the room before Ron could even finish stammering
his thanks. He turned to Harry, who was grinning nearly as much as the twins.

“Were you in on this?” asked Ron.

Harry shook his head. “I didn't know they were going to do this, if that's what you
mean.”

Ron nodded. “They aren't that bad,” he said, “as brothers, you know. They can be pretty cool
every now and then.”

“I believe it.” Harry smiled. “Come on, let's get out of here. It's a beautiful day
outside, and there's no need to spend it inside.”

* * *

“Duck, Harry!” said Hermione, shrilly. He did as he was told, and a snowball whizzed by, just
above his ear. In no time, he was standing again, packing another snowball. Next to him, Ron
stumbled as three different snowballs flew at him from a variety of directions.

“Thanks Hermione!” he called, and Ron gave him a high five as his volley knocked Snape right in
the face. The moment of victory, however, was short lived because they had to drop to the ground to
avoid being pelted by Slytherin snowballs.

“I can't believe old Dumbledore had it in him,” said Lee Jordan, who was on Harry's
other side. “A snowball fight for the entire school? That's my idea of a good time!”

“It would be,” said Lavender. She had retreated into the background with several of her friends.
“I, however, wasn't planning on being drenched in the snow today.”

“Oh, live a little, Lavender!” exclaimed Hermione, giggling as she watched the Weasley twins
create a sort of slingshot out of thin air. She was standing right behind Harry, using him as a
shield from the flying snow. She bent down behind her, working on her own snowball.

“What's that up there?” she asked suddenly. She pointed in the direction of one of the trees
on the Slytherin side. Harry squinted, trying to block out the sun. Sure enough, it looked like
something large and dark gray was perched in the tree.

“I'm not sure,” confessed Harry. “It's probably one of the Slytherins, but I can't
figure out why they'd want someone up a tree, especially one that far back.”

“They probably got scared of getting hit!” said Hermione gleefully, as one of her snowballs his
someone on the other side. It was the first time it had happened during the game. Harry gave her a
thumbs up and a smile.

“Ready,” said Ron a few minutes later, pulling back on the twins' creation.

“Aim,” said Fred, from one side of the slingshot.

“Fire!” called George, and Ron did as he was told. The massive collection of snow tumbled down
around Snape, and the three brothers let loose cheers and excited shoots.

“Ooh, they're mad now,” observed Harry. Snape had fallen back into the snow, and he did not
look happy. Several of the older Slytherins had assembled around him, and a few were shaking their
fists angrily.

“Snape's madder,” said Ron grimly. “There's going to be hell to pay when we have to go
back to his class every day.”

“No time to worry about that,” called Fred cheerfully. “Gryffindor's pride is at stake.
Times like these require sacrifice.”

Hermione started to laugh, but a snowball caught her in the cheek at about that moment. Harry
turned back and grabbed her hand to keep her from stumbling.

“Just fine!” she exclaimed. Harry grinned, ducking under the makeshift wall of snow. The
snowball that flew over his head landed perfectly intact, and he picked it up and hurled it back.
From about ten feet away, even their stern housemaster seemed to be getting into it.

“That's the spirit!” called Professor McGonagall as a snowball nearly knocked down the
Slytherin flag. The entire snowball fight had been Dumbledore's idea, meant to entertain
everyone in the hours before the dance. It would be over when three of the house flags fell, and an
hour and a half into the fight, only Slytherin and Gryffindor remained standing. The majority of
the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students remained outside, with Ravenclaw cheering for Slytherin
because Gryffindor had taken down their flag; Hufflepuff cheered for Gryffindor because Slytherin
had knocked theirs down—in the first fifteen minutes.

Ron and Harry shared a smile. “She just likes to win,” said Ron, causing everyone who heard him
to laugh. He scrambled back to the twins, who were getting ready to launch their third volley.

“On the count of three,” said George. “One—two—three!”

It worked beautifully. It nearly knocked over the boy Slytherin had appointed to guard the flag,
giving Ron a chance to grab a snowball from Harry and knock the flag over. Immediately, cheers rang
out as the Gryffindors gathered around each other, hollering about their victory.

“I just love Christmas here,” breathed Hermione as they began to file back towards the castle.
“I think this is going to be the best one yet.”

“I agree,” said Harry. “I just don't know how the dance will live up to that.”

“I think it will better,” argued Hermione, “even though I must admit, it was very satisfying to
see Professor Snape get clobbered with snow.”

“That was the best part,” said Harry. It was so cold that he could see his breath. Behind he and
Hermione, Ron and Anna were having a bit of a lover's quarrel.

“You show no mercy!” she was exclaiming. “I was watching, Ronald Weasley. I know full well that
it was you who took down our flag.”

Ron shrugged. “It was every house for itself. I had to do it.”

“You didn't have to do it in the first half hour of the game!” exclaimed Anna, swatting at
him. Ron responded by wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Why do I have a feeling they're going to be all over each other in a minute?” whispered
Harry grimly. Hermione laughed.

“Because they probably will be?” suggested Hermione. She shivered. “Actually, they won't.
Anna said she needs my help getting ready, so I'm sneaking her into Gryffindor again.”

They filed back into the castle together, Anna and Ron right behind them. Sure enough, the first
thing that Anna did was check the clock.

“Five already?” she exclaimed.

“Don't tell me you need two hours to get ready,” groaned Ron.

“Two?” said Hermione slyly, raising an eyebrow. “Two isn't nearly enough!”

* * *

“Are they ever going to come down?” complained Ron, glancing at his wristwatch for the umpteenth
time. Harry reached over and grabbed his hand.

“Stop it,” he commanded. “It's still ten minutes until seven. You're driving me nuts.
What do you have to be so anxious about, anyway?”

“I'm curious to know what they're doing to themselves up there,” explained Ron. “I mean,
sure, they look nice when they emerge two or three hours later, but I don't see how all that
takes so much time.”

“That,” said George, materializing behind Harry and Ron, “is one of the secrets of women that we
are not to know.”

“Ever,” added Fred. “It would be betraying some higher power.”

The doors to the girls' dormitory had opened now, and the girls were filing down the stairs
in groups, but there wasn't any sign of Hermione or Anna. Angelina was one of the first girls
to come out, and Fred waved as he led her off. George did the same with Alicia a few moments later,
and Ginny gave Harry and Ron a nervous look as she headed down to meet Justin. They were giving her
their assurances when Hermione and Anna appeared.

“Harry!”

Harry turned around at the sound of his name, and he could barely believe his eyes when he saw
Hermione. She was wearing the same periwinkle-blue robes she had the year before, just as Harry was
wearing his green robes. However, he hadn't expected with her to bother with her hair for him,
and she had. Instead of the knot, however, Hermione's usually bushy hair had been combed in to
soft, elegant curls that fell around her face and down her back. She had a sweet smile on her
face.

“Hermione! You look—” exclaimed Harry, knowing his cheeks had to be a very deep shade of red.
“You look beautiful.”

Hermione blushed, too. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, taking his hand. “You look nice, too,
Harry.”

“None of us look that much different than we normally do,” admitted Harry, gesturing to the boys
still waiting around in the common room.

“You do too,” insisted Hermione. “You all look a bit—er, cleaner—than usual, and it's
amazing what a difference a little color makes. For instance, that green only makes your eyes look
greener, if that's even possible.”

Harry blushed, but Hermione had fortunately looked over to Ron. He was still gaping at Anna, who
was dressed in a deep blue color. Ron was wearing his new robes, which were a deep rust color.

“He looks nice,” said Hermione approvingly. “I see he ditched the lacy maroon robes.”

“Yeah, Fred and George—” Harry stopped, catching the secretive smile working its way onto
Hermione's face. “You knew all along, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did,” she confessed, “and so did Anna. The two of us helped Fred and George pick them
out one afternoon in Hogsmead. They told me about the money.”

Harry blushed again. “I didn't need it.”

“I know you didn't,” said Hermione, taking his hand again. The two walked towards the
portrait hole together. “Fred and George still can't get over the fact that you gave it to
them. They're going to do it—I really think they'll make that joke shop happen.”

“Good,” said Harry, helping Hermione through the portrait hole. The Fat Lady gave them an
approving nod.

“Very lovely, very lovely! You all look so lovely!” she muttered, reaching for a tissue at the
bottom of the painting. “It's so nice to see everyone all dressed up—such a nice change from
the way you ragamuffins usually run around—run along, run along now, and have a good time.”

Harry and Hermione waved their good-byes and quickly reached the mass of students waiting to
enter the Great Hall. Just as they reached the edge of the group, a clock somewhere started
announcing the hour, and the doors swung open with the seventh chime.

The Great Hall had been transformed. The huge Christmas trees had been decorated with exotic
looking scarlet flowers, and the ceiling was changing more rapidly than usually, displaying one
glimmering constellation after another. Rich looking garlands wrapped around to every wall, and the
entire hall had a wonderful, warm, pine smell. The two middle tables—Gryffindor and Hufflepuff—had
been removed, and food had been stacked in glorious displays on the Slytherin table, while the
Ravenclaw table was covered with elegant tablecloths and candelabras. A small assembly of the house
ghosts, led by Nearly Headless Nick, was playing a beautiful orchestral piece, and an ice sculpture
had been brought in and set in place of the staff table. It was hard to miss Madame Maxime and
Hagrid because they were both taller than it, and it was also hard to miss the bright smile on
Madame Maxime's face.

“Wow,” breathed Hermione. “It's gorgeous!”

Harry could only nod. He had been thinking the same thing. The entire room seemed to burst with
Christmas cheer. Already, the students had broken off into little groups. Some were already at the
table with their meals, but most were standing around, talking to their friends. After a few
minutes, the flow of students into the hall had stopped, and the doors shut again as Dumbledore
called everyone's attention to the center of the room.

“I will make this brief,” he stated, “for I know you are all excited to get on with the evening.
We have a glorious buffet set up that will be replenished several times throughout the night. For
the first half hour, our music will be provided by our own orchestra of house ghosts. They agreed
to `deejay' our extravaganza on the condition they were allowed to provide some of the music.
Finally, be careful if you venture into the back part of the room—you might be in for a bit of
surprise.”

Harry felt someone tap his arm. “It's mistletoe,” admonished Ron. “George and Alicia already
found out about it the hard way. Peeves put it up—he's throwing things at anyone that tries to
sneak away without kissing.”

“That sounds like something Peeves would enjoy,” said Hermione with a laugh. “Thank you for the
warning, Ron.”

“I'm not going to take it,” whispered Ron as Anna tugged him in the direction of a group of
Ravenclaw boys to meet her older brother. He winked at them before shooting them a look of fright.
Harry and Hermione began to laugh.

“'Arry an' `Ermione!” called a booming voice behind them. It could only be one
person.

“Hagrid!” said Hermione, smiling as she turned around. Harry smiled, too.

“Yeh both look real nice,” said Hagrid. “Do yeh like the ice sculp'ure? I knew Olympe `ad
`em at `eauxbatons, an' ay `anted to do somethin' to remind `er of it. Carved it
meself.”

“It's gorgeous, Hagrid, just like everything in here,” said Hermione sincerely.

“It is,” said Harry. He gestured around to the garlands everywhere. “Are you responsible for
those, too?”

“Yeh, ay'm,” said Hagrid with a wide grin. “It was all meh idea. I did it out of the
`orest.”

“It looks great,” smiled Harry, “and it smells even better!”

Hagrid beamed. Then, he looked around nervously and bent down to them. “I got somethin' ter
tell yeh,” he whispered. “Meh and Olympe, well, things `ave been goin' real well between us. I
got somethin' ter ask her, and I might do it ternight.”

“Hagrid!” exclaimed both Harry and Hermione at the same time, catching onto what he was talking
about. He blushed, but he smiled, too.

“Good luck,” said Harry, and Hermione gave him a great hug. Hagrid was beaming again.

“Yeh'll beh the first ter know when ay've done it,” he said, giving them a thumbs up
before saying good-bye and walking back to Madam Maxime.

“Oh, I do hope things work out for him!” exclaimed Hermione. “Hagrid deserves to be happy.”

“He does,” agreed Harry. “He does so much for everyone here—teaches class, maintains the
grounds, watches over things, runs errands for Dumbledore. It's hard not to like him.”

“Not if you're a Slytherin,” said Hermione coolly. She pointed in the direction of Madam
Maxime and Hagrid, who were dancing around in slow circles. He'd just brushed up against Pansy
Parkinson, and she was glaring at him and wiping at her robes as if they were contaminated. “Malfoy
managed to turn every single one of them against Hagrid, it seems.”

“Too true,” said Harry grimly. “It's their own loss, though, if they're dumb enough to
have listened to him.”

Hermione stifled a giggle. She and Harry wondered around for a good hour, talking to everyone
from the Weasley twins to Neville. They'd gotten a good laugh at Snape dancing sullenly with
Professor Trelawny when she asked him, and they nearly got knocked over when Fred and Angelina
managed to get everyone to tango. Looking back, however, they both agreed that the best moment came
later that evening, when Dumbledore got at least three-quarters of the staff on the floor in a line
dance, including the unwilling and finally enchanted Professor Snape. It was half past eight when
everyone began to tire of dancing and head to the buffet table. Harry and Hermione hadn't
danced yet, but they headed over to the table behind Anna and Ron. Ron looked nervous.

“He's afraid of my brother,” whispered Anna with a snicker. “He keeps muttering about
giants. I guess I forgot to mention that John is even taller than Ron! I don't know why
he's so scared, though—John liked him!”

Harry and Hermione both laughed as they picked up plates at one end of the table; the food
didn't start for several more feet. “I didn't know you had a brother, Anna,” said
Hermione.

“Oh, I actually have five,” said Anna, pointing to a group of boys hanging out near the
mistletoe corner. “John's the last one at Hogwarts, though. He's one of those brilliant
ones trying to get kisses beneath the mistletoe.”

“You didn't have to make me meet him tonight,” Ron was still muttering. “I was having a nice
evening. I really was. Then I meet your brother. He's probably standing over there,
contemplating how to kill me and where to put the body.”

Anna popped him with the back of her hand. “Oh, John wouldn't hurt a fly,” she said. “He
probably doesn't even know how. He's scared of me half the time, convinced my friend Lena
is plotting against him.”

“I should have listened to Fred and George,” said Ron sadly. “They warned me that your older
brother was superhuman, and I didn't believe them.”

The two of them sat down together, continuing to banter. Harry and Hermione shared a look as
they sat down.

“I think they've tuned us out,” said Harry as Anna and Ron launched into a heated debate
about former Chudley Cannons. “I've followed different Quidditch teams more and more since the
World Cup, and I don't even know what they're talking about.”

“You?” said Hermione. “What about me? I get confused when you start naming the different
positions! The only person whose role I'm sure of is the Seeker, and that's because
you're one!”

Harry looked at her, astonished. “How do you follow the games, then?”

“I just nod and pretend to understand everything being announced.” Hermione shrugged. “Then, I
stand to cheer when everyone else does. Besides, I'm hopeless on a broomstick, and I'm
hopeless in any sport I've ever tried. I highly doubt Quidditch would be my calling.”

“You don't know what you're missing,” declared Harry. “Has anyone ever even explained
the game to you?”

Hermione shook her head. “And I felt stupid asking, so I read all I could about it, but it was
one of those things that I just couldn't absorb.”

“It's really very easy to understand,” said Harry, and he briefly explained how the game was
played and what each position was responsible for doing. When he finished, Hermione was actually
smiling and nodding with understanding.

“Now,” she said with a laugh, “looking back, I think I would understand everything I've
missed.”

Harry grinned. “Then the next thing I have to teach you is how to ride a broomstick.”

“I think I'll pass,” said Hermione. “Just the thought of it makes me feel queasy.”

Harry shook his head, remembering that he had a meal in front of him, and started to eat again.
Anna and Ron were still in their own little world, so he and Hermione started to talk on their own.
It didn't seem to matter what they tried to talk about, though, because they always ended up
talking about seeing Malfoy back on campus nearly a month before. They had worked with the Belwit
Curse so much in Professor Lupin's class that they no longer thought Malfoy was responsible for
what happened at the Quidditch match. It was a difficult curse to perform; even Hermione had
trouble getting it perfect.

“What about Halloween though?” asked Hermione, lowering her voice as a group of Slytherin girls
sat down near her with their dinners. The table had filled with students fast, and there
weren't many seats left.

“I really don't think Malfoy did any of it,” said Harry finally. “He likes to gloat about
things he's done, especially if he wasn't supposed to be doing them. Don't you think we
would have heard something from him sooner if he was responsible?”

“You have a good point,” said Hermione, chewing thoughtfully. She swallowed. “I just—well, I
can't come up with any other reason as why he'd want his wand back.”

“More important than that,” said Harry, “is why he would bother returning it to you after he
took it. Whatever happened to it?”

“Dumbledore took it from him again, and he did give it back to me. He said something about
alerting him immediately if it happened to go missing again.” Hermione sighed. “The whole reason
I'd put it so securely away in the first place is because I didn't want it constantly
reminding me of him. I didn't want to gloat about him getting expelled. Now, I feel like I
should be watching over it. I just wish Dumbledore would keep it.”

“You should tell him that,” reasoned Harry. “He'd understand.”

“I don't know,” said Hermione. “I just want to forget it ever happened.”

Harry nodded. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand silently. She smiled at him. “Do
whatever makes you comfortable,” said Harry.

“Thanks for your assurances,” said Hermione softly. She pulled her hand back, noticing her
bracelet was about to come unclasped. When she went to fix it, the sleeve of her robes fell back,
exposing her forearm. It suddenly dawned on Harry that he hadn't seen her in anything but long
sleeves since she had left the hospital, and he immediately understood why. The skin that had been
touched with the Forveret Bursen was still an ugly shade of red, and it looked like a crackled scab
running up her arm. Hermione shoved her sleeve back down as quickly as it had fallen up, but it was
too late.

“Ew!” exclaimed Pansy Parkinson, who had taken the seat next to her, and she moved away from
Hermione. “That is so disgusting! What is wrong with you?”

“Oh Pansy,” said the girl next to her with a hateful laugh, “don't be silly. It's those
burns from Potions. I thought you got out of class for two months to lounge around the hospital
wing, Granger.”

“Don't worry about it, Daisy,” said another girl. She had thick black hair and was wearing
expensive pink robes. She looked down her nose toward Hermione. “She was already an unattractive
Mudblood, it's not going to make any difference.”

Hermione recoiled with each remark, and more of the girls seemed to be staring at her now. The
second girl, apparently named Daisy, scrunched up her nose again.

“Silly me,” she said. She looked haughtily at Hermione for a second time. “No wonder no one
likes you. As if getting Malfoy expelled wasn't enough!”

“It should have been her that got expelled,” said a fourth girl. She was disgustingly skinny,
with beady black eyes. “I can't believe they let people like that come here in the first
place!”

Tears had begun to well up in Hermione's eyes, and she lost it with the last comment. She
rushed out of the Great Hall, tears streaming down her face. Harry was still staring at the girls,
dumbfounded.

“What is your problem?” Harry suddenly demanded. He couldn't believe they'd had the
nerve to say those things to Hermione. “Why do you all think you're so much better than she
is?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Maybe because we are?” she offered. “What, is she your girlfriend now,
Harry?”

“No,” said Harry, taking a deep breath, “but she is one of my best friends.” He stopped, wanting
to say more, but he could deal with them later. Harry was more worried about finding Hermione and
seeing if she was okay.

* * *

Harry found Hermione out in the courtyard, sitting on the wall of the turned-off-for-winter
fountain. She had her face buried in her hands, and she trembled every few seconds. At that moment,
he could have killed the girls for what they'd said about her.

“Hermione?” he said softly, walking over to her. She looked up at him, her face tearstained.
Wordlessly, he sat down next to her, wrapping his arms around her. She buried her head in his
shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” managed Hermione finally. She was still crying, and her words sounded
chocked.

“Don't be sorry,” ordered Harry. “You don't need to be.”

“Yes, I do,” insisted Hermione quietly. She pulled away from him suddenly. “I should have told
you what a repulsive date partner you managed to pick for the dance.”

“Hermione, they just don't like you. Nothing they said was true,” said Harry softly.
Hermione had looked down, and he touched her chin gently and made her look up at him. He gave her a
long look. “You are not repulsive. I don't want to hear you say that ever again.”

Hermione sniffled. “Harry,” she said, “you don't understand. It's not just my arm.
It's all over my shoulder and my back. It is disgusting, and I've known that for a long
time.”

“It's not nearly as bad as you think,” said Harry. “I'm more worried about it still
hurting you than how it looks.”

“It's not like it matters. I was unattractive to start with.”

“You were not. `Mione, you're one of the prettiest girls I know, and I'm not just saying
that to make you feel better. It's not what's on the outside, anyway—your cleverness, your
personality—those things make you attractive,” said Harry sincerely, but then he grinned. “But even
if you were dead annoying, I'd still think you were pretty. Now come on, look at me. I'm
not going to let you believe what those girls in there said.”

Hermione looked at him, and he was thankful to see she had stopped crying. He put his arm around
her again, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“You know what I think it is?” he said finally.

“What?”

“I think they're still mad about our Potions test,” said Harry, grinning. “The one time
Snape said he'd curve a test, you get a perfect score!”

Hermione managed a smile, a real one this time. Despite the cold, they sat there like that for a
long time. From inside the castle, Dumbledore's booming voice eventually announced that the
next song would be the last. Harry swallowed hard, and, even though his mind was still working
through it, he decided to take a risk. He stood, clutched both of Hermione's hands, and pulled
her up as well.

“Harry,” she asked, obviously caught off guard, “what are you doing?”

“Come on, `Mione,” he urged. “It's the last dance.” The first chords of the last song were
already drifting out of the school.

“Don't be silly, Harry,” said Hermione. “We'll never get back inside before the song is
over.”

“We don't have to,” said Harry. Before she could say another word, he had one of her hands
in his and had pulled her closer with the other. Hermione finally seemed to understand what he was
getting at, and she put both of her arms around his neck. Harry pulled her closer, and Hermione
rested her head against his shoulder.

It was their first and last dance of the evening, and they stayed like that for a long time,
even after the last note of music had faded away.

-->



9. Mysterious Disappearances
----------------------------



Chapter Nine

MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCES

The stairs circling the boys' dormitories were dark when Harry finally made his way up to
his room that night. It was just past eleven; the dance had ended at ten. Harry wasn't sure how
long he and Hermione had been outside, and he wasn't sure how long they had spent in the common
room after that. Judging by the intense silence, everyone else must have gone straight to bed after
the dance.

Harry pushed open the door to his room as silently as possible because he was sure that Ron was
already asleep. He also avoided the floorboards he knew creaked, but it was no use.

“Where have you been?” demanded Ron. “Pansy Parkinson started a big row about Hermione down at
the dance, saying she'd seen Hermione's scabs from the Forveret Bursen. She has half the
school convinced Hermione's got some kind of disease, and she said Hermione ran off crying. We
spent the last hour of the dance looking for you, but you were no where to be found—”

“Ron,” interrupted Harry, “I know what Pansy saw. I was there. A whole lot of Slytherin girls
started in on Hermione, calling her unattractive and talking about how they wish she'd gotten
expelled instead of Malfoy. She did run off crying, and I found her in the courtyard. That's
where I've been.”

“With Hermione?”

“Yes, with Hermione,” said Harry. He had managed to locate his pajamas in the dark. He discarded
his dress robes on the floor, too tired to care if they got wrinkled.

“Lumos!”

Harry squinted when he realized Ron had picked up his wand and illuminated the room. Ron's
freckled face was filled with concern.

“Is she okay?” asked Ron. “I heard what they were saying. They made it sound like Hermione was
devastated.”

“She was,” said Harry grimly. He hopped into his four-poster, but he did not pull the curtain
shut. “I think they took a lucky guess on that one. She was crying when she left, after all.”

“What about now?”

“Okay, I think,” said Harry. He pulled an extra blanket up on the bed, still cold from being
outside for so long. “I don't know why they went off on her like that. It wasn't like she
was doing anything, just sitting there, talking to me.”

“So they just attacked her?” Ron wanted to know. “I really hate those girls.”

“More or less,” said Harry. He quickly explained how her bracelet had come unclasped and, when
she went to fix it, her sleeve had fallen back and showed the scabs.

“And they just started in on her?” Ron shook his head in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

“It is,” agreed Harry. “We had been talking about Malfoy, but they never once looked in our
direction before. Maybe they heard, but we were talking awfully quietly. It would have been
hard.”

“Knowing Pansy, she had it planned the entire time,” quipped Ron. “She's that type.
She's always finding something to pick at someone for. Hermione was probably just at the wrong
place at the wrong time.”

“Poor Hermione. I believe that, but even so, I just couldn't believe how vicious they all
were. They all just look at her with this cruel stare. I don't blame her for running off in
tears.”

“Probably not,” said Ron, and he yawned. “Where'd you go after the dance?”

“We stayed out in the courtyard for a little while,” said Harry, being carefully not to mention
the dance they'd shared. He knew full well Ron would give him hell about it if he did. “Then,
we were down in the common room for awhile.”

“But she's all better now?”

Harry noticed that Ron had put out his wand, and he rolled over in the darkness, putting his
glasses down on the bedside table. “I don't know if you'd say all better,” said Harry
quietly, “but I don't think she's any worse off.”

“That,” said Ron, “if I didn't know better, would be called avoiding the question. What have
you been doing for the last hour, though?”

“I told you,” said Harry. “We were outside in the courtyard for awhile, and then we were
downstairs in the common room.”

“I know that,” agreed Ron. “But what were you doing?”

“Hermione just needed someone to be there for her for awhile, and I was there. Okay?” Harry
grimaced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He hadn't meant to be so harsh, and he
couldn't figure out why he was so protective of Hermione all of a sudden. There was silence
from Ron's side of the room, and it stretched on for several minutes.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry could tell Ron was squirming around because his mattress squeaked. He wanted for
his friend to go on.

“I'm not trying to pry, and I'm not going to tease you, okay?”

“Okay... what are you talking about?”

There was another squeak of the mattress, and Harry was starting to feel very curious. Ron
seemed to be squirming around a lot more than usual, which meant he was uncomfortable.

“Well?”

“Is—is there something, er, going on between you and Hermione?” said Ron quietly.

Harry was silent for a few minutes. There wasn't anything going on between them, of course.
“No, there's not, Ron,” he said finally.

* * *

By the next morning, the Great Hall was back to normal. The two middle tables had been added
again, the ice sculpture had been taken outside, and the Christmas trees had been stripped of their
tropical flowers. Hagrid's garlands remained, however, as did the wonderful, Christmas
smell.

The commotion that morning was more than usual, for majority of students were heading home for
the holidays directly afterwards. Only six people from Gryffindor had opted to stay: the Weasleys,
Harry, and Hermione, though Harry had a feeling the others were staying out of pity for him. In the
other three houses, there seemed to be similar amounts of people leaving, and even some of the
professors were going home.

However, something set that morning apart from the others. While everyone from Slytherin,
Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff had found their way down to the Great Hall, not a single person occupied
the Ravenclaw table, even after the food had been served. Ron, of course, was worried about Anna,
but Harry had his own concerns. Hermione had seemed fine when she'd gone up to her dorm room,
but she wasn't looking that well now. She hadn't said a word yet that morning—not even a
hello—and she kept pushing her food around on her plate. For Harry, Ron, and Hermione, breakfast
was a quiet affair.

Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall opened again, and the whole slew of Ravenclaws burst in,
all with different degrees of concerned looks on their faces. Anna made a beeline for the
Gryffindor table.

“What's going on?” asked Ron. Anna's eyes went wide.

“Mandy Brocklehurst is missing—she stood up her date up for the dance and no one remember seeing
her at the snowball fight,” she said, and she rushed on. “She's a prefect, and she has her own
room. When someone realized she hadn't been seen in ages, they checked her room. Everything was
thrown about here and there, all out of place—and they say there was another message in smoke.”

* * *

The news spread around the Great Hall like wildfire. Before Dumbledore or any of the teachers
had a chance to saying something, the whole place was nearly in uproar. Not a lot of people seemed
to know Mandy, but those that did all described her in the same way: very smart, very talented,
very quiet.

When Harry heard this, he couldn't help but look to Hermione. She was always two of the
things, and today she was also the third. Something wasn't right, and Harry made a mental note
to talk to her later. There wasn't much point of trying amidst the commotion that was the Great
Hall.

Finally, Dumbledore managed to silence everyone, but not until he resorted to the use of his
wand. He stood before everyone, a very stern look on his face.

“Thank you,” said Dumbledore. “I will not waste your time repeating information, as it seems you
all already know. However, even in light of recent events, the majority of you all are expected on
the Hogwarts Express in little over an hour. There is an explanation for everything, and you need
not worry that we will get to the bottom of this. Please head back to your rooms right after you
finish eating to gather your things. For those students not leaving, you will still accompany us to
the platform.”

With another wave of his wand, the silence was lifted from the Great Hall. The whispers began
again, and no one seemed able to believe Dumbledore's calmness in the matter. Harry looked over
to Hermione, about to say something, but she suddenly stood up. She looked unusually pale, and she
still hadn't touched her breakfast. She must have seen him looking at her with confusion.

“I—I have to go,” stammered Hermione. “I just remembered I—I promised Lavender I'd do
something for her before she left.”

Before Harry could say anything, she was gone. He looked at her empty seat for a moment,
wondering what could possibly be going on. It didn't take a genius to realize there wasn't
any promise to Lavender involved. Harry just couldn't figure out why she would want to lie to
him. He wasn't finished with his breakfast yet, but he decided that dragging the truth out of
Hermione was more important.

* * *

“Hullo, Mr. Potter! How are you this morning?” welcomed the Fat Lady as Harry approached the
Gryffindor tower.

“I'm fine,” said Harry. “How are you?”

The Fat Lady clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, I'm having the most lovely day! I'm
looking forward to some rest and relaxation with so many of you ragamuffins leaving! Will you be
staying?”

“Yes—I'm one of the few that are,” said Harry, trying not to sound impatient. He wanted to
find Hermione, but he didn't want to be rude, either. “Say, did Hermione rush through here a
few minutes ago?”

“Hermione, you say? No, I'm sorry, dear, she hasn't been through here.”

“Oh, it's okay,” said Harry. “I'm going in, anyway. Christmas pudding.”

“Very well then!” called the Fat Lady cheerfully as she swung open. “It was nice talking to you,
Harry!”

Harry said his goodbyes and darted through the portrait hole. He couldn't help but scratch
his head in confusion once in the common room. If Hermione hadn't gone back to Gryffindor,
where could she have gone? As it turns out, the portrait hole opened a few seconds later, and
Hermione climbed through. She made a beeline to the staircase up to the girls' dormitory,
brushing past Harry without so much as a word.

“Hermione!” he called, and she stopped halfway up the staircase. She gripped the railing as she
turned around.

“Oh, hello Harry,” she said quietly. “I really can't talk long. I've decided to go home
for the holidays; I have a sudden homesickness. I've just talked to Dumbledore and sent an
express owl to my parents, and I really must get my things together.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He didn't know how he was supposed to respond to that. He could have sworn
she told him how much she loved the holidays here just the night before. As he thought, she started
up the staircase again. “Hermione, wait. Is there something bothering you?”

“Everything's fine.” Hermione stopped, and Harry noticed she looked unusually pale.
Suddenly, she rushed back down the stairs and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Harry!”

“'Mione? What's wrong?” Harry was so confused that he pulled back from her grasp.

“I—I can't explain it,” said Hermione, and she brought her hands up behind her neck,
fumbling with something. “I have to go, Harry. I just can't be here, not right now.
A—a—and—I'm sorry Harry.”

He felt her open his hand and slip something into it. He looked down to see the necklace he had
given her coiled up in his palm. “Hermione—what's this about? This was a gift. You don't
have to give it back to me—”

“Yes, I do,” said Hermione quickly. She had backed away from him and looked dangerously close to
tears. “You wouldn't understand. You'd think it was stupid, but this isn't right. You
might not realize it now, but you don't want to be around me, Harry. I—I'm sorry.”

Harry was still looking at the necklace in his hand, dumbfounded, when she dashed up the stairs.
He was about to call for an explanation, but she had already shut the door to the girls'
dormitory.

* * *

Just as Dumbledore had stated, the scheduled events of the day continued on as usual. Still,
even as collected as he might appear, Harry couldn't help but notice the wary look on the
headmaster's face as students piled onto the Hogwarts Express to go home for Holiday. Harry
stayed back with the Weasleys and a handful of other students staying in the castle over the break.
Ron looked confused as to why Hermione had boarded the train, but Harry was still working over what
she had said to him and didn't offer an explanation. The twins were dueling with their fake
wands, and Ginny chatted with her friends to the very last.

Finally, the whistle blew and the train left, leaving only twelve students still on the
platform. Standing with them were Hagrid, Madame Maxime, Dumbledore, Lupin, McGonagall, Snape, and
Filch. The caretaker had brought his cat, Mrs. Norris, with him, and was grumbling about time he
could have spent cleaning being wasted.

Like most students, Anna had chosen to go home, which gave Harry Ron's undivided attention
for the first time in weeks. However, Harry was still so caught up in what Hermione had said to
notice his redheaded friend trying to get his attention. Finally, Ron bellowed his name in his ear,
and Harry looked over with a flinch. Ron was waving his hand in front of Harry's face.

“I've been trying to get your attention for ten minutes, and you almost tripped over a tree
root because you weren't watching. What's going on?” Ron wanted to know.

“It's nothing,” said Harry immediately, but he sighed. It would be no use lying to Ron. He
quickly told him what Hermione had said to him in the common room before leaving.

“That's ridiculous!” protested Ron. “She was just talking about how excited she was to spend
the holidays with us on Thursday afternoon! How could she have changed her mind? That was only a
few days ago!”

“Not even a few days,” said Harry grimly. “She was still looking forward to it last night.”

“Do you think it could be because of what those girls said to her last night?” questioned Ron.
“She didn't talk to me this morning, but I thought she looked a little out of it.”

“She did,” said Harry. “I was going to track her down later today and try to talk about it, but
you see where that got me.”

Ron shook his head. “I think she just disowned you, Harry.”

* * *

“Harry, wake up! You might not be in a very merry mood, but I'm not going to let you sleep
through Christmas morning! Now get up!” exclaimed Ron a few mornings later, shoving back the
hangings on his friend's bed and shaking his shoulder vigorously. Harry reached up, trying to
bat him away, but it was no use.

“There's no escaping Christmas, Harry!” called Fred, his voice cheery as he peaked into his
younger brother's room. He had his arms full of packages, which he set on the floor in a pile;
George was right behind him and did the same.

“Come on, Harry!” exclaimed Ron again, and Harry finally opened his eyes.

“Okay, okay, I'm up,” he said grumpily, nearly hitting Ron as he reached over to get his
glasses. He blinked a few times, looking very surprised to see Fred and George there already.

“We thought we'd pay you too a visit and have ourselves a real Christmas party,” explained
George hastily. “I wouldn't be surprised if Ginny popped in here in a few minutes.”

Harry couldn't help but smile as he climbed out of bed and looked around the room. He'd
had a rough few days, as he was preoccupied with thoughts about what Hermione had said to him. Now,
as his eyes shifted between his three redheaded friends, the piles of festive packages, and the
small Christmas tree Hagrid had cut for them a couple days before, Harry made a resolution not to
let his concerns upset him that day.

“I think we should all open these first,” declared Fred, holding up a lumpy package from Mrs.
Weasley. George dug his out, nodding as he held it up.

“A Weasley family sweater!” exclaimed George as he held it up. “I wasn't expecting
this!”

Ron, however, was staring at his in disbelief. “I wasn't expecting it not to be maroon!”

Harry peered over to Ron, who, sure enough, was holding up a blue sweater. “Was it finally
starting to grow on you, Ron?” he asked, and Ron threw a wad of wrapping paper at him. His own
sweater was green.

“She's gotten us confused,” said George suddenly. He held up a red sweater with a large
yellow F knitted into it. Fred was holding up a similar one, except his had a G.

“Not like you're identical or anything, right?” said Ron with a grin as his older brothers
traded sweaters. He was busy putting his own, which turned into a difficult task, as he was trying
to shove his head into one of the sleeves.

Harry pulled his on, too, and finished emptying Mrs. Weasley's package. Besides the hand
knitted sweater, she had given him matching knit socks, a whole box of homemade fudge and candies,
and half a dozen mince pies. He noticed that there were two different packages from Sirius, and he
started to open the first one just as Ron let out a cry of glee from next to him.

“Look!” he cried, shoving something in Harry's direction. It was a slightly worn broom, but
it was impossible not to notice the “Nimbus 2000” in gold writing at the top of the handle. Ron had
a piece of parchment in his hand.

“We know it's neither new nor a Firebolt, but we hope you enjoy it just the same,” read Ron.
“Good luck in your next Quidditch match, and don't you dare let it out of your sight for a
second! Love, Mum and Dad.”

Ron looked dumbfounded, so Harry clapped him on the back. “There's no way we won't win
the Slytherin rematch now, huh?”

“No—no there's not!” exclaimed Ron finally, and he grinned. Fred and George were also
grinning, musing their little brother's hair and punching his shoulder.

“We knew you were getting it,” admitted Fred.

“Yeah,” added George, “Dad wanted to know if we thought you'd be offended about getting a
secondhand broom.”

Ron shook his head. “This is the greatest!”

Harry could tell that Ron really meant it. He took Sirius's larger package up again and
peeled away the paper. There were actually several things inside: two Quidditch posters for his
wall (one of them was of the Chudley Cannons, which Fred helped Ron tack up to the wall
immediately), a set of wizard chess pieces (Ron challenged him to a game that afternoon), some
Chocolate Frogs (George snatched one to eat), and a deck of magic cards (Harry set them aside
before any of the Weasleys took notice). The other package was much smaller, and Harry noticed a
note on top.

*Harry—*

*This really isn't a present, but I wanted you to have it. It was your father's; his
own father gave it to him when he was fifteen. Merry Christmas!*

*—Sirius*

It was a wristwatch, and his father's initials were inscribed on the back. Harry put it on
his wrist and took a closer look at the face. It had the normal hands of a Muggle clock, but it had
a second dial that Harry didn't understand.

“That's a nice watch,” observed Fred. “Who gave that to you?”

“Sirius did,” said Harry, “but it was my father's. I think it's a wizard's watch
because I don't understand what the center dial is for.”

George grabbed his wrist and looked at it closely. “Ah, a sensory dial, I see,” he said,
releasing Harry's arm and giving him a knowing look. “They don't make them like that
anymore, but they're a lot of fun. It's supposed to be able to tell how other people feel
about you, but I think it's mostly for show.”

“How do you use it?” Harry wanted to know.

“The back panel changes color every so often,” explained Fred, “and then the hand moves. Each
color's supposed to be a different emotion, and the hand points to how many people feel that
way.”

“Dad has a really old one,” added Ron. “His changes between over a hundred different colors. He
doesn't wear it anymore because the time part stopped working, but we used to play with the
sensory dial sometimes.”

Harry nodded, and the boys went through the last of their gifts. Hagrid had given both Harry and
Ron a tin of homemade peanut brittle, and he had whittled them each a small Gryffindor lion. Harry
gave Ron a bright orange Chudley Cannons shirt, and Ron gave Harry a third Quidditch poster and a
vast bag of candy. Harry had just finished unwrapping his last gift when Hedwig fluttered through
the window with a letter for him. She nipped Harry's fingers affectionately, and then she
perched on the frame of his bed instead of heading back to the Owlery. Harry opened the letter,
which was from the Dursleys, and read it quickly.

“Did they bother with a Christmas gift this year, Harry?” asked Fred, scratching his head.

Harry shook his head. “No, but they've moved into a larger home,” he said, “and they're
going to be vacationing for most of the summer and want me to find another place to stay.”

“I reckon they're still mad you left in the middle of the night,” said George.

“Don't worry about it,” said Ron. “You can stay with us this summer.”

Harry smiled gratefully, thanking Hedwig for making the long journey. She nibbled on his fingers
once more before retreating out of the room in the direction of the Owlery. Ginny was on her way in
just as Hedwig was on her way out, and she ducked out of the way.

“Merry Christmas!” she said brightly, her own knitted sweater pulled on over her dressing gown.
She was nuzzling a small gray kitten in her arms, and all three of her brothers groaned. “Look what
mum and dad gave me! I've named him Jiggers.”

Ron turned up his nose immediately. “Crookshanks isn't going to appreciate sharing his
living space with him.”

Ginny scowled at her brother. “For your information,” she said curtly, “Hermione left
Crookshanks here over the holiday, and the two have gotten along just fine!”

“I always knew that cat was dumb,” muttered Ron. The twins sniggered, and Ginny stuck out her
tongue.

“You're very immature, Ron,” decided Ginny. “Well, I'd better go back before Professor
McGonagall gets upset. I'll see you all at lunch!”

“I don't like cats,” said Ron as soon as she was out of earshot.

“Oh, it won't be that bad,” said Fred. “He'll scare away the garden gnomes this summer,
at least.”

George nodded, but he didn't seem too interested in his little sister's new pet.
“What's your watch doing, Harry?”

Harry looked down at it. “It's blue and pointing to three.”

“What shade?” asked Ron knowingly.

“Umm… it's sort of a periwinkle?” offered Harry.

“Worried, then,” said Fred. He grabbed Harry's arm again, inspecting the watch. “Your watch
reads even more emotions than dad's! See the 134 right there? That's the number of feelings
it can pick up.”

“Tap it,” suggested George. “It'll move on to the next color.”

“Lime green, two,” said Harry.

“That's the number of people thinking about you right now,” said Ron. “Try it again.”

Harry did, and the three Weasleys gathered around him. They were right when they said it was
fun. Each time Harry taped the watch, they would tell him what the color meant and try to guess
whom those people might be.

“Golden yellow, one,” said Harry.

“I'll bet it's Snape,” said George with a snigger. He explained, “Golden yellow means
annoyed.”

“What does it do if no one is feeling any of those things about me?” Harry wanted to know.

“It only shows the feelings that people are actually feeling,” said Fred. “It'll just skip
over the ones that no one is having at the moment.”

“Red, five,” said Harry. The twins peered down at the watch.

“That's one of the love shades,” said Fred. “It's for parents—and people like that,” he
added hastily.

“Sirius?” suggested Ron, and Harry nodded. The face went black when he tapped the watch.

“Ooh,” murmured George, “black is hate. You've got an enemy, Harry.”

“That's always reassuring,” said Harry uncomfortably. He tapped it again because he
didn't want to think of who might hate him at the moment. It went to a very deep shade of
red.

“Oh la la!” declared Fred in a singsong voice, punching Harry's arm. Harry looked at him,
confused.

“Somebody loves you,” said George, “and I mean love-love. Romantic love.”

“I see why you said it might just be for show,” said Harry, blushing slightly.

“Live a little, Harry!” ordered Ron, tapping the face for him. “You're supposed to be happy
that a girl likes you.”

“Right,” muttered Harry. “What's it doing? It keeps changing from one color to another, but
it's still pointing to one.”

“That means someone has a lot of unsure feelings about you,” said George.

“When it proceeds love, it's always the same person,” said Fred in a stage whisper. He and
George and Ron all sniggered.

“Look at him blush!” declared Ron, which only made Harry blush harder.

“Maybe I should just take it off,” muttered Harry, starting to undo the clasp.

“Nah, just turn off the sensory dial,” said Fred, tapping a button on the side. The dial
disappeared, and it looked like a normal watch again. “Come on, let's go downstairs. I'm
hungry, and breakfast might still be on the table...”

* * *

Ron and Harry spent the week leading up to the New Year gorging themselves on food and candy,
playing games of wizard chess, watching the sensory dial, and sharing theories about what would
make Hermione so upset to say what she said to Harry. On January the second, the Hogwarts Express
began making daily trips between the school and Kings Cross, bringing students back, even though
the term wouldn't start until mid-January.

The boys hadn't heard from Hermione once during the break, and they began checking each day
to see if she had come back yet. When the first day of the term rolled around, Ginny conveniently
informed them that Hermione had been back for about a week. She offered no other information, and
Harry and Ron were thoroughly confused. It just didn't make sense that their best friend
suddenly didn't want to have anything to do with them.

It was at breakfast that morning that Harry and Ron finally caught a glimpse of Hermione. She
had gotten there before them and sat down amidst a bevy of girls in the house. She buried her nose
in her Arithmancy book and made no acknowledgement of them.

“This just doesn't make any sense at all,” said Harry, exasperated. He kept glancing down
the table during breakfast to see if Hermione would look up.

“No,” agreed Ron, reaching for his fifth piece of toast. “Don't worry. We have Professor
Lupin's class first thing this morning, so she'll be forced to at least sit with us.”

“I have a feeling that doesn't mean she's going to talk to us, though,” said Harry
grimly.

* * *

Professor Lupin was late for class—very late for class. Several boys, still restless from their
vacation, had moved to the back of the room where they were putting minor hexes and curses on each
other, laughing with each pigtail they managed to create and cursing with each thing to sprout on
their own body. Ron and Harry stayed in their seats, with Hermione in between them. She pulled out
a book and started to read. Ron and Harry shared helpless looks.

“How was your break, `Mione?” asked Ron politely.

“Fine,” said Hermione.

“Was your family surprised to see you?” questioned Harry as Ron gave him an encouraging
look.”

“A little,” said Hermione.

“How are they?” asked Ron.

“Good,” said Hermione. Ron threw his hands up silently and shrugged.

“Is something bothering you?” said Harry, concerned.

“No,” said Hermione. She was starting to sound awfully short.

“Are you trying to ignore us?” asked Ron finally.

“I'm trying,” said Hermione curtly, “to read.”

Ron let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair, past Hermione's head. “She's
lying,” he mouthed. “Whatever's bothering her is really bothering her.”

“I noticed,” Harry mouthed back. There were footsteps outside in the hallway, and the boys in
back began to cast counter curses with frantic waves of their wands. The last one hopped back in
his seat just as Lupin entered the room. He looked very serious and very distressed as he took his
place in front of the class.

“There has been,” he stated softly, “another disappearance.”

There were gasps and mutters all around, and someone in the back row called, “Who was it?”

“Petey Mums,” said Lupin, “a first year from Hufflepuff. His friends saw him exiting the train
yesterday afternoon and never found him once they entered Hogwarts. Needless to say, something very
serious is going on.”

“Was there another message?” asked Lavender.

“What did the one in the Ravenclaw prefect's room say, anyway?” called another student.

Lupin sighed heavily. “The messages have been declared another practical joke and are in no way
related to the disappearances, but yes, another message was found in the Hufflepuff common room
this morning. The one found in Miss Brocklehurst's room read `Let this be your third
warning,' and the one in the common room stated `Why won't you believe me?' Personally,
I find it sick that someone would take the misfortunate disappearance of someone so lightly as to
perform such a joke.

“However, it is not part of my position to pass judgment on the situation. I have just come from
a staff meeting—the cause for my lateness—and I have been instructed to announce some new rules to
you. First, you are to pair off with someone you share a room with and stay with them every moment
outside of class. You will not be allowed to leave your house's area except for meals and
classes without written permission from a teacher, and even then, someone will accompany you.
Students will be walked to and from classes with teachers. There will be no going out on the
grounds unless to go to class—and I think that's everything I'm supposed to tell you.”

The class was silent, and none of the usual whispering went on as Lupin taught his lesson. When
the bell rang an hour later, he made sure they paired up as they left the room, and, in the
commotion, Harry and Ron didn't get a chance to talk to Hermione.

* * *

Things reverted back to normal with the new safety precautions. There were no more
disappearances, and the teachers maintained a tightlipped response to any questions about either
Mandy or Petey. Like many students, Harry and Ron had trouble getting used to the new regulations;
however, they were having more trouble getting used to Hermione's sudden change of attitude.
Halfway through the week, Ron had managed to corner her in the prefect common room, but their
discussion hadn't gone anywhere.

“Hey Hermione,” said Ron, sneaking up on her. She was engrossed in her Potions essay and only
noticed him when he practically screamed in her ear.

“Ron,” she said, startled, her hand over her heart. Hermione immediately began gathering her
scrolls and quills and books.

“No,” stated Ron firmly, his hand on her shoulder. He forced her sit back down. “You're not
going anywhere, Hermione, until you tell me what you suddenly have against Harry and I.”

“I have nothing against you,” said Hermione. “Where did you get that idea?”

“Oh, maybe because you've been avoiding us every day since the Christmas holiday?” said Ron
sarcastically. “Really, Hermione, for someone so bright—”

“I have nothing against you,” repeated Hermione briskly. She wiggled her way out of Ron's
grasp and began shoving her things into her bag. “It's more of a conflict of interests.”

“Hermione,” reminded Ron, “we aren't fighting with you. We never were. How can we be having
a `conflict of interests'?”

“Oh, not that kind,” said Hermione, finally looking up at him. “I'm just looking out for
what is in *your* best interest.”

Ron's look would have not been unusual—had he been looking at Fluffy, Hagrid's
three-headed dog. “Hermione,” he said calmly, “I don't think I've ever heard you say
something that made so little sense.”

She was standing now, and she was heading to the portrait hole. “Really Ron, it's not that
difficult to understand,” she said sharply.

“Then why don't you explain it to me?” asked Ron. He was trying not to sound agitated.

“Like I've said—twice before now—I have nothing against you. In fact, I care about you both
very much,” said Hermione matter-of-factly, “which is why you shouldn't be worried about me or
my affairs.”

“Hermione!” exclaimed Ron. “Harry and I are worried about you because you're our
friend!”

Hermione smiled sadly. “That, right there, is the problem,” she said, and she hesitantly crossed
the room and hugged Ron quickly before heading to the door. “Don't worry. You'll understand
soon enough. Bye Ron.”

Ron watched her until she had left the room, and he shook his head. Now, he didn't blame
Harry for being so worried. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

* * *

Ron came back to his and Harry's room sputtering curse words under his breath. He slammed
the door, startling Harry so badly that he spilled ink everywhere.

“We're in trouble,” said Ron, kicking his foot against the floor.

“Was it that bad?” said Harry, accepting that half his schoolwork would have ink stains on it
and turning in his chair to face his friend. He knew that Ron had gone to track down Hermione.

“Yes, it was,” said Ron with a sigh, collapsing onto his bed, “and then I got caught by
McGonagall wandering without a partner.”

“Which means?”

“We have detentions,” said Ron. “I'm sorry.”

Harry shrugged. “We'll live, I guess. It's not like we haven't had one before. What
happened with Hermione?”

“She wouldn't give me a straight answer,” said Ron, frustrated. “`I have nothing against you
or Harry.' `It's in your best interest, Ron.' `You'll understand soon enough.'
I don't know what's laid eggs and hatched in her brain, but it's something rather
vile.”

“Do you understand now why I'm so worried about her?” asked Harry.

“Yeah...” said Ron slowly. There was silence. “Harry, you don't think she's... unstable,
do you?”

“Unstable?”

“I don't know,” said Ron softly. “She kept saying everything like she expected something bad
to happen at any moment. You don't think—”

“No, I don't think,” said Harry firmly, catching on to what Ron meant. “Hermione is too—you
know—too... you know what I mean. She's definitely not—er, suicidal. She must be—oh, I
don't know what she is right now. I wish she'd just talk to us about it!”

“Me too,” said Ron quietly.

Suddenly, the silence was interrupted by a piercing scream from below. Both Harry and Ron were
on their feet in an instant, scrambling to the doorway. All around the stairway, boys were looking
in the direction of Colin Creevley, who was backing out of his dorm room, a terrified expression on
his face. The Weasley twins were the first to peek inside the room: the place had been thrown into
upheaval and a formidable plume of smoke spelled out the message, “Three students? That's not a
prank.”

“It's my little brother Dennis!” cried Colin, on the verge of tears. “He's
disappeared!”

* * *

Half an hour later, the entire student population had been crowded into the Great Hall. The
tables had already moved, so each house took a different corner of the room. Within a few minutes,
most everyone was calling the night a double attack. In addition to Dennis Creevley, a sixth year
Slytherin girl had disappeared. The teachers had pulled both Colin and the Slytherin girl's
partner aside to talk to them.

Colin had already relayed his story to the rest of the Gryffindor boys. He had gone across the
hall to the bathroom and left Dennis, his partner, in their dorm room. The other four boys that
lived there were down in the common room at the time. When he got back, the room had been torn
apart, Dennis was gone, and there had been a message left in smoke.

They missing Slytherin girl's name was Amy Pettlehouser. She had been working on her
homework the last time her partner had seen her. The partner, whose name was Tina, had fallen
asleep on her bed, and when she woke up, the room had been ransacked and Amy was missing. There had
been a message left—“This time, I really mean it,”—and Tina looked even more shaken than Colin.

“May I have your attention please?” called Dumbledore, and the room went silent. “As I am sure
you've heard by now, two more of your classmates—Dennis Creevley and Amy Pettlehouser—have
seemingly disappeared into thin air. It is easy to see that this is a very elaborate prank that has
been pulled off, but it is also common knowledge that it is very, very difficult to hoodwink a
wizard. For any of you that are or may be involved with this, I give you fair warning. Prank or
not, the disappearance of a student is a serious matter. For that reason, everyone will be sleeping
in here tonight. Please go to your rooms—quickly, with your partner—and get on your pajamas. Thank
you.”

* * *

Harry and Ron had been exceptionally quiet in the time it took to push through the throngs of
students rushing back to their dorm rooms, and nothing had changed now that they were back in their
rooms, hurrying into their pajamas. Outside, everyone was talking in hushed whispers about the
disappearances, but it wasn't in either boy's nature to gossip.

“Hey Ron,” said Harry finally, fishing through his wardrobe for his clean set of pajamas. “Did
you think that Dumbledore's speech was kind of—odd?”

“Odd, as in, he didn't seem to believe what he was saying?” said Ron, an almost mischievous
smile on his face. “Yeah, I noticed. I think he's trying to convince himself it's
true.”

“I just can't believe Dumbledore would do that, though,” said Harry. “He's always trying
so hard to keep anything bad from happening here. Why would he mess that up by ignoring every
obvious sign that something's wrong?”

“I can't believe that everyone every bought it,” declared Ron, shaking his head, “but what
you said, too. I'm getting a bit worried, though. If Dumbledore isn't going to do anything
about it, than who is?”

“Well,” said Harry, hanging his robes on one of the bedposts, “I don't think
Dumbledore's not doing anything. He wouldn't just let four students go missing and not do
anything about it—”

“No, he's just not willing to identify what's really happening,” said Ron. “I, for one,
want to know what's going on before I get snatched.”

“Er,” said Harry. An idea was forming in his mind. “Then let's try and figure it out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let's try to figure it out on our own,” said Harry. “If Hermione happened to be speaking to
us, we would probably already be looking into it. Tonight would be the perfect time to take a look
around.”

“You aren't saying,” said Ron, eyeing Harry's trunk, where he knew the invisibility
cloak was stored.

“I am,” said Harry. “You said yourself that Dumbledore and the teachers don't seem to be
doing anything about the disappearances other than search for the missing. There has to be some
kind of clue out there, and we could probably find it if we looked in the right places.”

“You have a point,” said Ron slowly. “Let's do it.”

“Seriously?” said Harry, suddenly realizing what he'd just suggested. That had been out of
nowhere.

“Hey, you're the one that brought it up,” said Ron. Harry nodded, and he opened his trunk to
find the invisibility cloak.

“It's worth a shot, I guess,” said Harry, swallowing hard. He watched as Ron put his school
robes on over his pajamas, and he did the same, stowing the Invisibility cloak safely in one of the
pockets.

* * *

“How long do you think it'll be before everyone falls asleep?” whispered Ron later that
night. They were laying in sleeping bags on the floor of the Great Hall. The prefects had
originally been told to patrol around, hushing the younger students, but the teachers had quickly
realized it amounted to too much commotion having that many people up. Now, just the Head Boy and
Girl were walking through the hall.

“Not much longer,” said Harry quietly, rolling over on his side to face Ron. He suddenly felt
something hard against his thigh, and he dug into the deep pockets of his school robes to see what
it was.

“What are you doing?” hissed Ron.

Harry fished out a delicate silver necklace from his pocket. “I forgot I put this in here the
other day,” he said softly.

“Hey!” said Ron in an excited whisper. “Why'd you have that? I thought you gave it to
Hermione...”

“I did,” said Harry grimly. “She gave it back. Didn't I tell you?”

Ron shook his head. “What are we supposed to do about her anyway?”

“I don't know,” said Harry. “I don't know if there's much we can do. Maybe if we
leave her alone and give her the space she wants, she'll eventually come around.”

“Do you think?”

“It's worth a shot,” said Harry, closing his eyes and shutting up quickly as the Head Boy
walking in their direction, guided only by the light of his wand. Satisfied, he turned around in
the other direction. A few minutes later, the Great Hall was completely silent and completed dark,
as it seemed the Head Boy and Girl had finished sweeping through it. In the dark, Harry seized the
invisibility cloak and tapped Ron's arm. The two of them huddled under the folds of the
cloak.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” said Ron as the left the confines of the Great Hall. “I
mean, what if it is a someone or something that's snatching the students, and it sees us
roaming around the hall?”

“The only thing that can see through the invisibility cloak is a dementor,” said Harry slowly,
“and I highly doubt there's one here. I would have known if one was as close as the
Creevleys' dorm room.”

“Good point,” whispered Ron. “Besides, you could always conjure a Patronus, right?”

“Yeah, I think could,” said Harry. He saw a sliver of light in the distance. “Look over there—I
think something's going on.”

And something going on, there was. As they approached the door, Ron and Harry heard the distinct
voices of several of their teachers.

“Let's listen,” said Ron, “they're probably having a meeting about what happened.” They
leaned back against the wall, listening eagerly.

“—I simply won't accept it, Remus,” Dumbledore was saying. The light pat of feet on the
stone floor also suggested that he was pacing. “Yes, it was unfortunate what happened to both
Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, but as Madame Maxime has expressed several times, the kind of
precautions that have been taken here were never taken at her school. With a new headmaster at
Durmstrang, I doubt they were taken there, either. Hogwarts has always been, and still is,
untouchable.”

“How much longer are we going to deny it?” demanded Professor Lupin angrily. “Two students dead,
Dumbledore, and four others missing! What are the chances we will ever hear from them again? I
don't want to admit it either, but it hardly seems to matter whether we look or not? We might
as well count six deaths!”

“Seven.” The whisper came from Professor McGonagall. “Albus, I agree with Remus. This is much
more than a student prank. It was you that told everyone to remember Cedric Diggory, yet it is you
that seems to be trying to forget him.”

“I have not forgotten Cedric,” said Dumbledore sharply. “I will never forget him, either. This
has nothing to do with Voldemort's return.”

“How can you be sure?” asked Lupin. There was a loud crash and a thud, which sounded like
someone jumping to their feet and overturning their chair. “Anytime a curse is involved it is
considered a form of Dark Magic.”

“Remus, the Belwit Curse is really no cause for alarm—”

“Why don't you tell that to the Weasley family? If Ron had died—like we all thought he
would, I might add—would you have been able to look Molly and Arthur in the eye and tell them that
the Belwit Curse is no reason to worry? Wait, you would say that the bewitching of those brooms was
just a prank!”

“What happened at the Quidditch match has nothing to do what happening right now,” said
Dumbledore.

“How do you know?” called an angry voice. It was Snape. “Everything that's happened this
year has been quite dubious. If you ask me, it's all related.”

“Okay,” said Dumbledore finally, “assuming that it did start with Halloween—”

“I never said that,” said Snape coolly. “When I said everything, I meant everything, and
everything happens to go back to the very first week of school.”

“You're not suggesting that Miss Granger's misfortune, Severus, has something to do with
the incidents at Halloween, the November Quidditch match, and the disappearances now?”

“I certainly am,” said Snape. “Don't you find it odd that Lucius Malfoy stopped contacting
the board of governors just before we expelled the young Mr. Malfoy? Not one angry word from the
senior Malfoy? Am I only one that finds the entire situation quite unusual?”

“No,” cut in Professor McGonagall, “but I don't see why you've suddenly turned against
Malfoy. I remember you saying something about `star student' this summer.”

“Times change, Minerva,” said Snape coldly, “and there was no pardoning someone that inflicted
that kind of pain on another student. I'm surprised to see that you and Albus aren't
fussing over your golden boy.”

“Excuse me?” said Dumbledore.

“Potter, sir,” sneered Snape. “Am I the only one that has noticed his two closest friends have
been down for the count for at least part of the last term? What's to say he isn't next? It
would only make sense, wouldn't it?”

“You sound like you're expecting something to happen to him. Is there something we should
know about?” questioned Lupin.

“You would think I was plotting something,” growled Snape. “You would all think that I was.
I'm sorry I'm not a part of your so-called `old crowd,' and I'm sorry I feel
you're going too easy on Black, but I'm sure it doesn't really matter. My opinion is
yet to count for something.”

Suddenly, the door flew open as a very angry looking Snape burst out. Harry, the closer of the
two to the door, was nearly flattened against the wall. Ron had to throw his hand across his
friend's mouth to keep him from hollering in pain.

“I shouldn't have said that,” said Lupin a few seconds later. “I don't blame him. At
least he's seeing the obvious.”

“Are you saying that I'm not?” questioned Dumbledore sharply. “I seem to remember that I am
in charge of this school. You've never doubted my instincts before, and I don't see why you
won't trust me now.”

“He's not saying anything of sorts,” said McGonagall quietly. There was a brief pause.
“Albus, we both know how much this school and these students mean to you. I don't want to admit
it either, but something could be very wrong. It's still a maybe, but we have to act now. If we
don't, it could be too late.”

“Nothing major,” said Lupin quickly. “We just need to keep our minds open at the moment—and our
eyes, too. There has to be something, somewhere, that will help us figure out the truth.”

“That's just what you were saying!” said Ron softly. Harry nodded.

“All right,” said Dumbledore finally. “I think it is about time you called upon the Order again,
Remus. Send them my apologies for not acting sooner, and inform them of everything that's going
on. Perhaps whatever is happening can be stopped before it's too late.”

Harry and Ron saw the light go off, and they scrambled away before the door could open. Five
minutes later, they were back in their sleeping bags, slightly out of breath.

“So something really is wrong,” said Ron softly.

“I'd say something was very wrong,” said Harry. Neither of them got much sleep that
night.

-->



10. Into the Forest
-------------------



Chapter Ten

INTO THE FOREST

* * *

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE RAPE SCENE MENTIONED IN THE AUTHOR'S NOTE. IT IS
NON-GRAPHIC IN NATURE BUT STILL MAY BE TRAUMATIZING TO SOME, ESPECIALLY THOSE HAVING ENDURED A
SIMILAR EXPERIENCE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE ANY DOUBTS ABOUT THE CONTENT OF THIS
CHAPTER.**

* * *

In light of the double disappearances, everyone felt a little less secure as they went about
with their daily routine. Even with Dumbledore's assurances that it was little more than an
elaborate prank, many students worried that they would somehow be caught up in it. The Weasley
twins were highly offended when someone accused them of being behind it all, and Harry and Ron
decided to let his identical older brothers in on what they had overheard. Fred and George agreed
that the teachers seemed to know more than Dumbledore was letting on; they also agreed to be on the
lookout for anything unusual that might be connected to what was going on in any way.

Ginny also proved herself useful to Harry and Ron. She was Hermione's partner, and she
actually went to them trying to figure out what was wrong with her. When Harry and Ron had no
answer, she agreed to come back to them if she found anything out. It actually made the boys feel a
bit better to know that it wasn't just them that thought Hermione was acting very
strangely.

All in all, the next month and a half of school passed without incident. It wasn't until the
week before Ron's birthday that things started to heat up again.

* * *

In the last weeks of February, it became common to hear small explosions, eruptions, and yells
of pain coming from some part of the dormitory or another. The shocks of the disappearances were
wearing off, despite the fact that not a single missing student had been found, and the boys of
Gryffindor had found other ways to occupy the time. With a little help from some of the
Muggle-born, Fred and George Weasley had begun some adventurous work creating a Muggle radio.

“That sounded painful,” said Ron lazily as the fifth explosion of the morning ricocheted from
Fred and George's room. Sure enough, a stream of cursing followed the explosion. “What do you
think McGonagall is going to say when one of them finally blows himself up?

“Not sure,” said Harry, not bothering to look up from his book. He was deeply engrossed in
*Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland* for the third time, and small bursts of flame and
foul word had ceased to amaze him. “I doubt she'll be able to say anything. They'll
probably take the whole castle down if anything goes that wrong.”

“True,” agreed Ron. He hopped off his bed, where he had been lying for the last thirty minutes,
doing nothing. “Do you want to sneak down to the kitchens with me? I'm starving.”

“Ron, we've only got an hour and a half till lunch,” said Harry, checking his watch. The
sensory dial had been stuck on deep red, love, for weeks now. No matter how much tapping or
prodding he did, it wouldn't change, and it also wouldn't shut off, so every time he looked
at it, Harry involuntarily blushed. “Can't you wait that long?”

Ron shook his head. “I'm hungry now. Come on, will you come with me? Dobby will be happy to
see you.”

“Er,” said Harry, but he closed his book and set it on the edge of his bookshelf. It wobbled
precariously but didn't fall. “I guess so. It's not like I have anything better to do.”

“An entire weekend without any homework!” said Ron in amazement as they walked out of the door.
“I still can't get over our good luck!”

Harry grinned as they walked down through the common room and out of the portrait hole. “I think
the teachers took pity on everyone in Arithmancy and just let everyone off so it wouldn't seem
like they were playing favorites. I've heard that their test on Monday has six hundred
questions!”

“Six?” questioned Ron as they wandered through the corridors toward the entrance to the
kitchens. “That's it? The fewest I've heard is seven...”

Ron's words were joking, but he shuddered just the same. Harry couldn't agree with the
motion more. “I know certain witches fancy it as their favorite subject,” said Harry, thinking of
Hermione, “but I couldn't imagine taking a test like that even if I was an expert in the
area.”

“I couldn't agree with you more,” said Ron. They had reached the fruit painting, and he
started to tickle the pair before remembering that the apple was now the key to entering the
kitchens. The several hundred house-elves employed by Hogwarts looked up courteously to see who was
now in their midst. Immediately, Dobby saw Harry and Ron and raced happily towards them.

“It is Harry Potter and friend! Harry Potter's friend is also great wizard!” cried Dobby,
enthusiastically dragging the boys into the kitchen. “What is you liking? Dobby is wanting to get
you whatever you like, sirs!”

“Er, do you have any cakes or cookies, Dobby?” asked Ron. He and Harry shared a look. They were
both eyeing the sock that had replaced Dobby's tea cozy as a hat.

“Oh yes, we has many cakes and cookies, Harry Potter's friend!” called Dobby, still excited.
He joined a handful of other house-elves scurrying around to meet their request. “I is very happy
to see you again, Harry Potter! I was wanting to know when you would come to the kitchens! It has
been long time since I've see you!”

Dobby smiled at them eagerly as he presented them with a tray filled with every time of cookie
and sweet imaginable. “Me and Winky, we is very good friends now! I has convinced other house-elves
to be free! But we is all very happy still to work for Mr. Dumbledore! He is very good wizard, too!
I am learning lots here. Is there other things I can get you?”

“Just something to drink, please,” said Harry politely. “Thank you, Dobby. Thank you all, too,”
he added, gesturing to the other house-elves. They bowed happily.

“Is milk okay, sirs?” said a rather plump house-elf with a little apron tied on top of her
Hogwarts toga.

“That would be great,” said Ron. The boys waved their good-byes and scrambled out of the
kitchen.

“Let's go in the back way, through the prefect common room,” suggested Harry, eyeing the
tray Ron was carrying. Ron hadn't just eyed the food; he had already seized a chocolate chip
cookie and was munching away. “McGonagall has a habit of checking in on the common room every so
often now. Great idea, by the way.”

Ron said something unintelligible through the cookie he had just shoved in his mouth, but he
swallowed and tried again. “It was even nice to see Dobby again,” he repeated.

“I like the house-elves,” said Harry. “They all seem happy here.”

“They don't even need Hermione's S.P.E.W. campaign!” said Ron with a laugh as he
balanced the tray on one hand, wiping the other off on the side of his robe. Realizing what
he'd said, he nearly stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Actually, I wouldn't even mind S.P.E.W. if Hermione would just speak to us again,” said
Harry sadly. “She acts like we don't even exist anymore!”

“I know,” said Ron, shaking his head. “I couldn't believe her the other day in Potions. She
would barely look at us! She just quietly told us the directions and got to work!”

“It's not the same without her around,” said Harry softly. He knew that Ron missed
Hermione's company, but he had a feeling he missed her more. He wasn't about to let on just
how much he missed her, however. They were almost up the narrow, spiral staircase that led to the
back entrance of the prefect common room. Harry, whose hands weren't as full as Ron's,
tapped out a pattern on the stones to enter.

“What kind do you think that is?” questioned Harry, pointing to a row of odd-shaped, lumpy
cookies. They had an odd coloring to them. Ron eyed the cookies as he set them down on the table.
He picked one up and popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. His nose wrinkled up.

“Blech!” exclaimed Ron, swallowing hard. “I think it's some kind of butterscotch—peanut
butter—chocolate creation. All I know is that I don't like that—”

“Do you mind?”

Harry and Ron looked up, unaware that someone was already in the room. Hermione had floated one
of the cozy armchairs and it's side table to the other side of the room. Her Arithmancy book
lay open, and several scrolls of notes had been unrolled. She did not look happy.

“I'm sorry, Hermione,” said Harry quickly. “We didn't realize you were—”

“That,” said Hermione sharply, “was obvious. It's impossible to find a quiet area to study
in this place! I simply can't imagine how I'm going to be able to prepare for the
O.W.L.S.!”

“We'll be quiet,” said Ron. “I promise.”

“Never mind,” said Hermione. She was already picking up her things. “I'll find another
place.”

Harry and Ron shared a look as she stormed out of room.

“You know,” said Ron at last, “that's the first time she's talked to us outside of class
in over a month.”

“Oh, and what a talk it was,” added Harry sarcastically. He couldn't help but worry, though,
even as Hermione acted so harsh towards them. “I don't understand it. What happened to the
Hermione that we know?”

“I don't know,” said Ron, the tray of sweets completely forgotten, “but I want her
back.”

* * *

Having Hermione snap at them didn't put Harry and Ron in the best of moods. They weren't
really mad at her, not so much as they were worried, but it still dampened their spirits. Both
looked fairly glum as they made the trek down to the Great Hall for lunch. They had no sooner
entered the Great Hall than something came flying at Ron. That something had a mane of curly red
hair and flung itself right into Ron's arms. It was Anna.

“Anna!” exclaimed Ron, wrapping his arms around her. “What's wrong?”

“It's—it's happened again,” she sobbed. “J—J—Jo—John's—”

“Shh,” said Ron soothingly, shooting a helpless look in Harry's directions. Both Harry and
Ron looked equally perplex. “Calm down and tell me what's happened, okay?”

Anna finally pulled back, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “There's been another
disappearance,” she whimpered. “It was—” She broke off again, her arms around Ron's neck once
more.

“John?” said Ron slowly, finally able to distinguish the name from her earlier sobs. Anna nodded
miserably, and Ron patted her back gently. “I'm so sorry, Anna...”

“*SILENCIO!*”

This time, it was Professor McGonagall that had taken charge of the situation. Dumbledore was
nowhere in sight. She stood in the middle of the room, her wand still poised in the air.

“Everyone needs to stay calm,” she said slowly, “so please sit down at your house table.
Dumbledore will be here in just a moment.”

With another wave, noise was restored to the room. Everyone filtered towards his or her table
except for Anna, who Ron wasn't about to let out of his sight. She seemed to have calmed down
during the walk to the Gryffindor table.

“He and his friends had all gone to the library,” said Anna. “John was doing a special
independent study for Professor Lupin's class and had a pass to the restricted section. He was
there one minute, and the next he was gone! I guess all the books had been thrown around, and there
was more of that hideous, choking smoke.”

“Was there a message?” Harry couldn't help but ask.

Anna nodded before resting her head against Ron's shoulder again. She looked absolutely
forlorn. “This is your last warning,” she whispered.

* * *

Unlike the first four missing students, John Clemens was fairly well known at Hogwarts. Tall,
with auburn hair and brown eyes and a boyish smile, a lot of the older girls would admit to having
crushes on him or, at the very least, finding him cute. He helped manage the Ravenclaw Quidditch
team, as a practice injury during his fourth year had prevented him from being able to play, and a
lot of the younger students knew him through Anna. The news of his disappearance brought more
disorder than the other four combined.

It was also the first disappearance to really hit home for either Harry or Ron. While the first
person to go missing, Mandy Brocklehurst, had been in their year, they hadn't ever had any
classes with her, and they only vaguely knew Dennis Creevley through his brother, who had followed
Harry around during their second year. Anna, obviously, took John's disappearance especially
hard, and Harry and Ron both spent a lot of their extra time with her. Still, they were trying, as
was everyone else, to go about their normal routines in spite of everything that had happened.

“Do you understand problem seventeen?” said Ron, sounding very frustrated.

The teachers were getting just as sick of the new rules and regulations as the students, and
they weren't enforcing them as stringently, so Harry and Ron had spent the afternoon in the
courtyard with Anna. Now that dinner was over, however, they had retreated to their room to get
their homework done.

“Are you working on Professor Lupin's assignment, too?” asked Harry with a sigh. He ran his
hand through his hair. He and Ron hadn't been getting as good of marks lately without Hermione
to force them to study and check their work.

“It's all that I have left,” said Ron. Harry caught his eyes dart between his assignment and
the set of Gobstones Harry had given him for his birthday a week and a half before. “I'm quite
tempted not to do it...”

“Don't,” said Harry, even though the idea sounded very tempting to him, too. “Professor
Lupin said there wouldn't be that many points possible this term. I have a feeling we're
not going to be able to afford loosing any of them.”

“You didn't have to remind me,” moaned Ron, dropping his head to his desk. “I still
can't get the hang of the Belwit Curse stuff! It's hard to practice magic that nearly
killed you, I swear.”

“You'll make out,” assured Harry. “I think it's really just asking us to describe the
different levels of it and how severe they are.”

“Huh?”

“Question seventeen,” said Harry. “You said you were having trouble with it.”

“I was,” said Ron, “but now that you said that, I think I get it.” He finished scribbling an
answer. “I'm done now... do you want to check answers?”

Harry nodded, hopping out of his chair and over to Ron's desk. They spent the next few
minutes reading each other's work, rephrasing some answers and changing others entirely.

“I can't believe how much work we've had to do lately,” grumbled Ron as he put his
homework and books into his book bag. “I want to know how we're supposed to start studying for
our O.W.L.S. with so much to do already!”

“Ron Weasley?” said Harry jokingly. “Study for O.W.L.S.? Did I just hear that right? You do
realize that they're still two months away, right?”

Ron threw up his hands. “Hey, our first year, we started studying for final exams ten weeks in
advance!”

“Or at least,” said Harry with a sad smile, “Hermione wanted us too.”

“Did you see her today in Potions?” asked Ron.

“Of course I did,” said Harry. “She does sit next to me.”

Ron shook his head. “That's not what I meant. Did you see how she looked? She's got
these dark circles under her eyes—looks like she hasn't slept in weeks.”

“Yeah, I kind of picked up on that,” said Harry. “Haven't you seen her in the common room
lately? She's always the last one to leave. I'm pretty sure I'm right in saying
she's spending every waking minute studying.”

“She'll be the first person to have `studying' as her cause of death. It'll be so
rare that even her tombstone will talk about it. It'll even rhyme, I bet: `Here lies Hermione
Granger, who in studying found no danger. Then one day, she passed away, atop her Arithmancy
charts—the price she paid for having smarts!'” said Ron, taking a short bow for his “poetry”
and looking quite pleased with himself.

“That's kind of sick, Ron,” said Harry, but he couldn't help but laugh. He shook it off
quickly; he didn't even want to think about Hermione dying.

“I know,” said Ron, “but the truth hurts sometime. I should write that down for future use. I
might not remember it in when I'm busy grieving for our fallen friend. Or former friend. Or
person that refuses to even acknowledge we exist. Take your pick...”

* * *

“How many of you attended a certain `Dueling Club' three years ago?” questioned Lupin at the
start of class the next day. Over half the hands in the room went up, and he chuckled. “I've
heard—er, a little bit about how that went from Professor Snape. As part of the curriculum this
year, I have been asked to teach you how to duel. However, before I start, I want to ask you to
throw out anything that might still be in your little minds about that club.”

Ron leaned back in his chair to give Harry a thumbs-up behind Hermione. Unfortunately, he leaned
back a bit too far and nearly toppled his chair over. His cheeks were burning to about the color of
his hair when he righted his chair and muttered his apologies to Lupin. Even the professor was
laughing, but Hermione gave Ron a very sharp, disapproving look.

“Thanks for the laugh, Mr. Weasley,” said Lupin, still chuckling. “I have a few things to tell
you, and then we'll pair up. According to your Defense Against the Dark Arts book, a proper
duel starts with an accepted bow of the head, wands posed, ready for use. Personally, I don't
care. If you ever find yourself in the situation that you would have to duel, I doubt you'd be
too worried about `proper.'”

Lupin went on to explain about the common spells used in duels and disarming charms. He had
launched into a speech about how to anticipate an opponent's next move when Harry saw Ron lean
back again out of the corner of his eye. He tossed Harry a note.

“Finally, something I might be able to do!” wrote Ron. “Cross your fingers that he'll pair
the two of us up. I'm afraid Hermione will kill me if we're partners. She knows more spells
than anyone—and did you see that look she gave me?”

Harry didn't write back to Ron, but he gave him a smile and a nod. He knew what look Ron was
talking about. Hermione had looked ready to kill. A few minutes later, Lupin stopped talking and
began to walk down the aisle between desks.

“Okay, Thomas and Longbottom, Brown and Perks, Weasley and Finnigan...” said Lupin, pointing to
each student as he called their names. Harry noticed Seamus staring at Ron uncertainly, and he
remembered Ron nearly killing him with his taped-together wand in Lockhart's dueling club.
“...Who's left? Oh, Potter and Granger. Is that everyone?”

With a wave of his wand and a few well chosen words, Lupin moved all the desks against the walls
of the room. Everyone was finding their partner, and he began pointing students in different
directions, telling them where to stand. It was the first time in a few weeks that Hermione and
Harry had been in proximity of each other, and Hermione was giving him an unreadable look.

“Okay,” said Lupin with a wave of his hand. “Keeping in mind what I just told you, and that
you'll be in trouble if you kill anyone, practice some dueling on the count of three—one...
two... three!”

“*Hittiatimus*!”

Hermione was faster than Harry. He immediately felt like something had socked him in the
stomach, and he stumbled back a few feet. He tightened his wand and pointed it in Hermione's
direction. “*Impedimenta*!”

Hermione's motion seemed to slow as she raised her wand again, and she glared at him. Harry
looked back helplessly. He didn't really want to hurt her, but he couldn't just stand there
and let her attack him. The exchange of spells continued for a full minute, and before he knew it,
Harry's feet were dancing around uncontrollably, his ears were starting to resemble those of an
elf, his wand arm felt like it had sharp pins brutally prodding it, and he'd stumbled backwards
three different times.

“Disarm!” cried Lupin suddenly.

“*Expelliarmus*!” cried Harry, but Hermione must have said it at the exact same moment. His
wand flew out of his hand with a blinding flash of light and a long piece of wood nearly impaled
him. However, instead of just flying backwards, he toppled forward before falling back and hitting
his head against a desk. Hermione had also been propelled forward, and she landed on a heap on top
of him.

“Oh dear,” muttered Lupin as the smoke cleared and he surveyed the scene around him. “I told
Dumbledore this wouldn't be the best of ideas.”

Harry's hand flew up to the back of his head, which he touched gingerly. He was relieved to
pull his fingers back without any blood. Around the room, all the other groups were in similar
states of disarray. Ron was rolling with laughter in the open space in front of him. Neville was
apologizing profusely to Dean, who was clutching certain body parts with a look of pain on his face
while cursing under his breath. Lavender had been stupefied, and Sally-Ann Perks was belching up
slugs. A bevy of mice was running loose across the floor. Harry was so taken by the scene before
him that he didn't notice Hermione was yet to move off him.

“Hermione!” he cried, realizing she too had conked her head on one of the desks. He managed to
grab his wand and mutter one of the healing charms they had just learned in Professor
Flitwick's class, and then he hopefully called, “*Ennervate*!”

Much to his relief, Hermione came too, muttering something unintelligible. She was also touching
her head gingerly, and she didn't seem to realize whose arms were around her. Her head dropped
against his shoulder. Lupin was dashing around, muttering spells and charms and counter curses,
trying to undo everything that had been inflicted upon his students.

“Are you all right?” asked Harry.

“I'm all right,” muttered Hermione, but she didn't sound it. Her eyes closed again.

“Is she all right?” Harry looked up to see Ron standing over them.

“I don't know,” said Harry as Ron bent down to the two of them. “We both said the disarming
spell at the same time, and something happened. I think she hit her head against the desk.”

“What's wrong?” said Lupin suddenly.

“She hit her head, Professor,” said Ron quickly. A look of worry crossed Lupin's face, but
his spell managed to revive Hermione. She blinked a few times, looking utterly confused as to where
she was and what happened.

“I'll be back,” said Lupin. “I need to revive Miss Brown and offer some relief to Mr.
Thomas.”

“Harry,” murmured Hermione. She was still, essentially, on top of him, and Harry and Ron shared
a look.

“Are you okay now, `Mione?” asked Harry carefully.

“Just fine,” she said shakily, and she slowly pulled back from him. It was as if she had
forgotten that she was no longer associating herself with them.

“Hermione?” questioned Ron.

“Where's my wand?” said Hermione absently.

“It's right over there,” said Harry, gesturing. He scrambled to his feet, and she started to
stand. She didn't seem fully recovered yet, and she would have fallen down if Harry hadn't
caught her. He didn't let go this time.

Suddenly, Hermione must have realized who was holding her. She broke away from Harry and
stumbled. This time it was Ron that grabbed her shoulder to steady her.

“I'm fine!” exclaimed Hermione. “Stop it! I don't need your help!”

“Hermione, you're stumbling all over the place,” said Harry, trying to remain calm.

Hermione had scuttled over to her wand and picked it up again. The rest of the class was
quieting, as Lupin had finished fixing the effects of the duel. When she looked back at Harry and
Ron, she looked dangerously close to tears.

“Stop it, Harry,” she said softly. “Please don't say anything else. It already hurts more
than enough.”

* * *

Lupin had to dismiss half the class to the hospital wing, and he let everyone else go at the
same time. Hermione rushed on ahead, obviously avoiding Ron and Harry once more. The boys were more
confused with her behavior than ever. As they walked out the door themselves, Lupin continued to
mumble.

“Shouldn't have to teach this—going to end up killing each other—this'll be the end,” he
was muttering as he shut the door behind him.

“Poor guy,” said Ron sympathetically, looking back over his shoulder. “I'd hate to be
responsible for all that.”

“Dumbledore wanted him to teach it,” said Harry with a shrug. “There must have been a
reason.”

“Slow down, Harry!” called Ron. “What's your hurry?”

“I'm going to find Hermione,” said Harry calmly. “I'm sick of this. I'm going to
figure out once and for all what's bothering her. I miss her, and I want her back. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Ron, quickening his pace. “I'm coming, too.”

“Good,” said Harry, taking the stairs up from the dungeon two and three at a time. “Where do you
think she'll be?”

“Prefect common room?” guessed Ron, and Harry nodded. They lumbered up the spiral staircase
leading into the back entrance of the common room. Ron got there first and started taping in the
password on the bricks. Nothing happened.

“Am I not doing it right?” said Ron. After putting in the code three times with no success, he
was scratching his head and staring at the wall.

“I dunno,” said Harry. Ron stepped aside to give Harry a chance. “You might have been.”

Harry tried it several times, too. He didn't have any luck either. Finally, on the seventh
try, Ron managed to get a response from the wall. The stones were shifting to form a doorway. The
two boys stepped in, Harry first, and then Ron. They were both taken aback with what they saw.

The furniture in the small but decorative room had been toppled over. Several candles had been
overturned on the carpet, creating messes of wax. There was a thick, pungent smell in the room, and
it was hard to see. Harry nearly tripped over something in the gloom.

“What is that?” he muttered. Ron bent down to examine the object.

“It's Hermione's book bag,” he said quietly. As he stood up again, Harry stepped
backwards and nearly knocked him over.

“Ron, look,” whispered Harry. A terrifying message loomed in gray smoke before them.

“If you would have just listened,” read Ron, “this one wouldn't have to die.”

* * *

“Harry,” said Professor McGonagall softly, tapping his shoulder, “you really should get
something to eat, dear.”

“I'll get him to,” said Ron quietly. Professor McGonagall looked unsure, but she nodded and
walked back to the staff table. Ron waved his hand in front of Harry's eyes. “Come on, Harry, I
know you're in shock, but you have snap out of it. Sitting around staring off into space
isn't going to help anything.”

Harry shook his head suddenly, blinking several times. He looked as if he'd just woken up
from a deep sleep, and he reached absently across the table for a dinner roll. “I know,” he said.
“I'm fine.”

Ron nodded, and he didn't say anything. He knew Harry wasn't fine. He wasn't exactly
what you'd call fine, either. He'd manage to get over the shock of what they'd seen in
the prefect room, but Harry hadn't yet. Ron looked silently down to his own plate. There
wasn't a single person in the Great Hall that didn't know what had been found in the
Gryffindor Tower, and the hall was eerily quiet. Still, there was a big difference from hearing
about it and seeing it yourself.

Harry and Ron had gone straight to Professor McGonagall with what had happened. She was actually
still teaching class, but she had abandoned it upon hearing their news. It had taken a full hour to
find the rest of the Gryffindor prefects to confirm that it was Hermione, indeed, who had
disappeared. Harry and Ron had been allowed back in the room as several of the teachers searched it
for clues, and it hadn't done anything to calm their nerves. Harry had made the worst discovery
of all—a trail of blood leading from one corner of the room to the other—and he'd gone
practically catatonic.

“She'll be okay, Harry,” said Ron, trying to convince himself as well. “Hermione's
gotten through a lot this year already. I think she can pull through this time, too.”

“Whatever you say,” said Harry, just as absently. He fiddled with the roll a few times before
putting it back down on his plate. Ron looked at him helplessly. There was little else for him to
say; he didn't honestly see how Hermione could be okay after the grisly condition of the
prefect common room.

“Good evening, everyone.”

The low, grave voice almost wasn't recognizable. No one could every remember Dumbledore
taking such a tone. A hush fell over the Great Hall as the all looked in the direction of the
headmaster.

“Thank you,” said Dumbledore. “A rather unfortunate discovery was made just a few hours ago. A
sixth, and hopefully last, student has vanished from Hogwarts—Hermione Granger. Just as in the
other disappearances, a taunting message was left in the room from which she disappeared. However,
unlike the last five messages, the threat of death signals this is no longer a simple prank. We are
treating this with the most serious of regard. It is for that reason a time limit has been imposed
by the board of governors. If the six missing students are not in the next forty-eight hours, then
it will be the end for Hogwarts. I'm sorry.”

* * *

“We can't just sit here and let this happen,” declared Ron later that evening. He and Harry
had been sitting in their room, in silence, since dinner. The hallway outside had been eerily quiet
at first, too, but, at Professor McGonagall's insistence, the boys had resumed their usual
activities. She had then come into Harry and Ron's room with assurances that everything was
being done to find Hermione, and she had confidence she would be found unharmed. It had been a
thinly veiled attempt to cheer them up, and both Harry and Ron had recognized it as one. Now, it
seemed as if everything was going back to normal, even with the threat of a dead student and the
closing of the school.

A small explosion, the second for the night, burst out from down the hall before Harry had a
chance to answer. He finally looked at Ron.

“They all knew Hermione, too,” said Harry, almost angrily. “How can they just go back to their
daily routines knowing what's going on?”

“We've been doing it all along,” reminded Ron. “From the beginning, we've been ignoring
the fact that something was very wrong. A student would disappear, and we would just keep going up
like nothing had happened. It's no surprise that the board of governors are a bit worried.”

“But what are they going to do?” questioned Harry. “If no one's found them by the end of the
week, what's going to happen? Is Hogwarts just going to close and no mention be made of those
that must still be somewhere on the grounds?”

Ron didn't have an answer for him. He lie back against the pillow on his bed and sat in
silence for a few more minutes.

“Do you think there's anything we can do?” said Ron finally.

“To help find Hermione? I don't know,” responded Harry. “I don't even know where you
could begin looking. I'm sure the teachers have already checked out all of the obvious
places.”

“Hogwarts doesn't have that large of grounds,” said Ron suddenly. “Don't you think they
would still have to be on the school grounds? You saw what happened to Malfoy when he merely
stepped over the line. I don't know how you'd get past that, especially if you had someone
with you.”

“Malfoy's a decent wizard. You could even call him good,” said Harry, “but he's not what
you'd call great. He's just ordinary. I might have thought he was behind some of it at
first, but now I'm positive that he's not involved.”

Ron nodded. “Then I guess the question we should be asking is `Who is?'”

“If we knew that,” said Harry grimly, “we wouldn't be having this conversation. He would
have been stopped a long time ago.”

“True,” said Ron, scratching his chin. He looked over at Harry. His friend had lapsed back into
his earlier state. He was looking toward the window, an almost far-off appearance on his face. Ron
didn't say anything for a long time.

“There's no use in this,” said Harry finally. He hopped off his bed and over to his
wardrobe. “I'm going to go to bed. Maybe I'll be able to think a bit more clearly after a
good night's sleep.”

“Good idea,” said Ron. Harry looked determined, but Ron could see behind the mask. It was hard
to keep faith when hope had already been lost.

* * *

Harry had a very unusual dream that night.

He found himself wandering through a beautiful forest on a warm summer day. At first, he
didn't recognize where he was, but as his dream went on, he became convinced he was lost in the
Forbidden Forest. The trees began to look more hostile, and the entire area began to lose its
beauty. The warmth had faded completely, replaced by the bitter cold of winter. Snow began to swirl
around, and ice froze the trees into threatening sculptures.

Harry knew he was wandering, but he didn't know for what. He began to realize that he
wasn't dressed in his school robes anymore; instead, he was wearing a fine set of black robes
that would not have been out of place at a ball or a wedding. However, as the wind howled and snow
flew in every direction, the fine robes began to fade, and the fabric grew tattered and torn.

It was then that he heard it. Tortured screams began ringing out in time with the wind. Harry
began running, unsure of whether to go in the direction of the cries or away. Finally, he moved
toward them, almost as if some power was pushing him in that direction. He reached a clearing of
trees; twelve great oaks formed a magnificent, perfect circle. However, something had stained the
serene setting. The pure white snow had been stained with patches of a sinister red, and the
screams grew louder. Someone was pleading.

The last thing Harry remembered seeing before he woke up and the first thing that came to mind
when he did were the same. He looked around the room, startled. Finally, he reached for his glasses
on the bedside table. In the process, he nearly knocked his watch to the floor. He held it up to
the moonlight.

It was exactly midnight, and the center dial still glowed a deep red. It was doing something
unusual, though. A zero had replaced the twelve on the center dial, and the inner hand kept
flicking between it and one.

* * *

Snow was swirling all around with the bitter winter wind in the darkness, and she was starting
to go numb. She couldn't ever remembering being this cold in her life, but she was actually
grateful for the numbing sensation spreading through her body. It was easing the pain.

Hermione tried to open her eyes, but it was impossible. Something was preventing her from
escaping the darkness. She tried to pick herself up, but that too was impossible. She'd never
felt so weak, either. In the distance, she could hear someone yelling.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he was muttering. Hermione began to wish she had the energy to cover
her ears. She recognized that voice, but she couldn't put her finger on whose it was.
Nevertheless, she didn't want to hear it. She felt something dig into her side.

“What? Not going to fight back?”

Hermione finally managed to open her eyes, but the image before her wasn't clear. Somewhere
in the back of her mind she began to wonder if she was in sudden need of glasses. Her head was
swimming.

“It's a shame I had to take you,” said the voice again. “I almost liked you for awhile
there. Don't worry, I'll make it fast for you.”

Something hit the side of her head, and Hermione felt the scene before her eyes growing fuzzier
and fuzzier, until she was in darkness once more. She was finally alone, and she was thankful. It
was hard to think clearly.

She remembered heading back to Gryffindor after Professor Lupin's class. She remembered the
way her head had hurt, but she couldn't remember why. She had gone up to the prefect common
room to start her homework, but someone had already been there. She tried to leave, but he was too
fast. Who had been there? Hermione couldn't remember. She could, however, remember him taking
her wand out of her robes, tossing it off to the side. She'd tried to fight back, and he'd
hit her so hard in the face that her mouth had started to bleed. Was her jaw broken?

“Thought I had left you, no?” The voice was back, and it was followed by a sinister laugh. “Soon
enough. The next time I leave you, I leave you to die.”

Hermione's mind began to clear. It was oddly quiet for a few minutes, with the exception of
light footsteps crunching in the snow. She began to think that the voice and its owner were going
to leave, but she was wrong. Her skirt was not where it was supposed to be, her shirt. Hermione
squeezed her eyes tightly shut. In the back of her mind, she knew what was being done to her, but
she couldn't bear to think about it. The pain and sick feeling were enough of a reminder.

“How did you like that, Mudblood? How did that feel?” The voice was whispering now, a low, evil
whisper. He began crunching around in the snow. Hermione mustered the last of her strength.

“Please don't hurt me anymore,” she whimpered, blood still in her mouth. Talking was
painful. “Please stop.”

The crunching stopped. “You are not supposed to be conscious! Stupid girl!”

Speaking had been a bad idea, Hermione realized later. She lay peacefully in the snow for a few
minutes, and then the calm shattered. There was more pain this time, and it was worse than before.
Try as she might, Hermione was loosing the battle with perception.

A few thoughts were still swimming through her head: her family, Hogwarts, Ron, and finally,
Harry. Slowly, even those faded away, leaving nothing. Darkness.

* * *

“Ron!” whispered Harry frantically. He knew he was letting his dream affect him more than he
should, but he also couldn't shake the feeling that it left him with. He tried again.
“Ron!”

“Wh—Wha?” muttered Ron sleepily, and he yawned. Finally, he looked over to Harry. “What's
going on? It's the middle of the night!”

Harry immediately felt bad for waking his friend. Suddenly, his dream seemed to make even less
sense. Nevertheless, he had to tell Ron now that he was awake. “I had a weird dream.”

“Yeah?” said Ron. He looked over to Harry with a little interest, but the look on his face still
warned that this better be important.

Harry quickly explained his dream. The farther into it he got, the more bewildered Ron looked.
When he finished, his friend was looking at him like he was crazy.

“Okay, Harry, it's weird,” agreed Ron, “but I'm starting to worry about you a
little.”

“No, Ron, you don't understand. I—” said Harry. He was about to try and explain himself when
everything came together in his mind. He rushed on. “I'm not crazy, even though you think I am.
I was thinking about Hermione when I woke up. She's the last thing I saw in the dream—”

“Harry,” interrupted Ron, “it's probably just a weird coincidence. I'm scared for her,
too, but there's no use of getting your hopes up. Listen—”

“No, you listen,” said Harry angrily. “You keep claiming that you're worried about Hermione
too. You keep saying that you're scared too. But you won't even listen to me! Don't get
my hopes up? What am I supposed to do? Just wait for someone else to find her, dead? She's your
friend, too, Ron!”

There was silence, but Harry didn't regret his outburst. He was almost sure they'd find
Hermione at the setting of the dream, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it alone. He
needed Ron's help, now more than ever.

“What do you think you know?” said Ron suddenly. “Do you think she's there?”

“I'm sure of it,” said Harry gratefully. “I know it sounds completely crazy. If it
doesn't work out, I'll go off to an institution, willingly, but we can't just not
try.”

“We have to tell someone,” said Ron. “The barrier around Hogwarts, I'm sure it blocks off
the Forbidden Forest. Without a teacher or Dumbledore or something, we don't stand a chance
against that thing.”

Harry nodded, hoping Ron could see him in the dark. He heard a creak from Ron's side of the
room, and he realized that his friend had gotten out of bed.

“What are you doing?” said Harry.

“This can't wait,” said Ron. “You're right. If Hermione's friends won't help
her, she doesn't have a chance. We're going to find Professor McGonagall.”

* * *

“This is ludicrous,” said Professor McGonagall angrily. She was poking her head out of her suite
at the top of the Gryffindor Tower, looking to Harry and Ron. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, it's
the middle of the night!”

“So?” said Ron just as angrily. “If Harry's dream is right, then we have to find Hermione as
soon as possible.”

“Mr. Weasley,” said the old professor grumpily, but her tone softened. “Boys, I know you're
grieving for your friend, but you need to face reality. Hagrid has already searched every inch of
the forest. If Miss Granger or any of the other missing students for that matter was lost within
the depths of the forest, Hagrid would have already found them.”

“Professor McGonagall,” pleaded Harry, “please listen to us. What can it hurt? If I'm wrong,
I'm wrong, but if I'm right, we might be able to find Hermione before it's too
late.”

“I'm sorry,” said McGonagall sternly. “There's nothing more we can do. It's been
nearly four months since Mandy was taken. Whoever responsible for these disappearances doesn't
want them to be found, and there's nothing we can do to change that. Good night, boys.”

Her head went back into her room, and the door closed firmly behind her. Harry and Ron shared a
frustrated look. They walked back down to their own room in silence. Once Harry had shut the door
behind him, it was he that had to calm down Ron this time. Harry cringed as Ron nearly tripped over
one of his schoolbooks that was lying on the floor, responding by throwing it against the wall.

“This isn't right!” exclaimed Ron. “You think they'd want to find her! No! The way
they're acting about this, you'd think they wanted them all dead and Hogwarts shut
down!”

“Ron!” said Harry. “Calm down! There's nothing else we can do right now!”

“What? Now you're going to give up, too? Just great!”

“I'm not giving up on Hermione,” said Harry angrily. “We'll go to Hagrid first thing
tomorrow morning. If anyone here will listen to us, it's him. Besides, he knows the forest
better than anyone. He'll be able to find the circle of trees for us.”

Ron took a deep breath, dropping onto his bed. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry about that. What you said
earlier really got to me. Hermione might not want to have anything to do with us at the moment, but
that doesn't mean we shouldn't help her.”

Harry nodded. He sat down on his own bed, staring out the window. It had started to
snow—again.

“Second week of March,” muttered Ron. “You'd think it'd start looking like spring about
now, but that's hard when everything's still covered in two feet of snow like it's
January.”

Harry didn't respond. Not even the late snow could push out his worries about Hermione.

* * *

Someone was talking to her. Hermione struggled to pay attention to the words being spoken to her
as she opened her eyes. It was so dark that she couldn't even tell there was someone standing
by her.

“I thought you'd be here,” he said grimly. It was too much. Hermione's eyes fluttered
shut again. Everything hurt so much, and it was so cold, but it didn't matter anymore. She
accepted the fact that this was the end.

“Come on, you can't stay,” said the voice again. Hermione opened her eyes again, but
everything was still blurred. The voice was vaguely familiar, but the concerned tone didn't
make sense. She tried to open her mouth, but her jaw seemed to be locked.

“Can you even hear me, Granger? I'm not going to hurt you. Just trust me this once,” said
the voice. Hermione realized she was being helped to her feet. “Ugh, you weigh a ton.”

She was half carried, half dragged, for what seemed like miles. In reality, it was probably only
a few hundred feet. Before she realized what was happening, Hermione was lying on the ground again.
It felt warmer here.

“I know you're still hurt, but there's not much else I can do for you. At least you
won't freeze to death, here,” said the voice one more time. “Good luck, Granger.”

Hermione's thoughts were swimming again before the stranger had even started walking away.
As the crunching footsteps moved farther away, she slipped back into darkness.

* * *

Harry and Ron arrived in the Great Hall the next morning to hear the news that classes had been
canceled; obviously, the teachers had a little more on their minds this morning than most. Harry
and Ron shared a look. Not having classes would make it easier to head out to Hagrid's cabin
and tell him about Harry's dream.

Or so they thought. Professor McGonagall kept her eyes on them throughout the meal; it was as if
she anticipated them sneaking off at any moment. As soon as the plates had been cleared and the
students were waiting to be dismissed, she headed down the aisle to the center of the Gryffindor
table.

“May I have a word?” asked Professor McGonagall, gesturing to Harry and Ron. “Professor Lupin is
in need of some help today, and I volunteered the two of you. He was delighted with my suggestion,
so I would advise you to go directly to his room after breakfast. It would be in your best interest
to stay out of trouble.” She looked at the pointedly, walking away before either of them got to
speak.

“This is so unfair!” muttered Harry angrily.

“The way she's acting,” added Ron, “you'd think she wants to see Hermione die.”

Harry's stomach did a flip-flop. “Don't say that,” he said weakly. “We will find her,
and she won't be dead. We should just go help Lupin, and we'll head outside right
after.”

“It could be too—” started Ron, but Harry shot him a look. He gulped. “You're right.
It's the only thing we can do.”

* * *

The two boys did as they were told and headed straight to Lupin's classroom after breakfast.
The professor was already there, hunched over a thick pile of books and taking notes hastily on a
scroll.

“Harry! Ron!” he exclaimed as they walked into the room. “Thank you so much for coming down to
help. I told McGonagall that I would be fine working alone, but she insisted the two of you could
use the distraction.”

“I guess,” said Harry half-heartedly. At least one person in this school seemed to understand
how he and Ron were feeling at the moment.

“What are we helping with?” asked Ron.

Lupin gestured to a thick stack of books. “These,” he said, “aren't really books.
They're transcripts of hearings—every single Death Eater ever put on trial. I'm going
through and writing down every name mentioned in the trials, even those testifying against the
Death Eaters. It's hard to explain what I'm using them for, but I need names of possible
suspects.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. It didn't seem like the kind of urgent work Professor
McGonagall made it out to be. Lupin caught them, and he chuckled.

“I know, it seems dull, but it's actually very important. I must get it done by afternoon,
so I can get to work on the charms,” said Lupin. “I—er, well, tonight's a full moon. By the
time I could work on this again, it would be too late. Hogwarts could be closed.”

“What is it that you need the names for, anyway?” asked Harry. He and Ron were about half an
hour into the task. A few glances at Ron told him that neither of the two was really into it, but
they kept working anyway. Their minds were somewhere else.

Lupin looked around like he expected someone to enter the room. He lowered his voice. “I'm
sure you know that they found Hermione's wand in the common room last night,” he said. “As it
turns out, it was used to create the smoke and make a mess of things. There's a series of
charms I can perform to find out who, besides Hermione, has had their hands on it. I need names
though, and Professor Snape thought this would be the best way place to start.”

“Will it be easier to find `Mione or something if you know who took her?” Ron wanted to
know.

“In theory, probably not,” said Lupin sadly. “It's the only thing we could think to do,
though. At least we'd be able to pin it on someone...”

He said some other things, but Harry wasn't paying attention. It felt like he was dreaming
again. He was in the Forbidden Forest once more, and the screams kept getting louder.

“Harry!” said Ron, and he looked around, startled. Both Ron and Lupin were looking at him with
concern. Harry figured he must have done something especially odd. He tried to shake it off.

“What?” said Harry.

“Nothing,” said Ron hastily. “You just looked a bit pale.” He seemed to understand what had
happened. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just fine,” said Harry. He would be fine if it wasn't for the feeling in the pit of
his stomach. “Can I go get a drink of water?”

“Of course you can,” said Lupin, looking perplexed. He kept glancing between Harry and Ron, but
he finally shook his head and looked back down to his work. Harry stood up quickly and barely
noticed the chink of something hitting the floor.

“What's that?” demanded Lupin suddenly. His eyes were glued to a spot on the floor. Harry
looked down, also, as did Ron. It was the necklace he had given to Hermione. He'd never
bothered to take it out of his pocket once she'd given it back. Harry bent down and picked it
up.

“This?” questioned Harry. “It's just a necklace—”

“May I please see it?” said Lupin reaching out his hand. Harry gave Ron an uncertain glance as
he dropped it into Lupin's hand. Ron seemed to realize its origins as Lupin flipped it over and
over in his hand, inspecting it. “Where on earth did you get this?”

“I made it,” said Harry nervously, “in Transfigurations. We were practicing creating objects
with detail. I don't know. I just made—”

Lupin held up his hand. “I understand. Do you have any idea what this is, Harry?”

“Er,” said Harry, “is it something bad?”

“No!” Lupin shook his head fervently. “No, it's far from it. Harry, this is a protecao.”

Harry and Ron shared blank looks. “A what?” questioned Ron.

“A protecao,” repeated Lupin. “A protector. It has powers beyond those of the Dark Arts. No form
of Dark Magic can affect a person wearing one. It has several drawbacks, but it's probably the
best thing short of a counter curse.”

Harry's face went very pale as Lupin handed it back to him. “Oh.”

“I'm surprised you were able to conjure it, even with your advanced abilities,” continued
Lupin. “Very, very few wizards possess the abilities to create them.”

“It was just Transfigurations,” said Harry quickly. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. If
Dark Magic was involved in the disappearances, as Lupin obviously seemed to think, then Hermione
would have been okay if she just hadn't gotten mad at him and returned the necklace.

Lupin nodded, pulling his stack of transcripts closer to him. “Why don't the two of you go
on? I think I have this under control.”

“Good luck getting it done,” said Ron as he scrambled out of his seat.

“It was nice to be able to help you,” added Harry. The two of them were out the door in a
moment. “Did you hear that?”

“The stuff about the protecao?” said Ron. “Yeah, I was in the room—”

“Don't you get it?” said Harry. “If Hermione just hadn't of gotten mad at us, she still
would have had it! None of this would have happened!”

“That's not true,” said Ron, but Harry could hear the doubt in his voice. “No, it's not.
Lupin even said there were drawbacks! With our luck, there would have been one right when she need
it.”

“Yeah,” said Harry quietly. “Come on, we're free to go. Let's not waste anymore
time.”

* * *

“What are yeh doin' har?” demanded Hagrid sternly when he opened the door to his little
cabin. Peering past him, Harry and Ron could tell that Madame Maxime was sitting on his lumpy
couch. “Yeh're `sposed to be back in the `astle!”

“We know,” said Harry quickly. He was still a lot out of breath; he and Ron had first dashed
upstairs to get their cloaks before running all the way across the grounds to Hagrid's hut.
“It's important, though. Please let us in?”

Hagrid gave them an unsure look, but he moved so he wasn't blocking the entrance. Harry and
Ron scampered through the doors. It had been a long time since they'd been inside because of
all the rules, and the little cabin had changed a lot in that amount of time. It was cleaner than
it had ever been, and it was obvious that Madame Maxime had added quite a few homey touches all
around.

“'Ould you like a cup o' tea boyzs?” said Madame Maxime politely, standing up from the
sofa. Without waiting for a response, she had bustled into the kitchen.

“What `re yeh here fer?” said Hagrid sternly. “Yeh should'n be here. Af'er all
that's `appened!”

“It's important, Hagrid,” insisted Ron. “It's about Hermione.”

Hagrid's face grew more alert. “Do yeh know somethin'? Did `ey fin' `er an' not
tell me?”

Harry shook his head. “No, but we think we know where she is. Is there a place in the forest
were twelve huge oaks form a perfect circle?”

“Yeh know about the Life Circle? How'd yeh know `bout that?”

Harry quickly explained the dream he had the night before. His heart sank when he saw Hagrid
shaking his head as he finished.

“I checked the for'st jus' las' night, `Arry. She's not there,” said Hagrid
sadly. “I'm sorry, `Arry. Yeh too, Ron. I `ant to fin' `er, too, but she's not there to
be found.”

Harry was about to protest, but Ron cut him short by elbowing him hard in the side. “Thanks for
your help, Hagrid,” said Ron. “We'd better get back to the castle before someone gets
worried.”

“'Ou won't stay for tea?” said Madame Maxime, walking out of the kitchen with two cups
on a tray.

“We'd love to,” said Harry quickly, catching where Ron was going with this, “but we really
have to get back to the castle. Thank you anyway, Madame Maxime.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Ron. He was already halfway out the door; Harry dashed out behind
him.

“What are we going to do without Hagrid's help?” said Harry. He'd been so sure that
Hagrid would be the one person at Hogwarts more than willing to help them.

“We'll just have to do it without him,” said Ron. He seemed to be thinking. “Harry? That
thing you compared Dumbledore's barrier too? What was that?”

“An electric fence for dogs?” asked Harry.

“That's it! An ecletric fence!” exclaimed Ron. “Can a dog still get through it?”

Harry nodded. “They can if they take the shock... Ron, are you suggesting we—?”

“Yes, I am,” said Ron quickly. “It can't hurt, can it? Malfoy was fine a few minutes after
it zapped him. It probably won't even hurt that much if you do it at a run, right?”

“Right,” said Harry. Ron looked every bit as unsure as he felt. The entire idea was kind of
extreme, but, then again, what had happened to Hermione was pretty extreme, too.

“Where do you think it will kick in at?” Ron wanted to know a few minutes later. They were
traipsing through the snow in the direction of the forest.

“I'm not sure,” said Harry. They were only about ten feet from the tree line now. “I guess
we'll see, won't we?”

“Yeah...” said Ron nervously. Harry noticed he was picking up the pace. A few more steps, they
were past the tree line, and nothing had happened.

“Do you think—” said Harry, too nervous to finish. He didn't want to say anything about it,
just in case.

“You know,” said Ron thoughtfully as they worked their way into the forest. It was only midday,
but it was already dark beneath the thick shade of the trees. “The Forbidden Forest is technically
part of Hogwarts grounds. Maybe that fence thing doesn't stretch this far.”

“Guess not,” said Harry, nevertheless glad they hadn't gotten fried by some kind of barrier
they couldn't even see. “The only question is now, where do we go?”

“I don't know,” said Ron nervously. The trees were getting so thick that they could no
longer see the security of the castle in the distance. “Should we split up?”

“No,” said Harry quickly, “we shouldn't. The next person to go missing will be one of
us.”

For the next fifteen minutes, they worked their way deep into the forest without much talking.
It grew so dark underneath the dense trees that both boys pulled out their wands to expel some
light.

“You shouldn't be here, Potter,” said a low voice, “and neither should your friend. The
forest is not a safe place for you at any time of the day.”

Harry spun around to see a very familiar looking centaur with a palomino body, light blonde
hair, and bright blue eyes.

“Firenze!” exclaimed Harry.

“You remember me,” said the centaur, his tone softening. “You mustn't be here, Harry. The
planets are surely without fail this time. Something evil has happened in this forest.”

“Our friend is here,” explained Harry. “We have to find her.”

“Has she disappeared, too?” said Firenze, gazing heavenward. “We foresaw this coming many moons
before. It is sometimes a shame the planets are so foolproof.”

“Do you know anything about a circle of twelve oak trees in the forest?” blurted Ron suddenly.
Firenze gave him a derisive look.

“Who are you?” asked Firenze.

“This is my friend, Ron,” said Harry quickly. “We're looking for a circle of trees somewhere
in the forest. Twelve great oaks—Hagrid called them the Life Circle?”

“You know of the Life Circle,” said Firenze quietly. “It is just that, twelve majestic trees
that form a sacred place. Within it is eternal warmth. Neither evil nor creature can enter it. Only
wizards and witches of the purest heart have that ability. What do you want with the Life
Circle?”

“We just need to get there,” said Harry. “We think that our friend—her name is Hermione—is
there.”

Firenze nodded, but he gazed to the sky again. “A great iniquity has taken place within these
trees.”

“Firenze? We need your help,” begged Harry. “We really need to know where the Life Circle is.
Could you at least point us in the right direction?”

“I would take you,” said Firenze suddenly, “but it is deadly to a centaur such as myself. It is
in that direction, the north, very far from here. These woods stretch farther than you might
imagine. Best of luck, Harry Potter.”

Before Harry or Ron could express their gratitude, Firenze had taken off in the opposite
direction. Harry looked to Ron with a hopeful expression.

“Well, we'd better get moving,” said Harry. Seeing Ron's uncertain expression, he added,
“Firenze wouldn't lead us astray.”

Ron nodded, and they were walking again. As they got even deeper into the forest, Harry suddenly
began to recognize everything they were encountering.

“Ron!” he exclaimed in awe as they passed a tree that sloped over at an almost perfect
forty-five degree angle. “That tree was in my dream!”

Ron grinned. “Good! That means we're going in the right direction!”

“Do you think she'll be there?” said Harry softly a few minutes later.

“We have to hope,” said Ron, “and she has to be there. I can't think of any other place she
could be.”

Harry nodded. “Firenze said that evil couldn't enter the Life Circle, though. If one of
Voldemort's followers took her, I think that would definitely count as evil. How could they
leave her—”

Harry stopped in mid sentence. About twenty paces in front of them was a perfect circle of
trees, tall and majestic, just as in his dream. He looked at Ron, who had also stopped dead in his
tracks.

“Are you ready?” whispered Harry. Ron could only nod. They walked slowly toward the trees. There
was only a few feet of space between each one, and it was impossible to see the center of the area
in between them. Harry gave Ron one last look before slipping through the trunks. Instantly, he
felt an unusual warmth surround him. He looked straight ahead.

Nothing could have prepared Harry for the sight that lay before his eyes. Grisly splashes of
blood led to the center, on either side of a single set of footprints. Next to them, the snow
looked as if something had been dragged through it. The tracks and blood trail led directly to the
same thing. Hermione.

“Hermione!” exclaimed Harry, rushing to her immediately. Ron was right behind him. He dropped
down in the snow next to her, taking her hand.

“Is she alive?” whispered Ron.

“Barely,” said Harry grimly. He focused his attention back to Hermione. Her skin had a pale gray
tone to it, and her eyes were closed. Her face was bruised and swollen. Her usually pristine
Hogwarts robes were stained with blood and ripped ragged in some places. She was breathing in
shallow, uneven breathes. “Hermione?”

There was no response, but Harry tried once more. “Hermione? It's Harry. Ron's here,
too.”

“I don't think she can hear you,” said Ron softly. He was kneeling in the snow on her other
side.

“I know,” whispered Harry. He shook his head. This was not the time to panic. They had to get
Hermione back to the castle, and by the looks of her, they didn't have that much time. “Come
on. I don't think we have time to go back to the castle and get someone.”

Ron nodded. Harry already had his wand out. He tried several times, but not a single spell, from
healing to weightlessness, would work.

“It must be this Life Circle,” said Ron. “I'll bet you can't do magic in here.”

“I guess not,” said Harry. “Come on. We'll just have to work around it.”

Another nod came from Ron's direction. Harry swallowed hard. He'd never been so scared
in his life.

-->



11. Untold Stories
------------------



Chapter Eleven

UNTOLD STORIES

But, for the second time that school year, Hermione beat the odds. The next afternoon, Harry and
Ron found themselves sitting in the hospital wing at her bedside. She was sleeping peacefully, as
she had been since they found her, but Madam Pomfrey assured them it wouldn't be much longer
before she came to.

The boys had had a lot of explaining to do when they had returned to Hogwarts with her and even
a bit of a punishment, but it was well worth it to hear those words. Hermione looked a thousand
times better at the moment, even fast asleep, than she had almost exactly twenty-four hours
before.

Even with all the injuries she had seen in the past, Madam Pomfrey had been properly horrified
to see Hermione. Besides the bruising on her face, which had turned out to be a broken jaw, she had
broken ribs, a broken wrist, a bad gash on the back of her head, and several more on her stomach
and back. She had minor cuts and bruises just about everywhere, it seemed. However, Harry and Ron
had a feeling Madam Pomfrey hadn't even gotten into all of it with that list. Still, she was
being much kinder about letting them sit with her, so they weren't going to question
anything.

“Think she'll shoo us away when she wakes up?” asked Ron suddenly.

Harry shook his head. “I think she had a concussion. Hopefully she won't even remember
she's `keeping her distance' from us.”

“A wizard can hope, right?” said Ron with a chuckle.

“Still watching over Miss Granger, I see?” said a familiar voice behind them. The two boys
turned, not surprised to see Dumbledore standing there. He had been in and out all day, wanting to
talk to Hermione as soon as she woke up. Now that everyone was sure Hermione was okay, he held hope
she would know something about the other five missing students. “You three truly are the best of
friends.”

“Tell her that,” muttered Ron, but Harry elbowed him to keep him from saying it loud enough for
Dumbledore to hear.

“You know,” said Dumbledore, taking a seat next to them, “not a lot of friends would have shown
the kind of courage you did yesterday. I just talked to Professor McGonagall, who has agreed to
cancel your detentions, and I feel that one hundred points each should be awarded to Gryffindor. Of
course, I'm sure the best reward will come when Hermione does wake up.”

“It will,” said Harry sincerely. “Madam Pomfrey says it will be any time now.”

“Good,” said Dumbledore. “I had been hoping to speak with Miss Granger, but I don't know if
there will be a need to now. The real reason I decided to pay you this visit is because I have
news. The five other missing students have been found.”

“They have?” exclaimed Harry.

“Alive?” Ron wanted to know.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “Every one of them alive, and not a one of them injured.”

“Where were they all this time?” wondered Harry

“Right under our noses,” said Dumbledore, “within the walls of this castle.

“How's that?” blurted Ron.

“After hearing that you found Hermione within the Life Circle,” explained Dumbledore, “Hagrid
and I went to check out the area. There wasn't anything odd there, but we followed the
footprints and the—er, trail. Deep in the most forbidding part of the forest, we found a campsite
and what appeared to be a piece of Miss Granger's robes. We also found a slip of paper—a map of
the school. It showed the addition of a secret channel deep in the dungeons, and it was within this
channel that we found our missing students.”

“Who did it?” asked Harry.

“That, Harry, remains to be known,” said Dumbledore sadly.

“What?” exclaimed Ron. “Won't one of the students tell you who stuck them there?”

“They were unable to identify their kidnapper,” informed Dumbledore, “as they had all been
stupefied with a highly advanced form of the spell immediately. They can't remember a single
thing about the time they've been gone. It seems that they all share the same, untellable
story.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He shot Ron a sideways glance.

“Exactly,” said Dumbledore, standing, patting Harry's shoulder. “Tell Miss Granger I wish
her my best. Seeing as the need to speak with her is no longer urgent, I will wait a few days
before conversing with her. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be talking with Madam
Pomfrey.”

“Bloody hell, how could no one know that there was a secret channel in the school?” hissed Ron.
“I think they'd notice if a whole other part had been added, even if it was underground!”

“They might not have checked,” reasoned Harry. “Who would have thought to look in such an
obvious place?”

“They should have,” grumbled Ron. “They could have solved the problem before things started to
get serious.”

“I know what you mean,” said Harry, his gaze going back to Hermione.

“Say, would you mind if I left for just a minute?” asked Ron a few moments later.

“No, I don't mind,” said Harry. “Where are you going?” Immediately noticing the blush rising
to his friend's cheeks, he had a good idea what this was about.

“Nothing,” muttered Ron, looking away. “I just wanted to make sure that Anna hasn't died of
happiness in seeing her brother again.”

“Go,” ordered Harry, punching Ron's arm with a laugh. Still looking away with his flushed
cheeks, Ron waved as he scampered off to the door of the hospital wing. When he was out of sight,
Harry looked to Hermione again. She had shifted slightly, and he couldn't help but think how
peaceful she looked at the moment, even with her arm in a brace and large bruises still visible on
her chin and above her eye. He could hear Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore back in the nurse's
office, and try as he might, Harry couldn't help but listen to their conversation.

“I can't believe you!” Madam Pomfrey was calling. “It's too soon, Dumbledore. She needs
some time to deal with this in her own way. I refuse to let you interrogate Miss Granger in her
fragile condition.”

“Poppy,” returned Dumbledore impatiently, “it's important that I be able to speak with
Hermione. She has a few broken bones and bruises, I see, but you've let me talk to worse
before. I don't see what the big—”

“You don't know the half of it, Albus,” insisted Madam Pomfrey. “There are certain things
I've chosen to withhold at the moment on Miss Granger's behalf. You don't understand
just what the poor girl has gone through. She's been violated in the worst of ways—”

Harry's attention snapped completely when he noticed Hermione shifting in the hospital bed,
reaching her hand up to her face. She opened her eyes and looked right at him.

“Harry,” she muttered, “you're here...”

“I am,” said Harry, trying not to choke on his amazement. He scooted his chair closer to her
bed, and she grasped his hand lightly. “I've been here for awhile. Ron has, too, and he'll
be back.”

“Okay,” murmured Hermione. Her eyes shut again. “Who found me?”

“We did,” said Harry, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Ron and I weren't about to give up
on you... how are you feeling?”

“Better,” said Hermione, opening her eyes again. She began shifting again, but she needed
Harry's help to be able to sit up in the bed. She still looked a little out of it, like she was
half. “It was so cold, Harry... it hurt so much... I thought I was going to die...”

“You're okay now,” said Harry, swallowing hard. Hermione's grip on his hand
tightened.

“I'm glad you're here,” said Hermione softly. She seemed to be waking up, and she
suddenly put both of her arms around his neck. Instinctively, Harry put his arms around her, and
her head rested familiarly on his shoulder. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Harry gently, patting her back, gently, so he wouldn't hurt
her.

“Was it you?” she asked suddenly.

“Was what me?” said Harry, pulling back so he could see her face. Her warm brown eyes were
studying him intently.

“Someone found me,” whispered Hermione. “I was so cold, and everything still hurt. I think he
knew me; I remember him saying my name. He carried me to the trees. I couldn't see his
face...”

“I don't know who it was,” said Harry. Hermione nodded, letting Harry pull her back into his
arms.

“I'm glad you're here,” she repeated.

* * *

On her promise to rest for the next several days, Madam Pomfrey reluctantly released Hermione
from her care. Harry promised to help Hermione back the next morning for a checkup, and Professor
McGonagall bent the rules a bit to allow him to help Hermione get settled in her dormitory.

“You know,” said Harry thoughtfully, sitting at the edge of Hermione's bed, “this might be
the mirror image of our part of Gryffindor, but there's just something about the girls'
dormitory... It's a lot cleaner, for one... and a lot quieter without the Weasley twins blowing
something up every five seconds.”

Hermione laughed, and she gave Harry the first completely genuine smile she had in a long time.
“That's not hard to imagine,” she said. “Don't be fooled, though. Usually there's a
hundred or so girls swarming around, giggling and gossiping about make-up and clothing and boys and
Merlin knows what else. It really gets to me sometimes, and I'm sure if you ever witnessed it,
you wouldn't blame me for trying to find somewhere else to study!”

“You don't need to worry about studying right now,” said Harry. “You're supposed to be
resting and relaxing, and I promised Madam Pomfrey I would see that you did.”

“Harry,” said Hermione impatiently, “O.W.L.S. are less than two months away!”

“No,” said Harry. Her last statement had been so typically Hermione that he couldn't help
but smile. He wanted nothing more than for her to be back to her usual self. “No Arithmancy charts,
no History of Magic book, no Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. You're going to go to sleep
and all that, or I'll take you right back to Madam Pomfrey.”

“You wouldn't... would you?” questioned Hermione, and he caught her gazing longingly at her
desk, where her schoolbooks were piled volumes thick. “Please Harry? I'm really not that
tired... just one subject, please?”

A yawn interrupted her pleas, and Harry looked at her knowingly. She blushed. “You're not
that tired, huh?” teased Harry. “Get some rest, Hermione. I should leave, anyway—Professor
McGonagall will probably come drag me out of here if I don't.”

Hermione sighed. “You're impossible, Harry.”

“I am not,” said Harry. His eyes met hers, and he noticed immediately that something seemed
different. “I just want what's best for you.”

“That's very sweet of you,” said Hermione sincerely, “but I really don't need that much
sleep.”

“You've been through a lot,” argued Harry. He stood up.

“I'm just fine,” said Hermione, but Harry saw her look away with her words. It was almost as
if she didn't want to look him in the eye. “Would you please hand me my extra blanket? It's
lying on top of my wardrobe.”

“It's not that cold, Hermione,” said Harry, but he handed her the blanket anyway. He'd
noticed her shivering throughout the time they'd been talking, and he figured she was still
chilled from being outside for so long. Hermione took it from him, and she reached up to hug him.
She kissed his cheek.

“Thank you for everything, Harry,” said Hermione.

“It's not a big—”

“There you are, Mr. Potter. Come along now,” said Professor McGonagall. She had just appeared in
front of Hermione's room. Harry gave Hermione a small smile as he quickly walked out of the
room.

* * *

“Where have you been?” asked Ron as Harry walked back into their room. “I think I got back to
the hospital right after you left with Hermione. Did Madam Pomfrey really let her leave so
soon?”

“Hermione promised that she'd take it easy and sleep for the next few days, and I promised
I'd make her,” explained Harry, and he chuckled, “and Hermione's pretty convincing when she
starts begging.”

“Have I ever seen her beg?” Ron wanted to know.

“You might,” said Harry. “Anna still alive?”

“Huh?”

“You said that you were checking to make sure your girlfriend hadn't died of happiness,”
teased Harry.

“Oh yeah,” said Ron sheepishly. “I talked to her for awhile, and then I actually talked to John.
It was kind of scary, but I survived.”

Harry laughed. “So they really don't remember anything?”

“Not a thing,” said Ron, shaking his head. “The last thing any of them remembers is being alone
in their dorm room or the library or wherever. The next thing they knew, they were waking up to
cheers of `you're alive!' Snape kept muttering things about what powerful Dark Magic it
was... but never mind. How's Hermione? What took you so long to get back here?”

“Professor McGonagall had me helping Hermione up to her room,” explained Harry. “She only let me
stay for a few minutes, until Hermione was settled in. She kept gazing at her books as if they were
some long lost love.”

Ron chuckled. “I can see her doing that,” he said. “So she's back to normal? No avoiding the
two of us anymore? Why'd she do that, anyway?”

“I didn't really press her on anything,” admitted Harry. “She's still not in the
greatest of shape. I mean, she's acting normally, but there's something different about
her. She seems almost—”

“Almost what?”

“Defeated is the first word that comes to mind,” said Harry, “but that couldn't be it. She
managed to live through everything with a mark on her life, after all.”

“Did she say anything about it?”

“No,” said Harry, “we just talked a bit about classes and stuff. I figure she needs a few days.
You know she'll tell us everything she remembers if she feels like it.”

“Right,” said Ron, “but I'm not going to get my hopes up. With my luck, she'll be back
to hating us tomorrow.”

“I don't think so,” said Harry slowly. His mind kept drifting back to the tidbit of the
conversation between Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. “I think she'll come clean about whatever
had her mad at the two of us.”

“If you think so,” said Ron slowly, “then I'll believe you. Think I'll get a chance to
see her tomorrow? At least we were allowed in the hospital if we wanted to visit her.”

“You could probably talk Professor McGonagall into it,” said Harry. “I would suggest the prefect
common room, but I have a feeling it doesn't hold the best memories for Hermione anymore.”

“You don't say?” said Ron jokingly. “Come on, we should really get going.”

“Where?” asked Harry. “Are we supposed to be somewhere?”

“Yes,” informed Ron. “I was just waiting for you to get back. There's a huge feast about to
be going on in the Great Hall. I had orders from Dumbledore to drag you in from the hospital so
Hermione could get her rest, but then you weren't there. So Madam Pomfrey sent me back to
Gryffindor, and Professor McGonagall intercepted me in the common room and told me to wait in the
room...”

“I think I get it,” said Harry with a laugh. “A huge feast?”

Ron nodded. “The smell in there was about to kill me right before I left! You could tell they
were busy with something down in the kitchen, and it smelled wonderful... this is better than the
usual feasts, I think!”

“Of—” started Harry, but he was cut off. Ron had already grabbed his arm and was pulling him in
the direction of the door.

* * *

And Ron was right—the feast was even grander than the feasts at the start of term, Halloween,
and even Christmas. The house-elves had really outdone themselves with lavish arrays of food
prepared with no forewarning. There had been one particular chicken dish that had never been served
before, and Harry found himself reloading his plate with seconds, thirds, and even fourths. He
eventually reached the point of not being able to eat another bite without losing what he already
had, but Ron and his brothers had continued to eat for a good thirty minutes. They were the last to
finish, and then the tables had been cleared and tipped up against the walls. The feast had turned
into a party of sorts, and Fred and Angelina had been leading half the school in an exuberant dance
when Harry had slipped away. Ron had actually gotten a little sleep the night before in the
hospital, but Harry hadn't, so, with Dumbledore's permission, he had headed back to the
Gryffindor Tower to get some rest.

“Back so soon?” questioned the Fat Lady disapprovingly as he showed up at the portrait hole.
“Where's your school spirit? You're lucky I hadn't left yet—Dumbledore said it would be
quite a good time before anyone returned, and I was about to visit my friend Violet
downstairs!”

“Queen of England,” muttered Harry, wondering, not for the first time, where the portraits got
their ideas for passwords.

The Fat Lady scowled at him as she swung open, still muttering things that Harry chose to
ignore. He didn't stop in the common room on his way up to his room, just traipsing up the
stairs to the boys' dormitory as quickly as he could. He glanced at his watch as he rummaged
around for his pajamas. It was later than he had thought—a little after ten—and it made sense as to
why he was so tired.

Harry figured he'd finally get some rest that night, spend the weekend with Hermione and Ron
and his homework, and things would finally go back to normal at Hogwarts. He scratched his head as
he looked around the room. It was starting to look a little neglected because he and Ron hadn't
bothered cleaning it in several days. Harry had found his pajama bottoms, but the top was nowhere
to be found. He was about to give up and get his others out of his trunk, but there was a sudden
knock on the door.

“Harry? It—it's Hermione. May I come in?”

A look of confusion crossed Harry's face, but he scrambled over to the locked door to let
her in. She had her robe thrown on top of her nightgown, which Harry recognized as the one she had
been wearing all those months ago when she had come to Ron's room at the Weasley's. Harry
shut the door behind her.

“What are you doing here?” blurted Harry. “You're supposed to be back in your room,
sleeping.”

Hermione gave him a pointed look as she reached up and placed a finger over his mouth to stop
him. “I was down in the common room,” she said softly, letting Harry lead her over to his bed,
where she sat down. “Professor McGonagall came up from the feast twice to check on me, and she had
started to feel sorry for me by the second go around. I'd been sleeping for hours, so she let
me take a few books down to the common room for a while. I saw you come in.”

“Doesn't mean you're supposed to be up here,” said Harry, but he wasn't really mad.
He was more worried about Professor McGonagall storming through and letting him have it for having
a girl in his room.

“I know I'm not,” said Hermione, as Harry sat down next to her. “I'm sorry, Harry. I
just—I'm sorry. I couldn't stand to be alone anymore.”

“Hey, it's okay,” said Harry quickly. “What's wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”

Hermione was still looking away. “Oh, it's nothing.”

“You wouldn't have come up here if it was nothing,” said Harry, touching her shoulder. Much
to his surprise, Hermione flinched and scooted away from him. She looked at him with wide eyes, and
it finally clicked on him what was noticeable in her eyes: fear.

“You're right,” said Hermione softly, “I wouldn't have, and I don't want to be a
bother, but you're the only person I feel saf—comfortable with.”

“I'm the only person you feel what with?” repeated Harry. He was almost sure she'd
almost said safe, but he wasn't sure.

“Comfortable,” said Hermione quickly, but one look at her told him that she knew he had heard
her right the first time. “Don't get me wrong, Ron's still one of my dearest friends, but
he's not exactly one for heavy conversation. I could probably talk to him, but you're a
good listener and...”

“And what?” prompted Harry.

“I'm not sure,” said Hermione, easing back toward him slowly. “It's just different with
you.”

“Thanks—I think,” said Harry, and he paused. “So what's going on, Hermione? What do you want
to talk about?”

“I—I—I don't—” stammered Hermione. Finally, Harry took her hand reassuringly, and she took a
deep breath. “I don't know where to start.”

“You can start wherever you want to,” said Harry. “I don't even know what this is about, so
it's not like I can even pressure you into telling me anything you don't want to.”

Hermione nodded. “You probably want to know why I didn't want anything to do with you and
Ron.”

“It would be nice,” said Harry, giving her a lopsided grin. She smiled weakly.

“It's going to sound stupid,” said Hermione with a very nervous laugh, “but I kept having
this dream... oh Harry, it was awful! It always started with the three of us and ended with only
me. We were always happy at the beginning, laughing and joking and talking the way we always do.
Then, horrible things would start to happen, and I—I'd lose both of you. I just couldn't
shake that image...”

Hermione shuddered, and she suddenly looked at Harry, almost as if to check if he was still
there. “I know it sounds dreadfully stupid, but it scared me nevertheless.”

“It doesn't sound stupid, Hermione,” said Harry.

“It just kept getting worse,” whispered Hermione. “I started to think I was going crazy. I
started hearing these whispers when I was alone. Someone was taunting me, telling me that you and
Ron would die the most horrible of deaths if I didn't leave you alone. Eventually, I
couldn't take it anymore. I'm so sorry, Harry... I'll probably be the death of you now,
anyway—”

“You won't,” said Harry, firmly and suddenly. She had focused intently on a spot on the
carpet, and Harry gently lifted her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “Listen to me,
Hermione, nothing's going to happen—” he broke off, taking her other hand, “and, even if it
did, it wouldn't matter. You—you're—well, you and Ron and Sirius—you're all I have.
I'm not going to let that go for anything.”

Even in the semi-darkness, Harry caught sight of the tear working its way down Hermione's
cheek, and he wiped it away. “Don't cry,” he ordered. “I don't want to see you upset over
this.”

“I'm not,” said Hermione quickly, wiping her face with her own hand and shooting Harry a
quick smile. “Well, a little bit—you're much too good to me, if you didn't know—but
it's not that.”

“Then what it is?” said Harry softly. Hermione looked away for the first time in several
moments, and Harry touched her shoulder gently again. “I'll be listening to you, whatever it
might be.”

“It's nothing,” said Hermione quickly, and she sighed. “It's just—”

“It's just what?” asked Harry. He suddenly had a good idea what this was all about.
“It's about what happened in the forest, isn't... Hermione, what happened?”

* * *

Her voice wavered at first, but once she got going, she didn't have as many problems. Harry
listened intently to her every word. Hermione really was correct in declaring him a good listener;
he knew just what to say, what questions to ask, and when she need a comforting hand to squeeze or
shoulder to lean against.

“After I came to in Professor Lupin's class, I was more terrified than ever. I hadn't a
single nightmare since I had begun ignoring you and Ron, and I hadn't heard any of those
horrible whispers, but I heard one that day. I can still remember just what it said, too—`I thought
you knew better than that, Hermione Granger. Don't get too attached again because you know what
will happen,'” said Hermione. She shuddered. “I felt—I felt that I had said too much when I
really hadn't had more than a few words with you or Ron, and I just remember wanting to get
away from you before I caused something awful to happen—”

She broke off, shaking her head. When she looked back up at Harry, it was through wide eyes.
“I'm starting to realize just how stupid it sounds. I'm sorry—”

“No,” said Harry, his finger pressed gently against her lips again. “Don't apologize. You
had every right to be scared. You were just trying to be a good friend.”

“I guess,” said Hermione miserably. “I just couldn't imagine something to you or Ron! It was
easier to face loneliness than really losing you, so I made a point of getting back to Gryffindor
before the two of you. I had a feeling you would come looking for me, and I needed to go back up to
the prefect common room because I had accidentally left a book there. However, when I got there,
someone was already there. He grabbed me before I could even look at his face. He took my wand, and
when I tried to scream, he hit me so hard that my jaw broke, and I blacked out.”

“You don't have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable,” repeated Harry, rubbing
her back gently. Hermione shook her head.

“I don't want to keep it hidden inside,” said Hermione, “because it'll just be harder to
tell someone with the passing of time. I can't remember a lot after that... all my memories are
pretty garbled from then on. I don't even know how much time passed between leaving Hogwarts
and waking in the forest. It was dark, and I don't think I've ever been as cold as I felt
at that moment—”

She stopped again. Harry noticed her tone was getting softer the farther she went into the
story, and he had a feeling it wasn't the easiest of memories to bring up. He smiled at her,
trying to lighten the mood. She opened her mouth to speak, but a jiggling door handle interrupted
her.

“Harry!” exclaimed Ron, bursting into the room. His face was red with laughter, and Harry could
hear the other boys clamoring back into Gryffindor in the background. “You are not going to believe
what Fred did at the dance! It's great! Come on, you have to hear him tell it—I just can't
get the tone of it right—we're all going to work on the radio, anyhow, so you'll—” Ron
stopped short. “Hermione! What are you doing here?”

Harry had a feeling that a deep blush, identical to the one coming to Hermione's cheeks, was
on his own face. He could tell by Ron's sly look that the image of the two of them sitting so
closely together on Harry's bed was being completely misinterpreted.

“I just needed someone to talk to,” said Hermione quietly, pulling away from Harry so she was
sitting at the complete opposite end of the four-poster.

“Er—okay,” said Ron, glancing between his two best friends. Finally, the perplexed expression
left his face, and Harry could tell that he believed them. “You can come too, Hermione... or the
two of you can finish talking.”

Harry shot Hermione a quick glance. “I'll be over there in a little bit, Ron.”

Ron nodded, and he turned to Hermione. “I'm sorry I wasn't in the hospital earlier,
Hermione. I seem to have a knack for running off right before people wake up.”

“It's okay,” said Hermione warmly, and she smiled at Ron. “Harry already explained it to
me.”

“As long as you understand,” said Ron with a lopsided grin, and Harry caught the thumbs up he
shot him, even in the darkness. “I'd hate to suffer your wrath for three more months.”

“You wouldn't be!” insisted Hermione.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ron. “Well, I'd better go. Gred and Forge are expecting me.” He leaned
down to give Hermione a hug, and though she accepted, Harry could tell it wasn't a very
comfortable experience for her. He turned to her with a puzzled expression as soon as Ron was back
out the door.

“Is something wrong?” questioned Harry.

“N—no, nothing's wrong,” stammered Hermione, and she looked away. Her voice sounded muffled.
“I just didn't—I couldn't—I really don't have anything against Ron—”

“Shh, it's okay,” said Harry gently. It was only then he noticed tears were streaming down
her cheeks, and it alarmed him a bit. “It's really okay, Hermione. Please don't cry? I hate
seeing you so upset...”

“When I did come too, it was already very dark,” said Hermione a few moments later, after
regaining her composure. She was obviously continuing just where she had left off. “I had no way of
telling what time it was. There wasn't a part of me that didn't hurt, even though I
wasn't sure why at the moment. My head was throbbing, and I could barely open my eyes. When I
finally managed to, everything was so blurry it didn't matter. I could hear someone trampling
around in the snow, and he started speaking to me. He was calling me stupid, and then he said he
would make it fast for me. He kicked me twice, first in the side and then in the side of the head,
and I thought he had left.”

The silence between Harry and Hermione was nearly palpable. Harry had a horrible feeling
settling in his stomach, but he choked it back. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“But he hadn't?”

Hermione shook her head miserably. “He came back,” she said quietly. “He came back and called me
by name. I was scared, but then nothing happened. There was an odd silence, and my head started to
clear. I remember thinking it was over, and he was just going to leave me to die, but it
wasn't. He—he—he...”

Hermione's voice trembled more than it had all night, and she bit her lip, hard. “He
stopped, and before I really understood what was happening, he was down in the snow with me,” she
whimpered. “He was so heavy... pushed my robes back... and he hurt me. He wouldn't stop. I
couldn't scream, and I didn't want to think... he just kept hurting me...”

Harry had taken her into his arms on many occasions that year, but none of them had been quite
like this. His entire body felt numb as he held her. Eventually, his disbelief turned realization
and then to anger. On top of everything else, she'd been raped. Harry's blood began to boil
with that thought. He was ready to kill whoever had done it to her, but he had to push the thoughts
aside for later.

“You don't have to say anything else,” whispered Harry. His arms remained wrapped tightly
around her, and the fingers of his right hand had grown tangled in her long hair. Her sobs began to
quiet, and he was relieved. He patted her back gently with his other hand, but he wasn't about
to let go of her. “I'm so sorry, Hermione.”

“I'm sorry, too,” whispered Hermione, her voice muffled by the folds of his robe. Her head
was still buried against his chest. “Oh Harry, I don't want to burden you. I'm just so
scared, and I just feel so...”

“You'll never be a burden to me,” said Harry softly. “Never. You know how much you mean to
me, Hermione. I'm going to be here for you, you know that.”

“Th—thanks,” she muttered, shifting in his arms. Her head rested at his shoulder, the top of it
resting just below Harry's chin. He felt Hermione's chest rise as she took a deep breath.
“When I finally found my voice and asked him not to hurt me anymore, he was furious. He assumed I
was worse off then I actually was, closer to death that I actually was, and he quickly compensated
for it. He started hitting me, and I blacked out again.

“Someone came later. I never saw him, but he was very gentle with me. He knew my name, too, he
asked me to trust him. He carried me to the trees...”

“The Life Circle,” muttered Harry.

“Yes, I guess that's what you call it,” said Hermione softly. “He took me there. It was
warm, and I wanted to thank him, but I think I blacked out again. I don't remember anything
else. My next memories are talk to Madam Pomfrey and then waking up in the hospital and seeing you
this afternoon.”

There was a long silence. Harry couldn't help but imagine what she had been through, and he
had to force the thoughts from his mind. They were turning his stomach.

“I think you're going to have to tell someone about this,” said Harry finally.

“I already have,” managed Hermione. She looked up at him. “I told you.”

Harry blushed, and he probably would have squirmed if she wasn't right there. “I don't
count,” he argued. “I can't do anything.”

“You'll do what you've always done, Harry,” said Hermione softly. “You'll make me
feel better just by being there.”

“Still,” said Harry as she sat back. He touched her face gently. “I don't know if it'll
make you feel better, but I will be there for you. I still think you need to tell someone—at least
Madam Pomfrey if not Dumbledore. There's only so much I can do for you, `Mione.”

“I think Madam Pomfrey already knows,” said Hermione quietly. She caught Harry's hand and
laced her fingers through it. “I'll be okay, Harry.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. He couldn't even begin to imagine what she'd been through.

“No,” admitted Hermione at last. “I've never been this scared before, Harry. I don't
want to sleep. I can't close my eyes without thinking about it, and I-I *don't* want
to think about it.”

“Hermione...” started Harry, but he trailed off. He didn't know what to say. “I can't
make it better, but I'll be here for you. You can count on me for that, okay?”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you, Harry. I think I'll be okay, as long as I have that.”

Harry's eyes found hers, and he couldn't bring himself to look away. It seemed as if
every unspoken thought of the last few months poured into that single moment, and he leaned
forward.

“They got it to work!”

Ron flung the door open with such exuberance that it bounced against the wall and nearly knocked
him back when it tried to spring shut. The clatter was more than enough to break Harry's
concentration and make him pull guiltily away from Hermione. He was so startled that he nearly
toppled off the side of his bed. He could feel his cheeks burning, and Hermione's were doing
the same thing. He couldn't bring himself to catch her eye, and he wondered what would have
happened if Ron hadn't burst in at that exact moment.

“They got it to work!” repeated Ron, the same enthusiasm in his voice. “It's really
ingenious, the things those Muggles come up with!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Harry, tearing his eyes away from Hermione. Suddenly
Ron's face also went quite red.

“Er—Fred and George's radio. They nearly killed themselves in that last little explosion,
but it's working. We think it's even getting some kind of Muggle music,” said Ron, and he
kept glancing between his two best friends.

“That's impossible,” said Hermione informatively. “We're much too far away for that...”
She trailed off. Sure enough, the chords of an unfamiliar song were wafting in from the room just
across the hall. Hermione shrugged in Harry's direction before a grin broke across her face.
“Or maybe not.”

“Do you recognize it?” said Ron eagerly, gesturing in the direction the music was coming
from.

“Er, the Dursleys didn't exactly let me listen to a lot of music,” said Harry quickly. He
glanced at Hermione. She was biting her lip, as if she were thinking. When she noticed he was
watching her, he began to blush furiously again.

“I think I've heard it before,” said Hermione, “in fact, I know I have. It's on one of
Dad's very old vinyls. I can't think of the name.”

“Vine-als?” repeated Ron, scratching his head.

“It's a way for Muggles to listen to music,” explained Harry.

“Ah, okay,” said Ron. He nodded his head from one side to the other, as if he was studying his
two friends. “Do you guys want to see?”

“If it isn't going to blow up if I get within two feet of it,” said Harry.

“I'd love to,” said Hermione at the exact same time, “but I really should get going. I'm
probably going to be in trouble as it is. Thanks for the offer, though, Ron.”

She stood, a little shakily, so Harry stood with her. Ron quickly muttered his good-byes before
retreating across the hall into his brother's room and closing the door shut behind him. Harry
walked to the door, Hermione on his arm. They stopped.

“Thank you so much, Harry,” said Hermione softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. She was so
close that Harry could feel her warm breath at his ear.

“I didn't do anything,” protested Harry, enveloping her in another hug. He couldn't look
down at her face—he didn't trust himself as to what he would do if he did.

“You did more than you could possibly realize,” whispered Hermione. She was standing on her
toes, and the top of her head came to about Harry's chin. “I'd be a mess right now if it
weren't for you.”

“That's not true,” said Harry weakly.

“Yes it is,” said Hermione. She was on her tiptoes again, and she kissed his cheek. She settled
in his arms again and looked up at him. “I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Have a good night—and if
Ron asks, you can tell him.”

“Okay,” said Harry, and he absently kissed the top of her head. “Sleep well, Hermione.”

* * *

Harry pulled his blankets tightly around him as he rolled over in his bed, finally getting ready
to do what he had planned to three hours before—sleep. After Hermione had left, he had spent about
an hour awing over the Weasley's creation. Now, as tired as he was, he had a feeling it would
be difficult to sleep. He had too much on his mind.

“Harry?” whispered Ron suddenly from the other side of the room. “I just wanted to tell you that
I'm sorry.”

“What?” said Harry. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“Walking in earlier,” said Ron with a smirk that Harry couldn't see in the darkness.
“I'm not blind, Potter. I know you and Hermione were about to kiss.”

“We were not!” insisted Harry, but he was blushing furiously once more. Even his thoughts
hadn't put the situation as bluntly as Ron had. “I was just trying to comfort her, Ron.”

“With your lips?” teased Ron. He rolled over. “Don't worry, it's okay. I've known it
was coming for a while. I'm just glad you're finally getting your act together...”

“Will you shut up?” said Harry angrily. “You don't get it. You have no idea what happened to
her!”

“Er, no,” said Ron, recoiling. “Hermione doesn't exactly come to me when she wants to talk,
Harry. She goes to you, and she always has... and I'm sorry—for walking in and for making
fun.”

That was good enough for Harry. He took a deep breath. “She was raped, Ron,” he said quietly.
“It was more than her just getting beat up in the woods. That's why she was in here. She needed
someone to talk to.”

“Oh,” said Ron softly. “Is she okay?”

“I don't know.” Harry shifted uncomfortably. Hermione might have given him permission to
tell Ron, but it still didn't seem right. That, and it almost hurt him to relay what had
happened out loud. It made it all the more real. “She says she is, but she seems so shaken up.
Hermione's always been so brave. It's hard to look her in the eye—the usual twinkle's
gone.”

“What till I get my hands on the bastard,” growled Ron. “Am I right in assuming you'll help
me tear him limb from limb?”

Harry sighed. “It does sound appealing,” he admitted. “I don't think she has a clue
who's responsible, though. I'm more worried about making sure she's okay than making
sure he's not.”

“You're right,” said Ron, “but I think it's crazy that you can stay so calm. I already
want to kill the guy that hurt her. If it had been Anna...”

Harry remained silent. “Anna's your girlfriend, Ron. Hermione's my best friend.”

“Harry,” said Ron slowly, “you love Hermione. I'm not saying that to get you riled up or
anything; I'm saying it because it's true. I love her too, but it's different. You can
say what you like, but you were about to kiss her tonight.”

“I'm not going to deny that I love her,” said Harry, “but Hermione's my friend, Ron.
She's like a sister to me.”

Ron rolled over one last time. “You don't look at your sister like that,” said Ron, “but
it's not my call to make. It's your soul mate, after all.”

* * *

The weekend passed quickly. Professor McGonagall agreed to let Hermione attend classes on
Monday, much to Harry's disapproval. He had spent all his time with Hermione and Ron over the
weekend, and Hermione still seemed a bit pale and more than a bit fragile to him. They didn't
talk about their almost kiss, but that was okay with Harry. He had enough to think about with what
Ron had said.

“You should be upstairs, still resting,” repeated Harry disapprovingly as Hermione took her seat
next to him in Transfigurations. He had said the same thing twice during breakfast.

“I'm fine,” responded Hermione for the third time. Her hair flipped as she directed her
attention from Harry back to her book. “Honestly, Harry, you seem bound and determined to keep me
out of class. How am I supposed to learn if I'm not in class?”

Harry shook his head. “Ron and I would have helped you catch up,” he muttered, but it was no
use. She brushed against him as she turned the pages of her book, and he caught sight of bruises
that had scarcely begun to fade.

“Your hand is still bruised,” he observed. “That should be one sign that you're still not
better.”

“Shut up, Harry,” said Ron quickly, before Hermione could even respond. “Do you actually think
you're going to be able to convince her differently? This is Hermione, and it has to do with
studying! Have you not known her for almost five years?”

“Thank you, Ron,” said Hermione, stopping long enough to give him a pointed smile. Her nose was
back in the book within seconds. Ron shrugged in Harry's direction and mouthed the words, `I
agree with you.'

Harry shook his head as he pulled out his scroll and quill. Professor McGonagall had just walked
into class, and she launched right into the notes for the day. Ten minutes later, they had finished
and broke into groups.

“Now what are we supposed to be doing?” asked Ron, sounding puzzled. He also looked a bit
guilty. “I wasn't exactly listening.”

“We're supposed to be turning the hens into potted plants,” said Hermione briskly. “I would
recommend that you listen next time.”

“Right,” muttered Ron. “I guess these means she's working with Hagrid and Sprout now.”

“You know, Mr. Weasley, that is an exceptional idea,” said Professor McGonagall sternly. “Get to
work... I'm sure these plants would make a nice contribution to her class.”

“Yes ma'am,” said Ron, scurrying to the front of the room to get one of the fat brown hens
clucking around in a cage.

“Can I work with you?”

Harry and Hermione turned around to see Neville standing behind them with a nervous look on his
face. Harry and Hermione shared a glance, and she smiled warmly.

“Of course you can,” said Hermione, scooting her chair away from Harry to make room for him and
summoning his stool from the next row. He looked very grateful as he scrambled between them, nearly
tumbling over in the process.

“Thank you,” Neville squeaked as he righted himself.

“This thing is a little devil!” exclaimed Ron as he puffed back towards them. Indeed, the fluffy
brown hen he was clutching tightly in his hands did not look pleased. She kept turning her head to
try and peck him. “Oh, hello Neville,” he added absently, handing the angry hen to Harry. She
immediately jabbed her beak into his arm, and he nearly dropped her. Hermione was paying them no
attention as she reread her notes and marked passages in her Transfiguration book.

“Let me take him, Harry,” offered Neville, outstretching his arms. Harry and Ron shared a
doubtful look as Harry set the hen in Neville's hand. It just seemed like a recipe for
disaster. Much to their surprise, however, the hen settled down once she had been passed to
Neville. He was very careful not to drop her, and he shot the other two boys a big grin.

“I'm not so good in Transfigurations,” he said, “but I like animals, and Herbology is my
best subject, so maybe today won't be so bad.”

“It'll be fine, Neville,” assured Harry, and Ron grinned as he jerked his thumb in
Hermione's direction.

“Yeah, we've got her,” said Ron. “How do you think we get such good grades in here?”

“One more word, and I'll never help you again, Ronald Weasley,” said Hermione without ever
looking up. “I don't stand for helping people cheat, and that includes the two of you... oh, I
think I've found it.”

Forgetting whatever slight agitation was developing with Ron, Hermione shoved her book in the
direction of the boys. She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands as she
waited for them to finish.

“It doesn't seem that difficult,” said Harry slowly, looking up. He eyed the hen, which
seemed perfectly content to be in Neville's hand. The rest of the hens were squawking madly,
almost like they knew they were fated to spend the rest of their life as common houseplants.

“Nah, we just have to make something fat and feathery into something green and—er, plantlike,”
said Ron sarcastically.

Neville sighed, and he looked down at the now calm little hen he was holding. “I just feel bad
for her. I like plants even more than animals, but she seems happy as she is. It's a shame we
have to change that.”

“It'll be okay, Neville,” said Hermione, patting his arm reassuringly. “She won't know
what happened.”

“I guess,” said Neville, setting the little hen on the table. “I'll er... just sit back at
first. I don't want to hurt her or mess anything up.”

The next twenty minutes consisted of many frustrated sighs and swears from other groups, but
working together, Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville made good progress. It was Harry and Hermione
that finally got the transfiguration started, Ron continued it, and Neville finished the last few
steps. With a little pop, the hen had turned completely into a plant, and Neville grinned
proudly.

“Great job, Neville,” said Harry encouragingly. He was pretty sure this was the first time
Neville had ever done something right in Transfigurations that year.

“Yeah,” said Ron, clapping Neville's back, “excellent.”

“Thanks,” said Neville shyly, and he blushed. “It wasn't me, though. The three of you did
most everything.”

“They're right, you know,” said Hermione, beaming at the small, round-faced boy. “You did an
excellent job. If you hadn't calmed down the hen, we wouldn't have even gotten the
transfiguration started yet.”

“Done already?” The four students looked up to Professor McGonagall, smiling slightly as she
inspected the plant. Just as she set it down, Dean dashed down the aisle, chasing his group's
hen. Its back feathers had changed into great green leaves, and it didn't look pleased. “Well
done. Full marks for all of you.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Ron, giving all three a high-five. Neville missed his hand and succeeded in
falling off the stool. He scrambled back up in second.

“Sorry,” he apologized. He gazed thoughtfully at the plant. “Thanks for letting me work with
you. It'll be different next year without you in class.”

Harry and even Hermione looked confused, but Ron nodded solemnly. They looked to him for
explanation.

“They break down some of our classes next year,” said Ron, “according to how many O.W.L.S. you
get, and Transfiguration is one of them.” He leaned in a bit closer, dropping his voice. “It's
barely a handful of the top students. I hear that they offer Animagus studies.”

“Ooh,” said Hermione in the same low whisper. She clapped her hands and shot Harry the truest
smile he'd seen over the last few days yet. “I really do wish to qualify.”

“You will,” said Harry. “You're at the top of our class, Hermione. You'll probably have
more O.W.L.S. than Ron and I combined!”

Ron agreed heartily, but Neville shuddered. They looked at him oddly, and he quickly began
apologizing.

“I'm sorry,” he said, looking very nervous. His eyes were very wide. “It's just that the
idea of Animagi has always scared me. Even if I was a great wizard, like you all are, I'd be
too scared to try it! I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about all those poor people that got
stuck in animal form without a hope of changing back!”

“People getting stuck?” questioned Harry.

Hermione nodded seriously. “Things can go horribly wrong if a person isn't qualified to
become an Animagus. Most of the time, they become locked in their animal form, and no spell exists
to free them.”

“Sounds unpleasant,” said Harry.

“Oh, I'm sure it is,” said Hermione, “but it only happens when someone without the proper
talents attempts such a transfiguration—”

She was cut off as the bell rang; she hurriedly stuffed books in her bag. Ron waved as he ran
ahead, hoping to catch up with Anna before heading to Divination. Harry watched Hermione from the
other side of the table, watching her gather her things.

“Accept a walk to Arithmancy?” he said.

“Do you not even trust me to walk to the other side of the castle alone?” asked Hermione,
slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Nah, that's not it,” said Harry, his hand resting on the small of her back for a moment as
they walked out of the classroom. “I'm just trying to be nice to you.”

“You're always nice to me, Harry,” said Hermione.

“How are you doing today?” asked Harry as they walked through the hall, behind the throng of
their classmates.

“I'm fine,” said Hermione, “but thanks for being concerned.”

“Sure?” said Harry a few minutes later. “I just kept thinking you looked a bit pale at breakfast
this morning.”

“It's nothing,” assured Hermione, stopping. They were at the door to her Arithmancy class.
“You worry too much.”

“If you're sure,” said Harry, and he smiled lopsidedly at her.

“I am,” said Hermione firmly. “I'll see you at lunch, Harry.”

* * *

“I wonder why Care of Magical Creature was canceled,” said Ron, later that afternoon, as they
walked toward the Gryffindor common room.

“I just hope Hagrid's okay,” said Hermione worriedly. “You don't think anything
happened—?”

“Nah,” said Harry quickly. “Dumbledore would have told us if something was wrong with him.
I'll bet something just came up.”

“It's too bad,” said Ron, throwing his bag to the ground and plopping down in one of the
comfortable chairs. “I'm kind of starting to like our hursle.”

“His name is Erinel,” said Hermione sternly. “How many times do I have to tell you?” She had
fallen in love with their hursle, and Harry suspected she'd take it in as a pet if she
didn't already have Crookshanks. Harry liked Erinel just fine, too. He really wasn't more
than a mild-mannered, feathery dog.

“You don't have to hurt me,” grumbled Ron. He rubbed the back of his head, where she had
swatted him with one of papers.

“It's just paper, Ron,” said Harry with a laugh. He looked up at Hermione. “You know, you
can sit down...”

“Oh, I will,” said Hermione, readjusting the straps of her bag. “I'm going to drop this
thing off. I guess I can spend the afternoon with the two of you, but you must promise to leave me
alone to study tonight!”

“Sure thing, Herms,” said Ron, shaking his head, and Harry nodded. They exchanged a look as she
disappeared up to her bedroom.

“She studies a lot,” observed Harry.

“You noticed?” said Ron sarcastically. He kicked his feet up on the table in front of him. Not a
lot of Gryffindors were sitting around, as it was only the fifth years in the one class that had
ended up a break that afternoon. Most were taking other subjects.

“Oh, I think I've known for awhile,” said Harry. “Remind me to ask her for some help.
I'm fresh out of ideas on how I can die this month. I know Trelawny expects it, and I need some
input.”

“She's not trying to kill you anymore,” said Ron, “she'd rather pair you up with every
single girl at Hogwarts. `Romance is in the cards for you, Harry!' That's not always a bad
thing, though...”

A door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and Hermione came back down the stairs, looking a
bit preoccupied.

“Something wrong, `Mione?” asked Harry for what had to be the third time today.

“Oh, it's nothing,” said Hermione, squeezing in on the small couch between Harry and the
armrest. “I was just looking for something, and I couldn't find it.”

“What was it?” said Ron with a little interest. “Has Hermione the organized actually lost
something? Don't tell me one of your schoolbooks has gone missing...”

He shut up when she reached over Harry and hit him square in the chest. “No, it wasn't one
of my books,” said Hermione. “It was just a bag of things I had in my trunk...”

Suddenly, she went very pale, and Harry immediately had his hand on his arm. “What's
wrong?”

“Er,” said Hermione slowly. “I just realized that Malfoy's wand is still in there.”

“What?” said Harry and Ron at the same time.

“His wand,” she repeated, “or rather, the pieces of it. I was keeping them in that little
bag...”

“Oh no,” muttered Ron. “Don't tell me he's back...”

“I'm sure he's not,” said Hermione quickly. Ron seemed satisfied, but Harry caught the
nervous look in her eyes. He caught her eye, studying her face intently. Harry wasn't the mind
reader that Professor Trelawny fancied herself to be, but he knew Hermione well enough. Now that
she had thought of it, she was having trouble forgetting about it.

And so was he.

-->



12. Defense Essays
------------------



Chapter Twelve

DEFENSE ESSAYS

“Okay, I give up. I'm done with this. Take it away from me right now and don't let me
near it until at least tomorrow.” Hermione shoved her Defense Against the Dark Arts book away from
her so quickly that you would have thought it was contaminated. Harry and Ron, who were sitting on
either side of her, looked up from their own work with a start.

“Dare I trust my ears?” said Ron incredulously. “Did I just hear Hermione Granger give up on...
studying?” He said the last word in a low, ominous tone. “Words fail me.”

“Then why are you still jabbering?” said Harry, tossing his quill at Ron like a dart as he
snatched Hermione's schoolbook away from her. He gave her a warm smile. “I think we could all
use a break.”

“Food is always good,” said Ron, gathering his own things in a messy pile and handing Harry back
the quill. “My vote is for food.”

“Your vote is always for food,” said Hermione. Now that it had been taken away from her, she
kept eyeing her single textbook piled into Harry's stack. Catching her eye, Harry quickly took
the book from the rest and dropped it into his bag.

“You said it yourself that you were done with it,” said Harry with a shrug. “If you'll
actually take a break with us, I might let you have it back before tomorrow.”

“Perhaps,” said Hermione with a sigh. Her plans to not study that afternoon had been broke with
the discovery that the pieces of Malfoy's wand were gone. Despite Harry and Ron's urges to
go straight to Dumbledore with the news, she insisted that it wasn't any cause for alarm and
that they go on with their daily business. “Oh, all right.”

“Food?” said Ron immediately, a hopeful look on his face. Harry shook his head as he hopped out
of his chair and gently grabbed Hermione's wrists to drag her from her own seat. “Wait, are you
still on your house-elf vendetta, Hermione?”

“Hmm?” muttered Hermione. A look of understanding flashed across her face. “It was never a
`vendetta!' I'm sorry I take concern on the behalf of those unable to help themselves...
but no, I haven't worked on S.P.E.W. all year.” Harry smirked when he noticed the tinge of red
that rose to her cheeks.

“See?” said Harry, nudging Ron in the side as he let loose a sigh of relief. “You didn't
have to insist on excluding her every time we went to the kitchens this year.” His eyes found
Hermione's. “You wouldn't believe how often it's been this year. There were a few weeks
in January when we were down there so regularly that the elves had it prepared before we even got
there!”

Hermione laughed as they scrambled through the portrait hole, but Harry knew full well that it
wasn't normal. A certain twinkle lit her eyes when she really laughed, and that sparkle
hadn't come. Ron was already ahead of them, and Harry caught her arm as they passed the Fat
Lady.

“Hey, everything still okay?” whispered Harry, trying to sound casual. “No offense, but it's
not like you to actually want to stop studying.”

“It's—just fine,” said Hermione, but she didn't meet his eye. However, she did lean her
head against his shoulder for a brief moment before gesturing towards Ron. “Do you think he even
notices we're half the hallway behind him?”

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I'm not hungry, if that's what you mean,” said Hermione. “I figured I could come along,
though.”

Harry stopped. “Hey Ron!” he called, and his friend stopped a good thirty paces ahead, looking
surprised to see them so far away. “'Mione and I aren't really hungry. Do you just want to
meet us back in Gryffindor in a few minutes?”

“Sure thing!” said Ron, charging towards the kitchen once more. “Prefect common room!”

“Is that okay with you?” said Harry, still holding her arm as they walked back to the Fat
Lady.

“I'll be fine,” said Hermione softly. “Nothing can happen with the two of you around, and I
can't just avoid it forever.”

“It wouldn't be forever,” said Harry. “I just don't want you doing anything you're
not ready for.”

“Laughing warts,” said Hermione to the Fat Lady. “I'll be fine, Harry. I already am.”

Harry had trouble believing her, and he shook his head as he filed through the portrait hole
behind her. He didn't feel like it was his place to say something. From behind them, the Fat
Lady began to hum a tune about a lover's quarrel. Harry was grateful that Hermione was in front
of him at the moment and couldn't catch his blush.

“Of course you are,” muttered Harry. The farther they went up the stairs to the prefect's
room, the paler Hermione's face got. As much as he wished she'd just admit how uneasy she
had to be, he chose to touch her arm reassuringly instead of calling her on it.

“See? I'm just fine,” said Hermione nervously a few moments later as the two of them entered
the little room. It had been righted and straightened and cleaned sometime during the last few
days, and the stench of the gray-black smoke had finally disappeared.

Harry couldn't help it. “You don't look it,” he blurted. Immediately, he cringed
internally and rushed on with an apology. “I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm just so worried about
you...”

Before he realized what was happening, Hermione had flung her arms around him, in tears. He
wrapped his arms around her, and the only thing he could do was gently guide her over to the couch.
“It'll be okay, Hermione,” said Harry softly, still holding her and crossing his fingers behind
her back and hoping that it wasn't something he'd done.

“I'm an absolute mess,” whispered Hermione miserably. She pushed herself away from Harry,
drawing her legs close to her body and wrapping her arms around them. She looked at him, the
defeated look back in her eyes. “I think I've said this before, haven't I? This year—this
whole year—I just don't know what's gotten into me... I must just take everything too
personally...”

“What are you taking personally?” asked Harry, bewildered.

“Everything,” said Hermione softly, waving her hand in no specific direction. “When I'm not
with you, I start thinking and burst into tears. And I haven't been able to sleep in days... I
wake up screaming or crying, and even Ginny's starting to think I'm going crazy; the other
girls believe I already have...”

“You're not going crazy,” insisted Harry, reaching over to touch her arm. To his surprised,
she recoiled at his touch, and the bewildered look returned to his face.

“I've always prided myself for being level-headed,” admitted Hermione, a blush rising to her
cheeks, “but I don't feel I've an ounce of reason left now! Oh Harry, it's dreadful—I
make a big deal out of everything now, everything bothers me, and I'm so scared all the
time—”

“Hermione,” said Harry sternly, catching her upper arms and holding her firmly. He forced her to
look him in the eye, praying he wasn't scaring her any more. “Hermione, you were raped,” he
said softly. “You nearly died. You'd be crazy if you weren't scared!”

“B—but only the bravest are supposed to be in Gryffindor,” stammered Hermione. “I'm not
brave, Harry, I shouldn't be here...”

“You are too,” said Harry. “You're one of the bravest people I know, `Mione. It takes a lot
of courage to live through everything you have over this school year alone.”

“Still,” whimpered Hermione, “I'm not showing it at the moment. I just can't take it at
the moment. I had enough on my mind with classes and O.W.L.s, and now I just can't stop
thinking about...”

She trailed off, and she finally allowed Harry to touch her once more. She sobbed into his
shoulder every moment. Harry didn't know what to do, but something told him that just being
there was the most, and the best, he could do for her at the moment. His cheek brushed against her
hair, and he had to smile at the slight scent of amberlily flowers coming from her hair. “Do you
want to talk about it?” said Harry hesitantly.

“Hello!” exclaimed Ron as the door burst open suddenly. “A whole chocolate cake for us, Harry,
and some fruit and stuff for Hermione because she still eats like her parents are sitting around
watching her dental hygiene—wait, what's wrong? Are you okay Hermione?”

Harry gestured for him to be quiet and sit down as Hermione released him. Surrounded by her two
best friends, Hermione told about the painful dreams forcing her to relive what had happened in the
forest. Before long, Harry had clutched one of her hands out of habit, and, to his surprise, Ron
had put his arm around her shoulder.

“I'm sorry to be dumping all this on you,” said Hermione through the last of her tears. “I
really thought I'd be okay today, but then I got an owl for my parents... and well, I've
been trying to keep from losing it ever since...”

“You got a letter from your parents?” questioned Ron. He and Harry shared a confused glance from
over he head.

“An owl,” repeated Hermione, shaking her head nervously. She let go of Harry's hand and drew
something out of her pocket, which she handed the boys to read. “Dumbledore sent them a message
saying that while I'd disappeared from the castle and followed it with the news that you'd
found me...”

*Dearest Hermione,*

*We've received news of the latest events from your headmaster. Your father and I truly
believe it to be a warning. Perhaps it would be in your best interest not to return after this
term, dear. We hope you'll return to us at Easter. Do you feel competent enough to start
immediately at the local school?*

*We'll discuss this further when you return home, sweetie. Your father and I send our
best, and I'm sure Angelica would if she had a grasp on words.*

*See you soon,*

*Mum*

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Ron, blushing wildly when he realized he'd forgotten to watch his
mouth. He did his best to ignore Hermione's disapproving glare. “Well, it is! A Muggle school?
`Mione, you were made to be a witch! They can't do this!”

“No, they can't,” agreed Harry. Suddenly, he went very pale. “Wait, you don't want to
leave, do you? Because if you did, Ron and I don't have the right to force you to—”

“I don't want to leave,” interrupted Hermione, “and that's why I'm so upset.
They've been having doubts since this summer—” she glanced quickly to Harry, “—but now I think
they're serious. Oh, I can't leave, not even now! I don't know what I would do without
the two of you!”

“Well, I'll tell you what you will do,” said Ron, still looking at the letter angrily.
“You'll just owl your parents back telling them you'll do not such thing,” he looked at
her, then added, “and that they're crazy for even suggesting it.”

“Ron's right,” said Harry, “with the exception of the crazy part. You've always said you
and your parents get along fairly well most of the time. You're a good writer, Hermione. I
doubt you'll have any trouble convincing them.”

She was already wiping the tears from her eyes, nodding. Hermione didn't seem completely
sure of the idea, but she didn't look nearly as pale. She hugged both of her friends, Ron
first, and then Harry.

“Thank you,” said Hermione, and Harry's face nearly broke into a grin, and he caught
Ron's eye. He'd seen it, too.

The determined look Hermione always carried was back.

* * *

“Come on, Harry, she'll be down in a few minutes,” said Ron, tugging on Harry's arm.
Hermione had gone up to her room about an hour and a half before dinner to rest, and she hadn't
come back down yet. Ron's stomach was rumbling audibly, and Harry gave in.

“I'm coming,” muttered Harry as he scrambled through the portrait hole behind Ron.

“I know,” said Ron, “but I also know how worried you are about Hermione.”

“How'd you guess?” said Harry sarcastically, but Ron chose to ignore it.

“I don't like letting her out of my sight, either,” said Ron in a low whisper, “and I
don't tend to worry nearly as much as you. I just worry she's going to—”

“Disappear again?” finished Harry. He sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. “I'm
worried about her, Ron. I know she was looking more like herself earlier, but it's not the
same...”

“It will be, someday,” said Ron hopefully as they entered the Great Hall. Other than a handful
of Hufflepuffs, they were the first to arrive.

“I know,” said Harry grimly, “but I also know it's going to take a long time. I mean, not
that I know a lot about girls that—”

“It will,” interrupted Ron, sitting down at their usual spot at the Gryffindor table. He shook
his head. “Say what you want, but I know how much you care about her, Harry.”

“I never denied that,” said Harry, looking down at his empty plate. “I think she'll be okay,
and for that, I'm thankful. Now, I'd kind of like to get my hands on whoever did this to
her...”

“Same,” said Ron, cracking his knuckles. “My intention is to make him one sorry bloke by the
time we're done with him.”

“I was thinking, if anyone deserves Azkaban, it's him,” said Harry bitterly. He added,
“I'd like the dementors to make the same mess of his mind that he's made of
Hermione's.”

Ron let out a low whistle. “This is kind of sick,” he admitted, busying his thumbs with his
fork, “but it's hard not to want him to suffer.”

“Yeah,” said Harry nodding in agreement. More students were pouring into the Great Hall now, and
the teachers were also starting to take their places at the table. He glanced at Dumbledore, who
was talking with Professor McGonagall. “I hope that Dumbledore figures out who's behind this
soon.”

Ron looked at him strangely. Suddenly, a flash of recognition flashed across his face. “Harry,”
he said slowly, “I thought you knew, even though you weren't at the feast after everyone
reappeared.”

“You thought I knew what?”

“Er, well,” stammered Ron, “Dumbledore announced that the attention would go towards making sure
the victims were okay instead of figuring out who was responsible. He says there's no way that
they'll be another attack and that it wouldn't help anything to find the person.”

“He said what?” exclaimed Harry, catching sight of Hermione entering the hall. His blood began
to boil.

* * *

It wasn't until one afternoon during the second to last week of March that the sun began
poking through the clouds to melt the snow. The staff was quick to label it as the longest winter
in Hogwarts history, and the students started looking forward to spring Quidditch matches, despite
increased talk about assignments and tests and even final exams from their professors. It was hard
not to be optimistic about the return of spring, and even harder to pay attention during class with
the Hogwarts grounds uncovered once again outside.

“All right everyone,” said Professor Lupin at the start of class one morning that week, “I know
this is the last place you want to be today, and there's nothing I can do to change that.
However, I think you'll like our lesson today, even though I'm dreading it.” He shuddered
as the words came from his mouth. “Professor Dumbledore has asked me to incorporate dueling in my
lesson plans once again.”

“NO!”

Everyone turned around to see Dean Thomas looking a bit embarrassed. “I mean,” he said quickly,
and he lost the last bit of composure. “I mean no! I have my reasons... like wanting to stay
male!”

“Er, of course, Mr. Thomas,” said Lupin, shaking his head. “I don't like the idea any more
than you do. However, we'll worry about that in a moment. I'd like to address another worry
first, one you should all have as fifth year students. Obviously, that concern is for your rapidly
approaching O.W.L.s.”

Several groans came from different locations in the classroom, but there were also a fair share
of nervous laughs and an equal amount of worried expressions. Professor Lupin chuckled. “They
really aren't that bad,” said Professor Lupin. “I took them myself once, and I was just as
stressed and worried as you all are at the moment. The only advice I can give you is to try and not
stress—if there's something you don't know at the moment, you won't have that knowledge
for the test. Yes, the tests have to do with what you've learned, but the real gist of the
exams are to test what's inside of you.”

Harry wasn't paying as much attention to Lupin as he should have been. Instead, he was
alternating his gaze in three different directions: an equally concerned Ron, Hermione's empty
seat, and the classroom door. She hadn't been at breakfast, but Ginny had assured them Hermione
had only overslept and would be down before the start of classes. Ron and Harry had been even more
concerned with that message. Hermione didn't oversleep. And she wasn't late for class.

Until today. Harry's eyes darted back to the door as Lupin continued on with the memories of
his own O.W.L.s. He had finally managed to elicit a laugh from the class with one of his attempts
at humor when the door finally creaked open. Sure enough, Hermione slipped in. She didn't look
well, and she didn't even say anything or make apologies as she sat down in her seat between
Ron and Harry.

Professor Lupin raised an eyebrow at her, but he didn't miss a beat. “Five points from
Gryffindor for your lateness, Miss Granger,” he said and went right back into his memories,
punctuating them with slips of information about this year's exams. Harry missed every one of
them.

Hermione really did look awful. Her long, usually bushy hair had been pulled up into a
ponytail-bun-mess that Harry couldn't identify by any one name. He'd only seen her with it
up once before, at the Yule Ball the year before, and this particular style had the opposite
affect—instead of making her appear three years older, she looked at least that many younger. Her
face was splotched with red, and she'd forgotten to pin her Prefect badge onto her robes.

Oversleeping usually implied that one got more sleep than usual, but Hermione's arms and
head dropped to the desk less than ten minutes after she arrived. A sharp kick to the feet of her
chair from Ron's direction changed that, but that was all. He sent a helpless, confused look
over her head to Harry.

“—but that's enough about the past,” said Lupin, beginning to pace the front of the room,
“for we're here, in the present, to be concerned with the future. A new requirement has been
added to your Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. You will each be writing an essay about a
different aspect of Dark Magic.”

“What aspect?” called someone from the middle of the classroom.

“I shouldn't know,” said Lupin. “I've been given many different topics to assign. It
seems that, to assure each of you does your own research and work, you'll each be given a
distinct topic. Since they are all unique, I feel the fairest way to assign them is...”

He disappeared behind his desk, pulling out a very familiar, very battered hat. It was none
other than the Hogwarts sorting hat. “Dumbledore has lent me this for the day,” said Lupin as he
smiled at the hat. “He seems to think it might be as good at assigning essay topics as it is for
assigning houses. If it is, I'll give this old hat even more credit.”

One at time, Lupin called up students to put the hat on for the second time in their Hogwarts
careers. Just as in the actually Sorting, the hat sometimes took a great amount of time to make its
decision. Neville was the first to go, looking extremely nervous as the great hat fell on his round
head. Harry managed to pull his thoughts from Hermione for long enough to wonder how the topics
would be assigned.

“MERNABIN BESHALLS, THE FIRST AUROR!” bellowed the hat a few seconds later. Lupin was standing
by with a roll of parchment to record what each student was to write about. Lavender was next, and
she received an eighteenth century group of destructive witches, followed by Seamus, who was
ordered to write an essay on Bogarts. Dean and several other boys went before, much to Harry's
relief, a shy, tiny girl was ordered to write on dementors. Finally, Lupin had worked his way down
one side of the classroom and back up the other. It was Ron's turn.

Harry watched Professor Lupin plop the hat down on top of Ron's red hair, and a few seconds
later, Ron began to scowl as the hat talked to him. Finally, it screamed, “BELWIT CURSE!”

A few students laughed, but Harry wasn't one of them. He, instead, waited for Lupin to
gesture at Hermione to go next. He was surprised when the professor skipped over her and pointed to
him. Now that it was actually his turn, he was more than a bit nervous. He glanced back to Ron and
Hermione, expecting to see Hermione looking confused about being skipped over, but she looked like
she hadn't even noticed.

“Hmm,” said a little voice into Harry's left ear. “You know, I was a bit surprised when
Dumbledore asked me to do the job, too. I do think about more than the school houses, though, so I
should just be glad they're finally realizing it! Oh dear, you're going to be a difficult
one to place... I only have so many topics left to assign—this is very interesting...”

Harry realized that the seconds were ticking by. “It's a shame that that's not a part of
the Dark Magic because it's obviously on your mind. Well, if it can't be that, then I guess
it'll have to be one of the two things left... THE DARK SCAR!”

As he pulled the hat off his head and handed it back to Professor Lupin, he watched
Hermione's face go even more ashen than it was already. This time, Lupin did gesture for her to
come sit. She did, and the hat sat longer on her head than on anyone else's.

Finally, it spoke, but not with the booming force it usually managed, “Affinity of
Relations!”

“Er, that's the end,” said Professor Lupin, hastily writing down Hermione's topic on his
scroll. He cleared his throat. “I was really wondering what topics you would receive towards the
end. All my other classes—the other houses—have had their topics assigned, and anything obvious I
had thought about had been used, but... onward.”

Lupin had started muttering as he turned to face the board. With a few strokes of his wand,
words began to form on the board. Harry got out his quill and parchment, as it was obvious that
they needed to copy the information. He brushed against Hermione's arm as he bent down, and
offered her a sweet smile. She returned it, but it seemed both forced and painful.

“Now, once you've copied down the essay requirements from the board,” said Lupin with a
sigh, “we will continue on with today's agenda. Now, I want to apologize in advance for any
harm that might be done in the next hour, and I also remind you that it was not my decision to
teach you dueling...”

* * *

As soon as they realized Hermione had skipped out on lunch, Harry and Ron made the decision to
skip out as well. A little voice in Harry's head reminded him of what happened the last time he
and Hermione had skipped lunch, but he pushed it out. He didn't really care if he got in
trouble if it meant Hermione was okay.

“Think she went back to Gryffindor?” asked Ron as they ducked down a corridor to avoid Filch
catching them for wandering around. A few seconds later, the grumpy caretaker had passed.

“I don't know where else she would be,” said Harry. Ron walked back out into the main
hallways, Harry right behind him.

“Good point,” said Ron. “I don't think I've ever seen Hermione look that—”

“What is this?” barked Filch, suddenly appearing again. Harry managed to scurry around the
corner before he saw him, but Ron wasn't fast enough. He shot Harry a desperate look from the
corner of his eye. “A student wandering the halls during lunch? Why Mr. Weasley, you should know we
don't stand for that here at Hogwarts! Come with me!”

Ron gave Harry one final glance as Filch dragged him the direction of his office. Harry felt a
pang of sympathy for his friend, but he couldn't help but feel thankful that it wasn't him.
He walked quickly in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

“Laughing warts,” said Harry to the Fat Lady at the entrance to the tower. She gave him a
disapproving look and a shake of the head, but she let him in nonetheless. A look around the common
room was enough to tell him that Hermione wasn't there, and she wasn't in the prefect
common room either. Finally, summoning up a bit of courage, he pushed open the door leading into
the girls' dormitories and tried to remember where Hermione's room was. He knocked softly
on the door before pushing it open.

“Herms?” he said nervously.

“If you're going to give me a nickname, I prefer `Mione,” said Hermione in a muffled tone.
Harry crossed the room, and, sure enough, found her sitting on her bed, curtains closed. He pushed
back the hangings and sat down next to her.

“You're not okay,” he said softly. He didn't need to ask this time.

Hermione started to shake her head, but she stopped and nodded. Fresh tears were forming in her
eyes.

“Had a rough day?”

She nodded again, drawing her knees even closer to her body.

“Do you want to talk about it?” pressed Harry.

Hermione shook her head, looking away and resting her cheek against her knee. “I'm fine,”
she said in a small voice.

This time, it was Harry that shook his head. He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she edged
away from him. “I'm not going to hurt you, `Mione,” he said gently. “I'm just worried about
you. Has something else happened?”

“No,” said Hermione finally. “It's nothing, Harry.”

“I know you better then that,” said Harry, reaching out again. This time, she didn't recoil
at his touch. “You know, I know you think you're dumping on me if you admit you're having a
bad day or that you're stressed about something, but you aren't.”

“You're just saying that to make me feel better,” said Hermione.

Harry shook his head. “No, I'm not,” he insisted. “Now what's wrong?”

“I just couldn't sleep last night,” said Hermione, stretching out her legs, “and—well, just
the same old worries. It made for the third night in a row I couldn't sleep, and I think it was
starting to get to me. I'll be fine...”

“But?” said Harry, catching how her voice was trailing off.

“Am I ever just going to be able to forget?” she asked quietly. Harry stopped rubbing her
shoulder, instead taking her hand and lacing his fingers with hers. He kept his eyes focused on
that connection for a long time.

“You're strong,” he said finally. “You'll get through this.”

“I don't know,” said Hermione somberly. “I don't know what to do, Harry. I spend all the
time I can studying, and I feel like I should be doing more. I spend time with you and Ron, but it
never feels like enough. I try to sleep, and I hate myself for getting caught up in my thoughts
when I can't. I think I'm losing it.”

“You aren't losing it,” said Harry, touching her cheek gently. A tear started to drip down
it again, and he wiped it away. “You've got a lot going on right now, and I don't blame you
for being stressed and upset. Ron and I are stressed, too, so I can't even imagine what you
feel like.”

“I had that dream again,” said Hermione suddenly, “the one where I lose both of you. What if I
really am setting the two of you up? What if something happens to you on the account of me? I
don't want—”

“Shh,” interrupted Harry. “Nothing's going to happen to us, I promise.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” said Harry, “that nothing's going to happen to me. If Filch hadn't caught
Ron on our way up here, he'd be promising right now, too.”

Hermione smiled slightly, and Harry put his arm across her shoulder. She rested her head against
him. “You guys didn't have to do that,” she said finally. “I really can take care of
myself.”

“I know you can,” said Harry, “but we want to.”

“I don't know why,” said Hermione softly, looking away again.

“Because I love you,” blurted Harry without thinking. He quickly added, “You know you're my
best friend, Hermione...”

Suddenly, the door to her room burst open, and Ron stumbled in, looking very pale. Someone was
poking him along.

“I'm not going to hurt you, Weasley!” someone declared. “Merlin, just go! I just need to
talk to you! Now get in there so I can do it once instead of three times!”

Harry and Hermione grew as pale as Ron when that someone walked in and shut the door firmly
behind him. Draco Malfoy was standing in the middle of Hermione's dorm room.

* * *

Harry had an inherent mistrust of anyone Slytherin, and that mistrust just intensified in the
cast of Draco Malfoy. He was on his feet immediately, his wand in hand. Just the hour before, Harry
had gone soft in class as they practiced dueling. He wasn't about to unleash anything on
Hermione when she looked like that, but he wasn't about to make any exceptions for Malfoy.

To his surprise, Malfoy didn't make a reach for his own wand. “Fine, use your wand, Potter,”
he said, “but I'm not here to fight.”

“Then what are you here for?” demanded Ron. Malfoy had stopped poking him along, and Ron was
standing on his other side. He, too, had pulled out his wand. Malfoy took a cautious step back, and
Harry got his first real look at his condition.

If it wasn't for his pale, pointed face and blonde hair, this Malfoy would barely be
recognizable for the same boy that Harry had met for the first time in a robes shop, tormented them
so endlessly on the Hogwarts Express, commented so often on Ron's family, and brought about one
of Hermione's most painful experiences. Even then, his pale face was hard to distinguish behind
the dirt and gash on his cheek. His robes were graying with grime, and one of the sleeves hung
freely. A closer inspection revealed that the arm was pinned to his chest in a makeshift sling.
Harry almost lowered his wand.

Almost. The thought to do so had been blocked by a memory from many months before. A tortured
scream of pain from one of the people he cared about most wasn't easily forgotten. Harry was
glaring at Malfoy so intently that he barely noticed Hermione had taken a stand next to him. He
reached over and touched her arm. He would have much rather pushed her back all together because he
didn't know what Malfoy was planning, but he also remembered her stating that she was capable
of taking care of herself.

“I like the three of you even less than you like me,” said Malfoy, but whatever confidence he
had when entering the room had gone, “yet my wand is still in my pocket. That's my decision;
you've made yours. I just had some information I felt compelled to share with you—”

“You're not supposed to be here at all!” cried Hermione. Harry could tell she had tightened
her grip on her wand. “You're not supposed to be on Hogwarts grounds, let alone in the
school... in my room!”

“Potter's not supposed to be in your room either,” sneered Malfoy, “and he's been here
every time I have! Maybe you make an exception for boys you're—”

He was interrupted again, this time by two different spells from two different wands. Hermione
let loose a startled whimper as Malfoy's body jerked awkwardly into Harry's full Body-Bind.
Malfoy fell backward, and his eyes darted around frantically as angry boils popped up on his face.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, grabbing Harry's arm and hiding her face in his shoulder.

“I really don't want to hurt anyone,” she whimpered, and Harry put his arm around her, his
hand resting on her waist.

“He deserved it,” said Harry angrily. “It's not like he hasn't hurt you.”

Ron was laughing so hard that tears had started to stream down his face. “How'd you like
that, Malfoy?” he exclaimed gleefully, slapping his knee. Malfoy could only blink. “What? You
don't have anything to say for once?” Still laughing, he turned to Harry and Hermione.

“Hey Harry, didn't you tell me once that Muggle hunters sometimes put animal heads on their
walls? What do you say, a unique Malfoy statue for our room?” Ron was struggling to regain his
composure.

“Too vile,” Harry spat. Hermione finally dared to look up. “I wouldn't want to look at him
everyday.”

“He's nice when he's silent,” said Hermione, “but I feel a bit bad about the
boils—*Ununcului*!” She looked down at him, satisfied. “I think I like him like that.”

“Yeah, but where are we going to keep him like that?” joked Ron, who had finally stopped
laughing. Malfoy's blinking had grown even more frantic. “What're we supposed to do with
him now?”

“Get him out of here,” said Harry finally. “I don't want to deal with him. Do you know how
to send him out of here like that, Hermione?”

She studied him for a minute. “Er, I think so... but you don't want to take him to one of
the teachers?”

“It's your call,” said Ron after exchanging a shrug with Harry.

“I just want him out of here,” said Hermione. She closed her eyes, as if summoning all her
energy. “Mobilicorpus! Diricti—away!”

Malfoy popped up like a stiff piece of wood and began to float out of the room. His rigid body
slammed into the door before it opened, but after that, he was gone. Harry and Ron and Hermione
watched him until he was out of sight.

“Where's he going?” asked Ron.

Hermione waved her hand. “I don't know, and I don't care. The full Body-Bind eventually
wears off, but he'll just float around until then. Perhaps one of the teachers will spot him.
Again, I don't really care.”

“What do you think he wanted to tell us?” said Ron as he crossed the room. Harry's arm was
still around Hermione, and Ron draped his arm across her shoulder.

“Probably call Hermione a Mudblood, insult your family, and make cracks about my parents,” said
Harry darkly. “I wish he'd just go back to his family's estate and stay there.”

Ron seemed to get his point. He looked down at Hermione. “How are you? You—er, weren't
looking too fresh in Lupin's class.”

“I wasn't, but I'm at least feeling better now,” said Hermione, offering him a small
smile. “Harry said that Filch caught you on your way here. How ever did you go from his grasp to
Malfoy's?”

“Malfoy stunned him,” said Ron, “or something. I didn't recognize the spell, but it
couldn't have been too strong. He was alert by the time Malfoy had poked me around the next
corner.”

“I don't trust him,” said Harry.

“I don't like him,” added Hermione.

“He's a disgusting person,” finished Ron.

Harry shook his head, and they stood in silence for a few moments. Finally, they broke apart,
and it was Harry who spoke.

“No use worrying about it now,” he said. “Come on, we'd better head towards class. We're
probably late as it is.”

* * *

Ron and Harry had Quidditch practice that afternoon, and Hermione watched them from the stands
and studied for Charms at the same time. They were exhausted at the end, but Hermione still marched
them up to the library, insisting they get to work right away on their essay for Defense Against
the Dark Arts.

“This is unnecessary, `Mione,” grumbled Ron, trailing even farther behind her than Harry. His
schoolbag was handing precariously on his shoulder, and he was still holding his left hand with his
right. The twins had decided to use the rest of the team for target practice with the Bludgers.

“Oh, hush Ron!” she called, pulling on Harry's arm to make him hurry up. “I know full well
that you'll never get started on your essay if I don't make you. The longer I wait, the
harder it will be—so hurry up!” She stopped at the library door, giving them both a moment to catch
up.

“We—er, have a couple months still,” said Harry, but he knew it was no use. Hermione shook her
finger at him, and the gesture nearly sent Harry into laughter. This was the Hermione he had missed
so much in the last couple of months.

“You shouldn't talk either, Harry, honestly. I wonder sometimes how the two of you made it
this far. Such little regard for your marks...” she went on talking as the entered the library, but
her tone dropped to a low whisper.

“Stupid Belwit Curse,” grumbled Ron again as they put their things at a table in the corner. “I
think that hat has it in for me. Why else would it want me to learn all about something that nearly
killed me?”

“Keep your voice down!” hissed Hermione, looking around frantically for Madam Pince. She
wasn't sitting at her desk, so she must have been sorting returned books. “Don't complain,
Ron. At least you received something easily researchable. I've never even heard of Affinity of
Relations! Oh, but it really does sound interesting, and I do enjoy a challenge...”

“We missed this?” muttered Ron as Hermione walked away, still murmuring about her good fortune
in being given such an exigent subject. Harry hit him with the back of his hand. “OW! I was just
kidding!”

“Don't joke, Ron,” warned Harry, watching Hermione disappear behind one of the vast shelves
of books. “You know what she's been through.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, slouching in his seat and flipped open his textbook. “How about this
for a start? `The only reason I'm writing about some stupid curse that nearly split my head
open is because a talking piece of felt told me to...'”

Harry ignored him, flipping through his own book. However, it was apparent that the text
didn't include anything on the Dark Scar. He then turned to his scrolls of notes, skimming each
one of them until he found those from the day Professor Lupin had discussed the Dark Scar. He'd
only copied down a few lines of information; there was a lot more about the curses and spells
unique to Death Eaters. Still, it was a start. He did a very Hermione-like thing, tearing off a bit
of parchment, and he started composing a list of things to research.

* * *

“I thought that we still had a few more months.”

Harry was so sure he was alone that he nearly fell out of his chair despite the familiar voice.
As one hand clutched his wand in his pocket and the other gripped the desk in the prefect common
room, he turned around.

“Merlin, you scared me, Hermione,” he said. She stepped closer to him, resting one hand against
the desk and the other on the back of his chair as she looked over his shoulder.

“It's after eleven, Harry,” she informed him, and he noticed she was already dressed in her
nightgown and robe. “You should be in bed. It's not a Friday night.”

“You aren't,” he said, “and, besides, we don't have any classes tomorrow morning. We
were supposed to have double Care of Magical Creatures, remember, but Hagrid hasn't been having
much luck with the hursles.”

“I suppose,” said Hermione finally. She let go of his chair, and Harry looked back down to his
work. “I really thought you weren't very enthused about working on your essay, though.”

“I found more than I expected,” said Harry, “and I sort of got into it. I just started writing
and didn't realize how late it had gotten.” It wasn't a lie, but he wasn't being
completely truthful. He'd taken some notes, but he wasn't anywhere near starting his essay.
Instead, he'd been reading about the curses and spells connected to the Dark Scar, wondering
which one might have been used against Hermione.

“I can see how much you found,” said Hermione, tapping the stack of library books as she pulled
up a chair. She recoiled as the book on top began changing color and making threatening noises.
“Restricted Section?”

Harry nodded. “There's not a single thing about it in any book in the main library.
Professor Lupin had already sent up a list with everyone's essay topics and denoted everyone he
thought might need access to it,” he explained. “It took me awhile to find the books that seemed to
have the most information. By the time I had them, you had gone and Ron was dozing at the table on
top of his Divination homework.”

Hermione giggled. “I'm sorry I didn't stay,” she said, and she sighed. “This Affinity of
Relations is proving to be a real challenge. I asked Madam Pince about it, and she said that even
the Restricted Section wouldn't have much information on it.” Hermione lowered her voice, as if
she'd discovered a sacred secret about the library, and Harry had a feeling that, in her mind,
she had. “It turns out that there is a collection of books even more dangerous and protected than
those in the restricted section. Madam Pince said she would gather the ones I needed, but she had
to get permission from both Professor Lupin and Dumbledore, first.”

“So no luck?” asked Harry, and Hermione nodded. He pushed his quill around on the desk,
searching for the right thing to say. “So... I've told you why I'm still here. What about
you?”

“I can't sleep. Again.” Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

“Don't act like you're ashamed about it,” said Harry. “But what led you up here? I
didn't exactly picture this as a good place for you to run off to.”

“It's not,” admitted Hermione, “but it is the only other place I can really be at this time
of night. Besides,” she added hesitantly, “I was almost hoping you or Ron would be here.”

Harry looked at her with interest. “Why?”

Hermione shrugged, but the flush of her cheeks gave her away. “Oh, all right,” she sighed, “I
just didn't want to be alone, and I feel safe with you.”

“Safe,” repeated Harry. She nodded, but he didn't press the subject. “Why can't you
sleep?”

“Ginny's snoring,” said Hermione airily, but her face then grew serious. “Dreams, thoughts,
the usual. And...”

“And?” said Harry as she trailed off.

“And I have a very unpleasant headache,” said Hermione. She absently noted, “I've been
having them all week.”

“You should see Madam Pomfrey,” replied Harry automatically. “It's usually not a good—”

“It's usually a sign you have too many things going on at once,” interrupted Hermione. She
shrugged. “My mum used to say that when she would get a migraine from working too hard, and
I've already admitted I have a lot on my mind.”

“You have,” agreed Harry. His hand rested on her leg, and he looked up to meet her eye. The
normal twinkle that had been coming and going for weeks was gone again, and it had been replaced
with worry and insecurity. “Is there anything I can do to help you? Do you need someone to talk to
about anything?”

Hermione shook her head. “I think I'm good,” she said, standing up. She wrapped her arms
around Harry's neck and kissed his cheek gently. “Sleeping would probably help more than
anything, and I need to do that anyway. You too.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Harry, and he stood up to walk her to the door. “I'm on the last page
of a chapter. I promise I'll go downstairs and to bed as soon as I finish.”

“If you will,” said Hermione, opening the door. Harry leaned down and not only hugged her, but
he kissed the top of her head. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, `Mione,” called Harry softly as she exited the portrait hole and walked quietly
down the stairs in the direction of the girls' dormitories. He shut the door just as quietly
and went back to the desk. He would leave after he read those last few paragraphs, not because he
wanted to, but because he'd promised Hermione.

Harry picked up his quill again, looking down at the page again. He knew full well he
wouldn't be nearly as into the project if Hermione wasn't so connected to it.

-->



13. Malfoy Returns
------------------



Chapter Thirteen

MALFOY RETURNS

Harry stumbled down to the Great Hall the next morning looking a bit bleary eyed. Not only was
he tired, but he was also a bit grouchy, and Ron's cheery smile and whistle wasn't doing
much to help his attitude. Harry couldn't help but glare at him as they took their seats at the
Gryffindor table.

“You look like you could have used a bit more rest, Harry,” teased Ron, clapping his back. Harry
just continued to glare at him, shaking his head.

“You shouldn't be talking,” grumbled Harry, resisting the urge to rest his head against the
table and go back to sleep. “You were out of the room a lot later than I was!”

“True, true,” muttered Ron, still smiling. “The only difference is that I had a date with Anna
while you had a date with your books...”

“Shut up, Ron,” said Harry, about to remind him about why he was interested in the Dark scar,
but Harry caught himself in time. It had been so long that he'd nearly forgotten the connection
to Ginny that prevented him from telling Ron about Hermione. “It's not as bad as you and I
thought it would be. It's actually pretty interesting one you start. The Sorting Hat obviously
picked things that would interest us.”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron, “I'm interested in the Belwit Curse. I'm more interested in finding
out who used it to try to kill me.”

Ron had a point, but Harry shrugged anyway. “So write about it. The only real requirements we
have are a basic definition, an interpretation, and a number of scrolls.”

“I'm sure Lupin would really appreciate that,” grumbled Ron. “I refuse to let some
assignment spoil my good mood, so don't talk about it.”

“Sure,” agreed Harry, his eyes searching a group of Gryffindors just entering the Great Hall for
Hermione. He didn't see her yet, so he looked back to Ron. “I'm guessing you want me to ask
how it went?”

“No,” said Ron, still grinning. “I just had a good time. You don't have to give me that
look.”

“What look?” asked Harry.

“You know,” said Ron a bit uncomfortably, “that almost parental look. It's like you're
accusing me of doing something wrong.”

“I'm not,” said Harry. “I don't care what you do as long as you don't deem it
necessary to share with me the details I don't want to know.”

Ron blushed to the color of his hair. “It's not like that,” he insisted, “so stop giving me
that smirk, Potter.”

“What smirk?” asked Harry innocently, and he couldn't help but snicker. Ron looked away, and
Harry smiled to himself. He knew Ron wouldn't do anything with Anna that that they
shouldn't be doing, but gibing him about it anyway was fun.

“You're worthless sometimes,” muttered Ron.

“Have I done something to anger you, Ron?” joked Hermione weakly. Harry hadn't even noticed
her entering the Great Hall, but she dutifully took her seat next to him. She didn't look that
much better than she had the day before, and he caught her rubbing her temples gently.

“Nah, Harry's just being a smart arse,” said Ron. His tone suggested he was disgusted, but
Harry knew he was only joking. Hermione did, too, but she still shot him a disdainful look for his
use of a swear word. Ron shook his head when he noticed her glaring at him.

“What do you have against cursing anyway?” he complained. “If you hadn't noticed, I'm
not half as bad as just about any other guy in our year, but if I slip just one time in front of
you, you glare at me like I've—”

“Like you've just cursed, which you had,” interrupted Hermione. “When I was little, my
father's mum lived with us, and we went to church every Sunday without fail. We stopped going
as soon as she moved out, but there are just some principals that always stay with you... but what
was Harry doing, anyway?”

Harry shrugged, winking at Hermione. “I just said a bit about his and Anna's date last
night, and he started squirming. A bit odd, if you ask me—”

The food couldn't have arrived at a worst moment for Harry. Before he knew what was
happening, Ron was laughing again as he pelted him with bread balls. Hermione rolled her eyes,
shaking her head. She had already taken a roll and some eggs, but she was pushing both around her
plate like she had no real intention of eating them.

“Stop it, Ron!” said Harry, laughing as a grape bounced off Ron's forehead. Ron stopped
throwing the bread pieces, grinning sheepishly as a couple of the older prefects shot them amused
glances.

“And Dumbledore expected the two of you to withhold the school rules?” asked Hermione with a
raised eyebrow. “Let me ask you just one question. Have either of you ever done a thing as a
prefect?”

Ron scratched his head, looking thoughtful, but Harry blushed. “We patrolled once,” he insisted,
“but we haven't been asked to do it again.”

“Probably because we decided to help Fred and George sneak down to the kitchen instead of
turning them in?” suggested Ron. “Oh! We use the common room and the bathroom!”

“You two are a lot of help,” said Hermione, shaking her head as she finally took a bite of her
eggs.

Harry shrugged. “At least we do what we're told...”

“...But only when we're told,” added Ron, which elicited another disapproving headshake from
Hermione. She dropped her fork at the side of her plate.

“Aren't you hungry?” pressed Harry, quickly changing the subject. Hermione had always been a
light eater, but she'd barely had a meal over the last few days.

“Not really,” said Hermione. “I just don't have much of an appetite this morning.”

“Not this morning?” said Ron, and he couldn't help but rush on, “And last night at dinner
and yesterday at lunch and at breakfast...”

“I haven't stopped eating,” Hermione cut in sharply. “I'm just not hungry. I know the
two of you inhale great volumes of food any time it appears in front of you, but I'm just not
like that.”

“Whatever,” muttered Ron, and he grabbed her uneaten roll because he'd already emptied the
basket in front of him. He tore off a piece and chewed solemnly, and Harry noticed he was glaring
at Hermione a bit. He crossed his fingers under the table, hoping this wasn't the start of a
fight between them.

Whatever might have started, however, was averted when the owls flew in with the morning mail.
For the first time in a long time, all three of them received some post. Hermione's was simply
her Daily Prophet subscription, and, after reading over the headlines, she pushed it forward with
disinterest. Hedwig delivered a scrap of parchment from Sirius to Harry. It was only a few lines
assuring that he was okay and planned to see him soon, but it cheered him, nonetheless. Ron was the
last to look up from his letter, and he was grinning.

“You're not going to believe this,” he said, “but the Ministry is now my hero. They've
decided to transfer Percy all the way to Belgium! Not only are they keeping him out of our hair
this summer, but they're paying for all of us to go during Easter, so we can help him settle
in!”

“Ron!” said Hermione, but Harry laughed and clapped his friend on the back. Finally, Hermione
stopped glaring at him and laughed, too.

“My dreams have all come true,” joked Ron. “Serious, this will be awesome. Maybe a few months
away will make ol' Perce a bit less annoying.”

Harry laughed, pushing his plate away. He was done with breakfast. He couldn't help but
glance over at Hermione again, wishing she'd eat just a bit more. “So you're all
going?”

“Er,” said Ron, flipping over the envelope in his hands. “Yeah, we are. This is addressed to
Fred and George and Ginny, too. I better go tell them the good news!”

He was up and out of his seat in seconds. Harry turned to Hermione again.

“Are you feeling better today?” he pressed.

“Oh, I'm fine,” said Hermione airily, but her hand had floated back up to her head again.
She sighed. “I just can't shake this headache.”

Harry rubbed her shoulder soothingly. “Maybe you really should go Madam Pomfrey—”

“One more day,” interrupted Hermione. “I want to go up to the library this morning. Madam Pince
will probably have my books ready for me, and I don't know if I can afford waiting another
minute to get started.”

“'Mione,” Harry cut in, “it's been a day.”

“Oh yes, I know. That's why I really should get started,” said Hermione, and he could
practically see her resisting the urge to shudder. “I don't think I should waste another minute
that I could be researching, taking notes, writing...”

“Think you can wait five minutes?” Harry cut in. “If you're going to the library, I'll
go, too. I might as well work on mine. I don't have anything better to do, but I have to go get
my books and stuff from Gryffindor.”

“I'll meet you there,” said Hermione apologetically. She had already pulled her book bag
from under the table and slung it on her back. “See you, Harry!”

Harry shook his head as he watched her disappear from the Great Hall. He knew she wasn't
being completely truthful in saying the only thing bothering her was a headache, and he was a bit
worried. Still, Harry knew it was just like her to keep working on assignments and studying. Just
as he was standing up, Ron returned from the twin's portion of the table.

“Where are you going?” asked Ron, with some interest. He was still grinning, most logically over
his brother's transfer.

“Up to the Gryffindor tower,” said Harry, “but only to get my bag. I promised `Mione I'd
meet her in the library.”

“The library?” muttered Ron, and he grimaced. “Don't tell me you're working on that
essay—again! Come on, Harry, it's not due for ages. Is it really going to hurt to put if off
for a few more days?”

Harry shrugged, noticing that Ron was still walking with him, despite his protests. “I'm
actually interested in my topic, Ron,” said Harry. “I know it's hard for you to believe, but I
really am.”

Ron scowled a bit. “Right,” he muttered. “I guess I'll come up, too. I don't have
anything else to do, since Anna has class.”

“I'd hate to see what would happen if the fourth years had all the same breaks that we do,”
said Harry. “You'd never find time to do your essay.”

Ron shrugged sheepishly as he gave the Fat Lady the password. “I'm not going to deny it
because you're pretty much right.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Harry, scrambling through the portrait hole, prompting Ron to kick at
him.

“I still think you're nuts,” said Ron a few minutes later. They were on their way back out
the portrait hole, going towards the library.

“Yeah, I might agree with that,” said Harry as he reminded himself that he was only working so
hard because of Hermione. He stared walking faster, leaving Ron behind him to ponder that.

* * *

An hour later, Harry was the only one still sitting at their table in the library. He and Ron
had put their stuff down by Hermione's, but she had yet to return to it. Ron had left a few
minutes later, searching the library for books on the Belwit Curse. He kept coming back to grumble
that there wasn't anything about the Belwit Curse being used as Dark Magic. Harry would nod
sympathetically, and then turn back to his own work. He'd filled nearly half a scroll with
information, and he'd also started to turn over a beginning in his mind. He'd even got a
clean roll of parchment and was about to start turning those ideas into words when Hermione
reappeared, struggling under the weight of a huge stack of books. The table actually shook when she
set them down, and he raised his eyebrow.

“It looks like you've got your work cut out for you,” said Harry, having a feeling she would
actually be thrilled with that prospect. She was.

“Oh yes, I know,” breathed Hermione, straightening the towering stack, “but I'm ever so
excited to get started. I'm sure Affinity of Relations is just fascinating, though I'm also
ever so curious. Madam Pince kept shaking her head because she couldn't believe Lupin was
allowing me to research it! It must be something powerful.”

“Of course,” said Harry, gulping. He was pretty sure that the dark stain on one of the books was
blood, but he didn't dare point it out to her. “I think I'm ready to start writing.”

“Have you found everything you need already?” said Hermione, and she blinked.

“Not everything,” confessed Harry, “but I've found enough to get started. I have a few ideas
for the introduction, and I figured I should write them down before I forgot it.”

“I see,” said Hermione, whipping out her own quill and parchment. She wished him good luck, and
a few seconds later, she was immersed in her own work.

Harry turned back to the last book of his pile. He planned to finish the passage and then start
writing. He adjusted his glasses and looked down at the old pages.

“*The Dark Scar is associated with nearly every type of Dark Magic linked to the Death Eaters.
The aforementioned group has modified several spells only to leave mark of their work. Several
other groups used similar processes, but the Death Eaters, under You-Know-Who, were the first to
bring it any accreditation...”*

Harry skimmed the next few paragraphs. Nearly every book started with a similar introduction. He
picked up his quill and started reading again when he came to a list of spells, curses, and charms
used by the Death Eaters and associated with the Dark Scar. The aged green book was the first to
offer descriptions of each of the spells, so he added them to what he'd already written down in
his notes. He'd been paying careful attention to such information, resolving to figure out
which might have been used against Hermione. Suddenly, something else on the page caught his
attention.

*“Many see the process of breaking down spells and modifying them to leave the Dark Scar as
pointless. However, the Death Eaters had reason to invest their time in the painstaking process.
The most obvious, yet least known, effect of the Dark Scar on its bearer is susceptibility to other
Dark Magics.*

*“There are few documented cases of the Dark Scar inflicted further pain or injury past the
spells, curses, and charms that create it, and it is therefore not considered to be a permanent
affliction of pain. However, the effects of the mark are often just as debilitating.*

*“Early instances of Dark Scar, those being before You-Know-Whose Rise to power, were often
used with mind control charms and the Imperius Curse. The Death Eaters never chose to infuse their
mark with such power; instead, they often opted to make it into a tracking system of anyone they
chose not to immediately kill. In the last years of the You-Know-Whose reign, it is suggested that
the Dark Scar was tainted with the Affinity of Relations.”*

Harry stopped reading, and he looked up to tell Hermione what he had found. He figured he might
need to know the definition of Affinity of Relations and use it in his report. He was surprised to
see she wasn't there when he looked up. All her books remained where they were, and she had
already started her own list of notes. Listening carefully, he could hear her on the other side of
the library, talking to Madam Pince.

Harry leaned over and grabbed the notes she had already taken. Knowing Hermione, the first thing
on the parchment would be exactly what he needed. Sure enough, it was. He wrote down her exact
definition of Affinity of Relations next to the term in his own notes. He passed the paper back to
her area before rereading the definition.

“Affinity of Relations, or Association of Situations,” Hermione had written, “refers to the
linking of a wizard or witch to another wizard, witch or group and is the result of many different
situations and occurrences. It is unique in the fact that the link cannot be established through
any direct magical means, though it sometimes precedes them. It is usually created through
non-magical circumstance within the magical world.”

Harry scratched his head after rereading the definition. He still wasn't clear as to what it
was, so he resolved to ask Hermione about it when she'd gathered a bit more information. Still,
he couldn't help but recall Lupin had only asked for a simple definition. If that was all it
was, Harry couldn't understand why the topic would be in such restricted books.

* * *

“Class dismissed!” called Professor McGonagall as the bell rang that afternoon. Ron was out of
his seat and out the door immediately; he'd told Harry and Hermione during their lab he was
going to hang out with Anna after class because he already spent all morning working on his
“blasted essay.” Harry and Hermione weren't nearly as quick in leaving. She was struggling to
cram the extra books she was researching her essay from into her bag, and Harry was standing at the
table, waiting for her. Finally, he grabbed the three heaviest books from the stack, which she was
having the most trouble fitting in, and nodded his head in the direction of the door. She gave him
an odd look.

“Can't I do something nice for you?” said Harry as he walked through the door. He and
Hermione were the last ones to leave class that day.

“You can,” said Hermione, having to pick up her pace as they walked up the stairs. Her legs
weren't nearly as long as Harry's. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Now,” said Harry, glancing to make sure the halls were empty before slipping an arm around her,
“I'm going to ask you do something for me. I'm really not asking for much—just that you
take a little break from studying sometime this afternoon and that you actually eat something for
dinner. I'm starting to worry about you.”

“You needn't,” insisted Hermione, but her face softened when she saw just how much concern
was displayed in his bright green eyes.

“Please?” said Harry, stopping at the landing. His arm was still around her.

Hermione looked at him for a long time before she finally nodded. “Okay, I guess I can do that
for you, but why are you so concerned?”

Harry pulled his arm away from her and started to count things off in his fingers. “You're
not sleeping, you haven't been feeling well, you're barely eating...”

“I really am fine, Harry,” said Hermione. “Like I've told you before, I really can take care
of myself.”

“Then why aren't you doing it?” said Harry, cringing. He didn't want to sound harsh, but
it was true. She looked at him like she'd been slapped and bit her lip.

“I don't know,” she whimpered. “I'm sorry, Harry. The last few days haven't been the
best for me. I've been having headaches on and off si—since... I've always been able to
shake them, but this one I can't seem to get rid of. Then everything happened with—in my room
yesterday—I'm not thinking clearly, I guess—”

“You don't have to apologize, `Mione,” said Harry quietly, cutting her off. His heart went
out to her, and he hugged her. Suddenly, it seemed to dawn on him that they were still standing on
the landing in the stairwell. “We should probably move.”

“Yes,” agreed Hermione, her voice shaky.

“I guess you want to go back to the library?” said Harry.

Much to his surprise, Hermione shook her head. “It's okay,” she said softly, “I'd rather
just go back to Gryffindor for awhile. I can work there as well as anywhere.”

Harry couldn't help but smile, hoping that he'd managed to reach her with at least one
of the things he'd said. “Why don't you come watch our Quidditch practice again?” he
offered hopefully. “I know you're not the biggest fan of it, but I know I play better knowing
someone's watching, cheering me on.”

“Okay,” said Hermione, regaining her composure. “I'd like that.”

“How's your essay coming, anyway?” asked Harry. While Ron had gone on and on about how much
his was torturing him during lunch, Hermione had remained quiet about hers. Harry hadn't said
much about his, either, because he didn't want to accidentally slip anything about
Hermione's own Dark Scar in front of Ron.

“Oh, I'm find a lot of information,” said Hermione, “if that's what you mean. It's
an interesting concept.”

“Concept?” questioned Harry. He hadn't realized it was just a concept.

“It's more of a theory than anything else,” said Hermione. “It's complicated, and it
encompasses many other ideas.”

“Can you explain it?” asked Harry, and he explained his interest.

“Moonlight dewberries,” said Hermione to the Fat Lady, and she turned back to Harry as they went
through the portrait hole. “Some wizards and witches believe that some circumstances lead to a kind
of unbreakable bond between those that experience it.”

“Like friendship and love?” guessed Harry, but Hermione shook her head.

“No,” she said. “No, nothing like that. It's not nearly that pleasant. Depending on how the
bond was established, it has different results, everything from knowing what the other is thinking
to influencing the other's thoughts to complete mind control.”

“So you'd be able to think someone else's thoughts while they thought yours?” said
Harry. His face was scrunched up with confusion, and Hermione shook her head again as they sat down
in the regular common room.

“No, the Affinity of Relations only goes one way,” continued Hermione. “I don't really know
how to explain it yet, which might lead me into a problem with the essay. At least there are so
many different forms and aspects of it that I won't have any trouble having enough to write
about. For instance, one idea says it's an advanced version of déjà vu, and another says
it's responsible for reoccurring thoughts.”

“Kind of like how you can't forget what happened in the forest?” said Harry softly,
squeezing her hand. To his surprise, Hermione recoiled from his touch.

“No,” she said firmly. “It's not that. It's not that at all. Anyway, I'm going to
work in my room for a while. I'll see you at dinner tonight.”

“Hermione, wait!” called Harry, but it was no use. He slumped in his seat as he heard the door
to the girls' dormitory open and close. He couldn't figure out what he'd done to upset
Hermione so much. At first, he figured it hadn't been a good idea to mention what happened, but
then he decided she might not have considered being raped as part of the Affinity of Relations.
Eventually, he shook both ideas out of his head. He was wrong too often to theorize.

* * *

“You don't look too happy,” observed Ron. The two of them were walking back to Gryffindor
after their Quidditch practices. Harry had been concerned about Hermione throughout the entire
practice, but he had somehow managed to still put everything into playing his best. He'd even
been able to convince everyone that he was in a good mood.

Except for Ron, that is. His best friend had seen right through him. Harry sighed, kicking a
rock in the grass and looking up to the sky. Any other day, the glorious sunset would have cheered
him up, but not that evening. There was too much on his mind, but there had barely been a day that
year when that wasn't the case.

“When did everything get so complicated?” wandered Harry out loud. “Even with the Triwizard
Tournament last year things weren't this confusing.”

“Hermione?” guessed Ron, and Harry nodded. Ron looked at him wisely. “I'm not going to say
it, Harry. I think you know.”

“Yeah,” said Harry slowly, but that was all he said. He knew what Ron was getting at, and he
didn't want to go there. Too many unsure thoughts already filled his mind on the subject.
Instead, he expressed his concerns about Hermione's behavior for the last few days and told Ron
what Hermione had said about the Affinity of Relations.

“Sounds like you hit dead on.” This time, Ron kicked a stone across the grass. He looked up at
Harry. “Why would we be assigned topics like that?”

“Topics like what—” Harry trailed off, and he nodded, understanding what Ron meant. “Everyone
got something that would make them uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, everyone but you,” said Ron, opening one of the doors into the castle.

“That's not true,” said Harry quietly, and he looked up.

“Oh!” said Ron. “Your scar... it's a Dark Scar, isn't it?”

“Umm... no,” said Harry. He didn't know what to say without giving Hermione and Ginny both
away. Instead, he decided to remain mum on that aspect of it. “I don't know. I guess
there's just something about it.”

“That must be it, then,” said Ron. He explained, “I think that we were all given something
unsettling on purpose. Maybe the whole point of the assignment is getting us to think.”

“I don't think it's that easy,” said Harry, “but that must be part of it. Lupin and
Dumbledore, they're the one that structure the O.W.L.s. They must have had some kind of good
reason to make us start writing essays this year.”

“They like to torture us,” said Ron automatically, and the subject dropped. Harry's mind
lapsed back into his own thoughts, concerns, and worries. It wasn't until they were back in the
confines of their own room that either boy spoke again.

“I think you should tell her,” said Ron suddenly. He was switching his Quidditch robes for his
regular school robes.

“Tell her what?” questioned Harry. “Tell her that I'm worried about her, again? It
hasn't worked yet, so I don't think it'll start working now. Come on, Ron, how many
people do you know that are more stubborn that Hermione?”

“One,” quipped Ron, “you. Besides, that wasn't what I was talking about.”

Harry ignored his last statement. “What am I being stubborn about?”

“Don't bother pretending to be confused,” warned Ron, “I think you know what I'm talking
about... and you really need to talk to her about it, not me.”

Harry did know what he was talking about it. “Ron, I don't like Hermione.”

“Of course you don't,” said Ron, but his voice was muffled as he pulled his shirt over his
head. “You love Hermione.”

“This conversation is going in circles,” said Harry in a monotone. “How many times do we have to
go over it? There is nothing—nothing—going on between `Mione and I.”

“We'll keep going over it until I talk some sense into your thick skull,” said Ron
cheerfully. “Talk to her, Harry. But first, come down and get something to eat with me. Quidditch
practice always leaves me starving.”

Ron was already out the door as he finished his statement, but Harry wasn't so quick to
leave. He was still trying to figure out how Ron seemed to know exactly what he was thinking before
he did.

* * *

Harry was about five minutes behind Ron in getting to the Great Hall, so when he arrived, food
was already on the table. As he approached, Ron and Hermione also seemed to be having an intent
conversation, but they stopped as soon as they caught sight of him. He was still wondering what
they'd been talking about and didn't notice that Ron and Hermione had switched seats; he
was sitting next to Hermione when he usually sat by Ron.

“How was Quidditch practice?” said Hermione as he slipped into the seat next to her. She gave
him an apologetic smile. “I was honestly practicing my charms and lost track of time.”

“It's okay,” said Harry, helping himself to some chicken and mashed potatoes, “and practice
was better today than yesterday. The twins weren't so preoccupied with Bludger practice. They
decided it would be best to protect us from them instead of sending them at us.”

Ron chuckled. “You didn't even get the worst of it, Harry,” he said. “They didn't care
about hitting you yesterday. They were more interested in torturing me.”

He was right, and Harry sniggered. Hermione looked a bit confused. “How come they were aiming at
you, Ron?”

“Ron's been getting on their nerves lately,” explained Harry, “because he keeps complaining
about their radio. They seem to like to rock, but Ron prefers country.” He shook his head. “Bloody
colonials.”

Ron turned bright red, and Hermione burst out laughing. Harry was glad that Hermione had grown
up with Muggles; it was easier when he didn't have to explain such things to her. She was still
giggling a few seconds later, but she was also eating. Harry gave her an approving look when she
grabbed a second dinner roll and started tearing off little chunks and popping them in her
mouth.

“That's nothing to be shamed of, Ron,” assured Hermione, but she couldn't help but add,
“even though the last time I heard country music being played mum made me go upstairs to check on
Crookshanks. Dad was singing along, but it resembled a wailing cat even before.”

“You're nice,” said Ron, stabbing his chicken with his fork. He chewed thoughtfully for a
moment. “Isn't this weekend a Hogsmead weekend?”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “I'm most looking forward to it.”

“What? You're actually going to take a break from studying?” said Ron, and Harry glared at
him. He would have elbowed him if he wasn't sitting on the other side of the table.

“I,” she said, “can actually afford to take a break from studying because I've been doing it
quite diligently for so long now. On the other hand, certain parties at this table,” Hermione
snapped, glancing pointedly at Ron, “don't have that reassurance.”

Harry sniggered, and Ron blushed. “That's not true,” he mumbled, but it was no use. He
cleared his throat.

“Saying something, Ron?”

He turned around to see Pansy Parkinson behind him. Because they were on the opposite side of
the table, Harry and Hermione could already see her. She was wearing a smirk on her face that
Malfoy would have been proud of.

“Don't you have somewhere to be, Pansy?” said Ron.

“Yes, like at your own table?” added Harry.

“No,” said Pansy, holding her hand out to inspect her freshly painted fingernails. “Is it really
that hard to believe that I might intend to be here?”

“Yes,” said Ron, unable to stop himself. “It's hard to believe you intending to do anything,
you see, since that would require a brain...”

“Humph,” said Pansy. “I should be offended, but I don't have time for that.”

“What do you want?” said Hermione. “Just get to the point.”

“Funny you should be the one to ask,” said Pansy. Harry looked down the table, and he was
vaguely aware that half the Gryffindors were now staring in their direction. “I overheard something
dreadfully interesting today, and I just had to come over here and check its validity.”

“Oh goody, we get to hear some Slytherin gossip!” said Ron sarcastically, his voice a high
falsetto. He clapped. “Just what I've been waiting for!”

Pansy raised her eyebrows, obviously not amused. She seemed to be looking down her nose at them.
She raised her voice, a wicked gleam in her eye. “I forgot my book in Transfigurations this
morning, and I happened to go back for it after class this afternoon. You wouldn't believe who
I saw on the stairwell!”

Hermione paled, as did Harry. Pansy smiled smugly, and she continued. The Great Hall had grown
strangely silent, and it seemed that half the school was listening intently. “Even more important
than who I saw—it was Potter and Granger, if you wanted to know—was what they were saying!
Hermione, I just never expected that of you!”

“What are you talking about?” said Harry angrily. Hermione was staring at Pansy with horror.

“Oh Harry, don't be ashamed!” She moved her hand to her throat and laughed. “Though if
I'd decided to have my fun, it wouldn't be with a Mudblood—an unattractive Mudblood at
that. Really, going at in her dorm room? That takes some guts.”

With an airy laugh, Pansy flounced back to the Slytherin table. Harry looked stunned, Hermione
look stricken, and Ron looked angry. The rest of the Great Hall just looked shocked, but it
didn't keep the whispers from starting. Before he knew what was happening, Hermione had dashed
out of the Great Hall, and several Gryffindors had stood up, hurling insults right back at the
Slytherin table. The noise was growing, but Harry was yet to make a sound.

“Are you okay?” said Ron suddenly; his eyes were still glued in the direction Hermione had
fled.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” said Harry. “We didn't—”

“I know you didn't,” said Ron. “I was there, too, remember?”

Harry shook his head. “I have to go find Hermione.”

“Me too,” Ron said, and he stood up before Harry could protest. He had been about to warn Harry
it probably wouldn't look good for them if he went chasing off after Hermione but solved the
problem by decided to go with Harry.

Pansy and her group of friends had stopped a group of Gryffindor girls on their way out, and it
was easy to tell a catfight was brewing. Ron and Harry managed to slip through the commotion
undetected. Harry glanced at the staff table. Dumbledore was rising to his feet, about to do
something. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts.

Harry and Ron were able to slip through, but someone else wasn't so lucky. The Ravenclaws
had been in perfect earshot of Pansy's comments, and Anna had been on her feet immediately when
she saw Harry and Ron rise. She was one of those intercepted by Pansy and her catty friends.

“I'd watch that one,” advised Pansy as she saw Anna elbowing her way through the crowd that
had assembled. She gave Anna a cold stare after she looked her over, head to toe. Pansy waved her
hand airily, examining her fingernail polish again. Finally, she scoffed. “Merlin only knows how
she amuses herself with Potter, but I wouldn't put it past her to have her fun with that Ron of
yours, too, the way the three of them run about.”

And with that, Pansy flounced off, a group of Slytherin girls trailing behind her.

* * *

Harry and Ron had expected to hear some kind of booming announcement coming from the direction
of the Great Hall at any moment, but it never came. Instead, the doors burst open, and Pansy and
her friend strode out, laughing and giggling their way to the Slytherin area. Harry had to yank
Ron's arm to keep him from following.

“Stop it, Ron,” said Harry. “We can't do anything to them. Snape would kill us, and I
don't make it practice to hit girls.”

“Oh, all right,” grumbled Ron, still eyeing Pansy angrily. “Where do you think she went?”

“I don't know,” said Harry. “There are not too many places she could have gone, either the
prefect common room or her own dorm room.”

“Okay,” agreed Ron. Their quick pace allowed them to reach Gryffindor tower in no time. He
barely glanced at the Fat Lady as Harry said the password, and they scrambled through the portrait
hole. They went to Hermione's room first, figuring that they would only have a few minutes
before everyone came up from the Great Hall that they wouldn't get caught. She wasn't
there, and she didn't turn up in the prefect common room, either.

“Where else could she be?” muttered Harry, surveying the room. He was starting to worry.

“I don't know,” said Ron, biting his lip. “Our room?”

“Maybe,” said Harry, “but I don't think so, though. She probably didn't want us to find
her, otherwise she would have come up here—”

“Prefect bathroom,” said Ron suddenly, interrupting Harry. He shot him an unsure glance.

“It's worth a shot,” said Harry. They took the back staircase out of the Gryffindor tower
and had to go through one of the more confusing passages to get back to the main corridor. Ron gave
Boris the Bewildered the password, and Harry checked the hand of the door that led into the actual
bathroom. It was locked. He called, “Herms? It's Ron and Harry.”

Ron shot Harry and uncertain glance, but they were both relieved when the door swung open.
Hermione was standing there, tears already drying on her face. She had her arms around Harry before
Ron even had the door shut and locked.

“I didn't think you guys would come after me,” she admitted a few minutes later, once her
sobs had calmed enough to allow her to talk.

“Why wouldn't we?” Harry wanted to know.

“Yeah, `Mione,” added Ron, “what do we have to hide?”

“The whole school thinks I'm some kind of a... a...”

“Scarlet woman?” suggested Ron, his ears turning a bit pink. It was enough to elicit a small
smile from Hermione.

“That's me, you know,” said Hermione glumly. “I'm sure they think I have something going
on with the both of you.”

“Let them think what they like,” said Harry, rubbing her back reassuringly. She was practically
sitting on his lap. “If they're dumb enough to believe a word Pansy says...”

“Then they're too dumb for their opinion to matter,” finished Hermione, fresh tears forming
in her eyes. “I can't just ignore it.”

“Well, if it helps,” said Ron, “they're going to think the same things about Harry.”

He received two identical death glares, and he threw his hands up in surrender. Harry was about
to say something else to comfort Hermione, but he stopped when he heard two unmistakable sounds:
someone muttering the password to the bathroom and the door creaking open. He looked at his two
friends, wide-eyed.

“*ALOHOMORA*!” shouted someone, and the door swung open. For the second time that week, the
three friends found themselves face-to-face with Draco Malfoy. With Hermione nearly on top of him,
Harry wasn't able to grab his wand, but Ron was. Malfoy seemed prepared for this.

“*Expelliarmus*!” he shouted, and Ron's wand flew from his hand, into the swimming pool
of a bathtub. Malfoy looked at them all pointedly. “Don't try anything, Potter; that goes for
you, too, Granger. I worked too hard to get in here, and I'm not leaving until I tell you what
I intended to tell you.”

Harry and Hermione were on their feet in seconds. Ron was still gaping alternately at Malfoy and
his wand, but Harry was poised and ready for action. He wouldn't think twice of hexing Malfoy
unconcious if he took even one step closer.

“I hope I wasn't interrupting anything,” Malfoy smirked, and he took a step to the side,
blocking Ron's wand from his view. It was only one step, but Harry immediately noticed the way
Malfoy threw his weight on his right foot, barely touching the other to the floor. It was even
worse than the limp Snape had had for several weeks during their first year after he attempted to
get past Fluffy, Hagrid's three-headed dog.

“Watch it Malfoy,” warned Harry, keeping his wand pointed steadily in his enemy's
direction.

“I'll watch what I want,” snapped Malfoy. “I don't have to be here, you know.”

“Oh, we know,” said Ron sarcastically, “but you don't seem to know how much we'd
appreciate it if you weren't.”

“There's hope for you yet, Weasley,” said Malfoy condescendingly. “Maybe you can use some of
that quick wit to earn your family a Galleon or two. It's been awhile since you've seen a
couple of those, eh?”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” said Harry, putting his arm out. Even so, he was having a bit of an internal
conflict over the gesture. He knew full well that Hermione had the capability of turning Malfoy
into whatever kind of rodent he resembled most, but Harry couldn't help but wonder what kept
Malfoy coming back.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “If I shut up,” he said coolly, “that would defeat the purpose of my
being here.”

“So why are you here, then?” Ron wanted to know. “Hurry up, we haven't got all evening.”

“Oh, really?” said Malfoy. “Is hanging out in the bathroom your usual routine? That's
different, even for the three of you.”

“Just get to the point, Malfoy,” said Hermione bravely. She had lowered her own wand. “None of
us wishes to spend a minute longer with you than we must.”

“And the same to you, Granger,” muttered Malfoy. Much to Harry's surprised, Malfoy's own
wand found a place in the pocket of his tattered robe. It was still the same robe, and his other
arm was still locked against his chest. “Would you stop pointing your wand at me, Potter? Maybe you
should indulge a bit in your friends' sense.”

“If you fought fair,” said Ron angrily, “he wouldn't be the only one doing so.”

“It's not an issue of fairness,” sneered Malfoy. “It's simply one of speed—something you
possess none of. Even Granger is faster on the draw than you, Weasley, and a wizard knows a witch
is no match for him. Of course, that's just one more thing for you to be ashamed of, eh?”

“If he was ashamed, I'm sure it's nothing like the shame you feel every time I receive
higher marks than you,” shot Hermione, “and I'm not only a witch, but Muggle-born!”

“Such petty attack,” said Malfoy, shifting his tone as if he hadn't been involved in the
slightest. There was a pause, and he studied the three friends intently.

Harry and Ron were standing on either side of Hermione, each towering over her by more than a
head. Harry's wand was still pointed in Malfoy's direction; likewise, Hermione's still
remained in her hand. Her face was a bit puffy, and it was still tear-streaked from Pansy's
attack at dinner. Ron was turning red at the ears in anger, causing Harry to glance from Malfoy to
him frequently. Harry had a feeling her might have to hold his friend back if Malfoy made another
remark. He wouldn't have cared, usually, in the situation, but Harry was keeping in mind that
Ron wasn't armed.

Finally, it seemed that Malfoy had taken in all he needed or wanted from their appearance. He
shifted, and there was something about his change in stature that made Harry finally lower his
wand. He jerked it into his pocket, but he kept his fingers wrapped tightly around it. Malfoy
looked at them, the look in his eyes nearly human.

“Are you okay, Granger?” he asked, much to all of their surprise. Hermione almost looked
offended.

“Of course,” she said firmly. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Oh, I have an idea,” muttered Malfoy. He limped closer, and Harry's grip on his wand
tightened. One more step, and he'd have Malfoy hexed right out the door. “I know what happened
with dinner.”

“What are you, everywhere?” demanded Ron, taking his own step forward. Malfoy didn't seem to
like this, and he sent a spell at Ron that caused him to stumble over his own feet. Hermione jumped
and nearly tripped.

“Er, sorry, Weasley,” said Malfoy, looking down Harry's wand again. His wand—a closer look
from Harry confirmed it was the two pieces that had been taken from Hermione's room—went back
into his robes. He reached forward, repeating, “Are you okay, Granger?”

Hermione screamed when his hand touched her arm, and Harry's anger was enough to send Malfoy
flying back several feet. He reached over to put a protective arm around Hermione, but she
recoiled, fear growing in her brown eyes. Harry understood immediately.

“Stay away from her,” ordered Harry as Malfoy rose to his feet.

“I barely touched her!” exclaimed Malfoy.

“Yeah, well, that's more than enough,” said Harry, his voice cold. “You wouldn't
know.”

Suddenly, a look of understanding crossed Malfoy's face, and he stepped back, almost
respectively. “You'd be surprised. I wasn't going to hurt you Her—Granger.”

“It isn't the time to get personal, Malfoy,” said Ron, glancing at Harry. Hermione had sat
down on the marble steps, looking stunned, hugging herself tightly. She looked terrified.

“I'm not going to hurt any one of you! I came to help you, stupid gits!” Malfoy exploded,
his pale face reddening with anger. He tried to stomp his foot in anger, but such a gesture
wasn't the best idea. His foot made a sickening crunch as it impacted with the marble, and he
grimaced with pain. Malfoy managed to grab a chair for balance, and he looked at Ron and Harry and
Hermione through wild eyes.

“Is your leg okay?” said Ron after a long pause. Hermione seemed to have snapped out of it, and
she looked between her two best friends. Without a single spoken word, the boys nodded, and she
walked over to Malfoy; Harry was right behind her.

“Sit,” ordered Harry, and Malfoy sat. Underneath his robes, a generous amount of torn cloth
strips had been wrapped around his foot, ankle, and leg as makeshift bandages. Hermione was gentle
as she unwound them, but Malfoy flinched in pain every few seconds. Harry shot him disdainful
looks, wondering why he suddenly didn't have the heart to let his worst enemy suffer.

“What ever happened?” breathed Hermione suddenly, and Harry looked down. Malfoy's leg was
black and blue and purple and even brown and red with blood. It was obviously broken, and his foot
turned in at a jaunty angle. Even Ron had taken a bit of interest and stepped over to him—but not
before retrieving his wand.

“Interesting creatures in the Forbidden Forest, a nasty fall in the ravine, frostbite,” said
Malfoy, nearly choking as Hermione put the slightest bit of pressure on his leg and foot. She
pulled out her wand, muttering as she tapped it a few times. It didn't change in appearance,
but Malfoy stopped grimacing.

“I don't know how to heal it,” said Hermione, stepping back, “but that should at least
reduce the pain for a few hours.”

“Thank you,” said Malfoy, leaning back in the chair. “Really—thank you.”

“So why are you here?” asked Ron, back to business. He was eyeing Malfoy critically again.
Malfoy didn't quiver under his stare.

“To help you,” said Malfoy after a long pause. Harry and Hermione and Ron had all taken a step
backwards by then, and even his words didn't make them eager to get any closer.

“Why would you want to help us?” said Harry finally.

“You hate us, Malfoy,” reminded Ron, “Weasel, Potty, and Mudblood, remember? What's with the
sudden change of heart?”

“A closer look at the obvious,” said Malfoy. He stared up at them with his cold gray eyes,
leaving them at their own interpretations. He looked thoughtful. “A lot's happened since I
left.”

“Yeah, you'd think that would take care of all the problems here,” said Ron before Harry and
Hermione could stop him. Harry elbowed him, but Malfoy just smirked.

“I know you've missed me, Weasley, but you should really try to contain your enthusiasm,”
said Malfoy. He was sinking back into the superior tone he always addressed them with.

“Why ever it is that you're here, Malfoy,” said Hermione, “can we refrain from the insults
and everything? I, for one, am listening.”

Ron looked at her quizzically, but Harry nodded. For as persistent as Malfoy had been, Harry
couldn't help but wonder if he truly had something to tell them. “So am I.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Ron, biting his lip, still looking angry. “I am, too.”

Something changed in Malfoy's eyes. “Are you okay, Granger?” he repeated for a third
time.

“Why do you keep asking?” said Hermione. She stepped back again, treading on Harry's foot in
the process. She smiled apologetically, and he just held her arm lightly.

“Because the last time I saw you, you weren't,” said Malfoy.

“You just saw me yesterday,” said Hermione, perplexed.

“Before that...” said Malfoy, but he trailed off, and he shook his head. “Never mind. I
don't know what I was going to say. I shouldn't be here.”

He started to get up, a process made difficult by his very-injured leg. Harry reached out,
grabbed his shoulder, and pressed him back into his seat. He summoned a few more chairs from inside
the dressing rooms, and he sat.

“You said you wanted to talk,” said Harry, “so talk. Just start at the beginning. Why are you
here?”

Malfoy sighed as Hermione and Ron also took a seat. “I came back to Hogwarts because I
didn't have anywhere else to go.”

“Likely story,” muttered Ron. “Don't tell me Malfoy Manner didn't have room for its
youngest prick.”

“Oh, there was room,” said Malfoy darkly, “but there wasn't want. My father was disgusted
with me. He accused me of going against Lord Voldemort and said I was an essential part of his
plans.”

“So your father is a Death Eater!” exclaimed Ron. He shrugged. “Not that there was much doubt.
Or any. Or... I'll stop now.”

“If that's the case,” said Harry hesitantly, glancing at Hermione, “wouldn't he be proud
of you, injuring a Muggle-born?”

“My father is not a mere Death Eater,” said Malfoy without the slightest bit of indignation.
Instead, he spat the statement as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. “Father was—is, without a
doubt—Lord Voldemort's most faithful follower.”

“Like father, like son,” muttered Ron. Malfoy's face turned red, and he grabbed the back of
the chair for leverage as he stood.

“Don't ever liken me to that man again,” growled Malfoy.

-->



14. An Incomplete Legacy
------------------------



Chapter Fourteen

AN INCOMPLETE LEGACY

*“Father,” said Draco hesitantly as the great wooden doors to the office swung open. Lucius
Malfoy looked down at his son, disgusted. Draco was still wearing his Hogwarts robes, despite the
fact that he'd been expelled from the school the day before. It already seemed like a lifetime
ago.*

*“I'm guessing they've snapped your wand?” said the senior Malfoy sourly. He ushered
his son into the office. The room was decorated with every extravagance of wealth, yet the sinister
feeling in it was more noticeable than the riches. “Do you know what that means?”*

*“Another wand?” said Draco timidly. His father was pacing, which wasn't a good
sign.*

*“ANOTHER WAND?” roared Lucius, withdrawing his own wand. “*SENDROVUS*!”*

*Draco felt an odd sensation in his stomach as he flew into the heavy wooden doors. His head
started throbbing as soon as it hit with a sickening thud. He could feel the bruises forming on his
back.*

*“I just...” said Draco, but he faltered. He knew better than to anger his father any
more.*

*“That wand,” spat Lucius, “was the same that I used as a boy at Hogwarts! Have you never
understood its power? That wand is especially capable of magic in the name of our Lord!”*

“You've been taking it all year,” said Hermione weakly. Draco nodded.

“I've been taking it,” he confirmed, “but I haven't been using it for what you might
think. It's the only wand I've known.”

“The wand chooses the wizard,” agreed Harry, but Ron still didn't look convinced. He gave
Malfoy yet another disapproving glance.

“Just go on,” said Ron.

*“Yes,” agreed Draco weakly. He picked himself up, his motion earning him another disapproving
glance from the senior Malfoy.*

*“You bring me shame, Draco,” said Lucius coldly.*

*“She's only a Mudblood, father,” said Draco lightly.*

*“ONLY A MUDBLOOD?” screamed Lucius again. “You are correct in your view that her life is not
worth the space she occupies, but this is not just any Mudblood, Draco. Did you not see that,
either? We needed you there! Master needed you there!”*

*Draco nodded numbly. “Wouldn't she just be killed, anyway?”*

*“SHE WILL BE KILLED ON OUR LORD'S ACCORD, NOT OUR OWN!” Another burst from Lucius's
wand sent Draco pounding against the wall again. “Malfoys follow the order of power, Draco. We
serve his word exactly. Is this clear?”*

Malfoy stopped relaying his story, glancing at Hermione, almost sympathetically. She didn't
meet his gaze; instead, she looked down at her hands. Harry sensed her fear, and he reached out
gently and rested his hand on her arm. The gesture was not lost on Malfoy, but he made no snide
comments.

“I didn't mean to kill you,” muttered Malfoy to Hermione. “I didn't even know how bad
that potion was. I just wanted to torment you.”

“You succeeded,” said Hermione softly. Ron was eyeing Malfoy angrily, and Harry couldn't
help but do the same. Memories of Hermione's very painful recovery flashed repeatedly in his
mind.

“Why don't you show him just what he did?” muttered Ron. Malfoy looked confused, and Ron
just scowled. “Didn't think about that, did you? She still has the scars, you know. Always
will.”

“Ron, you don't have to defend me,” insisted Hermione. “I'm perfectly capable of doing
it myself.”

Malfoy eyed her again, almost gratefully. “You're okay now,” he said, his voice quivering
between a question and a statement.

“Yes,” said Hermione. She looked down again, and Harry pulled his arm away.

“Go on,” Harry said.

*“Clear as crystal,” muttered Draco.*

*“Good,” grumbled Lucius. “Tonight is the night.”*

*“For what?” questioned Draco, but he already knew.*

*“You are of age,” said Lucius simply. “Without Hogwarts, it is time you join us in our ranks.
You shall receive the Mark tonight.”*

*“Tonight,” repeated Draco. Tonight would be the eve of the rest of his life. He had known,
for as long as he could remember, that his purpose in life was to serve the Dark Lord. He had
known, and he had always looked forward to his destiny. Now, he wasn't so sure.*

“I didn't go through with it,” said Malfoy. He didn't look at Ron, but he did focus on
Harry. His eyes looked almost pleading. Finally, he said, defeated, “I know you don't believe
me.”

“Can you blame us?” said Harry. Ron didn't say anything, just grunted in disgust. Harry had
a good feeling that his best friend wanted nothing more than to hex him right out of the
castle.

“You've never failed to show your support to him before,” said Hermione softly. She finally
looked up, her hands clasped in her lap. “It just seems a bit odd that you keep appearing out of
nowhere, suddenly trying to help us instead of Voldemort.”

“Very well,” said Malfoy, gritting his teeth.

*“You sicken me,” said Lucius suddenly. He was studying Draco intently. “Do you hear me, boy?
I cannot bear the thought that you are my son!”*

*“What... what are you talking about, father?” said Draco respectively.*

*“I see doubt!” screamed Lucius, pounding his hand against his heavy desk. “I see regret! You
are weak, and it disgusts me!”*

*“I'm not weak,” protested Draco, straightening.*

*“You are not to argue with me!” said Lucius, still screaming. “You are to listen to me,
obediently, for I am your father. If you will not serve me, how will we know you will be faithful
to our Lord?”*

*“I will be faithful,” insisted Draco, but it was too later. Lucius Malfoy was shaking his
head.*

*“A lesson first,” he muttered. “Yes, a lesson. It is time you learned, Draco, about power. It
is time you learned against remorse.* *I will not be made a fool of* *tonight.”*

In the prefects' bathroom, six hundred miles away and six months later, Malfoy's stomach
turned with the thoughts of that night. He had tried so hard to forget them that he would have even
settled for the ability to ignore them. He didn't look up this time, and the silence was a long
one.

“What was the lesson?” asked Hermione, choosing her words carefully.

*Draco stood perfectly still. He knew the lesson about power by heart; his father had used the
same one since he was a toddler. If Draco stepped out of line, Lucius beat him back onto it. If
Draco questioned anything, Lucius beat the wonderment from him. If Draco spoke out, Lucius beat him
so severely he wouldn't speak for days.*

*The Malfoy bloodline contained nothing but the purest of wizard blood, but the physical
punishments had always been an intricate part of each son's upbringing. Draco had taught
himself long ago to ignore the pain, just as his father and his father's father had done during
their youth.*

*“You will continue the family legacy,” said Lucius as calmly as if he was making dinner
conversation. Draco's head was turned at enough of an angle that his father couldn't see
his face, and he flinched freely with each blow. “You will not disappoint me...”*

Draco had closed his eyes without realizing it. He opened them with a start; Harry, Ron, and
Hermione were still waiting for him to continue, but he couldn't. He had revealed so much about
his life as it was. He shook his head. They didn't need to know about the abuse.

“Malfoy?” prompted Harry, staring at him. Ron was doing the same, and Hermione bordered on
looking concerned.

*Suddenly, the door swung open. “I've been knocking for hours!” exclaimed a distinctly
female voice. “The cook has finished dinner, and I request that we take our evening meal
together—LUCIUS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO OUR SON?”*

*“I'm teaching him a lesson,” said Lucius, barely looking up to acknowledge Draco's
mother. For as long as Draco could remember, she had always been his mother, never his father's
wife. His father had explained it to him long enough. Witches were useless. Their only purpose was
to carry more wizards.*

Malfoy stopped, looking up. He had started to wring his hands. Judging by the looks of their
faces, they realized he had omitted some details.

“Father was getting a bit rough with me,” he mumbled quickly. There. That would suffice.

*“You take your hands off MY son!” screamed* *Narcissa**, rushing across the room to
Draco. He didn't dare speak, but he pleaded with his mother to back away. He would take his
punishment, and no harm would come to anyone else.*

*“You will not meddle in my affairs,” said Lucius coldly, straightening his son's posture
and hitting him violently in the side of the head. “Now go. We will take our supper at a later
hour.”*

*“I'm taking Draco in there this instant! You will not touch him—”*

*“*AVADA KEDAVRA*!”*

Malfoy's eyes closed again. Months later, he was having trouble accepting that his father
had really killed his mother. He had always known his father did not love her, and, in a way, he
had always known that she was just bidding her time. His father had always threatened, dryly, that
he would take care of the now unattractive witch someday.

He had all this in his mind, and he was having trouble forming words. He wasn't sure how to
put his mother's murder into words. It still seemed surreal.

“She's dead,” he said finally. He looked at them with a blank expression. Hermione actually
looked concerned, and Ron didn't look ready to strangle him anymore. They seemed to understand.
Harry, on the other hand, looked as blank as Malfoy himself. After a few moments of silence, it
dawned on Malfoy that Harry's mother would have died in the same manner, just at two different
hands that were much the same.

“Was—” said Hermione, swallowing. “Was it a curse?”

“What else?” said Malfoy grimly. He wished that the three of them weren't so
intelligent.

*The blows stopped, and the room filled with a burst of green light. Draco had to turn his
eyes from his mother's crumpled body. The thoughts streaming through his head were nearly
foreign. He didn't agree with this senseless killing. He wouldn't marry someone to murder
her. He couldn't meet his father's eye. Lucius Malfoy was chuckling.*

*“What a prime opportunity,” he said, “to teach you about remorse, Draco. It is a simple
concept to learn—show none, have none. Do you understand?”*

*Draco nodded silently. As gruesome as it was, he couldn't draw his eyes away from his
dead mother. Lucius Malfoy stopped his laughing abruptly.*

*“Do you understand the power of those superior?”*

*Again, Draco nodded.*

*“Good. They will be here tonight. Clean yourself up, boy. I don't want blood—even
pureblood—soiling our home.”*

“I went to my room. I cleaned myself up. I dressed in a new set of dress robes brought up by a
servant. I was about to go back to my father and do what was expected of me,” he said flatly, “but
I couldn't. It wasn't the life I wanted. So I put my Hogwarts robes back on and slipped out
as my father rested for the evening ceremony, and I've been here ever since.”

“But how did you get back here?” Ron wanted to know.

“Hogwarts Express,” said Malfoy. “It runs continuously, you know. It's the only real way to
get to and from school. The minister was on his way back, and I sneaked on for the trip back.”

“Surely someone would have seen you,” said Hermione. “Surely you couldn't have been in the
castle all this time without someone noticing.”

“People have seen me,” responded Malfoy, “primarily the three of you. I knew from the beginning
I could confide in you if I took the right approach. It's you they want.” His gaze settled on
Harry.

“Me?” said Harry, shaking his head. “Why is it always me?” he mumbled.

Malfoy almost chuckled. “What, you don't like the attention, Potter?” His tone grew serious.
“It's not just you. Voldemort wants Weasley and Granger, too.”

“Why?” pressed Ron. He was looking a bit pale, and Hermione had reached for Harry.

“Beats me,” said Malfoy. “I didn't stick around.”

“You've been here the whole time,” repeated Hermione. “How could you be here without people
noticing?”

“Great care,” replied Malfoy, tapping his injured leg lightly, “and I wasn't in the castle.
I stayed in the Forbidden Forest, living on whatever I could.”

“It was the coldest winter in Hogwarts history,” protested Ron. “You should have frozen to
death.”

“Life Circle,” said Malfoy simply. He looked pointedly at Hermione. At his words, she seemed to
be turning over ideas in her heads. Again, he asked, “Are you okay, Hermione?”

Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place for Harry, too. Ron was still looking at Malfoy blankly,
but Hermione had paled considerably. She was looking at Malfoy with an expression that resembled
both awe and fright. Suddenly, Harry's stomach turned. Maybe he had this theory backward...

“I didn't hurt her, Potter,” said Malfoy, almost like he could read his mind. “I'm not
like that. Granger... do you remember anything?

“There was someone,” whispered Hermione, “that helped me.”

“Someone pulled you into the Life Circle,” said Malfoy. He shook his head. “You were in bad
shape, Granger. I didn't think you'd make it.”

Pansy's crude remarks at dinner had long since been forgotten. Hogwarts and the rest of the
world had ceased to exist. Harry, Ron, and Hermione simply sat in the prefects' bathroom,
nearly transfixed by Malfoy's story.

“I don't want to be thanked,” said Malfoy when Hermione's mouth started to open. “I only
did what any rational wizard would, and it still doesn't make up for what happened in
Potions.”

Harry and Ron exchanged yet another look. If Malfoy was telling the truth, than he had saved
Hermione's life. They would have never found her alive if she hadn't been taken into the
Life Circle. Harry bit his lip. He didn't trust Malfoy, but he believed him. Hermione
hadn't told anyone what happened in the forest but him, and he had only told Ron. There would
have been no way for Malfoy to know what had happened without being there. Ron cleared his
throat.

“So you've really been here the whole time?” said Ron.

“I've been in the forest,” said Malfoy, looking down, “but I've actually been in here a
few times. I was here on Halloween night and again that day McGonagall caught us in your room,
Granger.”

“You don't have to call me—” Hermione trailed off, and she gasped. “Someone tried to enter
Slytherin on Halloween night!”

“Guilty,” said Malfoy with his chuckle, but his eyes suddenly clouded with what resembled
sadness. “I obviously didn't get in, and it didn't matter. It was too late.”

“For what?” asked Harry.

“For Crabbe and Goyle,” said Malfoy slowly. “They might not have been the brightest, but they
were the best friends I had here. I'd known the whole time, but that night was the first time I
managed to get into the castle.”

“What had you known?” questioned Hermione.

“Their fathers were in a bit of trouble,” replied Malfoy hesitantly, “for neglecting their
duties this summer, for failing to complete a task. Their sons were the price they had to pay for
letting down their lord.”

“Voldemort,” said Harry slowly. “What were they trying to do this summer?”

“The task itself isn't as important as the outcome,” said Malfoy quickly. He leaned forward,
touching his leg lightly with a grimace. “The Dark Lord felt they were too stupid to become Death
Eaters, so he felt it was the perfect punishment.”

“How do you know all this?” Ron wanted to know, and at the same time, Harry also had a question
for Malfoy.

“So Voldemort is back?” said Harry, swallowing hard.

“Another factor in my leaving, Weasley,” answered Malfoy. “I knew the plan because I witnessed
part of the meeting as I exited, before they realized I had done so. Those were my friends they
were talking about—I couldn't just let it happen.”

“What about Voldemort?” pressed Harry, feeling inconsiderate. Malfoy had said it himself that
while Crabbe and Goyle weren't anything brilliant, they were his friends. Harry didn't want
to think about how he would feel if he had lost both Hermione and Ron in one swoop.

“You know,” said Malfoy, “that he's back. He's been giving the Death Eaters orders
through my father. They have been acting on his words, but he has also been acting on his own. I
heard what happened to Durmstrang. I think that was Voldemort acting alone, and I know Beauxbatons
was Voldemort acting alone. My father was upset for weeks that he hadn't been able to serve his
lord with assistance.”

“Why not Hogwarts, then?” said Ron. “You-Know-Who wants Harry! He's always wanted
Harry!”

“Voldemort,” corrected Hermione. Harry looked at her, confused. She usually referred to the Dark
Lord as You-Know-Who, and he didn't know what had brought about the change.

“He's probably still scared of Dumbledore,” reasoned Malfoy, “or maybe he wants to wait and
have his fun when he tries to kill you. I don't know.”

“Well, he's missing out on an excellent opportunity,” grumbled Harry. Three sets of
surprised eyes focused on him. “Dumbledore isn't doing anything! He's just sitting back,
waiting for something to happen—last year he was rallying up this `old crowd' when he merely
heard Voldemort had come back. Now, Voldemort's acting, and he does nothing!”

“Dumbledore must have a good reason, Harry,” said Ron. “He'd never put us in danger—”

“He wouldn't put us in danger, but he's certainly not doing anything to protect us,
either,” said Harry.

“Maybe he's doing something in secret,” suggested Hermione. “Perhaps—”

“Perhaps he's solved his share of problems already,” interrupted Malfoy. “You know, he is a
hundred and fifty years old. There's only so much one wizard can do to save the world. Besides,
Lord Voldemort wants you, not him.”

“Don't remind me,” groaned Harry. He shook his head, and the room was silent again. Malfoy
groaned suddenly, rubbing his leg again.

“*Paireviela Instanus*,” said Hermione instantly, “if you're doing it yourself. Tap
your wand twice.”

“*Paireviela Instanus*,” repeated Malfoy, tapping his wand per her instructions. He nodded
his thanks.

“You know, when I broke my wand,” grumbled Ron, “it backfired every time.”

“Better materials, Weasley,” replied Malfoy, the beginning of a smirk playing on his face. Some
things never changed. “I was here at other times, too. I watched the snowball fight at Christmas,
and I was prowling around the building during the dance.”

Suddenly, Ron's face scrunched up. “You were there every time something went wrong!”

“What're you saying, Ron?” questioned Harry.

“He was there!” exclaimed Ron again. “He was there at Halloween, and he had his wand during the
Quidditch match that nearly killed me! The day after the Christmas dance, that Mandy girl
disappeared, and he just happened to find Hermione after she'd been—”

Ron's mouth clamped shut as Hermione looked down. She hadn't been fast enough for Harry;
he had seen the look on her face. She looked ashamed. Still, Ron had a valid point. Harry met
Malfoy's gaze.

“He's right, you know,” said Harry quietly to Malfoy. “Why should we believe you?”

Malfoy's face clouded. “Would I have made such an effort if I wasn't genuine?”

“You would if you were a spy for You—Voldemort!” Ron accused.

“Veritaserum would have its uses at the moment,” muttered Harry. Ron looked close to
cursing.

“It's not necessary,” said Hermione suddenly. She lifted her head, looking rattled, but she
also seemed to know what she was talking about. “If he was following Voldemort, he would have the
Dark Mark burned into his arm. Don't you remember how it burned on Snape and Karkaroff's
arms last year? If he was doing Voldemort's work, it would be burning at the moment.”

“Yeah, so he's got his arm all taped up,” muttered Ron. “Why didn't we see this?”

“I broke my arm,” said Malfoy suddenly. He had been watching their conversation; his eyes were
alight with interest.

“Likely story,” said Ron, still looking angry. Harry stood up quickly, hoping Malfoy
wouldn't say anything till he was closer to Ron. One more word, and Ron would be on Malfoy.

“Then can we see your arm?” said Hermione. She glanced at her two friends. Of course she would
be the one to remain levelheaded in such a situation. Much to all their surprise, Malfoy
nodded.

Harry gave a warning look to Ron as he crossed to Hermione's side, and Ron whispered,
“I'm hexing him into tomorrow if he's got it, Harry.”

Malfoy managed to pull his arm, in its makeshift sling, from his robes. He held his other arm
up, too, letting the sleeve fall back. There was no burnt mark, just a faint scratch. He winced and
squirmed as he helped Harry and Hermione take his injured arm out of the sling.

And it was no more then that—injured. It was obviously broken, starting to heal back together at
an awkward slant. Ron started to pale, but it changed into a blush.

“Er, that looks painful,” he muttered.

“You learn to live with it,” muttered Malfoy in response. “Same fall in the ravine that broke my
leg.”

“You can't keep going around like that,” said Hermione sternly. “You need more than a simple
healing charm.”

“Spare me the lecture, Granger,” said Malfoy, closing his eyes as he shrugged his arm back in
the ratty sling. “If I knew any healing charms, I'd use them.”

Hermione bit her lip, stepping back on Harry again. He smiled at her as his hand gripped her
upper arm gently. Harry cleared his throat.

“Er,” he said, “is there anything you need?”

“I don't need your charity,” declared Malfoy. He started to stand up, limping heavily. Now,
Ron was out of his chair, and he cut him off. Harry looked at him, and he nodded. So did
Hermione.

“I'm going to the kitchen,” said Ron, heading for the door. “Anything in particular you
want?”

“I don't need anything,” insisted Malfoy, but Harry had to wonder how long it had been since
he'd eaten anything, let alone a real meal. Ron shook his head, and he slipped out the door.
Hermione grabbed Harry's wrist and glanced as his watch.

“I have to feed Crookshanks,” she said, “and I know a seventh year in the house that's been
studying advanced healing spells. I might be able to borrow her book if I come up with a convincing
enough excuse. Are you two okay here together?”

“We're fine, `Mione,” said Harry, accepting her hug and a kiss on the cheek. She smiled at
him before exiting the room, too. Malfoy was watching the two of them with interest.

“Did I miss something between the two of you?” smirked Malfoy.

“We're friends,” said Harry, agitated. Malfoy raised his eyebrow, but he didn't say
anything else. It was Harry that studied him this time. “What I don't get, is why you came back
to tell us. You've always hated us. Why not let Voldemort do what he wants?”

“I'm on the same side as you now, Potter,” said Malfoy. Harry nodded.

“Didn't ever think I'd hear you say that,” he said finally. “Do you—er, want to clean
up? We are in a bathroom.”

“I noticed,” said Malfoy dryly. He looked both amused and agitated. “I should have just
left.”

“Why don't you just go to Dumbledore?” asked Harry, taking a seat again. “He would know if
you were telling the truth. He would have had you back in school in minutes.”

“I got expelled, Potter,” said Malfoy. He shrugged. “I deserved it.”

“Do you want to clean up?” asked Harry again. He still wasn't sure what to say to Malfoy or
even what to consider him. He certainly wasn't an enemy anymore, and he'd revealed too much
to be a simple acquaintance, but Harry wasn't ready to call his enemy of four years a friend
yet.

“It wouldn't matter,” said Malfoy quickly. “Nothing to change into.”

Harry eyed him critically. “I have some robes from last year that would fit you. They're too
short on me.”

“I don't need your hand-me-downs, Potter,” said Malfoy. “I don't need any of your
charity.”

“Do you even just shut up and suck in your pride?” said Harry. “I don't know what you think
of us, Ron and Hermione and I, but you had to know we wouldn't just send you on your way after
all you told us.”

“I don't like do-gooders,” retorted Malfoy. He looked a bit sullen.

“You'll get over it,” said Harry as the door swung open. It was Ron. He was carrying a
bottle of pumpkin juice, a half a loaf of bread, and some roast beef from dinner.

“The house-elves were about to stop for the day, but Dobby,” said Ron, staring pointedly at
Malfoy when he said the name of the Malfoy's former house-elf, “was kind enough to put this
together.” He passed the food in the direction of Malfoy, ignoring Harry's scolding look.
“Where'd Hermione go?”

“Something about a seventh year in Gryffindor that's studying healing,” said Harry with a
shrug. He stopped, looking at Malfoy. Finally, he picked up the bread, tore off a chunk, and popped
it in his mouth. Harry continued. “She thought she might be able to get a book of advanced spells.
That, and she had to feed Crookshanks.”

Harry was unaware that the door had opened, and he nearly fell off his chair when a ginger ball
of fur brushed against his legs. Hermione was staring disapprovingly at her cat as she shut the
door behind her. She was carrying a large brown book.

“Sorry,” she said, walking briskly towards them. “I couldn't keep him from following me...
oh, your brothers are looking for you, Ron. Something about visiting Percy over Easter?”

“Oh,” said Ron, standing. He looked at Harry and Hermione.

“Go see what they wanted,” said Harry. “Since you'll be in Gryffindor, would you get an old
set of my robes from my trunk?”

“Sure thing,” said Ron, slipping out the door again. The room was quiet; Hermione was engrossed
in finding the correct healing charm for Malfoy's arm and leg, and Malfoy was making quick work
of his dinner. Suddenly, Malfoy flinched as Crookshanks rubbed against his legs.

“What? Scared of a cat?” said Harry, a bit amused.

“No,” said Malfoy, “just allergic.”

“Crookshanks!” said Hermione, stepping back. However, instead of leaping into her arms, the cat
jumped onto Malfoy, causing him to nearly spill his pumpkin juice. Crookshanks simply curled up in
his lap, his tail whipping against Malfoy's arm. He purred discontentedly as Hermione lifted
him into her arms. “Bad! You don't want to make someone sick, do you?”

Crookshanks didn't look happy with her, either, and he leapt from her arms. Harry hadn't
angered him that day, so he curled up beneath his chair. Harry stood.

“Come on, Malfoy,” said Harry, standing. Hermione's attention had returned to the book of
healing spells. Judging by the look on her face, she hadn't found what she was looking for yet.
“No excuse not to get cleaned up now.”

“Fine,” grumbled Malfoy, rising. The motion seemed to be getting more difficult every time he
did it. Harry had to steady him, and Malfoy looked at him resentfully. “I like privacy when I
bathe, just like everyone else.”

“Trust me, I'll give it to you,” said Harry, “but I have a feeling you're going to need
a bit of help.”

“I'll be fine!” hissed Malfoy as Harry half-led, half-drug him to the showers and changing
stalls within the prefect bathroom. “I don't need your help!”

They stopped just past the door to the shower room. Harry looked at Malfoy calmly. “I don't
know what you're afraid of,” said Harry. “Get over it. You're short the use of two of your
limbs—you need some help, and you've got about three options. Either you let me help you, you
ask Hermione, or you wait for Ron to come back. What's it going to be?”

Malfoy glared at him. His gray eyes were as cold as always. Harry wanted to shake his head, but
he refrained. He didn't like this any more than Malfoy did, but it was also obvious that
he'd need some help.

“You can leave in about five seconds,” said Malfoy as he shrugged out of his robe and started to
struggle out of his shirts. Harry sighed and reached over to help him.

“I wasn't planning on staying a moment longer,” Harry shot back. “I'd hope you could get
out of your own pants.”

Malfoy muttered something incomprehensible, and Harry took a step back. If Malfoy was going to
be so stubborn, he might as well leave him on his own. Harry was about to go back to Hermione when
Malfoy finally managed to get his shirt off, and Harry understood at once. His stomach turned,
trying to imagine what kind of abuse Lucius Malfoy had put his son through that hadn't healed
in seven months. Malfoy just glared at him. Harry would have said his former enemy looked ashamed
if he didn't know better.

“There, you've had your peek. A spell to keep them from ever really healing, not until
father wanted them to. I reckon he's still angry,” sneered Malfoy. “Why don't you go back
out there with Granger now? I can take care of myself.”

“Don't be ignorant, Malfoy,” advised Harry. “That's infected—”

“Oh, what would you know?” said Malfoy, angrily. Harry looked away. It wasn't time to go
into his own experiences with abusive family members. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets
and started to walk out of the shower room.

“Take as long as you want!” called Harry over his shoulder. He sat down on the marble step
behind Hermione, and the water started to run a few seconds later.

“Everything okay?” said Hermione, looking up. “I've found the spells.”

“Everything's just fine,” said Harry a bit absently. Hermione set the book down on the
ground in front of her, and she walked over him. He put his arm around her, and she leaned her head
against his shoulder.

“Tonight has been... odd,” said Hermione softly.

“If that's what you call it,” muttered Harry. “Are you okay?”

“Do you know how many times I've been asked that, now?”

“I'm concerned about you, `Mione,” said Harry. He leaned over, kissing her head. His chin
rested on her head.

“You needn't,” said Hermione. “I'm fine. I'll be just fine as long as I have—”

“As long as you have what?” questioned Harry

“Nothing,” said Hermione quickly. She tilted her head and looked away. Harry couldn't see
her face, but he could only imagine what she was thinking. He slipped into his own thoughts.

Voldemort had returned, and he had come closer to Hogwarts than anyone had realized. Harry began
to feel anger concentrating at the pit of his stomach. Voldemort—or his work, at least—had been
here at Hogwarts, and nothing had been done about it. Ron had nearly been killed, and nothing had
been done about it. Students had disappeared for days and weeks and even months, and nothing had
been done about it.

And Hermione had been kidnapped, violated, and nearly killed, and nothing had been done about
it. That last thought impacted Harry the most. He knew what had to be done, and he knew Dumbledore
was not doing it. It was about time that he took the charge

* * *

“Where'd the rat go?”

Harry snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Ron's voice. Hermione shook her head
slightly, as if she were surprised to see him. He was carrying some of Harry's old things, and
his eyes were sweeping around the bathroom.

“Malfoy's in the showers,” said Harry, jerking a thumb in that direction and scooting away
from Hermione. He reached a hand up to adjust his glasses.

“We have to be nice to him,” said Ron glumly, sitting down on Hermione's other side.

“What other choice do we have?” replied Harry. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in
his hands.

“It'd still be nice to kick him around a bit,” grumbled Ron. “I don't want to trust
him.”

“But you have to, so you might as well stop complaining about it,” said Hermione
matter-of-factly, “and maybe he won't be so horrible now that's his not on Voldemort's
side.”

“He's still pretty fond of that smirk of his,” said Harry, tracing the groves between each
block of marble.

“Why do we have to be good people?” questioned Ron.

“Because we might need his help,” quipped Hermione. She seemed to be thinking on the same lines
of Harry. Sure enough, she continued, “What are we going to do? Should we tell Dumbledore?”

“Why is it always our problem?” said Ron. “Is there even anything we can do?”

“There always has been before,” said Harry. He paused, hearing the running water slow and then
stop. He stood, picking up the stack Ron had brought down. “Just a second,” he said, scooting into
the room and setting it down next to Malfoy's clothing.

“We don't even know for sure what's going on,” said Ron when Harry returned.

“Well, we do know that, whatever it is, it isn't right. Isn't that enough?” said
Hermione. Harry bit his lip. She was thinking exactly as he was. Slowly, Ron began nodding.

“But what are we supposed to do about it?” questioned Ron again. Harry was lost in his own
thoughts once more.

“You've always figured out something in the past.”

The three looked up to see Malfoy limping out of the bathroom. Without the layers of dirt and
grime, he certainly looked like his old self. He hobbled towards them, and the three friends
scooted together to make room for him on the ledge. Harry eyed him critically and spoke
hesitantly.

“There had to be some reason why you came to us,” said Harry. “What are we supposed to do about
something we don't even understand?”

“I came because there was a lot I needed to get off my chest,” said Malfoy. He glanced up,
almost hopefully, and then it faded into a smirk. “Besides, I'd feel a tad guilty if the world
imploded because you didn't know enough to save it again, Potter.”

“So you came because you didn't want to have a guilty conscience,” said Hermione flatly.
Malfoy just smirked.

“You never cease to amaze me with your consistency, Malfoy,” said Harry. He wasn't nearly as
surprised as Ron and Hermione looked. It wasn't like Malfoy to do something if it wouldn't
benefit him in the end. His change of heart about the Dark side was more than any of them could
have asked for. They would have been disappointed if they had expected a complete turnaround in
personality.

“I certainly appreciate your help,” said Malfoy sincerely, “but I had my reasons for not wanting
it. I hadn't any intention of giving you mine in return.”

“Of course,” said Ron. His usual look of disgust toward Malfoy was back. Hermione shifted
uncomfortably.

“I found the spells,” she said at last, and she stood to retrieve the book.

“Maybe she'll pull a Lockhart,” whispered Ron snidely to Harry. “I'd like to see his arm
turn to rubber.”

“He's already helped us,” whispered Harry in response. “He might not realize it, but he
helped us realize we were stupid to think nothing was going on.”

“We knew something was going on,” insisted Ron. “We were just choosing to ignore it—like
everyone else.”

“Right,” muttered Harry. He watched Hermione intently as she reread the spells and withdrew her
wand. Her expression was enough to let him know that she was torn between helping Malfoy and hating
him for leading them into this, then backing out himself.

But what had he led them into? Harry didn't have an answer. Malfoy really hadn't told
them much that they didn't already know. The only thing he had done was confirming the
suspicions that they already had. Voldemort had been at Hogwarts with his work. Even then, they
were just deducing from his story. He shook his head, watching Hermione. She had obviously decided
to go through with helping him.

“Thanks,” said Malfoy when she finished. Hermione still looked a bit angry with him, but she
also looked satisfied. Harry knew that she'd just preformed some difficult magic; he had
trouble with anything but the most basic healing charm.

“So you just came here to taunt us with some story about Voldemort and leave again?” said Ron
finally. Malfoy shrugged.

“Somewhat. I figured you could use the knowledge of his activity,” he said. “It's not up to
me to figure out what it all means. It's you he's after.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” mumbled Ron. Harry stood up abruptly.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” he said, quickly. He'd been hoping that they could count on their
former enemy for some help, but he had obviously been wrong. Now, Harry just wanted Malfoy to go on
his way, so he could talk to Hermione and Ron. Malfoy seemed to sense this.

“I really appreciate all your help. I'll be on my way now,” said Malfoy, almost cheerfully.
Harry suddenly had a feeling that, despite his worlds, this wouldn't be the last time they saw
Malfoy.

“Good luck!” he called, backing away from them. He smirked, and he was gone before they could
practically blink. A long time passed with Ron and Harry still sitting on the marble ledge and
Hermione standing a few feet away.

“Who does he think he is?” said Ron angrily. “He waltzes in, tells us some kind of sob story,
says he's on our side, lets us help him, and then leaves us more confused than we were to begin
with!”

“Now wait a minute,” said Hermione suddenly. “Malfoy might have proved he wasn't all bad,
but did you expect him to stick around and help us? Maybe something he said will help us understand
what is going on!”

“Why are we suddenly so concerned with what's going on?” said Ron. “Why is it suddenly up to
us to figure it all out? Why have we suddenly decided to listen to Malfoy?”

“Ron,” said Harry slowly, “if we don't care about what's going on, then who will? Maybe
Malfoy's off track about assuming Voldemort is behind everything. Maybe we all are, but what if
we're not? Then what happens? I don't know about you, but I don't want to not wake up
one morning, Hogwarts lying in ruins.”

“I don't, either,” said Hermione softly.

“Same,” said Ron. “So what do you do when you don't know what's being done?”

“You try to find out,” said Harry. He glanced at Hermione. “Should we start in the library
tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” she replied.

“Books,” grumbled Ron.

-->



15. The Ten Smokes of Brilliance
--------------------------------



Chapter Fifteen

THE TEN SMOKES OF BRILLIANCE

The next day, Saturday, was the last day of March. It also happened to be a Hogsmeade weekend,
so Harry, Ron, and Hermione didn't follow through with their plans to start searching for clues
in the library that morning. They didn't even talk about Malfoy's appearance the night
before; Hermione was pulled off into a group of Gryffindor girls that wanted to “cheer her up”
because of Pansy's comments the night before, and Ron gave Harry an apologetic look as Anna
dragged him off in the opposite direction. In the end, Harry had spent the day with Neville and
Dean and Seamus.

The next morning, as he ate breakfast alone in the Great Hall, he was starting to wonder if it
would be the same situation that day. Hermione was nowhere to be found, and Ron had nearly chucked
his pillow in Harry's direction when he tried to wake him up. Harry shoveled his breakfast so
quickly that, Hedwig, who had flown in to visit him when the morning mail was delivered, started to
nip at him disapprovingly. When he was finished, he decided to head to the library, whether
Hermione and Ron came or not. If they didn't show, Harry figured he could just work on his
Defense Arts essay.

He didn't have to. Hermione was sitting alone at a corner table, hunched over a thick book.
She obviously didn't notice Harry was approaching, as she jumped and whipped out her wand when
he touched her shoulder. Harry took a careful step backwards.

“Oh, it's you!” exclaimed Hermione quietly, blushing as she shoved her wand back into her
pocket. “I don't know who I thought was sneaking up behind me!”

Harry chuckled, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting down. “How long have you been
here?”

“Oh, for at least an hour,” said Hermione, her attention going back to the book. Her eyes were
squinted, and she leaned in very close to the page. “I was hoping I'd see you,” she said, and
then she quickly added, “or Ron, of course. I've been working on my essay; it's most
fascinating...”

“Ron was threatening me with both his pillow and his wand this morning,” said Harry, pulling out
his own schoolbooks. “I haven't really talked to him since Friday night, but I know he thinks
we're going about this all wrong.”

“Uh-huh,” muttered Hermione, looking up. She slipped her hand onto the book to mark her place,
and she flipped back several pages. “I found something that I wanted to show you.”

Harry scooted closer to her, peering to where her finger was pointing. The text was minute, and
he understood at once why she had been reading so intently. “What does it say?”

“Well, the entire chapter outlines how the Affinity of Relations is established,” explained
Hermione, “and this passage is about `temporary affinities.'”

“What's that?” said Harry.

“It's an entirely different concept than the actual Affinity of Relations,” said Hermione,
and Harry caught the note of frustration in her voice. He could almost see the thoughts turning in
her head. Professor Lupin had set both a minimum and a maximum number of scrolls for the length of
the essay, and he had a feeling she was thinking up the best way to ask for extra space. “There are
certain things that a wizard or witch can conjure that have a brief paralyzing effect on the mind
of another wizard or witch.”

“Does this have to do with—” Harry trailed off, noticing that Madam Pince was glaring at him,
and he decided to be careful, “—You-Know-Who?”

Hermione nodded earnestly. “I think it might,” she said, jabbing her finger at the book again.
“`These temporary affinities are established through Ten Smokes of Brilliance. Of these, Black and
Gray are most common. Both are characterized by a choking sensation and an awful, and both can
temporary paralyze anyone who inhales them; however, the black is considered to be the stronger of
the two. Not only is it harder to conjure, but it often leads to unconsciousness beyond initial
paralysis...' The messages were all in gray smoke, and the smoke on Halloween was black!”

“Let me see that,” said Harry, knowing immediately she was on to something when he snatched the
book from her and reread the section. He looked up, brushing some of his unruly hair away from his
eyes. “On Halloween, all those kids did pass out... and the prefect common room had an awful smell
after—”

“Yes,” said Hermione quickly, placing her hand over his. “And before—I was having trouble
thinking clearly the second after I stepped in there.”

“Does it say anything else about the smoke?” said Harry, and Hermione shook her head, so he
passed the book back to her. “Ten Smokes of Brilliance? Do you think there would be something else
about them somewhere?”

“Harry, this library has hundreds of thousands of books,” said Hermione, amused. Harry smiled,
letting his hand drop from hers.

“Good point,” he said, standing up. “I'd better start looking then, eh?”

* * *

“So the Black Smoke of Brilliance had to have been what filled the Great Hall, but the Gray
Smoke of Brilliance was what spelled out all those messages,” muttered Ron later that afternoon,
flipping through the pages of a book. “But why not use the same one?”

Harry was peering over his shoulder in seconds. He'd been the one to find the information,
and he hadn't even considered the difference. “Er, that's a good question.”

“Well, the Black Smoke is understandably more difficult to conjure,” said Hermione without
looking up from her own book. She sounded a bit disconnected, too engrossed in one activity to
really pay much attention to the other. “So the person that conjured it is more capable than
whoever conjured the Gray Smoke.”

“Herms,” said Harry, touching her arm, “it was Voldemort both times. Why wouldn't he be
consistent?”

“I don't like that nickname,” reminded Hermione. She finally peered away from the book, but
she didn't answer his question. Harry turned back to his own research.

About twenty minutes later, he pushed it away and reached into his bag for his books about the
Dark Scar. As interested as he was in figuring out more about all the horrors that had gripped
Hogwarts in the last months, he also had an essay to write and O.W.L.s to study for on top of his
usual homework.

Harry was actually a bit reluctant to work on his Defense paper. The more he found out about the
Dark Scar, the more he found out about the Death Eaters, the more forbidding it all seemed, and he
didn't want to let on to Hermione how worried it had him. He shook his head as he took out his
Charms text.

* * *

“Have you finished your essay, Harry?”

Harry looked up, surprised to see Hermione packing up her books, more surprised she'd even
think it possible. Ron's chair was empty, and his schoolbag was gone. Harry glanced at his
watch. Over an hour had passed since he'd started working on his homework, and he'd been so
frustrated by a concept in Transfigurations that he hadn't noticed how much time had slipped
by.

“Er, no,” said Harry quickly. “I've made enough progress on it for a while, and I needed to
get my other homework done.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, peering over his shoulder. Harry didn't even need to look up at
her to know what she was doing. There had been very few assignments he'd completed since they
became friends that she hadn't checked for him.

“You might want to rethink your answer for number three,” said Hermione, sitting down beside him
again. “Other then that, everything looks good.”

“I don't understand the concept behind it,” said Harry with a sigh. He looked over at her,
resting his forehead against his open palm. “I don't know how you do it all, `Mione.”

“How I do what?” said Hermione. She had taken his textbook from him, flipping through the pages.
Finally, she stopped and slid it back to him, pointing to a passage. “Read that. I think it'll
help you.”

“Thanks,” said Harry, marking the page and shutting the book. He had to cram it into his
schoolbag to get it to fit. With all the extra books he needed for Professor Lupin's essay, his
bag was starting to resemble Hermione's. “I'll worry about it later.”

“Okay,” said Hermione, standing up. “I'll help you later if you're still confused.”
There was only about a half an hour before they needed to be in the Great Hall for dinner. When
they were out of the library, she stopped, looking up at Harry. “How I do what?” she repeated.

“Everything,” muttered Harry. She didn't catch it. He smiled down at her. “You've had to
deal with so much lately, and you're still on top of everything. You understand everything and
always have your homework done, yet you still have time to help Ron and I with ours. You're
already studying for the O.W.L.s, and you're a lot farther than either of us on Professor
Lupin's essay. Now...” Harry trailed off, not knowing how to put their quest to figure out what
was going on into words. Hermione seemed to understand, and she laughed nervously.

“It's nothing, Harry,” she said, tucking her bushy hair behind her ear. This time, it was
Harry that laughed. He put his arm around her.

“It's a compliment, Hermione,” he informed her as they walked toward Gryffindor tower
together. “You shouldn't be embarrassed. I think it's amazing.”

Hermione blushed, easing out of his hold. She looked down quickly. “Why are you so nice to me?”
she asked, and at about that moment, Peeves swooped down over their heads, laughing hysterically.
He hovered in mid air before them, still chuckling.

“It's Potter and Granger!” he called, as if it was something unusual.

“Peeves,” said Harry, a little annoyed. The ghosts had made themselves scarce for the last few
months, but he'd started seeing them more and more since the missing students had reappeared.
This was his first time seeing Peeves in weeks. “What do you want?

“Good to be here again,” said Peeves mysteriously, and he started spinning around so quickly he
looked like a miniature tornado. Harry and Hermione just exchanged a baffled look. Suddenly, Peeves
stopped, laughing again. “Too bad I have nothing to bother the ickle couple with!”

“We're leaving, Peeves,” called Hermione over her shoulder as she and Harry started walking
again. When he was a few feet behind them, she rolled her eyes. Peeves had stopped laughing, and he
was now singing an adaptation of his old ditty:

*“Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done,*

*Snogging Miss Granger, you think it's good fun—*

*But what do you say when the trouble's begun?*

*Wasn't once enough for you?*

*Just be prepared to say adieu,*

*For there isn't room in that hollow for two!”*

“What is he going on about?” asked Harry as they rounded the corner. Peeves was laughing
hysterically in the distance. Hermione shook her head.

“It's Peeves,” she said flatly, “you should know not to pay him any mind.”

“One of the professors must have some kind of debt that they owe him,” reasoned Harry. He smiled
at Hermione. “Otherwise, I'm sure they would have thrown him out long ago.”

Hermione had to agree, and, at about that moment, a very plump brown owl flew down the corridor.
She swooped down over them, dropping a pre-paid letter into Hermione's hands before flying out
of sight. Hermione glanced at the owl, which didn't seem to be written on the usual parchment.
She paled, and then she stuffed it into her bag.

“I just remembered I needed to talk to Professor McGonagall about something,” said Hermione
quickly, and it didn't take much for Harry to realize she wasn't being truthful. He'd
put his hand on her arm when he'd seen her pale, and she backed out of his grasp once more.

“'Mione...” he started, but it was no use. She was already heading down the corridor.

“I'll talk to you at dinner, Harry!” she called, and Harry shook his head. He doubted she
needed the reminder that Professor McGonagall's classroom was in the opposite direction. He
stood there for a second, wondering what that owl had been about. Suddenly, he felt something touch
his shoulder, and he had his wand out so quickly he nearly hexed Professor Lupin. Harry lowered his
wand, an apologetic expression on his face, but Lupin just chuckled.

“I should know better than startle you, Harry,” said Lupin, smiling. He glanced down the hallway
in the direction Hermione had just disappeared. “Perhaps you should have told her that
Minerva's room is just down the last hall.”

“Maybe she's taking the long way around,” said Harry a bit sarcastically. Lupin smiled at
him sadly.

“Are the two of you fighting again?” asked the professor. Harry glanced up at him. He wasn't
aware that Lupin knew about their fight earlier in the year. Then again, Harry wasn't even sure
if it could be considered a fight.

“No, we're not fighting,” said Harry, and Lupin began walking. Harry followed him. “At
least, if we are, I'm not aware of it. Hermione just got an owl, and I guess she just
didn't want me to read it.”

Lupin nodded understandingly, ushering Harry into his classroom. “She didn't sound angry,”
he assured Harry, shutting the door behind him. “It's a good thing I caught you, though.
I've been wanting to talk to you for a few days.”

“About what?” questioned Harry, bewildered. He set his heavy schoolbag down on the floor,
leaning against one of the desks in the front row.

“It's nothing to be worried about,” said Lupin. “Would you like to come into my office?
I've taken a liking to the hot chocolate the house elves served all winter, and I've been
brewing my own version. I just ventured to the kitchen for a little more sugar.”

“Sure,” said Harry, following Lupin. He was still a bit perplexed, even though Lupin often
checked in with him on Sirius's behalf. Most of the time, however, it was a few minutes of
conversation before or after class.

Sure enough, there was an old fashioned coffee pot over some kind of heater Harry didn't
recognize. Lupin stirred in a bit more sugar before offering Harry a cup. He declined.

“I was wondering how you were doing with your essay,” said Lupin a few minutes later, sitting
down in the chair behind his desk. Harry took a seat in one of the chairs across from him.

“Oh, it's coming along fine,” said Harry truthfully. “I've been able to find a lot of
information.”

“That's good to hear,” said Lupin, sipping his drink. “Needless to say, I was a little
surprised when the Sorting Hat gave you the Dark Scar.”

“You were?” questioned Harry, squinting. “Why?”

“You didn't notice?” asked Lupin.

“What do you mean?”

Lupin shook his head. “I knew all the topics the hat had been given to assign,” he explained. “I
probably should have had you and Hermione and Ron go at the beginning, even though Dumbledore
assured me that the hat wouldn't forget anyone and give him or her the wrong topic. You see, he
wanted each student to write about something that appealed to them or to a problem they were
having.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry. He and Ron had noticed that. “But why would you want the three of us to go
at the beginning?”

“I'm sure you've noticed that the Affinity of Relations is a very complex topic,” said
Lupin. Harry nodded, but he didn't see what it had to do with anything. “Dumbledore and I did
our best to chose topics with certain students in mind. I didn't think such an advanced topic
should be assigned, but Dumbledore insisted. I figured he wanted you to have it.”

“Hermione got it,” said Harry, “but I was supposed to?”

“I'm not sure,” Lupin admitted. “That's what I expected, at least, and I realized that
only three topics were left when I reached you and Hermione. I skipped over her because I wanted to
make sure you got the topic Dumbledore intended for you.”

“Maybe he intended for me to have the Dark Scar,” said Harry uncertainly. Lupin raised an
eyebrow, sipping his cocoa again.

“But does the topic make you uncomfortable in any way?” asked Lupin.

“No,” said Harry quickly. “I mean, at first I thought my scar might be one, but I figured out
pretty quickly that it wasn't.”

“Exactly,” agreed Lupin, “why I found it pretty peculiar. The Sorting Hat is yet to make a
mistake, so I needn't worry. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I have about half of it written,” said Harry, gathering his things. The clock on the wall above
Lupin's head showed that dinner would be starting in ten minutes. He started to stand, but
something made him stop.

“Professor? Can you explain the Affinity of Relations to me, anyway? I came across it in my own
reading...”

“...And Hermione gave you so much information that she lost you?” finished the professor. He
chuckled when Harry nodded reluctantly. “That one, she'll do a thorough job. What would you
like to know?”

Professor Lupin had abandoned his cup, and he was leaned forward at his desk, his hands in his
lap. He was watching Harry carefully, almost studying him. The look in his eyes told Harry that his
professor had anticipated his question.

“Well, Hermione said something about it linking one wizard or witch to another in the magical
world through a non-magical situation,” said Harry, “which doesn't make sense to me.”

“Well, perhaps I can give you an example,” said Lupin thoughtfully. He grimaced. “No, it's
not a very pleasant topic. Let's apply it to your own topic and say someone interfered in a
Death Eater curse and was left with a Dark Scar.”

“Uh-huh,” muttered Harry, nodding to show that he was following along.

“Well, often, the person left with the scar would suffer beyond the initial curse,” said Lupin,
still watching Harry closely. “An Affinity of Relations would sometimes occur, and the scarred
would be left linked to his or her curser. Sometimes, the curser merely gained a sense of the other
person's well being, and other times, he or she would gain a varying degree of access to the
person's thoughts and feelings. What makes the Affinity so dangerous, though, is the third
circumstance. Sometimes, the curser will be left with the ability to influence the mind of the
scarred. In any case, the Affinity of Relations is dangerous because it makes someone more
vulnerable to his or her curser. That's why the Death Eaters were so successful in... Harry,
are you all right?”

“What?” demanded Harry, confused. Lupin was looking at him through concerned eyes.

“You've grown quite pale,” said Lupin.

“I have?” said Harry, hoping it sounded convincing. If he looked the way he felt, he didn't
have a bit of trouble believing he had grown pale. “I was just trying to take in what you were
saying. I think I understand now, but I thought that the Affinity of Relations had to do with
non-magical occurrences.”

“It does,” said Lupin. “It can be connected to the result of magic, too, like in the case of the
Dark Mark. Other times, it's non-magical, unpleasant situations. I think I heard a story about
two drunken wizards getting in a bar fight. One pushed the other out the window, and he spent three
weeks getting the other's thoughts before he realized what happened.”

“What about the Ten Smokes of Brilliance?” said Harry suddenly. Immediately, he wanted to take
the words back. This time, Professor Lupin was the one who paled.

“What do you know about the Ten Smokes of Brilliance?” asked Lupin darkly.

“Er, nothing,” said Harry. It was only a little lie. He didn't really know that much about
them. “It's just something I saw in Hermione's notes.”

“I see,” said Lupin, scratching his chin. He started opening drawers on his desk, taking out a
quill and parchment. Harry glanced at his wristwatch.

“Well, I should go,” said Harry uncomfortably, standing. He expected Lupin to stand too.
“It's dinnertime.”

“I know,” said Lupin absently. “I'll be right there. There's an owl I must send
first.”

Harry nodded, thanking Lupin for his hospitality, concern, and explanation. He let the door to
the professor's office close, and he stood in the classroom for a few more moments. Finally, he
shook his head and headed in the direction of the Great Hall. There was another owl he was even
more eager to find out about.

* * *

“You're late,” observed Hermione as Harry slid into the seat next to her. He shrugged and
threw his book bag under the table. The food had already been served.

“Yeah,” agreed Harry. The color had returned to her face, and she was even smiling. “Did you
catch up with Professor McGonagall?”

“Were you looking for her?” Ron frowned through a mouthful of food. He hadn't witnessed the
scene in the hall earlier.

“Oh, no, but I found a solution to my problem, nonetheless.” Ron looked satisfied, but Harry
gave Hermione a knowing look. She just smiled guiltily.

“When did you leave the library, Ron?” asked Harry, helping himself to generous portion of beef.
He hadn't had a big lunch.

Ron scowled, and he looked in the direction of the Ravenclaw table. “Just after five.”

“Trouble in paradise,” whispered Hermione, tugging on Harry's arm. “He and Anna got in a big
fight. I think her entire house witnessed it.”

Ron was still glowering, and he attacked his green beans almost viciously. Harry was surprised
that he was even eating them; Ron hated almost all vegetables. His attention remained focused
toward the end of the Ravenclaw table where the fourth year girls sat, and Harry knew full well his
mind was somewhere else. He waved his hand in front of Ron's face a few times, but he
didn't seem to notice. Harry turned back to Hermione. She was shaking her head sadly.

“So why'd you take off?” he asked quietly. She shifted and drew the letter from her pocket.
Hermione tapped it, and she grinned.

“I told you a few weeks ago that my parents wanted me to come home for Easter and enroll in the
local school,” said Hermione, and Harry nodded. “I wrote them back saying I would do no such thing,
and Mum replied with a demand that I come home to discuss it with them.”

“You sound... er, pleased with that,” said Harry, looking at her like she was nuts. Hermione
shook her head, waving her hand.

“That was last week,” she explained. She was about to continue, when the second-year sitting
next to Harry interrupted them. He passed him a scroll and quill. It was the list of Easter
plans.

Harry took the quill and went to place his name in the “Staying at Hogwarts” column. He glanced
at it hesitantly, noticing that the list had already been through two of the houses and not a
single person was staying yet. He put the quill down on the parchment, and he felt a warm hand
close on his. Hermione moved his hand over to the first column. He looked at her, confused.

“I wrote her back,” said Hermione, referring to her mother's letter. “I was afraid that
they'd make me stay home if I went back for the holiday because they tried to at Christmas. I
explained that Ron was going home for the holidays, and I wasn't going to leave one of my best
friends here all alone. She melted, and she told me to invite you to come home with me.”

Her eyes were shining, and Harry couldn't help but smile as he put his name down in the
leaving list. “I would have been fine here,” said Harry.

“You would have been all alone,” said Hermione briskly. Her face softened. “I need you there,
Harry, for moral support. I can't loose Hogwarts.”

Harry understood. “You won't,” he assured. “Just talk to them, `Mione. You've always
described them as reasonable people. They'll listen.”

“You're right,” said Hermione hesitantly. She bit her lip, and then she glanced across the
table to Ron. “I think he may be a lost cause.”

“He might be,” agreed Harry. He made a mental note to talk to Ron that night.

* * *

The next day, they attended their first Care of Magical Creatures class in a long time. Ron had
disappeared the night before to sulk about his and Anna's argument, so Harry hadn't gotten
a chance to talk to him. He did have a chance to talk to Hermione; however, he'd decided
against telling her what Professor Lupin had told him. He wasn't completely sure what Lupin had
meant in telling him about his topic, and he didn't want to worry Hermione.

Instead, Hermione read ahead in Charms while Harry created a Divination chart, and then they
took turns quizzing each other from their History of Magic textbook. The sun of early spring had
already warmed up the Hogwarts ground considerably, and they were comfortable in light cloaks as
they sat in the grass outside Hagrid's hut, waiting for class to start.

Fred and George's radio had started going haywire the night before and wouldn't turn
off, so Harry had been grumpy that morning from lack of sleep. Now, he and Hermione were bantering
about the night before. They'd placed a bet on who knew more of the History of Magic material,
and Hermione, surprisingly, had only beaten Harry by a narrow margin. He owed her a butterbeer from
the Three Broomsticks the next time they went to Hogsmead, and he was a bit bitter about it.

Ron scrambled from the direction of the castle about five minutes after the lesson should have
begun, muttering as he sat down next to Hermione in the grass. Hagrid was in back, letting the
hursles out of their pens, and he scratched Erinel absently as he lumbered toward him.

“She won't even talk to me,” said Ron again and again. “She won't even look at me. She
hates me.”

“It'll be okay,” said Harry, clapping his friend on the back. Ron just stared ahead glumly.
Hermione was too busy with Erinel, who was showering her with kisses and trying to leap into her
arms, to say much. She kept telling the frisky hursle to get down, but Harry knew full well that
she didn't care. They hadn't had class in three weeks, and Hagrid had been a bit
tightlipped about the subject. He just said that the hursles were going through a difficult and
dangerous stage, but, judging on Erinel's loving actions, it didn't seem like it.

“Ten'chen! Ten'chen, ever'one! `Et yehr `ursle an' sit where yeh kin hear meh!”
called Hagrid, waving his arms. He was standing several feet away, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione all
moved a little closer to him. In the time it took them to move with Erinel, Hagrid had scooped up
Nigel, the hursle that had been long abandoned by Malfoy's group. He had a nasty disposition
and growled when one of the Slytherins got too close.

“Good to see yeh all again,” said Hagrid warmly. “Was'n much I could teach yeh fer a few
weeks. Now tha' the `ursles are more mature, we kin star' tamin' `em.”

For the next hour, the students practiced calling their hursles by name and using basic
commands. Erinel was the first to start responding to the sit command, which brought a smile of
pride to Hermione's face. He rolled over happily in front of her before finally settling down
to sleep. Hermione petted him gently as she watched the other groups. She saw one Slytherin yell at
his frightened hursle and began to look very angry. Hagrid was walking around to check on each
group's progress. Ron even seemed to snap out of his Anna-induced stupor.

“'E really likes yeh, `Ermione,” said a deep voice from behind them. Hagrid was scratching
his beard, a twinkle in his dark eyes, and dragging an old wooden chair in their direction.
Hermione beamed, and Erinel squawked in his sleep. Hagrid reached down to scratch the feathery
animal's belly. “Are yeh okay, Ron? Yeh don't look so well.”

“He'll be fine,” answered Harry, clapping Ron's back again. “He and Anna are
fighting.”

Hagrid's brow furrowed. “What abou'?”

“Absolutely nothing,” grumbled Ron. “She says I never spend any time with her, says I'm
always with my friends or practicing Quidditch! Can you believe that?”

Harry and Hermione exchanged nervous glances, and Hagrid cleared his throat. He looked at Ron
sympathetically one last time before the twinkle returned to his eye. “I got summat to ask
yeh.”

“What is it, Hagrid?” asked Hermione, leaning forward. Ron and Harry followed suit. Hagrid had
lowered his voice, but he was positively beaming.

“Do yeh have any plans fer the last week o' summer yet?” asked Hagrid hopefully, and they
shook their heads. He smiled even wider. “'O course, I'm gonna have to get ol'
Dumbledore's approval, but that won't be a problem. Cin yeh all be here then?”

There were three more nods. “What's going on the last week of summer?” Ron wanted to know.
There was still a glum note to his voice, but it was hard not to catch Hagrid's obvious
cheer.

“Well,” said Hagrid, scratching his beard. “I've bin tryin' to git the nerve to ask
Olympe summat for a long time now, and I did las' nigh'.”

“Oh Hagrid!” gasped Hermione. “That's wonderful!”

“Said yes,” said Hagrid thoughtfully. Then, he broke out into a grin again, but he had to reach
into his pocket for a handkerchief. He dabbed at his eyes. “We're gonna live here, together.
I'm gonna fix it up real nice for us... never bin so `appy in me life!”

“We'll be here,” declared Harry, and Ron nodded enthusiastically. Hagrid went on exclaiming
about his good fortune for a few more minutes, and Erinel even woke up, squawking happily. Hermione
had to shush him.

“Too bad yehr paren's are Muggles, `Ermione. I would've let `im live with yeh this
summer,” said Hagrid.

“What's going to happen to him?” asked Hermione, eyes growing wide. Hagrid chuckled.

“I'm going to keep `im here fer yeh,” assured Hagrid. “The res' are a goin' to the
Ministry, though.”

“Why are they going to the Ministry?” questioned Ron. “What are they going to use them for?”

“'Ey're real good guard animals,” explained. “'Ey kin use `em to sense evil. `Ey
just know when summat's not right. `Ey make a good fuss and won't calm down. `At's why
I hav'n bin havin' class—”

Hagrid trailed off, looking sheepish. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a glance. They knew Hagrid
had just done what he was famous for: telling someone something that was supposed to be a secret.
Harry glanced at Hagrid casually.

“What's been rattling them?” he said.

“Yeh jus' forgit yeh heard that,” said Hagrid sternly.

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn't just forget what Hagrid had said to them so easily. It was
obvious that the hursle's behavior was yet another clue in the year's mysterious
happenings, and it was also obvious that Hagrid knew more about what was going on than he wanted to
tell. Hermione had dashed straight up to the library after class that afternoon, hoping to find
information on hursles, but she had been disappointed when there was little more information then
what Hagrid had already said. Harry had similar luck. Ron managed to find an entire book about
hursels in the catalog, but the book had been checked out to someone for most of the year.

Besides Hagrid's slip about the hursles, the three friends had other things to worry about.
Harry and Ron had several late night talks about his predicament with Anna, and Harry got a sense
that the fight had been a lot deeper than Ron simply not spending enough time with her. He had
pressed for more information at first, but he had stopped when he sensed Ron wasn't going to
talk about it under any circumstance.

Classes went on as usual, but there was the addition of an excited buzz of students anticipating
the upcoming holiday. The week went slowly for some, but it flew by for Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
Hermione kept to herself more than ever, and Harry had a feeling that she having a hard time again.
Harry and Ron had Quidditch practices almost every afternoon, and the teachers seemed frantic to
finish lessons before the spring holiday. Snape was the exception, of course, and he chose to
assign another essay to the fifth years when filling in for Professor Lupin. Still, the week
passed, and it was soon Friday evening.

“I can't believe this!” moaned Ron, stabbing violently at his dinner. “We aren't going
to have any time to practice!”

“I'm sure you'll live,” said Hermione, cringing in disgust as a bit of Yorkshire pudding
flew from his plate and onto her robes. She brushed it off. “It's just Quidditch.”

“Just Quidditch?” screeched Ron. “What kind of a witch are you? Tell her, Harry!”

“Er,” said Harry, eyeing his two friends. Angelina had just tracked them down to tell them that
the Slytherin rematch would be held on the first weekend back from Easter holiday. He decided to
compromise. “Well, it will be difficult just having that week to practice, but we're better
than Slytherin.”

Hermione looked satisfied, but Harry knew Ron was still worried about the rematch. He had a
feeling, however, that his friend's discomfort came more from the idea of the rematch rather
than the date. He knew Ron felt like he had to prove himself, but he also knew that Ron was
terrified that something would happen to finish him off. Even so, Ron let the subject drop and went
back to eating.

“I still need to pack,” grumbled Ron a few minutes later, his eyes darting in the direction of
the great wizard's clock at the front of the Great Hall. Hermione looked at him
disapprovingly.

“You haven't started packing yet?” she questioned. Ron shook his head, and her attention
turned to Harry. “Surely you have?”

“Er,” said Harry, and he turned his explanation into a hacking cough.

“Very funny,” said Hermione. “You needn't bring everything, of course. My family is
completely Muggle, so we won't be able to practice any spells, but you really should bring your
books. I don't know how you could afford to not study—”

“'Mione?” interrupted Ron. “You do realize that this is a holiday, don't you?”

“Does it make any difference?” said Hermione sincerely. “I think it's rather silly to have a
set time for learning.”

“Exactly,” said Harry quickly, giving Ron a pointed look. “What else do I need?”

“Just the necessities,” said Hermione. “Hedwig is welcome to come, but you won't need all
your robes and cauldron and broom—”

“Take your broom,” advised Ron. “I wouldn't leave it here and risk it being cursed or
hexed.”

Hermione stared at Ron, and Harry had a feeling they were dangerously close to bickering. It was
going to be a long night.

* * *

“You know,” said Harry nervously a few hours later, “maybe this isn't such a good idea,
`Mione. If your parents are as upset about you being a witch as you've let on, what makes you
think they're going to welcome a wizard into their home?”

“Harry,” said Hermione patiently. They were in the main common room, and the rest of the
Gryffindors were starting to clear out. Only a handful of students remained, and most of them were
staying at Hogwarts over the vacation and didn't have to be up early the next morning to catch
the train. “I promise it'll be fine.”

“I've never celebrated Easter before,” said Harry, thinking up another excuse.

“They'll understand,” assured Hermione. “Mum and Dad know all about you and Ron.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” questioned Harry. His nerves were apparent in his eyes. He
looked down at her, and she took his hands in hers.

“Listen to me, Harry,” said Hermione, and she blushed. “You're my best friend. You have a
charming personality. You're polite and helpful. If anything, you'll prove to my parents
that wizards and witches can be wonderful people.”

“If you say so,” said Harry, but he was still uncertain. Hermione stood on her tiptoes and
kissed him lightly on the cheek.

“Now go!” she said, dropping his hands. She pushed him in the direction of the boys'
dormitory. “I'll see you in the morning, Harry.”

“Sure thing,” said Harry, trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach. The only
Muggles he had ever spent time with were his hideous aunt, uncle, and cousin, and he was nervous
about meeting Mr. and Mrs. Granger. He couldn't explain it, but the idea of spending Easter
with Hermione was making him feel a bit apprehensive. He climbed the stairs of the boys'
dormitory slowly. He heard a door creak open and shut, and he knew Hermione was already back in the
girls' dormitory.

The unmistakable sound of music came from a particular dorm room at the end of the hallway, and
Harry couldn't help but laugh at the string of curses coming from one of the Weasley twins. A
long bang followed the swear words, and then a moment of silence, but the radio sprung back to life
a few minutes later. The cursing had begun again when Harry pushed open the door to his and
Ron's room. Ron was already in his pajamas, lying in bed and paging through one of his many
Chudley Cannons books.

“You're scared about spending the entire week with just Hermione,” observed Ron. Harry
wanted to grab something that remained scattered around the room after their frantic packing and
chuck it at his friend for his all-knowing tone. “Now why is that?”

“I wouldn't know,” said Harry, “because I'm not scared.”

“Yes you are,” taunted Ron as Harry pulled his shirt over his head and exchanged it for his
pajama top. “You want to make a good impression on the Grangers.”

“Yeah, well,” said Harry, “you would too. If you were visiting Hermione for a week, would you
want her parents to hate you?”

“Nope,” said Ron, his tone still gleeful. “I wouldn't want them to hate me, but I
wouldn't be nearly as concerned as you, Potter.”

“I'm not worried, Ron,” said Harry calmly, but he had to turn around quickly so his friend
wouldn't notice the deep blush rising to his cheeks.

“You can admit it anytime,” said Ron cheerfully, and Harry heard him close his book. The candles
on Ron's side of the room flickered and then went out. Harry turned around, just wanting to hex
his friend. He had really gotten annoying lately. Instead, though, Harry did the mature thing,
blowing out his own candles, ignoring Ron's comments, and crawling into his own bed.

After such a tiring week, sleep should have come quickly, but it didn't. Harry still
wouldn't respond to Ron's many comments, but he was finding it harder to ignore them every
day. There had been a lingering doubt in his mind for a long time, and he was unable to push it
away anymore.

When he finally did fall asleep, Harry had another one of his odd dreams. He was wandering very
aimlessly through a long, narrow stone corridor that kept looping off in another direction.
Finally, the hallway emptied into a dank, dimly lit room that look like a very shrunken version of
the Potions dungeon. His head began to throb, and a very heavy stone door closed behind him the
second after he entered the chamber. He couldn't see in the dark, but Harry knew he wasn't
alone because someone began screaming loudly in one of the back corners. Suddenly, a torch lit on
the opposite side of the room, and Harry was greeted by a very unpleasant scent. He felt nauseous;
the floor was sticky. He turned again, and realized it was Hermione in the corner. Harry tried to
walk to her; he wanted to take her into his arms and comfort her, but something was holding him
back—

Harry woke up breathing heavily. He sat straight up in bed, and his hand flew to his forehead.
The pain from his scar was so blinding that he couldn't think straight. Then, just as suddenly
as it had started, the pain subsided and Harry's head fell back against the pillow. He fell
asleep without so much as a second thought, and he had no recollection of the incident in the
morning.

* * *

“Harry! Ron! Have either of you seen my toad—” Harry squinted as the door to their dorm room was
flung open and ricocheted violently off the wall. Neville's eyes grew wide as he saw they were
still in bed.

“Neville,” groaned Ron, pulling his sheets over his head. He wasn't a morning person, and
Harry watched the lump underneath the blankets rearrange the pillow so it was on top of his head
and not beneath it. Meanwhile, Harry fumbled around for his glasses on the night table. He managed
to knock them to the floor.

“Aren't you both leaving for the holiday?” wondered Neville. He was still standing in the
doorway, and Ron grunted unhappily from behind the hangings of his four-poster. “The train leaves
in half an hour—”

“What?” screeched Ron, looking at his alarm clock. It had stopped sometime during the night, and
the hands remained fixed at three-oh-six. “Bloody hell!”

“You'd better hurry,” warned Neville, watching both Ron and Harry jump out of bed. “I'd
steer clear of the bathroom, over half the dorm is in there already. It seems that almost everyone
overslept.”

“Thanks Neville,” said Harry hurriedly. He managed to locate his glasses on the floor, and Ron
was dashing around to get clothing. Still, Neville hung in the doorway.

“So,” he said apologetically, “you haven't seen my toad?”

“No,” said Ron, nearly colliding with Harry as he scrambled in the direction of his shoes.
“Thanks for getting us up, Neville.”

“No problem!” said Neville, and he was gone.

“I'll risk the bathroom,” said Ron. “You can change in here.”

He was out the door in seconds. Harry didn't blame him for being so frantic. Not only did
they have to change and gather their things in the next thirty minutes, but they had to get from
the school to the platform, also. Already, Harry could hear the fading clamber of his fellow
Gryffindors as they scrambled downstairs with their trunks and bags and pets. The dormitory was
growing eerily silent. Still, Harry didn't jump when the door burst open again, assuming it was
Ron.

“Harry, are you about ready? The last of the carriages are going to be leaving at any minute,
and you're going—oh my, Harry, I'm so sorry!”

Definitely not Ron. Harry spun around to see a very red Hermione standing in the doorframe just
as Neville had been a few moments earlier. He was sure his face had similar coloring, considering
he was standing there half-naked.

“Be right there,” he managed, and Hermione shut the door very quickly. Hoping that the mishap
wasn't a sign of how the next week was going to be, Harry threw on the rest of his Hogwarts
uniform and was shrugging into his robes when Ron reappeared.

“I just saw Hermione going back down to the common room from here—” said Ron, grabbing his bag
off the floor. Neither Ron nor Harry had needed their entire trunk.

“Yeah, she was here,” interrupted Harry, checking to make sure his wand was in his pocket and
grabbing both his bag and Hedwig's cage. “She walked in on me when I was half dressed.”

Ron let loose a great guffaw, but he quickly changed it into something that vaguely resembled a
sneeze. “That's great,” said Ron. “I mean, that's awful, Harry. Did she see something she
really shouldn't of?”

“No!” exclaimed Harry, blushing deeply, again, in spite of himself. “It's just the principle
of it.”

Ron let out a low whistle, and Harry knew he was resisting the urge to laugh hysterically. He
shook his head; he didn't find the situation as funny as Ron.

“You'd be embarrassed if it had been you,” mumbled Harry.

“Not like you are,” said Ron gleefully, “because there's nothing going on between Hermione
and I.”

“There's nothing going on between the two of us either!” insisted Harry as they clambered
down the stairway connected the door to the boy's dormitory to the Gryffindor common room. Only
a couple of second years were left in the dorms, and Hermione was the only person left in the main
room. She was still a very deep shade of red. Harry blushed again just looking at her.

“I am so sorry, Harry,” she said again.

“Not a big deal,” said Harry quickly. Ron was still in gales of laughter. Fortunately, Hedwig
swooped in through one of the windows at that moment and perched on Harry's shoulder. She
flapped one of her snowy white wings against his face while he unlatched the door of her cage. She
obediently went to her perch within it.

“I'll let you out when we're on the train,” promised Harry, and Hedwig hooted
agreeably.

“Why is it that all of the boys managed to oversleep,” questioned Hermione slyly as they waved
their good-byes to the Fat Lady, “yet all of the girls were up right on time?”

“We actually know the value of rest,” grumbled Ron, reaching up, desperately patting his hair
down with his hand. It was almost as unruly as Harry's at the moment, and it was obvious he
hadn't had the time to smooth it. “My clock stopped in the middle of the night.”

“Sure,” teased Hermione as they passed the Great Hall. A large group of students was waiting
just past the doors to get in the carriages that would take them to the train station, and she
breathed a sigh of relief when she realized they wouldn't miss the train.

“Relax!” said Ron heartily, punching her lightly in the arm. “Did you think we'd be
late?”

“Yes,” said Hermione defensively. She looked to Harry for backing.

“Hey, who nearly knocked me into the wall today when he was scrambling around frantically,
trying to locate his shoes?” asked Harry with a raised eyebrow. The carriages were returning, empty
and ready to take one last batch of passengers to the train. Hermione, Harry, and Ron scrambled
into the last one in the line. The train would be leaving in about ten minutes.

They'd no sooner settled in a compartment with Fred, George, and Ginny than the scarlet
steam engine started rolling along the tracks. In no time, they were whizzing through the
countryside. Fred and George had taken to one corner, whispering softly and shooing away anyone
that got too close. Ron challenged Harry to a game of wizard's chess, and Hermione was braiding
Ginny's hair again; George had untied the plait earlier.

“We must excuse ourselves,” said George solemnly. The witch had just passed their compartment
with the snack cart. Between the six of them, they had ended up with a good-sized pile of candy.
Ginny was eating a chocolate frog and reading a book, and Hermione had settled on the floor with
Harry and Ron to watch their game. At George's announcement, they all looked up. Both twins
looked especially mischievous.

“What are you doing?” asked Ron.

“Oh, nothing,” said Fred.

“Nothing at all!” George chimed in.

“Likely story,” said Ron, turning back to the chess game. “Checkmate.”

Harry sighed; he returned the chess pieces Sirius had given him at Christmas to their box. The
Weasley twins were still hanging around the compartment, and Ron was looking at them
expectantly.

“Well?” he questioned. “Aren't you going to tell us what you're about to pull? I've
never know the two of you to not take credit for your work.”

“Oh,” said Fred, “if you must know—”

“—We're off to play a prank—”

“—On Alicia and Angelina.”

Without further explanation, the twins disappeared from the compartment, laughing at their own
cleverness. Ginny picked up her book again, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione just exchanged a
shrug.

“I always find it bit unsettling,” said Ron, “when they complete each other's thoughts like
that.”

“You should be used to it by now,” said Ginny without looking up. “They've done it as far
back as my earliest memory.”

Ron shrugged. “Exploding Snap?”

“Sure,” said Harry, reaching for a deck of cards from his bag. Before Hermione and Ginny
answered, a group of giggling fourth years appeared at the entrance of the compartment and insisted
she come with them. Soon, it was just Harry, Ron, and Hermione left in the compartment. Ron looked
decidedly uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong, Ron?” questioned Hermione, obviously concerned. Harry realized what it was
immediately, and he shoved the cards back into his bag.

“You saw Anna, didn't you?”

“Yeah,” said Ron glumly. “She hates me.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” said Hermione soothingly, but something about Ron's
expression said he believed what he had said. “What did the two of you fight about, anyway?
I've heard so many different stories that I don't know what to believe.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” said Ron quickly. Harry and Hermione shared a look. It was
unusual that the three of them kept anything from each other; however, they didn't press
it.

They ended up playing Exploding Snap for a good part of the journey to King's Cross. When
the train began to slow, they gathered their things. Fred and George had returned an hour earlier,
grinning slyly, but they wouldn't offer any information about their prank. Harry had a feeling
that they'd set something up to happen in the future. He had to shake his head, wondering if it
was the best idea for the twins to play practical jokes on their girlfriends. By the time they
arrived at the train station, Ron had lost his earlier discomfort, and Harry and Hermione had
dismissed his secrecy.

“You two have fun,” said Ron as they stepped out onto the platform. The three friends hung back
from the barrier for a few minutes, since almost every student at Hogwarts was crowding towards it
at once.

“You too, Ron,” said Hermione, giving him a friendly hug.

“Oh, I will,” said Ron, grinning evilly and rubbing his hands together. “I'm helping Percy
move away. How much better can it get than that?”

“The fact that he'll be gone for at least a year?” suggested Harry, having had this
conversation with him before. Fred and George were walking towards them, and they sniggered.

“Exactly,” said George, hitting Harry's shoulder. “Have a good week, Harry.”

“Good week, yes,” said Fred, and Harry could have sworn he winked at him. He glared at Ron as
Fred, too, punched his arm. Ron was just sniggering. Ginny was covering a smile with her hand, but
Hermione just looked confused.

“'Bye Harry! `Bye Hermione!” called Ron as the four siblings walked in the direction of
their parents after crossing the barrier. Harry and Hermione waved their good-byes to their friends
and greetings to Mrs. Weasley. Harry glanced between Hermione and the three sniggering Weasley
brothers, and he shook his head.

“They're interesting,” he said to Hermione when they were out of earshot. She raised an
eyebrow, and then she glanced in the direction of the departing redheads.

“I'd say,” said Hermione, looking up at Harry. He felt a little better from the moment he
looked into her eyes. “Ready?”

-->



16. Twelve Withenham Lane
-------------------------



Chapter Sixteen

TWELVE WITHENHAM LANE

“Hermione!” called a deep voice from the opposite direction of the Weasley's exit. Hermione
grabbed Harry's arm as she turned, and he saw a well-built man walking toward them. He had
bright blue eyes that seemed to be smiling, but he looked more like one of the American football
players Dudley liked to watch on the television than a dentist.

Harry had met Mr. Granger exactly one time before, and he wasn't sure if he could even
consider that a meeting. It had been more than three years ago, a brief introduction at the
exchange counter of Gringotts; Hermione's parents had been changing Muggle money to buy her
school supplies. Harry gulped when he saw him for the second time. He didn't remember him being
such a large man. Hermione was rather short, and Harry had trouble picturing the person before him
as her father.

“Dad,” said Hermione, her tone somewhere between angry and excited. As Mr. Granger hugged his
daughter, Harry could hear Crookshanks scrambling around frantically in his carrier.

“You've met Harry before, haven't you, Dad?” asked Hermione a few seconds later. She
grabbed Harry's arm gently, forcing him to stand by her. Harry shook her father's hand when
he offered it. He expected some kind of bone-crunching, shoulder-dislocating gesture, but Mr.
Granger did no such thing.

“Edward Granger,” he said. “It's been a few years since I've seen you, and I don't
think we were ever properly introduced. Hermione talks about you all the time.”

“Dad!” exclaimed Hermione as her dad took Crookshanks carrier from her. Harry looked at her. A
blush was rising to her cheeks.

“What?” said Mr. Granger, and he chuckled. “How are you, Harry?”

“Just fine, sir,” said Harry politely. He had decided immediately that addressing Mr. Granger as
“sir” wouldn't hurt anything. “Thank you for inviting me to spend the holiday with you.”

“It's good to have you,” said Mr. Granger heartily, clapping Harry on the back just as Ron
always did. The three were walking out of the train station, and he turned his gaze to his
daughter. “There's been a slight changes of plans. Mark and Linda are so busy with the new baby
that they didn't want to have Easter at their house.”

“So we're having it at ours?” questioned Hermione, and Mr. Granger nodded. Seeing
Harry's perplexed expression, Hermione explained, “Linda is mum's sister, and Mark is her
husband. We usually go to their house for Easter.”

Harry nodded a bit numbly. She hadn't told him that he'd have to meet more of her family
than her parents. They had reached an exit of the train station, and Harry held the door open for
Hermione and her father.

“You have good manners,” observed Mr. Granger casually. This time, it was Harry that blushed at
his words.

“Thanks sir,” he said quickly. Hermione giggled, slowing her pace and falling back to his side.
Mr. Granger seemed to be scanning car park as he muttered and scratched his head. Hermione placed
her hand lightly on Harry's arm.

“He has a horrible memory,” she whispered, giggling and pointing to her father. “I think he
likes you, Harry, so don't be worried, though you do look rather lovable in your
nervousness.”

“Er,” said Harry, “I thought your parents were supposed to be upset with you.”

“A bit dumb, but rather lovable,” repeated Hermione. She broke into a grin, but her face then
grew serious. “It's mostly mum,” she said softly, “that I'm worried about. Dad's
softhearted when it comes to his girls; he'll agree with Mum to make her happy, but he'll
come to my defense a moment later. I'm just hoping for the best out of both of them.”

“It'll be okay, `Mione,” assured Harry, taking her hand affectionately. He gave her a
lopsided grin. “Maybe your mum will hate me, and she'll be so intent on making my stay
miserable that she'll forget all about being upset with you.”

“Very funny, Harry,” said Hermione, “but not likely. If anyone hates you, it—”

“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Granger suddenly, and Hermione never finished what she was saying. “This
way!”

“Looking back, it doesn't surprise me that he and Mr. Weasley hit it off fairly well,” said
Hermione as they walked to the Granger's car.

“Why's that?” said Harry, earning a pleased glance from Mr. Granger as he helped Hermione
put her things in the trunk. Hermione waited for her father to climb into the car, and she then
stood on her tiptoes to whisper in Harry's ear.

“Don't get me wrong, I adore them both,” said Hermione, “but they both happen to be a tad
bit nutters.”

Harry laughed as he settled into the back seat with her. Hermione reached over, tapping his seat
belt expectantly. He buckled it. She pointed to her father again, this time shaking her head.
“He's the worst driver in all of Britain. You want to take all available precautions when
riding with him.”

“That's not true, dear!” protested Mr. Granger, but he came within millimeters of hitting
another car. He turned around, grinning sheepishly. “Not completely, at least.”

As they pulled out of the car park, it suddenly dawned on Harry that he wasn't even sure
where Hermione lived. She usually vacationed in the summer, and Hedwig had no trouble delivering
letters without an address.

“How far away do you live?” asked Harry.

“Oh!” said Hermione, looking at him apologetically. “We live in Dorchester; it's about an
hour away when Dad's driving.”

“Have you ever been in the area, Harry?” questioned Mr. Granger, peering into backseat via the
rearview mirror.

“No, never,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Before coming to Hogwarts, I'd barely left my
aunt and uncle's home on Privet Drive.”

“I studied abroad—went to an American university for four years,” said Mr. Granger, “but I
hadn't stepped a foot outside of Dorchester until then. Mum didn't like me venturing too
far from home.”

Next to him, Hermione sat up straighter, almost as if she was uncomfortable with talk of her
father's mother. However, Harry dismissed the thought quickly, and he was quickly distracted as
Crookshanks tried to jump from his spot at Hermione's feet to where Hedwig's cage was in
the front seat. The cat purred loudly as Hermione pulled him into her lap, but Hedwig just
fluttered one of her wings eloquently. She seemed to look down at Hermione's pet.

“Where's mum? Her owl said she and Angelica would be at the train station,” said Hermione a
few minutes later. Harry had been looking out the window at the fleeting London streets.

“Your cousin Malcolm knocked out a tooth,” explained Mr. Granger, “so she went to the office to
deal with that, and she took Angelica with her. Uncle Mark promised he'd watch her.”

“Oh, okay,” said Hermione, glancing at Harry. He knew at once that for as easy as her tone had
been, she was relieved that her mother's absence had nothing to do with not wanting to see her.
The three lapsed into an easy chatter and the rest of the ride was uneventful.

* * *

When they turned onto Withenham Lane an hour later, Harry knew that Hermione hadn't been
kidding about her father's driving abilities. Still, he wasn't going to complain; they had
all arrived in one piece, and Mr. Granger had made a very conscientious effort to make Harry feel
welcome.

Number twelve Withenham Lane was very comparable to four Privet Drive in size, but there was a
completely different air about the Granger home. Harry couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but it
seemed much more welcoming than the Dursleys' ever had. While it was well kept, it didn't
have the same pretentious perfection and stark personality of his aunt and uncle's home. In
other words, it actually had the appearance of being lived in.

“Mum's not home yet,” observed Hermione as she stepped out of the car into the driveway.
Crookshanks leapt onto the pavement the moment she opened the door. He sat, and he seemed to know
that he was home. He looked at Hermione expectantly. “Go on, Crookshanks. You know the rules.”

With her words, the cat turned his head and tore behind the house. Mr. Granger just looked at
the cat in amusement, shaking his head. A few seconds later, he had disappeared into the house.

“He's not very fond of cats,” explained Hermione to Harry. “He doesn't approve of having
pets in the house, either, so poor Crookshanks has to spend all day cooped up in my room if he
doesn't want to go outside.”

“He doesn't seem to mind it,” said Harry, chuckling. “Do you mind if let Hedwig out to
stretch her wings?”

“Of course not,” said Hermione. “I think you're trying to avoid the subject. Why were you
laughing at me?”

“You treat Crookshanks like he's a person,” said Harry with a grin. He handed Hermione her
bag.

“He's a very special cat,” said Hermione defensively, and it only made Harry start laughing
again. He reached down to let Hedwig out of her cage.

“Don't be gone too long, girl,” Harry warned as she flew around in front of him for a few
minutes. He turned back to Hermione when the snowy white bird had flown off. “So...?”

“So,” repeated Hermione. She just looked into his eyes for a moment. “Thank you so much for
coming Harry. I don't know what mum's planning, but having you here will make it
bearable.”

“It's not a big deal,” said Harry awkwardly. She smiled at him, and she kissed his
cheek.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing his hand and leading him in the direction of the house. “I'll
show you where you'll be sleeping.”

* * *

Harry felt more at home in the guest bedroom at the Grangers' than he ever had back in his
bedroom at the Dursleys'. It faced the street with three large windows above a window seat. The
entire room was decorated in dark blues and whites, with the exception of two fluffy periwinkle
blue pillows on the window seat. There was also a stack of books on it, and Harry knew instantly
that Hermione spent a lot of time reading there. Besides the entrance of the room, there were two
doors: one open and one closed. The open door revealed a small closet, and Harry figured that the
closed door led into the bathroom.

“Will this be okay?” asked Hermione, and she walked absently toward the window seat, and, sure
enough, picked up the pillows and books. She looked up at Harry hopefully.

“Of course it will,” said Harry, dropping his bag on the floor and setting down Hedwig's
empty cage. He walked over to her. “You really don't need to worry so much about what I think.
I'm happy to be here, `Mione.”

“Until she arrives,” muttered Hermione. Harry noticed she clutched the pillows tightly to her
chest.

“Who? Your mum?” questioned Harry. “It won't be that bad, will it?”

“No,” said Hermione quickly. “Never mind. I'll tell you about it later.”

“I'll listen to you now,” offered Harry, touching her arm lightly.

“Later,” said Hermione firmly, and she started walking across the room. Harry followed her. She
put her hand on the closed door before pushing it open. “This is the bathroom, and my room connects
on the other side.”

As he followed her, Harry made a mental note to be very conscientious of knocking whenever he
used the bathroom for the next week. He was thankful that Hermione was walking ahead of him; a very
distinct blush rose to his cheeks as he thought of what had happened that morning.

The room on the other end of the bathroom was easily identifiable as Hermione's. The walls
had been sponge painted with a periwinkle blue color, and it matched the canopy on her bed. A
built-in bookcase stretched from the floor to the ceiling and covered almost an entire wall. The
entire thing was filled with books, and there were three large crates filled with more sitting in
the opposite corner. A very old rocking chair sat in another corner, and Hermione's desk was
immaculately kept.

“Very you,” observed Harry as Hermione tossed the pillows on her bed and stacked the books
neatly on her desk next to her computer. He eyed the bookcase for the second time. “You have a lot
of books.”

“You should see the basement,” said Hermione with a laugh. She had disappeared into her closet,
already unpacking her bag. Harry followed her, leaning in the doorway. “We have those built-in
bookcases all over the house because Dad and Mum also love to read. There isn't a book in the
house that one of us hasn't tackled.”

“So your family is coming for Easter,” said Harry casually a few minutes later.

“They are,” said Hermione, looking up as she took the last items out of her bag. She seemed to
look right through his calm exterior. “Don't be scared, Harry. You'll like my aunt and
uncle and cousins.”

“Yes, but will they like me?” questioned Harry. Hermione stood up, and she smiled at him.

“They're not the ones I'm worried about,” she said, and he looked at her blankly.
She'd been saying variations of the same thing all afternoon.

“When are you going to let me in on who's really going to hate me?” said Harry. Hermione
opened her mouth as if she was actually going to answer his question, but she was interrupted.

“Hermione! Harry! Come downstairs!” called Mr. Granger. “Mum and Angelica are home!”

Harry couldn't help but sigh as he followed Hermione back down the stairs. She stopped him
at the base and caught his eye.

“I'll tell you,” Hermione assured. “Don't worry. Then again, if this doesn't go
well, I won't need to.”

That made him feel better.

* * *

“Angelica!”

Mr. Granger was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a squirming baby dressed in a
blue jumper. Upon seeing her older sister, she stretched her arms out, and Hermione gladly accepted
her. Mr. Granger was beaming proudly at both his daughters as they walked into the kitchen
together.

“Accident would be a more appropriate name,” whispered Mr. Granger jokingly to Harry as they
followed behind Hermione, “but Angelica was the closest Hermione and Alice would allow.”

Harry laughed. Hermione had sat Angelica on the counter and was talking to her; the back door
was open, and Harry guessed that Mrs. Granger had stepped out in the yard for a moment. Sure
enough, she appeared a few seconds later, sliding the glass door shut behind her. She smiled warmly
when she saw her daughter and Harry, and one glance was enough for Harry to know which parent
Hermione favored. Still, despite her friendly smile, Mrs. Granger's tone sounded a little
strained.

“Hermione! It's always so good to see you,” she said, and they embraced awkwardly. Harry
stepped back, and Mr. Granger was shooting a concerned look at his wife and oldest daughter. Mrs.
Granger seemed to notice Harry at that moment. “It's nice to see you too, Harry.”

“You too,” said Harry awkwardly, but he smiled nevertheless. “Thank you for inviting me to stay
with you this week.”

“You needn't thank us,” reminded Mr. Granger. He seemed to look at his wife pointedly. “Our
home is always open to Hermione's friends.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Granger, scooping up the baby from the counter. She looked at Hermione
disapprovingly. “You shouldn't sit the baby there, Hermione. She's not old enough to know
not to crawl off.”

“I was holding her, Mum,” said Hermione, and she had been. Angelica simply clasped her hands
together and started to cry.

“Shh,” cooed Mrs. Granger. “You're sleepy, aren't you? You should have had your
afternoon nap ages ago!”

She was already fleeing in the direction of the stairs, and Harry remembered seeing the nursery
across the hall from the guest bedroom. Hermione was biting her lip, and Mr. Granger almost looked
agitated.

“Er,” he said at last, eyeing the teenagers. “She's not in the greatest spirit. I think
Malcolm tried to bite her.”

His eyes didn't seem to give the same message as his words, but there wasn't anything to
say about it. Hermione glanced between Harry and her father. Finally, Mr. Granger cleared his
throat again.

“I think we're going out for the evening,” he said, “because your mother wants to buy
something for Troy—Linda and Mark's latest—and claims she needs a pair of new shoes for
tomorrow. Is that all right?” When Hermione nodded, he turned to Harry and said kindly, “Do you
have any—er, Muggle—clothing, Harry? It'd probably be best for tomorrow to be as... normal as
possible.”

“Er,” said Harry nervously. In truth, he didn't have anything but Dudley's old pants and
shirts still, all of which he could probably fit in with Hermione and her father at the same time.
Hermione seemed to catch onto his nervousness.

“Don't worry,” assured Hermione. “I'll help you find something. I need to get a new
skirt and blouse myself.”

“Thanks,” said Harry. At about that moment, Mrs. Granger appeared a few feet from the doorway.
She didn't have Angelica, which obviously meant she'd put the baby down for a nap. She
started to turn sharply, as if she was going somewhere else, but Mr. Granger called her on it.

“Alice, why don't you come in here for a second? I know you want to get ready for the
evening, but I think there's something we need to discuss first.” He raised an eyebrow at
Hermione, and the look on his face said that neither she nor Hermione would be leaving until their
difference was settled.

* * *

“Maybe I should leave,” said Harry, a bit uncomfortably. He tugged at his shirt; he and Hermione
were both still wearing their Hogwarts uniforms, minus the robes. Hermione's eyes were pleading
with him, and Mr. Granger put his hand on Harry's shoulder a bit forcefully. He quietly took a
seat next to Hermione at the breakfast counter.

“Ned, please,” said Mrs. Granger. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Granger with a raised eyebrow. “I don't want to be out in public with the
two of you together until you've settled whatever difference has come between you. Honestly,
the two of you used to be so close, but it's almost been painful to be in the same room as the
two of you since this summer. Alice? Maybe you could start?”

“Oh, fine,” she stared at her daughter, and her expression shifted away from anger. She gave
Hermione a genuine smile. “I don't think this practice of witchcraft is such a good idea,
honey. It's just not normal. Wouldn't you be happier to come back home and attend the local
school?”

“No,” said Hermione softly. “I love Hogwarts, Mum.”

“I don't,” muttered Mrs. Granger. She looked at her husband pleadingly. “It's not so
much all the witchcraft and wizardry, but—well, yes, it is. You're so smart, Hermione, why
waste all that? It wouldn't be too late to enroll you in school, and you'd be caught up in
no time. You've always had such excellent grades; you wouldn't have any trouble getting in
the university of your choice.”

“I don't want to go to a Muggle university,” said Hermione.

“There isn't any higher education in that world, though!” exclaimed Mrs. Granger. “How do
you plan to succeed in life?”

“There is too,” said Hermione defensively. “There is one wizarding institute in America for
graduate work, but it isn't needed. I'll leave Hogwarts a fully qualified witch.”

Mrs. Granger grew quiet for a second. Harry and Mr. Granger had both scooted away from the
debate. “It's so unusual, dear. I'm sure your father agrees with me in saying that it would
be wonderful if you'd come home. Like I said, it wouldn't be too late to start your regular
education again. Remember when you were little? You used to say you wanted to be a dentist like
your father and I!”

“Mum, I wanted to be a princess,” said Hermione almost impatiently, “and an astronaut, a writer,
a ballerina...”

Mr. Granger chuckled, and he stepped closer to his wife. “I can't disagree with your mother
in saying it would be wonderful if you were home more often,” he said, “but I want you to do what
you really love. I also want you to be safe, which is part of the reason I wanted to have this
talk—”

“We've gotten so many messages from Professor Dumbledore this year, Hermione,” interrupted
Mrs. Granger. “It's worrisome having you so far away in so much trouble!”

“Mum, Hogwarts is perfectly safe!” said Hermione. She looked to Harry to back her up.

“Er, she's right,” said Harry hesitantly, not because he didn't believe what he was
saying but because he was afraid of angering Mrs. Granger. “Hogwarts is one of the safest places
within the wizarding world. Hermione could have gotten into a bit of trouble anywhere—any one of us
could have.”

Mr. Granger looked satisfied, but Mrs. Granger bit her lip. “Hermione,” she said, and Harry knew
she was going to try one last time. “Please, this isn't natural...”

“It is too! It's perfectly natural! I'm a witch, Mum!” exclaimed Hermione. “I'll
always be a witch. You can take me out of Hogwarts and force me to go to a Muggle school, but
I'll always be a witch. You never had a problem with it before, but now you do!”

“Dear, I'm just not sure if it's the best thing for Angelica to grow up around,” said
Mrs. Granger, and Harry put his hand on Hermione's arm. “Your grandmother gave me a lot to
think about when I was—”

“I should have known Grandma Granger had something to do with this!” burst Hermione, and she
nearly jumped off her stool. Suddenly, she reddened, “I'm sorry, Daddy.”

“Mum had something to do with this,” repeated Mr. Granger. He looked down at his wife.
“Didn't she?”

“She just made a good point,” said Mrs. Granger lightly. “You have to admit—”

“Dear, you've had precious few good things to say about my mother over the years,” said Mr.
Granger, “and I find it hard to believe that's changing now. I know Mum is a very persuasive
person, but she's also very set in her ways. You know that as well as I do.”

Mrs. Granger was starting to look very small. She blinked a few times, and she reached out and
grabbed her daughter's hand. The last trace of anger and upset disappeared from her face, and
she smiled very openly.

“I'm sorry, Hermione,” said Mrs. Granger. “I'm sorry I doubted you. I just want you to
do whatever makes you happy.”

“That's Hogwarts,” said Hermione, and Harry dropped his hand from her arm. He didn't
need to worry about her jumping at her mother anymore. Slowly, her face broke into a grin.

And so did Mrs. Granger's. “Let's see how the rest of the term goes,” she said softly.
“I'm still a little concerned about your safety.”

“Hermione's old enough to make her own decisions and watch out for herself,” said Mr.
Granger. He wrapped his arm around his wife. “Now, who's ready for dinner and shopping?”

* * *

There was a knock at the guest bedroom door. Harry eyed his reflection in the mirror one last
time before crossing the room to open the door. He sighed as he fingered the back of his hair. It
was no use; the unruly black strands just popped out of place when he pulled his hand back. Harry
sighed again, adjusting his glasses and tugging the collar of his Muggle shirt, and he let Hermione
in.

She looked much different than usual. Harry was used to seeing her in robes, whether for
ordinary or formal occasion. Now, Hermione was wearing a light blue blouse and skirt. Her hair fell
in the same loose curls it had for the Christmas Dance.

“You look beautiful, Hermione,” said Harry, and she pushed past him to the mirror.

“Thank you said Hermione absently. She wore an anxious expression. You can't see it,
right?”

“Can't see what?” pressed Harry, confused.

“My—my scars. From the Forveret Bursen,” stammered Hermione. She lowered her voice. “They—my
family—don't know just how bad it was.”

Harry understood at once. If he parents and relatives knew how much she'd endured over the
last seven and a half months, they would most certainly reconsider their decision to let her return
to Hogwarts at the end of the week. Harry touched her arm reassuringly.

“You look beautiful,” he repeated, “and no, I can't see any of your burns.”

Hermione smiled gratefully. “You look hand—nice,” she said, though her hands had already moved
to straighten his tie and attempt to smooth his hair.

“I'm—er, not used to dressing up like this,” admitted Harry, and Hermione frowned.

“What?” she said a bit angrily. “Was it just easier for the Dursleys to lock you up in the
cupboard than buy you something nice to wear when they had company?”

“Er, not really,” said Harry, but he gulped. Hermione was exactly right. She stepped back and
sighed, removing her fingers from Harry's hair.

“I think most of my relatives would be politer than mentioning your hair,” said Hermione, still
eyeing Harry, “but if any one of them would say anything, I invite them to tame it.”

“It's really not that bad, right?” said Harry hopefully. Hermione kissed his cheek.

“Of course not,” she said sincerely. “It's just part of you, Harry. It's actually rather
cute.”

Harry blushed furiously, mumbling a brief thanks, and he was thankful when they were interrupted
by the doorbell downstairs.

“Come on,” said Hermione, tugging his arm. “I apologize in advance if they scare you at
all.”

They were on the stairs. “They won't,” assured Harry. The words were no sooner out of his
mouth than a towheaded boy appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hermione!” he squealed, throwing his arms around her and nearly making her fall back into
Harry. The boy didn't look any older than four or five.

“Mikolas!” exclaimed Hermione as she caught her balance on the railing. “You shouldn't jump
on someone as they're walking down the stairs!”

“I'm sorry, Hermione!” said the little boy quickly. They had reached the bottom of the
staircase. Harry could hear voices coming from the entryway. Suddenly, Mikolas, who was still
hugging Hermione, caught sight of Harry and hid his face against Hermione.

“Who's he?” asked Mikolas shyly.

“Him?” questioned Hermione, gesturing to Harry. “This is my friend Harry. We go to school
together. Harry, this is my cousin Mikolas.”

Mikolas still eyed Harry shyly, but he stuck his hand out. “How old are you?” he asked, holding
up four fingers. “I'm four, but I'll be five in two weeks!”

Harry chuckled. “I'm fifteen,” he said.

“Wow,” Mikolas breathed. “Hermione's fifteen, too. You're both a lot older than me!”

Both Harry and Hermione laughed, and Mikolas kissed his cousin's cheek. “I'm going to go
see Aunt Alice and Uncle Ned now!” he exclaimed before dashing off.

Harry smiled as he looked at Hermione underneath a raised eyebrow. “So far your family seems
nice enough.”

The two walked toward the kitchen, and he heard more laughing and talking. In addition to
Hermione's parents and Mikolas, five blonds, ranging in age from newborn to middle age were
gathered in the room.

“These are the McGregors,” explained Hermione. “They're my mum's sister's family,
and their numbers put even the Weasley's to shame.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Harry understood Hermione's comment as a second car full of McGregors
arrived. Harry stood in the corner with Hermione, amazed.

“You didn't believe me, did you,” whispered Hermione, and Harry shook his head. She grinned.
“There are eleven of them—Aunt Linda and Uncle Mark, and of course Mikolas. Peter is their oldest
son; he's eighteen; then there's Annmarie, and she's about our age. Then there are
Julius, Malcolm, and Elisabeth. Mikolas fits in between her and the twins, Naomi and Nicole.
Finally, there's Troy, and he was only born a few weeks—”

Hermione had lost Harry in the sea of names and ages long before she was interrupted by a
booming voice.

“Hermione!” bellowed a large man with a thick beard. He was even bigger than her father, and he
also had an accent.

“It's good to see my niece,” he was saying. “What are you doing over here in the corner? You
haven't seen us since Christmas! I can see you haven't grown an inch since then, either,”
he chuckled. “Maybe we'll just have another short one in the family—now, who's this?”

Hermione looped her arm through Harry's. “This is my friend, Harry Potter,” she said. “We go
to school together. I'm sure Mum told you he was coming?”

“Ah, yes,” said Mr. McGregor, stroking his beard before thrusting his hand forward. He gave
Harry such a vigorous handshake that Harry thought his arm would be ripped straight off. “Mark
McGregor. Pleased to meet you, son.”

“You too, sir,” managed Harry, wishing desperately to rub his shoulder. Hermione grinned as her
uncle walked away, rubbing Harry's shoulder for him.

“Uncle Mark is American,” said Hermione. “He played football with Dad at university. He really
doesn't mean any harm. He's just a bit overenthusiastic.”

Harry nodded grimly. “They seem nice enough,” he repeated. “I still don't know what you
warned me for.”

“You'll see,” said Hermione darkly. There was a moment of silence, and then her face
brightened. She kissed Harry's cheek quickly.

“I'll be right back,” said Hermione. Before he knew what was happened, she had disappeared
in the direction of a plump blond woman that Harry couldn't help but like to Mrs. Weasley. He
looked around, caught in a sea of McGregors.

“You must be Harry.”

Harry turned around to see a tall, lanky boy offering his hand. He must have had a startled
expression on his face because the boy chuckled at Harry.

“Don't be scared, lad,” he advised, “though I would be if I was the bloke standing alone in
the middle of a Granger-McGregor reunion. I'm Peter McGregor, Hermione's cousin.”

Harry shook his hand, feeling fortunate that Peter didn't have his father's death grip.
“Harry Potter,” he said. “I'm just one of Hermione's friends.”

“I know,” said Peter, leaning against the counter next to Harry. “We all knew you were coming.
Mum warned us all to be on our best behavior. I believe it was mostly for Julius and Malcolm's
benefit—” he gestured to two boys, both younger than Harry, who were chasing around a younger girl,
presumably their sister. “Leave Elisabeth alone, you two!” He grinned apologetically at Harry. “Do
you have any siblings?”

“No,” said Harry. “I'm an only child.”

“I'll give you a few of mine,” offered Peter, cringing as Mikolas tore in front of them and
stepped on Peter's foot. “It's nice being away to university, though it took me a while to
get used to the peace and quiet!”

Harry was about to ask him where he went to school when a girl of about Hermione's age and
height appeared carrying a dozing toddler.

“Hey sis,” said Peter.

“Hey Peter,” handing him the little girl. Harry figured it was one of the twins Hermione had
mentioned. She gave him a warm smile. “I'm Annmarie. You must be Harry. I hope Peter hasn't
started in with horror stories about our family. We really aren't bad, just... numerous.”

Harry couldn't argue with that. “No, no horror stories,” said Harry with a smile.

“That's a relief,” said Annmarie, and she glanced to her mother and Mrs. Granger. Hermione
was also over there, playing with a baby. “Honestly, after all the time Mum spent in the car
warning us...” Annmarie shook her head.

“What are you talking about?” said Harry, bewildered.

“Oh, you haven't heard?” said Peter with a chuckle, clapping Harry on the back. “Mum and
Aunt Alice nearly have your and Hermione's wedding planned!”

Harry blushed scarlet, about to protest. However, Annmarie had already started to talk.

“Oh, pay him no mind,” she commented. “All my brothers, every one of them, are practical jokers.
And Mum, she's just a hopeless romantic. I understand you and Hermione are only friends.”

“Yes, I do too,” said Peter. “I was just joking with you, Harry.”

“We are,” said Harry anyway. He was nearly thrown off balance by a tiny girl who looked to be
seven or eight. Her eyes grew wide when she saw him.

“Oh! I'm so sorry!” she stammered. “Hi! My name's Elisabeth. Are you Hermie's
friend?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “I am. My name's Harry. It's nice to meet you, Elisabeth.”

The little girl was still staring at him, awestruck. Her older siblings were laughing
uncontrollably. She glared at them. “Malcolm says—” Elisabeth blushed and lowered her voice. “He
says you're a wizard! Are you?”

Harry looked nervously from Annmarie to Peter. Did they all know about Hogwarts? They must have
because Peter nodded at him.

“Er, yes, I am,” said Harry, and Elisabeth gasped.

“Hermione's a witch!” she blurted, blushing again. “I don't like witches. They scare me.
Hermione's really nice, though, so I like her.”

One of her brothers burst in at that moment, and Elisabeth took off running from him before
Harry had a chance to answer. He looked at Peter and Annmarie uncertainly again.

“Don't worry,” said Peter. “We all already know.”

“The little ones understand they're not allowed to talk about it outside of the family,”
added Annmarie, “so you needn't worry. We, at least, are proud to have a witch in the
family!”

Harry was about to ask about the at least part when he was interrupted once again. This time, it
was Hermione.

“Annmarie! Peter!” she called, hugging them both before returning to Harry's side. “I'm
sorry about that. I just wanted to say hello to Aunt Linda, and I hadn't met Troy yet. I see
you've met my cousins, yes?”

“A few of them,” said Harry with a lopsided grin.

“There are an awful lot of us!” exclaimed Annmarie. She was holding her sleeping sister
again.

At that moment, the doorbell rang again, and Harry met Hermione's maternal grandparents, her
widowed uncle, and his eleven-year-old daughter, Sasha. Harry was really starting to enjoy himself.
Everyone had made him to feel welcome, and he loved to see Hermione happy after all the pain and
heartache she'd suffered through in the last few months. He'd forgotten about her ominous
attitude of earlier when the doorbell rang again. Hermione paled.

“Is something wrong?” whispered Harry.

“Er, no,” said Hermione, “nothing wrong. It's just Grandma Granger. Come on, Mum told me to
get the door when she came.”

Harry followed her to the front door, his happy mood fading. There had been something her tone
that made him feel more than a little uneasy. Hermione unlocked the door, and it swung open.

The first thing Harry noticed was the elderly woman's forced smile. The second was the large
black bible she held in one hand. Finally, she didn't have the same happy, twinkling blue eyes
as Mr. Granger. Hers were gray, and they were staring disapprovingly at Harry. He swallowed
hard.

“Happy Easter, Grandma,” said Hermione, and she hugged the older woman. She didn't return
her granddaughter's affection. “Grandma, I'd like you to meet someone. This is my friend,
Harry Potter. Harry, this is my Grandma Granger.”

She was still looking at him disapprovingly, but Harry smiled at the elder Mrs. Granger
anyway.

“It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Granger,” said Harry politely.

“It's Ms. Granger!” she snapped shaking her head. “Of course, I didn't expect any
manners to be taught at that *school* of yours.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am,” said Harry automatically.

“Humph,” said Ms. Granger, still glaring at him. “So what brings you here, Mr. Potter?”

“I invited him, Grandma,” explained Hermione quickly. She got the same disapproving look as
Harry.

“I asked Harry,” said Ms. Granger coolly. “Isn't your own family celebrating this year?”

“Er, no,” said Harry. “Both my parents are deceased.”

“An orphan? Unfortunate.” She didn't seem very upset. “How long has it been?”

“Almost fifteen years,” said Harry softly. “I was just a baby when they passed away.”

“An accident, then?”

“Of sorts,” said Harry, feeling very uncomfortably. Hermione was sending him apologetic
glances.

“Very well,” said Ms. Granger. “And what sort were they?”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” said Harry, but he knew full well where she was going with
this. Many things began clicking into place.

“I mean,” said Ms. Granger, “to know if they were normal or if they were of the other sort. The
sort engaging in the same nonsense as the two of you. A witch and a wizard?”

Harry wasn't about to lie and dishonor his parents, their deaths, and his kind. “Yes, my
mother was a witch and my father a wizard.”

“How long did you say it's been? Fourteen years? Very tragic.”

Ms. Granger didn't sound the least bit sorry.

* * *

Harry's good mood had departed the moment Ms. Granger had arrived. Her words had cut more
deeply than he was willing to admit, and he no longer felt comfortable around Hermione's other
relatives. He couldn't help but feel relieved when they began to leave; Hermione's maternal
grandparents were the first to go, along with her uncle and Sasha. They had left right after
dinner, but the McGregors and Ms. Granger stayed on.

Dinner had been even worse than the scene in the entryway, and it had nothing to do with the
food. Harry's stomach had began to turn at the moment Ms. Granger suggested that they pray
before they ate, and it had flipped over completely when she asked to lead. She made a great show
of asking the Lord for his forgiveness on behalf of her granddaughter's “many sins.” Harry had
lost his appetite completely when she finished and looked up at him darkly. Hermione had squeezed
his hand under the table and sent him many more sincerely apologetic looks. She'd apologized to
him every time they'd gotten a moment alone, and, even though he assured her it wasn't her
fault, he still knew she felt awful.

Now, the McGregors were starting to leave, and Harry actually found him wishing they could stay
longer. He'd hit it off fairly well with Peter; the older boy seemed to loathe Ms. Granger as
much as Harry wanted to. Even so, Harry hung back as Hermione hugged her younger cousins. Mr.
McGregor had to pry Mikolas off her.

“It's been good seeing you, Hermione,” he said warmly, hugging his niece with one arm,
picking Mikolas up with the other. He straightened, shaking Harry's hand again. “It was nice
meeting you, too, Harry.” Then, he bent down again and said quietly, “Don't let anything she
said about the two of you take any root. She's always been a meddlesome old bat, if you ask me.
I'm proud of the two of you. Take care.”

Mr. McGregor winked, smiling at them as his walked out the front door. Mrs. McGregor also had
kind words for them, as well as hugs for both teenagers.

“He's right you know,” she said hastily, “even though I don't approve of calling anyone
an old bat. I just wanted you to know, Harry, that you're welcome at our home anytime. Do take
care, both of you.”

“Crazier than a loon,” muttered Peter. He clapped Harry on the back. “Come again, Harry.
I'll see you this summer, Herms. Have a good term.”

And with that, the last McGregor was out the door. Mr. Granger had gone out onto the driveway to
talk to Uncle Mark on his way out, and Hermione's mother and grandmother retreated back into
the kitchen. Angelica had already been put down for her nap.

“Fools, that's what they are,” Ms. Granger was saying from the kitchen. From the entryway,
Harry heard her tap her fingers rapidly against the countertop. “Honestly, Alice, I know she's
your sister, but there isn't a single parallel between the two of you. All those children, and
that Peter! To have a child of eighteen years and a marriage of seventeen is a very clear sin! Do
they not care what others think? Do they not care what the Lord thinks?”

“Oh, Mum,” said Mrs. Granger, “we were all young once. Surely it's been long enough to look
beyond any of those old mistakes—”

“I regret nothing more than I regret my youth,” said the elder woman sharply, and the sound of
shuffling feet could be heard on the hardwood floor. “It's a shame to regret, Alice, a shame.
It's not too late for Hermione, you know, not if you stop this nonsense now. I've prayed
for her. She can be forgiven.”

“I don't want to hear this,” said Hermione suddenly. Harry stopped listening to the
conversation in the kitchen. “She won't leave for a while. Do you want to go upstairs?”

“Sure,” said Harry. Hermione was already on the steps, taking them so quickly that Harry was
sure she would trip.

* * *

“She's insufferable!” exclaimed Hermione a few minutes later. She drew her knees into her
chest. They had both changed from their nice outfits into casual clothes and were sitting on the
window seat in the guest bedroom.

“Tell me about her,” said Harry, letting out a deep breath. He ran a hand through his untidy
hair. “I get the feeling she doesn't think too highly of us.”

“You noticed?” said Hermione sarcastically, and then her expression changed completely. “Oh
Harry, I'm so sorry. I'm just sitting here, complaining, when it was you that she was so
horrid—”

“At least I don't have to be related to her,” said Harry gently, interrupting. He touched
her arm kindly. “I know she lived with you when you were younger. How did you—and your father, for
that matter—turn out so normal?”

“Normal? I'm a witch!” said Hermione, which made Harry laugh. She shrugged. “I don't
really know. She's always been very religious, but it's not so noticeable when she
isn't opposed to something. When she lived here, she acted like a nanny to me, and she used to
read from a children's bible to me for an hour each day. We never missed a Sunday church
service, but other then that, she was just a typical Muggle grandmother.”

“Why'd she come live with you?”

“My parents were older when I was born,” said Hermione, “but don't tell them I said
that—Mum's thirty-five indefinitely if anyone asks. Anyway, they were both professionals, and
they couldn't be at home with me as much as they wanted, but they didn't want to hire a
stranger to look after me. Eventually, as peculiar as she could be at times, Mum and Dad decided it
couldn't hurt any to have her care for me during the day. The daily commute got to be too much
for her, so she simply moved in.”

Harry nodded. “Dudley had a nanny of sorts,” he reflected. “She'd come over when Aunt
Petunia was going somewhere that Dudley couldn't come with her. She'd play with him and
fatten him up with even more sweets than Aunt Petunia.”

“What did they do with you?” inquired Hermione. Her eyes were flashing, and he knew how greatly
she disapproved of the Dursleys. Now that he had met her grandmother, he knew that she was one of
the few people that could relate to having a relative that despised magic.

“Sent me to Mrs. Figg,” said Harry with a shrug. “She lived a few houses down on Privet Drive
and had a lot of cats. You could say she was a bit insane, but looking back, I think she might have
just been lonely.”

Hermione looked like she was caught between giggling at the idea of Harry's crazy elderly
neighbor and scolding the Dursleys for their behavior toward Harry. She had brought a pillow from
her room, and she clutched it tightly.

“I don't think Grandma was always like this. She's never been much for smiling, at least
not in the years I've known her,” said Hermione, “or when Dad was growing up, but I've seen
pictures of her when she was in her late teens, and I don't think I've ever seen someone so
happy.”

“Then what happened?” asked Harry. He tried to imagine the woman downstairs smiling, and he
found it impossible. Hermione seemed to think the same thing because she shrugged again.

“I don't know,” said Hermione. “I think it might have been when Grandpa died.”

“Oh,” said Harry, and it suddenly dawned on him that she would have been married at one point or
another.

“It was a long time ago, long before I was born. Dad doesn't even remember his father,”
explained Hermione quickly. “Grandma wouldn't talk about him when he was growing up. My dad
knows little more about his father than his name, Albert Daugherty. Grandma won't even show Dad
pictures. She says it's too painful.”

“Oh,” said Harry again. Hermione smiled at him, and she reached her hand out to him.

“Let's not talk about her,” she said. “What did you think about the McGregors?”

“They're quite a crowd,” said Harry. He was trying to put into words what he'd thought
of each of them, but he was interrupted by a cry from the room across the hall. Hermione started to
stand, but she stopped when she heard the stairs creak. Angelica's cries ceased a few seconds
later. However, that wasn't the last thing Harry and Hermione heard. There were footsteps on
the stairs again, but they stopped suddenly.

“Alice! Come up here right now!” called Ms. Granger. She sounded frantic.

“Mildred! What's wrong? Did something happen to the baby?” Hermione's mother seemed very
startled as she ran up the stairs. Hermione stood and started to make for the door.

“Of course not,” snapped Ms. Granger. “It's that!”

“A closed door?” Mrs. Granger sounded puzzled.

“That's right!” said Ms. Granger. “A closed door! Isn't the nonsense Hermione engages in
already enough?”

“Excuse me?”

“That boy!” spat Ms. Granger. “She's in there, alone, with that boy! Can you even imagine
the things they must be doing?”

“Mildred, Hermione and Harry are merely friends,” said Mrs. Granger calmly.

“You encourage it!” shrieked the old woman, and Harry had to resist the urge to cover his ears.
The footsteps had started again, and he knew they were approaching the door to the guest bedroom.
It swung open a few seconds later. Ms. Granger was fuming.

“See?” said Mrs. Granger pointedly. “Hey, kids. Are you two okay?”

“Just fine, Mum,” said Hermione. It sounded forced, and Harry noticed she was averting her eyes
from her grandmother.

“Harry?” prompted Mrs. Granger. She was now frowning at the elderly woman.

“I'm fine, Mrs. Granger,” said Harry politely. “I don't think I ever thanked you for
dinner, though. It was excellent.”

Mrs. Granger beamed, shutting the door. She wasn't fast enough, though, because both Harry
and Hermione caught sight of Ms. Granger's hateful expression.

* * *

That night, Harry found it difficult to sleep. He and Hermione had not discussed anything
further after her grandmother had made issue about the closed door. They ended up playing five
straight games of wizard's chess in her room before rushing downstairs at Mrs. Granger's
terrified screams. Harry had been sure she was being murdered and was quite relieved to hear that a
stray had just hopped the fence into their yard. Apparently, dogs really spooked her.

Ms. Granger left shortly after, and Harry began to enjoy himself again. Mr. Granger fixed sugar
free ice cream sundaes for the family, and then Harry had studied while Hermione and her mother
gave Angelica a bath. They had ended up outside after that, sitting together on the porch swing.
Hermione had rested her head against his shoulder, and they had talked for a long time about
nothing in particular. It was easily Harry's favorite memory of his time at the Grangers'
so far.

It was late when they had finally gone upstairs again, and Harry had been sure he would fall
right asleep. According to the digital clock at his bedside, that had been an hour ago, and Harry
was even farther from sleep than he had been then. He had a lot on his mind, and none of it was
anything he really wanted to think about. He rolled over and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, he had successfully started to drift off, but he was awakened. There had
been a pop and then a whisper, followed by a very muffled scream. Harry sat straight up in bed. He
located his glasses in the dark and was in Hermione's room a second later.

Sure enough, she wasn't alone. The look on her face reflected both confusion and
astonishment, and Harry's eyes settled on the other person in the room.

“Sirius?”

“It's good to see you again, Harry,” said Sirius warmly. He wore an exhausted expression,
but he grinned at the sight of his godson.

“Wh—what are you doing here?” stammered Harry. He added hastily, “Not that it isn't good to
see you.”

Sirius chuckled. “I've been trying to reach you for days. I went to Hogwarts first, early
yesterday morning, but you weren't there. Remus said he'd thought you went home with
Ron.”

“Ron's in Belgium,” said Hermione. She had pulled back the canopy on her bed and sat back
down. Harry sat down next to her, but Sirius still stood a few paces away.

“I know,” said Sirius, grimacing. “I Apparated into the living room of a very nice apartment—and
right on top of Percy Weasley. Needless to say, he was a bit surprised to see me. Ron somehow
convinced him I wasn't a deranged criminal and told me where I could find you.

“I'd had it with Apparation, so I transformed into Padfoot as soon as I reached Dorchester.
I didn't mean to startle you, Hermione, by Apparating into your bedroom, but your mother chased
me away with a broom earlier, and I figured I had little choice in the matter.”

Harry laughed, and Hermione exclaimed, “So it was you! I didn't think it was anything but an
ordinary stray! Mum's just *terrified* of dogs. A neighbor's dog bit her when she was
little, and she's hated them ever since.”

“I'll keep that in mind if I have to pay you a visit here in the future,” chuckled Sirius.
He summoned the chair from her desk and sat down. “I'm sure you're eager to know why
I'm here.”

Harry nodded earnestly, as did Hermione. Sirius took a deep breath, and he withdrew something
from his pocket. It was a piece of parchment.

“The Ten Smokes of Brilliance?” asked Sirius with a raised eyebrow.

“Er, yes,” said Harry quickly. He suddenly felt very numb. “What about them?”

“I received this own from Remus,” said Sirius. “He wrote that you asked him about the Ten Smokes
of Brilliance when he talked to you several days ago. What do you know about them, Harry?”

“I know that they're a powerful form of Dark Magic,” said Harry slowly.

“How did you find out about them?” demanded Sirius. The look on his face was foreign, bordering
on anger, but it was also of great concern.

“I read something about them when I was working on my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay,” said
Hermione softly.

“Why share them with Harry?” pressed Sirius. Hermione's eyes found Harry's in the
darkness. Wordlessly, a decision was made. They had resolved not to tell anyone about Malfoy's
story, and that even included Sirius.

“I just thought it was interesting, that's all,” said Hermione. She sounded very small.
Sirius's eyes flashed; Harry had never seen him look so disturbed.

“Remus also said you've been awfully keen about your essays,” said Sirius. “He decided to
talk to Madam Pince about the two of you and Ron. It seems that you've been researching a lot
more than your subjects lately. What are you looking for?”

“I've just been looking up things about the Dark Scar I didn't understand,” suggested
Harry. He hoped it sounded convincing. At his side, Hermione nodded seriously.

“Harry,” said Sirius softly, “I'm not as dumb as you might think. Neither is Remus.
We're both capable of putting two and two together.”

“Well,” said Harry, squirming uncomfortably, “we're just interested in knowing more about
all that's happened at Hogwarts this year.”

Sirius's eyes flashed. “Dumbledore is handling those matters already,” he said flatly. “It
is not for you to be concerned about.”

“We're just curious,” said Hermione bravely. This time, Harry did the earnest nodding, but
he stopped suddenly, startled. Something had moved behind him. Much to his relief, Crookshanks
crawled out of the covers pushed to the foot of Hermione's bed. He leapt to the floor and
walked to Sirius.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” said Sirius, looking pointedly at Crookshanks. The cat froze in
place, his yellow eyes focused on Harry and Hermione. Neither he nor Sirius blinked.

“This—everything that has gone on—is not for you to be concerned about,” repeated Sirius.
“Dumbledore—”

“But Dumbledore isn't doing anything about it!” exclaimed Hermione. Harry could tell she
couldn't help herself.

“Dumbledore knows best,” said Sirius, continuing as if he hadn't been interrupted. “He is
yet to be wrong in his decisions. You need to trust his good judgment and not interfere.”

“We're not interfering!” protested Harry. Sirius looked at him, his tired face worried.

“You might not be interfering,” he said, “but you are putting yourself at risk.”

The monotone disappeared. Sirius almost sounded desperate. Harry bit his lip.

“If Dumbledore is handling it,” he reasoned, “then there isn't any harm in learning.
It's just that—learning.”

“No!” barked Sirius. Harry was stunned at the exclamation, and Hermione recoiled next to him.
Sirius's face softened, but it had been enough. Harry knew that he, Ron, and Hermione
weren't the only ones doubting Dumbledore at the moment.

“You aren't to pursue it any farther,” said Sirius firmly. “There is nothing that you can
do.”

“Sirius—” said Hermione, and she stopped. Harry looked at her questioningly. He wasn't going
to hold his tongue.

“Dumbledore isn't doing anything about it,” said Harry, anger rising from the pit of his
stomach. “I think we'd know if he was. If he's not going to do something about it, then
someone has to!”

“Someone already is!” barked Sirius. “Again, you aren't to pursue it any farther!”

“Why not?” pressed Harry. He knew what kind of nerves he would hit with his next statement. “I
thought you were supposed to be against Voldemort. How can you be against something if you
aren't willing to fight it? Standing back and watching it happen is almost as bad as helping it
along!”

“Harry,” said Sirius weakly. He looked defeated. Then, his eyes grew very cold. He stared at
Harry.

“I am fighting Voldemort,” said Sirius darkly. “I have always fought against Voldemort. I've
been fighting him for longer than you've been alive, Harry, and it is not your place to tell me
what to do. Legally, I am the guardian of you, an underage wizard. I forbid you to pursue this
further!”

“I'm sorry,” muttered Harry.

“I don't want to be harsh,” said Sirius, and Harry realized that tears had formed in his
eyes. He looked up, almost as if he were reminiscing. Finally, he leveled his gaze at Harry once
more. He sounded pained.

“Sixteen years ago,” he said hollowly. “Sixteen years ago, give or take a few days, Voldemort
launched the most brutal attack of his first reign. It went on for nearly a week—small raids on
Muggle towns, attacks on wizards he knew didn't support him. On the first night alone, the
death toll was twenty-six—an entire street full of Muggles killed. It became to be known by the
name of the town, `what happed at Waterford,' they'd say, but it wasn't just Muggles
killed.

“We—the old crowd—lost four of our own. The McKinnons and the Bones. Your mother—” said Sirius.
The pain on his face was obvious. “Your mother, Harry, was almost six months pregnant with you. On
Dumbledore's orders, she had left Britain. We knew, even then, that your parents were targets.
James stayed behind, and I went with your mother to look out for her. He was in Waterford that
night, Harry. He was with the Bones and McKinnons just before their deaths. He had left just before
the Death Eaters arrived.

“It took several weeks to sort out, but it became obvious that all four wizards that lost their
lives that night refused to give information about James and Lily's locations. It was James, as
Dumbledore's direct contact with the resistance, which Voldemort wanted dead. He wasn't
stupid—he still isn't—he knew he couldn't get to Dumbledore. He must have felt that the
resistance would have fallen apart without James to lead it.

“We know now that your mother wasn't a target,” said Sirius, “but we didn't know it
then. The reason she'd left the country in the first place was because she'd nearly been
killed in a raid. The Death Eaters must have wanted to kill you, even before you were born.”

“What does this have to do with what's happening now?” Harry couldn't help but ask.

“I was with your mother in the days following that attack,” said Sirius heavily. “At first, we
didn't know James had escaped. No body had been found, but we knew he had been there. Your
mother was terrified. The love between your parents was like no other, Harry, and the love they
already had for you was extraordinary. She didn't want you to grow up without a father. She
didn't want to you to grow up in a world so plagued with war.

“I promised Lily something that night. I had already agreed to be your godfather. I think she
knew what it would eventually come to, that she and James had a limited amount of time left,
because she was very matter of fact in her wording.

*“Sirius, I understand that Voldemort is more powerful than any of us will ever dream to be.
Even if he is defeated, there will always be someone else willing to follow in his footsteps. The
Dark Side has never lacked for followers, and it will rise again someday. I don't want him to
know this life. I don't want him to know the constant fear, the lasting pain, and the unending
uncertainty. Let him grow up, Sirius. Let him make his own choices then, but lead him away from
this. Promise me he won't grow up in the middle of this as we did.”*

“I didn't like what she said, Harry. I didn't like thinking she and James might not live
to raise you themselves. I didn't like that she thought of our struggle as a war. I didn't
want to promise her, but I had to,” said Sirius, and he wiped his eyes. “We never spoke of it
again, not once, in that precious year and a half before they died. To this day, I don't know
if she ever told James. James and Remus and I were all smart, but we were nothing compared to Lily.
It might not even have been an issue of intelligence. She simply accepted what we could not. She
knew we were in the midst of a war, and she knew that not everyone would live to see its end. That
was all.”

Sirius looked very weary. The memory had made him age before Harry and Hermione's eyes.
Finally, he stood.

“By being imprisoned at Azkaban for so long, I bent that promise,” said Sirius. “I bent it again
when you were flung into the Triwizard Tournament. Now, I know Voldemort has risen again. To allow
you to do anything that would lead you into another encounter with him would be to break that
promise. Your mother died for you, Harry. To uphold her wishes is the least I can do. There's
precious little I can stop you from doing—I can only try dissuading you.”

Harry nodded numbly. He couldn't speak. His mind was plagued with thoughts of his parents.
He couldn't shake the sound of his mother's voice as she screamed at Voldemort to take her
instead of him, and he broke into a clammy sweat. He felt Hermione's warm hand touch his
arm.

“Okay,” said Harry, unsure what he was agreeing to. Sirius had taken several steps
backwards.

“Please, Harry,” he said. “You needn't be involved with this. Don't risk it.”

Sirius smiled thinly through his parting words, and he waved. Without further ado, he was gone,
Disapparated to an unknown location.

-->



17. Joseph Marks
----------------



Chapter Seventeen

JOSEPH MARKS

“You're good at that,” said the elderly Ms. Granger reluctantly. She paused in her own
activity and sounded very disappointed. “You've done it before.”

“Er, I have,” said Harry, unsure if he'd chosen the right response. She'd come over
early that morning when Mr. and Mrs. Granger had left for work. She was there to watch Angelica,
but she had been keeping a very close watch on Harry and Hermione as well. She felt the best way to
handle them was to put them to work. They'd cleaned, they'd cooked, they were baking still.
In an attempt to separate them, Harry had even been sent outside to do some yard work.

Hermione's grandma stopped her methodical cutting and peeling. Her latest task was cooking
dinner. She had Hermione measuring ingredient for biscuits and Harry peeling potatoes.

“Where? Don't tell me your kind doesn't have some kind of nonsense magic—” Ms. Granger
spat the word out as if it left a bad taste in her mouth (which upon recollection, Harry decided
that it probably had) “—to do such a mundane task for you. Hard work doesn't exactly seem to be
one of your greatest values.”

“I used to cook at my aunt and uncle's,” said Harry. He focused his energy on not getting
angry with the elderly woman. Instead, he began to peel the potatoes at an alarming rate, leaving
deep marks on the cutting board each time he diced one up. Hermione glanced up, alarmed.

“Humph,” muttered Ms. Granger. She still looked at him with contempt. “Why not use the nonsense
you practice? Isn't that what it's for?”

“They were Muggles,” said Harry, not bothering to substitute a “proper” term. He narrowly missed
chopping off the end of his finger. “They didn't want to be associated with anything...
abnormal.”

“And they associated with you?”

“Didn't have a choice in the matter,” said Harry. “They're the only relatives I
have.”

“Tragic,” said Ms. Granger, but a smile seemed to be playing on her lips. She went back to her
own cutting and peeling. “It's good to know that there are some decent folks out there with
good, clean values.”

“Decent folks?” said Hermione. Harry stopped, looking up. He'd never seen her look so angry.
“Do you know them?”

“Excuse me?” asked Ms. Granger absently. “I don't need to know them. I know they have their
ideals in the right place.”

“Of course,” said Hermione through clenched teeth. “Abuse is an ideal we should all hold
dear.”

* * *

“What was that all about?” demanded Harry. He forced himself to take a deep breath, forcing the
anger out of him. He wasn't angry with Hermione. He almost wanted to be, but he didn't have
it in him.

All through dinner, Ms. Granger had been eyeing him like he had three heads. She'd gone off
on the wizarding world no fewer than fifteen times during the meal. Before that, she had started
complaining that neither Harry nor Hermione had a trace of respect.

“Your parents didn't raise you to be ungrateful,” she had barked to her granddaughter, “so I
can only assumed you've picked up that nasty habit at that nasty school of yours. Hand in hand,
isn't it? And you—” She'd waved her finger at Harry menacingly, and he was strongly
reminded of his Aunt Petunia. “—you obviously speak poorly about your relatives. The poor souls!
Even I wouldn't have had it in my heart to take such abnormality in my home.
*Respect*.”

After dinner, Harry and Hermione had retreated upstairs as soon as they had been excused.
She'd headed straight for her room, but Harry had decided to shower first. Angelica had decided
to fling a handful of mashed peas across the table. For a baby, she had great aim: Harry had green
goop in his hair for the rest of the meal. Now, he was standing in Hermione's doorway. She was
stretched out on her bed, the canopy drawn back on all sides. When she saw Harry, she looked up,
and slammed her reading material—the enormous grade five Standard Book of Spells—shut.

“What was what all about?” questioned Hermione. She sat up quickly, and Harry knew her question
was just to stall time. He sighed and crossed the room. She scooted over to make room for him on
the end of the bed.

“What you said to your grandmother about the Dursleys,” said Harry, “when we were preparing
dinner.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I told the truth, Harry. She was acting like they were the most
wonderful people on earth! What else was I supposed to do?”

Harry tightened his grip on one of the bed poles. “How did you know?” he said finally. Hermione
softened.

“I've always suspected it, Harry,” she said quietly. “There isn't much I'd put past
the Dursleys. They just seemed like that kind of people.”

“Seemed?” questioned Harry.

“I'm positive that they are now,” said Hermione, and she blushed. “I—I saw all those marks
on your back the other day, Harry, and I can only think of one thing that could have created
them.”

Harry felt himself reddening, and he averted his eyes. Hermione was looking at him with so much
concern that it made him feel guilty. She didn't need to be worried about him. She had more
than enough to deal with already.

“Yeah,” said Harry. He couldn't think of anything else to say. “It's not a big
deal.”

“Not a big deal?” said Hermione. She sounded very put out. “How can you say that, Harry? You
have to go live with them this summer! You can't go back to that! You should have said—”

“I'm not going back there this summer,” interrupted Harry. He smiled lightly. “They
don't want me back—they owled at Christmas just to tell me so. Ron's already said I could
stay at the Burrow.”

“Or you could stay here,” said Hermione, but she added quickly, “If you wanted to, of course. I
could see how the Burrow would be—”

“If your parents didn't mind,” said Harry, “I'd like that. Maybe I could spend half the
summer with you and half the summer with Ron.”

Hermione smiled, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. His hand found hers, and their
fingers intertwined. “How long has it been going on?” said Hermione quietly.

“As long as I can remember,” said Harry hesitantly. He reached up and pushed a loose hair away
from his eyes. It was getting a little longer that he would have liked, and he thought that he
might need to get it cut soon.

“And I'll bet he never touched a hair on Dudley's head,” said Hermione. She sounded
completely disgusted.

“Never,” said Harry. He shifted a little. “Let's not talk about it.”

“I'm sorry for bringing it up,” said Hermione sincerely. Harry smiled at her, and he cleared
his throat.

“What did you think of Sirius's visit last night?” he asked, changing the subject.

“He cares about you a lot, Harry,” said Hermione.

“And you don't think that could cloud his judgment?” said Harry. He quickly explained, “I
mean, I know he wouldn't lie about promising my mum, but he was so insistent—”

“I know what you mean, Harry,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “and I've considered the
possibility. Sleep wasn't any easier last night after he left than it was before.”

“Tell me about it,” muttered Harry, and he smiled at her. “Next time I'm having trouble
sleeping, I'll just come bother you.”

“Looking forward to it,” said Hermione. “I don't know—sometimes I think he goes out of his
way to protect you, Harry. It's obvious he blames himself for your parents' deaths, and he
always mentions how much you're like James. Maybe he feels that he can the past by protecting
you now.”

“He's my godfather, though,” said Harry, but he understood at once. He sighed. “I don't
want to go behind his back, but I'm not willing to just forget about it. If we just
research—without acting—is that so bad?”

“And nothing says it will amount to anything,” reasoned Hermione. She gently pulled her hand out
of his. “It's up to you, Harry.”

“Whether we keep going or not?” Hermione nodded. “Let's keep looking. There's no harm in
looking, right?”

“Right,” said Hermione. “No harm in looking,” she echoed.

“We'll be fine as long as we don't act on anything we find,” said Harry, “and we
probably won't find anything anyway.”

“So there's no problem,” said Hermione, finishing the circle of thoughts. There. That was
settled.

* * *

“...And the next thing I knew, Sirius was sitting on top of Percy, and one of the books in the
box he was carrying fell back down and nearly knocked him out!” Ron finished. He was regaling them
with the best moments of his vacation as the Hogwarts Express chugged furiously towards its
destination. “Of course, Sirius was lucky that ol' Perce wasn't capable of killing him on
the spot, but that's beside the point.”

Harry and Hermione laughed appreciatively, enjoying Ron's light-hearted stories. They'd
told him about Hermione's arduous grandmother and Sirius's visit, and Harry's
description of the many McGregors had made Ron start laughing about his own family. Now, they
listened intently to his account of the Weasleys' stay in Belgium.

Unlike Harry and Hermione's vacation tales, very little of what Ron said was serious. The
only thing he said that didn't lead to laughter was his description of Percy's new job at
the Ministry. It was highly secretive and very dangerous, as it even had Ron's easygoing older
brothers, Bill and Charlie, uncertain. Mr. Weasley refused to share any details about it with the
four younger children, and even Mrs. Weasley seemed in the dark as to what her son was doing.
Still, Ron had enough humorous stories to share that time wasn't lost on such
uncertainties.

For Harry, at least, it was a relief to sit back on the train and listen to Ron. He'd
enjoyed himself during his weeklong stay with Hermione, but there was a lot about it that he
didn't care to think about it. Ms. Granger had become more unbearable with each day of their
stay, and she seemed to think insulting their education at Hogwarts an acceptable practice.

There had been a few days early in the week that hadn't been very comfortable for Harry.
After their talk on Monday night, Harry had once again had trouble sleeping, but he hadn't
acted on his word and gone to Hermione. It dawned on him that she was aware of what he had kept
guarded for longer than he could remember. While it had been a bit unnerving at first, Harry
eventually realized that it was Hermione he was dealing with. He stopped worrying—as much.

And then there had been the events of the night before. Harry had resolved not to think about
it, but he was having trouble keeping that promise to himself. He still wasn't sure what to
make of it. He'd actually fallen asleep easily that night—his things were packed, and he was
ready to wake up early the next morning to head to King's Cross. When Hermione had started
screaming desperately, that had changed.

As of late, she still insisted it was nothing more than a simple nightmare, but Harry knew
better. He'd seen the intense fear and pain in her eyes, and it wasn't a memory that left
him quickly. Hermione's parents had also woken at her cries, and she had recoiled and shrieked
when her father and Harry had tried to approach her.

It was in that moment that Harry had begun to understand what effect that night in the forest
had had on her. Her parents, of course, didn't have the same knowledge that Harry had, and
remained puzzled. Hermione hadn't been able to explain her fright, and Mr. Granger had gone so
far to pull Harry aside when they reached the train station.

“Harry,” he had asked, rather hesitantly, “is there something going on with Hermione that we
should be aware of?”

Harry had lied. “Of course not, sir,” he had said. “At least, there's nothing that I'm
aware of. If you're talking about last night, I believe Hermione when she says she had a
nightmare. She wouldn't lie.” Harry had assured himself that this was strictly true. Hermione
had had a nightmare. He just hadn't let on about its source.

“If you say so,” said Mr. Granger reluctantly, and he looked at his daughter with a worried
expression. He'd turned to Harry with a pleading expression. “Harry, I know it sounds
ridiculous, but will you watch out for her? I'm just worried about my little girl.”

“I already do, sir,” Harry had responded sincerely. “Hermione's my best friend.”

“Keep it up then, will you?” said Mr. Granger. “And keep in touch, regardless. It was good
having you. You're always welcome at our home.”

Harry had had to go then. It was ten till eleven, and he and Hermione weren't even on the
platform yet. They were still coming and going from Platform Ten and One Half, and little
explanation had gone into the matter. Nevertheless, they had walked through the barrier and settled
into the same compartment on the scarlet steam engine as Ron. The best part of the next hour had
been spent catching up about vacation, which was what they were doing now. Ron was recounting the
final day in Belgium when the compartment door slid open. The three burly Slytherin boys that
entered brought back certain memories of three other Slytherins that had always interrupted their
trip in the past.

“Potter. Weasley,” sneered the shortest of the boys. It was Gregory Flint, and what he lacked in
height, he made up for in width.

“We thought we should get acquainted before next weekend,” said one of the other two boys. Harry
was pretty sure his name was Moon and that he was a Chaser. The three boys shoved roughly past
Hermione, shoving her into Ron.

“Watch it,” warned Harry. “Why are you here?”

“We're just expressing our hellos, Potter,” said the third boy. Unlike the other two, he
actually sounded like he might posses a brain somewhere within his oversized head. “We don't
want you to have any hard feelings after this weekend. Of course, I doubt you'll have
time—you'll be too busy mourning in the hospital wing, won't you? Haven't seen you
practicing as much as you did last year. Learned to fly yet, Weasley?”

“My broom was cursed,” spat Ron. His eyes flashed, and Harry saw him reach for his wand.

“Sure,” sneered Moon. “That's what they telled us, too, and we still stayed on our brooms.
You just can't fly.”

“Told,” corrected Hermione. “If you had paid attention, you would know that the curses put on
Harry and Ron's brooms were much stronger.”

The third one piped up again, and Harry finally remembered his name: Marks. “Sticking up for
your boyfriend, Mudblood?” He was studying his hand. “Of course, it's hard to tell which one of
them that is. From the way I hear it, you've been snogging both of them—”

“That's not true!” exclaimed Ron. As an afterthought, he added, “And don't call her
that!” He and Harry were standing on either side of Hermione, almost as if she would be protected
between them.

“What? Mad that you're not getting your fair share?” asked Marks. “I wouldn't be too
disappointed. You really should reconsider your choice in friends, Weasley. A pure-blood of any
type—even one as pathetic and inbred as you—shouldn't associate with Mudbloods and
half-bloods.”

“Don't insult my friends!” roared Ron. “*SENDROVUS*!”

The burst from Ron's wand blasted Marks against the wall. His cronies rushed to his
assistance, but he pushed them away. Harry couldn't help but think of the way Crabbe and Goyle
had always acted towards Malfoy. Marks looked furious.

“You'll pay for that, Weasley! *RICTUSEMPRA*!”

Marks was still a bit disoriented from his bounce off the wall, and the jet of silver light hit
Hermione, not Ron. She doubled over in pain, and Harry had to grab her arm to keep her from
falling. That was more then enough. The war was on. He and Ron retaliated at the same time;
Ron's Jelly-Legs Jinx hit Moon at the same time that Harry's Furnunculus curse hit Flint.
Hermione had recovered from Marks's blow, and he began to howl as boils popped up on his face.
He haphazardly started shooting spells out at no one in particular, and Harry began to choke as one
of them prevented him from breathing. Suddenly, there was a second opening of the compartment
door.

“*FINITE INCANTATEM*!”

Moon and Flint sprang back up, and Harry was very thankful that he was able to breath again.
However, the relieved feeling disappeared when he saw Snape standing against the wall of the
compartment. Harry's mind began to race. He didn't know why Snape was there, but he knew
that there would be hell to pay.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?” screamed Snape, turning red with fury. “This train is a
method of transportation, not a dueling arena! What are you doing?” No one dared speak, which just
angered Snape more. “Well? ANSWER ME! Miss Granger, you always have a response. Why don't you
enlighten me as to what has occurred here?”

“They,” she said nervously, gesturing to the Slytherins, “came in, taunting Ron and Harry about
the Quidditch match—”

Snape didn't look interested anymore. He sneered. “Twenty points from Gryffindor, each, for
starting a fight. Get out of here, boys. Five points each from Slytherin for being ignorant enough
to retaliate.”

“Professor,” said Ron angrily, “that's not fair! They started it!”

The corners of Snape's mouth turned up into a smile as he ushered the three Slytherins out
of the compartment. They looked contented with Gryffindor's loss of sixty points. “Do you
really think that is of my concern, Weasley? Come to think of it, in addition to those sixty
points, you will serve detention with me tonight, immediately following dinner... I have the
perfect task for you.”

He left, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione could only stare at each other, dumbfounded. Snape
shouldn't have even been on the train in the first place, but he'd lost Gryffindor points
and assigned detentions. Already, the stretch of term from Easter to summer was looking rather
bleak.

* * *

During a successful lesson, Professor Binns put, on average, half the class to sleep. If the
topic was particularly boring, as it was that day, that number increased significantly. As the
ghostly professor droned on about the rise of Middle Eastern witchcraft in Britain, Harry had to
suppress his laughter as Seamus began snoring loudly on his right. Finally, he gave in and
snickered. Two rows ahead, Ron's head was lulling on his shoulder, but Hermione, who was
sitting on the front row, was scribbling notes furiously. Binns had separated the three of them
after Harry and Ron had continued a great debate about Quidditch well into the start of class.

“...and ended in the late nineteenth century. Tomorrow, we will examine the lingering effects of
the trend and begin our study of wizardry in Asia. Any questions? Yes, Miss Granger?”

Sure enough, Hermione had politely raised her hand; however, she didn't have a question
about jewels of magic or proper practice laws. “I thought we had a double class today, Professor,”
she said gesturing at the clock. “If so, class is but half over.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Granger,” said Binns, and he reached a ghostly hand to his equally ghostly
glasses. “As I'm sure you already know, the O.W.L. exam entails the knowledge of material
beyond your daily curriculum. Because it is included directly after the historical aspect of the
exam, I received the duty of reviewing traditional wizarding customs and knowledge with you.”

There was a groan from the handful of students still awake, but Harry snapped shut his textbook
and actually took out his quill and some parchment. In the front of the classroom, Hermione was
doing the same. Having not grown up in a wizarding family, Harry was actually interested in the
subject. Even those that had were preparing to take notes, so Harry nudged Seamus to wake him up.
Hopefully, Binns wouldn't make the topic as boring as he had Shatha Banita, the witch
contributed with integrating Middle Eastern practices into traditional European witchcraft.

“Er,” said Binns, and the ghostly hand was on the ghostly glasses once more. He shuffled some of
the papers before him. “Ah, here it is. I have obtained a list of questions that appeared on last
year's exam. I will call on you to answer each one. At the end, I will open for any lingering
confusions. Understood, yes? Section one, question one...”

Twenty minutes later, Binns was up to section three, question seven. Harry had been wrong in
hoping that it wouldn't be as boring as the usual notes they took. “What birthing phenomenon
occurs as many as six times more often for wizards and witches than for Muggles?” Much to
Harry's surprise, Ron raised his hand.

“Twins,” he said grimly. The whole class laughed, and Harry couldn't help but snicker when
Seamus punched his shoulder to point out the confused look on Parvati Patil's face.

“I always knew that one wasn't the brightest,” said Seamus. His words were spoken very
quietly, but Binns still managed to hear him.

“Perhaps you'd like to answer one, Mr. Finnigan?” said Binns. “Section three, question
eight. According to Wizard Survey Yearly, within how many years out of school do most wizards and
witches marry?”

Seamus, who had grown up with a Muggle father and a magical mother, squirmed. “Seven?”

“Incorrect. Mr. Potter? Venture a guess?”

Harry frowned. He thought of Ron's older brothers, Bill and Charlie, both of whom were in
their twenties and unmarried. “Eleven?” said Harry, doing some quick figuring.

“Two,” said Binns. “Maybe one of you can tell me this. Section four, question one. What is the
average lifespan of a wizard? Who typically lives longer, a wizard or a witch?”

“One hundred sixty,” said Seamus hesitantly. It was a good guess. Binns's eyes moved to
Harry.

“A wizard?” guessed Harry. Up until now, almost everything had been opposite of what he knew it
to be in the Muggle world, and he knew that Muggle women traditionally lived longer than men.”

“A witch,” said Binns. “Section four, question two. How many children are in the traditional
wizarding family?”

“Three?” said Harry, wishing Binns would ask someone else. Hermione and Ron had been sending him
apologetic glances, and Harry knew he'd guessed correctly when Ron started nodding eagerly.

“Very good,” said Binns. He droned on. “Section four, question three. At what age must a witch
or wizard register as an elder of magic? Anyone? Yes, Miss Brown? No, the answer is one hundred
fifty-one. Now, can anyone tell me what an elder of magic is? Anyone? Well, according to rules set
by the Ministry in seventeen fifty-two...”

Harry's voice raised in the collective group sigh as Binns launched into a dissertation of
things that weren't in anyway related to wizarding customs. Before long, Ron was snoring loudly
from the third row, and Dean had fallen off his chair in slumber. Harry felt his eyelids getting
heavier as Binns droned on. It was a completely normal History of Magic class for a completely
ordinary day.

* * *

“Ron, that is truly disgusting,” said Hermione with a shudder. Dumbledore had chosen that week
to indulge his love of Muggle food by having meals from different countries each evening. Tonight,
the theme was Italian, and Ron was sticking his tongue out and twirling it around to get a long
spaghetti noodle into his mouth.

“Thank you,” said Ron, finishing the display with a long slurp as he sucked the end of the
noodle into his mouth. Harry shoved a bite of pasta into his mouth to stifle his laughter, and
Hermione just glared on disapprovingly.

“I can see why your poor mother gets so frustrated,” said Hermione. “I know she didn't raise
you to have manners like that!”

“You're a real stickler for this manners thing, aren't you?” said Ron thoughtfully. He
was using the edge of his fork as a knife to chop a meatball in half.

“I think,” said Harry, closing his mouth to chew. Hermione gave him a smile of approval. “I
think that Hermione is just trying to point out that your manners just keep getting worse.”

“It's all very progressive,” echoed Hermione. She was fiddling around with her fork,
swirling the noodles around in the sauce, but she wasn't really eating. “What do you think
Snape has in store for us tonight?”

They had not served their detention the night before but not for lack of trying. Snape had
snarled into his classroom an hour behind them, looking particularly surly. He told them to come
back the next evening at the same time for punishment, and then he had nearly chucked a glass jar
at them for they left too slowly for his liking. In all actuality, they hadn't hesitated a
second after he pardoned them for the evening.

“I'm just glad they don't allow physical torture anymore,” declared Ron. “Could you
imagine being hung from the ceiling by ankle chains? Dad finally showed us his marks from his days
here last week. Fred and George were complaining about having to plunge toilets, so he felt it was
time to show them a real punishment.”

Hermione looked a little green, and Harry saw her push back her plate. He raised an eyebrow at
her; she had done the same thing at dinner the night before and all the meals in between. Harry
shrugged it off; Hermione had never been a big eater.

“He'll probably just have us helping with the most vile potion he can imagine,” said Harry,
“or doing manual labor. Neville's always insisted he has a talent for creating some whenever
there's a detention to be served.”

“I'd rather it be manual labor than a vile potion,” said Hermione absently. It didn't
take much for Harry to catch the meaning behind her words.

“Chamber pots,” muttered Ron. “Trophies. So many things in this school to clean.”

“Lupin said that he once had to polish the floor in here,” said Harry, waving his arm around to
gesture that it was the entire Great Hall. “Sirius said it was one of the many times that he
managed to get caught up in the fallout of one of his and Dad's pranks.”

“He's so nice,” said Hermione, almost defensively, “and I have a feeling his friends did
everything in their power to try to corrupt him.”

Ron laughed. “Seriously, what do you think Snape'll have us doing?”

“That is for me to decide, Weasley, and for you not to question.” Three heads turned to see
Snape standing behind them, a smirk playing on his face. He motioned, quite sinisterly, for them to
stand. “Move along now. It was very obvious you're done with dinner.”

Harry and Ron and Hermione all stood quietly, but it didn't stop the majority of other
Gryffindors at the table from staring at them. They had all heard about the fight on the train, and
it hadn't failed to outrage any of them. George, Fred, and Lee had been engrossed in a deep
conversation since receiving the news. Whatever pranks they had been plotting had been forgotten,
and it seemed as if they were devoting their full time and energy to making the Slytherins pay.

“Something hanging you up there, Granger?” said Snape as they followed him down to the dungeons.
Hermione had stumbled on one of the stairs in her haste. None of them had dared to talk. Snape had
just shot Harry a nasty look when he grabbed Hermione's arm to help her regain her balance, so
she dared not answer him.

Much to all three students' surprise, Snape passed right by the Potions dungeon; in fact,
they kept going right on past all of the main dungeons. The professor guided them around corner
after corner, into what seemed like a labyrinth. Finally, he paused in front of an old, rotting
wood door. He proceed to unlock it, not with magic, but with a key buried deep within his
pocket.

“This,” said Snape, stepping in and gesturing around the room, “is where all the official
Hogwarts documents are kept. Of course, before you get too excited, those official documents are a
thousand years' worth of maintenance records, school purchases, and minutes from the board of
governors.”

“What do we have to do?” asked Ron bravely. Snape studied him for a moment, and he laughed.

“This room is very unkempt, if you haven't noticed,” said Snape, “and I don't like
things in my domain being so messy. I want everything taken out, dusted off, and packed neatly back
into its proper box. Then, you are to label each box according to contents. When you've
finished all that, you are to order the boxes chronologically within subjects and stack them like
bricks against the wall.”

“What?” screeched Ron, unable to help himself. “That'll take all night!”

“I know,” said Snape. He withdrew his wand. “*Accio*,” he said, almost lazily, and he was
holding three wands in his hand a moment later. “It'll take even longer without magic.”

* * *

“I can't believe he's making us do this!” moaned Ron. He was alternatively biting his
finger and shaking his hand vigorously, so it was obvious he'd gotten another paper cut.

“He's Snape,” reminded Hermione. Harry crossed the room to help her lug a box into a free
area. “I just find it horribly unfair that we're not only being punished for something we
didn't really do. I think he had this mundane task in mind when he gave us detention. He just
didn't want to do it himself.”

“And I didn't think he was as bad he used to be,” grumbled Harry. He reached a hand up to
rub his aching shoulder. Snape had been right about the documents; they were only bills and reports
and things that he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to keep around, especially not for a
thousand years. Harry couldn't think of anything that would make the job fun or even
worthwhile, but Hermione had pointed out that the right kinds of documents would aid them in their
search.

Ron was sitting on one of the file boxes now, starting to scoot things of similar subject into
the same area. Hermione surveyed the scene in front of her and sighed.

“I guess I assumed wizards would have a sophisticated filing system,” she said, wiping her hands
on her robes, “but this is even worse than anything Muggle I've seen.”

“I'm sure that's saying something,” said Ron. As tall as he was, he had to do a bit of
reaching to place the last heavy box on top of the stack. It took seven stacked on top of one
another to reach the ceiling.

“Oh, it is,” agreed Harry. He handed another box to Ron to boost up onto the piles accumulating
against the wall. Suddenly, he caught glimpse of something brightly colored in one of the far
corners of the room. It stood out in the dank dungeon with its flickering candles, and he wondered
why they hadn't noticed it before. Harry pointed. “What's that over there?”

“The blue thing?” asked Ron, walked over in its direction. “I don't know. I just pulled a
couple of boxes from around it. What is it?”

“Would I have asked if I knew?” said Harry, and Ron made a face. Hermione was curious, and she
had already crossed to where Ron was standing.

“It's not like all of the others,” she said, tapping the closest box. She fingered the lid
carefully. “Think anything is going to pop out when I open it?”

“Probably not,” said Ron. “Besides, even if it did, would it be that much worse that the pranks
my brothers have pulled on you in the past?”

“True,” said Hermione. Still, Harry joined her and Ron at her other side. She pulled the tightly
stuffed on lid off carefully, and, much to all their relief, nothing popped out, jumped, or died
when it happened.

“Just more files,” said Ron, sounding bored. He was uninterested again, going back to his work
stacking boxes.

“Just more files,” repeated Hermione, but she was eyeing the contents critically. She finally
pulled out one of the scrolls, reading the first few lines. “This isn't exactly another stack
of maintenance records.”

“Then what is it?” asked Ron, but Harry could tell he wasn't too concerned yet.

“It looks like a list of teachers,” said Hermione. She continued to unroll the scroll, and Harry
leaned against her as he peeked over her shoulder.

“How's that possible?” Hermione said, pointing, first to the date on the paper, and then at
the list of names and positions. “This is from 1949, but it says that McClaggitt was the Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher. I always thought that was Dumbledore's position.”

“It was,” said Ron. The interest was back. He scampered over, fishing another scroll from the
packed box. “I heard him talking about it with Professor McGonagall once. He taught her at one
point.”

“That would have been in the late thirties or early forties” said Hermione. She thrust something
into Harry's line of vision. It took him a second to focus on it; his eyes were starting to
blur with sleep. “See? He had the position the next year, in 1950.”

“And in '45 and '46,” said Ron, “but it's McClaggitt in '47 and '48.”

“I thought he defeated Grindelwald in 1945,” said Harry. He bit his lip and added hesitantly,
“And didn't he teach Transfigurations, not Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

Hermione looked at him, exasperated. “How many times must I tell you to read *Hogwarts, A
History*? Dumbledore taught both, each for a number of years. He was a professor when he
defeated Grindelwald and had been for—wait!”

“What?” said Ron. He was still pulling scrolls out of the box and checking positions and
dates.

“*Hogwarts, A History*!” exclaimed Hermione as if it was the most obvious thing in the
world. “I could have sworn it said that Dumbledore never left after coming back as a professor! If
he didn't teach for three years, that would be leaving!”

“We can check it tomorrow,” said Ron impatiently. His hands were buried in scrolls and parchment
scraps. “I think there's something else down here—”

He pulled out a very thick, leather bound book. It looked ancient; a title had been stamped onto
the brown material once, but only a few flakes of gold remained now. Before his friends could stop
him, Ron flipped the book open. The title page had been ripped out, and a bookplate glued heavily
onto the inside cover identified it as belonging to Sagesse Bom. A few loose papers fell to the
ground. Ron picked one of them up, trying to unfold it.

“Something's screwy with this,” he said, handing it to Harry and picking up another. Neither
Harry nor Ron were able to unfold and read any of the papers. At the same time, Hermione was trying
to page through the books, but the everything but the cover was being held firmly shut—probably
with a very powerful magical bond.

“It's been enchanted with something,” said Hermione finally. It was almost as if she had to
state the obvious for it to be accepted. “What do you think it is?”

“I don't know,” said Ron, but Harry started talking at the same time.

“I don't know what it is, either,” said Harry, and he tilted the box so he could tap the
preexisting label on the box, “but I think this might tell us what it's all about.”

“Confidential, Concealed, and Corrected with Cover-ups,” read the bright tag.

* * *

No one spoke for several minutes after reading the label on the box. Hermione's eyes darted
about uncertainly, and Ron took a few steps back. Finally, Harry wiped his hands on his robes,
standing from his kneeling position.

“It probably isn't what we think,” said Harry. Still, he was eyeing the box cautiously. “If
it was important, Snape wouldn't have put us in a position to stumble across it.”

“But what if Snape didn't know about it?” said Hermione. She had reached into the box,
laying each scroll flat on the cold dungeon floor, one on top of the other. Bom's book had long
been placed off to the side, almost out of sight.

“Is there anything going on in the dungeons that Snape doesn't know about?” said Ron.
“He's right in saying that it's his domain.”

“It hasn't always been his,” said Hermione. “This box could have been here ages before he
was—there's nothing from even the last twenty-five years down here. I doubt he's spent too
much, if any, time down here. Considering it had been shoved back in a corner, he probably
isn't aware it exists.”

“But why is it down here?” questioned Harry. Ron had crossed the room, swinging the door open.
“It doesn't fit. If it is some kind of secret, wouldn't it be hidden?”

“Harry's right,” he said finally, shutting the door. “The door plaque even says `Storage of
Maintenance, Purchase, and Meeting Records.'”

“Well, it would be hidden, indeed, then,” quipped Hermione. “Let's say this box is what it
says—confidential and concealed. If someone was looking for confidential information, would they
start looking in a room full of accounts and minutes?”

“It would explain a lot,” said Harry slowly, abandoning his previous theory. “This is an
official room for record keeping. Why would it be in such a state of disarray? The files might be
mundane, but they are important, and they are history. That box can't be that old. Bom
wasn't here that long ago—”

“—If you consider the span of Hogwarts's history,” finished Hermione, and he grinned at her.
“The records in this room don't even reach to the time your parents were in school, Harry, and
Bom wasn't that much older than them. For his things to be in the box, it would have been added
after the room was filled. Everything would have been shuffled around to fit it in here, and that
would explain its state of disarray!”

“Exactly,” said Harry, glad she had cottoned on to his observation. Ron was also nodding along,
but his expression was more reserved.

“But what about the other records?” said Ron carefully. “They're older. I went through
seventeen boxes of minutes from those years. Why put them with Bom's belongings? Why not hide
them sooner? Why hide them in the first—”

“Why not destroy them if you're just going to conceal them? There's a lot we don't
know, Ron,” said Hermione. She looked wistfully. “If only we could read that book, those
papers...”

“Well, it's obviously magic keeping them shut and folded,” reasoned Harry, “so there has to
be some kind of counter spell. If we had enough time, and our wands, we could probably figure it
out.”

There was another long silence. Harry could almost see the wheels turning in Hermione's head
as she contemplated how many school rules that would potentially be breaking. Ron had already
grinned, and Harry knew his best friend had no objects to the suggestion.

“Maybe—” started Hermione, but she was cut off. A faint clanking sound was coming from one of
the nearby dungeons. She froze, very still. It was probably just Snape checking in on them,
but...

The next thing Harry remembered was feeling a warm hand on his face, which was cool due to the
usual chill of the dungeons. He suddenly realized his eyes were closed, and he heard someone saying
his name frantically.

“Harry!” It was Hermione. His eyes flew open, and she looked visibly relieved. He was lying on
the floor of the dungeon, a box poking sharply into his side. Ron was standing next to Hermione,
and he looked equally concerned. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I'm—” Harry's voice to his forehead, and he was suddenly aware of a second sensation.
His scar was throbbing with blinding pain, and he was having trouble forming thoughts. He felt
Hermione's hand move to cover his own, and she, quite forcefully, moved his hand away from the
cut. The pain started to subside. “What happened?”

“We heard a noise,” said Ron, “and your hand flew to your scar. You were shaking, and then you
collapsed.”

“Oh Harry!” burst Hermione before he had a chance to speak. “Are you okay? I was—I
thought...”

“I'm okay,” said Harry, cutting in, but he need Ron's help to stand up. He couldn't
remember anything, and he felt exhausted. “Really, I—”

Just as suddenly as they had heard a noise in the dungeons, the door swung open. Snape sauntered
in, looking extremely annoyed. He wasn't dressed in his usual robes; instead, Harry was pretty
sure he'd been asleep. He and Ron moved together quickly to block the box they discovered from
sight.

“What's going on? Can you not handle a simple task?” sneered Snape. “I heard you scream,
Granger.”

“I—we,” stammered Hermione meekly. “We heard something clanking around in the distance.”

“Nonsense,” Snape scoffed, and he looked particularly displeased. “I don't know if you are
aware, Miss Granger, but people do make residence in this part of the castle, including myself.
Now, I would appreciate it if you would show your consideration and keep the noise to a
minimum!”

“Professor,” said Ron bravely, but Harry elbowed him violently to keep him from saying anything
else. Snape just smirked as Ron clutched his side in pain.

“Potter,” said Snape, “I'm pleased to see you finally exercising whatever dribble of
intelligence you possess. Now get back to work!”

He scrambled out of the room, slamming the door so violently that Harry was sure the resulting
noise was louder than any scream Hermione had mustered. His legs had stopped shaking, and he took
the few steps to her. She was standing very still, looking stunned. Harry touched her arm. Her skin
had lost its earlier warmth; it was exceptionally cold and clammy.

“Don't let him get to you, `Mione,” said Harry helpfully, throwing an arm across her
shoulder. She didn't respond, and Ron walked over to her other side, patting her back
reassuringly.

“Yeah, `Mione,” added Ron, “you can't let him start affecting you now. You've spent too
many good years building up resistance!”

“It's not—” said Hermione, but her voice wavered. She shrugged away from them. “It's not
that. It's just—it's just nothing. Let's get this done already.”

* * *

“Hey, look in the stands,” said Ron as he flew beside Harry and hit his arm to get his
attention. It was the next afternoon, and they were up in the air over the Quidditch pit,
practicing for the Saturday rematch against Slytherin. Angelina was zooming around Fred and George
at the moment, dodging each Bludger they sent at her, a drill Ron had just completed.

“Why?” asked Harry, scrunching his face up as he peered directly at the area under the
Gryffindor banner.

“I forget you're half blind, even with your glasses,” muttered Ron. He and Harry were flying
in quick circles around the field. “I think Hermione came out to watch.”

“Really?” asked Harry, and he craned his neck as they passed by the stands on their next lap.
Hermione was sitting in the first row, but she seemed more concerned with studying from the large
textbook in her lap than the happenings on the Quidditch field. Even so, Harry was glad to see
her.

They had had Potions that afternoon, and she'd grown very pale the second they started
descending into the dungeons. Harry at first contributed it to their lack of sleep the night
before, but at the end of the lesson, there was no denying she looked very ill. She'd seemed to
improve once they were back in the Gryffindor tower, but Ron had talked her into resting for a
while. In the meantime, they had headed outside for Quidditch practice.

“Everyone! Over here!”

At Angelina's call, Harry and Ron flew to the center of the court. Harry turned lazy loops
in the air as they waited for the rest of the team to assemble.

“We're going to have company in a moment,” said Angelina. She shot Fred a disapproving look
as he continued to fly in circles around her, whistling. When he calmed down, she continued.
“I've asked the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw teams to join us for practice this week. After the
particularly disgusting display of Slytherin's lack of sportsmanship on the train—not to
mention Professor Snape's equally disgusting display of bias—I think that playing against other
teams would be very beneficial. No one wants to see Slytherin win Saturday.”

Harry stopped fidgeting around on his broom as Angelina shot them a sympathetic look. She and
Fred had still been awake when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had stumbled into the Gryffindor common
room a little after three that morning. Ron hadn't been able to look at his older brother
without laughing all day, which caused Fred to scowl repeatedly. Angelina was a little more
embarrassed by the situation. Fortunately, no time was left to discuss either matter, as the
Ravenclaw Quidditch team had just arrived on the field and were starting to take flight.

“Hey, Johnson!” called a familiar voice. Harry saw Cho Chang flying gracefully towards the
Gryffindor team. He'd hardly seen her all year, so he expected to feel a tinge of nervousness
in his stomach now that she was so near. Harry watched her for a second, but nothing happened. He
was quickly distracted by Ron's obvious discomfort as Anna took the field. She glared at him as
she flew behind Cho. Ron turned and flew behind Harry. It wasn't in his character to hide from
anything, and Harry knew that whatever had ended things between them had to be serious.

For the next thirty minutes, Angelina and Cho had both teams running exhausting drills up and
down the fields until they begged the two girls to let them start playing for real. The Ravenclaw
team had always been good, but Harry could see that it had improved under Cho's direction.
He'd witnessed the long hours they spent on the field long after the other teams had gone in
for dinner. As he flew, almost lazily, around the field in search of the Snitch, it dawned on Harry
that Ron had given one of Anna's reasons for fighting with him as him spending too much time
practicing Quidditch. It suddenly didn't make sense to Harry; the Ravenclaws had practices
twice as long as the Gryffindors.

Harry dived and looped through the air as his eyes scanned the field for signs of the tiny,
flying ball. He charged off at the sight of something gold, but Cho didn't follow. He quickly
realized it was just a reflection from someone's jewelry and flew back to the outskirts of the
field, very embarrassed. He made a mental note to stop in at the hospital wing that week and have
Madam Pomfrey check his glasses.

The practice was well into its second hour when Harry got his first glimpse of the real Snitch,
glittering a good fifteen to twenty feet above the actual game play. Cho, who was dodging the
Bludger that George kept sending in her direction, didn't notice as he pulled straight upwards.
He could hear the cheers of his teammates as Ron put in his fifth Quaffle of the practice game, and
he knew they hadn't noticed his sudden movement. He was gaining on the Snitch...

Five seconds later, he closed his hand on the struggling gold ball, but he wasn't fast
enough to avoid collision. Cho had rocketed upward and nearly knocked him off his broom. Harry felt
a little dizzy as he flew slowly back to the ground to his cheering teammates.

“Excellent, Harry, just marvelous!” exclaimed Fred, clapping him on the back so hard that Harry
almost tripped.

“Do that again, and you don't have a thing to worry about come Saturday,” said Cho, shoving
her bangs roughly out of her eyes. “Sorry about that collision, Harry.”

“No problem,” said Harry with a grin. He managed to escape the crowd of players for a long
enough time to replace the struggling Snitch to its box. Ron pulled away from the others as well,
jogging over to Harry.

“I love this broom,” he exclaimed happily as he caught up with his friend. “I know it's not
your Firebolt, but it really beats the school Comet Two Sixties.”

“Good,” said Harry, giving his other teammates one last glance as he and Ron headed off to the
locker room. George and Fred were engaged in lively conversation with the Ravenclaw Beaters, and he
thought he could hear them exchanging tips on previous Slytherin defensive strategy. “Five goals!
We *really* don't have anything to worry about if you do that Saturday.”

“Thanks. I wish I would have seen your lift,” said Ron wistfully. “As we were coming down,
George kept swearing he saw Krum do it at the World Cup.”

“Yes,” said Harry, rather shortly. His stomach lurched. The last thing he wanted was to be
compared with Krum. He was about to question why Ron felt like bringing him up when it dawned on
Harry that Ron didn't know what Krum was and what he stood for. They were in the locker room
now.

“Dinner?” questioned Ron as they changed out of their Quidditch robes. “I'm starved.”

“It's that time,” said Harry, checking his watch. He was very thankful to have it working
again. It had been broken all through the holiday, stuck at 3:06, and he hadn't the means to
fix it at Hermione's house. “Let's go straight to the Great Hall.”

“Tonight's China,” said Ron. He sounded a bit forlorn in his next statement. “I'm fine
with that, but I heard Dumbledore tell Flitwick that Thursday would be Japan—raw fish and
everything. I'm scared.”

“I don't blame you,” said Harry as they walked up the hallway in the direction of the Great
Hall. “I saw Hermione after you pointed her out.”

“Yeah, because you need to get your eyes checked,” joked Ron, pushing open the doors of the
Great Hall. “Do you think that means she's feeling better?”

“I hope so,” said Harry, scooting into his usual seat at the table. Ron followed suit. “She
didn't look good at all during Potions.”

“No,” agreed Ron, “she didn't, but I'm trying not to get too worried about it. She's
probably driving herself crazy trying to figure out how to open that book—”

“—And the significance of the list of professors,” said Harry. “You're right.”

“That's our Hermione,” said Ron, not bothering to close his mouth as he chewed thoughtfully
on a mouthful of fried rice.

And Harry would have dismissed it without a second thought, but that was before Hermione
didn't show up for dinner.

* * *

“Where do you think she is?” asked Harry nervously as he and Ron walked toward the Gryffindor
tower after dinner. “Do you think she's still out in the stands?”

“Nah,” said Ron, and Harry could tell he was nervous, despite his collected tone. “It's too
dark. Even if she got caught up in studying, she would have come in because she couldn't see
out there anymore. She's probably just in one of the common rooms, studying away.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry. They were at the portrait hole and about to give the password when they
heard voices that seemed to be coming from a nearby stairwell. He and Ron shared a quick glance,
just as one of the voices launched into a stream of curses. There was a loud thud. Without another
word, Harry and Ron headed in the direction of the noise.

“We just want to know why we wasn't invited to the practice,” a burly voice was saying.

“Weren't, Moon, weren't. He's right though, Mudblood, we want to know why we
didn't get an invitation to play with the team. Well? Why is that?”

“I don't know,” said a small voice. Harry recognized it immediately.

“Hermione,” whispered Ron, pulling open an invisible doorway that led down to the dungeons.

“Yes you do!” It was Marks. He and his two lackeys had Hermione cornered on the landing. She
looked terrified. Flint grabbed her arm violently as Moon clamped a hand down over his mouth. There
was an audible pop, and it was followed by a crack. “We know you were at the practice, Mudblood,
and everyone knows your guys are on the team. What's their strategy going to—”

Harry didn't know what came over him. He could feel the anger boiling in the pit of his
stomach. Ron was reaching for his wand, but Harry just put his hand out. There was a burst of light
as the three Slytherins bounced away from Hermione, and Harry was left with the same sensation he
had after he'd blown up his Aunt Marge. Hermione whimpered, gripping her hand and wrist as she
grimaced in pain. She was at Harry's side in a moment, and he wrapped a protective arm around
her immediately. Ron looked stunned, but he was grinning at his best friend.

“What,” said Harry coolly, “do you think you're doing?”

“We just wanted to know why we—” piped Flint, but Marks silenced him with a heavy hand.

“It isn't any of your business,” said Marks with a menacing smile, “but we're a little
curious, we Slytherins are. We're feeling awfully hurt, too, because we weren't invited to
practice with the Gryffindors this week. Why's that, Potter? Why are you practicing with the
other houses? I don't like the sound of that. I'm sure Snape would be very disappointed to
hear how the rest of the school is ganging up on Slytherin.”

“And you think we give a rat's ass if Snape's disappointed?” Ron shot back. He was still
glancing at Harry with awe.

“You seem to care about your little Mudblood friend,” said Marks. His statement was a clear
threat.

“Don't call her that,” growled Harry. He had his wand out, now. He wasn't going to rely
on uncontrolled magic in the name of those three.

“You shouldn't be talking pure-blood pride, Marks,” said Ron, matching Marks's sneering
tone. “I'm more of a pure-blood than you are.”

Marks turned red with anger. His two friends were still staring at Ron and Harry in disbelief,
but he had enough sense to take out his wand. “*Rictusempra*!”

“*Expelliarmus*!”

Marks hadn't been fast enough for Harry. His wand flew out of his hand, and Harry caught it
cleanly. He held it calmly for a second, and then he tapped it with his own wand as he muttered a
few choice words. The piece of wood shot out of his hand, rocketing off in another direction.

“Try to find that, Marks,” said Harry coolly. “Seekers aren't the one that need to have
speed and agility. It'll be good practice for Saturday. Now get out of my sight.”

Marks had to nerve to spit at Harry's feet as he walked up the stairs, Flint and Moon on his
heels. Harry grabbed Ron's arm to keep him from firing any spell at the three with their backs
turned before turning to Hermione. She was even paler than she had been earlier that afternoon, and
she was trembling. Ron reached out to her, and she shrank back.

“Are you okay?” said Harry, gently releasing her. She nodded despite the obvious tears welling
up in her eyes. “Let me see your arm.”

“It's fine, Harry, really,” said Hermione very quietly.

“Broken,” said Ron in disgust. “Wait till I get my hands on those—”

“Ron,” warned Harry, knowing what kind of word was about to come out of his friend's mouth.
He turned back to Hermione, gently putting his hand on her other arm. “Come on, you need to see
Madam Pomfrey.”

“No,” said Hermione stubbornly. “I'm fine.”

“No you're not,” said Ron. Harry just chose to ignore her weak protests as he guided her up
the steps. They were halfway to the hospital wing when Hermione finally burst into tears. A couple
of passing Hufflepuffs gave them an inquisitive look, but Harry chose to ignore it. The rest of the
trip to the hospital wing was filled with Hermione's weak protests and stammered apologies.

“Oh dear,” said Madam Pomfrey, sighing when she saw Ron open the door. “What have you managed
this time—Hermione? What's happened to you?”

“A few members of the Slytherin Quidditch team decided to assault her in the stairwell,” spat
Ron angrily. Madam Pomfrey was already guiding Hermione to an empty bed, even more careful in her
motion than usual.

“This is a bad break,” said Madam Pomfrey grimly. She looked up to Harry and Ron, narrowing her
eyes. “That's enough. Hermione needs her space. The two of you can run along—”

“No, please,” interrupted Hermione. “They can stay.”

Madam Pomfrey's face softened. “Sit, then,” she said, tapping Ron's shoulder quite
forcefully. “Oh, you poor dear. In that location, I wouldn't be surprised if there were some
lingering effects...”

She kept on muttering as she withdrew her wand, taking Hermione's arm gently in her hand.
She had to perform her charm three times for the bone to mend, and Hermione's expression was
still pained. Madam Pomfrey applied a charm of temporary relief before disappearing off to get
something stronger. Harry and Ron were immediately at her side.

“What happened?” asked Harry, his green eyes filled with concern. “They didn't do anything
else to you, right?”

Ron snorted. “Harry, I think they did—” He stopped, and Harry knew what he had been about to
say. The look on Ron's face told Harry that he understood.

“They heard that Angelina had asked the other house teams to help you practice,” said Hermione
softly, “and they knew that they couldn't approach any of you for information. They saw me
coming from the stands, so they decided I'd be as good to harass as any—”

“I'm sorry, Hermione,” said Harry, taking her hand, and Ron was nodding earnestly.

“It's not your fault,” said Hermione. She tried to flex her wrist and grimaced in pain. She
looked up at Harry and Ron with serious eyes. “I just want to see them lose. They can't win on
Saturday. They just can't!”

* * *

A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey returned. After fussing with Hermione's injured wrist for
quite some time, she proclaimed, “There, there... that should do.” As the mediwitch stepped away
from Hermione to exam her work, Hermione dropped her hand to her lap obediently. The school nurse
had put many pain relief charms on it, but she'd still decided that wrapping it was necessary.
“Now, you aren't to use it for anything until this time tomorrow, understood?”

“I haven't finished all my homework yet,” said Hermione, and she shot Ron a death glare when
he started to snigger. Madam Pomfrey looked at her critically.

“It's going to be sensitive for several days as it is,” said Madam Pomfrey sternly.
“You're not to use it.”

Hermione looked crestfallen. “It's just a break—”

“Just a break?” said the witch, but she stopped suddenly. “Well, yes, I do see your point, but
it's more complex then that. Your system has been through so much in the last few months, and
you've started to build up immunity to healing charms. Rest it! That's the only way to be
sure.”

“But my homework! I have two scrolls worth of information on the rise of curse use in the Dark
Arts and I've only copied half of—” Hermione looked horrified.

“You can dictate, and I'll write,” offered Harry. Madam Pomfrey looked very pleased with
him, and it was a nice contrast from the annoyed look she usually had for him and Ron.

“But—”

“It's Professor Lupin,” said Ron, sounding exasperated. He knew what she was going to say.
“He won't doubt it's your work. If you don't believe me, just go ask him now.”

“Fine,” said Hermione, and Harry offered her a hand when he stood. Madam Pomfrey lost her
pleased expression.

“You're not leaving yet,” she said, stern once more. “You never told me who was responsible
for this.”

“Oh, it's not a big deal,” said Hermione quickly, and both her friends glared at her.

“Joseph Marks,” grumbled Harry.

“Gregory Flint and Samuel Moon,” added Ron. He looked at Madam Pomfrey helpfully. “All three are
overgrown Slytherin gits—”

“I'll be contacting Professor Snape,” said Madam Pomfrey. The three friends were heading to
the door now. “Do take care, Hermione, I don't want to see you again this year... and keep
those friends of yours out of trouble!”

Ron shut the door behind him. “It seems like she knows you,” he observed.

“Really?” said Hermione briskly. “I only spent seven weeks with her for company, you know.”

“We came and visited you!” exclaimed Ron. Harry chuckled, and Hermione finally started laughing.
Then, suddenly, her face grew serious.

“My bag!” exclaimed Hermione frantically. “It's still down on the stairs, and all my books
are in there!”

“Relax,” said Ron. “It's not like anyone would want all those books you lug around with you
constantly. You go and talk to Lupin about that paper, and I'll get it for you.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ron had doubled back down the opposing corridor without
another word. Hermione looked at him curiously and opened her mouth, but Harry put his hand lightly
on her shoulder and pulled her back.

“He's acting... a little strangely,” said Hermione casually.

“Yeah, he is,” agreed Harry. He was still staring down the now-empty hallway, too, but he had an
explanation for Ron's behavior. “I think he's still upset about practice today. You could
practically feel the tension any time he or Anna flew near the other. I don't know what
happened between those two, but I wish they'd at least work through the open hostility.”

“Ginny says she won't even look at her in Potions,” said Hermione, walking close to Harry as
they headed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. “They're in the same group, so
it's naturally very frustrating.”

“Why don't they have to have Potions with the Slytherins?” complained Harry. “We always
do!”

“Trelawny could probably asked the fates for you,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “That woman
is seriously batty. She was coming down from her tower when I was heading out to the Quidditch pit
and nearly ran into me. She said, `Oh, it's you! I knew, of course, the fates have been rather
insightful on you lately. They're very worried that you will miss out on your heart's
desire.' Please!”

Harry chuckled. “Heart's desire, you say?” he questioned. “Doesn't surprise me. It's
her new favorite. `Everyone is yearning for something; the fates have been persistent about it
lately; Harry, you must come to terms with all that is inside of you!' The only thing
that's stopped me from walking out is that I'm curious as how I'm going to die this
week.”

“Strangulation,” said Hermione, a sly smile on her face. Harry looked at her, the words turning
over in his head. She sounded a bit morbid. “I was there when you created that chart, you know.
This week, you're dying of strangulation. And I seem to remember something about angry,
enchanted kitchenware attacking Ron on Thursday.”

“Neville came up with that one,” said Harry proudly. “He predicted melting his fifteenth
cauldron.”

“Oh, he did?” Hermione paled. “Poor Neville! No wonder he looked so shocked today in
Potions!”

Potions. Harry stopped short, looking at her. “You're okay now, aren't you?” he said
anxiously.

“What?” said Hermione. She seemed to be fidgeting. “Of course I'm okay. There wasn't a
time when I wasn't.”

“Is your hand going to be okay?” They were outside of Professor Lupin's door now. Harry was
looking at his friend intently, wishing she wasn't so stubborn. She didn't have anything to
be afraid of if she admitted something had been wrong. He wasn't going to judge her.

“Oh, it already is,” said Hermione, but she didn't make any attempt to move it around or
prove it. “I appreciate your concern, but you really don't have to help me with my paper.”

“Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have told you not to use your hand if it wasn't necessary,” said
Harry, and he pushed open the door to the classroom. The decision had been made, and Hermione could
only follow him. Harry looked at her, his voice low. He smiled slightly. “Besides, it's not
like I mind helping you, `Mione.”

“Thank you, Harry,” said Hermione gratefully. Her eyes scanned the dim classroom. “Professor
Lupin?”

“I think he's in his office,” said Harry, gesturing to the closed door. He crossed the room,
Hermione on his heels, and knocked softly.

“Yes?” said Lupin after the door swung open. He smiled brightly when he saw Harry and Hermione.
“Harry, Hermione, come in! What brings—Hermione, what happened to your hand?”

“A couple of oversized Slytherin gits,” said Harry as the kindly professor ushered them into his
office and shut the door behind Hermione. He raised an eyebrow at them.

“I trust that Severus has been made aware?” said Lupin as he sat down at his desk.

“Yes,” said Hermione.

“Not that it'll do any good,” grumbled Harry. “Slytherins can do no wrong in his eyes.”

“Harry,” said Lupin slowly, “I know your opinions of Severus, and I also have my own, but he is
my colleague and your professor, so I must ask that you show him the proper respect. Now, what
brings you here?”

Harry felt a tinge of pink rising to his cheeks, and he mumbled a quick apology.

“Madam Pomfrey asked me not to use my hand until tomorrow evening,” said Hermione sighing
heavily, “and Harry offered to write my ideas out for me.”

“On the curse paper?” questioned Lupin. “I don't see that being a problem. Better Harry than
Ron, right?”

“Ron's handwriting is...” Hermione's voice faltered, and Lupin laughed appreciatively.
There really wasn't a word that accurately described it.

“No, that will be fine,” said Lupin. “I'm actually glad the two of you stopped in. I've
been meaning to ask you about your holiday. Padfoot tells me he visited you. How did that go?”

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other uncertainly, and the next few minutes were spent with
Harry relaying Sirius's story. Lupin's hand rested on his chin. He scratched it absently
for a second.

“All of it true,” said the professor seriously. He looked away, and Harry could almost see the
memories of the times and people that had been gone for so long. He chuckled sadly.
“Voldemort's influence had been a controlling influence in our lives for so long, Harry, and it
was hard to see the precious little good that still existed. I don't want to embarrass you, but
you were one of those things.”

Harry looked away, and he felt Hermione hand touch his arm lightly. Lupin was looking away
again, and he cleared his throat. “None of that,” he said firmly and finally. “Sirius was right.
Love is a very strong emotion, Harry. Even with all it has done for you, I still don't think
you comprehend the extent of its power.”

“I—”

“One day,” said Lupin patiently, “you will, but you can't yet. Perhaps you should get on
with your work?”

“Yes, we really should,” said Hermione, and Harry nodded alongside her. Lupin rose from his
chair and ushered them back to the door. He looked pained, as if his brief speech had pained him.
The memories of things that Harry didn't know or understand clouded his eyes.

“Professor?” said Harry finally, when they reached the classroom door. “Is everything okay?”

Lupin smiled sadly. He glanced down the hall. Peeves had just zoomed down the corridor and
seemed to be heading in the direction of the dungeons. “One day, you, too, will see these halls as
I remember them,” he said wistfully. “You'll do a lot of living in your years, Harry, but never
so much as within these walls.”

He shut the door softly behind Harry and Hermione, leaving them to ponder that. The walked back
to the Gryffindor tower in silence. Without thinking, Harry found himself putting his arm around
Hermione, and she did not object.

Some things were left unspoken because the right words didn't exist, others because they
were never meant to reach the surface. Whatever paralleled to both extremes ceased to exist—except
for in memories.

-->



18. Gryffindor Versus Slytherin
-------------------------------



Chapter Eighteen

GRYFFINDOR VERSUS SLYTHERIN

As the fifth year Gryffindors poured into Professor Lupin's classroom the next day, the
unusually pale coloring of the professor's face was an indicator of only one thing. Sure
enough, Lupin approached the class timidly, and a guilty smile spread on his face as he collected
their papers.

“Put your books away,” said Lupin grimly. “We're to practice dueling today.”

“Nice rhyme, Professor!” called Seamus from the row behind Harry. The rest of the class laughed
nervously. Dean actually dropped his quill, and he kept glancing at Neville, his face contoured
into silent terror.

“Thank you, Dean,” said Lupin, pushing the desks against the walls with the wave of his wand.
“Now, you know I don't like these days any more than you do. If I didn't have the respect
for Dumbledore that I do, then I would forgo this teaching, but I trust his intentions. Put your
bags to the side, and get with your partner. Now, today we're going to be—”

“Remus?”

The door had swung open so quietly that no one had noticed Professor McGonagall until she spoke.
She looked extremely apologetic.

“We've had... a slight incident in Transfigurations, and I need to sort out a Mr.
Grapplestone. Will you...?”

“Of course,” said Lupin warmly, and a trail of Slytherins piled into the room. They were looking
particularly surly, and Harry realized they were all sixth years when Marks ambled in and leered at
Hermione. She stepped back, and Harry and Ron stood protectively at her side. Marks just laughed as
the group piled into the classroom. McGonagall finished explaining the details of the incident to
Lupin before leaving the room. A few of the Slytherins were still snickering over the matter.

“Well...” said Lupin slowly, and he clapped his hands together. “This is unexpected. Today's
lesson is dueling, and it seems like a shame to just have you sit in the back for the next hour,
and I was just going to go through it with you tomorrow. Yes, yes... get up, all of you. Find your
partner and an empty place in the room. Today we're working on curses to hinder your
opponent's performance...”

Lupin explained the four new curses to the combined class before teaching them. The first, the
Expandia Curse, caused the wand hand of an opponent to swell uncontrollably, and it made it
difficult for them to grasp their wand.

The older Slytherins already knew the second curse, which was the Visornus Curse. Lupin grinned
at Harry as he explained that the curse, meant to impair one's vision, would not work on people
who already had poor vision.

The laughter in the professor's eyes was apparent as he explained the Reveseretti Curse. The
curse would knock a person from his feet and flip him onto his hands. Dueling would obviously be
difficult in such a position.

The final curse, the Fridilion Curse, would freeze an opponent's feet to the floor. Harry
had actually heard of it before, but he noticed Hermione muttering to herself under her breath, and
he gulped. She must have heard him because she looked up at him innocently, but Harry knew full
well that she already knew it. He shook his head; Hermione just continued to smile sweetly.

“You will be held accountable if you perform any spells, curses, or charms that cause severe
injury. I will not grant you permission to visit Madam Pomfrey after class if you goof off during
any part of the next half hour. I don't like taking off house points, but you will lose at
least fifteen if you chose not to exercise common sense during today's duels,” said Lupin
seriously. “Face your partner. Even though you know my feelings on proper dueling procedure,
practice them. Practice disarming, but also practice what we covered in class today. Do not resort
to physical means if you do lose your wand—that means you, Daniels—and start on the count of three.
One... Two... Three!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the Mark's partner, the Slytherin seeker, stumble on
three, and he knew that Marks had started early. It didn't surprise Harry that he didn't
have any compassion, even for his teammate and friend. Harry grinned at Hermione.

“Your wrist okay?” he asked, smiling at her.

“Don't you wish it wasn't?” asked Hermione, smiling serenely. “Ready?”

“Yep,” said Harry. Next to them, Ron and Seamus had already started to duel. A burst of laughter
from Ron and a glance at Seamus told him that his best friend had made good use of the Reveseretti
Curse. Harry grinned as he bowed to Hermione. Might as well make things “equal.”

“*Visorni*!” called Harry. Hermione was ready for him, a playful smile on her face.

“*Revesia*!” yelled Hermione, and Harry waited for the lift that would turn him onto his
hands. Nothing came. Hermione looked perplexed, and she blinked a few times. She wasn't
squinting at him intently, though, as Ron had at Professor Lupin as he'd demonstrated the
curse.

“*VISORNI*!” shouted Harry, figuring he hadn't put enough force into it. It was hard to
be serious about fighting your best friend. Hermione blinked again, and Harry's wand didn't
even spark the second time.

Hermione was looking at him strangely. “*REVESIA*!” Nothing. “*FRIDILIDI*!”

“Er,” said Harry uncertainly, pulling his wand back, “I think my wand's broken.”

“Nonsense,” said Hermione. “Wands don't break... well other than in half.” Even so, she,
too, was examining her wand closely. She gave it a skeptical glance and pointed it at a misplaced
quill on the floor a few feet from Harry. “*Accio*!”

“It still works,” observed Harry as the quill flew into her hand. She shrugged, examining it
carefully.

“Maybe you should try yours,” said Hermione, and she looked at Ron with a suggestive glance.
Their redheaded friend was still laughing, watching as Seamus tried to pick himself up again. It
seemed that Ron was getting very good at the Reveseretti Curse. Harry grinned slyly at
Hermione.

“*Revesia*!” whispered Harry loudly. The laughter stopped, and Ron looked dumbfounded as
his legs flew over his head. As he toppled over, he looked around suspiciously. He looked at Harry
questionably, and Harry had to do his best to keep from laughing.

“Well, our wands still work,” said Hermione slowly. She studied Harry intently. “Maybe it's
the new spells.”

“How can it be? It just worked on Ron!” said Harry, lowering his voice.

“I don't know,” said Hermione. She wiped her hands gently on her robes, careful not to bend
her wrist more than necessary. “Well, there's just one way to find out. Do you...?”

“Nope,” said Harry, dropping his wand in his pocket and putting his hand up in surrender.
Despite his confusion, he smiled cheerfully. “Hit me!”

Hermione giggled. “I'm very sorry about this,” she said properly, “but... *Petrificus
Totalus*!”

Harry expected to feel his body stiffen as he fell forward, but he didn't do either thing.
Hermione looked more stunned than she had after being petrified during their second year.

“Why aren't the two of you dueling? Is it your hand and arm, Hermione?”

Hermione whirled around, but Harry could see Professor Lupin from where he was standing. He
looked both exhausted and amused but also a little disappointed. He was studying them intently.
Harry cleared his throat.

“It's not working,” he said simply.

“What do you mean?” asked Lupin, curious. Harry shrugged.

“Just that,” he responded. Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

“What Harry means, Professor,” said Hermione, “is that our wands aren't functioning
correctly. We can still do curses and charms, but not against each other...”

Harry cringed, and the look on Hermione's face made him realize that it sounded just absurd
to her ears as it did his. Even Professor Lupin, who had, no doubt, seen odd circumstances in the
past, was looking a bit bewildered.

“Is that so?” asked Lupin. “Try something.”

“*REVESIA*!” called Hermione, before Harry could even withdraw his wand again. With
Professor Lupin watching, he expected to be flipped on to his hands, but, once again, nothing
happened. The professor looked amazed.

“And yet it works against others?” said Lupin curiously. Hermione nodded, dropping the quill she
was still holding to the floor.

“*Wingardium Leviosa*!” she commanded, and it lifted into the air, hovering gracefully. She
looked from the feather to Professor Lupin to Harry. Harry's attention shifted from her to the
feather, and he summoned it. Now, Lupin looked shocked.

“Peculiar,” he choked finally. “The core of your wands, what substance—wait, you've never
had this problem before?”

“Never,” said Hermione, and Harry shook his head vigorously. The look in the professor's
eyes told Harry that he knew full well that the core of their wands weren't to blame. Finally,
Lupin cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said slowly, “there's little you can do if you can't duel properly. Mr.
Marks, will you come over here? Hermione, would you please partner Mr. Simmons for the remainder of
the hour?” Lupin lowered his voice as Marks strutted towards them, grinning fiercely. “Simmons has
little talent for dueling, and despite my many forewarnings, Marks refuses to show any mercy.”

Hermione nodded and crossed the classroom quickly. It dawned on Harry that Marks had, indeed,
found his wand, and the thought disappointed Harry thoroughly. The older Slytherin looked rather
sinister.

“Potter,” sneered Marks. Professor Lupin gave him a warning look.

“Keep it civil, boys,” said Lupin. He looked like he was about to say more, but on the other
side of the room, Lavender had accidentally stupefied Sally-Ann, and he rushed over to restore
her.

“Thought you'd done me in last night, did you, Potter?” Marks smirked. “I hate to break it
to you, but you're about to... *EXPANIUM*!”

Without warning, Harry's hand began to swell, and he could no longer feel his wand in his
hand. Quickly, he grabbed it with his other hand and hoped for the best.

“*RICTUSEMPRA*!” bellowed Harry, and Marks doubled over in pain as the jet hit him.

“*FRIDILIDI*!” wheezed Marks. He mangled the pronunciation, and instead of freezing Harry
in place, he fell backwards. Harry's face broke into an uncharacteristic smirk.

“*Visorni*!” called Harry gleefully. Marks squinted, but he still righted him from
Harry's earlier blow.

“*SENDROVUS*!” shouted Marks.

Harry felt a pain in both his chest and back as he was flung backwards into the desks behind
with Mark's charm. He managed to keep his wand trained on Marks, even with his left hand. He
managed to force another jet of painful silver light on Marks. Harry then had three pain charms put
on him in quick succession. Marks had not paused in accordance to proper dueling rules.

Harry retaliated with a Reveseretti Curse and a charm identical to the one that had sent him
into the desks. He was vaguely aware the rest of the class, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike, had
disarmed long before and were now watching him and Marks. For the next five minutes, the exchange
continued, and Harry was starting to run out of fresh spells. Finally, he mustered his energy and
hit Marks with a temporary stunner that he had learned in preparation for the Triwizard Tournament
the year before. Marks stopped dead in his tracks, and for a second Harry thought he had won. He
was too quick in his judgment.

“*EXPELLIARMUS*!” bellowed Marks, and Harry felt his wand fly out of his hand. He looked at
Marks, stunned. The corners of his mouth had turned up into a smirk. Harry's stomach began to
turn with anger, mostly at himself. Why hadn't he seen it coming? How could he have allowed
Marks to win? Harry's fury began to concentrate, and the next thing that happened wiped the
smirk off Marks's face.

With gunshot-like crack, Marks was lifted up off his feet. He flew backwards into the hard
castle wall. He thudded heavily before sliding down to his ground.

No one moved, and no one talked. Harry's right hand returned to its normal size, and he felt
his anger subsiding. Then, slowly, Seamus started clapping, and the rest of the Gryffindors
followed with loud cheers. Ron clapped him on his back, and Hermione rushed over to him, kissing
him lightly on the cheek. A small smile even seemed to be dancing on Professor Lupin's
face.

The bell rang, but nobody moved until a disgruntled Slytherin stamped his foot impatiently and
lead his housemates out the door. Marks was still groaning on the floor, and Harry walked over to
him as the rest of the Gryffindors started to exit the classroom. He plucked his wand from
Marks's grasp.

“Good time?” questioned Harry jovially. Marks looked ready to strangle him.

“You just wait,” he threatened, finally picking himself up off the floor. “You just wait until
Saturday, Potter. You'll get yours then.”

He strutted through the door, obviously trying to keep his pride. In the frame, he looked back,
as if he wanted Harry to dare him. Professor Lupin cleared his throat loudly.

“Watch out,” whispered Marks, so lowly that it was inaudible to everyone but Harry. “Watch your
back, Potter, and watch the Mudblood's.”

* * *

Ron and Hermione were still talking about the duel that evening after dinner. Ron was sputtering
his amazement at the power his best friend had demonstrated that morning, all without a wand, and
Harry's reaction had gone from a sheepish grin to an embarrassed smile. They ended up taking
the long route toward the Gryffindor Tower, and it wasn't until they turned into the Defense
Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration corridor that Hermione swatted at Ron.

“You're embarrassing him, Ron!” she exclaimed, which only made Harry blush more furiously.
He was about to mumble that it was okay when the sound of voices became apparent from halfway down
the corridor. The trio shared curious glances; they were some of the last students to be heading
toward their common room.

Hermione held a finger to her lips to quiet the boys, and they walked softly down the corridor.
The unmistakable voices of Professors Snape and Lupin could be heard through the door of the
Defense classroom.

“All my house can talk about is Potter brutally slamming Mr. Marks into that wall,” hissed
Snape, and he sounded much like the symbol of the house he headed. “I must say, that displeases me,
Remus.”

“Harry was simply defending himself,” said Lupin. He was much calmer than Snape. “It was a duel,
after—”

“I don't know what you and Dumbledore are heading,” interrupted Snape, “with this dueling
nonsense, but I don't like it one bit. I must admit, my suspicions are that you are just trying
to give Potter even more undeserved glory.”

“Marks would have won,” said Lupin suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“I even thought he had won, Severus,” said Lupin, and his voice was as calm as ever. “He'd
disarmed Harry.”

“He'd disarmed...” Snape trailed off, letting the words sink in. He exploded. “That Potter!
I should have known it would be him! What does he think he's buying into?”

“Harry's not buying into anything,” said Lupin abruptly. “It's what he is, and you know
that as well as I do. Unfocused magic of such caliber...”

“Oh, shut up!” snapped Snape, and he sounded very elementary. He seemed to realize this. “I
still feel that the boy gets more glory that he deserves—”

“Harry isn't James.” Lupin's words, as softly as they were spoken, had the impact he was
obviously aiming for.

“Of course he isn't,” said Snape. His sounded oddly displaced. “He's his son.”

“You say that, but you draw no line to divide the two,” said Lupin. “Severus, it's time you
move on. Harry doesn't deserve the hatred you reserve for James—”

“POTTER DOESN'T DESERVE ANYTHING HE GETS!” bellowed Snape. “His fame and his recognition, he
isn't worthy of any of it!”

“Stop living in the past, Severus,” said Lupin quietly. Despite the harsh words, his tone was
not at all rude. “Stop putting your memories of James into Harry. Stop taking your frustrations on
him. He's just a boy, after all.”

“Living in the past?” quipped Snape. “You have no right to tell me that.”

“You don't have to listen to me,” said Lupin. “I was merely suggesting—”

Snape snorted. “You were merely suggesting advice that you can't even take yourself. If I
did apply my opinion of Potter to his son—and I don't—it wouldn't be anything compared to
what you do. I'll tell you what, Remus, you come back to me when you stop mourning for her, and
you tell me to stop living in the past. How does that sound?”

“Leave.” Lupin's voice was cold.

“I thought we needed to talk,” said Snape slyly.

“LEAVE!” roared Lupin.

“Don't get in a twist,” said Snape, and his footsteps were very slow on the castle floor.
Nevertheless, Harry, Ron, and Hermione started to walk swiftly again. “You act as if I said
something that struck a nerve, Remus—”

“You,” said Lupin forcefully, “you have no right in making me recall my memories of her. You
have no right to speak of her, period. You have no—”

“Does it still hurt so much that you cannot call her by name?” said Snape. “Clara—”

“LEAVE!”

The three friends were startled by a blast from the classroom. A disheveled Potions master burst
out the door a few seconds later, and he wore his usual curt expression. He frowned when he saw the
three of them at the end of the hallway.

“Why, it's none other than my favorite Gryffindor students,” said Snape sarcastically. He
sharpened. “What do you think you're doing?”

“We're just going back to our—” started Hermione, but she was interrupted.

“Granger, you will have to learn some day that not all questions were meant for you to answer,”
said Snape, and he smirked. “I'm in a good mood today. Ten points apiece from Gryffindor for
existing. Now get out of my sight!”

There was no arguing, and Harry and Ron and Hermione didn't even register their shock at
having points taken until they were safely back in the Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

And it was Saturday at last. Five months after the original game was played, the Gryffindor and
Slytherin Quidditch teams took the field for the rematch. Based on the impending circumstances, the
score of the previous game had been canceled, so the game was to be played almost as if the other
had not happened. However, it was difficult to forget the events of that fateful afternoon, and
both teams mounted their brooms with heavy memories playing on their intention to win.

It had been a long week, and tensions had been building between the rival houses on and off the
Quidditch field. After Harry and Marks's duel in Professor Lupin's class, an even more
intense pressure had been put on both teams to return with a win. Harry hadn't been this
nervous for a Quidditch game since his very first. He looked over at Ron, who was staring straight
ahead at Madam Hooch, pale and muttering a prayer of sorts under his breath.

“Relax a bit, if you can,” whispered Harry. “You're not going to go anywhere this afternoon
if you let your fear get in the way of your game.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” muttered Ron, the sarcasm in his voice evident. Harry stifled a
laugh, and Ron finally smiled. Madam Hooch whistled and raised her arms to get their attention.

“You all know the rules,” she called, “and you all know how I feel about breaking them. This
game will be played in accordance to every one of them. Mount your broom, if you haven't done
so already. And—”

The sound of her whistle was the signal for the teams to take flight. Harry was halfway through
his ascent to playing level when he realized that Marks was marking him. He stared at him,
startled, and he realized at once that Marks's intention was to make it impossible for Harry to
ever even find the Snitch. Sure enough, the Slytherin Seeker was keeping his distance.

“And they're off!” called Lee Jordan from the commentator's box. “Gryffindor Captain
Angelina Johnson takes the Quaffle and looks to make a repeat play of November's game. Not so
easy this time. Slytherin Chaser Moon tries to cut her off, and Johnson passes to Gryffindor Chaser
Weasley—Ron Weasley—and he's taking it to the... NO! NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN! An actual block
from Slytherin Keeper Flint, which is more than a bit of a surprise, but it's nothing sensible.
Spinnet has the Quaffle now, and... SCORE FOR GRYFFINDOR!

“Slytherin in possession, but the Weasleys are on it...” Lee was saying, “and a Bludger from
either direction causes Moon to drop the Quaffle! The youngest Weasley picks it up, and he's
zipping toward the goal... TWENTY TO ZERO, GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry had taken to flying a few feet above the action to confuse Marks. His skills were great
for a Beater, but he didn't have the agility that it took to be a Seeker. Harry took a sudden
dive, and it was enough to get Marks off his tail for a few moments. He took a long look around for
the Snitch and was pleased to see that the second Slytherin Beater had flagged Marks's
attention and needed his assistance. Harry's stomach lurched a little when they started zooming
together in Ron's direction, but Ron realized they were coming and dived down so quickly that
the Bludgers plowed straight into one of Slytherin's own.

“And, entering the ninetieth minute of play time,” said Lee a good amount of time later, “the
score is nearly tied, sixty to fifty, Gryffindor. However, it doesn't look like it'll stay
that way for long. Youngest Weasley, heading toward the goal for the umpteenth time—if he makes
this one, it'll be his fifth of the game. Slytherin Keeper Flint is too busy keeping marking
Spinnet to notice... oops! Probably shouldn't say that, but—SEVENTY TO FIFTY, GRYFFINDOR! Like
I was saying, Flint was so sure that Weasley would pass to Spinnet that he didn't even bother
covering him, so another goal to Gryffindor. Slytherin in possession...”

Harry gave Ron the thumbs up sign as he whizzed past him on Moon's trail. He'd dropped
it four times already in the game, and Ron had recovered it three of those. Harry grinned in seeing
Ron's strategy, and he almost got creamed with a Bludger. Marks laughed evilly as he flew by
him, and Harry decided it was time to fly under the actual game play. Much to his disappointment,
Marks dived straight down behind him, and...

“FOUL! THAT WAS A BLOODY FOUL! SURELY YOU COULD TELL THAT WAS A FOUL!” screamed Lee frantically.
Professor McGonagall didn't bother stopping him. Like all the Gryffindors in the stands, she
was on her feet, scanning the play and waiting for Madam Hooch's call.

In the air, Harry let go of his broom to clutch his side painfully. Marks flew around him in
slow circles, chuckling. He had driven his own broom straight into Harry and tried to club him like
he was a Bludger. Madam Hooch began blowing her whistle shrilly as she flew in from the sideline,
waving her arm furiously. She gave a foul to Gryffindor immediately.

“How'd you like that, Potter?” whispered Marks smugly as he flew back down by him. He
didn't even seem to care that he'd gotten a penalty for his team. Alicia kept glancing down
to Harry to see if he was okay and nearly missed the shot.

“Well, that was a close one,” said Lee angrily after she put it into the goal. “Most well
deserved penalty shot I've ever seen. Slytherin Beater Marks flies straight into the Gryffindor
Seeker. Merlin only knows what he was thinking, though thinking isn't a trait commonly
associated with the Slytherin house...”

Harry stared angrily after Marks as he zipped back up into the game. Harry circled slowly for a
few minutes, and he realized that Marks was done with him for a moment. Before long, he had the
Slytherin Seeker on his tail, so he began he usually pattern of confusing dives and turns, ignoring
the throbbing sensation in his side.

“One hundred twenty to one hundred twenty,” Lee was saying mournfully. Harry looked in the
direction of the stands as he flew past. The Gryffindors were starting to get edgy, and he
didn't blame them. The rematch had just entered his fourth hour, and he'd only caught one
glimpse of the Snitch in the entire four hours. Marks had seen it, too, and sent a Bludger down to
him. When he swerved to avoid it, he'd lost sight of the golden ball.

“The score is tied,” repeated Lee. “Gryffindor in possession. Chaser Spinnet is positively
charging to the Slytherin end of the field... passes to Weasley... Spinnet has the Quaffle again...
Flint blocks... Johnson takes the Quaffle... Flint's not fast enough... AND THE TIE IS BROKEN!
TAKE THAT, YOU SLIMEY GITS!”

Harry heard Lee burst out loudly, and he smiled. Slytherin had been fouled five times, and it
looked like they were about to be fouled again. The Slytherin Beaters had been flying some kind of
odd cross pattern and were now charging directly at Ron from either direction. Harry was relieved
when Ron picked up speed, in pursuit of Moon again, but Marks was persistent. Taking advantage of
the Firebolt's superior speed, Harry raced over, dived between Ron and Marks, confusing Marks
so much that he turned sharply and nearly lost control of his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

He looped around lazily in the air, then dropped swiftly and popping back up to confuse the
other Seeker. Harry cut across the field as the other players concentrated near the Gryffindor
goal. Something gold caught his eyes, and he dived for it.

“What's this?” said Jordan in a hushed tone. “Has Potter seen the Snitch, or is he... just
faking again, folks, I'll bet. Clever one, that Potter is. Of course, this angers Marks, who
has a personal vendetta against the Gryffindor Seeker just `cause Potter is the better wizard of
the two, but of course... Professor McGonagall would like to stress that the commentary is
unbiased... Slytherin in possession...”

* * *

Harry had never thought he would get tired of Quidditch. Of course, that was before he played in
his first ten-hour match. Lee Jordan had started losing his voice around dinnertime, and an even
more biased Slytherin replaced him. Much to Snape's apparent displeasure, McGonagall had put a
still very hoarse Lee back in an hour before.

The sky had started to darken with storm clouds right before they had darkened with night, and
the stands had cleared for a while during dinner, but everyone had eventually returned. Even
Dumbledore had come out to watch. With so much attention, Harry was starting to feel obligated to
keep doing his best. It was growing more and more difficult though. Harry had stopped diving and
rolling so often; instead, he just flew in complicated circles. He hadn't been able to see the
Snitch when it was light, and he sure wasn't able to see it now.

“It's nine o'clock,” said Lee, “and, though I wouldn't put a lot of money on it,
I'm pretty sure that this is the longest Quidditch game in Hogwarts's history. Slytherin
Chaser Moon going to the goal again—keep in mind that he's only scored once today—but Keeper
Thomas blocks him cleanly. Chaser Weasley has the ball, but he's not flying as fast as he was
in the beginning. Passes to Spinnet... and Gryffindor manages to score again! That's four
hundred twenty to three hundred seventy, Gryffindor!”

Harry dodged another Bludger sent from Marks, taking one hand off his broom to cover his mouth
as he yawned. It ended up being very beneficial. Twenty feet down and to his right, the golden
Snitch glittered in the darkness. The harshly lit Quidditch pit gave it an eerie glow, but Harry
knew it was the Snitch. He kept his eye on it, waiting for the Slytherin Seeker to look away, and
he dived...

* * *

The Gryffindor Quidditch team had captured Harry into a group hug of sorts while still in the
air. The Slytherin team was already on the ground before they even started to descend, all of them
looking especially forlorn. All three Weasley brothers clapped Harry on the back, and George pumped
a fist into the air and hollered in the direction of the grounded Slytherin team, “How did you like
that? Not so hot, are you?”

“Bloody amazing, Harry,” breathed Ron, and Dean was nodding vigorously. Fred broke away from the
group and kissed Angelina, and Alicia looked like she was close to tears in her happiness. It
wasn't until they almost to the ground that Harry could hear the cheers from the stands.
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were both cheering wildly for the Gryffindors, and the house itself was
pouring onto the field. The dark sky opened up the second Harry's feet touched the ground, but
it only added to his excitement. It was almost like a sign that they game had ended right on
time.

A mob of equally ecstatic Gryffindors their team in the pit, and no one seemed to care that the
ground they were standing on was quickly turning to mud. Harry could see Hermione rushing toward
them, and he broke away from the mob.

“You did it!” she screamed when she saw him, her brown eyes sparkling with happiness. “We
didn't think you'd ever find it!”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” said Harry. “It—”

He didn't get a chance to finish because Hermione had thrown her arms around his neck. Harry
didn't mind a bit, and he couldn't help but wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning
her around.

The field was so nosy with the Gryffindors celebrating rambunctiously that the two didn't
notice Marks stamp his feet in the mud as he passed them. He was mumbling under his breath, and he
shot Harry a murderous glare. He trudged off the field unhappily, the words “Potter” and “Mudblood”
frequenting his mutterings.

* * *

On any given day, at any given hour, the Gryffindor common room was packed with students. It was
rarely empty, even at the latest hours of the night. There was always someone doing something
within the round walls, and that Saturday night in April was no exception. In fact, it exemplified
the usual state of the room—on overload. The whole of Gryffindor was packed in the area, and Harry
came to the realization that there were a few people in his house whose paths he hadn't
crossed, even after five years at Hogwarts.

The house-elves had certainly risen to the occasion. Fred and George had sent a good number of
fourth years down to the kitchen with news of the celebration, expecting a few snacks and what not.
Half an hour after the Quidditch match had officially ended, a slightly apprehensive looking Ginny
Weasley had led no fewer than a dozen elves into the common room. The array of food had been much
more than a few snacks; instead, the elves had put together a true feast.

The conversion of the common room to a miniature dining hall was not the only thing that had
happened while the house team showered and regrouped down in their locker room. They had no sooner
climbed through the portrait hole than an ecstatic Lee Jordan accosted them. The results from the
Quidditch match were in.

After ten hours and four minutes, the longest match in Hogwarts' history, Slytherin had gone
down to Gryffindor, three hundred seventy to five hundred seventy. The point total was more than
any other recorded Quidditch match. Ron had broken a house record for the number of individual
goals in one game (a record previously held by none other than James Potter), and Dean's
accuracy in blocking had increased by two hundred percent (though Harry wasn't sure if he
trusted the mathematical skill of the second year that reported the statistic.) Gryffindor would be
playing Ravenclaw next, and, unless Slytherin defeated both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw with a margin
of three hundred, or Gryffindor lost to Ravenclaw by over three hundred, they would be winning the
House Cup that year.

The breakdown of the match had served to give the exhausted Quidditch team a second energy and
further elate the already exuberant Gryffindors. The food had quickly disappeared, and Lee had
proceeded with a moment-by-moment dissertation of the match. When he had finished, the team itself
was once again at the center of the commotion. Nearly everyone in the house had come up to each of
the team members to express both thanks and congratulations, and one robust sixth year had clapped
Ron so hard on the back that Hermione had to apply a healing charm to the immediate bruising.

Now, it was well after midnight, but it was apparent that the real celebration was only getting
started, but for as lively as their housemates were acting, Harry and Ron were just as lethargic.
Together, with Hermione, they had taken refuge on an overstuffed sofa that was barely meant for
two. Ron was practically draped onto one of the arms, and Hermione might as well have been sitting
on Harry. They, too, were talking about the game when Hermione suddenly looked startled.

“Don't look now,” Hermione hissed, pointing discreetly across the room, “but the boy that
nearly knocked off your shoulder, Ron, is heading back this way.”

Ron paled as the boy, whose name was Eric Kahn, passed by. Harry also squirmed uncomfortably,
and they both breathed a sigh of relief when Eric was out of sight. Ron shrugged again, peering
over his shoulder at the blackened skin on his back.

“Say, Harry,” said Ron, “I don't think that even the bruise Marks gave you compares with
this.”

“Probably not,” said Harry, chuckling. “It's kind of sad that our own house is more
dangerous than—”

“What did Marks do?” questioned Hermione, cutting in. Her eyes narrowed.

“Plowed into him,” said Ron. “Don't tell me you didn't see that, and, if you didn't,
Lee was cursing about it for a good five minutes.”

“I saw it,” said Hermione, and she turned to Harry. “You are okay, right?”

“I've gotten much worse than a bad bruise in a Quidditch match,” reminded Harry. He shifted
a little, which only proceeded in sandwiching Hermione tighter between him and Ron.

“I know,” said Hermione quickly. “Oh no...”

“What now?” said Ron, looking around desperately. Hermione seemed to have a knack for noticing
the more obnoxious or hazardous of well wishers.

“Colin Creevey,” whispered Hermione grimly. Sure enough, the younger boy was waving frantically
as he scampered toward them. “He's got the camera. I'd suggest you run, but I don't
think you have enough time.”

“Harry! Ron!” squeaked Colin. He nearly tripped in his excitement to get to them.

“You think he'd never want to touch that thing again after getting petrified,” whispered
Harry, shaking his head. Colin hadn't bothered any of them much for years, but it seemed as if
he were back at it at the moment.

“I'm sorry for bothering you, but may I take your picture?” breathed Colin. “I promised,
it's just this once. I want it for when I tell my dad all about your win today!”

“It's not like we're playing Quidditch right now, Colin,” said Harry patiently. He tried
to gesture his point across and only succeeded in hitting Ron in the back of the head.

“And I'm sure your father hasn't forgotten what we all look like,” Ron couldn't help
but adding. Colin didn't seem to notice the sarcasm in his voice.

“Just this one,” repeated Colin excitedly. Ron groaned audibly, and the three friends struggled
off the couch. “Oh, you can sit. I don't care if Hermione is in the picture, Harry, since
she's your girlfriend... okay, smile!”

With a click, the picture had been taken, and Colin had, fortunately, gone on. Ron was staring
at Harry and Hermione curiously as the aspiring photographer scurried away.

“You didn't correct him,” blurted Ron.

“What?” questioned Harry, confused. Hermione, on the other hand, blushed deeply, but Harry
didn't notice it.

“He called Hermione your girlfriend,” said Ron, “and you didn't say anything.”

“He did?” said Harry. He hadn't noticed.

“Should I add poor hearing next to poor eyesight on your list of ailments?” said Ron, slightly
amused. It was Harry's turn to blush, and Hermione forced out a slightly strangled sound. Ron
shook his head. “I didn't mean anything,” he insisted innocently.

“What are we going to do tomorrow?” said Hermione, quickly changing the subject.

“I'm going to sleep late,” said Ron automatically, “and I'm going to kill Harry if he
tries to wake me up because you wanted to be in the library bright and early, so I'll have no
choice but to turn you in for the murder. Sorry, Harry.”

Hermione ignored him. “Going to the library wouldn't be a bad idea, you know,” she said
stubbornly. “We've only a month to complete our essays for Defense, and I haven't even
began writing the exploration requirement!”

“I think Ron means,” said Harry patiently, “that we do have a month.”

“Of course,” said Hermione briskly, “but we've also general O.W.L.s to prepare for and our
daily coursework and classes to chose for next year. You did know that we get to choose new
subjects or to keep the old ones, yes? Of course, that's something else entirely—back to this
weekend. I was thinking that we should use at least part of the day for—”

“There you are!”

It was Fred. George was following close behind him, gingerly holding their radio out at
arm's length. The contraption was known for its tendency to explode at regular intervals.

“Up,” demanded Fred, raising his hands as if he were levitating something. “We're supposed
to be celebrating, and I can't come up with any better way to do it.”

“Than what?” questioned Ron, raising an eyebrow. Fred glared at him.

“Please,” muttered Fred. He did not answer his younger brother's question; instead, he
glared at him. “Now get up! We're clearing the floor, and you're in the way.”

“Glad to help,” muttered Ron as he stood. He yawned heavily, and George clapped his back. A
shower of sparks erupted from the radio, and Ron jumped back.

“It's not time to sleep, not yet,” said George cheerfully. “Not until we're done
celebrating.”

“And when will that be?” Harry couldn't help but ask.

“You can't be the first to leave,” said Fred, talking around the question, “because
we're all here thanks to you. Stick it out, and we'll tell you when you're allowed to
go.”

“Where do they get their energy?” asked Hermione as the twins bounded off to the front of the
room. Lee was shooting haphazard spells in all directions to move the furniture to the walls. She
stumbled into Harry as a side table went flying backwards and nearly pinned her to the wall. He
caught her, and she smiled gratefully. “Did they not just play in the same match you did?”

“The same ten hour match,” said Harry.

“The same grueling ten hour match,” added Ron. “They're insane. I think Fred has some kind
of fetish with dancing.”

“Ah, don't be too hard on him,” said Hermione, pointing at Ron's older brother. He had
taken a step back as George worked on the radio, sweeping Angelina into his arms. Their laughter
could be heard over the rest of the room's commotion. Ron made a retching sound as Fred kissed
her. “They're getting pretty serious?”

“Serious?” snorted Ron. “The way George was telling it over Easter, Fred's had a crush on
her since their first year, and Fred apparently isn't the only one to confide in him.
Angelina's been coming to him since they started playing Quidditch together with questions
about Fred. I can practically hear wedding bells already.”

“Ooh,” breathed Hermione, clapping her hands together. “It was ever so fascinating to hear
Professor Binns talking about wedding traditions in the—”

“Professor Binns? Fascinating?” said Harry. “You're entitled to your own opinion, but Binns
isn't exactly fascinating.”

“He's just dry,” said Ron. He shook his head. “Girls. Of course you would love that stuff,
but it's my brother we're talking about. Can you really see Fred settling down?”

“Nope, can you?”

The three friends turned to see George standing behind them. He had a sheepish grin on his face,
and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes.

“I really wasn't trying to listen in to your conversation,” he said innocently, “but I just
happened to. Anyway, the Wonder Couple sent me over here to get you over there.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” said Ron sarcastically.

“You're an edgy one tonight,” observed George. “I won't tell if you sneak off to get
some sleep, but you know he'll notice, and we have been working on a new exploding—well,
it's top secret. You get the idea, surely.”

“Why do you need us over there?” asked Hermione curiously.

“Hasn't it been explained to you?” Angelina's cheerful voice broke in.

“It hasn't been explained why all these random people have suddenly pushed their way over
here and poked their way into our conversation,” said Ron, trying to sound grumpy, but
Angelina's smile was catching.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” said Angelina guiltily. Harry was about to ask what it was, but
she turned her attention to Ron. “Do you know my sister? My younger sister?”

“You have a sister?” said Ron.

“Must not,” said Angelina with a smile. She waved her hand. “Her name is Ally; she's
standing with all the third years on the opposite side of the fireplace, and she thinks you're
simply adorable. I was wondering if you'd be willing to humor her and ask her to dance.”

“She likes me?” squeaked Ron. His cheeks had surpassed the red of his hair.

“Don't act so shocked,” said Angelina, and George nodded seriously.

“Who wouldn't want a Weasley?” sniggered George. Angelina rolled her eyes just as Fred
appeared in the background, holding his hands up like ears behind her head. Angelina whirled around
and glared at him.

“Who would?” muttered Angelina. She turned back to Ron. “If you don't feel comfortable doing
it, you don't have to. I just thought I'd pass the information along to you.”

“I would, but I don't dance,” said Ron quickly.

“Nonsense,” said George. “You danced at the Christmas Dance; you can dance now. Get!”

“Maybe—”

“Look,” said Fred impatiently, “we're going to make you do it sometime tonight. Might as
well ask Ally and get it over with. She's the short girl with dark hair in pigtails.”

“He looks terrified,” chuckled Harry as he watched his friend shuffle across the room.

“I wouldn't laugh,” said Angelina sweetly, “because we're going to make you do the
same.”

“Whole Quidditch team has to dance,” said George. “There's no getting around it. The rule
has been made. Music is a joyful thing, Harry. Now get out there!”

“I don't dance,” muttered Harry feebly.

“You do now,” said Angelina, grabbing his arm rather forcefully. “And don't even try to tell
me you that you're scared. I watched you take a seventy-foot nosedive and pull out in a right
angle less than five feet from the ground. If that didn't scare you, this shouldn't.”

“Dancing is bad,” said Harry. The twins and Angelina laughed. Out of the corner of his eye, he
caught site of Dean. Alicia was obviously badgering him, and he looked even more unwilling than
Harry. George gave his brother and Angelina a salute as he ambled in their direction.

“Come on, Harry,” said Fred, grabbing his other arm.

“Why are you making me do this?” They did not answer, and Harry sighed. “I can't dance. I
don't have anyone to—”

“Hermione?” offered Angelina, raising an eyebrow. She let go of him and patted his arm.
“We'll be teaching the tango in five minutes. I suggest being ready.”

Harry gulped as Fred and Angelina strolled off together. Hermione just covered her mouth as she
giggled.

“Well,” said Hermione, her laughter slowly, “when they put it like that... what are you so
scared of, anyway?”

“I'm not really scared,” said Harry. “I'm just tired. It is okay with you, right?”

“What? Oh! Yes, of course it is, Harry,” said Hermione. She looked down, and Harry was almost
positive he'd caught a blush rising to her cheeks. He forced the thought out of his head. She
was talking softly; the noise level of the entire room had decreased. Most of their fellow
Gryffindors were staring at Lee and Fred and George and Angelina and Alicia curiously. They seemed
oblivious to the plans of the twins and the twins' friends.

“*Sonorous*!” said George, and he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but we'd like to have
your attention for a moment. First, we thank everyone that came out to watch the match today—”

“—Because nothing beats watching Slytherin get beaten to a pulp,” Fred couldn't resist
adding.

“Anyway, being from Dumbledore's school of thought and all,” continued George, which got a
bunch of cheers from his housemates, “we thought that a bit of music would make tonight even more
fantastic than it already is.”

George gave Lee a thumbs up, and Lee managed to turn the radio-contraption on with little more
than a small shower of sparks. Loud music filled the common room, and Fred and Angelina had already
broken into an exuberant dance. George and Alicia followed but at a slightly slower pace, and Lee
had grabbed the hand of a seventh year girl at least a head taller than he. When the song changed,
Fred began calling everyone to join them, and the house gradually moved to the center of the
floor.

“I guess—” said Harry, and he shook his head. If he had to do this, he might as well do it
right. He offered a hand to Hermione. “Would you like to dance?”

Hermione giggled as she stepped away to avoid being stepped on by Neville. Harry took her hand
in his just as Fred and Angelina bounced by them.

“Now, there's this crazy thing we've been learning about called line dancing,” Fred was
yelling, “that you might remember from Christmas. If you'll just follow our instructions,
you'll be doing it in no time—”

Angelina just pulled Harry forcefully into the group. Before long, only a handful of Gryffindors
were still standing up against the common room walls. The rest were following Fred and George,
laughing loudly and tripping over each other. Harry had a suspicion that a good deal of it was
actually improvisation.

Keeping that into consideration, he and Hermione were having moderate success. Fred called for
an elaborate turn, and Harry managed to spin Hermione as he was told. However, Neville was standing
nearby, and Harry only happened to pull Hermione to him a few seconds before he came careening in
their direction. They both burst out laughing as Neville picked himself off the floor, stuttering
his apologies.

“Poor Neville,” said Hermione sincerely as their round faced friend tripped again as he tried to
exit the provisional dance floor. She cringed as Fred nearly trod on top of him. “He really does
try so hard.”

“He does,” agreed Harry. “I like Neville.”

“Oh, I do, too,” said Hermione. She turned up to him, and he realized just how bright the
sparkle in her eyes was that night. Harry couldn't help but grin at that. “For as crazy as this
little celebration is, I think the twins might be onto something.”

“This?” questioned Harry, grimacing as someone elbowed him in the side. “That's easy for you
to say. You're good at this! And you claim to have no natural grace.”

“I don't!” insisted Hermione, but her protest was weak. She blushed and smiled at the same
time. “I also didn't spend ten hours on a broomstick today. Anyone would be tired after
that!”

“It wasn't that bad,” said Harry. “I'm glad you came to watch.”

“Harry,” said Hermione impatiently, “have I ever not come to watch one of your Quidditch
matches? I love to watch.”

“You've always been there,” agreed Harry, “but we've never played for ten straight hours
before.”

“I had a great time,” said Hermione firmly. “You're amazing, Harry. I'm trying to figure
out what the team will do when we graduate.”

“It's not just me,” insisted Harry.

Hermione smiled knowingly. The music had stopped for a second, and Fred and Angelina, who were
dancing next to them, scrambled to the front to see what had happened. Hermione's knowing smile
quickly changed to a giggle as she noticed Ron trying to dance with a girl more than two heads
shorter than him. He did not look very comfortable.

“What was it that you wanted to do tomorrow?” questioned Harry. Hermione opened her mouth to
answer, but they were once again distracted. Fred clapped his hands loudly.

“Okay, we're having a few technical difficulties,” admitted Fred. The words were no sooner
out of his mouth than Lee gave the radio a forceful smack with the palm of his hand. He pulled away
howling with pain, but the music had resumed play. However, it was not the energetic tune of early.
Still, the slow song seemed fitting. “Well, that takes care of that! We'll resume our teaching
when the real music comes back.”

“Teaching?” snorted Harry. Then, he realized that a lot of people were returning to the sides of
the common room, and he took a deep breath. He knew what he wanted to do. “Dance with me?”

“Aren't I already?” said Hermione softly, and her head rested easily on his shoulder. It
didn't feel awkward to Harry when he drew her a little closer.

“So what about tomorrow?” prompted Harry softly.

“Tomorrow,” repeated Hermione. “I've been wanting to look into some things all week, but I
haven't had the time.”

“What kind of things?” said Harry curiously.

“Well,” said Hermione slowly, “I just have this feeling about the book we found on Tuesday
night. I can't explain it, but I just know it has some kind of importance, and I want to know
what that important is.”

“Even if it isn't something major,” amended Harry, “it'll be interesting.”

“To me, it will be,” said Hermione ruefully. She tilted her head up to look at him. “I'm
sorry that I always drag you and Ron into my research projects. I'm sure they're not the
most thrilling of adventures.”

“Yeah, well, Ron and I always drag you along anytime we're doing something that will most
likely get us into trouble,” said Harry. His eyes sparkled down at her. “Nah, it's not bad,
`Mione.”

“You're just saying it to make me feel better,” said Hermione playfully. The conversation
was no longer about what to do the next day.

“I am not,” insisted Harry, and a sly grin crossed his face. “Even though I'm curious as
what you'd do if I was...”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” quipped Hermione. Harry felt something tighten in his stomach.
What was he doing? He and Hermione didn't act like this. It was probably after one in the
morning by now. His physical exhaustion and lack of sleep were probably starting to catch up to
him.

“I—” Harry couldn't remember what he was going to say. The last chords of the song began to
fade, and he immediately wished it not to be over. Almost as if responding to his wishes, the next
song was very similar. He actually recognized it as an older song that his aunt Petunia had always
hated.

Hermione's head rested against him again, and Harry's arms stayed around her. Some of
the students, mostly first and second years, looked tired and began heading to their separate
dormitories. Harry knew that a few of his friends had to be watching, but he couldn't bring
himself to care. He was feeling the same way he had months ago, at Christmas, the last time he and
Hermione had danced. That song, too, faded, and another did not start.

“Well, I guess that's all,” said Fred. He sounded a bit dejected. Slowly, groups of students
started to head into their dormitories and respective rooms, many yawning tiredly. Harry
reluctantly let Hermione go. She smiled at him, almost uncertainly.

“The library tomorrow?” asked Hermione softly, a smile on her face. Harry smiled back. He found
his legs carrying him in the direction of the staircase leading up to the girls' dormitory.
They stopped at the foot of the stairs, practically the only people left in the room. A few seventh
years had furniture scooting from one side of the room to the other, and Harry could hear Ron
helping Neville up from the floor after he had fallen again.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Harry. He gave her a lopsided grin, and she pulled her hand
from his. Harry blinked. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it. Hermione stepped
onto the first step, and she hesitated. She stepped back down, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Harry hugged her gently.

“Sleep well, okay?” whispered Harry. He knew that she hadn't had the easiest week in regards
to rest. His arms were still around her.

“I will,” said Hermione. She started to pull away from him, and Harry reluctantly released her
once more. “Thank you for everything, Harry,” she said softly.

“For what?” questioned Harry. Hermione shook her head, and she laughed nervously.

“Never mind,” said Hermione quickly. “It's really nothing.”

“If you're sure,” said Harry uncertainly.

“I'm sure,” said Hermione. She looked up at him, almost guiltily. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Hermione,” said Harry. He looked at his best friend for a few more seconds, and
Hermione finally turned and headed quickly up the stairs. Harry exhaled slowly when the door to the
dormitory shut behind her.

He hadn't even realized that he'd been holding his breath.

-->



19. The Head Boys
-----------------



Chapter Nineteen

THE HEAD BOYS

“Two inches,” pleaded Ron. “I'm only asking you for two little inches of writing. You
already have eleven more than we need! I won't even copy it word for word. I just need a few
more ideas.” He looked at Hermione pitifully.

“No, Ron, and that's final,” said Hermione, amused. “It's not even due tomorrow, and I
found all my information for it in the text, so you should be able to, too.”

“Hermione,” said Ron desperately.

“You may read my essay when yours is of required length,” said Hermione, “but not a second
before. I refuse to help you cheat.”

“'Mione,” whined Ron, “it wouldn't be cheating because I—”

“No,” said Hermione again. She stood, gathering a stack of library books in her arms with a
sigh. While Ron and Harry were still working on their regular homework, Hermione had finished hers
before lunch and was no working fervently on her essay for Professor Lupin's class. She had run
through the first two piles of books Madam Pince had lent her without the success she had hoped
for.

“Harry?” questioned Ron hopefully. Hermione turned around, raising an eyebrow at her two
friends.

“Er,” said Harry. He didn't mind helping Ron, but he knew Hermione would disapprove. Instead
of answering, he grabbed Ron's paper and quickly skimmed through it. “It doesn't look like
you have anything in there about the individual properties of each ingredient. It took me four
inches to cover them, and your writing is bigger than mine.”

His answer seemed to satisfy both Ron and Hermione. Hermione started to walk toward Madam Pince
again, and Ron began flipping quickly through his Potions book. Snape had gotten angry during class
on Friday when everyone but Hermione had fouled up in the creation of a complex weight loss aid.
Even Hermione had nearly lost her head with it when Pansy had told her not to screw up because she
could really stand to use the potion. The overall lack of success had angered Snape more than Harry
felt it should have, and he demanded that they write a three-foot composition on the potion, to be
turned in during the next class period.

Thinking about the unfairness of the situation and the stricken look on Hermione's face at
Pansy's words was enough to make Harry shake his head before returning to his work. He was
halfway through outlining a complex Transfiguration, which was the last of his weekend homework.
He'd thrown the books he was working from on essay about Dark Scars into his bag that morning,
but he was no longer in the mood to work. Passing by the large castle windows on the way to lunch
had Harry wanting to go outside and play Quidditch, or at least fly.

Harry hadn't slept well the night before. He had not been plagued with any nightmares or
weird dreams, but he had had a lot on his mind, including his recent behavior towards Hermione.
When he hadn't been able to draw any conclusions to it, he'd rolled over with the intention
of sleep, but he had then been distracted by thoughts about their discovery down in the filing
room

He wasn't sure when he finally fell asleep, but it didn't seem like much longer than a
few minutes before the whole of the house was waking up and noisily heading to breakfast. Giving up
on sleep, Harry had traipsed down to breakfast, where he discovered he wasn't the only one not
sleeping well. Hermione had dark circles under her eyes, and she seemed a little timid around
everyone. It had worried Harry when she merely pushed her breakfast around on her plate, but he had
not said anything; instead, he just went the library with her afterwards to get ahead on
assignments and studying. Ron had joined them several hours later, his wake up time much closer to
the lunch hour than breakfast.

“So,” whispered Ron, as soon as Hermione was out of earshot, “do you care if I just copy a
couple of lines here and there?”

“Just don't let it be so obvious that Snape notices,” said Harry. Or Hermione, he added to
himself. Ron grinned widely.

“You're the greatest,” said Ron enthusiastically, punching Harry's shoulder. He
pretended to be looking at the book instead of Harry's composition, but his intent expression
told Harry that he was really just restringing the sentences to change things up between the two
essays. “Have a good time with our girl last night?”

“Ron,” warned Harry quietly. He could almost feel Madam Pince burning holes into the back of her
head with the eagle eyes that were perfectly in sync with her over developed hearing. Fortunately,
a group of giggling first years stumbled in, and she stopped glaring at the older students already
there. “I still don't know where you're getting this idea of me and Hermione, but
it's—”

“—Completely ridiculous, I know,” finished Ron. He glanced up at Harry innocently. “I never
suggested that something was going on between the two of you, but now that you mention it... is
there something I should know about?”

“Stop it with that innocent look,” grumbled Harry. “And don't give me that look, either,
that one where you pretend not to know what I'm talking about. And stop thinking about `Mione
and I like that.”

“Why? You do it,” said Ron casually, turning his head back to his paper as if he were merely
commenting on the weather. Harry could feel himself reddening, and it was becoming increasingly
difficult to focus on the fifth phase of concentration involved with Anchimus, the process of
turning another human into an animal or back again. They would never be taught the skills involved
with it, but Professor McGonagall had declared it essential to know. She'd also dropped rather
indiscrete hints that the steps in each phase would appear on the rapidly approaching O.W.L.s.

“There's nothing going on between the two of us,” said Harry through clenched teeth. The
words were awkward on his tongue. Ron just sniggered, tapping his foot nervously and fiddling with
his quill.

“How far are you on Professor Lupin's essay yet?” asked Ron a few minutes later. He was
refolding Harry's Potions essay. He looked up at Harry mournfully. “I just can't believe
he's asking for fifteen rolls of parchment! Fifteen! That's practically novel length! Can
you even consider that an essay?”

“Fifteen parchments as opposed to the original twenty-five discussed,” said Hermione dryly. She
had just appeared behind Harry, carrying another armload of books and stacking them on the table
with numerous thuds. Still, something looked different about her. Harry noticed the twinkle in her
eyes at once. “Or so I've heard.

Ron moaned. “Does he really expect us to write that much?”

“Oh, don't fret over it,” said Hermione soothingly. She added cheerfully, “You won't
have it that bad; there's so much information out there on the Belwit Curse. On the other hand,
there's precious little about the Affinity of Relations in all the references of this library.
I've only been able to complete eight!”

Ron sucked in his breath, and Harry resisted the urge to laugh outright. Hermione looked dead
serious in her response, and Ron looked just as shocked. Harry's own composition was between
three and four scrolls.

“Eight?” squeaked Ron. “I'm only... okay, I haven't exactly started writing it yet, but
I do have a lot of research!”

“Humph,” muttered Hermione, looking at him disapprovingly. “You have started, Harry?”

“I'm at the top of my fourth parchment roll,” promised Harry. Ron shook his head with
disgust and turned back to the Transfiguration outline. He knew better than to ask again. Harry
looked long and hard at Hermione for a few more seconds.

“You suddenly look better,” said Harry. “I mean, you look like you're feeling better.”

“I have something to show you,” answered Hermione. She reached an arm across Harry to get
Ron's attention. The feeling from the night before returned in his stomach. “You too, Ron.”

Hermione withdrew a very thick, square book from her stack. It had a rich cover of violet cloth
and seemed to be in good condition, despite its age. The silver lettering on the volume had long
ago worn away to mere specks. She opened it, passing it to Harry. She motioned for him to fan
through the pages. He couldn't and looked at her questionably.

“Sometimes authors would have a cladava charm put on their work,” explained Hermione, “so that
only a select few would be able to read it. To open such books, you must know a counter-cladava and
have the correct desire to open it, Madam Pince demonstrated the process on this particular book...
*Cladaviat*!”

The third tap of her wand completed the charm, and the pages immediately began to fill with
inked words. She flipped her hand over the pages to show that they were no longer stuck together
and looked up at Harry and Ron expectantly.

“The book you took out of the filing room!” breathed Ron. He grinned.

“Exactly,” said Hermione, and she grinned.

“Where is it?” questioned Harry, pushing his schoolbooks to the center of the table. This was
more interesting than any Transfiguration concept or editing the essay he had written for
Snape.

“It should be in here,” said Hermione, searching through her bulging book bag. After several
seconds, she looked up, distressed. “It's not there!”

“Maybe it's back in your room,” suggested Ron.

“No, I put it in here on Tuesday,” explained Hermione, “because I had borrowed a seventh
year's charms book to look for an unfastening charm. I was looking through it in the stands
during your Quidditch practice—”

“Don't panic,” interrupted Harry, touching her arm reassuringly. “You probably just took it
out in your dorm room. That was five days ago, after all.”

“No, I wouldn't have,” insisted Hermione. “I know I put it back in my bag when you finished
practicing, so I had it with me when—”

“When those bastards attacked you,” finished Ron angrily, and Hermione didn't even give him
the usual look of disapproval. “I picked up everything, though, I know I did.”

“What do you mean?” said Hermione. Her nerves were obvious from the look in her eyes.

“Your bag had split,” said Ron, looking at her like she was nuts. “Didn't you know? I had to
repair it and then pick up all your books.”

Hermione shook her head. “It never split,” she said. “I just dropped it!”

“Yeah, well,” said Ron, “with all the books you insist on carrying around, any sudden movement
would make that bag explode.”

“Are you sure it was in there?” asked Harry. He could practically feel a petty squabble
starting. Hermione nodded miserably.

“I'm so sorry!” she blurted. “I never meant to—”

“It's not your fault,” said Ron, stopping her apology. “I should have—”

“Stop, both of you,” ordered Harry. “For all we know, it could still be lying in the corner of
the landing, or Marks could have seen it and come back for it.”

“But why would he want it?” said Ron. “We're the only ones that know anything about it.”

“We don't know that for sure,” said Hermione. “We can't possibly be the only ones.
Someone put those things in that box, and they had to have a reason for doing so. That's at
least one other person.”

“Marks might know something we don't,” said Harry, nodding to Hermione.

“Marks knowing something?” said Ron. “Think that's possible?”

“True, but we shouldn't assume anything,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “We should probably
focus on trying to find the book.”

Harry nodded again. “Exactly. Let's go check the stairwell right now.”

* * *

“Okay, two of the Ten Smokes of Brilliance have been used here at Hogwarts,” recalled Harry,
“gray and black. The gray smoke, though still very powerful, is a little easier to conjure than the
black. It was used with each student disappearance.”

“And the black, which is considered very advanced Dark Magic, was used at Halloween,” said Ron,
munching on some chocolate he had nicked from Fred and George. When they had not found the book on
the landing, the three friends had headed up to the prefect common room. Now they were going back
through all the odd happenings of the school year. “The staff blamed Crabbe and Goyle's deaths
on their own foolishness, but Malfoy—worthless git—insists it was Voldemort, and—”

“There's one problem with that,” interrupted Harry suddenly. He bit his lip as if he were
still working through a particular thought. “Durmstrang was attacked on Halloween night, as well.
How could Voldemort take out an entire school and kill two students here at the same time?”

“Hogwarts was attacked several hours before Durmstrang,” said Hermione. “I had the same
question, Harry, so I checked the *Daily Prophet* article after speaking with Malfoy.”

“Then it was more than just a punishment!” exclaimed Ron. Both Harry and Hermione turned to him.
“Don't you remember? Malfoy said their fathers had failed to perform a task for Voldemort, so
he killed Crabbe and Goyle!”

“Sick,” muttered Hermione. It was.

“What else was it?” questioned Harry. Hermione seemed to be cottoning on to what Ron was saying,
but he still wasn't following him.

“The Ministry would have been alerted immediately about the foul play here,” said Ron, “and more
than a little concerned. A threatening message and two dead students? Even the international
ministries must have been in upheaval! How easy would it have been to take Durmstrang by
surprise?”

“Brilliant,” said Hermione, and she looked like she could have jumped up from her perch on the
floor to the sofa and kissed him for the deduction. “You know, the *Daily Prophet*'s
coverage of Durmstrang was nothing like that for Beauxbatons, and they never mentioned another word
about what happened here at Hogwarts.”

“Aside from Dumbledore's mention of both the morning after,” reminded Harry, “the staff has
ignored it, too. We knew that Dumbledore and Bom have some kind of connection, so Hogwarts is tied
to the Ministry of Magic more than it ever has been. They're both probably operating like this
for the same reasons.”

“We need that book,” said Hermione wistfully. Harry, who was sitting on the floor next to her,
put a reassuring arm around her shoulder, and she smiled gratefully at him. “If Bom did have some
kind of training from Dumbledore, that book could somehow be related to it.”

“Everything seems to be related,” said Ron. He grimaced. “I think Snape's said that
before...”

“Must not be, then,” said Harry, which made them all laugh. “No, Hermione's right. That book
is more important then we probably realize. Whatever reason Dumbledore had for training Bom,
I'm sure we can safely assume that he infused a lot of his ideals into Bom, so he's
probably going to be a lot like Dumbledore.”

“What else do we know about him?” questioned Ron. “Anything?”

“He worked as an Auror,” said Harry.

“He managed to be appointed as Minister of Magic without being in the Ministry,” said Hermione
at the same time. She and Harry shared a look at their contradictive statements. “That's
impossible, though. If he was an Auror, he would have been a part of the Ministry!”

“Not necessarily,” said Ron, and his two friends looked up at him with confused expressions. He
shrugged. “I forget that the two of you don't know as much about how the Ministry works as I
do. Technically, Hermione's right: Aurors do work for the Ministry. They have their own
department, and the Minister sometimes advises them, but it's not like it used to be. In the
past, Aurors could only work under his direct instruction, but that eventually changed. They
don't consider themselves to be a part of the Ministry, and the other officials usually respect
that.”

“That makes... sense,” said Harry a little sarcastically. Ron laughed.

“I know,” agreed Ron. “Dad and Percy have explained it hundreds of times, and I think it makes
less with each go round. The Ministry really is a peculiar organization. It's been around
forever, and half the departments have rifts that span centuries, so they refuse to work
together.”

“Oh, that really demonstrates its purpose,” said Hermione as she rolled her eyes. “How can you
promote magical cooperation when you don't even want to associate with your coworkers?”

Ron sniggered, and Harry cleared his throat. “Let's say that the book we found did have
something to do with Dumbledore training Bom. If that's the case, what would the staff lists
from the forties and fifties have to do with it?”

“I don't know,” said Hermione, looking thoughtful. She seemed to be thinking something
through. “We know now that Dumbledore was gone for three years. I think—well, I'm pretty
sure—all three of them would have been a little after Tom Riddle's time here, which was, at
least, a quarter of a century before Bom.”

“It's great that you can do math,” said Ron, “but how is it going to help us?”

“You never know,” said Harry. “It might. I think there's only one thing we can do.”

“What's that?” asked Ron, curiously. Instead of questioning him, Hermione caught his eye. He
nodded, and she seemed to understand.

“I think,” said Hermione, “we need to go back down into the dungeons and take a closer look at
the contents of that box. There could easily be something else in there that we didn't
notice.”

“Exactly,” said Harry, and Ron was nodding. “Tonight?”

“Tonight,” said Ron, and Hermione echoed.

“But how are we supposed to get in there?” said Hermione suddenly. “Snape took so many twists
and turns to find that room; I don't really trust myself to find it again...”

“You forget what we have,” said Ron. “We haven't used the Marauder's Map much this year,
Harry, have we?”

“Not once,” said Harry, an almost mischievous smile spreading across his face. “To think, if we
don't use it soon, it might start feeling neglected...”

“Completely unloved,” suggested Ron. Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded anyway. Harry glanced
at his watch. It was almost dinnertime.

“We'd better go eat,” he said. “We can't really be wandering around the dungeons until
everyone is asleep. One of the Slytherins is bound to be down there. It would look a little
suspicious if any one of them were to see us.”

“That's where the invisibility cloak comes in,” explained Ron. Hermione still looked a
little nervous.

“We'll go after everyone has gone to sleep, just to be on the safe side,” Harry said
reassuringly.

* * *

“Tomorrow's the full moon,” whispered Ron that night. He was looking heavenward out the
window of their dorm room. Each passing minute put them closer to the time they were planning to
meet Hermione down in the common room. It was imperative that they didn't wake any of their
housemates on the way down; Harry didn't want Neville or anyone else trying to stop them that
night.

“No Defense tomorrow,” said Harry quietly. Thinking of Professor Lupin made him feel a bit
guilty about what they were about to do. He was quietly pilfering through his trunk for the
invisibility cloak. It was folded, very carefully, into one of the corners, beneath the sets of
work robes he had outgrown in the last few months. The Marauder's map was already clutched
tightly in his hand, taken from its own secure spot in the roomy trunk. They were essentially doing
exactly what Sirius had told them not to do, yet they were doing it with a little assistance from
Sirius and his three oldest friends.

“Five minutes,” said Ron. “Are you ready?”

“Let's go,” replied Harry. The two boys scrambled out of their room silently, but the door
nearly gave them away. It hadn't creaked once in all the time they had lived in that particular
room, yet it chose to do so that night. Harry cringed in the darkness, but they did manage to get
down to the common room without incident; however, he couldn't ignore the uneasy feeling in the
pit of his stomach.

Hermione was emerging from the girls' dormitories just as Harry and Ron entered the common
room. Like the boys, she was wearing her school robes over her nightclothes. Ron began sniggering
quietly when he saw her.

“What?” demanded Hermione, quietly but forcefully.

“Your hair,” said Ron, still sniggering. Her normally bushy hair had been pulled up into a large
clip, and it fanned out across the top of her head. Hermione scowled, her hands flying to her head
and removing it.

“Lavender and Parvati,” explained Hermione. She was a bit red as she tucked the clip into her
pocket. “They've been fascinated with my hair lately. Every night before bed it's the same
thing. `Can we do your hair, Hermione? We promise we won't hurt anything!' It amuses them,
you see, and they let me study while they work, so at least I don't have to hear them having
petty squabbles about Merlin-knows-what. Do you have everything?”

“Yes,” said Harry, and he withdrew both the map and the invisibility cloak. He handed the cloak
to Ron and took out his wand. Tapping the map, Harry whispered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to
no good.”

Green ink began to spread across the worn parchment, and the three friends crowded around the
map. With the exception of Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore, all of the teacher's ink dots were
still, meaning they were probably asleep in their respective rooms. Both the school nurse and
headmaster were in the hospital wing, causing Hermione to breath, “Oh, I do hope everything is
okay!”

“Everything's fine, I'm sure,” said Ron. He extended a finger and pointed at places on
the first and sixth floors. “Filch is on the prowl, and it looks like that damn cat of his is
heading where we want to be.”

Harry was squinting at the map, trying to take in just where they were heading. Ron's finger
moved again, this time to a part of the dungeons.

“Down here, I think,” said Ron, scratching his chin. “It's either this dungeon or the one
right next to it.”

“He's right,” said Hermione. She looked worried. “We'll have to be very careful, with
both Filch and Mrs. Norris out.”

“At least Peeves isn't around,” said Harry. “I don't see him anywhere.”

“Nick and the Grey Lady seem to be conversing,” said Ron, “but you're right. Peeves is
nowhere to be found. Oh well, he won't be able to see us anyway. Are you ready?”

Hermione and Harry nodded, and they unfolded the invisibility cloak. Shoving together, they
walked slowly in the direction of the portrait hole. Suddenly, something burst out in front of
them. It was small and furry, golden in color.

“Crookshanks!” croaked Hermione. The cat scuttled through the portrait hole in front of them,
causing the Fat Lady much confusion.

“Who's there?” demanded the portrait, but Hermione's pet actually provided enough of a
distraction that the Fat Lady didn't notice the three students slipping through behind him.
“What student lets his pet out in the middle of the night? Humph! Filch isn't going to like
this. No, he won't like this one bit!”

Hermione gulped as they turned the corner. Harry's eyes were still glued to the map; sure
enough, Filch was approaching the seventh floor. He directed his friends down another corridor.

“Don't worry, Hermione,” assured Harry quietly. “Crookshanks is smart. He'll be back to
Gryffindor as soon as he wants to be, and Mrs. Norris is no match for him.”

“Of course,” whispered Hermione, but he knew she was still rather surprised and a bit worried.
They moved awkwardly toward the dungeons, stepping on each other every few feet, and Harry squeezed
her hand reassuringly. The three friends their destination without incident.

“*Alohomora*!” said Hermione, and the doorknob turned easily in Harry's hand. The
room's candles lit automatically as it swung open, and Ron shut the door quickly behind them.
The room was just as they had left it, all the boxes stacked against the wall in rows with little
walkways between each row.

“Mischief managed,” said Harry, tapping the map again. The ink disappeared, and he shoved it
into one of his pockets.

“Where did we put it?” questioned Ron. Harry had already shrugged off the invisibility cloak and
was walking carefully through the rows of boxes. He was muttering numbers under his breath.

“I think it's in this stack,” said Harry, and his two friends followed behind him, careful
not to brush against the boxes in fear that they would all fall. Whichever part of the room it was
in, Harry could distinctly remember putting the blue box on the floor against a dimly lit wall.

“I don't think it's here,” said Ron finally. He looked at Harry, starting to back out of
the room, but Hermione stopped him. She was looking toward the ceiling.

“Ron,” questioned Hermione, “did you leave any stacks incomplete?”

“No, why?” He, too, looked up, and so did Harry. The stack of boxes directly against the wall
was one box shorter than all the surrounding stacks. The three friends shared nervous glances.
Harry reached out and touched one of the boxes.

“This whole stack is slanted over,” said Harry quietly, “and the blue box was in the bottom row.
Someone must have pulled it right out from under the others.”

“So we aren't the only ones that know,” said Hermione softly. She looked at her two best
friends dejectedly. “We should go.”

Harry nodded. The nervous feeling in his stomach intensified. He didn't speak as he pulled
the cloak over the three of them. The expression on each of his friends' faces was enough to
tell him that they were feeling the same way. Someone else knew about the box, and someone else
wanted it. Ron shut the door softly behind him.

They were just past the Potions dungeon when the light sound of their footsteps was joined by
another set in the darkness. It was Mrs. Norris. Harry stopped short; being in the middle, he
prevented Hermione and Ron from going any farther. The cat changed directions suddenly, and she
walked right into them. Purring loudly, she studied what wasn't in front of her for several
long moments before taking off. She was no more than a foot away from them when something else shot
out of the shadows.

It was Crookshanks. He leapt on top of Mrs. Norris, causing the old gray cat to practically
hiss. His bushy tail thumped against her face, and Mrs. Norris sat there, stunned. Wasting no time,
Harry dragged his friends up the stairs and away from the dungeons.

“You know,” whispered Ron, “your cat just saved us from the wrath of Mrs. Norris.”

“Just hope he keeps her from going to Filch until we're safe back in Gryffindor,” said Harry
softly. They hurried along, and it looked as if Crookshanks had succeeded in keeping Mrs. Norris
from going to her caretaker. The trio inched up the stairs to the third floor. They were passing
the Defense classroom when heavy footsteps began echoing down the hall in the opposite direction.
Harry couldn't help but suck in his breath as Filch passed by them. He moved to take the
Marauder's map out of his pocket again, but Ron stopped him.

“That was close,” said Hermione, obviously shaken, as the caretaker turned the opposite corner.
Harry sighed with relief, and they climbed the stairs to the fourth floor.

They were halfway to the staircase that would take them directly to the seventh floor when they
heard footsteps again. This time, they were coming from right behind them, and they were quickening
in pace. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had no choice but to speed up, also. There was no use. Filch was
on their heels, and he stepped purposely on the back of the invisibility cloak.

“Aha!” cackled Filch. “Students out of bed, students in the halls! Thought you'd fool me
with that cloak, eh? Thought you'd get past Argus Filch, did you? Oh no you don't! These
halls are mine when night falls... and you are mine when you chose to pass through them after
hours. Come, come with me...”

And, laughing to himself, he turned on his heels and took off down the corridor. Harry, Ron, and
Hermione had no choice but to follow him.

* * *

The fact that, as he paced the confines of his small office, Filch kept pausing to stroke the
chains he kept hanging from the back ceiling lovingly was not making Harry feel any better about
his current situation. The sinister caretaker had marched them down to his office and sat them down
in three precarious old chairs. Mrs. Norris had stumbled in right behind them, so Filch had sent
for Professor McGonagall.

Now, he made a great show of tromping across the room and folding Harry's invisibility cloak
into one of his filing cabinets. Ron, who was sitting to Harry's left, nudged him, and Harry
knew they were thinking the same thing. Harry made a mental note to consult Fred and George about
sneaking in here immediately. At least he still had the Marauder's Map tucked safely in his
pocket.

“What were you doing out of your beds?” barked Filch.

“Er,” said Harry when Filch's steely gaze settled on him. His lack of confidence seemed to
trigger something in the man, and he began laughing and muttering once more.

“Mr. Filch?” The caretaker was silenced when the door to his office swung open. A very unhappy
looking Professor McGonagall stepped in. Her hat was askew on her head, and she had obviously
awakened and dressed very quickly. Mrs. Norris was on her heels, and Harry couldn't help but
feel pleased to see the skeletal cat looking uncharacteristically shaken. Crookshanks had obviously
let her have it. “Your cat was scratching at my door and refused to—”

“Students out of bed,” cackled Filch. He eyed the manacles fondly once more. “Students in the
halls. Gryffindor students, Professor McGonagall!”

“Miss Granger,” said McGonagall. Her eyes fell on each of them in turn, and she sighed. “Potter
and Weasley. I should have known.”

“Have any other two names brought about so much trouble?” said Filch. “Those Weasley twins,
absolutely no respect for authority! That James Potter, always up to something! Only had him in
here a few times, of course, he was halfway through when I started, but I've heard the stories.
What Pringle had to say about him! And the incident with the Evans girl—”

“That's more than enough, Mr. Filch,” said McGonagall sharply. “Dare I ask what you were
doing up at this hour?”

“Dare you need to?” challenged Filch. “What do students of their age usually do late at
night?”

“I rely on Miss Granger to have more sense than that,” said McGonagall, causing all of them to
blush deeply, “and I would hope she has infused the same standards of conduct into her friends as
well. That aside, what do you have to say for yourselves?”

“We couldn't sleep,” said Ron quickly.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, but Filch had gone back to stroking his miscellaneous torture
devices. “I could have sworn that the three of you sleep in different Gryffindor dormitories.”

“We were just taking a walk,” said Hermione timidly.

“Potter? Five seconds to contribute your own unconvincing excuse?” said McGonagall. She almost
looked amused. Almost.

“Er,” said Harry, but that was all.

“Very well,” said McGonagall. She looked down at her watch. “I do hope you realize it's
approaching the hour of one. This school has always, and will always, forbade wandering the
corridors late at night. I keep hoping you will eventually see to this rule, especially now that
you are looked upon as prefects to set a good example. Twenty points apiece from Gryffindor
and—”

“Twenty points?” Filch scowled. “That's not a punishment! Why, a punishment is labor and
beating! These points, this system—”

“—And a detention as Mr. Filch sees fit,” finished McGonagall, looking very put off by his
interruption.

“Oh yes,” said Filch. He was rubbing his hands together, and he squinted from Harry to Ron to
the chains hanging from his ceiling. “Not the right height for the two of you, but this one will
fit quite nicely...” He reached out to touch Hermione, but she shrank back against Harry,
whimpering. McGonagall glared at him.

“None of that!” barked McGonagall. She smiled thinly at Hermione. “Hogwarts is a progressive
academy that looks down on such means of castigation. Dumbledore has clearly stated what rules we
must abide by in assigning detentions, and I expect you to uphold—”

She was interrupted again, this time by the door creaking slowly open. Harry realized it had not
been properly shut, and a ginger ball of fur shot in. For the third time that night, Crookshanks
had darted out of nowhere.

The scene that unfolded sent both Harry and Ron into a fit of sniggers. Hermione, on the other
hand, looked terrified for the well being of her cat. Crookshanks had scrambled onto an empty chair
and leapt at Mrs. Norris, who was resting on top of Filch's file cabinet. She seemed to think
such action was compromising it.

“CROOKSHANKS!” exclaimed Hermione. “NO!”

With a large sweep of his tail, Crookshanks had given Mrs. Norris a fairly good lashing. The ash
gray cat retaliated by pouncing at him, but she overshot the jump and ended up clawing Harry hard
across the face. Filch swore loudly at the commotion, and it wasn't until Hermione managed to
grab a struggling Crookshanks that it ended. Mrs. Norris bolted from the room.

“Mrs. Norris!” cried Filch, watching his retreating cat. He glowered at Hermione and
Crookshanks. “Precious, precious Mrs. Norris. If that worthless ball of fur hurt my cat—” Filch
drew a hand swiftly across his throat and tried to lunge at them.

“It's neither the time nor place for threats,” said McGonagall. She was staring at
Crookshanks in wonderment. “That cat—Crookshanks, did you call him? Is he your pet?”

“He didn't mean anything by it!” protested Hermione. Her eyes were wide with fear. “He
doesn't know any better. I didn't mean for him to get out of the tower tonight!”

“Of course not,” said McGonagall, her voice taking an odd tone. The three friends shared
confused looks, and Harry moved his hand to his cheek. He pulled back his fingers when it stung at
his touch, surprised to see that Mrs. Norris had drawn blood. “Of course not,” she repeated. “Give
him here, Miss Granger. I will see that he stays in the common room for the night.”

Filch glowered at her but said nothing. Hermione was stroking Crookshanks reassuringly as she
passed him to the professor. “It's okay, Crookshanks, Professor McGonagall is only going to
take you back to Gryffindor. Don't you dare leave my room again!”

Harry was not surprised that the look in Crookshanks eyes showed comprehension of her words, but
he was surprised at ease in which Hermione was able to pass him to their Head of House. He knew
Hermione's cat to be a lot of thing, but accepting of strangers was not one of them, and he
could not remember Crookshanks ever encountering McGonagall ever before. The professor gave Filch
one last stern look before exiting the office.

Filch looked sullen as she walked out of the door. For a few moments, no one spoke, making his
movement toward them feel all the much more sullen. Hermione nearly shrieked, and she flinched
noticeably.

“You're a jumpy one,” observed Filch. The corners of his mouth turned slowly up into a
smirk. “Weasley,” he barked, “you are still familiar with the trophy room?”

“Yes, sir,” said Ron, lowering his head. Harry might have been forced to help the former
Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail, but Ron had spent many hours polishing the silver in the
trophy room as punishment for driving a flying car to Hogwarts in their second year.

“That's good, very good,” said Filch, twiddling his fingers in an evil manner. “Then you
will have no trouble leading your friends to the plaque room. You will find it just two doors down
from the trophy room.”

“The plaque room?” questioned Harry, not sure if it was any better.

“The plaque room,” said Filch. “Do you have a problem with that, Potter? Those students that
feel they are above authority and refuse to serve detention are promptly expelled, you know. Are
you asking for expulsion?”

“No, sir, not at all,” said Harry quickly, shuddering at the thought of having to live with the
Dursleys' again.

“Go back to your rooms and change,” said Filch. “You will be working until the start of morning
classes tomorrow. I expect to see you in no more than ten minutes. Understood?”

“Yes,” said Ron, and Harry and Hermione both nodded. Filch smiled.

“THEN GO!” he barked.

* * *

“I think I'm getting closer to the turn of the century,” said Hermione. She looked across
the room to where Ron and Harry were working. The slight movement made the stepstool she was
standing on totter precariously.

“Turn of the century,” grumbled Ron. “That wouldn't be so bad, except you could be talking
about any one of them.”

“Sixteenth,” said Hermione, “Marilee Burgess, Ravenclaw, and Winfield Madessi, Hufflepuff.”

It was half past four, and, three hours into their work, it was easy to understand why Filch had
been so eager to spring the job on them. There were two plaque rooms in Hogwarts; one was small and
filled with miscellaneous awards and honors, and the second was practically wallpapered with
plaques inscribed with the names of the Head Boy and Girl from every year Hogwarts had been opened.
There were over a thousand to polish, and Harry had a sinking feeling they had little more than
gotten started.

“I'm trapped in the nineteenth,” joked Harry. “You wouldn't happen to have a relative
named Weegus, would you, Ron?”

“Weegus?” questioned Ron. “You have to be kidding me.”

“I'm not,” said Harry, stepping aside and gesturing to the plaque with a flourish. Sure
enough, the name of the Head Boy was Weegus Weasley. He took the moment to reach back and rub his
shoulder. Filch kept poking in and out, criticizing their cleaning technique and waving their wands
tauntingly at them. Considering he had just come and gone, Harry figured he was safe in
breaking.

“That's something to write home about,” remarked Hermione.

“Oh yeah,” said Ron. “Can you imagine what I would say to Mum? `Harry and Hermione and I are
doing fine, but we did get the notion to sneak down to the dungeons in the middle of the night to
look through some confidential documents we stumbled across during our last detention. Filch caught
us, even though we had the assistance of an invisibility cloak and once confiscated map, and he had
us polish plaques well into the night. Anyway, I was just wondering if we had a relative named
Weegus. He was the Head Boy in eighteen thirty-one, you know.' That would sit real well.”

Hermione giggled. “I liked how you included every single one of our misdoings. It was a nice
touch.”

“Nah, I wouldn't send that to her,” said Harry, returning to his work. He finally managed to
get the muck off the plaque. He couldn't figure out what caused it to become so disgusting, and
he didn't dare ask. “My ears couldn't take the Howler she'd send.”

“I don't know if it would be a Howler,” said Ron, “but I bet she'd say something about
the precious few Head Boys that came from our family.”

“What about Head Girls?” questioned Hermione. Ron looked at her as if she'd suggested
growing a second pair of legs.

“Herms?” said Ron. “You do realize that Ginny's the first girl to be born into the Weasley
family for seven generations?”

“Seven?” said Hermione. Ron nodded. “I really didn't know that.”

“All you need to know is that there's a lot of us,” joked Ron. “We really should look into
getting a Head Girl into the Weasley clan. Say, if you married one of my brothers, that would
almost be like having one.”

Hermione gave Ron an odd look, and Harry couldn't tell if it was from the suggestion to
marry one of his brother or the assumption that she would be Head Girl. He didn't have to wait
long to find out; it was clear that it had been brought about by the second when she opened her
mouth.

“What makes you so sure I'm going to be Head Girl?” said Hermione, narrowing her eyes.
“I'm sure there are—”

“Face it, `Mione,” said Harry, cutting in. He wiped his hands on his robe, getting ready to
start another column of plaques. The plaques were stacked ten in a column, floor to ceiling, and
they stretched from wall to wall in rows. The ceiling was rather low for the castle's usual
spacious standards, and Harry and Ron were both tall enough to reach the top row without
assistance. Hermione, who was over a head shorter than both boys, did not have that advantage.
“Ron's right. You're the cleverest witch in our year, and the teachers adore you.”

“Except Snape,” said Hermione.

“And Filch,” echoed Ron, and she glared at him. Harry shook his head as Ron sniggered.

“The point is, I doubt you could come up with a single reason why to chose someone else over
you,” said Harry.

“I'm always in trouble!” exclaimed Hermione instantly.

“Always?” questioned Harry.

“You're only in trouble when we're in trouble,” said Ron with a grin, “but they made us
all prefects, didn't they?”

“Humph,” said Hermione. She shook her head and went back to her work. Harry and Ron did the
same, but a large clatter pulled them away again a few seconds later. Hermione had taken a tumble
off the stepstool she was using, and both boys were at her side immediately.

“Just fine,” said Hermione weakly, but Harry could tell she was more embarrassed than anything.
He relaxed his grip on her arm a little bit as he helped her to her feet, but he looked her over
thoroughly before releasing her.

“You shouldn't do that, Hermione,” Ron deadpanned. “What would we have done if you'd
hurt yourself? Harry and I would have had to do your share of the polishing, too.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, righting her stool and starting to step back on it, but Harry caught
her before she could even step off the ground.

“No you don't,” said Harry, guiding her away from that wall and to one that they hadn't
started on yet. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

“Harry,” said Hermione, “I can't reach the top two rows otherwise.”

“Harry and I can,” said Ron. He appeared at her side with her polishing rag and the special
solution Filch had given them. “We don't want you to get hurt because we'll just have to
do—”

Hermione had slung an arm into Ron's stomach, and he crossed back to where he was working,
cursing under his breath. Harry grinned. Hermione seemed to study him for a second, and she reached
up and touched his cheek.

“I can't believe Filch didn't let you go to Madam Pomfrey with that,” said Hermione.
Harry's hand flew to his face, but it only settled over hers.

“It's not a big deal,” said Harry nervously. “It's just a scratch. Crookshanks has
scratched me dozens of time.”

“Yes, but Crookshanks isn't quite as cold as Mrs. Norris,” said Hermione. She stood on her
tiptoes and kissed his other cheek. “Just take a look in a mirror—or even one of the plaques—when
you get the change. It's puffed up some, and I don't think it should do that, so I'm
fairly certain Mrs. Norris has something sinister inside of her.”

“I could have told you that,” remarked Ron from the other side of the room, “and your face does
look kind of mutant at the moment, Harry.”

“Thanks,” said Harry sarcastically. He slipped away from Hermione and went back to work with
Ron. Working backwards down the column, Harry finished the eighteen thirties and started on the
eighteen forties.

“Harry,” said Hermione softly a few minutes later. She stopped polishing. Harry and Ron followed
suit, looking at her expectantly. She beckoned them over. “I didn't know your parents were Head
Boy and Girl.”

“I think Hagrid mentioned it once,” said Harry. He bit his lip, but he refused to let any
regrets or thoughts of what could have been get to him. He felt Hermione touch his arm, which made
him smile. “After all the pranks Sirius claims the two of them played, it's hard to imagine
that Dad was Head Boy.”

“That's the spirit,” said Ron, clapping Harry on the back. He turned to Hermione, grinning
mischievously. “See, Hermione? If James Potter, one of Hogwarts's greatest troublemakers, was
Head Boy, there's no way you won't be Head Girl on the account of a few detentions every
now and then.”

Harry chuckled, and Hermione squeezed his hand reassuringly before they went back to work. He
caught her eye; it never ceased to amaze him how she just seemed to understand him sometimes.

“Bom was Head Boy,” called Hermione a few moments later, “along with—get this—an Elena
Malfoy.”

“Do you think she's related to our favorite Malfoy?” said Ron, putting a sarcastic emphasis
on the second to last word.

“It couldn't be his mum,” said Harry. “Her name is—was—Narcissa.”

“There must be more than one Malfoy family out there,” said Hermione finally.

“Why do you say that?” questioned Ron, curious.

“Well, I couldn't tell at first because a little bit of grime was covering it,” said
Hermione, “but this girl was a Hufflepuff.”

“Definitely not the same,” said Ron, laughing. He had reached the corner and started on the same
wall as Hermione. The very first plaque he polished seemed to catch his attention. “Emanuel
McClaggitt. Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“Emanuel McClaggitt was one of the seven registered Animagi this century,” said Hermione, but
Harry spoke at the same time.

“He taught Defense Against the Dark Arts when Dumbledore was gone,” said Harry. The two of them
looked at each other and smiled.

“Wouldn't he teach Transfigurations if he was an Animagus?” questioned Ron.

“It would make sense,” said Hermione, “but you never know. Almost all of the recent Animagi have
been educators.”

“The registered ones, right?” said Harry, and Ron sniggered. He turned back to his work, but his
next plaque to clean was also unusual. It was larger than the rest, and it had three names
inscribed into it instead of just two. The first name was none other than Albus Dumbledore, and the
second was Preston Peeves. The third name, obviously the Head Girl, was Aurelia Hester. “Have
either of you stumbled across a plaque with three names?”

“No, have you?” said Hermione, looking up with interest.

“Albus Dumbledore, Gryffindor,” read Harry, which caused the other two to smile, “Preston
Peeves, Gryffindor, and Aurelia Hester, Ravenclaw, all on the same plaque.”

“Now that's weird,” said Ron, but Hermione seemed more interested with the names than the
number.

“Peeves?” repeated Hermione. Harry nodded. “It couldn't be Peeves the Poltergeist, could
it?”

Harry and Ron stared at her, wondering. They didn't have to wait long for an answer because
a familiar voice called to them from the doorway.

“None other, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, stepping into the room. “Preston Peeves, Order of
Merlin, First Class, Associate Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards, Minister of the
Ministry of Imprecise Wizarding History. Peeves was one of the finest wizards of his time, indeed.
Sadly, they're always the first to depart.”

“Pro-Professor Dumbledore,” stammered Hermione. She turned around to see the Headmaster standing
with his arms folded across his chest. He didn't look angry; he was wearing his usual
smile.

“Filch informed me that he had students performing detention in this particular room,” said
Dumbledore. “He knows I often stroll down here late at night, when I cannot sleep, to muse over the
students of the past.”

At the word detention, the surprised look on the three friends' faces changed to
embarrassment. Dumbledore seemed to notice this, and he just chuckled.

“Seeing as our caretaker did not see it necessary to inform me of the nature of your misdoings,”
said Dumbledore, “I feel no need to question you on them. It's been years since I stopped
asking. I think it was after your father, Harry, decided to cast anti-gravity spells on the whole
of his Charms class. Upon reflection, I care not to know his reasoning behind the prank.”

“Anti-gravity spells?” Harry couldn't help but ask.

“None other,” said Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. “Half
his classmates spent the afternoon walking around on the ceiling, a prank I would prefer you did
not share with your elder brothers, Ron.”

“Are you having trouble sleeping, Professor?” said Hermione kindly. Dumbledore was standing
behind her, apparently reading the names of students he once taught. He gently touched her
shoulder.

“I await an urgent message, I'm afraid,” said Dumbledore. The earlier cheer seemed to leave
his voice from that one statement. “I have known this was coming for many months now, but I cannot
sleep without confirmation now that it has. The quirks of an aged mind, I'm afraid.”

“Who's it from?” asked Ron. Hermione glared at him, but Dumbledore just smiled. He was
already crossing the room for the door.

“Tomorrow,” called Dumbledore over his shoulder. He stopped in the doorway. “Your question is
one for the morning, and even then, you will ask not who, but what. Why don't the three of you
go get some rest? It's crucial you're able to devote your full attentions to class with
O.W.L.s approaching. I will tell Filch I pardoned you.”

And with that, he was out the door. Harry and Ron and Hermione were thankful to put down their
rags and leave, but they were more curious than they had ever been. They slipped silently through
the halls, but the old bond of friendship kept them close.

-->



20. The Former Prisoners of Azkaban
-----------------------------------



Chapter Twenty

THE FORMER PRISONERS OF AZKABAN

Hermione's arm brushed against Harry's as she slipped into her seat at the Gryffindor
table in the Great Hall for lunch the next day. He glanced up at her, offering her a small smile,
and she returned it weakly. Knowing it to be one of her favorite foods, Harry expected her to go
right for the dish sitting directly in front of her, but she made no motion for it. Instead,
Hermione pushed her empty plate aside and pulled out her Potions textbook.

“Hermione?” questioned Harry. “Is everything all right?”

“Humph?” said Hermione, looking up for a brief second. She was flipping through the book, and
she finally stopped her search on page three hundred twelve, which was the beginning of the reading
Snape had assigned during their last class period. “Everything's fine, Harry.”

“Aren't you hungry?” said Ron, but the words sounded quite garbled through his mouthful of
food. He shot Harry a perplexed look when Hermione didn't respond. “Was Snape that awful?”

The day of the full moon and the few days surrounding it each month didn't seem like that
much time, but it added up over the course of a school year, so someone always covered Professor
Lupin's class during his involuntary absence. During the first term of the year, Dumbledore had
taken a lot of the teaching responsibility, and McGonagall had done a lot in the second. Professors
Sprout, Flitwick, and Vector had all taught an hour or two of Defense when necessary; almost all of
the teachers had done something to make the transition go smoother—all the teachers except for
Snape.

Lupin had given the Potions master instructions to continue along with the class's current
topic of discussion, early resistance against the Dark Arts, but Snape would do no such thing. He
insisted that the material should have been long since covered and turned the class into a work
session for the O.W.L. essay. However, he'd put a certain evil spin to it, discussing with each
student the direction they were taking.

Harry couldn't think of a student that didn't find the situation a bit nerve wracking.
Poor Neville, who Snape had insisted go first, had exited Lupin's office looking like he was
about to burst into tears. Sally-Ann had burst into tears, and Seamus was holding true to his claim
that Snape's remarks had brought about a loss of appetite. Ron had come out cursing until he
was red in the face that Snape didn't have a clue what he was doing and that he had every
intention of writing his entire paper exactly opposite of what Snape had suggested.

Snape hadn't had anything to say about Harry's paper or his approach to it, something
Harry contributed to the fact that he hadn't bothered looking at any of it. He'd just
glared at Harry when he walked through the door to Lupin's office.

“The Dark Scar, huh?” he had sneered. “That's a pretty peculiar topic.”

“It's not like I picked it,” Harry had said through gritted teeth. Just being in the same
room with his least favorite teacher was enough to make him angry. “The Sorting Hat chose for
everyone.”

“I know that,” Snape had snapped. “Don't be disrespectful, Potter. I just find it... odd. It
seems as if other, more suitable topics were still available at the time.”

“The Sorting Hat is always right,” Harry had retorted. Looking back, he couldn't remember
what had made him act so short towards Snape. He wasn't even really angry with him.

“Not always,” Snape had said sullenly, and he glared at Harry again. “Get out of here. I
don't want to spend any more time with you than I have to. Go get Granger for me.”

And, with five minutes of class remaining, Hermione had been the last person to discuss her
essay with Snape. It had taken them longer to get through it, judging by her late arrival in the
Great Hall, as most students only needed five minutes. Harry had taken two, and Ron had needed six,
but Hermione must have spent a solid twenty talking to him.

Hermione seemed to know what Harry was thinking. “Snape was Snape,” she said, “and there's
just more to my topic than most.”

“Don't you want something to eat?” questioned Ron again.

“I'm not hungry,” said Hermione. She looked up apologetically, and Harry noticed for the
first time the dark lines under her eyes. He and Ron had gotten about four hours of sleep each, but
they were functioning at a fairly normal level. Hermione wasn't. Harry was about to suggest she
go see Madam Pomfrey, but she continued. “I forgot to do my Potions reading, and I really don't
want to go to class unprepared.”

“You need to eat something,” said Harry, touching her arm. “You skipped breakfast. I did the
reading. I can tell you what it covered.”

“Yeah,” piped Ron. “Harry and I take turns not doing the reading, and then we tell each—oops, I
wasn't supposed to tell her that, was I?”

Harry shook his head, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, I don't want you to tell me. I
don't want to cheat,” she said, putting an emphasis on the last part of her statement. Ron
turned guiltily back to his plate, but Harry couldn't take his eyes off of Hermione. He was
really starting to worry about her. Again.

Finally, Harry dropped his hand from Hermione's arm and tried to focus on his plate of food.
Ron caught his eye, and Harry could see that they shared the same concern for Hermione, who seemed
oblivious of her surroundings. She flipped to the next page, titled “Twenty-Seven Uses of
Erumpent.”

“I think she's ignoring us,” said Ron loudly, obviously trying to catch Hermione's
attention. She looked up but did not say anything, and Ron nodded vigorously as if her gesture
proved his point. Harry couldn't help but agree. Ron stopped his nodding and cleared his
throat. He looked to Harry sadly. “Maybe Trelawny was right about today.”

“Ron,” said Harry impatiently, “Trelawny predicted that today would be catastrophic. She
predicted this weekend would be catastrophic. She thinks every day I live is catastrophic.
She's batty.”

They'd had Divination before Defense that morning, and Trelawny had started class gloating
about her scratchy throat, as she claimed to have seen the illness coming weeks before. She'd
taken great pleasure in foretelling upcoming tragedy for a skeptical Dean and a trembling Neville,
and Lavender had squealed in happiness with the professor's prediction that she would soon have
the attention of the a young man. With equal gusto, Trelawny had let the class out five minutes
early, saying she hoped that the upcoming tragedy of great proportions would postpone itself.

“I'd say you could call having Snape for three hours in one day catastrophic,” said Ron.
Harry laughed appreciatively. The hook-nosed professor had just swaggered into the Great Hall and
up to the staff table. He shot the Gryffindor table the usual contemptuous glance as he passed.
While Ron had made no effort to lower his voice while insulting Snape, he suddenly lowered his
tone. “And Fred and George are taking their Apparation tests in Hogsmeade today.”

Harry let out a low whistle. “It's their eighteenth birthday?”

Ron nodded grimly. “A couple of weeks ago, actually, the first of April. But Mum insisted they
raise some of their grades first.”

“That sounds pretty accurate,” said Harry, sniggering. He looked past Ron. “Speak of the—”

“Ron!” exclaimed George. Fred was on his other side.

“Splendid to see you, lad,” greeted Fred, punching Ron's arm. It was in no way a gentle
gesture, and Ron grimaced as he rubbed his shoulder.

“You'll have to excuse us, Harry,” said George, seizing Ron's arm. Fred's hand
automatically clamped down on the other. “We need to borrow ickle Ronniekins for a moment.”

Ron looked absolutely terrified as his stocky older brothers removed him forcefully from his
seat. They left no room for protest as they dragged him toward the other end of the table. Just as
Ron disappeared from sight, Harry received a second shock as Hermione slammed her book shut next to
him. He was started, but he smiled when he looked over to her.

“Done already?” questioned Harry. Hermione smiled weakly at him as she tucked a strand of her
bushy hair behind her ear.

“It was only ten pages,” said Hermione. She looked apologetic. “I'm sorry I was so short
with you.”

“You weren't short,” said Harry. He expected her to fill her plate now that she was done
with her reading, but she made no such movement. Harry studied his friend intently before
continuing. “How'd things go with Snape?”

“Fine,” said Hermione, but she broke eye contact with Harry.

“Fine?” questioned Harry, shooting a glare in the direction of the staff table. “What did he
do?”

“Snape didn't do anything, Harry,” said Hermione, “other than read my essay and comment on
it, which was exactly what he did with everyone else.”

“He didn't read my essay,” said Harry pointedly. Wordlessly, he slipped an arm around her.
“You know, you can tell me if something's wrong, right?”

“I know,” said Hermione, and she looked up at him. “You've told me before.”

“So what's wrong?” said Harry. “Are you tired from last night or is there something else I
should know about?”

“I'm just tired.” Her eyes darted away from his again, and Harry shook his head. He kissed
her head and dropped his arm from her waist; he couldn't think to do anything else. Finally, he
sighed.

“Humor me and eat something, will you?” suggested Harry. She opened her mouth, obviously to
protest, but she shut it just as quickly. He smiled gratefully at Hermione as she reached across
the table and took an apple from a bowl in the center of the table. “Good girl.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she took a bite. “You know,” she said after swallowing, “you
don't need to be so concerned, Harry. I really can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” said Harry. She didn't respond. “Hermione? I didn't mean to say
anything to upset you, but if I did, I'm really sorry.”

“I'm not upset,” said Hermione, but she didn't meet his eye. Ron was shuffling his way
back toward his two friends, looking positively green, but if he hadn't been, Harry would have
heard her mutter under her breath, “Not with you at least.”

“They have a new creation,” said Ron mournfully, sitting back down across from Harry. “If they
ever offer you anything to drink in the future, don't take it. They just poured something down
my throat, and I can't see straight. I think it literally flipped my stomach inside out.”

George clapped his shoulder. “Wasn't supposed to happen,” he said apologetically.

“Yeah,” said Fred, “it was supposed to be a trick hair growth juice, but I don't think we
added enough sugar.”

“Nah, we simmered it for two long,” said George after looking at his younger brother critically.
Ron's face continued to shift between shades of green and white. “Er, it could have been—”

“The green syrup,” said Fred. “I knew we should have checked to make sure it really was Exmatin
oil.”

“Sorry, Ron,” said George, clapping his little brother's shoulder again. “We'll fix it
before we give you anymore. Come on, we'd better go.”

“I don't want anymore!” moaned Ron as his brothers retreated. Harry tried to look
sympathetic, but he practically choked trying to hold back his laughter.

“What did they give you?” asked Hermione. She had abandoned the apple, relieved that Harry's
attention was no longer focused on her.

“I don't know,” said Ron, dropping his head to the table. “It was awful, though. They tried
acting all innocent, promising that it was a harmless little potion they'd concocted, but I
wasn't about to try one of their concoctions, so they decided to have Lee help George hold me
still while Fred poured the vile stuff down my throat.”

“Sounds... pretty normal,” said Harry. Fred and George didn't seem to think anything of
pulling Ron aside to serve as a test dummy for their latest pranks; they did it with alarming
frequency. Sometimes, he felt guilty knowing that he'd helped finance the continued torture,
but he was usually able to push the feeling aside when Ron recovered from the pranks gone wrong or
laughed good-naturedly at the ones that succeeded.

“Are you going to be okay, Ron?” said Hermione, concerned. Ron nodded slightly without really
taking his head from the table. A few moments later, he looked up and took a sip of water. The
color began to return to his face. He opened his mouth to say something but a bustle at the staff
table stopped him. Dumbledore was standing before the students of Hogwarts, having just cast a
silencing charm on the entirety of the Great Hall.

His expression was very grave, and Harry thought back to several hours before. Dumbledore had
not been present at breakfast. His mind shifted again, this time to what the headmaster had said to
him and Hermione and Ron early that morning in the plaque room. The seasoned wizard cleared his
throat, and Harry had a feeling that every pair of ears in the Great Hall would have been listening
to him intently even without the use of a silencing charm.

“As the hour grows short, I promise not to take more than a few moments of your time,” said
Dumbledore. “The news I am about to deliver is urgent and requires immediate recognition. The upper
level Ministry officials, excluding Minister Bom himself, have asked I not pass this information on
to you yet, but I know it will be just a matter of time before you find out on your own. I will
neither leave you in the dark nor sugar coat about last night's events.

“As we sat down for dinner here last night, a terrible attack began on the island housing
Azkaban Fortress. Over a hundred Death Eaters stormed the prison, and the dementors immediately
took to their side. Those imprisoned as servants of Voldemort were released, and all other
prisoners were executed. The fortress was abandoned. The only witnesses to the even were
Ministry-employed house elves. The Ministry learned of the situation shortly after midnight when it
failed to receive its daily correspondence from the dementors. It has been sorting out the events
of last night since Aurors arrived early this morning, confirming all that I have told you.”

The Great Hall was silent in the moments that followed Dumbledore's announcement. Harry
found his own gaze passing from Hermione and Ron, sharing shocked expressions with his two best
friends. Azkaban was a horrible place, but it was a necessary place. The Death Eaters imprisoned
there were, without a doubt, the most deserving of it. It was their freedom, not the fall of the
fortress, which made the event so catastrophic.

Harry swallowed hard and returned his attention to Dumbledore. The headmaster had laced the
fingers of his hands together and was looking down at them. He did not look like he was about to
speak, so Harry's eyes found themselves wandering to the Slytherin table. Marks was sitting on
the opposite side of his table as Harry, but he was located almost directly across from him. He
looked oddly pleased, and he reached over to whack Flint in the back of the head. Flint looked
stunned but quickly lost his blank expression. He soon wore a similar expression. Their behavior
had him perplexed, yet the sound of Dumbledore clearing his throat took Harry's attention away
from it.

“This event has far more meaning than even I can understand,” said the headmaster quietly. “It
was the first confirmed Death Eater activity in almost six months, and I will leave you to draw
your own conclusion. Do not turn to ignorance in the face of such severity. You are dismissed to
your afternoon classes.”

* * *

The combined class of fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins reached the Potions dungeon before
Snape, something that could probably be attributed to the convergence of the professors at the
staff table following Dumbledore's announcement. They had been talking in hushed whispers when
Harry had passed by with his friends. Now, five minutes after class usually started, he and Ron
made their way over to Hermione's seat. Snape was constantly switching around the seating to
keep the three friends apart.

“I can't believe they really raided Azkaban,” said Ron in a hushed whisper. He'd said
the same thing twice already. Around the room, all the students were talking quietly with their
friends.

“I can,” said Harry quietly. “Don't you remember what Dumbledore said about the dementors
last year? It was like he knew, even then, that Voldemort would want them in his ranks.”

“He did know it was coming,” said Hermione suddenly. It was the first time she had spoken since
the boys had moved to her desk. Harry had plopped down in Seamus's seat next to her, and Ron
was leaning against the table across from him. “This was the news that he was waiting for last
night. This was what he saw coming for months.”

“I know,” said Harry. He looked down, his finger tracing the outline of a heart someone had
carved into the desk. “What do you think he's going to do next?”

Both Hermione and Ron knew that he was referring to Voldemort. “He's been lying low between
all his attacks so far, so I don't know. Hopefully he'll do the same. It'll give the
Ministry a chance to work through this.”

“But you heard Dumbledore. The Ministry doesn't even want admit what happened. The only one
that's being forthcoming about it is Bom, and I get the feeling that even he doesn't get a
lot of backing,” said Harry.

“And he can't do much without his council's unanimous approval,” finished Ron grimly.
“It's all of Fudge's people, still, you know. Because Fudge stepped down, Bom was never
elected to the position, so he didn't get to nominate his own advisors. Puts him in a real
tough spot.”

“He's considered a temporary until August, isn't he?” said Hermione knowingly. Ron
nodded, but Harry looked up, confused.

“Temporary?” he questioned.

“Yes,” said Hermione, nodding earnestly. Harry noticed at once that she wasn't as pale as
she usually was when down in the dungeons. It seemed as if there was something about the area that
drained her of her color and energy. “When a Minister steps down or dies or something, the next
Minister is considered a temporary for one year after they are appointed. After that, the governing
bodies at the Ministry decide to keep him or to elect another Minister. If they keep him, he'll
be able to substitute his own advisors for Fudge's, and things will run much smoother.”

“Right,” said Harry. “So that's a good thing, right?”

“Provided nothing else major happens between now and then,” said Ron darkly. “Fudge's
followers will probably keep Bom from acting otherwise. Didn't I tell you about Dad and
Percy's squabbles over Easter? Anyway, Dad can't wait to get the last trace of Fudge out of
office, but Percy seems to think that Bom is unreliable. Loads of arguments on that—”

The door to the Potions dungeon swung open, and Snape stepped in. He shot the class a
stereotypical glare. “Well?” he sneered. “What are you waiting for? Class began ten minutes ago.
You should have already divided in groups of three and set up your supplies in my absence.
Don't tell me you're too elementary to do so by yourself. Very well. Finnigan, work with
Longbottom and Patil. Mr. Moon, Miss Bulstrode and Miss Zabini, if you would. Perks and Thomas,
join Mr. Nott.”

Snape went on around the room, typically pairing Gryffindors with Gryffindors and Slytherins
with Slytherins. Harry and Ron and Hermione shared a look. Usually, he made a point to put the most
unpleasant of the Slytherin lot with Gryffindors. He also always paired Hermione with Seamus and
Neville; Ron always had to work with Dean and Blaise Zabini, while Harry worked with whichever two
Slytherins looked surliest (or stupidest) that day.

The Potions master paused as he passed the trio. He looked at Hermione without his usual malice,
and Harry could have sworn he saw something that closely resembled pity in Snape's eyes for a
split second before he snapped, “Granger, Potter, and Weasley, very well. Get to work now! I would
hope you all know what to do after the countless class periods we have spent discussing this
draught.”

The first hour of the class passed uneventfully. Disaster was narrowly averted when Neville
almost poured a flask of vanishing tonic into his cauldron, but other than that, the time was spent
dicing herbs and measuring liquids out slowly for the advanced vanishing solution. It granted an
hour of invisibility to anyone that drank it. At the front of the classroom, Snape was concocting
the restorative draught because he had decided that letting each group's tester wander around,
invisible, for the next hour was a bad idea.

“Do you have the fluxweed crushed yet, Ron?” questioned Hermione. She was alternatively stirring
the concoction and glancing at the directions in the textbook. Harry was carefully spooning the
crushed ginger roots into Ron's cauldron per directions.

“Yep,” said Ron. He held up the cup of them for her to see. “Can I just dump them in or is there
something special I have to do?”

“You can dump them in,” said Hermione, “but only after Harry's added the rest of the ginger
root. Do you have half of it in yet? Tell me when you do; I'm to stop stirring then.”

“One more spoonful,” said Harry. Hermione gradually slowed and then stopped her stirring all
together. She stepped back, and Harry resumed his careful adding of the ginger roots. When he
finished, Ron dumped in the powdery fluxweed and stepped back. “So what do we now? Just wait for it
to bubble?”

“That's what the directions say,” said Ron. Harry was surprised Hermione had not answered
him. She was leaning against a nearby table, her hand on her temple. Ron was watching the potion
intently for bubbling, so Harry crossed over to her.

“Are you okay?”

Hermione's hand separated from her head, and she looked up at him. The first thing he
noticed was how pale she had grown. “Just a headache, Harry. I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” pressed Harry. His hand touched her arm lightly, and she smiled at him
weakly.

“I'm fine,” she repeated, and Harry nodded. He didn't believe her, but he knew full well
there was no point in pressing her farther. “It's just—”

“It's just what, Hermione?” questioned Harry.

“Did you hear that?” Hermione interrupted. She seemed to have forgotten she was in the middle of
saying something else.

“Did I hear what?” said Harry. Now, his concern was changing into confusion.

“Nothing,” said Hermione quickly. She turned around suddenly, consulting her Potions text once
more. Harry shook his head and went back to Ron and their potion. Ron was stirring again, so Harry
knew it must have bubbled pretty quickly.

“She okay?” questioned Ron. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but he never got the words out. He
glanced at Hermione. One moment, she was walking towards them; the next, she had frozen in place,
almost as if she were paralyzed. The next thing Harry knew was she was falling, hitting her head
against the table in the process. Potion forgotten, Harry and Ron rushed to her side.

“What's going on back here?”

An irritated Snape was lumbering down the row of desks toward them. He looked displeased, but
the expression left his face when he saw Hermione. She'd blacked out for a second and was now
clutching the back of her head, grimacing in pain. Harry had helped her sit up and still had his
arm around her.

“What happened?” Snape barked.

“I—I think I fainted,” stammered Hermione. It was the first thing she had spoken since doing so,
and the effort seemed to leave her exhausted.

“Nothing in that potion would cause you to faint,” said Snape sourly. He glared at Harry and
Ron. “I would not normally turn to the two of you for answers, but...” The Potions Master raised an
eyebrow.

“She did faint,” said Harry crossly. He returned Snape's level stare.

“It wasn't anything in the—” whimpered Hermione. She didn't finish. Ron had taken hold
of her other arm gently, and he and Harry had helped her stand. Snape looked her over, and he
finally nodded.

“Take her up to the hospital wing, Weasley,” said Snape. “Make sure she hasn't damaged that
over-filled head of hers. Potter, get back to work.”

Harry glowered at Snape as he watched his two best friends retreat from the dungeon. Snape
stalked back to his own potion, and Harry had but no choice to continue work on theirs. He wanted
to make sure Hermione was okay, not peel a half dozen shrivelfigs. He was about to add the peeled
plant to the potion when he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. The room seemed to
chill.

“You're going to fail,” someone whispered. “This time you're going to fail. You
won't succeed, no, not against me you won't.”

Harry felt a jolt and looked frantically around the room. No one else in the class seemed to
have heard the voice. They had all returned to their vanishing draught after Hermione had left the
room with Ron. He took several deep breathes to calm himself and turned back to his potion.
However, something stopped him dead in his tracks.

Harry's fingers flew to his forehead, and under them, the pain in his scar intensified.

* * *

The pain in Harry's scar subsided gradually throughout the rest of Potions. Still, he had
trouble concentrating, even after it had reached the dull throb of a minor headache, and
accidentally botched the vanishing draught in its concluding step, but the zeros Snape recorded
were the least of his worries. If anything, Harry was more concerned about the piercing shriek he
expected to hear when he had to inform Hermione that he'd just smashed her perfect Potions
grade to smithereens.

Taking the stairs up from the dungeons two at a time, Harry broke away from his fellow
Gryffindors and headed straight for the hospital wing. His forehead was still tingling, but he
could feel the pain subsiding further with each step he took away from the dungeons. His mind was
too jumbled, however, with worries about Hermione and thoughts about Voldemort to make any such
correlation. He was short the vaguest notion of what could have caused either incident, and he
hoped a word with Ron or Hermione could straighten it all out.

Harry had no sooner caught sight of the hospital wing door than he saw it swing open. A very
familiar tall, gangly redhead stepped out and shut the door behind him. Upon seeing Harry, Ron
scurried down the corridor to meet his friend. Harry started to open his mouth to ask about how
their friend was doing, but Ron beat him to the answer.

“Hermione's fine,” said Ron, reading Harry's mind. “She's still a little shaky, but
Madam Pomfrey's talking to her about it now.”

“Did she make you leave?” questioned Harry.

“She just about kicked me out,” said Ron. “She marched me to the door. The whole ear-pinch
thing.”

“Ear-pinch thing?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, ear-pinch thing, you know, when—” Ron stopped short. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Say,
what's wrong with you? You look like you should be the one in there, not her.” He jerked a
thumb in the direction of the hospital wing. “Did you screw the potion up that badly?”

“Worse,” admitted Harry. He added quickly, “But that's not it.”

“Then what?” Ron looked at him quizzically, and Harry opened his mouth to tell about his scar
hurting, but he saw a couple of small Hufflepuff boys helping their friend limp in the direction of
the hospital wing.

“So I can't see Hermione right now?” asked Harry. Ron shook his head.

“Not until after dinner,” said Ron, “but what's going—”

Harry cut him off. “Come on, I'll tell you when we're back in Gryffindor.”

Five minutes later, the door to their dorm room locked securely behind them, Harry and Ron sat
facing each other, their desk chairs in the center of the room. Harry glanced from the floor to
Ron, debating on whether or not he would end up sounding crazy.

“My scar started hurting,” said Harry quietly. “Hurting like it's never hurt before, even
when Voldemort himself had a hand on me. It was right after you left with Hermione.”

Ron had paled considerably. “How long has it been since it hurt?”

“The last time it really hurt? Early last summer,” Harry replied slowly, “on the evening of the
third task. It wasn't just pain this time, though. The pain actually came second. The dungeon
seemed to grow cold—”

“The dungeons are always cold,” said Ron uneasily.

“Colder than usual,” Harry amended. “It was like something was pricking the back of my neck, and
then I heard this eerie, disembodied voice. It told me that I was going to fail, that I
wouldn't succeed against it. I don't even know what it was.”

“Did anyone else hear it?” Ron wanted to know.

“I don't think so. I was distracted by the pain,” said Harry. He paused. “No, they
couldn't have. I looked around, and none of them had looked up or around or anything.”

Ron let out a low whistle. “It's not a good thing to be hearing things, Harry, even if
you're a wizard.”

“I wasn't hearing anything!” said Harry defensively. “You said the exact same thing when I
kept hearing the basilisk, and it turned out I wasn't going crazy then!”

“Sorry,” said Ron. Suddenly, he jumped up. “Parseltongue! That's it! You're the only
Parselmouth in the entire school, Harry! Was the voice speaking Parseltongue?”

“I don't know. It was just an ordinary whisper,” said Harry uncertainly. It had been a
couple of years since his rare ability had come into question, and he hadn't even considered it
in this situation. “The basilisk always hissed.”

“Maybe,” said Ron. He sounded equally uncertain. “The Chamber of Secrets couldn't have been
opened again, could it? There's still one Malfoy sneaking around school, after all.”

“No, not Malfoy,” said Harry. He cleared his throat and clarified. “Not Draco. Besides, the
basilisk is dead.”

“Not Draco,” muttered Ron. He slumped back into his chair. “Malfoy's got something to do
with this. I swear that filthy little bastard as something to do with this. He's nothing but
trouble—”

“Do you want to end up like Snape?” questioned Harry quietly. His words cut through Ron's
grumbling.

“What?” exclaimed Ron. “Like Snape?”

“Snape hates me because he hated my dad,” said Harry quietly. “He hates Sirius and Lupin because
they were my dad's friends. And I'm willing to bet a safe full of Galleons that he'd
hate my dad just the same if he was still alive. Malfoy might be the most annoying git we've
ever encountered, but nothing good is going to come out of that hatred and distrust.”

“But what if—” Ron shook his head, interrupting his own thoughts. “I still don't like him,”
he said stubbornly. “I swear his story is just too convenient.”

“What brought him up, anyway?” said Harry. He didn't wait for an answer. “I want to figure
out what's going on just as badly as you do, and it won't do any good to go around blaming
people.”

“Yes, yes,” said Ron, but Harry heard Malfoy's name intermingled in Ron's mutterings,
along with a long stream of curse words. “So no Malfoy, no Chamber of Secrets, no basilisk, and
probably no Parseltongue.”

“Maybe Parseltongue,” said Harry. “We—wait, what was it that Hermione heard? Remember, it was
right before she fainted! She asked us if we'd heard something, and we hadn't!”

“I remember, but—” Ron paused hesitantly. He cleared his throat. “But it won't be any use.
She's drawn a blank on anything within five minutes of passing out. She seemed okay momentarily
in the dungeon, but she started muttering about something that made no sense on the way up to the
hospital wing. I asked her about it five minutes later, when Madam Pomfrey went to get something,
and she couldn't remember it at all.”

“That's just great,” said Harry. He didn't realize it, but he'd been clenching and
unclenching his fist. On the other hand, Ron seemed to notice, and he shot an odd look.

“Okay there?”

“Yeah, fine,” said Harry. He stood, wiping his hands unnecessarily on his robes. His eyes swept
the room, looking for the answers that weren't there. “Remember that pact we made this summer?
About staying friends?”

“What about it?” asked Ron.

“I think we've got the friendship part down,” said Harry, “so let's change it. Why
don't we focus on being a couple of normal, sixteen-year-old wizards? For once, I'd really
like to worry about passing advanced courses and choosing a career. I don't want another year
hearing unexplained voices and wondering why one of my best friends has to spend half of her time
in the hospital wing.”

“We can do that,” said Ron, and he smiled at Harry. The action somehow contradicted his words,
and Harry knew at once. Things were never going to be normal. They never had been. He was Harry
Potter, the Boy Who Lived, after all. “Normal.”

“Normal,” repeated Harry, and he couldn't help but kick at the floor once for good measure.
“How about we ignore all of the obvious hints Professor Sprout dropped last week about a quiz in
Herbology and play some wizard's chess?”

Ron was at his trunk and digging for his battered but faithful set of pieces a second later.
“Chess until dinner, and then we go visit Hermione. Fancy a flutter?”

“Only if I can bet on you winning,” replied Harry.

* * *

“Come on Ron,” said Harry. They had just finished dinner and left the Great Hall. Harry sighed,
withdrawing his wand. He prodded Ron hard in the back. “Come on, move!”

“This hallways isn't as big as that room in there,” Ron was muttering. “It seems awfully
familiar, though... wait, who did you say you were again?”

“Move, Ron,” said Harry impatiently. “Don't make me use one of those ridiculous hexes
Hermione looked up out of curiosity the other night. I've actually been dying to try the
mobility spell, but I'm not sure if I remember all the steps. Pity if I tried it on you and did
it wrong.”

“Something the matter with Ron, Harry?”

Harry whirled around to see Nearly Headless Nick hovering in the air above them, a look of
ghostly concern in his face. When he was about to open his mouth in explanation, Harry was
interrupted by another odd burst from Ron.

“Who are you, sir?” said Ron quizzically. Nick looked alarmed. Harry held up a hand to halt his
baffled exclamation.

“Fred and George decided to... wait, you know how they are. A prank,” said Harry simply, and he
sighed. “Ron here was their unassuming victim. Apparently they slipped a bit of Weasley's
Bewilderment and Wonderment Tonic into his pumpkin juice. They promise it's only temporary. I
hope they're telling the truth.”

“Ron?” said Ron, sounding more bewildered than before. “You might have told me already, but
who's he?”

“Just a guy we know,” said Harry. The befuddled redhead seemed satisfied, and he began to walk
hesitantly down the corridor, stopping every few feet to examine the castle's walls.

Nick's concerned eyes followed Ron, but he eventually turned back to Harry. “A highly
concentrated Missing Memory potion, eh?”

“You guessed it,” said Harry. Ron had stopped running his fingers across the wall and had turned
to look back at his best friend and their house ghost in confusion. Harry couldn't help but
snigger.

“There's a practical joker or two in every lot. Runs in circles, that does,” said Nick
fondly. “Charles Darin and Muesus Fletching caused most of the trouble when I was here. Both of
them were brilliant. They once set a spell on the whole of Slytherin that had them walking
backwards for a week. Nearly lost their wand arms in consequence, but they always claimed it was
well worth it.”

“How about that pumpkin juice?” interrupted Ron. He squinted at Harry. “Do I know you from
somewhere?”

“Four more minutes,” said Harry, glancing at his watch. Ron didn't seem to realize Harry had
answered and squatted to touch the floor. “It'd be a good laugh anytime but now.”

“You're heading in the direction of the hospital wing, no?” said Nick, studying Harry
intently. “Do send Miss Granger my wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“You know what happened?”

“Down in the Potions lab?” His smile managed to be warm despite the fact that he was a ghost.
“Peeves informed me—rather gleefully, but that's not the point—of the incident. It's
unfortunate, and I wish her my best; I've always liked young Hermione.”

“I'll pass the message along,” said Harry. His attention turned to Ron again, but Nick
continued.

“She reminds me of someone I used to know,” said Nick, and the fond look of reminiscence was
upon his pearly face once more. “It all runs in circles, really. Her name was Lucy, and I do admit
I fancied her a bit. She was the cleverest witch of my year, and I find myself wishing to address
your friend with the name of mine.”

“Am I your friend?” said Ron.

Harry ignored him, but Nick chuckled appreciatively. “Freemont Jordan, that one reminds me of.
There's a face to associate every one of you with.” Seeing the look on Harry's face, Nick
just chuckled again. “If you ever die for five hundred years, Harry, you'll understand the
accompanying boredom.”

“Who am I like?” Harry couldn't help but ask. Before Nick could respond, Ron stood very
suddenly and looked at the floor, perplexed.

“Did I miss something?” questioned Ron. “Why was I examining the floor?”

“Er, it's a long story,” said Harry, and Nick nodded through a round of hearty guffaws.
“Don't you remember anything about dinner?”

“Of course,” said Ron indignantly. “You nearly chocked to death on a sausage, and I thought I
was going to die laughing.”

“What about the pumpkin juice?” said Harry innocently.

“It was rather good tonight, wasn't it?” Ron looked from Harry to Nick as both boy and ghost
burst out laughing. “Is there something I should going on that I should know about?”

“Nothing,” said Harry quickly. “It was nice talking to you, Nick. We'll see you back in the
tower tonight.”

“Ah, yes, you will,” said Nick. “Just remember, my best to Miss Granger.”

“I'll do it,” said Harry cheerfully. The ghost started to depart swiftly backwards down the
corridor, but Harry was suddenly struck with the realization that his question hadn't been
answered. “Nick! Who—”

“You, Harry,” said Nick, smiling almost sadly. “A wizard all your own. I'm afraid we will
have to leave it at that for tonight. My best to Miss Granger, if you please, all my best...”

The Gryffindor ghost disappeared, and Harry was still staring at the spot he had just haunted
when Ron's sudden exclamation cut through his thoughts.

“They got me, didn't they?” said Ron angrily. “What did they give me? I can't remember a
second of the last quarter hour, and I want to know why!”

“Weasley's Bewilderment and Wonderment Tonic,” said Harry. “Ron is you, by the way.”

Leaving Ron to ponder that, Harry took off at a brisk pace in the direction of the hospital
wing. It didn't take more than a few seconds for Ron to catch up. He was scowling.

“Those two are out of control, I swear,” said Ron. He also had a few choice words for his older
brothers. “How bad was it?”

“You asked me who Ron was,” said Harry, and he brushed his hair out of his eyes. He quickly
began to count off on his fingers. “Seven times.”

“But no one saw me?”

“Just Nearly Headless Nick and I,” assured Harry. They were just outside of the door to the
hospital wing. “Don't worry.”

“What were the two of you talking about?” Ron wanted to know.

“Something about how people go in circles, I think,” said Harry. “He was telling me the names of
people that you and Hermione and Fred and George remind him of. Says he hasn't had anything
much better to do with the last five hundred years of his death.”

“Sounds depressing,” said Ron. He stopped at the door to the hospital wing, but Harry didn't
have the same hesitation and pushed the door open.

The Hufflepuff first year they had seen being helped to the hospital by his friends was fast
asleep in the bed closest to the door, and a Ravenclaw Harry had often seen with Anna was resting
on the opposite side of the room. Farther back, not far from Madam Pomfrey's office, was
Hermione. She was sitting against a wall of pillows piled onto one of the beds, and the two chairs
set up opposite of her had one lone occupant. There was no mistaking the greasy black hair.

“Harry! Ron!” said Hermione brightly when she saw them file through the door. Sure enough, the
figure in the chair turned, and Professor Snape looked at the two boys with a look of utter
contempt. Harry ignored him, brushing past him, and acted in the same manner he would have had if
the Potions master weren't there. He hugged Hermione and kissed her cheek. Ron hugged her
also.

“Potter and Weasley,” said Snape. He sounded even more displeased then he looked, and he stood
abruptly. “I should have known. Granger, I will expect be expecting you to stay after class on
Friday to make up today's lesson. You too, Weasley.”

Harry and Ron watched the Potions master retreat sourly from the hospital wing. Neither of them
moved until he slammed the door quite loudly. The Hufflepuff boy stirred, but he did not wake up.
Once Snape was gone, Harry and Ron both sat down heavily on either side of Hermione.

“What was he doing here?” demanded Ron. Hermione visibly tensed.

“He was talking to me, that's all,” said Hermione.

“Are you okay?” said Harry, choosing to ignore her formal tone. His glasses had somehow gone
askew, and when he reached up to straighten them, his fingertips lightly grazed Hermione's
skin. She quivered, but she did not recoil. She did, however, bite her lip.

“I'm fine,” said Hermione, but her voice betrayed her. She looked at her two best friends
with wide eyes. “Do you think I'm going nuts?”

“Nuts?” repeated Ron. His expression changed swiftly, going from baffled to furious. “Of course
you aren't nuts! Who had the nerve to suggest that? Was it Snape? Just wait until—”

“It wasn't Snape,” said Hermione, but she wouldn't meet either boy's eyes.
“They—Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, Snape—all must think I'm losing it. Like I'm
going to break, that's how they're treating me. It's not so hard to take from Madam
Pomfrey, and Professor McGonagall has been more than kind, but Snape...” Her voice faltered, and
the boys took it as a cue. Ron's arm went protectively around her shoulders, and Harry's
hand found hers. “I can't take it from him. He's obviously under the impression I've
truly lost it, and I simply can't handle that kind of pity from him!”

“You aren't loosing it, `Mione,” said Harry simply. The words were no sooner out of his
mouth than the door to the nurse's office swung open.

“It's good that he's left; you do need your rest,” said Madam Pomfrey cheerfully, but
her cheerfulness disappeared when she saw Harry and Ron. “If it's not one, it's the two of
you.”

“Sorry?” offered Ron. He didn't sound very sincere.

“Not too long,” said Madam Pomfrey sternly. “Hermione needs some sleep, and I don't want to
have to kick you out—again.”

“Not too long,” echoed Harry, which satisfied the school nurse. She retreated back into the
office. Harry was pleased, but Ron looked dumbfounded.

“Sleep?” questioned Ron. “I thought you were going to get to leave tonight!”

Hermione sighed. “I know, I know,” she said. “That was before McGonagall decided to get in touch
with my roommates in her concern, and they just so happened to blab about how sick I've been
lately—”

“How sick?” interrupted Harry, and Hermione paled. Ron had an inquisitive look on his face.

“I've been feeling rather ill for the last several weeks, but it's nowhere near as bad
as she's making it out to be,” said Hermione with a nervous laugh. She added dismissively,
“I'm just turning into Hagrid.”

“You were sick and you didn't tell us?” Ron looked scandalized.

“I told you,” said Hermione weakly. “I said I had a slight headache the other day!”

“That's practically lying,” said Ron grumpily. He pulled away from her, crossing his arms
across his chest. “Feeling really sick is a far cry from having a slight headache, Hermione.”

“Maybe now isn't the time for this conversation,” said Harry reluctantly. Hermione looked at
him gratefully. He ignored Ron's scowl. “Why do the teachers think you're losing it?”

“Well, Professor McGonagall commented on my `noticeable change in behavior,'” said Hermione.
She continued quietly, looking away. “Madam Pomfrey knows what happened, so she's a little more
understanding. She thinks I need some kind of outside intervention with my emotions.”

“Outside intervention?” questioned Ron.

“Yes,” said Hermione, waving her hand. “Counseling and therapy and things like that, you know. I
personally wouldn't object if Lockhart turned up tomorrow and offered to perform a memory
charm.”

Harry's other hand had moved to her back, rubbing it comforting, slow circles. He didn't
know what to make of that comment, so he asked, “So McGonagall doesn't know?”

Hermione shook her head. “Madam Pomfrey said that the only other person that knows is
Dumbledore,” she said quietly. “It doesn't matter.”

“What about Snape?” pressed Ron. “Why does he think you're losing it?”

“Snape's just being Snape,” said Hermione stiffly. Harry hesitated, and he took a deep
breath.

“Hermione, if Snape was being Snape, he wouldn't be concerned with you in the slightest,”
said Harry honestly. Hermione looked down, and Harry realized her eyes had filled with tears.

“He knows,” said Hermione softly. “I don't know how he figured it out, but he approached me
with the knowledge this morning in Defense. Oh, I feel so stupid!”

“Huh?” said Ron.

“What do you mean?” said Harry gently. “I don't see why you feel stupid. As much as you hate
him, you have to admit Snape's pretty brilliant.”

“It's my own fault that he knows,” said Hermione softly. “Have I really been acting that
differently lately? All the teachers seem to think so, and Snape was trying to piece together a
possible explanation. He was really just shooting in the dark, at first, but then he said—he
said—and I burst into tears.”

“Crying doesn't make you stupid,” said Ron. Hermione didn't seem to hear him.

“He thinks I'm going to break,” said Hermione dully, “but he's wrong. I'm already
broken. Hermione Granger, damaged goods. That's me.”

“Don't say that,” barked Harry. His tone surprised him, and Ron and Hermione turned to him
in their own disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but he found that it had gone dry. Suddenly,
Ron jumped in.

“Harry's right,” said Ron. “You're too strong for this, Hermione. You have every right
to be upset, but what happened—well, it isn't going to break you. You'll get through it,
and you'll be stronger than ever.”

“I don't seem to be getting over it,” said Hermione.

“Getting through it is different than getting over it,” said Harry gently. He loosed his grip on
her hand, but she still held his. She seemed to be examining it, and he realized she was tracing
over a faint scar he'd gotten years before. At the age of seven, he'd broken a lamp, and
Uncle Vernon's extreme anger had led to several misdirected blows. Hermione didn't know
this, but she looked up at him suddenly.

Staring into her eyes for those few brief moments, it all seemed to make sense to Harry.
She'd relied on both Harry and Ron for support in the last few weeks, but she had always seemed
more comfortable with Harry. Now, he realized it was because he could better understand what she
was coming from. He cleared his throat.

“Getting through it is being able to survive it and grow through it,” said Harry. “Getting over
it is forgetting. I don't know if even a memory charm could make you forget.”

“No,” said Hermione. There was silence for a few moments, but in those few moments, her tears
stopped, and a look of resolve crossed her face. Finally, it was Madam Pomfrey that broke the
silence.

“Five minutes,” called the school nurse, “before the two of you have to leave. You, dear, need
to eat dinner, and then it's straight to bed.”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey.”

The three friends laughed slightly as their answers blended together; the chorused response
caused the nurse to smile slightly and shut the door of her office once more.

“We should probably go,” said Harry. He pulled his hand from Hermione's quite reluctantly.
“Are you going to be okay?”

Something had replaced the fear that had been in her eyes earlier. It was determination.

“I'll be fine,” said Hermione.

“You will be,” agreed Ron. He stood and hesitated for a moment before leaning down and hugging
her.

“He's right, you know,” said Harry, and he grinned slightly. “You have the two of us after
all.”

“Oh, you,” said Hermione. She smiled genuinely and kissed his cheek. The gesture had become so
common between the two of them that Harry had stopped blushing every time. It just felt right, and
there was no arguing with that.

“We'll see you tomorrow,” said Ron.

“If Madam Pomfrey won't let me go to class,” called Hermione, “bring me my assignments!”

“We will,” said Harry, and Ron had practically run to the door to keep from laughing. He started
to chuckle but suddenly stopped. He didn't look at all happy anymore. Harry was completely
perplexed. “What is it?”

“I still want to know what Snape was doing in there,” said Ron. “If Madam Pomfrey didn't
tell any of the teachers, I don't know how he'd know just what happened.”

“Maybe he—” Harry stopped. He shrugged uncertainly. “Maybe he's a good guess. I don't
know.”

“Yes, well,” Ron muttered darkly as they set off in the direction of the Gryffindor tower, “if I
find out he's involved at all—” He trailed off, a threatening note in his voice.

“I'm sure he's not,” said Harry, but he felt his stomach give a little flip. There was
no way Snape could have been involved with what happened to her in the Forbidden Forest, was there?
Ron caught his gaze.

“No, I'm not saying that,” said Ron, and even he looked a little horrified. “I guess I'm
just saying that I'll be killing him with my bare hands if... you know what I mean.”

Harry nodded. Unfortunately, he did know what Ron meant.

-->



21. Samarus Pericle
-------------------



Chapter Twenty-One

SAMARUS PERICLE

There was something all wrong about the air in the Gryffindor common room.

Harry didn't know what it was, but as he climbed through the portrait hole into the familiar
room, he was confronted with an unfamiliar feeling. He glanced at Ron, who was wearing a slightly
confused expression, and it suddenly dawned on him what was out of place. Never before had the room
been so thick with tension.

They hadn't been back in the tower for half a second when a large exclamation cut through
the momentary silence. Judging by the sound of it, it wasn't the first to disrupt the calm.

“You're rude, you're ignorant, why, you're insufferable! Do you ever think? Do you
even possess such capability?” A furious Ginny Weasley was eyeing Seamus Finnigan with absolute
disdain. She had backed Harry and Ron's Irish year mate against the wall. “Oh, people like you
just make me so mad!”

“What do you think he did?” asked Harry lightly. Ron's expression went from horrified to
angry.

“I swear I'll kill him if he's done anything to hurt her!” growled Ron. “That's my
little—”

“Easy there, Weasley.”

Harry and Ron turned to see Dean approaching them. A very pale Neville was tagging along behind
him, clutching the side of his head. He looked to be in pain.

“What's going on?” inquired Harry, instinctively grasping Ron's shoulder. After five
years of friendship, he was quite good at knowing when Ron's temper was about to get the better
of him.

“Your sister has good aim,” said Dean while motioning towards Neville. Ginny had just unleashed
another fury of insults at Seamus. He kept taking careful steps away from her, as she seemed to be
trying to corner him. “Caught Neville here in the side of the head with *Hogwarts, A
History*.”

Neville's hand left his temple. Sure enough, a large bump was swelling up at his hairline.
“Seamus ducked,” he moaned.

“The three of us and your brothers were playing Gobstones,” explained Dean when Ron opened his
mouth again. “Ginny was sitting nearby, reading that monster, and Seamus said something, and the
next thing we all know, she was letting him have it?”

“What did he say?” questioned Harry. Ron seemed to be relaxing, so Harry dropped his hand from
his friend's shoulder. Still, Ron was eyeing his younger sister in a manner that suggested he
was skeptical about the explanation.

Dean shrugged. “I really don't know what set her off,” he said honestly.

“Aye,” said Fred in a ridiculous accent. Harry and Ron turned again, this time to see the twins
approaching from the opposite direction that Dean and Neville had. Both wore apprehensive looks. “I
do think the Irish laddie offended our fiery younger sister in some way.”

“You don't say,” said Ron.

George grinned. “Poor bloke,” he said. “The Weasley redheads are known for having a bit of
an—er, temper.”

“Weasley redheads?” Harry smirked. “Isn't that being a bit redundant?”

Fred and George grinned simultaneously. Harry had focused his attention on them, but George cast
one final look at his youngest sibling. He let out a low whistle.

“I think that's over,” said Fred. “She just slapped him.”

“Well done, young Ginvera,” said George, giving a mock salute in her general direction. His gaze
shifted to Ron. “Do you have any idea what's gotten into her lately?”

“She's been acting strange for so long that I wouldn't know,” said Ron darkly. A small
crowd of Gryffindors had assembled to witness the fight, but now only a few spectators remained.
Dean and Neville made a beeline to a dazed Seamus.

“She has?” questioned Harry. He wasn't quite up to speed with the situation. He'd left
most of his thoughts and attentions back at the hospital wing with Hermione.

“You haven't noticed?” asked Ron. He was giving Harry a strange look. “Wasn't I just
telling you the other day about how she bit my head off when I asked to borrow a quill?”

“Oh, yes, I remember,” said Harry. He did remember, now, but only vaguely.

Fred began to snigger but quickly changed it into a hacking cough. The twins shared a knowing
look, and George stated, “Of course—”

“—We don't expect you to notice much of anything when a certain Gryffindor female is
present,” continued Fred. He quickly added, “But since we've decided not to get involved—”

“—We'll be in our room if you need us,” finished George quickly. With one last look at their
sister, he disappeared into the boys' dormitories behind his brother.

“What are they talking about?” questioned Harry.

“Who knows?” said Ron loftily, but Harry knew his hand wave was some kind of pretense. However,
he didn't press the issue, choosing instead to give a common room a quick scan.

Ginny had flopped rather dramatically into one of the overstuffed chairs by the fire as Dean
prodded Seamus up the stairs. Neville was trailing right behind. Once they disappeared into the
dormitory, Harry's attention wandered back to Ginny. For whatever reason, she hadn't the
air of victory he expected. Rather, she looked impossibly upset.

“Are you going to talk to her?” Harry asked.

“You can,” said Ron.

“She's your sister,” reminded Harry as he raised an eyebrow. Ron just shrugged.

“Harry,” said Ron lightly, “the last time I talked to her was two weeks ago. I haven't
bothered talking to her since because she accused me of prying into her personal life. I asked her
she'd seen Fred, Harry. I nearly got slapped for it. I'll be going upstairs *now*. Are
you coming?”

“In a minute,” said Harry, and Ron shrugged. He, too, disappeared into the boys'
dormitories. Harry took a deep breath, and, shoving his hands in the pockets of his billowing
robes, he approached Ginny.

“Ginny?” Harry said softly. When she looked up, he immediately noticed that her eyes were red.
She was crying.

“I don't know where Hermione is,” said Ginny automatically. “I think she's still in
the—”

“Hospital wing,” interrupted Harry. “Yeah, she is. Ron and I just visited her. She's all
right, but Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping her until morning.”

“That's nice,” said Ginny absently. She looked away again, hugging her knees to her
chest.

“Everything all right?” asked Harry. He perched on the arm of the chair next to her. She
didn't respond, so Harry tried again, “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is just fine!” snapped Ginny. She narrowed her eyes accusingly at him. “What do you
want, anyway?”

“To see if you're okay,” said Harry. “Are you?”

“I am,” Ginny spat pointedly, “but it's not like you care.”

“Yes, I do,” Harry replied softly. He folded his hands together in his lap and began fidgeting
nervously. “You're Ron's little sister, of course I care.”

Apparently that was the wrong answer. Ginny's eyes flashed angrily at him, and Harry
recoiled under her gaze. “What?” she demanded suddenly. “You owe him a favor, so you offered to
talk to me for him? That's rich, Harry!”

“Ginny—”

“Oh, what?” said Ginny. “What? Am I supposed to feel flattered that famous Harry Potter is
concerned with me?”

“Ginny—” said Harry. He stopped, half expecting her to cut in. When she didn't, he took a
deep breath. “I have no idea where that came from, but I wasn't expecting anything. I can see
why Ron didn't want to talk to you, and I'm starting to wonder if I was crazy for being
concerned.”

“A little late, aren't you?” said Ginny hotly.

“What?”

“I said,” said Ginny, “a little late, aren't you?”

“What d'you mean?” Harry wanted to know.

“Play ignorant,” said Ginny. Her voice was getting higher with each word she spoke. “Fine!
It's not like I care. Not a one of you understands—”

“We don't even know what we're supposed to be understanding,” said Harry patiently.

“I can't tell you because you won't understand!” said Ginny, hopping to her feet. Her
eyes flashed angrily at Harry, and one of her hands moved into her pocket. Harry warned himself to
watch his mouth, having a feeling she might be preparing to hex him into the next week.

“You don't know that for sure,” tried Harry. “Give us a chance. You could be surprised, you
know.”

“You just don't get it, Harry,” said Ginny. She stepped towards him, and he found himself
stepping backwards just as Seamus had a few minutes before. Suddenly, she laughed rather dryly.
“Not like you get a lot.”

“Now is not the time to start slamming me,” said Harry quietly. He didn't even realize he
was looking down and away from her until he looked back up. “You know, you can tell me if
something's wrong, Ginny. We're all friends, right?”

Ginny let out a strangled sort of laugh. “That's just it. `Harry's such a good friend.
Harry's such a good listener. Harry always knows just want to say.' If you ask me, it
sounds more sleazy than sweet.”

Now, Harry was staring at Ginny as if she'd suddenly sprouted a third leg and a row of
tentacles. He was trying to identify what had turned the conversation into an attack on his
character. It seemed as though she was mocking him, but he didn't know what about.

“Er,” said Harry. He had been planning to say something a little more eloquent.

“Humph,” said Ginny. “I always overestimated your intelligence then.”

She turned so quickly that her fiery red hair nearly whipped Harry in the face. He reached out
and touched her shoulder as she began to head in the direction of the girls' dormitories.

“Ginny, wait,” said Harry. “What are you talking about?”

“You are so stupid, Harry,” said Ginny. He chose to ignore the comment.

“Come on,” pleaded Harry, trying to get her to turn and face him. She wouldn't. “At least
tell me if you're okay.”

There was a long pause, and Ginny finally turned around, her eyes filled with tears. “What do
you think?” she said quietly. “How long did it take you to notice?”

With that, she stalked up the stairs and disappeared in the direction of her room. Harry was
left standing in the middle of the common room, stunned, wondering what had just happened. When he
finally moved, he realized that, once again, a good amount of his fellow Gryffindors were gawking
at a scene Ginny had created.

* * *

“Well, look on the bright side,” Ron was saying a few minutes later, “she didn't hex you.
She and Hermione do live together, after all. Merlin only knows what she's been taught.”

“That's a lovely reassurance, Ron, really,” said Harry dryly. “Personally, I enjoyed being
called sleazy the most.”

“She's got you down,” said Ron with false sincerity. “You should probably start reexamining
your character, Harry. Sleazy guys just don't have a place here, but we can't exactly send
you to the Slytherins.”

“Maybe you'll be sent with me,” proposed Harry. “Ginny seems to be operating under hatred
for everyone. Who knows? Maybe it's that we're all sleazy.”

“Was it really that bad?”

“You're the one that didn't want to talk to her in the first place,” Harry pointed out.
“Next time, I'm going to follow your lead. You're obviously much wiser than I am.”

“It all comes with age,” said Ron pompously. His falsely superior tone made perfectly mocked the
one his brother Percy so often used. “I guess I expected that she'd go easy on you.”

“Why?” asked Harry curiously.

“Because she likes you,” said Ron. “Come on, you know how big of a crush she's had on you
for the last four years. That kind of thing just doesn't go away.”

“Maybe,” said Harry. He turned Ron's words over in his head several times until he stopped
hearing Ron's voice. Instead, his mind was taken back to a night many months before.
`Ginny's completely enamored with Viktor Krum now,' Hermione had said. “Maybe not.”

“Something like that,” said Ron, but he was grinning. “It's good if she doesn't, you
know. That way, there's no competition when—”

“When what, Ron?” questioned Harry. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” said Ron. His grin had faded. “I wonder what's wrong with her, though. She
is my baby sister, after all. It's my responsibility to look after her.”

“I guess,” said Harry uncertainly. He was about to suggest Ron try talking to her when something
screeched loudly at the window. Exchanging a confused look with Harry, Ron crossed to the window,
opened it, and allowed a dark colored bird to fly in. It grasped some post in its beak, and it
circled Harry's head twice before dropping an envelope into his hands and flying back out the
window.

“What's that?” asked Ron. It looked normal enough; Harry's name was written across the
back flap of the standard envelope. Harry tore the flap up with his thumb. However, instead of
opening, the envelope disintegrated. A few pieces of paper fluttered to the floor.

“Have you ever heard of a disintegrating envelope?” asked Harry. His voice was hushed.

“No,” admitted Ron, but Harry bent down to pick up the pieces of paper anyway. Ron peered
anxiously over his shoulder.

“Say, they're pictures!” said Ron.

There were four of them, all standard wizarding developments. The first showed a newborn Harry
in the arms of an exhausted looking Lily. It wasn't unlike the first pictures in the album
Hagrid had assembled for him.

The second photo showed a rather skinny seven-year-old Harry. It didn't have the same
happiness to it as the first, as it was obviously taken during his time with his aunt and uncle.
Harry was lugging large bags of garbage out of the house, and, if one looked closely enough, he
would notice the shiner around Harry's right eye. Harry thumbed quickly past the picture before
Ron saw.

The third picture had been taken in Diagon Alley, probably in the days before his third year had
started. A smaller Harry was walking down the street with Hermione and Ron on either side of him,
back to the camera. In the photo Hermione had slipped on an uneven place in the sidewalk, and both
boys quickly moved to prevent her from falling.

The fourth and final photo depicted a lazy summer afternoon at the Burrow. It had been taken
during the previous summer, as Harry had a plaster cast on his arm. He and Ron and Hermione were
sprawled out in the grass under the shade of a large, knobby tree. As a light breeze mussed
Hermione's hair, she scowled. The boys just laughed, and she, too, eventually started
giggling.

“I wonder who sent them,” said Harry, speaking more to himself than Ron. He reached out into
space, forgetting for a second that the envelope had self-destructed, just like a note out of one
of Dudley's cheesy spy movies.

“No note?” asked Ron.

“No note,” confirmed Harry. He turned the small stack of pictures over in his hand. He
didn't remember them being taken, a thought that unnerved him a little. Then, he noticed the
word scrawled across the back of the first picture. He quickly shuffled the picture to Ron and
glanced at the other three pictures. They, too, each had a word written on the back.

“Tread carefully young Potter,” read Ron when they had each looked at the back of the photos.
The look he shot Harry was slightly nervous. Harry swallowed hard.

“Which should I be more worried about,” said Harry lightly. “The fact that someone's taken
pictures of my back or the fact that I've been told to watch my back?”

“That's one to think about,” replied Ron uneasily.

* * *

“There, there dear. Just let it all out,” said Madam Pomfrey soothingly. “Once everything's
out of your system, you'll start feeling better in no time.”

Hermione flopped weakly against her pillows, her trembling hands still clutching the pan handed
to her by the school nurse the hour before. She shivered, wishing she were back in the lonely
comfort of the Gryffindor tower. If she had to be sick, she preferred to do so without an
audience.

Madam Pomfrey's cool hand pressed against her forehead again. “You're burning up,” she
said, not really to anyone in particular. Her wand arm extended, and she summoned a cool washcloth.
“I thought you were simply exhausted... no idea... didn't even consider a physical
illness!”

“Isn't there some kind of charm to cure this?” Hermione pleaded. “Relivesa? Easium?
Anything?”

“You know your healing charms,” said Madam Pomfrey, almost proudly. Hermione felt something cool
and wet on her cheek. “And I've performed the charm, dear, twice now.”

“It hasn't helped,” said Hermione dejectedly.

“No,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Magic has saved your life twice this year, but it was at a cost. Your
body has built up a resistance to healing.”

Hermione nodded numbly. Another wave of nausea grasped her, and she noticed that the nurse had
charmed her hair into a loose ponytail. When she finished heaving, she felt empty, and the sick
feeling in her stomach seemed to subside. A dull, throbbing headache took its place.

“Do you think it's over?” said Madam Pomfrey gently. Hermione nodded weakly and rolled over.
The cotton pillowcase was cool, and she reached down to pull another blanket up from the foot of
the bed, but Madam Pomfrey's hand stopped her. “You have a fever. It's best we not add to
it. I'll be back in a moment.”

Hermione didn't say anything. Her eyes followed the nurse as she disappeared from the
curtained area with the dirty pan. The stench was gone, and Hermione felt some of her tension
leave. She'd been sick like this twice before since they'd returned to school from the
holidays, but she wasn't exactly forthcoming with the information.

Hermione didn't know what was wrong with her. Mentally, she was a wreck. Her earlier
breakdown in front of Harry and Ron had been clear evidence of such. She hadn't been sleeping,
her appetite was gone, and she was pushing herself harder academically than she ever had before.
Schoolwork had always been Hermione's foolproof way to release stress. It really wasn't a
surprise that she had made herself physically ill. The curtains rustled.

“Here,” said Madam Pomfrey, handing her a glass of water. She didn't let go of the cup
entirely, as she seemed to notice the tremors that continued to shake Hermione's hands. “Small
sips. It'll get the taste out of your mouth, and if you do get sick again, it won't be as
painful.”

One small sip was enough for Hermione. She shakily placed the cup on the nightstand, smiling
apologetically when a little bit splashed onto the wood. “I'm tired,” she said. It wasn't
true, and as much as she liked the school nurse, she didn't want her around. In reality, being
alone was the worst possible thing for Hermione, but the only person she found comfort in had been
shooed away hours ago.

“Of course you are,” said Madam Pomfrey. She was walking around the enclosed space, pushing the
curtains back. “It's not as private, but I want to keep a close eye on you tonight.”

“It's fine,” said Hermione. “What time is it?”

“A little after midnight, dear,” said Madam Pomfrey. With the last curtain pushed into the wall,
she bent down at Hermione's side and patted her hand. “It will be morning before you know
it.”

“I'm sure,” said Hermione, but her words betrayed how she felt. It had been so long since
she'd had a night's worth of peaceful sleep. For weeks now, morning had always been a long
time coming. “Good night.”

“No classes tomorrow,” said Madam Pomfrey critically. She touched Hermione's forehead with
maternal care. “Good night.”

The nurse entered her office, shutting the door quietly behind her, and the infirmary was very
quite, very still, once more. A slight groan came from one of the beds on the far side of the wing
as the Hufflepuff boy shifted in his sleep. He'd severely broken his ankle while attempting
some Quidditch play Hermione hadn't understood. The Ravenclaw girl in the corner had fallen
down a flight of stairs and hit her head.

Hermione seized the last blanket folded at the foot of the bed and brought it up to her chin.
She didn't really see any harm in the weight of one additional blanket. Her mind drifted dully
through the day's events without inching any closer to sleep.

The passing month had been a struggle for her. There had been good moments, but mostly bad.
Hermione had always been able to confront difficulties head on, despite her slight insecurity. Now,
her spirit broken, she barely had the courage to be inside her own head. Some Gryffindor she
was.

On the other hand, she was getting better at forcing unpleasant thoughts aside. Hermione willed
herself to think of something nice as she fluffed her pillow again but blushed slightly at what
automatically came to mind, so she allowed herself to think about Potions that afternoon.

It had started normally enough, but her head had soon begun to ache, and she'd suddenly felt
a chill. However, the same thing had happened for ages now every time she went into the dungeons.
She remembered hearing something a few minutes before fainting, but she couldn't remember what.
She couldn't even remember whether she'd understood the words at the time or not.

Hermione dimly remembered coming to in the Potions classroom, but her next clear memory was
asking Ron where Harry was. They'd been a few feet outside of the hospital wing, Ron's arm
locked securely around her to support her. Madam Pomfrey had shooed him out in no time, but he and
Harry had returned as soon as she would allow. Hermione's guys, as Lavender and Parvati were
prone to refer to them. She'd tried so hard not to break down in front of them, but she had
felt considerably better with their reassurances.

And, between Ron's exit and the boys' entrance, there had been Snape's brief visit.
The Potion master's concern had been unsettling, frightening even, and Hermione had made a
mental agreement with herself to forget about him. She didn't want anyone to know; she
didn't want their pity. She really just wanted one of them to memory charm her into blissful
ignorance.

Hermione felt slightly guilty as soon as the thought crossed her mind for the second time that
day. However, it didn't last long. Her attention shifted as the door to the hospital wing swung
open. It was Professor Dumbledore, stepping with obvious caution to make sure his boots made little
sound on the hard floor. Still, the briefest of echoes wasn't lost on Madam Pomfrey, and she
emerged from her office at once.

“Albus!” she hissed. “It's nearly one! These students need their rest!”

“I know they do, Poppy,” whispered Dumbledore. “I needed a word with you.”

“The other professors have their words with me during visiting hours,” said Madam Pomfrey
crossly. “We can talk in my office. I don't want to wake the children, especially Miss Granger.
Such a fragile little thing she is.”

“Really Poppy,” said Dumbledore, and Hermione could tell he was glancing around at the few
occupied beds. He chuckled slightly and waved his hand. “It smells so sterile in there that I can
hardly stand it.”

“The students—”

“The students are fast asleep,” said Dumbledore reassuringly. “How is Hermione?”

“Ill,” said Madam Pomfrey. “She's running a fever and has been for several hours now. I
thought it was only exhaustion at first, but she's most definitely ailing.”

“And the necessary healing charms have been uneffective?”

“How did you know?”

“Dear Poppy, surely you know there is little that occurs within these walls that escapes me,”
said Dumbledore kindly. “There are also the rules and laws of magic to consider. Severus made me
well aware of the aftereffects of the Forveret Bursen counter potion before you administered
it.”

“She's weaker than even you realize,” said Madam Pomfrey sternly. “The poor dear's been
through unimaginable horrors. I beg you to reconsider your decision.”

“My decision?” questioned Dumbledore. He sounded almost amused. “Are you referring to my
insistence that Miss Granger remain at Hogwarts, with her classmates, for the rest of the
term?”

“I truly feel that a... *quieter environment* would be to her greatest advantage,” said the
nurse. “She's still at the top of her class, brilliant beyond her peers. She would have no
trouble catching back up next year if she were to be sent home for the remainder of the term to
recuperate.”

“And miss her O.W.L.s?” said Dumbledore. “Now, Poppy, surely you believe me when I say I would
never jeopardize the safety or health of a student. If I did not believe that this is the best
place for Hermione, would she be here?”

“Albus—”

“We're not in pleasant times anymore,” said the headmaster. “She is a target, you know. It
is best if she is here.”

“About the boys—”

“Mr. Potter and the youngest Mr. Weasley?”

“Who else, sir?” said Madam Pomfrey. “They're reluctant to leave her side, especially Mr.
Potter. One must wonder if she needs that excitement at the moment.”

There was a brief pause. Hermione pulled her covers tighter around her. She felt a bit guilty,
listening so intently about something she obviously wasn't supposed to here.

“There is little wrong with friendship,” said Dumbledore at last.

“They are but children,” said Madam Pomfrey sadly. “It pains me to see the watch they keep over
their fallen friend. There is something about the love children have for each other. Nothing else
in the world is quite so pure and innocent—”

“But children they aren't, Poppy,” interrupted Dumbledore. “They have seen the world, and
they have witnessed its cruelty. Harry, left alone in the world, his childhood stolen. Hermione,
her innocence lost. Ron—”

“It's that—that prophecy!” spat Madam Pomfrey suddenly. There was a rage in the nurse's
voice that Hermione had never heard before. She could hear the step the nurse took toward the
headmaster. “It's that horrible prophecy, is it not? Do not tell me you believe in that
nonsense, Albus!”

“There's no need to get hysterical,” said Dumbledore calmly. “I believe in the—”

The door opened again, and this intruder did not take Dumbledore's care of preserving
silence. He simply barged in, his footsteps reverberating heavily against the stone. Madam
Pomfrey's voice rose after his entrance.

“Severus! There is no need to cause such racket! The students—”

Snape ignored her completely, heading straight to Dumbledore. Hermione shifted silently on her
bed, squinting in the darkness, trying vainly to figure out what was happening.

“Sir,” said Snape quickly. “Bom has delivered an urgent message for you to me. You were not in
your office at the appointed time.”

“I will send him my apologies,” said Dumbledore. “Is there really reason to materialize among
the ill during their much-needed rest?”

“It is Pericle, sir,” said Snape sharply. “He was found dead in his home early this evening.
Overdose on black brackish, to be exact.”

“Old Samarus?” The disbelief in the old headmaster's voice was obvious. “It cannot be,
Severus. The man is friend. He is no user...”

“With all respects, sir, the man was a friend of yours,” said Snape briskly. “Blood tests do not
lie. I believe it is the work of—”

“Of course it is his work,” said Dumbledore absently. “Poppy, will you please give us a
moment?”

The nurse retreated into her office without a second word. Dumbledore waved his hand again, and
Hermione instantly felt herself growing unbelievably tired. She knew some kind of spell had been
cast, and she had to fight to stay awake. Samarus Pericle was the oldest of the Minister of
Magic's advisors. He had seen a place in the administrations of seven Ministers and was thus
known for his ability to charm each successive of government. There had been a long article in the
Daily Prophet just one week before that identified him as the only selection expected to hold his
position if Sagesse Bom advanced from temporary.

“Will Sagesse be given the power of appointment?” said Dumbledore at last.

“He was given only two referrals, and the council barred both,” said Snape. “It is a wonder they
approved him in the first place, considering the care they take not to back him.”

“Who?” demanded Dumbledore.

“Arthur Weasley, sir,” said Snape grudgingly, “and Mundungus Fletcher.”

“Who is the thirteenth?” Dumbledore wanted to know.

Hermione was finding it more difficult to think with each passing moment. It took her the
several seconds of Snape's pause to remember what a thirteenth was. It had been years since
she'd memorized the highest offices in the Ministry of Magic. The thirteenth was a man
appointed to take the place of any advisor whose replacement was not approved.

“Lucius Malfoy, sir,” replied Snape.

* * *

**Drug overdose death of Ministry advisor startles community**

*Samarus Pericle, second elect advisor to the Minister of Magic, long time advocate of*
*the failed Wizarding Alliance Act and chairman of Wizarding Youth Outreach, was found dead in
his home late yesterday afternoon. Linked to an overdose on black brackish, Pericle's death has
been classified as suicide. He leaves not relatives but a political legacy that will surely remain
unmatched.*

*Pericle, an 1880 graduate of Hogwarts, found steady employment with the Ministry starting at
the age of 23. Appointed during the second term of Matthias Miller, Pericle became the youngest
advisor ever to sit on the Minister's Council. He held office through the terms of seven
successive Ministers of Magic and celebrated his hundredth year as an advisor in 1992. He was
expected to be included in current Minister of Magic Sagesse Bom's council upon permanent
instatement.*

*“Samarus has the understanding and intellect of any man who witnessed the rise and fall of
two Dark wizards,” said Bom in an exclusive Daily Prophet interview last month, “but his
application of knowledge sets him apart. I look forward to continued work with him should my office
be extended beyond temporary status.”*

*Serving the position of eighth elect in one prior administration, fourth elect in three and
second elect in two, Pericle would most likely have been the first elect in a permanent Bom
Council.*

*Pericle's name has been brought to worldwide attention in the magical community on
several occasions. While known for his unyielding support of Albus Dumbledore after the fall of
Grindelwald in 1945 and continued efforts to expand the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department,
Pericle is most noted for his involvement with the Wizarding Alliance Act.*

*The 1981 act, written shortly after Harry Potter's defeat of You-Know-Who, failed after
just two years. Meant to further promote wizarding cooperation through shared logs of Dark Arts
activity and unified resistance training, American and Asian resistance halted its success. Still,
Pericle's devotion to the cause remained steadfast even after its failure to gather additional
evidence for Death Eater trials.*

*“The intent behind the Wizarding Alliance Act was never to gather more evidence against
accused Death Eaters,” said Pericle in 1984. “It was all about prevention of future tragedy. 108
innocent lives, both magical and Muggle, were lost in the first three months of
[You-Know-Who's] reign alone. That number could have been cut in half if cooperation had
existed between Ministries when it came to sharing information about Dark activity. It could have
been reduced even farther if surrounding nations had defense forces trained to the same extent as
British Aurors.”*

*However it is Pericle's other position that is being scrutinized today. For the past
eight years, Pericle served as chairman of Wizarding Youth Outreach, an organization that tries to
defer magical youngsters from drug use while offering a treatment and second chances to users
wanting to abandon their drug habits. It also seeks stricter and timelier punishment for makers and
distributors. Pericle has long been a passionate voice against the use of black brackish in
particular.*

*“Drug use is on the rise in the youths of our society,” said Pericle in a fundraising speech
earlier this year. “It accounts for over half the deaths of teenage witches and wizards, yet many
refuse to acknowledge it as a problem. Yesterday's users were the troublemakers and rebels of
society, but that is not true today. Viewed as a challenge to brew, black brackish has become the
drug of choice to many able-minded individuals...”*

*Unlike most common wizarding drugs, black brackish has no Muggle equivalent and can be brewed
at home. It accounts for most teenage addictions and almost half of all drug related deaths. Known
for its salty taste, black brackish excites some while calming others to an almost comatose state.
The sale of black blackish ingredients is estimated to be the largest illegal market in magical
Britain, second only to dragon breeding.*

*With his very public stance against black brackish, Pericle's cause of death is most
surprising.*

*“There is no doubt in my mind or the mind of any other medical professional that the toxic
material found in Mr. Pericle's bloodstream is [black brackish],” said Doctor Edward M.
Rodgers, a Ministry employed coroner, “nor is there any doubt that it was the cause of
death.”*

*Rodgers went on to say that, judging by the amount of black brackish in his bloodstream,
Pericle was a hardened user. He also acknowledged that someone as well versed in the drug's
effects as Pericle would be taking such a quantity with the intention of suicide.*

*“Mr. Pericle was highly educated in the drug that caused his death,” said Rodgers. “He knew
how much he was taking, and he knew that it would kill him. His death was intentional.”*

*Six other Ministry coroners confirmed Rodgers's findings just as thirteenth Lucius Malfoy
was sworn in as Pericle's replacement. While it is only the second time in history that a
thirteenth has actually taken office, the public's main focus at this hour is still the
deceased Pericle.*

*“Samarus was the perfect neighbor,” said Margaret Williams, whose family has lived next to
the deceased for the last seven years. “He brought presents to the boys every Christmas and took
them to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley for their birthdays. I always trusted him because of his
involvement with Outreach. Now, I don't know what to say. I don't want to believe what
everyone else is.”*

*In a unanimous vote that included Lucius Malfoy, the advisors decided that an inquisition
into Pericle's death would be unnecessary. All plan to attend his funeral on Saturday.*

**Thirteenth to take place of second elect**

*It was decided early Tuesday that thirteenth Lucius Malfoy would be sworn in as the second
elect on the Minister's Council. Malfoy will be taking place of the deceased Samarus Pericle
and is only the second thirteenth to take the place of an advisor in Ministry history.*

*The remaining eleven members of the Minister's Council rejected both referrals from
current Minister of Magic Sagesse Bom, whose temporary status extends through August. First elect
Harris Barker released a statement shortly after Malfoy was sworn in, identifing Arthur Weasley and
Mundungus Fletcher as Bom's recommendations.*

*“When given the choice between Weasley or Fletcher, knowing that you could have Lucius Malfoy
if you rejected them both,” said Barker during this morning's press conference, “it's not
much of a decision to make. Don't get me wrong because I don't speak bad about my
colleagues, but I strongly feel that Muggle sympathy has no place in the Minister's Council.
The same goes for former Aurors. They've made it perfectly clear that they want nothing to do
with the rest of the Ministry, so they most certainly shouldn't be allowed to take our
offices.”*

*Recommended as thirteenth by former Minister Cornelius Fudge, Pericle held the elect position
of the only advisor to vote against Malfoy's appointment. Pericle was also the only advisor
from Fudge's Council not to criticize Bom directly following his appointment.*

*Pericle's death, ruled to be the result of a drug overdose, has generated more public
outcry than Malfoy's appointment. Malfoy contends that this is how it should be.*

*“I was both shocked and saddened by the news of Samarus's death,” said Malfoy during the
Ministry press conference. “It will be difficult to take the place of such a great man, but I will
accept the responsibility and perform to the best of my ability.”*

*Malfoy was sworn in this morning around one o'clock, but an official ceremony will be
held this evening at eight. He will be attending the event alone, but he acknowledges that his
deceased wife will be with him in spirit.*

*“Narcissa passed away in early September,” said Malfoy, “but she asked that her death be kept
private.”*

*Sources say that grief for his mother may have prompted the actions of young Draco Malfoy
that led to his expulsion from Hogwarts last autumn. The senior Malfoy went on to say that the boy
had been justly punished and that such family issues would not get in the way of his duties as an
advisor.*

* * *

Together, the articles on Samarus Pericle's death and Lucius Malfoy's appointment
covered every inch of space on the front page of the Daily Prophet's Tuesday edition. Much to
Madam Pomfrey's annoyance, the delivery owl had flown into the hospital wing without hesitation
to drop the paper at Hermione's bedside. Her mind still filled with questions about the night
before, Hermione had wasted no time reading both articles.

“Your fever's down,” said Madam Pomfrey. As Hermione read her morning paper, the nurse had
been checking her over. “Anything interesting going on today?”

“No,” lied Hermione. She doubted that the nurse would be too pleased to hear that she'd
overhead most of the conversation between her, Dumbledore, and Snape the night before. Actually,
Hermione wasn't sure how much of it she had heard; she had a feeling that her sudden exhaustion
had been brought on by a sleeping spell cast by the headmaster.

“Well,” said Madam Pomfrey, glancing up to the clock on the wall. “Breakfast is almost over. I
doubt it'll be any time at all before Misters Potter and Weasley will be here to see how
you're doing.”

Hermione hoped the nurse was right. Alone, she didn't know what to make of what she'd
overheard last night, but she had a feeling that Harry and Ron could help her make sense of it all.
She could practically see their reactions already. Ron would probably be quite proud of her for
having the nerve to listen in; Harry would think for a long time and make her give him all her
ideas before coming up with any of his own.

“They have class though,” said Hermione pointedly. “Then again, so do—”

“Yes, of course, you're supposed to be in class today, too,” said Madam Pomfrey, her voice
suddenly taking on a stern tone. “You can ask the boys to bring you your lessons.”

“Professor McGonagall hinted that we would have a quiz today in Transfigurations,” Hermione
tried desperately. “Surely I shouldn't miss that.”

“McGonagall is your Head of House, is she not?” said Madam Pomfrey, eyeing Hermione critically.
“And she was most concerned about your well-being yesterday, was she not? Surely she will
understand your need for rest today. Now, what would you like for breakfast?”

“I'm really not that hungry,” said Hermione honestly. She slumped back against her pillows
and folded the Daily Prophet very carefully. She placed it on the side table, knowing that Harry
and Ron would probably want to read it later.

“I asked what you wanted for breakfast, not whether you wanted breakfast,” said Madam Pomfrey
sternly. She lifted herself from the chair she'd summoned to Hermione's bedside. “Is your
stomach still upset? Maybe some toast?”

“I'm really—” Hermione faltered under the nurse's glare. “Toast would be lovely.”

The nurse had no sooner left than the hospital wing door swung open. Sure enough, Ron walked
through, followed closely by Harry. A more careful inspection of them on Hermione's part saw
that Harry's occasional prodding was the only thing propelling Ron along. The redhead seemed to
be more asleep than awake, and Hermione couldn't help but smile. He wasn't exactly what
you'd call a morning person.

“Good morning,” said Harry brightly, hugging Hermione tightly before dropping down on the bed
next to her. Ron sat down next to him, but he continued to stare off into space.

“Is he okay?” asked Hermione.

“Er, I think so,” said Harry at last. “Just a little tired, aren't you, Ron?”

“What?” said Ron, suddenly alert. He looked around the hospital wing before settling his eyes on
Hermione. “Weren't we just in the Great Hall?”

“We were,” confirmed Harry, an amused smile on his face. “Did you miss the part where we walked
down to the hospital wing to see Hermione?”

“Must have,” said Ron, not catching the sarcasm in Harry's voice. Hermione had to keep from
giggling when Harry grinned at her. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” said Hermione. She was, actually, feeling better than she had the night
before.

“Doing better, too?” Harry wanted to know. Those intense green eyes of his locked on hers. Sure,
both boys were obviously concerned with her well-being, but Harry's concern had a whole
different air to it than Ron's. Hermione was very relieved to be able to hold his gaze for once
when she nodded. Harry touched her hand, and his awkward gesture was surprisingly comforting.
“Good.”

“Yep,” said Ron. He looked thoughtful, and, a few seconds later, he deadpanned, “Well, we have
to go to class in just a second, but Harry wanted to work in a quick good-bye first; we're
sending him to live with the Slytherins first thing afterwards—”

“What?” screeched Hermione. She looked properly horrified, which sent Ron into a fit of
laughter. Harry whacked him good-naturedly upside the head.

“He's just kidding,” said Harry quickly. He glared at Ron. “Prat,” he muttered, and he
glanced back up at Hermione, grinning apologetically. “Ginny is operating under the impression that
I'm sleazy. She told me so last night. Ron here seems to the think that the possession of such
quality merits automatic removal from Gryffindor and transfer to Slytherin.”

“It does,” said Ron, regaining his composure. He looked Harry over. “What makes you so sure you
aren't sleazy, Potter?”

Harry paled.

“You are most definitely not sleazy,” said Hermione, almost affectionately. “You're rather
sweet, actually.”

Harry blushed, and Ron clapped him hard on the back as he laughed. “Sweet, eh?”

Hermione chose to ignore him. “Why was Ginny calling you sleazy in the first place?”

Ron, glancing at the clock, hurriedly informed Hermione of Ginny's fight with Seamus. Then,
Harry jumped in and told her about his own clash with the youngest Weasley. Had he been paying more
attention to Hermione's change in expression as his part of the story progressed, he might have
noticed the slight blush that rose to her cheeks midway through.

“So now I'm just more confused than ever,” finished Harry, Ron nodding vigorously at his
side.

“Hmm,” said Hermione. She was the one that actually lived with Ginny, and she hadn't
realized that the younger girl's problems had gotten so out of hand. She had a vague suspicion
as to what her outburst was about, but she couldn't say anything. One part of it Ron wasn't
supposed to know about, the other she wasn't sure if she wanted Harry to.

“Oh, and that wasn't even the most exciting thing that happened yesterday,” said Ron
suddenly, and he gestured to Harry. In a motion that seemed rather reluctant, Harry opened his bag
and thrust a thin stack of small papers in Hermione's directions.

“Someone sent me those,” said Harry carefully. Hermione realized at once that they were photos,
and she thumbed through them slowly, taking her time in looking at each individual snapshot. When
she had studied all of them, she looked up at Harry and Ron questionably.

“Flip the over,” urged Ron. This time, Harry did the vigorous nodding.

“Young tread Potter carefully?” asked Hermione from under an arched eyebrow. Harry's fingers
brushed against hers as he took them from him.

“Not quite,” said Harry, shuffling the picture into a different order. He handed them back to
her.

Now, the words scrawled on the back of the photos read, “Tread carefully, young Potter.”
Hermione glanced up as she read the last word of the message.

“See, last night, Harry and I were trying to figure which part of it he should be more worried
about,” said Ron. “He seems to think that message alone was creepy enough, but I think it was the
stalker photos that really gave it that quality. Then, of course, there was the envelope it all
came in. Disintegrated.”

“It did what?” said Hermione sharply. She was vaguely aware that she had let the photos flutter
down out of her hand. “The envelope disintegrated? Ron! Don't joke! That could be very powerful
Dark magic! You really should—”

“—Go and tell Professor Lupin, we know,” said Harry quickly. He turned to Ron and hissed, “I
told you not to scare her!”

“I'm still here, you know,” said Hermione impatiently, “and you should tell Professor Lupin!
Don't you think so?”

“Not really,” said Ron, rather cheerfully, “but we kind of expected you to think so.”

Harry punched his shoulder. It was beyond the friendly manner in which they usually teased each
other, and Hermione could sense that. Whatever point he was trying to make, he seemed to make
because Ron shut up.

“I don't know how many more things we're going to be able to add to the list of weird
things that have happened this year,” said Harry heavily, “because I'm pretty sure it's
nearing maximum capacity. We have to figure out what's going on, and I really don't think
we have that much longer to do it.”

“In other words, we have to get cracking,” said Ron.

“Why do you think we're running out of time to figure this out?” Hermione wanted to
know.

Harry shrugged. “I just do. I can't really explain it... don't you guys know what I
mean, though? Something's not right, and we keep say it's not right, but we still have no
idea what that something is. I don't know about you, but that leaves me feeling a bit
unsettled.”

The faint sound of a bell ringing cut Harry off. The two boys shared grimaces, knowing that they
were late to their Herbology class. At about that moment, Madam Pomfrey also pushed through the
door to the hospital wing, presumably back from the kitchens.

“We'll have to talk later,” said Harry quickly.

“Yes,” agreed Hermione. “I have some news for you two as well.”

“Hold those thoughts, then,” said Ron, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“We'll try to come down at lunch,” said Harry, doing the same thing, “but if Filch catches
us sneaking through the halls again...”

“Please don't get yourselves killed by a Squib and his demonic cat,” requested Hermione. Ron
was already halfway between her bed and the door, but Harry reached down and hugged her tightly
again.

“I have a slight suspicion,” whispered Harry into her ear, “that what's bothering Ginny now
is what was bothering her months and months ago. I just have a feeling about it, `Mione.
Everything's connected, isn't it? Everything. Ron needs to know.”

And before Hermione could give that any kind of consideration, he kissed her forehead and was
gone.

Harry had taken great strides to catch up with Ron, so the two of them had gotten to their
Herbology class at the same time. Professor Sprout had been more than a little displeased with
their lateness, but she'd pardoned them with a warning when they'd told her where
they'd been. It was funny—all of the teachers seemed to have a bit of a blind spot where
Hermione was concerned.

* * *

For the next hour, Harry and Ron repotted some odd-looking orange seedlings with an
unpronounceable twelve-syllable name that Snape had requested for use with his advanced sixth year
classes. They made conversation with the two Hufflepuffs working with them, Hannah Abbot and Susan
Bones. Harry liked the Hufflepuffs enough, but they could be a pretty boring lot.

With ten minutes of class left, Sprout announced it time to clean up, and the students began
stripping off their gloves and wiping dirt from the tables. Harry was being particularly careful
about his task, which was to move the repotted seedlings onto a sunny shelf along the green house
wall, because Sprout had warned that the seedlings periodically got the urge to pop up from the
dirt and bite.

“Very good, Harry,” said Sprout as he slipped the last tray of plants into the respective spots.
Her praise was cut short by a tortured scream, and she rolled her eyes as she waddled off to pull
one of the plants off of Neville's hand.

“I wonder what Herms wanted to tell us,” said Ron as he and Harry lined up at the greenhouse
door. They both stepped out of the way as Sprout pushed a still-moaning Neville through the crowd
of people and back in the direction of the school.

“Just tell her it was one of the orange seedlings,” called Sprout after him. “She'll fix you
right up.”

Harry waited until their round-faced year mate was out of sight before responding to Ron. “We
only have to get through Transfigurations,” reminded Harry. “We can visit her during lunch.”

“Double Transfigurations, no food,” Ron moaned. When he realized Harry was glaring at him, he
quickly added, “But, of course, worth it to see Herms.”

“She doesn't like Herms,” said Harry.

Ron shrugged at the same moment the bell rang. “You call her `Mione sometimes. No
different.”

“It's different because—”

“—You like her,” finished Ron, and he rushed on, “and she likes you, so it's okay to have
little pet names.”

“I don't like `Mione,” insisted Harry. “Not like that I don't.”

“It's whatever you say, Harry,” said Ron, and he quickly walked a few paces ahead of his
friend. Harry made a mental note to strangle him in his sleep sometime in the near future. Harry
grumbled under his breath as he caught up with Ron.

“FIGHT IN THE HALLS! FIGHT IN THE HALLS!”

Harry looked up with a start to see Peeves suspended in the air, chortling madly and pointing
around the bend. He zipped straight into the wall, presumably to come out on the other side and
watch what was happening. Shooting Ron a sideways glance, Harry hurried around the bend behind the
ghost, and Ron followed him.

“WILL YOU TAKE A LOOK AT THAT?” screeched Peeves. He clapped his hands together and grinned
evilly. “Taking a beating for Gryffindor, that one is! Should I cheer for Slytherin? Should I cheer
for Gryffindor? FIGHT IN THE HALLS!”

Judging by the crowd of students assembled at the end of the hallway, Harry guessed that the
people fighting were both younger. No one in the assembly looked older than twelve. He shot Ron a
nervous glance as they approached. Technically, they were supposed to break up such things as
prefects, but rarely had they performed their duties in the past. Then again, never before had such
a situation arisen.

A tiny blond girl with tears in her eyes broke away when she saw Harry and Ron. She was dressed
in Gryffindor colors, and Harry vaguely remembered helping her with her Defense homework once at
the beginning of the school year.

“They're hurting him!” wailed the little girl. “He's my little brother and they're
hurting him! Please make them stop!”

“Er,” said Ron, and Harry caught sight of what was going on. He was reminded of his own
confrontations with Malfoy over the years, but he never remembered their disagreements getting
quite so bloody. One young Slytherin boy was holding the Gryffindor in place as another Slytherin
pummeled him.

“Stop it!” bellowed Harry, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “There is absolutely
no fighting at Hogwarts!”

Ron had broken through the circle of observers and attempted to pull the boys off each other.
Harry cringed as his friend received a misdirected blow. Eventually, Ron backed off, but the boy
didn't.

“Do something!” wept the little girl again. Glancing between her and the boy, Harry took a deep
breath.

“*SENDROVUS!*”

Harry cringed as the Slytherin boy flew back into the wall, already imagining the kind of
punishment he would probably get for injuring a first year. Ron was able to pull the Gryffindor boy
from the other Slytherin's grasp. He looked rather like a blonde Neville Longbottom.

“Excuse me, what is going on here?” demanded a stern voice. The first and second years moved
back against the wall in fear as they saw Professor McGonagall approach. A very concerned Nearly
Headless Nick floated behind her, and Harry had the feeling that he had gone for her at the first
hint that a fight was brewing.

“Breaking up a fight, Professor McGonagall,” said Ron. His hand was still at his jaw. He
whispered to Harry, “For an eleven-year-old, that kid sure knows how to throw a punch.”

“Oh dear,” said McGonagall. She had apparently just caught sight of the little boy. “Miss White,
would you be so kind as to help your brother to the infirmary? Thank you. Potter? Weasley? Can you
explain this to me?”

“I don't know who they think they are,” said an angry voice, “but he hexed me!”

It was the boy that had actually been attacking the Gryffindor. He was burly, with dark hair and
eyes, and Harry felt as if he was gazing at a younger version of someone he knew.

“Marks,” said McGonagall, and Harry could feel his heart sink. She raised an eyebrow. “Potter
and Weasley are prefects, and I trust that they were merely carrying out their duties as such.
Perhaps Professor Dumbledore will be interested to hear about it, but I suspect he will be more
interested in being told why you have picked a fight with White three times in the last week.”

“He's a worthless overweight git!” sneered Marks. He stomped his foot.

“Fifty points from Slytherin,” said McGonagall, “detention for a week, and you will visit
Professor Dumbledore's office at his earliest convenience. Everyone else—no, not you,
Baddock—get to class before I take off points for turning this into a regular spectacle!”

Harry and Ron turned in the direction of McGonagall's classroom, but she stopped them.

“Both of you, good job,” said McGonagall hesitantly. “Fights are not easy things to deal with,
and I'm proud of you both for handling it so well. Tell the rest of the class I'll be a few
moments late; I'm going to check on Mr. White.”

Harry and Ron nodded obediently, taking off down the hall. It was Ron who spoke first, turning
to Harry ashen faced.

“Marks—the older one—is going to hear about this, you know,” said Ron shakily. “He'll want
to kill you, Harry.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Tell me something I didn't know.”

And he took a deep breath, wondering how much trouble he'd just made for himself by
squelching someone else's.

-->



22. The Boy in Every Time
-------------------------



Chapter Twenty-Two

THE BOY IN EVERY TIME

Growing up in a large family, there were some things that one couldn't help but learn. Ron
knew better to barge into any room without knocking, even if the door hadn't been locked.
He'd had a red mark across his face for the better part of an afternoon after walking in on
Ginny changing once.

Ron always made a point to be on time for dinner; too many times had he been a few minutes late,
only to discover that Fred and George had made fast work of all his favorite foods.

Ron had received many accidental lessons in courtesy, loyalty, and bravery thanks to his
siblings, but that was actually the least of it. Sharing a relatively small house with eight other
people had given him invaluable sense of perception when it came to others.

Which explained why his two best friends were about to drive him crazy.

So, though he would deny it completely if anyone called him on it, Ron did have a few ulterior
motives when he climbed through the portrait hole on Tuesday afternoon after Quidditch practice. He
was more than a little tired and rather bruised, but there was something that he needed to do.
Fortunately, Hermione was already back from the hospital wing, sitting at one of the tables in the
corner of the common room. Her books were spread in great piles before her, and she was scribbling
furiously on a roll of parchment.

“Finally convince Madam Pomfrey that you weren't going to keel over, be chased by an ax
murderer, or start demonstrating St. Mungo's behavior?” joked Ron as he slid into the wooden
chair across from her. Hermione stopped scratching her quill against the paper and looked up.

“Very funny, Ron,” said Hermione. “Quidditch over?”

“Would I back if it wasn't?” questioned Ron. “Or, for that matter, freshly showered?”

“No,” said Hermione briskly, “you rarely bathe otherwise. Where's Harry, then?”

“Hey! That was an attack on my person hygiene—” Ron glared at her. “You could pretend that
you're happy to see me, you know.”

Hermione giggled, inking her quill. Her finger traced the line she was taking information from
as she paraphrased. “Of course I'm glad to see you,” she said, “but I rarely see one of you
without the other.”

“But I'm not Harry,” suggested Ron slyly. “Anyway, he's still out there, seeking. The
Hufflepuffs had the field before us. Still training their new Seeker, they are. Seems as if one of
the school Snitches has been particularly elusive, so Madam Hooch set Harry to find it. He'll
turn up when it does.”

“Don't you play Hufflepuff this weekend?” Hermione wanted to know.

“Ten o'clock on Saturday morning,” said Ron with a grin. “Are you going to be there?”

“Where else would I be?” said Hermione, and she gave him a very genuine smile.

“You'll have to hang around with us afterward, too,” said Ron. “Provided we don't have
another impossibly long game, Ravenclaw is playing Slytherin at two.”

“Are you sure that's such a good idea?” questioned Hermione. “There's only a few more
weekends left before our essays are due, and I wouldn't devote an entire Saturday to Quidditch
if I were you.”

Ron rolled his eyes, and he grabbed her arm. “Come on,” he said, “you need to live a little. You
spend too much time working.”

“Ron,” said Hermione patiently, “I missed an entire day's worth of classes.”

“You know as well as I do that you're already more than caught up,” said Ron, and he did not
let go of her arm. “You'll just end up stressing yourself out more the longer you sit there.
All that work isn't good for a person, and I need to talk to you, so we're going for a
walk.”

“I have a sheet of written explanations for my work due in Arithmancy tomorrow, and I still need
to edit my—”

“Please Hermione?” said Ron, and he resorted to a slightly pitiful expression.

“Maybe later, Ron, I really do need to finish these things first,” said Hermione, and she swept
an arm over her stacks of books to demonstrate. “I have to finish this reading for Herbology, but
then maybe—”

“Hermione!”

She was interrupted again, this time by the twins, who had just burst through the portrait hole.
They were wearing identical pleased expressions, and both boys' cheeks were flushed pink as
though they'd run to the tower.

“So glad to see you here!” exclaimed Fred (or was it George? They were his brothers, but even
Ron couldn't tell at the moment).

“Yes, of course I'm here,” said Hermione quizzically. “Where else would I be?”

She flinched visibly as George (or Fred) threw a friendly arm around her shoulder. “No idea, but
we did want to congratulate you.”

“For what?” said Hermione lightly. She and Ron shared an equally confused glance.

“We were on innocently making our way back from Quidditch practice,” said Fred, “and we just so
happened to catch Snape engaging dear Professor Lupin in some very interesting conversation.”

“We just so happened to overhear a bit of it,” George deadpanned. “They were talking about you,
and it was most peculiar. You see, Snape seems to think you're highly disturbed and emotionally
unstable—”

“—And we just want to know about whatever glorious thing you pulled to make him think that,”
finished Fred. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, we also want to know why we didn't get
asked to partake in it.”

Hermione blinked, and before Ron even realized what he was doing, he was shoving his brothers in
the direction of the boys' dormitories.

“Go,” he said at the bottom of the stairs. Both of them were looking at their younger brother
with identical looks of confusion. “She's not feeling well, you know. She did happen to pass
out yesterday in Potions, or did you forget that? Leave her be, okay?”

“Okay,” said one of the twins. Ron had lost track of who was who. “Er... we'll talk to you
later?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, and he was walking back towards Hermione before they had a chance to
answer.

“Those two,” he said jokingly, sounding a lot more lighthearted than he felt. She still had that
stricken look on her face, and it worried him. “They sure do have boundless energy, eh?”

Hermione didn't answer him, she just muttered something incoherently that he didn't
quite catch.

“How about that walk?” tried Ron. To his surprise, she nodded.

“That would be lovely, Ron,” said Hermione weakly.

* * *

“They didn't mean anything by it,” said Ron for the third time. He was starting to get
desperate. Hermione continued to walk a few paces ahead of him, her arms folded securely across her
chest. He wasn't sure if it was because she was cold or upset. “Come on, Herms, look at me.
It's Fred and George, after all. They think you've pulled some kind of brilliant prank on
Snape. There's no harm in that, is there?”

“It's not that,” said Hermione, and she stopped. “He and Professor Lupin barely tolerate
each other, it seems. If he's telling him, he's telling the other staff members. I
don't want them to all think I'm some kind of a—some kind of—well, a—”

“Some kind of what, Hermione?” Ron wanted to know. He crossed his arms across his chest. He was
going to make her listen to him, and then he was going to talk to her like he'd been meaning
to. “Heaven forbid that they know about the horrible, violent, uncontrollable situation you were
forced into. Merlin, Hermione! They're teachers! They're in charge of all of us!
They're not going to think any less of you, you know. They'll want to help you!”

“I don't need any help,” said Hermione stubbornly. “I'm just fine, thank you, and I
really don't see why everyone's making such a big fuss about me—”

Ron was trying to recall if she'd ever been quite so stubborn, and he couldn't think of
a single instance. He did, however, remember why the two of them rarely spent alone, just the two
of them. Inevitably, they ended up arguing.

“We care about you,” said Ron, and he forced himself to keep his anger out of his voice.
“What's this about, Hermione? I want to be there for you, and I want to help you, but I
don't know how to act around you. This isn't like your schoolwork, you know. This isn't
a problem you have to solve on your own.”

“I don't have a—”

And she stopped short. The anger was gone, leaving Hermione looking rather vulnerable.

“Can we sit down?” said Hermione suddenly, and Ron nodded. She took a seat on a large rock at
the lake's shore, and he sat down next to her. After several moments of hesitation, he put his
arm around her shoulders. “You wanted to talk about something. You wouldn't have wanted to come
out here in the first place if you haven't.”

“We'll get to that,” said Ron. “One thing at a time. Since we seem to be on the subject,
what can I do to help you?”

“Act normal,” said Hermione without hesitation.

“Act normal,” repeated Ron. He really wanted to ask about Snape, but he refrained. Her elusive
behavior the night before combined with Fred and George's statements had only furthered his
dislike of the Potions master, and he was becoming more and more certain that he was more involved
than he was letting on. However, he wasn't about to say anything and risk upsetting Hermione.
“Is that all?”

“It's more than enough,” said Hermione, and she smiled at him. “I just want things to get
back to normal.”

“That's reasonable, but you don't need anyone to talk to or anything?” said Ron, and he
couldn't resist. He added, “Or is that what Harry's for?”

“Ron,” said Hermione, “what are you implying?”

“Absolutely nothing,” said Ron automatically. “Well, I'm just saying, that to a casual
observer, it might seem that you and Harry—er, to keep from dancing around the subject, it might
just seem as if the two of you are more than `just friends.'”

“Ron!” exclaimed Hermione, pulling away from him and looking properly horrified. However, the
expression didn't quite reach her eyes, and he knew he had her.

“I knew it!”

“Knew what?” said Hermione, and she looked away to hide the deep blush that was coming to her
cheeks. “Ronald Weasley, answer my question. It's taking every ounce of strength I have to
resist the urge to shove you in the lake at the moment.”

“You wouldn't do that to me,” said Ron.

“You sound so very sure of yourself,” said Hermione. She glared at him. “For your information,
there is nothing going on between Harry and I. He's just... well, he's just... he's
just been helping me through this, a friend helping a friend.”

Ron shook his head and sighed. “I really don't care if you deny it, Herms,” he said,
“because it doesn't affect me in the slightest. Now, you, on the other hand—I'd say it
affects you. Oh well, let it be your decision.”

“You're quite insufferable sometimes,” said Hermione sharply.

“Thanks,” said Ron, and he smiled. Inside, he was gloating, but he didn't dare show it.
Finally, he said, “Have you given it any thought lately?”

“Given what any thought?”

“Our little discussion with Sirius about a thousand nights ago,” said Ron.

“Snuffles,” corrected Hermione.

“Oh come on,” scoffed Ron. “We never remember to call him that.”

“It's rather careless of us,” said Hermione, “but no, I haven't really given it any
thought, not for some time now. Why, have you?”

“Nah, that's what I was asking you,” said Ron. He reached down and picked a stick off the
ground and began twiddling it around between his fingers. “I was thinking about it the other day,
though. It was during History of Magic, actually. I kept turning his words over in my mind again
and again, thinking that they would somehow make sense. In the end, though—”

“Professor Binns called on you because you didn't look like you were paying a bit of
attention, and you told him that a major cause of the Third Uprising was a preemptive Auror
strike!” said Hermione, and she rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ron, preemptive anything? What were you
thinking? Do you even know the definition of the word?”

“Yes,” said Ron defensively. He stopped fiddling with the stick. “It means preventative.
Something like that. Does it really matter?”

Hermione rolled her eyes again. On the horizon, the sung was sinking faster with each passing
minute, painting the sky a brilliant red.

* * *

“Okay, let me get this straight,” said Harry. His brown furrowed, and he made a quick gesture
with both his hands. “The Minister has a council of twelve advisors, but they don't really
advise him. They approve his actions. If one of them happens to die in office, the minister gets to
nominate two people to take his place—”

“No,” said Hermione. “The Minister traditionally gets four nominations, but Bom only received
two because he's just a temporary.”

“Hermione,” said Ron impatiently through a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding. They were sitting at
the dinner table, trying to explain the complex inner workings of the Ministry to Harry. “It's
close enough. Let's not confuse him.”

“It's okay, Ron. Four nominations, but only two if you're a temporary. I think I
understand,” said Harry, and he grinned at Hermione. “Bom tries nominating Ron's dad some dung
guy, and the council rejects both.”

“There are actually thirteen advisors,” continued Hermione, “but the thirteenth is not
considered to be an actual part of the council. He fills in temporarily sometimes when the other
advisors are not present, but he is usually only used when something would prevent another advisor
from staying in office.”

“The thirteenth for this particular council was Lucius Malfoy,” finished Harry, “so he took
Pericle's job. That's... not good?”

“No, it's not,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “You remember what he convinced the board
of governors to do three years ago when the basilisk was petrifying students right and left. I
would like to think that the council is a little stronger than that.”

Ron snorted. “A bunch of Fudge's farts? I highly doubt it.” He paused, chewing thoughtfully.
“And you make it sound like you weren't one of those students that got petrified.”

Hermione chose to ignore him. “It's rather intriguing how it came about and everything. You
should write your dad, Ron, and ask him about it. He was nominated for the position, after all.
He's sure to know what's going on.”

“And what excuse do you expect me to use to get the information out of him?” said Ron. He
shrugged. “Besides, it's classified information.”

Harry, who had been watching their animated exchange as he finished his dinner, put his fork
down on the table and wiped his face with a napkin. “Do you think Malfoy knows?”

“Nah,” said Ron, and his eyes narrowed. Hermione glanced at him.

“He might,” she said.

“No, he's living in the Forbidden Forest,” said Ron. “Did you listen? Maybe he's eating
bugs and stuff.”

Harry snorted. “It's not every day that you get that mental picture.”

“It's a good one, if I do say so myself,” said Ron. “Not as good as
Malfoy-the-bouncing-ferret, but nothing could top that.”

“Ron? Why is it such a big deal that the thirteenth took the position anyway?” said Hermione
suddenly. “Everyone seems rather surprised that it's Lucius Malfoy, after all.”

“Merlin! There's something that Hermione doesn't know!” Ron was joking, but he dropped
his fork in surprise.

“What are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“The thirteenth's identity isn't ever made public,” said Ron. “Only council and the
Minister himself usually know his identity. Dad explained it to us once when we were on vacation,
but Fred and George kept enchanting things to chase me, so I didn't really pay much attention.
You could probably find out if you looked it up in the library.”

Hermione started to stand, but Harry, who was sitting next to her, touched her arm lightly.

“Sit,” he said, his green eyes shining as he smiled at her. “You've barely touched your
dinner.”

“After dinner, then,” said Hermione.

“I'll come with you,” said Harry.

“Well aren't we just too cute?” teased Ron. He grabbed Harry's wrist. “Oh, well, look at
the time! There's somewhere *I* need to be. I'll talk to the two of you later. Tell
her about your nice prefect display of earlier, Harry.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled looks as their friend retreated from the Great Hall, his
hands shoved into his pockets. He'd had an almost goofy grin on his face upon declaring that he
needed to leave.

“Do you have any idea where he's going?” asked Harry after several moments' pause.

“No idea,” said Hermione. Her gaze shifted from the massive doors that led into the Great Hall
to him. “Your prefect display of earlier? What, you're still one? Have you attended a single
meeting all year, Harry?”

“One or two,” said Harry defensively, but he blushed nonetheless. Hermione giggled. “Okay...
one.”

“All well,” she said. “Do tell.”

“Ron and I ran into a couple of first years that were fighting. Two Slytherins had ganged up on
a Gryffindor and were practically attacking him. The two of us broke it up,” said Harry. He was
careful to exclude the fact that he'd practically attacked the Slytherin himself with the way
he'd broken them apart.

“Ah, does McGonagall know?” questioned Hermione. “She'd be proud of you.”

“She knows,” said Harry, and he hesitated. “It was Marks.”

“It was who? What does he have to do with this?”

“He has a younger brother,” said Harry grimly. “I don't think I was too high on his list of
favorite people in the first place. I'd hate to see how far I've dropped now.”

“You just broke up a fight, did you not?” said Hermione primly. “There's nothing wrong with
that, unless...”

“Unless I used magic,” said Harry guiltily, and he shifted in his seat, averting his eyes. “I
kind of had to.”

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione. “You're lucky that you didn't get in trouble with
McGonagall! Do you have any idea what kind of consequences that could have?”

“I had to,” said Harry desperately, wishing she would stop looking at him like that.

“Maybe so,” said Hermione. She was quiet for a second. “I saw a little boy come in today, and I
remember wondering what ever could have happened to him. Maybe you're right. Maybe it was the
only way.”

“It was,” assured Harry, feeling thankful that she was smiling at him again.

* * *

“Merlin,” panted Ron. He'd dropped his hands to his bent knees, trying to catch his breath.
“This is bloody unfair! You're a teacher! You've had years more experience than us! Of
course we aren't going to be able to beat you in a duel!”

“Precisely, Ron,” said Lupin dryly, placing a hand on the boy's back as he handed him his
wand back. The professor gave Ron a gentle push in the direction of his classmates. “That's
exactly the point I was trying to convey to every one of you. If you are ever in the position in
which you must duel, it is most unlikely that it will ever be fair. No two wizards have the exact
same skill level; no two wizards know the exact same curses and hexes; no two wizards have the
exact same dueling experiences. Which wizard is always going to come out on top? Parvati?”

Harry turned his head to look at Parvati, who was standing on his right, just past Hermione. The
spring sun was shining down brightly on him, and he squinted as he waited for her to answer. It was
Friday afternoon, just over a week later, and Lupin had taken advantage of the pleasant May
weather, deciding to hold class outside. He had been challenging students to duel him, and none yet
had been successful.

“The wizard with the most knowledge and experience,” said Parvati hesitantly. It sounded logical
enough, but Harry knew at once that it was incorrect. Lupin always had a reason for asking such
“easy” questions, and it seemed to be something Parvati had actually comprehended in class that
year.

“It would seem so,” said Lupin with a chuckle, “would it not? I'm afraid you're
incorrect, though, Miss Patil. Can anyone tell me why this is so? Anyone? No? Well, I'll give
you a hint, then. What is the most important aspect of protection in a duel? Any volunteers now?
Ah, yes... Harry?”

“Observation,” said Harry slowly, and he took a deep breath. Much to his relief, Lupin was
nodding encouragingly. “Observation and anticipation. If you're observant, you're more
likely to realize you're in a dueling situation in the first place, and you're more able to
anticipate your opponent's next moves. You can tailor whatever knowledge you have into the best
possible counterattack.”

Lupin's face, always a little more weary than the other professors, broke into a rather
large grin. He chuckled.

“I think Harry has it figured out,” said Lupin, still smiling. “The person who cares enough to
pay attention to the details will nearly always come out on top in a duel. It all comes down to
using your resources—you can make anything work if you can come up with a way to apply it. To do
that, you need time, and there's only one way to gain that time. Anyone have an idea? I'll
give you another couple of hints. Two words, and you're rather familiar with both.”

“Constant vigilance!” barked Ron, doing a dead on impression of Mad-Eye Moody (or his imposter).
Lupin chuckled again.

“Five points to Gryffindor for your keen memory, Ron,” said Lupin. His eyes fell on Harry again.
“Ten to you, Harry. I couldn't have explained it better myself. Now, had I told you this at the
beginning of the class, do you think that a conscientious effort of observation would have helped
you duel against me?”

It was slow in coming at first, but Lupin had soon received nods from each of the fifth year
Gryffindors. “I think you're getting the idea, but I also think you should test it yourself. Is
there anyone that would be willing to duel me, now? It is more equal, is it not? We are both aware
of the most important element of dueling now.”

His eyes danced from one person to another in the small crowd of students. They lingered on Ron
for a moment but moved just as quickly past Hermione. Ron had already dueling Lupin once. So had
Dean, Seamus, Neville, Sally-Ann, and Lavender. Neither Harry nor Hermione had, and Harry felt
himself stepping forward under his professor's gaze.

“I'll do it, Professor,” said Harry respectively but uncertainly. Lupin's eyes just
continued to twinkle.

“I knew I could count on you,” whispered Lupin in Harry's ear as he guided him several paces
away from his classmates. He stepped backwards until an almost equal amount of distance was between
him and Harry. “As this duel be right and proper—we bow, and we duel.”

Harry did not take his eyes off Lupin as he tipped his head forwards slightly, and he was oddly
reminded of his duel with Malfoy years before. With a curt nod of the professor's head, it
began.

“*VISORNI*!” bellowed Harry, and he knew almost instantly he had made his first mistake.
Lupin muttered something under his breath and fixed his eyes, his vision impeccable once more, on
Harry. He whispered his spell of retaliation so quietly that Harry did not know what was coming
until a flash on pain in his stomach sent him stumbling backwards.

Of course. Lupin had always been able to shield himself from his students' various curses
and hexes because he could hear them coming. Harry racked his brain, trying to remember any once
instance when the professor had made any one of his spells audible.

“*Confundo*,” muttered Harry, and he hoped that his soft words were strong enough to
perform the difficult spell. Much to his surprise, Lupin held very still, blinking several
times.

He said something else, a similar version of his first spell, but the confusion Harry had
inflicted had affected his aim. It was easier to bear the pain that hit Harry's hand than it
had been to bear the pain in his stomach.

“*Impedimenta*,” commanded Harry after a second's pause. He knew his first spell was
not strong enough to keep Lupin occupied for more than a few moments. Lupin's wand arm froze in
place, and Harry strained to hear whatever he would send in his direction.

“*Locomotor Mortis*,” said Lupin, and he wasn't quiet enough this time. Harry was not
fast enough to dodge the spell completely, but it hit just one of his legs. Instead of binding both
legs together, it bound one firmly to the ground. Harry shifted his weight to the more capable of
his limbs, and a few well-chosen words had his teacher dancing around to avoid the flames licking
at his feet.

Lupin extinguished the fire quickly, and he sent three well-aimed spells at Harry. His wand hand
swelling uncontrollably, Harry nearly dropped his wand trying to get it into his left hand. He sent
Lupin stumbling backwards, and the exchange continued for several minutes. Finally, Harry's
retaliation to the Jelly-Legs jinx threw Lupin backwards into the grass. Harry knew he had him.

“*Expelliarmus!*” he called, almost cheerfully. The professor's wand, battered as the
majority of his belongings, flew into Harry's hand.

For a second, the class didn't seem to know how to react. Then, they began applauding.
Harry's legs stopped quivering and his hand stopped swelling as Hermione called, “*Finite
Incantatem!*”

Harry walked quickly toward Lupin, now on steady legs. An apology was already on his tongue as
he offered the professor a hand up, so it surprised him very much when Lupin started clapping after
brushing his robes clean of dust.

“Bravo, Harry!” exclaimed Lupin, and he clapped Harry on the back in a very fatherly gesture. He
was beaming, both as a teacher and as a friend. “I think one of us has figured it out. Does anyone
feel up to challenging Harry? I do think we have enough time for one more duel before I send you
all in for lunch.”

Again, his eyes skimmed over each of his students. Not surprisingly, they settled on Ron and
Hermione. “How about you, Mis...” Lupin stopped short, his eyes moving decidedly from Ron to
Hermione. “Hermione? Care for a go?”

She took a hesitant step forward, and Harry smiled reassuringly at her. It seemed to calm her,
and she took Lupin's place confidently. Their professor stepped backwards into the gathering of
students, folding his arms across his chest. Harry smiled at Hermione again. This would be a duel
between friends; neither had any intention of hurting the other.

“Proper duel,” reminded Lupin. “Bow, and begin.”

The formality lasted no more than a second, and Harry watched Hermione's cool and calculated
look as she began muttering under her breath. She had obviously realized the advantage one's
opponent got when one chose to bellow out his or her method of attack. On the last word, she pushed
her wand forward, but nothing happened.

“*Rictusempra*,” said Harry quietly, jabbing his wand in her direction. The same
thing—nothing—happened again. Hermione, looking stunned, made no other motion, so Harry decided to
try again. “*Tarantallegra*!”

Nothing. Hermione's feet were not dancing around, and she was not caught in a fit of
laughter. Both of them looked to Professor Lupin for explanation, and Harry remembered suddenly
that their wands had not projected any spells the last time Lupin had had them duel. The class
looked surprise, and Lupin made an odd, unintelligible sound. He cleared his throat loudly, and at
that moment, the bell sounded from inside the castle's stonewalls.

Their classmates grabbed their bags and headed in the direction of the Great Hall, the lack of a
duel already forgotten. Ron remained, and Harry and Hermione were still eyeing their wands
questionably.

“Professor,” said Harry quietly, “that's the second time our wands have not worked now.”

In one deft motion, Lupin crossed the grass. He had paled considerably, and he grasped
Harry's shoulder so tightly it was almost painful.

“You should be going to lunch,” he said, and it almost sounded as if he were gasping.

“Our wands, Professor,” protested Hermione.

“It's nothing to worry about, Hermione,” said Lupin weakly, and he loosened his grip on
Harry's shoulder. “Sometimes... sometimes wands don't function because they don't want
to function. There's no cause for alarm. Excellent work in class today, Harry. Another ten
points for the duel, if you'll have them.”

“Professor,” tried Harry again, but Lupin cut him off.

“It's time for lunch,” said Lupin abruptly, and he left no room for argument. Harry and
Hermione and Ron took off quickly in the direction of the castle, but not before sharing equally
confused looks.

Professor Lupin watched them reenter the castle, back to the familiar safety it provided. Once,
Harry turned back to him with a look of concern, and the Defense professor found himself taken back
to his own schooldays again. It seemed to happen more and more these days.

* * *

Harry had never had much of a liking for Potions, and he'd never had much of a liking for
Snape, but that dislike had intensified during the last few weeks. There was something about the
class—be it the teacher or the subject or the location—that brought out the worst in Hermione. It
wasn't that it brought her to a foul-temper or any such thing, but it did seem to make her
retreat into her own head. Like the passing of time, Harry could always count on her silence and
withdrawal in the hours following the class. Today was no exception.

“Your potion is much too runny, Potter,” said Snape sourly as he breezed past his cauldron, “and
yours is much too thick, Weasley. I would suggest taking a leaf out of Mr. Rawles's book. He
does seem to have the proportions correct.”

Shakespeare Rawles, one of the few Slytherins that wasn't twice the healthy size of a
wizard, smirked at Harry and Ron. Ron scowled, but Harry just shook his head. He tipped some more
Plumbeus into his cauldron. He looked to his left, where Hermione was working, expecting to sigh of
disapproval at his inexact measurement, but she did not such thing. She had already finished the
day's class work, which was practice in making a hair removal potion, and seemed rather
fascinated with her textbook.

To anyone else, she was reading, but Harry knew Hermione better than that. She hadn't
flipped the page once in ages, and she read faster than anyone he'd ever met. He cleared his
throat loudly as he purposely stirred his potion incorrectly, but she still did not look up.

“Potter!”

Snape's voice was harsh, and he looked at Harry through annoyed eyes. “Did I not
specifically state that quick, noncircular motions in stirring this potion could cause a rather
unfortunate explosion? Was Longbottom's earlier demonstration not enough for you?”

“No sir,” said Harry quickly. Ron glanced at his friend sympathetically, and many of the
Slytherins sniggered. “I—”

“Wasn't thinking?” snapped Snape. “Tell me something I don't know already. I would
advise you to be more careful in the future—another such incident and I will not hesitate the
subtract house points.”

“I will be, sir,” said Harry quickly. He glanced at Hermione again, and he realized she
wasn't even staring at the book. She seemed to be studying her feet more than anything
else.

“Potter!” said Snape snidely. “Attention on your potion! Stop indulging in such obvious glimpses
of Miss Granger! I'm sure your crush on her is most important in your own mind, but I find it
rather sickening. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Snape had a very satisfied smirk on his face as he skulked back to the front of the dungeon.
Harry turned back to his potion, his cheeks bright red. The Slytherins were laughing openly, but he
recognized a few of the closemouthed guffaws as coming from his own housemates. Refusing to look
up, he began stirring his potion again, in slow, forceful circles. He figured it was the best
candidate for something to take his current anger toward Snape out on.

The Potions master was working his way back through the rows of students and cauldrons for a
third time. This time, it was in front of Hermione that he paused.

“Miss Granger,” said Snape, “I do hope that you have finished your potion already. If you have
not, there will be consequences for ignoring it.”

There was no reply, which made Harry look up again. He imagined that many of his classmates were
looking at him with trademark Slytherin smirks, but he did his best to push the thought aside.
Rolling his eyes, the Potions master stepped towards Hermione and placed a hand on her elbow.

“I know you tune things out when—”

Snape did not finish. Hermione had shrunk away from and was looking at him through frightened
eyes. She was wringing her shaking hands together.

“Y—yes Pr—professor?” stammered Hermione. She looked like a caged animal, and Snape backed away
from her quickly. Instead of responding, he glanced down at his watch.

“Start picking up your materials and cleaning up your area,” barked Snape. “Class is nearly
over. Be aware of the time.”

Harry's body responded to the professor's directions on its own. His mind and his eyes
were still on Hermione. Finally, he looked away from his trembling friend to Ron. He, too, was
looking at her with concerned eyes. Harry had seen her have a fearful reaction to men before, but
it had never been so intense. He swallowed hard, putting the last of his supplies away as the bell
rang.

“Come on,” said Harry to Hermione quietly. He touched her arm, just as Snape had. Her skin was
like ice under his fingertips. “Let's get out of here.”

* * *

“I'm going to kill him! I swear to Merlin that I'm going to kill him!” Ron's fingers
had curled so tightly around his wand that they were starting to turn white. “I don't care if
he gets a few good hexes in before I finish him off, and I don't care if I have to strangle the
arse with my bare hands! I'm going to kill him!”

“Ron,” said Harry, and he instinctively grabbed the back of Ron's robes. He knew that his
friend was about to make a break for the door.

“Belt up, Harry, and don't even try to stop me,” said Ron, his eyes flashing angrily. “The
bloody bastard raped Hermione!”

There. What both of them had been thinking since returning from Potions had been spoken, and it
brought a very odd silence to their dorm room.

“Do you really think it was him?” said Harry hoarsely.

“I've seen her shrink away from people in the past, but never like that,” said Ron angrily.
“He hurt her, and he's going to pay for it!”

“Don't you think that Hermione would have told us if it were Snape that...” Harry
couldn't bring himself to say it.

“Not if he threatened her!” growled Ron. “Not as scared as she is! He's absolutely destroyed
her, and I'm going to kill him!”

Harry's quick reflexes came into play in the next moment. He managed to grab Ron's arm
to keep him from barging out of the room, but the redhead planted a pretty good one on Harry's
left cheek. Harry could feel the bruise rising, but he continued to hold Ron back.

“We don't know, Ron,” said Harry desperately. “We don't know if he did anything to her
or not. Yeah, it sure does seem like he did, but it sure did seem that he was going to steal the
Philosopher's Stone, too. We were wrong then, and we could be wrong now.”

Ron stopped struggling, but the anger did not leave his face. He crossed his arms across his
chest. “Fine,” he spat. “If he didn't hurt her, who did? He knows what happened, Harry, and how
could he know that if he wasn't there? She didn't tell him like she told you!”

“Ron,” Harry tried again. He was the one crossing his arms now. “I don't trust Snape any
more than you do. I don't like him any more, either. It wouldn't surprise me if he was
involved somehow or knew more than he's telling, but he's a Hogwarts professor. Dumbledore
trusts him. I don't think he... I don't think he would hurt Hermione.”

“Maybe not,” said Ron, “but you have to admit he's acting strange.”

“Snape always acts strange,” replied Harry. He crossed the room and picked up his robes from
where he'd discarded them on his bed ten minutes earlier. Slipping into them, he walked toward
the door. “The man's not normal.”

“Stranger than usual,” said Ron. “Where are you going?”

“I'm going to talk to Hermione,” said Harry. He stopped, looking down to his hand, which was
already on the door handle. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, I'll come,” said Ron, and he'd put one arm through the sleeve of his own robes
when he stopped. “Actually, I won't.”

Harry's brown furrowed. “Why not?”

“She doesn't need the both of us,” said Ron, and he hesitated. “Tell me if she says anything
about Snape, but I can't guarantee you I won't do anything if she does.”

Harry nodded, and he shut the door softly behind him. Whatever Ron had planned on saying, it
hadn't been what he actually said.

* * *

“Hey,” said Harry softly, sitting down next to Hermione on one of the couches in the common
room. She was curled up with her huge Arithmancy text. Across the room, a few seventh years were
playing a very loud game of Exploding Snap. Other than that, there weren't too many people
there. It was a nice afternoon, and Harry assumed that most of them had opted to go outside and
enjoy it. “How's it going?”

“Fine,” said Hermione.

“You scared me today in Potions.”

There was a long moment of silence before she answered. “Oh. I did?”

Harry nodded. Unaware of doing so, he began folding and unfolding his hands in his lap. “Yeah,
you did. You seemed frightened, and it worried me.”

“Don't let me be a worry,” commanded Hermione. Her focus returned to a miniscule line of
print in her text. Harry reached out gently and placed a hand experimentally on her arm.
Fortunately, she did not flinch, and it seemed as if he finally had her attention.

“I'm worried about you, I'll give you that,” said Harry, and he draped his arm casually
across her shoulders, “but you don't have to make it sound like you're a burden to me. I
worry because I care so much.”

Hermione's face flushed a bit, but he felt her relax against him. “That's very sweet of
you,” she said, and she glanced to the floor before looking up to meet his eye. “Do you have
practice tonight?”

Harry had to hand it to her for her ease in changing the subject, and he decided to ignore it.
“If I say yes, will you come and watch?”

“Have I missed one yet?” Twinkling brown eyes met twinkling green eyes, and Harry squeeze her
shoulder gently before releasing her.

“A handful, maybe, but all because of circumstances beyond your control,” confirmed Harry. He
pressed his palm against the open book that was sitting in her lap. “What are you working on?”

“Common harticulate multiples,” said Hermione, and she burst out laughing a second later.

“What?” demanded Harry.

“The look on your face!” exclaimed Hermione. He felt her touch his cheek. Even though he was
probably the source of her laughter, he couldn't help but grin to see the genuine smile upon
her face. “It's not nearly as hard as it sounds. I find it rather enjoyable, actually, to work
each problem, and correct answers are most satisfying—”

This time, it was Harry that chuckled, and a blush rose to Hermione's cheeks once more.
“Don't do that,” said Harry. “It's just that you're so animated when you talk about
schoolwork. I just wish I were half as smart as you—I'd love to be able to understand that
stuff.”

“You would understand it if you'd been in the class for three years,” said Hermione
affectionately. “You're very smart, Harry, and a very talented wizard.”

“Stop it,” said Harry. He had to think quickly to alter the subject a bit because he knew that
any more praise from her would make him a rather unattractive shade of crimson. “Are you taking
Advanced Arithmancy next year?”

On Sunday, the fifth year students would be attending a presentation of sorts to help them plan
their final two years at Hogwarts. Providing that they received a sufficient number of O.W.L.s and
teacher recommendations, they would be able to drop some classes and focus on those that would be
essential to them. Harry and Ron and Hermione hadn't talked about it much, which was typical of
most of their housemates. Harry had no clue what choices he would make, but he'd assumed that
Hermione did.

“I'd like to, but I'm still trying to get clearance from McGonagall and Dumbledore to
take more than three advanced courses,” said Hermione, and she rushed on, ignoring the pained look
on Harry's face. “I know it's rather early to be talking to teachers and asking for their
opinion on the matter, but I'd very much like to take Advanced Transfigurations, and McGonagall
said she wouldn't have it any other way. Madam Pomfrey expressed her interest in taking me
under her wing, and I wouldn't dream of not taking Advanced Defense with Lupin. Professor
Flitwick looked dangerously close to tears when I told him that I probably wouldn't be able to
take the advanced section of his class and begged me to take it as an independent study.”

“Hermione,” said Harry weakly. He shook his head. “That was a little scary. At least you're
keeping your options open. The only thing I'm good at is—”

“Quidditch,” said Hermione, holding up a hand to silence him. “That's not true, Harry.
I'd have to argue that you have an equally strong footing when it comes to Defense, and
you've done so well in Transfigurations this year that there's no way I could not mention
it.”

“Sure,” said Harry uncomfortable. “I've just been lucky when it comes to the Dark Arts, and
I'm not going to be turning into a stag anytime soon.”

“I would most certainly hope not!”

Harry and Hermione whirled around so quickly that their heads nearly collided. Nearly Headless
Nick was hovering right about them, his ruff pulled a little higher than usual. He was looking very
amused, and a small chuckled escaped the Gryffindor ghost.

“You don't think I would keep an eye on three unregistered Animagi that, in wizard form,
caused more trouble than the whole house combined?” Nick almost looked offended. “I would most
certainly think not!”

“You knew my father?” stammered Harry. “You knew he was an Animagus?”

“Why, certainly!” said Nick, and he lowered his voice. “Transfiguration is not a magic that you
learn strictly from a book, Harry, though I am sure Miss Granger could have told you that. I myself
used to transform into a rather magnificent eagle, if I do say so myself. I did owe the young boys
a favor—Sir Patrick was just as insufferable then as he is now—so I fed young James the answers to
all his questions, and he in turn informed his friends... However, I am most curious as to how you
know in the first place.”

“It's a long story,” said Hermione quickly, and although he made a noise that implied he was
slightly miffed, Nick did not press for details.

“McGonagall would have my head for saying this,” said Nick in a cheerful whisper, “but I would
not advise you to take too many advanced courses next year, Harry. If our guesses are correct, and
they usually are, you'll be Gryffindor Quidditch Captain without a doubt. You can almost surely
count on some kind of professional engagement straight out of Hogwarts, and whichever classes you
do chose to take should be for the more removed future.”

“Thanks for the advice, Nick,” said Harry warmly. The ghost's words had made Harry smile,
but he wasn't sure if he would follow them. Nick's direction had turned to Hermione.

“I do believe you have it all figured out, Miss Granger,” said Nick kindly, “but I would
strongly recommend that you take Madam Pomfrey up on her offer of apprenticeship—it is rare that
she takes such a liking to any one student, and she prefers to work alone. In fact, I believe that
the last such person to go under her wing was—PEEVES!”

Nick had turned around, startled, when something had streaked through his body. Harry
couldn't help but shiver as an invisible cold sensation passed through him. With a loud pop,
Peeves had floated before them, his horrible laughter increasing in volume. The only ghosts allowed
in the dormitories were the house ghosts; wards were set up to keep the others out.

“That Dumbledore! Can't even keep out a poltergeist!” cackled Peeves. “I'd hate to see
what action he would take if the school ever came under SIEGE!”

He took off, tearing around the common room like one of the fire rockets the Weasley twins were
so fond of shooting off. Nick was right behind him, and he called out an apology as he sped through
the wall of the portrait hole in hot pursuit of Peeves.

“Oh dear,” said Hermione, shaking her head. Harry had to pull away from her to keep from getting
attacked by her bushy mane of hair. “I do wish Peeves would realize that his disturbances are
neither amusing nor appreciated.”

“I don't think he's going for the latter,” said Harry, still turning over what Nick had
said to him. He couldn't help but smile; little bits and pieces of information like the one
Nick had supplied were the only glimpses Harry had really ever had of his parents, and each was
appreciated. “What do you think of him helping my dad?”

“He really shouldn't have,” said Hermione with a frown. “I guess there's no reason to
criticize now, and it did answer one of my questions. I always wondered how a few fifteen-year-old
wizards were able to master one of the most complex magical transfigurations relying only on old
texts.”

“What do you think of Nick being an Animagus?” said Harry.

“It was more common then than it is now,” said Hermione matter-of-factly. “In its early years,
Hogwarts offered Animagi training to anyone with a bit of potential. It's almost as if that
potential has died out. They haven't had anyone pass through for ages.”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Harry, nodding. His fingers absently traced over the cloth on the sofa. “So,
what do you think?”

“What do I think about what?” asked Hermione, and Harry smiled a little more when she shut her
Arithmancy book to give him her full, undivided attention.

“Me,” said Harry, “and Quidditch.”

“Don't tell me you didn't expect to be made captain, Harry,” said Hermione, and she
smiled upon seeing his confusion. “You're Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, youngest player for
a house team in a century, talented Seeker, and a nice guy. Really, who else would make a better
captain?”

“I don't know,” said Harry, his face flooding with a brilliant crimson color. “What—”

“What about playing professional Quidditch?” said Hermione, her eyes bright. “I think you're
more than capable, Harry, but it's really you that should be deciding that.”

“Right,” Harry scoffed. “It's not like I'm a good at anything else.”

“You'll be good at whatever you set your mind to,” said Hermione. “I think that you would
make a—”

“An excellent Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Practice starts in ten minutes, after
all.”

Again, the two friends turned. Ron was standing behind them, his frayed Quidditch practice robes
on and his broomstick in hand.

“Couldn't help but overhear the tail end of that conversation,” he called over his shoulder.
He was already halfway out of the portrait hole. “I'll see you on the field Harry. I
wouldn't be late if I were you!”

Hermione smiled and stood up at the same time as Harry. “You'd better go,” she teased. “He
almost sounded threatening.”

“Yes,” said Harry, watching her closely and remembering what he'd come down to talk to her
in the first place. He grabbed her hand. “So I'll see you in the stands?”

“You'll see me as soon as I get back from the library,” said Hermione. She stood on her
tiptoes and kissed his cheek lightly. “There's a book I'm thinking about checking out.”

“A certain one?”

Hermione nodded. “I'm more than a little curious about what our wands did today during
Defense; aren't you?”

“Sure,” said Harry, shrugging. He hadn't really given it much though. He'd been more
worried about the brief incident in Potions. “Good luck on finding it—I really have to go,
though.”

Harry hugged her tightly before scampering toward the portrait hole. Her words stopped him
midway.

“Harry?”

“Yes?” He turned.

“I really am fine,” said Hermione. “Thank you for not asking.”

-->



23. The Garden Behind the Wall
------------------------------



Chapter Twenty-Three

THE GARDEN BEHIND THE WALL

Harry heard the faint whistling of the passing Bludger only seconds before it was

too late. He quickly pulled his Firebolt into a dive, and Fred Weasley whizzed over his head a
second later. The Bludger had hurtled into the throng of Ravenclaw Chasers and caused them to
scatter in three separate directions. Harry couldn't help but grin; the heavy iron ball might
have been inches from taking his head off, but it had provided enough of a distraction to put the
Quaffle back into a much-needed Gryffindor possession.

“Gryffindor still down, eighty to forty, but Weasley—Ron, to any of you still confused—is in
possession of the Quaffle. Ravenclaw Chasers dispersed throughout the field, and Merlin only knows
what the Beaters think they're doing, other than trying to take out Potter,” Lee Jordan's
running commentary could barely be heard over the loud cheers that had erupted from the Gryffindor
stands. “Hufflepuff used the same tactic last weekend without any success. Then again, trying to
take out Potter was the only tactic they put to any use—”

Harry's cringed, remembering the “tactic” in question. He hated to admit it because it made
him sound cocky, but the Hufflepuff Seeker hadn't stood a chance against him. The Hufflepuff
captain, a sixth year that he'd known by face but not name, seemed to have realized it, too,
and had ordered the team's Beaters to focus their efforts entirely on him. He shifted on his
broom, zipping down the field to follow the action. He could still feel many of the bruises,
especially the particularly nasty one that stretched from the elbow of his right arm up to his
shoulder. They'd still won that day, two hundred thirty to seventy.

Cho Chang flew by Harry, George Weasley on her tail. The Weasley twin gave his teammate a grin
as he puffed after her, swinging his bat wildly until it connected with the second Bludger. Knowing
it would most surely make contact, Harry turned quickly in the air, his eyes on the large hoops at
the end of the field. Alicia had the Quaffle now, but she and Angelina were passing it furiously
back and forth. Ron seemed to be trying to distract the Ravenclaw Keeper—Anna Clemens.

“For the first time this afternoon, it seems as if Clemens doesn't know what to do,”
reported Lee cheerfully. “Then again, it could be some kind of lingering feelings for the youngest
Mr. Weasley, don't you think? The two used to—SCORE! FIFTY TO EIGHTY, GRYFFINDOR!”

Harry smiled, not only because they'd just scored a goal but also because a Bludger had just
“happened” to whiz into scoring area and nearly took Anna off her broom. It wasn't anything
personal, really. She'd just done rather well in blocking their shots throughout the match. He
grinned widely as Ron rocketed behind the Ravenclaw Chaser in possession of the Quaffle and was
surprised when greeted with Ron's undeniably worried expression.

Shaking it off, Harry shifted his attention away from the game play. Cho was zooming back toward
him, obviously going to tail him once more. She looked a little worse than she had the last time
he'd seen her; the Bludger he'd been so sure would hit her seemed to have made direct
contact with her cheek. Her expression was more pained than pleased.

Harry's eyes began scanning the field for the Snitch once more. Twice before in the game
he'd thought he'd seen it, but it had been the mere glitter of various Weasleys'
wristwatches. He'd had the problem before, and he once again made a mental note to ask them
kindly to take them off during their next game. He bit his lip, and then he saw it. There,
glittering in the sunlight, well below the match's action, was the Snitch. It was classic,
really. It always showed up when he least expected it.

“Weasley intercepts the Quaffle after a incomplete pass between Ravenclaw Chasers Grover and
Gibson. Shame that the team found him only this year, eh? Passes to Spinnet—back to
Weasley—Johnson—watch out, Angelina! Good thing she ducked, or she would have been creamed—Weasley
has the Quaffle again... and unless if Potter's decided to plummet toward the ground for no
reason, the Snitch has been sighted!”

As the wind hit his face sharply, Harry felt very fortunate to have his Firebolt. Cho had
followed him in his dive almost immediately, but her Comet Two-Sixty simply wasn't competition.
Unfortunately for Harry, the Ravenclaw Beaters were. The two of them were heading straight for him,
clubs raised, and the Bludger that had nearly taken his head off earlier was back in hot pursuit.
The distance between Harry and the Snitch was shortening. Ten feet... five... and he had it. He
jabbed his arm in the air triumphantly just as something directly behind him thudded together with
a sickening crunch. Everything happened very quickly after that.

Harry turned as quickly as he had dove. The rest of his team was speeding towards him with wide
smiles on their faces, and a victorious roar had risen from the Gryffindor section of stands.
However, the Ravenclaw Beaters had somehow crashed into each other, and Cho seemed to be caught up
in the tangle of limbs rather hurtling toward the ground. He was so surprised by the sight that he
didn't realize that one particular Bludger was still tearing towards him. Pain exploded in
beneath his heavy glove, and the struggling little gold ball nearly got away from him.

Something seemed to have gone horribly wrong in the fifteen or so seconds it had taken Harry to
sink slowly to the ground. Already, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors alike were rushing onto the field,
all gathering around their respective Quidditch teams. No more than ten feet away from him, Cho was
holding her hands over what looked like a broken nose, and the two Ravenclaw Beaters looked down
for the count.

The rest of the Gryffindor team had also descended by now. Ron had doubled over in pain before
he had even reached the ground, and Dean was cursing loudly. A paler-than-usual George seemed to be
leaning on Alicia, and Fred's arm was draped across Angelina's shoulders. His eyes darted
around the Quidditch pit; it looked like the ending to some horrible Muggle spoof movie about the
sport. He could actually hear John Clemens in the background, worriedly asking his sister how many
fingers he was holding up.

Harry transferred the struggling Snitch into his left hand and pulled his Quidditch glove from
the injured one. It made a bit of a crunching noise that made his stomach lurch, already black in
color. He walked a bit shakily toward Madam Hooch to return the Snitch.

“You okay there, Angie?” Fred was saying. He looked up when Harry walked by and gave him a hasty
thumbs up. “Great catch, Potter! You all right? Overexcited Bludger seems to have got everyone
else.”

“Fine, Fred,” said Harry. Madam Hooch was at Anna's side, and she had her wand out, pointing
it threateningly at a Ravenclaw student that Harry assumed had gotten too close for her taste. She
stood when she saw him, and she snatched the Snitch from him at once.

“Get back!” Madam Hooch yelled. She glanced around, her steely gaze settling on Harry. “You too,
Potter. Run along for the moment.”

Harry did as he was told—back to the locker rooms and straight up to the Gryffindor tower, or at
least he would have done so if someone hadn't grabbed his arm and caught him. Hermione caught
his eye seconds after noticing his injured hand.

“Hospital wing,” she said, tugging on his arm and sounding very concerned.

* * *

Harry cringed in pain as Hermione gently pulled the fingers of his right hand apart. She was
waving her wand furiously with her other hand, magicking up some proper bandages. She sighed when
she caught his eye, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. They were in the Prefects bathroom,
and she was patching up his Quidditch injuries.

“You really should have gone to Madam Pomfrey,” said Hermione sternly as she began to wind the
bandages around his hand, which was still rather swollen despite her use of healing charms. “This
could still be broken, Harry. I'm not even supposed to know these charms, let alone use
them.”

Harry snorted indignantly. “Hermione,” he reminded, “I just caused a eight player Quidditch
pile-up. I doubt she's all too pleased with me.”

“Pleased or not, she's the school nurse,” said Hermione. Her hands stopped what they were
doing as her eyes locked with Harry's once more. “She'd do a much better job than me.”

“You did a great job,” said Harry, and she had. The Bludger that had made contact with his hand
directly after he caught the Snitch had most certainly broken several bones. The pain hadn't
disappeared after the completion of the charm, but it was healed far beyond what most fifth years
attempting the spell would hope for. Hermione had been insistent in following up with some standard
Muggle care. “Even Lupin doesn't trust himself to mend broken bones, but you've managed to
do it—what? Three times now? You're amazing, Hermione.”

She blushed, busying her fingers with the bandages again. “I really would feel better if
you—”

Harry leaned forward and kissed her cheek, shooting her a somewhat guilty lopsided grin.
“It's good enough for me, `Mione, and it's my good hand—the one attached to my wand arm,”
he pointed out. “I'd go to Madam Pomfrey if I wasn't completely confident in your
abilities.”

Hermione didn't respond. She just tucked the bandage into place and touched Harry's
bandaged hand gently. Studying him for a moment, she reached to the counter behind him and summoned
a washcloth.

“If you say so,” said Hermione, but she didn't sound convinced. Still, she seemed to have
let it go. “I've always wanted to know how you manage to get so dirty during Quidditch
games.

“What?” asked Harry, confused. He was lost somewhere in the rapid change of subject when he felt
a wet cloth touch his cheek.

“There,” said Hermione, withdrawing her hand and smiling apologetically. “You somehow managed to
get a streak of dirt on your cheek, and it's been bothering me since I started patching you
up.”

“It's not like I forced you into it,” said Harry indignantly. He moved his injured hand
slightly. Pinpricks of pain shot through his arm, but he chose to ignore them.

Hermione took a step back, her hands on her hips. “Really Harry, what was I supposed to do? You
were wincing in pain when you handed Madam Hooch the Snitch, and your hand was swollen and bruised
black, yet you looked like you were about to make a break for the Gryffindor tower! Honestly!”

“Yeah, I was,” said Harry, and he flinched ever so slightly under the look she gave him. “Hey! I
had just set off the string of events that sent four of my teammates to the infirmary—including our
best friend!”

“That's not true,” Hermione insisted. “Everyone just happened to be in the wrong place at
the wrong time.”

For some reason, her logic caused Harry to burst out laughing. She smiled, too, and began to
giggle.

“How did it happen anyway?” Hermione wanted to know. She had joined him on the marble step.
Harry just shrugged.

“Well,” said Harry honestly, “I really don't know. One minute I'd seen the Snitch, the
next I was diving for it. The Ravenclaw Beaters tried to go after me but ran into each other
instead, and Cho plowed into them. One of the Beaters did manage to hit the Bludger in my general
direction, and it was the one that collided with my hand. Somehow it ricocheted into the direction
of the approaching Gryffindors... You know, I'm not really sure what happened after that. The
next thing I knew, I was on the ground again. Ron was—er, clutching himself in pain, Dean was
making good use of every obscene word known, Alicia was laughing hysterically as an ashen-faced
George leaned on her shoulder, and Fred kept asking Angelina if she could walk...”

“Oh dear,” said Hermione, and Harry could see the beginnings of a smile playing at the corner of
her mouth. “That's about what I saw. Really, it looked like a scene from a very low grade
Muggle movie.”

“I think it might have been just that,” said Harry dryly. His elbow dropped onto his knee, and
he rested his chin in the palm of his uninjured hand.

“There, there,” said Hermione, and she pressed her hand over her mouth as she patted his back.
She seemed to be suppressing her giggles. “It's not nearly as bad as you think, and it
wasn't your fault in the slightest.”

Harry snorted. “Did I fail to mention the glare I got from Madam Hooch?”

“You're being over dramatic,” said Hermione finally. She stood up, but Harry remained where
he had been sitting the entire time. He was still in his Quidditch robes. “Now come on, go get
yourself cleaned up. I went to your Quidditch game, and now I'd very much appreciate your help
with Charms in return.”

“Hermione,” Harry reminded gently, “you have a hundred and three percent in that class. I'm
the one that needs your help, not the other way around.”

Hermione smiled sweetly at him. “I might not need your help, but I do enjoy your company.
I'll be in the library.”

Harry stood only when she had gone completely. He shook his head, but he was also smiling as he
exited the prefect bathroom in the direction of the Quidditch locker rooms.

* * *

Fred and George were talking in muted tones when Harry pushed through the last of the doors
leading into the Gryffindor Quidditch locker room. George was sitting down and still looked a
little out of it, but Fred saw Harry immediately and motioned for him to come over.

“Where have you been?” Fred wanted to know. Harry had already taken a deep breath and had an
apology on his tongue when he realized that the Weasley twin was grinning widely at him. He
didn't seem angry, and Harry knew at once that he wasn't responsible for the little
Quidditch catastrophe.

“Avoiding you,” Harry joked, jabbing his wand messily at his locker with his left hand and
muttering, “*Alohomora.*”

“Some scene out there, eh?” said George with a bit of a grin. “That was a beautiful recovery of
the Snitch, Harry. Shame we were all too distracted to express our thanks.”

“What happened?” asked Harry. “One minute I had the Snitch, and the next, everyone was lumbering
around like they'd been attacked.”

“Nothing Dark, don't worry,” said Fred immediately. He had picked up on Harry's worries
at once. “Professor Lupin already checked it out. The enchantment had somehow gone haywire. Instead
of dropping harmlessly to the ground when the Snitch was caught, it went on chasing players with
even more gusto than before.”

“But everyone's okay?”

Fred's hand clapped against Harry's shoulder heartily. “Well, close enough. Madam
Pomfrey seemed a little concerned with Ron's future ability to carry on the family name, so I
tried to explain that there were plenty of Weasleys already, but that only seemed to further her
worries.”

There was a moment of silence in which all three boys cringed for Ron's misfortune. Finally,
Harry cleared his throat.

“Angelina? Dean? Both okay?” His attention shifted to George. “You?”

“Can't complain, can't complain,” said George. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “All
the Ravenclaws seemed to fair pretty well after Madam Pomfrey intervened. One of the Beaters was
still out like a light when we left, but we figure it can't be too serious.”

Fred shrugged. “We're guessing he's short a few brain cells now, but that's
okay—he's a Ravenclaw, after all. He had more than he needed to begin with.”

George chuckled. He caught Harry's eye and seemed to pick up on what Fred hadn't.
“Don't worry, mate,” he said, standing. He, too, clapped Harry's shoulder. “We were all in
the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing at fault but the Bludger.”

“You sound like Hermione,” muttered Harry, pulling out his school robes, which were now wrinkled
from being shoved in the confined space. He glanced off in the distance, trying to recall which
spell was used to charm away wrinkles.

“*Tereus*,” said Fred, almost lazily, and Harry's robes fell smooth at once. Harry was
about to thank him when the twins shared a sly grin. “Hermione, you say?”

“Seems to me, mate, that Harry disappeared with her right after match,” said George, and the
twins were gone practically before Harry could blink. He was shaking his head and muttering to
himself the entire time it took him to change into his uniform.

Harry was still shrugging off the comment as he exited the locker area and doubled back toward
the castle. It had him just distracted enough that he turned right into the wall. Surprisingly,
there was no thud or the like as he collided with the stone. It seemed, rather, that he had passed
right through the wall, just as one would pass through the barriers between platforms nine and ten
or ten and eleven.

Confused, Harry took in his surroundings carefully. He took a step backwards, but, this time,
the wall stopped him. He touched it, hesitantly, and it was, indeed, solid. His brow furrowed, and
he looked down to his feet. He was standing on a cobblestone path that twisted and turned in every
imaginable direction between... rows of flowerbeds? Harry squinted, wondering if perhaps his
glasses were in someway damaged. Finally, he concluded that they weren't; the room really was
filled with sunlight and plants of every imaginable variety. Perfect roses shot up on either side
of where he was standing now, and he could hear the trickling of a gently stream in the distance. A
great tree could be seen in the distance. He turned again, to the wall he had entered through, and
he saw a little sign.

“Private Garden Four,” read Harry out loud. Another plaque, smaller and beneath the first,
identified these gardens as part of Professor Sprout's personal greenhouse. Funny. He
hadn't even realized that such a thing existed. Harry stepped forward on the path, at a loss
for how to get out of the gardens.

It was then that he heard the laughter. Curious, he took a few more steps down the path, careful
to be quite. Harry was dimly aware of the fact that he wasn't supposed to be there and that it
could easily be some of the teachers enjoying the garden. He couldn't have been more surprised
when he realized who it really was.

Ron and Anna were sitting together at the base of the tree. Harry felt guilty at once, but he
shrunk back, taking care to be quiet so that they wouldn't see him. Ron's hand was at
Anna's temple.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Ron was saying. Anna's face scrunched up, and she pushed his
hand away gently.

“I'm fine, Ron,” said Anna impatiently. She leaned forward and kissed him chastely on the
lips. “Really, I'm the one that should be asking that of you.”

Ron's face bypassed the color of his hair in mere seconds, which caused Anna to giggle.
“Er—I'm fine?”

“Of course,” teased Anna. She smiled brightly then, reaching a hand up to touch Ron's cheek.
“I never told you how amazing you were today, Weasley.”

“I didn't play that well,” said Ron modestly, suddenly very interested in his hands, which
he were wringing together in his lap. Still, when he looked up, he was grinning slightly. “You
aren't bad competition, though, Clemens. I was getting rather frustrated with your skill. I
really just wanted to score.”

“Taken out of context, that wouldn't be very appropriate,” said Anna. She was grinning
mischievously.

“Anna Clemens!” said Ron mockingly. “Who on earth taught you to think like that?”

“You did,” said Anna affectionately. “I'm just joking with you, Ron. I just can't
believe the things you tried to distract me! Have you no consideration for the fact that I am your
girlfriend?”

“Hey, it was your idea to make that agreement,” said Ron defensively. “`No emotional attachment
during Quidditch,' wasn't it?”

Anna sighed. “During Quidditch,” she said finally. She looked up at him, her eyes almost sad.
She continued quietly. “Now it's almost always.”

“Hey,” said Ron quickly. He caught her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“It's not always, so don't go getting all sad on me. It's not now.”

Anna sniffled, but only slightly. When she looked up again, her eyes had cleared of their
earlier pain. They were filled with an almost numbing calm. “I think John might know.”

Ron looked alarm. “He did—” he stopped. He looked very tense. “He did glare at me today. You
were... well, you were still out of it... but I asked him, totally casually, I promise, if
everything was okay.”

“I don't get it,” said Anna apologetically. “I just don't get what he doesn't like
about you.”

“Must be something,” said Ron. He pulled Anna toward him, draping an arm around her. He looked a
little distracted. “He did, after all, convince your parents that I'm some sort of horrible
person that should be taken out in the backyard and hexed within an inch of his life.”

“Oh, Ron,” sighed Anna. He was still looking absently into the distance when he dropped a quick
kiss onto the top of her head. “I don't understand it any more than you do. You have to believe
me when I say that I'm trying to convince them otherwise.”

“I do,” said Ron.

“Maybe—” Anna stopped and shook her head, shrugging away from him. She reached behind her,
dragging her book bag forward. She had obviously been using it as a backrest. “Now, I'm
supposed to be helping you with Charms today, aren't I?”

Ron cringed. “You don't have to say it,” he grumbled. “Not aloud at least. You have no idea
how embarrassing it is for me to have to ask you for help.”

“It's not at all embarrassing!” insisted Anna. She reached over and flipped to a certain
page in his book, which he'd opened on his lap. “What's embarrassing about it?”

“I'm a fifth year, and you're a fourth year, yet it's me begging you for help with
my homework,” said Ron. He did not look pleased, even when Anna kissed him sweetly and smiled.

“You practice dueling with me later, and we'll call it even,” said Anna at last. “Now, if
I'm reading this correctly—and it's awfully hard to do at this angle, I might add... thank
you—then the main... you're not listening to me, are you, Ron Weasley?”

“I'm not,” admitted Ron, but he didn't sound at all guilty. He gave her a sad,
puppy-eyed frown. “Do we have to work on it now?”

“Ron, if you—”

Anna was cut off when he kissed her. Harry felt himself turning away very quickly, literally
scampering back in the direction he'd came in. He felt more than guilty listening in on their
conversation, but he wasn't about the stoop any lower by observing one of their private
moments. Besides, Harry really had no desire to see his best friend snogging his girlfriend.

Anna. Ron's girlfriend. Harry suddenly remembered that the two were very much broken up—or
so he thought. The scene he had just witnessed seemed to be completely and totally contradictory to
what he knew was true. He was confused, and he wanted some answers. As guilty as he felt about
eavesdropping, Harry wanted nothing more than a way out of the garden so he could find Hermione and
get her take on the entire situation.

* * *

Despite his initial resolve to take what he'd seen in Professor Sprout's private garden
straight to Hermione, Harry had finally made it to the library and slipped into the seat next to
her without so much as a word about Ron and Anna. It had taken him a good fifteen minutes to find
his way out of Private Garden Four; he finally realized, in a gesture of frustration, that hitting
the plaque opened the stonewall to Hogwarts's grounds. Sometime in the time it took him to get
from the grounds to the library, Harry had decided to talk to Ron before saying anything to
Hermione.

Sitting next to her until dinner, adding furious inches to his Defense essay, it had been
difficult to keep the discovery to himself. Harry had barely been about to concentrate on the known
ways of removing a Dark scar with the knowledge hanging around his head, and the continuing pain in
his hand had made it very difficult to keep up any kind of pace when writing it down. He stopped
working for a few moments on several occasions, finally realizing he'd been staring off in the
distance. Fortunately, Hermione was so absorbed in her own work that she continued paging through
her thick stack of books without noticing Harry's inactivity.

Ron had shown up ten minutes into dinner, a grin on his face and his book bag swinging rather
precariously from his shoulder. Harry had found it difficult to make conversation once he'd
joined them and had quickly busied himself with his pork chops. After dinner, there had been a
rather boring prefects' meeting about a new rule that applied to uniforms, reminding Harry and
Ron why the never bothered to go. Fred and George had caught the boys on the way out and yanked
them to the Quidditch locker rooms for a quick post-game meeting relating to team injuries.
They'd stolen Ron away directly afterwards because they were in need of a test subject for
their newest invention.

Now, as Harry climbed the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitories, clutching his injured
hand, he could only hope that the twins would return his friend in one piece. He rubbed his hand
absently after pushing the door to his and Ron's dormitory open. The pain had subsided as the
evening wore on, but the pinpricks that remained were enough of a discomfort. He dropped his heavy
stack of books on his desk, and, it being a nice evening, he opened the dorm room's window to
let in some fresh air.

Harry figured he would devote a little more time to his essay, but he had no sooner sat down to
work than the door swung open and Ron burst in. The redhead looked slightly out of breath, and his
face had gone very blotchy. Undoing the clasp on his cloak and leaving it where it fell on the
floor, Ron caught Harry's eye.

“I'm apparently allergic to something in Fred and George's latest invention,” Ron
explained. “Diminishing Dishrags. They're supposed to reduce the size of anything that
they—”

“I saw you with Anna today,” blurted Harry.

For the briefer part of a second, Ron's eyes clouded with what was unmistakably anxiety. He
quickly drew calmness into them, but he didn't do it fast enough. “What are you talking about,
mate? Quidditch? I don't need reminding how many of my shots she managed to block. Anyway,
about the Diminishing Dishrags—”

“No, not during Quidditch,” said Harry impatiently. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“In Professor Sprout's private garden.”

Ron paled. “Y—y—you must be mistaken,” he stammered. “I don't know what you're talking
about.”

“Yes, you do,” countered Harry. He, too, looked down and away. “Look, I wasn't following you
or trying to spy or anything. I just happened to run into the wall—and pass through it. You and
Anna were sitting together under a tree.”

Ron was silent, and he pushed back the hangings on his bed so he could sit down and talk to
Harry. His head dropped into his hand, and he finally sighed. Taking a deep breath, he said, “That
fight we got in wasn't totally real. We never really broke up.”

Harry couldn't help but let loose a little snort of laughter. “That,” he said dryly, “was
rather obvious. Do you want to explain to me how that fight wasn't real?”

“Sure thing,” said Ron, reaching a hand up to rub at one of the blotchy spots on his face. “The
day she blew up at me in front of her entire house, I hadn't the faintest idea why. I was
confused because I thought that everything was going great, and she fed me some kind of crazy line
about how things just didn't work between the two of us. It wasn't until a couple of weeks
later, after Easter holiday, when she came to me in tears, that I got the real reason.”

“What was?” Harry wanted to know. He was listening with rapt attention, leaning forward in his
chair.

Another deep breathe. “Her brother, John. He'd fed their parents and other siblings a story
about what an awful guy I am. Sure, I know I'm not half as smart as any of them, and I know
I'm not the greatest wizard, but I don't think I've ever thought of myself as awful.”
Ron's hand dropped from his face. “That's why she did it. Her father threatened to pull her
out of Hogwarts if she kept seeing me. She set the fight up in front of everyone, including John,
so it would be convincing, but she couldn't go through with it, I guess.”

“So the two of you have been carrying on in secret?” said Harry, finishing the story for his
friend. “I can't believe you didn't tell me!”

“I didn't tell anybody!” exclaimed Ron defensively. He folded his arms across his chest. “I
really couldn't. I don't want Anna pulled from Hogwarts, and she doesn't want to be
home schooled.”

“Of course not,” agreed Harry. “Still, I could have sworn Anna kept stressing how nice John was
when you were about to meet him.”

Ron's face darkened. “I thought he was nice,” he sputtered, “but apparently not. Anna says
he's changed, but I don't know what to make of it. He might be protective of his little
sister, but I'm protective of Ginny, and I wouldn't do that to her.”

“Even if she was dating... oh, say Flint? Moon? How about Marks?” Harry interjected, a smirk
playing on his face.

“That's completely different,” insisted Ron, scowling. “They'd be threats to her
safety—bloody hell, they're threats to anyone's safety—and I would never do anything that
would hurt Anna. You know that. If it's just brotherly love, John Clemens is taking it too
far.”

“When did he convince their parents you're awful?” asked Harry.

“Right after they found all the missing students, he went home to see them for a weekend. It was
just after he came back that he started talking against me,” said Ron. He exhaled slowly, clapping
his hands together suddenly. “No use dwelling on it, I guess.”

“No use dwelling on it,” Harry echoed. He was eyeing his friend more critically than perhaps he
should have. A moment of silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, passed between the
friends. It took that moment for Harry to realize just how much Ron cared for the girl. “How did
you find out about the garden?”

The question caused a grin to break out on Ron's face. He reached into his back pocket,
thrusting the Marauder's map into Harry's hand.

“It still hasn't gotten nearly enough use this year, you know,” said Ron. “I can't
believe we didn't see it before.”

Harry eyed the piece of tattered parchment critically for a moment before tapping it with his
wand.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” said Harry. In its looping green scroll, the map
proclaimed its usual message before showing the whole of Hogwarts. Harry looked at it, unable to
detect where the secret gardens were located.

“Tap it once more, and say `complete,'” directed Ron. Harry did as he was told, and thin
black lines added to the green. Four additional areas were now on the map. Ron continued. “I'm
sorry I didn't tell you about it before, mate. It's been mine and Anna's spot for a
long time now, and I didn't want to risk being found.”

“Why do you think these lines are black, not green?” said Harry, more to himself than Ron.

The redhead shrugged. “I'm guessing that the Marauders added them later. There's another
passage into Hogsmeade from the dungeons... you're not mad at me, are you?”

“No,” said Harry, and he wasn't.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief, and another smile formed on his blotchy face. “One of these days,
we're going to have to ask Sirius or Lupin whose initials are C. L.”

“`C. L.?'” Harry looked at his friend quizzically.

“Yep,” said Ron, and he shrugged, grinning mischievously. “There's a heart carved into that
tree Anna and I were sitting under. R. L. and C. L., written inside of it.”

Harry sniggered, making a move for the trunk at the end of his bed. “He's got some blonde
girl on his arms in half of those pictures Sirius put together for me.”

Ron opened his mouth to say something more, his hand on his blotchy skin once more, but a faint
pop and a plume of smoke drowned out his words. When the smoke cleared, Ron's head had been
reduced to the size of an orange. His tiny face was contoured in absolute rage.

“Fred! George!” said Ron. The words, which he obviously meant to bellow, came out as a
squeak.

Harry burst out laughing.

* * *

By the time Ron straggled into the library on Sunday morning, Harry had more than informed
Hermione of everything that had gone on the night before, from Anna to the garden to Ron's
shrunken head. It was after eleven, but Ron had been up late the night before, waiting for his head
to return to its normal size. Hermione and Harry exchanged a wicked grin just as Ron settled into
one of the table's chairs.

“Good morning, Ron,” said Hermione sweetly. “We missed you at breakfast.”

“Uh-huh,” said Ron. He was bent over, struggling to pull several thick books out of his bag.
Hermione gave him a long look when he straightened up.

“Ron,” she deadpanned, “is there something the matter with your ear? It's rather...
misplaced looking.”

It wasn't, of course, and Ron caught her bluff when she and Harry, unable to contain
themselves, were nearly reduced to tears in their laughter. The tip of his ears, both very much
normal in shape, size, and placement, turned bright red, and he pretended to be looking very
intently at a passage in one of the texts, “The Brooms That Chased the Muggle Milkman.”

“Very funny,” he muttered, once Madam Pomfrey had stopped glaring at the three of them. It had
been necessary for Hermione to nudge Harry rather painfully in the side to get him to stop his
guffaws just in time. He, too, pretended to be very fascinated by something in his studies. It was
less difficult and painful to grasp his quill today, something for which Harry was very
thankful.

“Don't worry, Ron,” said Hermione cheerfully but quietly. “Your ears are very much in their
correct position.”

“He told you,” said Ron. It was a question presented as a statement, and Hermione nodded. Ron
didn't say anything; he just stared despondently at his nearly blank scroll. Finally, he sighed
heavily. “This is due at the end of the week.”

“Yes, it is,” said Harry, racking his brain for another word for established. He'd used it
four times in one paragraph and figured it was about time to find some alternatives.

Ron's head dropped to the desk. “I'm doomed,” he moaned. Hermione, who had just stood
up, walked around the table and patted her shoulder.

“You'll get it done,” she said gently, “but you really should have started it ages ago, like
Harry and I did. If you'll excuse me, I need to get another stack of resources from Madam
Pince.”

“I need to get a thesaurus,” grumbled Harry, and he stood up and followed her. Gathering the
information had been a breeze; writing it in intelligible paragraphs was a different story.

“What word?” asked Hermione. She was holding a stack of twelve books, and her arms were already
quivering. Wordlessly, ignoring the tinge in his wrist, Harry took the top half of the stack from
her.

“Established,” said Harry.

Hermione blinked. “Established? Fixed. Founded. Began. Does that help?”

“Yes,” said Harry, committing them to memory as he slipped his stack of her books onto the
librarian's desk. Seeing the two of them, Madam Pince hurried over from the shelf she was
searching. “Thanks.”

“No,” said Hermione, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

“Miss Granger,” said Madam Pince. She sounded rather pleasant, more so than she ever had been
before. “I would presume that you are wishing for the last set of books that mention the Affinity
of Relations?”

“Yes, please,” said Hermione. The librarian ducked out of sight as Harry turned around, only to
smack solidly into something.

“Mr. Potter,” drawled a familiar voice, “I would advise that you open those eyes of yours every
once in awhile and use the vision that you do have. Five points from Gryffindor!”

Hermione smiled at him sympathetically, but Harry's eyes flashed angrily as he stepped away
from Snape. The Potions master practically pushed him aside anyway, just as Madam Pince was placing
another stack of worn books into Hermione's arms.

“Irma,” said Snape impatiently, “I have an immediate need to consult a book by the name of
*Heinous Happenings, Heinous Harvests*. It's by Sueuorum, Halae Sueuo—”

“I am very much aware of the book's author, Severus,” said Madam Pince irritably. Harry
couldn't help but smile, knowing she was just as short-tempered with teachers as students. “I
am also occupied with another's request. I will be with you in a moment if you will step aside,
although it will not be necessary. We only have one copy of such book, and Miss Granger is about to
check it out.”

Snape did not step aside. “I am in need of that book. At once.”

“I am sorry, Professor, a library does not function on needs or wants,” said Madam Pince, her
eyes flashing. She was looking more and more like a vulture with each passing moment. “It is a
place of order and a place of system. You may put your name down on a waiting list for the book if
you would—”

“I would like to check out that book!” burst Snape. He looked very angry, glaring first at the
librarian and then at Hermione. Madam Pince glared back, but Hermione, her hand trembling, quickly
pulled the book from the top of the stack and shoved it in his direction.

“I'll have enough information for my essay without it,” said Hermione quickly. He snatched
it out of her hands, turned, and parted as quickly as he had entered. Madam Pince looked absolutely
scandalized; he had not even checked the book out.

“I'll have him for this one,” she muttered as she wrote the due date into each of
Hermione's books. Harry waited a few feet behind her, a very curious expression on his
face.

“You keep those books to yourself,” said Madam Pince as they turned in the direction of the
table where Ron was sitting. “They're for your eyes only, Miss Granger. Due back at the end of
the week, and don't you forget it!”

They slid back into their original seats, sharing equally confused looks. Ron, too, was looking
at them with interest. “What was all that about?”

Neither Harry nor Hermione had an answer for him.

* * *

That night, Harry was tossed into a very restless sleep. He woke often, making it a sharp
contrast to the night before when he had slept straight through to Sunday morning. His thoughts
wandered from Snape to Quidditch, from Hermione to his Defense essay, from O.W.L.s to the
Marauder's map. Each time he would wake, he'd peek at his bedside clock, which told him
just how many hours he had to go to morning. Finally, just after three, he fell into a very fitful
sleep in which he dreamt a very strange, very disturbing dream.

*The street he was on was a Muggle one, and it fit somewhere between the striking conformity
of Privet Drive and the comfort of Withenham Lane. Harry had never been there before, but he seemed
oddly comfortable with the place—until night descended. It was a black, almost cruel evening; no
stars were in the sky, no animals could be heard in the distance, and not a single Muggle was on
the street. It was then that they came.*

*Robed and hooded figures, all masked, were appearing out of nowhere on the street. They
assembled and began moving together as one sinister whole. Their wands were taken out from pockets
and behind garments. They lifted them together; the subsequent words created a deadly harmony of
curses. As fires began to consume homes, frightened Muggle families began pouring out onto the
street. They were no sooner out their front doors than attacked with different curses, most of
which were unforgivable.*

*One of the figures walked with a cane, but he did not seem to rely on it for balance. As one
family raced from a blazing house, he caught a little girl in his range of fire. She looked to be
no more than five or six and had curly dark hair. She was wearing only a thin nightgown and
clutching a well-loved teddy bear. The wizard levitated her high above the roofline of the house,
and she shrieked in fear as she was flipped every which way at his will. A man and a woman,
obviously her parents, were watching, horrified, from the lawn.*

*“Jessica!” cried the man desperately. The words tumbled out of his mouth, and a second curse,
from another wand, hit him a second later. He dropped to the ground, his limbs twitching madly. His
wife rushed to his side, but she was stunned at once. With a horrible yelp, the little girl
plummeted back toward the earth. Her scream was mingled with the sound of yet another curse. Cries
of shock and horror and pain could be heard from every direction, but Harry could hear this spell
above the rest.*

*“*Avada Kedavra!*” said the wizard, and the man stopped twitching. The green light was
blinding, and he lie still on the grass. The wizard—the Death Eater—began to laugh, and he directed
his wand to the sky. “*MORSMORDE!*”*

*The Dark Mark appeared in the sky the second after the incantation was given. Faint pops
could be heard as Death Eaters Disapprated from the street. Another series of cracks came, and more
wizards appeared in the street. One last time, the killing curse rang out, and one of them fell as
the last Death Eater disappeared into the night.*

*The Aurors had arrived, both too soon and too late.*

“HARRY!”

Harry was on a Muggle street no longer. He was still in his bed in the Gryffindor Tower, and Ron
was standing over him, deathly pale. When he went to reach for his glasses, he moved his arm down,
not up. He had been clutching his scar.

“Harry?” Ron's face came into focus. His hand was on Harry's shoulder; he'd
obviously been shaking his friend to try and wake him up. “You were shouting, and then you
started... I don't know what you were doing, but you kept muttering something about not hurting
Jessica...”

“I—I—I—” Harry stammered. His tongue was thick in his mouth, and he couldn't say anything.
Ron released his death grip on Harry's shoulder.

“I'm going to get McGonagall,” said Ron.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry and Ron, both clad in only their pajamas, stood in front of the
entrance to Dumbledore's office. Professor McGonagall was standing just behind them, her mouth
set in a grim line. Harry was still having trouble forming intelligible sentences.

“Canary Cream,” said McGonagall, and they entered Dumbledore's office. One of her aged hands
was gripping Harry's shoulder just as tightly as Ron had been earlier. She steered him into the
circular room; Ron had to shorten his stride to keep from stepping over their Head of House.
“Headmaster?”

“—Very well, Sagesse,” Dumbledore was saying. He was pacing in front of his fireplace, his long
fingers stroking his long beard. With a slight pop, something disappeared from the fire and the
flames extinguished.

“Headmaster?”

“Minerva,” said Dumbledore. He looked up, catching sight of Harry and Ron. The surprise
disappeared from his face at once; he seemed to have been expecting them. “Harry... Ron. Have a
seat, all of you. Harry?”

It was different being in Dumbledore's office than it had been being in their dorm room.
Harry's mouth opened, and words came out this time. His voice shaking, he was able to reveal
every horrible detail of his dreams. As he got to the part about the Muggle family,
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes showed the formation of the smallest teardrop. Ron had averted his
eyes as Harry reached the conclusion, and McGonagall appeared to be in shock.

“And... and that's all,” said Harry feebly, finishing retelling his dream. “That's when
Ron woke me up at least.”

“Harry,” said Dumbledore softly, “I am truly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but there was a
Death Eater attack on a Muggle town not more than an hour ago. Thirteen Muggles and an Auror were
killed; another fifteen were injured.”

Minerva gasped, and Ron stopped fidgeting. Harry just slumped back in his seat. He'd been
unable to say what he had seen, but that didn't mean he had been unable to think about it.
He'd been praying that his dream was an indicator of what was to come. Had it been, and then
perhaps the tragedy could have been diverted.

“Minerva... please fetch me Professor Sprout,” said Dumbledore, “and Professor Lupin also. There
has been... just get them if you will.”

She nodded, and she disappeared from the room seconds later. Ron was gripping the armrests of
his chair so tightly that his hands had lost all color. Harry just sat, feeling an overwhelming
sense of defeat.

“Boys,” said Dumbledore gently. “Harry. There is no blame for what happened, no blame beyond the
Death Eaters involved with this brutal attack. It is my regret that you were forced to experience
such a strike, and it is my displeasure to remind you that this is the beginning, not the end.”

He continued, but Harry's mind had traveled from the room and back to the Muggle street. For
the third time that night, someone placed a hand on his shoulder. Dumbledore smiled wanly down at
him. Already, his already ancient face had aged many years.

“Professor,” Harry found himself saying. “Was this like the Death Eater raids of fourteen years
ago?”

“Yes, it is,” said Dumbledore. A full minute of silence passed before he responded. “It was
exactly as any raid in the past. Now... now, if you will, boys, I would like to take you down to
the hospital wing and get a Dreamless Sleep Potion for Harry.”

The kindly headmaster released Harry's shoulder, taking a good look at Ron also. “Make that
Dreamless Sleep Potion for both of you,” he said grimly.

* * *

“...I think he does. How can you not see it?”

Harry's eyes struggled open at the faint murmuring of voices. He was more than a bit groggy,
and the sunlight streaming through the large window on the opposite side of his and Ron's
dormitory practically blinded him. Squinting, he pulled himself into a sitting position. The
whispering stopped when he reached for his glasses, and Harry felt a warm hand brush against his as
they were dropped onto his open palm. Ron was standing several paces away, tucking his tie beneath
the sweater of the school uniform, and Hermione was sitting on a desk chair at the edge of
Harry's bed. Her Arithmancy book was open on her lap.

“Good morning, Harry,” said Hermione, her cheeks flushing every so slightly.

“Morning,” said Harry, still looking at Hermione. His brow furrowed. “You're not supposed
to—”

“McGonagall sent her up nearly an hour ago, mate,” said Ron with a bit of a grin. It looked
almost guilty in origin. “Don't tell me you thought Hermione was breaking a rule.”

“Oh, hush you,” said Hermione. She looked at Harry, her brown eyes filled with concern.
“McGonagall told me what was going on during Transfigurations. I had spent all of Arithmancy and
Herbology wondering what had become of you two!”

“She just had to wake me up,” grumbled Ron, running a hand through his hair, which looked damp.
“But, of course, she never even considered disturbing you.”

Hermione glared at him for a second, then looked back to Harry. Her warm brown eyes were filled
with obvious concern. “You *would* still be on about that,” said Hermione, shooting Ron
another disapproving glance. “How are you feeling? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” said Harry at once, shrugging. Hermione didn't look convinced, and he knew,
after catching Ron's eye, that she'd been told everything already. “Really, it was
nothing.”

Hermione didn't buy it. She was looking at him skeptically, and she made a sort of clucking
sound with her tongue. This time, he was on the receiving end of one of her disapproving looks.
Harry glanced between his two best friends, both of which were similar looks of sympathy and worry
and knowing. He found himself looking down and away, balling a corner of his bed sheets into his
fist. They hadn't deserved to be pulled into this.

“Harry?”

Harry finally looked up. Hermione was leaning forward in his chair, her hand resting on his
shoulder. She smiled at him rather timidly.

“That's really not the way to convince me,” said Hermione nervously. She gestured to the
sheet being wrung in Harry's hands. Without realizing he was doing so, he'd started picking
at the thread, which had begun to unravel.

“Oh, sorry,” said Harry, letting the sheet drop. He was doing his best not to look either Ron or
Hermione in the eye, figuring they were probably sharing looks pertaining to how he'd really
lost it this time. He was vaguely aware that his hours of dreamless sleep had done nothing to ease
the throbbing pain in his scar. His hand moved to his forehead as he pushed back his bedcovers and
swung his legs over the edge. “If you were in Professor McGonagall's class an hour ago, then it
must be lunchtime. I'm going to go get dressed. I really need the class time that Professor
Lupin is giving us today to work on our essays.”

Harry could practically feel their stares as he headed out of the room and down the stairs to
the bathroom, his uniform folded up in his arms. When he reached his destination, he tossed his
robes down, striding across the circular room to one of the sinks.

There were twelve of them total, all spaced evenly around the interior wall of the room.
Alternating in the wall space between the sinks were racks for clothing and tables upon which sat
magically refilling pitchers of drinking water. Twelve showers were arranged in a pod like circle
in the middle of the room, each protected with several unbreakable privacy charms. One could take
the stairs on the opposite side of the room down a level to use the toilet.

Clutching the edge of the porcelain sink with one hand, Harry used the other to push his hair
back from his forehead. In its own way, his scar looked darker and more threatening than ever.

Sighing, Harry shut his eyes as he began unbuttoning his pajama shirt. There were times when he
really hated that oh-so-permanent reminder of his connection with the Dark Lord. He couldn't
even imagine how rich he'd be if he'd had a Knut for every time he'd wished he were
just another teenage wizard instead of famous Harry Potter.

Harry was not taking his vision of the night before very well, if his actions toward his friends
that morning had been any indication. He stepped into one of the showers, twiddling with both water
knobs until making a conscious decision that a cold shower would probably do him some good in
regaining his wits. As much as he wanted to forget about it all, one single scene began repeating
in his mind. Again and again, little Jessica hurtled towards the ground just as her father was
struck down with the Killing Curse.

The night before, as Dumbledore had led him and Ron to the hospital wing to get some Dreamless
Sleep Potion, Harry had somehow convinced himself that this would be the first and last Death Eater
attack. The guilty feeling had come to pass, but he had been wrong in assuming that it would stay
that way. It had, for the first few minutes after he'd woken up that morning, but now the
horrible, gut-wrenching feeling of responsibility had returned.

Seeing Hermione had done it for him. For some reason he'd been able to look at all that had
happened this year with somewhat of an objective curiosity. Sure, he and Ron and Hermione had done
their share of sneaking around and wondering and researching, but it hadn't been like years
past. The problem wasn't looking directly at them, blaringly obvious, with all the clues they
could want or need right in front of their noses.

Their troubles with Voldemort had left Hogwarts; he had moved on to bigger things and seemed to
be using the whole of Europe as his playing field. From Beauxbatons to Durmstrang, from Azkaban to
Grand Harmony, the Dark wizard had begun his next great wave of destruction. Soon, little
Jessica's piercing scream was replaced with Dumbledore's ancient wisdom.

*“It has begun again, Harry,”* the headmaster had said, *“you surely know that. Voldemort
began his first reign, twenty-six years ago, in the same manner. Dark times have fallen, times that
will grow darker with each passing day. I daresay that we are in for a long struggle before we can
hope to see the Light.”*

The focus of Harry's thoughts changed again, and he remembered a time many years before. He
and Hagrid were sitting a leaky old cabin on a stormy night, the Dursleys cowering in the
background as the half giant explained the truth of his parents' deaths and the horrors
Voldemort had subjected the wizarding world to. Somehow a single glance at one of his best friends
had given him a greater understanding of the fear the gripped his fellow witches and wizards for
more than a decade. Suddenly, he, too, was afraid for his life, for the lives of those he cared
about, and for the lives of those he didn't know at all.

Shoving his glasses farther up on the bridge of his nose, Harry gathered his crumpled pajamas.
He gave his reflection a look that bordered on disgust.

“And what has you in such a foul mood?” asked the mirror. Harry just shook his head.

And to think he'd once wondered why some people had thought him mental in the past.

* * *

Several deep breaths had helped calm Harry as he had walked up the stairs from the bathroom to
his and Ron's dormitory. When he'd pushed the door open, he'd been surprised to see
that Ron was nowhere in sight. Hermione, on the other hand, was still sitting in his desk chair,
her book open on her lap. However, she wasn't reading. Instead, her elbows were resting against
the well-read pages, and her cheek rested against one of her palms. She'd been staring at the
door, and it was obvious that she'd been waiting for his return.

“Hey,” said Harry, dropping his rumpled pajamas into the basket near the front of the room. The
bottom opened, and the dirty clothing was magically whisked away. In a few hours, the house-elves
would return the garments, freshly laundered. He dropped down to his bed, sitting so that their
knees were practically touching. Harry started to reach for her hand but thought better of it.
“About earlier—I'm sorry I was so edgy. I really can't tell you what was going through my
mind.”

“Oh Harry,” said Hermione, and she did something that surprised him. She reached up and touched
his cheek. “I understand. Well, actually, I take that back. I don't know what you're going
through, and it would only make things worse if I pretended to. I know that yet another burden has
been placed on you. I wish it could be some other way, but it can't, so I just wanted you to
know that I'm here for you if you need anything.”

“I don't,” said Harry fiercely. He made a mental refusal of doing any such thing. He
wasn't about to put any more pressure on Hermione; she already had more than enough on her
plate. “No, `Mione, I'm not going to—”

“Oh, you've spent entirely too much time with Ron,” said Hermione, interrupting. “Let me
finish what I was saying, and then you can talk. Every time I've needed something this year,
Harry, you were there. Most of the time I wasn't even aware of needing someone, but you always
seemed to know when I needed a shoulder to cry, and you were always there. Always. So, before you
decide that you can't go to me if you're having a hard time, just consider that it might do
us both some good if it were a mutual thing. I know I need you Harry, and I—”

“And I need you,” blurted Harry. He felt as if his cheeks were on fire, and he had to look away.
“Where did Ron go?”

“He's getting food,” said Hermione. “We've nearly missed lunch, you know. He was going
to track down Dobby and see if the house-elves would be so kind as to whip us up a platter of
sandwiches.”

“And you'll allow that extra taxing of their service?” teased Harry. Hermione smiled.

“Over half of them are receiving wages now, didn't you know?” she said. “And to think, you
and Ron though that the S. P. E. W. campaign was a complete and total waste of time!”

“That's not true!” protested Harry, glad for the shift of topic to something more
lighthearted. He knew that it wouldn't last, but it was refreshing all the same. “I kept my
mouth shut and went along with it. It was Ron who always exercised his opinions.”

“Of course, how could I forget?” said Hermione. She shifted, smoothing her skirt.

“Last night,” said Harry dully. “You want me to talk about it, don't you?”

Much to his surprise, Hermione shook her head. She leaned forward, kissing his cheek lightly.
“You don't have to do anything that you don't want to, but I'm here to listen if you
do.”

Grasping her hand, Harry found himself spilling out each and every horrible detail about the
horrible vision. She had heard it before, assumingly from Ron or McGonagall, but she listened just
as intently as if she were being told for the very first time. When he finished, she touched his
face gently again, her eyes locking with his.

“Harry,” she said quietly, “there's something that I think you should know. I debated
telling you about this because I wasn't sure how you would react, but I think you deserve to
hear it now instead of later.”

“Yes?” said Harry, and he felt his stomach knot up. He didn't have a clue what she was going
to say. For all he knew, she could have been preparing to tell him just about anything. He hated
the look in her eyes. She looked sad, and she looked concerned. He wished that there were a way for
him to eliminate both expressions. Harry hated to see her sad, and he was still of the belief that
she didn't need any extra worries at the moments, and he wished he hadn't been so
forthcoming with his experience.

“The front page of the Daily Prophet was splashed with news of the attack on Grand Harmony,”
said Hermione softly, “so I'd read all about it at breakfast. It was upsetting, but I was more
worried about the fact that you and Ron were both seemingly missing in action. Arithmancy passed
quickly, and nothing seemed too far from normal, but that changed in Herbology. Justin Finch-Fletch
rushed in a good half an hour late, his eyes red and his face streaked with tears. Professor Sprout
kept looking at him sympathetically.

“She sent him to work with me, and I finally couldn't take it any longer. I asked him if
something was wrong... oh Harry...” Harry half expected her to fling her arms around him, but she
did no such thing. Somehow, she pulled herself back into a quiet composure. “He's from Grand
Harmony, Harry. His father was one of the Muggles killed, and his little sister Jessica was
injured. I—I think that you were seeing his family last night.”

Harry felt a sensation in his stomach only rivaled by the few unfortunate experiences he'd
had with falling off his broom during Quidditch matches. It felt as if someone had hit him
unexpectedly with a rather painful curse, and he wasn't sure what to say or do. He accepted a
glass of water that Hermione had magicked up, taking several drinks of it. Still, he couldn't
really manage words. “Oh.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” said Hermione. She looked close to tears herself, and he wasn't sure
if it was for Justin's loss or his own misfortune in witnessing it. She reached out to him, but
Harry, surprisingly, found himself scooting away.

“No,” Harry found himself saying. “Maybe—maybe you should go on, Hermione. You shouldn't
want to be around me. Trouble and destruction follow me with whatever I do, and I don't want
you in the way of that.”

“Honestly Harry, don't you think that you're being a bit—”

“Hermione,” said Harry. He practically croaked out her name. “Don't you get it? All of this
is my fault. None of this would have happened if it weren't for the Triwizard Tournament last
year. I was so stupid and so blind that I led Cedric right to his death and put the whole wizarding
world in danger. The tasks were too much for me, but I just kept going. I don't even know what
I was trying to prove. If I'd just given up... then now... well, now would be a lot
different.”

There. He'd said it. In a way, he felt like a great weight had been lifted from his chest.
Ever since that fateful June evening just short of a year before, Harry had harbored the thought.
Try as he might, he'd never stopped feeling responsible for Cedric's death, but he'd
never allowed him too much time for thinking about it. Cedric's death hadn't been the only
consequence of his actions. There had been fourteen more the night before, let alone all those that
went with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. He looked up, expecting to see Hermione easing away from him.
Instead, if he hadn't known better, he'd say she looked ready to slap him.

“Honestly Harry, you're lucky that I feel the way about you that I do. Don't you think
that Crouch would have come up with another way to deliver you to Voldemort? If you had talked
Cedric into taking the cup, what's to say that Crouch wouldn't have sneaked up here to
transfigure your pillow into a Portkey?” Hermione was looking at him just as intently as before.
Suddenly, she blinked and paled. Her hands flew to her face. “Oh my,” she whimpered, “I can't
believe I just started chiding you at a time like this... oh Harry... I never meant to—”

“Hey,” said Harry, a bit of a grin forming on his face as her hand found his and their fingers
laced together. “I needed that. Thank you.”

“What?” Hermione's brow furrowed.

“I needed that,” said Harry, and he felt himself drawing her closer. Her chin rested on his
shoulder, his cheek against hers. “So you really don't think it's all my fault?” he asked
softly.

Hermione pulled away from him, but not so far that his arms weren't still around her waist.
“Oh Harry, it's no one's fault but his own that Voldemort returned, and that's because
it was his decision to go to the Dark side in the first—you look at me when I'm talking, Harry
James Potter, because this is important—It was his decision to go over to the Dark side in the
first place. It's starting again, and I know you're scared because I am too, but it's
not going to do either us or anyone else any good to sit around, making yourself miserable with
guilt.”

“Your logic amazes me sometimes,” said Harry honestly.

“That's what I'm here for,” said Hermione. Her tone was joking, but Harry could tell by
the light flush of her cheeks that she valued his praise.

“What time is it?” asked Harry. He was vaguely aware of the fact that his arms were still around
her, but he made no motion to shift from the position. He didn't want to.

“I think we have about twenty more minutes until we need to go down to the library for Professor
Lupin's class,” said Hermione. “I told we'd meet him down in the common room, though, for
lunch.”

“Oh,” said Harry, releasing her rather reluctantly. She scooted away from him, gathering her
Arithmancy book and shoving it into her book bag. It was lying on the floor, which meant that it
must have slipped from her lap during the course of their conversation. Harry stood as well, taking
a few quick strides across the room for his own book bag. He shot her a lopsided grin as he
adjusted the strap across his shoulder. Once more, she grabbed his hand.

“You are all right, aren't you?”

Harry had almost seen it coming. “I'm fine,” he said, repeating his proclamation of earlier.
This time, although it wasn't completely the truth, it was much closer to it than he had been
before, but he couldn't find it in him to lie to Hermione, and he began to ramble. “Well, you
know, it's been interesting, to say the least. I'm worried that I'm going to keep
seeing all his misdoings, and I feel like I should be preparing something kind to say to Justin the
next time I see him. I really should be coming up with something that I can do to—”

Hermione's finger pressed against his lips, putting a stop to his stream of statements. She
was looking up at him, brown eyes gazing into green. Hermione opened her mouth as if to speak but
said nothing. Harry tilted his head forward, and he was kissing her.

If Harry had considered his thoughts to be jumbled earlier, they just became more tangled as he
kissed Hermione. One part of him, the part he assumed had allowed his lips to land on those of his
best friend as if it were the most natural thing in the world, felt completely at ease. Hadn't
this happened before? That first part of him finally admitted to dreaming of a moment like this for
the better part of the last year.

The other part of Harry, the part that was yet to have an effect his actions, was much more
interested in the logical side of things. *You're kissing Hermione*, it reminded him.
*You're kissing your best friend. You're changing everything that's ever been between
the two of you. If you don't stop what you're doing it's going to be too late.* This
voice was Harry's reminder that he had just broken every rule in the book of friendship and
stepped over the line that he'd been so careful not to toe.

It was over, and that second part of Harry had been what made it stop. He really wasn't sure
how many seconds had passed because his mind was still swimming. The first part of his mind, the
one that had allowed him to loose himself in Hermione, was furiously chiding the second part for
finding fault in something that felt so right.

“We're not due in the library for another fifteen minutes, but I'm sure Ron's
wondering what's keeping us from the common room,” said Hermione. Her cheeks were tinged pink,
but other then that, there was no other indicator of the kiss. There was no awkwardness betrayed in
her voice, and there was no regret. She sounded as sweet and kind and normal as she always did to
Harry.

“We'd probably better head on down if we want any kind of lunch,” said Harry, and he
surprised himself. His words flowed as normally and familiarly as Hermione had. “Then again,
knowing Ron and his appetite—”

“—We might already be too late,” said Hermione, finishing his sentence word-for-word to his
thoughts. She smiled at him, and he followed closely behind her as they headed in the direction of
the common room.

And Harry had a bit of a realization as they crossed the threshold of his and Ron's
dormitory. For that one moment, for the first time since Hagrid had shown up to retrieve him all
those years ago, Harry had ceased to be famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. For that one
moment, he'd been just like any other teenage boy, wizard or Muggle, with an opportunity to
kiss the girl he fancied.

-->



24. The Girl in the Photographs
-------------------------------



Chapter Twenty-Four

THE GIRL IN THE PHOTOGRAPHS

*In 1658, the Abacadians became the first group to use the scarring technique in the name of
the Dark Arts. The creation of the scar, which was shaped like two entwined serpents, was only
embedded into two of their destructive spells but quickly became the fear-inspiring symbol of their
four-year reign. While several groups tried to duplicate their ways, the next successful Dark
organization did not form until 1832 when those of the Serpent's Circle united under the
command of the Dark Lord Salazyte. The Dark wizard Grindelwald combined their symbol, the skull,
with the serpents of earlier in the late 1930s.*

*Still, it was only when You-Know-Who came to power that the Dark Scar became a prominent
symbol of control. Its use dwindled as the Dark period progressed, but it is rumored that its
absence in the late years of the reign was actually a period of modification to the Dark
Scar.*

Harry blinked, having read the passage at least a half a dozen times. It wasn't at all
difficult, compared to some of the texts he had taken to deciphering, but it was making even less
sense to him. It wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, so it probably wouldn't be of
any use to him. He was down to the last scroll of his Defense Essay, but he hadn't found a
single thing to add all afternoon, even after he'd approached Professor Lupin with his
predicament.

The Defense professor had suggested Harry look into some of the magically preserved editions of
the Daily Prophet published in the time period but had warned him that some of the articles, those
that were personal accounts of the Dark Scar, could be pretty gruesome. Harry really hadn't
taken the necessary heed of his warning; instead, he'd marched off determinedly behind Madam
Pince and nearly lost his lunch with the very first article displayed.

It was an account of a woman subjected to the Death Eaters' curses during the raid that
killed her husband. She had been hexed several times trying to protect her two small children after
their father's demise. Voldemort had used her as a test subject for the new tracking system
embedded within her scar, allowing his Death Eaters to take her into their possession. They had not
killed her, but, in Harry's opinion, what they had been allowed to do was much, much worse.

His stomach had turned when he had realized what he was reading, and he'd literally been
shaking as he walked from the archives of the library back to the table Ron and Hermione were
occupying. Ron had had to lead him out of the library for a drink of water, and he had asked Harry
repeatedly what had him so upset. Hermione had also been concerned, but she had known better than
to badger Harry about something that was obviously so upsetting. He could practically still feel
the gentle hand squeeze she had given him all those hours before.

*The Seventh Son, a prominent Dark assembly at the turn of the century, chose its name out of
loyalty to the founder of their former Hogwarts house. The faction actually began as a resistance
movement to another Dark uprising, but after being captured and tortured, the group emerged and
became more powerful than its parent. Surprisingly, after their revolt was halted, the component
that was going to be used in their own version of the Dark Scar was adapted for more pleasant
purposes. The Ministry of Magic now employs their discovery to detect the whereabouts of any
Ministry employee in times of crisis.*

“None of this has anything to do with the actual Dark Scar,” grumbled Harry, tossing the book to
the ground. He wasn't aware of the volume of his outburst until he realized that Hermione was
looking up at him through concerned eyes. He shot her a lopsided grin, making a mental note to try
and not be such a cause for concern the next day. It did seem that he'd done so often that
afternoon.

They were sitting together in the prefect common room. Harry was sprawled out at one end of the
couch, a stack of books sitting just within his reach. Hermione, who had finished both her essay
and her homework in the library that afternoon, was sitting with her nose buried in her
increasingly battered edition of *Hogwarts, A History*. Ron was presumably still in the
library; he had a lot more work to do on his essay if he wished to receive an O.W.L. in
Defense.

“How's your essay coming?” asked Hermione. She rested the thick book against the arm of the
sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. When she looked down at Harry, he couldn't help but think
that he liked looking at her from this angle. He could almost feel a guilty blush rising to his
cheeks, yet he didn't have to will himself not to care. It had taken every bit of
self-determination that he had to keep from staring at her all afternoon in the library, so he felt
entitled to that moment.

*She's your best friend, Harry. You aren't supposed to be looking at her like that.
And you aren't supposed to be thinking about her like that, either.*

That little voice had begun to chide him again, and it forced Harry's interest to a dull
enthusiasm. “It's not.”

“Take a break,” suggested Hermione, much to his surprise. She reached down and tousled his hair
slightly, pushing a stray strand away from his eyes. “When I told you and Ron today that you
couldn't afford to slack off earlier, I was only directing my comment at the both of you
because I didn't want him to feel as if I were harping at him.”

“Don't worry,” said Harry with a grin. He caught her hand, his nose crinkling as he forced
himself into a sitting position, causing Crookshanks to jump distastefully from the couch. He would
have much rather stayed as he had been, and he couldn't help but think of how nice a nap would
be at that very moment. “He knew that it was for his benefit and his benefit alone.”

“Did he?” Hermione blushed. “I should have—”

The door to the prefect common room burst open, and Harry didn't hear the rest of her
statement. Ron hurtled through the door, his Gryffindor tie unknotted and his robes hanging off his
left shoulder. Something gave a great screech, and Crookshanks, his bottlebrush tail straight up,
clawed Harry's arm in his frantic rush to get to Hermione. He purred loudly, his squashed face
looking angrily at Ron.

“I'm never going to get this done,” he moaned. “It's just—”

“Ron Weasley, do not even tell me that you just kicked my cat,” said Hermione, a scowl forming
on her face.

“Oh, yeah, I did, didn't I?” said Ron absently. He flopped weakly into the chair adjacent to
Hermione's position on the couch, and the pet in question continued to glare at Ron, whose
facial expression changed, almost as suddenly as he had come in, from bewilderment to anger.

“It's Marks again,” he grumbled.

At his friend's words, Harry snapped out of his slight daze. “What's he done now?” he
asked, recalling a certain incident in one of the stairwells above all the others. He glanced at
Hermione. She had stiffened and looked a little uncomfortable, and Harry found himself
instinctively grabbing her hand. The gesture was lost on Ron. Usually he'd be sniggering and
muttering things about his two best friends underneath his breath.

“Nothing like that,” said Ron quickly. He, too, had glanced at Hermione. Anger flashed in the
redhead's eyes as he reached into his bag and produced several ink-splattered scrolls. “This is
my Defense essay—or at least it was. “Git just *happened* to trip and knock over my
inkwell.”

“Oh Ron,” said Hermione sadly. She had taken the soggy parchment from him and laid it out flat
on the side table.

“Your whole essay?” Harry wanted to know. Ron nodded dully, obviously having reverted back to
his earlier stupor. Crookshanks seemed to understand that Ron wasn't his usual self, dropping
his angry glare. The cat settled down in between Harry and Hermione for a nap. Ron continued to
stare blankly, and Harry was silent, but Hermione had begun to mutter things under her breath.

“Was a lot of what you'd actually written already dry?” asked Hermione. When Ron nodded, she
removed her wand from the folds of her robe. “*Aufero macula*!”

At once, the glistening ink ran backwards to the center of the parchment, forming a perfect pool
on each scroll. Then, it shot upwards in a perfect jet of ink, disappearing at the end of
Hermione's wand. Ron grinned, and Harry applauded.

“*Tricks for Tricky, Icky Situations*, chapter eleven,” said Hermione, handing Ron back his
essay. It had a colored tinge to it, but his words were visible now. “Honestly, you'd think
they'd put that kind of charm in the *Standard Book of Spells (Grade One)*!”

Ron grinned, standing up and throwing his bag over his shoulder. He bent down and did something
he usually didn't, giving Hermione a quick peck on the cheek. “I should have known you'd be
able to fix it. Thanks!”

He was gone, presumably heading in the direction of the library to continue his study. Harry and
Hermione turned to each other at the same time; both were wearing equally amused expressions. Harry
raised an eyebrow, and Hermione burst out laughing.

“Ron's great,” giggled Hermione. Harry had to agree; his best friend's antics had
provided a much-needed distraction from his own essay. He relaxed into the sofa, but he found that
the lighthearted feeling had already gone.

“I can't believe Marks,” grumbled Harry. Without realizing he was doing so, he draped an arm
across Hermione's shoulder, and it surprised him when she rested her head against his shoulder.
“I don't think I even knew who he was until last month. Sure, I'd played in a few Quidditch
games against him, but that doesn't mean I knew him.”

“But before you knew what was happening, he was standing with his cronies in our compartment,
hurling both insults and curses in our direction?” finished Hermione. She tilted her head back, and
Harry looked down at her. She was smiling a little bit, almost as if she knew she'd said
exactly what he had been thinking.

“Right,” said Harry. “I think his only purpose in life is to try to mess up mine.”

“Too true,” agreed Hermione. Her nose crinkled up. “What he did to Ron's essay was
completely uncalled for.”

“What he did to you was completely uncalled for,” said Harry. The statement came out much more
hoarsely than he meant for it to. “I know he's mad at me for blasting his little brother into a
wall, but he should be taking it out on me, not Ron. Besides—it's not like the kid didn't
deserve it.”

“Oh no, he did,” said Hermione. “Deserve it, I mean.”

She didn't say anything else, but she also did not pull back from Harry. When someone
climbed through the portrait hole a few seconds later, his arm was still around her, her head on
his shoulder. Katie Bell, Harry's former Gryffindor teammate and the current Head Girl, stopped
when she saw them.

“O—oh, I'm sorry,” Katie stammered. Harry and Hermione pulled apart at once. Harry could not
bring himself to meet Katie's eye, but he did catch Hermione's. She looked almost...
guilty. “I didn't mean to interrupt anything; it's just that I left a stack of photos on
the desk here, and I wanted to show Alicia and Angelina.”

“Wizard photos? Of you and Tyler?” Hermione said pleasantly. She continued when Katie nodded.
The older girl was still eyeing Harry and Hermione with an unmistakable questioning in her eyes.
“He was in here over an hour ago. He said that they were his.”

Katie groaned. Tyler Etherington was the Head Boy, Katie's boyfriend, and known throughout
Gryffindor for being a bit absentminded. “Well then,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot
to the other, “I imagine I should go and try to track him down. He probably thought that they
*were* his. I'll see the two of you later!”

“'Bye, Katie!” said Hermione. Harry gave the Head Girl a good-natured wave as she
disappeared back through the portrait hole. As soon as she was gone, Hermione turned to Harry.
“Harry, those pictures that you were sent—what did you do with them?”

“I shoved them in a desk drawer,” said Harry. “Why? Do you want to see them?”

Hermione nodded. “If it wouldn't be too much trouble,” she said. Harry was on his feet in an
instant.

“Give me five minutes,” said Harry with a grin. He was standing over her, about to lean down
because she always saw him off with a kiss on the cheek. He found himself straightening rather
awkwardly. After what had happened in his and Ron's dormitory that morning, he didn't quite
trust himself not to toe the lines of friendship even farther.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Harry found himself squeezed rather awkwardly into an armchair in the
Gryffindor common room with Hermione. They'd abandoned the prefect common room when Tyler and
Katie had appeared, hand in hand, looking as if they were ready to jump each other. As it was at
almost any given moment, the common room was packed with students. Many of the fifth years were
still in the library, but the rest of the Gryffindors had assembled either in the overstuffed
armchairs, at the tables, or on the floor in front of the fire. Harry and Hermione had managed to
grab the last of the chairs; squashed together between the massive arms, she was more or less
sitting on his lap.

“This one seems normal enough,” declared Hermione, handing Harry the picture of him as a baby.
She had been hunched over it, examining every square inch of it. Another picture fell into his
hand; this one was of him at the Dursleys. “And I can't find anything odd or peculiar about
this one either. It's the other two—the ones with Ron and I—that just don't seem quite
right. They just have this quality about them, this quality of...”

“Not rightness?” suggested Harry helpfully when she trailed off. Hermione glared at him. He
plucked the other two photos from her hand, holding them up to the light as she had, but at that
moment, the floating candle decided to rocket off to the other side of the room.

Withdrawing his wand, Harry summoned the candle. It hovered for a good minute as Harry examined
the photos. He still couldn't find anything unusual about them. He finally had to shuffle them
around in his hand; he couldn't help but worry that the photo version of him would fail to keep
Hermione from falling.

“So,” said Harry, after the long pause. He handed Hermione back the photo. “What's wrong
with them? They look like normal—well, wizarding normal—photographs to me.”

Hermione stared at him blankly for a second, rearranging the pictures in her hand. The picture
he didn't like was on top once more. “Remember what Katie said about her photographs? She said
that Tyler probably thought that they were his.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Harry quizzically.

“Well this pictures are of us, aren't they?” said Hermione. Now, Harry was just looking at
her as if she were crazy. “I mean, there I am, stumbling in the middle of Diagon Alley. You and Ron
are there, ready to keep me from falling. Pictures of us.”

“Pictures of us,” said Harry. He said it slowly, letting the words roll off his tongue. He
repeated it once, twice, three times before it finally clicked. “You never fell down in Diagon
Alley!”

“No, I never did,” said Hermione dryly, “and there was no lying in the grass beneath the tree
that I know of. I do remember the wind tousling my hair when the three of us were sitting on the
back step, but it's not the same, is it?”

“It's not the same,” confirmed Harry. “So what are you saying? Are those pictures just
well-done fakes?”

“What's that you have there—pictures? Pictures! Let me have a look?”

Harry and Hermione both turned at the sound of a squeaky voice behind them. Colin Creevey gave a
little excited clap and made a second squeaky exclamation when he realized that he had their
attention.

“Er—hi Colin,” said Harry. His greeting came out a little more irritably than he'd meant to
make it, and Hermione elbowed him. He caught her eye, immediately cottoning on. If anyone would be
able to tell them what was wrong with the photos, it was Colin.

“Oh, this is exciting!” said Colin, practically snatching the four photographs from
Hermione's hand when she held them up. He muttered his way past the first two breathlessly, but
he became subdued when he reached the third. “Oh, you weren't looking at photos at all, were
you? You're just practicing your concealment charms. I should have—”

“Concealment charms!” said Hermione. She looked as if she could have thrown her arms around the
younger boy at that moment. Colin gave her a strange look.

“Well, that's what you were practicing, wasn't it?” said Colin. He gave the photos one
last critical look before thrusting them forward into Hermione's hand. “You've done well;
they're much harder to cast than to remove.”

“Oh,” managed Hermione. Harry was still staring between Colin and the photos in wonderment.

“Here,” said Colin, obviously dismissing her astonishment. Judging by his tone, he was back to
being his overexcited self. He handed them an even thinner stack of photos. “I just came over to
give you these. They're from that party after the Quidditch game. I made three copies so that
you could each have one.”

“Wow, thanks Colin,” said Harry, taking the pictures from him. It had actually turned out quite
well. Ron and Harry both looked exhausted but happy, hair damp from their post-game showers.
Hermione was sandwiched between the two boys, but she had a huge grin on her face. She was half on
Harry's lap and half off, his arm draped casually across her shoulders. Ron was practically on
top of the arm of the sofa, teetering in Hermione's direction. They were laughing and talking
and smiling, and their close friendship looked like the most natural thing in the world.

“You like it?” said Colin squeakily. His hand flew to his mouth. “Oops, I mean, you're
welcome.”

The eager fourth year disappeared from site, retreating in the direction of the boys'
dormitories. He had an almost stupid grin on his face, which made Hermione and Harry share a look.
The two friends burst out laughing.

“That really is a great picture,” said Hermione softly. She set it down on the arm of the chair,
turning back to the photographs—the concealed photographs—that Harry had been sent. “I think
that... well... *terminus occulto*!”

Light burst from the tip of Hermione's wand, striking the two photos in question. Slowly,
the surface ink began to swirl together in great sweeps of brilliant color. It came together and
then separated; the dirty brown of the Diagon Alley street faded relocated to where Harry's
cloak had once been, and the pale yellow of a passing woman's blonde hair found its way to
where Hermione had once stood. In the second photo, one of the boys had disappeared entirely, and
the other had replaced by...

“Professor Lupin!” breathed Harry and Hermione at the same time. They shared an equally amazed
look, for there was no mistaking the boy with long, light brown hair. He was laughing and joking
with what looked to be the back of a younger Sirius's head and had his hand on the shoulder of
a girl with blonde hair in the first photograph. The same girl, a few years older, was sitting with
her back against the tree, trying to keep the wind from messing up her hair in the second. She was
laughing, but the young Remus Lupin, whose head was leaning against her stomach, was scowling at
whoever was taking the picture.

“It's the same girl, Harry,” said Hermione quietly. “It's the same girl that was with
him in Sirius's photo album.”

“I know,” said Harry. He continued absently, without thinking. “Clara.”

“What?” Hermione was looking at him quizzically. “How do you know her name? Did Sirius tell
you?”

“No,” said Harry, feeling every bit as perplexed as she sounded. He didn't know what had
prompted him to give the girl that name. He didn't know her, and he couldn't ever remember
being told about her, either. A few moments of tense silence passed before it dawned on him.
“Snape.”

Now Hermione was looking at him as if he'd really lost it. “Harry,” she said, patting his
hand gently, “if you'd like to explain what our dear, lovely Potions master has to do with
this, I'm all for it.”

“That day...” said Harry, trailing off. He wasn't even sure of his train of thought. “It was
that day that we practiced dueling with the Slytherin sixth years. Something had gone wrong in
Transfigurations, so McGonagall had asked Lupin to watch over their class.”

“We didn't have Potions that day, Harry,” reminded Hermione gently. “What are you
remembering?”

“It was after dinner,” said Harry, ignoring what she had said without meaning to. “Don't you
remember?”

“Yes,” said Hermione at last. “Ron was practically badgering you about your duel with Marks,
and—”

“—And Snape was badgering Lupin about it,” said Harry. “Lupin told him to stop living in the
past, to stop comparing me to my father, and Snape retorted that he didn't have the right to
offer such advice. They were talking about a girl, and when Snape called her Clara, Lupin expelled
him from his classroom.”

“Clara,” said Hermione. She'd picked up the photos yet again, studying the blonde girl
intently. Finally, she caught Harry's eye. “I think it's time we learned a little more
about her.”

* * *

“Add an infusion of what to a powdered root of what?” muttered Ron. He and Harry were sitting in
the library two afternoons later; Ron was working on his Potions homework and Harry was pouring
through another stack of books in a frantic attempt to find another half scroll of information for
his Defense essay, which was due in just two days. “Creates a cooling muddle to sooth sunburn?
Can't you just charm that away?”

“You can cast a charm to screen the skin, but it won't relieve the pain.” Hermione was
struggling under the weight of a thick text. “Snape really does have a twisted idea of a crossword
puzzle, doesn't he?”

“What's that?” asked Harry, instinctively reaching out to steady his inkwell as Hermione
dropped the book on the library table with a loud thud. A drop splashed onto his hand, and he
hastily wiped it off on his robes.

“A complete listing of Hogwarts alumni from 1845 to 1985,” said Hermione. Harry and Ron both
shot her an inquisitive glance; they had told Ron about the photographs as soon as he had returned
from the library on Monday night. “It has everything from their place of birth to what they did
after graduation. You would not believe the story I came up with to convince Madam Pince that I
needed this book.”

“Don't look now,” whispered Ron, gesturing in the direction of the librarian, “but judging
by the expression on her face, neither did she.”

“Funny,” said Hermione, stopping long enough to glare at him as she flipped through the pages.
“Anyway, I'm positive that Clara Lewick is our girl—she was a Gryffindor, started here the year
after Harry's parents, Head Girl, and grew up in Essendon, which is also where Lupin was
raised.”

“C. L.!” exclaimed Ron in a loud whisper, which caused Madam Pince to shoot him a death glare.
Hermione looked at him strangely, but Harry understood the reference. C. L. was the second set of
initials carved into the tree in Professor Sprout's private garden.

“So where is she now?” Harry wanted to know. He couldn't see the tiny text of the book from
where he was sitting. “We spent most of last night pouring over all of those photos in Sirius's
album again, and she and Professor Lupin looked just as in love as my parents did. What'd she
do after graduation?”

“Harry—she never graduated,” said Hermione in a small voice. “She died in March of her seventh
year.”

*“I* *don't want him to know the constant fear, the lasting pain, the unending
uncertainty. Let him grow up, Sirius. Let him make his own choices then, but lead him away from
this. Promise me he won't grow up in the middle of this as we did.”*

Lily.

*"One day, you, too, will see these halls as I remember them. You'll do a lot of
living in your years, Harry, but never so much as within these walls."*

Lupin.

*“**I'll tell you what, Remus, you come back to me when you stop mourning for her,
and you tell me to stop living in the past...”*

Snape.

“Of course,” said Harry weakly. The three friends shared almost weary looks. They had even more
questions and even fewer answers.

* * *

As Thursday night slowly became Friday morning, the frantic scratching of quills on parchment
only intensified. The fire crackled and hissed as it died, but, other than that, only the
occasional whisper or muttering could be heard. It seemed as all but one of the fifth year
Gryffindors had made the decision to procrastinate on the Defense essay that was due the next day.
Harry had to stifle a yawn as he reached for the last book on the Dark Scar that the library had
possessed. Ron, who was sitting next to him, yawned wearily as he set aside his fourteenth scroll
and plucked a fresh one from his bag.

“Nearly caught up to you, mate,” said Ron sleepily, gesturing in Harry's general direction.
“'S almost sad. What have you been doing for the last ten or so hours?”

“Trying to find relevant information that I haven't already mentioned,” grumbled Harry. His
statement was meant with a thud from across the room. It seemed as if Seamus had given up on his
essay, falling asleep right on top of it. “If I don't find something in the next ten minutes,
I'm giving up.”

“Hermione wouldn't like that,” teased Ron. He dipped his own quill in the inkwell. “I gave
up on the relevant stuff ages ago. I've decided that if it's good enough to be in any one
of these books, it's good enough to be in my paper.”

“That's the spirit, Weasley,” said Harry, sinking back into his reading. It took him fifteen
minutes to scan through the first four chapters, all of which seemed to be saying the same thing
over and over again. He threw the book down in distaste. That was it. “I give up. I'm going to
bed.”

“You do that,” said Ron, who looked as if he were copying verbatim from the text in front of
him. From across the room, one of the candles was blown out. Neville, an ear-to-ear grin on his
face, scooped up his books and started making his way toward the boys' staircase. “Don't
worry about it too much. Your essay's what? Eight inches too short? I somehow don't see
that as a major problem.”

“Nah, it's not,” agreed Harry, straightening his things into a neat pile. He eyed the stack
of books critically, not really wanting to lug them all up to his room just to bring them back down
the next morning. “I think I'm just going to leave these here tonight.”

Harry's eyes followed Neville up the stairs as he swung his bag onto his shoulder. He was
about to wish Ron good-luck when the door to the girls' dormitory opened up. A nightgown-clad
figure was hurrying down the staircase. Without really bothering to look, Harry's logical side
reasoned that Hermione, unable to sleep, had probably come down to check the progress of her
procrastinating classmates.

But the girl on the stairs wasn't Hermione, as Hermione most definitely did not have a mane
of fiery red hair. Ginny Weasley, wrapped tightly in a secondhand blue terry robe, took the last
few steps so quickly that she nearly tripped. She made a beeline for the table that Harry and Ron
had chosen to occupy.

“Oh good,” she said breathlessly. “You're both still up.”

“Try to curb your enthusiasm,” grumbled Ron. “It's not like either of us want to be doing
this. We'd both rather be upstairs in our own dormitory, asleep, so if you've come down
to—”

“Shut up, Ron,” snapped Ginny, interrupting her older brother. She folded her arms across her
chest. “It's Hermione—do you honestly think I'd come down in the middle of the night just
to rag on you?”

Harry hadn't heard anything past his other best friend's name. “Hermione? What's
going on? Is she okay?”

“She's having another nightmare,” said Ginny softly. “She keeps muttering things in her
sleep, and she won't wake up. I don't know what to do.”

“Another?” said Ron dully.

Ginny nodded hesitantly. “I don't know why—” she stopped. “I just thought that you would
want to know.”

“She won't wake up?” repeated Harry. Again, Ginny nodded. She looked up but would not meet
his eye.

“I—I just thought that one of you might know what to do,” stammered Ginny. Harry and Ron shared
a look. If Ginny had been so worried that she came for one of them, something obviously wasn't
right. The boys were on their feet half a second after the words were out of her mouth. “I tried
shaking her shoulder, but she whimpered for me to stop.”

Sharing another look and ignoring those of their year mates, Harry and Ron darted up the
girls' staircase behind Ginny. Harry been in the girls' dormitories on more occasions than
he probably should have, so he knew which room Ginny shared with Hermione and the other girls. The
youngest Weasley had fallen in step behind Harry, walking along side her older brother. She kept
muttering something about a spell and summertime that Harry did not understand.

Hermione's eyes were shut more tightly than sleep required, her hand clutching at her sheets
so tightly that her knuckles had begun to turn white. She was trembling beneath a stack of
bedcovers much too thick for the spring weather.

“She was screaming earlier,” managed Ginny, who sounded every bit as fearful as Harry felt.
“That's what woke me up... oh, what *was* that spell?”

“Don't hurt me... don't hurt me...” whimpered the sleeping Hermione, and Harry felt his
stomach muscles tighten, and he stepped toward her. However, something caught his shoulder, and he
felt Ron holding him back. The redheaded boy was fumbling around in his pocket for his wand.

“*Suscitatio!*” ordered Ron. He bit his lip, and Harry could tell that his friend's
hand was trembling. He didn't recognize the spell, and he couldn't imagine where Ron had
learned it, but he did know that Hermione stopped muttering. Her eyes flew open, but it took her a
few seconds to work her way into a sitting position.

“Th-th-thought I was going to—” stammered Hermione. Deathly pale and still shaking, she burst
into tears. Ginny looked bewildered, but there was something about her stance that told Harry that
this was not the first time she had witnessed such a scene. He was the first one to make a move
toward Hermione, followed closely by Ron, who had to first put his wand away.

“Shh,” muttered Harry, hugging her protectively, the folds of his robes stifling her sobs. Ron
crossed around to the other side of the four-poster, sitting down on the other edge of her bed and
patting her back.

“Hermione?” Ginny asked in a small voice as her friend's tears began to subside. “Are you
okay?”

Hermione pulled back from Harry without leaving his protective embrace. She opened her mouth but
seemed unable to formulate a response. She broke down again; this time, a few words permeated her
sobs.

“Sorry...” she managed. “Didn't mean to wake you all... the Forbidden Forest...
couldn't... I couldn't... fine now... go back to sleep. Please just go back to sleep.”

Despite her words, Hermione only seemed to hold more tightly to Harry. Ron, on the other hand,
had scooted off the edge of the bed, and he was now standing behind Ginny, in the middle of several
deep breaths.

“Come on,” said Ron, and Harry saw that he had a hand on Ginny's shoulder. “Let's go
back down to the common room.”

A second later, Ron had more or less hauled Ginny from her own room. The single beam of
moonlight shining in through the window cast eerie shadows around the rooms, and Harry found
himself releasing Hermione for long enough to grab his own wand and cast the lumos spell. For
several long minutes, he sat there with her in her arms, just letting her cry. Knowing for certain
what her nightmare had been about, Harry didn't know what else he could do.

“Shh,” Harry found himself muttering again, kissing the top of her head rather absently.
“You're not in the forest. You're in the castle, and nothing's going to happen to you
here. It's not—”

Harry did not finish his statement. He had been about to tell her that it wasn't real but
had thought better of it. His heart sank. For Hermione, it had been real, and it still was. He
shifted slightly, praying that she would not push him away. Much to Harry's relief, she did
not; instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder. It felt right, and he cleared his
throat.

“Still want me to leave?” whispered Harry. His hand left her back, his fingers lacing through
hers. Hermione shook her head. “Can you talk about it... or do you just want to sit here for a
bit?”

Hermione didn't say anything, but Harry somehow heard her loud and clear. He knew she would
talk in her own time. Sure enough, a few minutes of comfortable silence passed before Hermione took
a shaky breath. She pulled away from Harry and leaned back against a stack of pillows. She looked
so scared, so upset, that Harry couldn't look his best friend in the face. He found himself
very interested in the framed photo sitting on her bedside table. It was her copy of the one Colin
had given them just a few days before.

Hermione took another shaky breath. “It's been a long time since I let the nightmares effect
me,” she said softly. Harry felt his heart go out to her. It had been two months, and she seemed to
have recovered tremendously, but he'd known, deep down, that it would be a lot longer before
she was truly all right. “I've almost always been able to tell myself that I was dreaming, that
it would be over soon enough. Tonight, though, I was there again. The last two months hadn't
happened. It was cold, the snow was swirling everywhere, it was just me and him. He hurt me, and he
kept hurting me, and no one—”

“If it hurts too much,” said Harry, a gentle offer that she did not accept.

“I was no longer standing outside my memories,” said Hermione unsteadily. “It was happening all
over again. I couldn't breathe as I entered the common room, and the smoke made my eyes start
to burn. Someone seized my arm, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth, and I felt something go in my
face when he punched me. I know it sounds crazy, Harry, but it wasn't a dream.

“It was cold,” said Hermione, and Harry's eyes darted down to the covers she had drawn so
tightly around her. “My head ached where he had kicked me, and the stabs of pain in my side where
threatening to make me pass out again. I couldn't see. I tried to open my eyes again and again,
and my surroundings only became more and more blurred. He left, he came back, he was so rough with
me. There was more pain; I think he was trying to rip me apart...”

She trailed off, her mouth snapping shut. Her hand was shaking in his, so Harry let go of it and
touched her face gently, brushing her hair away. Her eyes were filled with tears, but Harry knew
she would not let them fall.

“Don't,” Harry found himself whispering. He knew what those last statements had referred to.
He could deal with the details of her abduction, but the beginning of her description of being
raped had already made him feel as if his insides had been ripped from his body. He knew he was
being selfish; he knew he should allow her to talk.

But she meant so much to him, and Harry wasn't sure he could live with the exact details of
her pain.

“He didn't come this time,” said Hermione softly. “Malfoy didn't come for me this time.
He didn't help me to the Life Circle. He didn't wish me good luck. I had a few sketchy
memories of you and Ron and my parents and everyone that ever meant something to me, and then the
pain got to be too much. I think... I think I was supposed to die out there.”

“It's what he wanted,” said Harry. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment. “You lived
because you're stronger than he was. You lived because you're a good person. You lived
because... because *that* was what was supposed to happen. You weren't meant to die,
violated and alone, in a freezing forest.”

“Do you think I could... have a hug?” said Hermione. Her request came several moments after
Harry's declaration of what was and wasn't meant to be, and Harry embraced her tightly
without hesitation.

“Thank you,” Hermione muttered. “I'm sorry—I just need to know that I wasn't really
still out *there*, imagining *this*.”

“And you're not,” said Harry, suddenly feeling fiercely protective of her. “You're here,
and as long as you are, I'm not going to let anything happen to you.”

“You've said that before,” said Hermione. “Thank you so much, Harry.”

“Anytime,” said Harry, and he meant it. He scooted to the edge of the bed. “Do you think
you're okay to be alone, now? I can stay.”

“I'm sure my roommates are nearly finished with their essays,” said Hermione. “You can't
exactly hang around if they're here.”

“No,” said Harry, standing up. “Speaking of essays...”

Hermione gasped. “Don't tell me you're not finished yet,” she scolded.

Harry grinned sheepishly. “That's my Hermione,” he said affectionately. Half a second later,
realizing just what he had said, he began to blush furiously.

“Just try and get it done,” said Hermione. Either she hadn't noticed or was pretending not
to have noticed because she did not look the least bit phased. Harry let out an inaudible sigh, and
he reached down to grab his wand, which was still shooting a thin beam of light.

It illuminated her face for the briefest moment, and that's when Harry saw it. Her jaw line
was bruised and beginning to swell ever so slightly, and four purple marks that looked
overwhelmingly like fingerprints dotted the skin of her upper arm.

* * *

Ron was waiting for Harry in the common room, lounging in one of the oversized chairs. He had
his arm draped around his little sister, and the two of them were talking, looking closer than they
had in months. The last roll of parchment on which he'd written his essay was spread out on the
table where the two boys had been working, the ink still glistening. Neville and Dean were nowhere
in sight, and Seamus was snoring loudly. Parvati and Lavender were halfheartedly scratching their
quills against parchment, and Sally-Ann looked to be fast asleep in one of the armchairs.

“Everything okay?” asked Ron, obviously concerned. He shot a look in the direction of the
girls' staircase. Harry nodded.

“She'll be okay,” said Harry. He glanced from Ginny to Lavender and Parvati to Sally-Ann.
Ron seemed to get the message, and he didn't press for any more information. “Thanks for
getting me, Ginny.”

“No problem,” said Ginny, shrugging away from her older brother. She gave both boys a slight
smile, hugging Ron tightly. “I'll talk to you in the morning, okay?”

Ginny shook Sally-Ann out of her slumber, and the two girls clambered up the staircase and
disappeared into the dormitories. As Harry watched them retreat, he couldn't help but think of
everything she had been hiding for the last year. At least she and Ron seemed to be getting along
again; they had been in a bit of a disagreement ever since the night she had blown up at Harry in
the common room.

There was a loud yawn from the other side of the room.

“I give up,” said Lavender. Parvati nodded in agreement, and the two girls gathered their stuff.
Lavender shot Ron a disdainful look. “Are we allowed to go back to *our* dorm room now?”

Ron shrugged. “Fine by me,” he said, and both girls glared at him as they, too, disappeared into
the girls' dormitories. Harry snorted.

“What was that about?” asked Harry, flopping onto the sofa next to him. Seamus let out a snore
that was as loud as any chainsaw, and he knew that he wouldn't hear a word of what he was about
to say.

“Hermione looked like she was in shock,” said Ron. He shrugged. “I figured that if any person
could talk her through it, that person was you. Since you're both my friends, I decided to
spare you the commentary of Hermione's roommates. I kept them from going into their own room,
so, needless to say, they weren't all too pleased with me. How is she?”

It was Harry's turn to shrug. “She's fine,” he said halfheartedly. Ron was eyeing him
with concern, so he added quickly. “I just hate seeing her so upset, that's all.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes.” Harry looked down, twiddling his thumbs. “What was that spell you used on her?”

The tip of Ron's ears took on a pinkish tone. “Oh, that. It forces a person to wake up from
a dream.”

“And can I ask why you know it?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Ginny,” said Ron simply. “Summer after our second year, after the whole mess with the Chamber
of Secrets. She was so shaken up that Mum and I took turns sleeping in her room with her for at
least a month after term ended, and I calmed her down after a lot of nightmares. Gin's a heavy
sleeper; you wouldn't be able to wake her up from a dream without a charm.”

“Maybe you should have been the one Hermione went to from the beginning,” said Harry. He stopped
fiddling, a frown on his face. “Wait, if it was summertime, how did you do magic without getting
into trouble?”

“Well, you got a warning from the Ministry when Dobby did some, didn't you?” said Ron. “They
can only detect the use of magic in an area, not who's doing the magic. It's easy to get
around it if your parents are wizards, but Mum always enforced it with that exception—how do you
think Fred and George managed to create so many things during the summer?”

“Oh, okay,” said Harry, feeling stupid. He did his best to shrug it off; he was too distracted
with his worries about Hermione to really be paying attention. “You and Ginny on good terms?”

“She's still not acting totally like herself,” said Ron, “but she promised that we could
talk about it soon.”

Harry nodded, taking his statement to mean that the two of them were at least getting along
better than they had been. He ran his fingers absently across the fabric of the couch before
sighing.

“You're worried about Hermione,” said Ron knowingly. He kicked his feet up on the table in
front of them, crossing his ankles and putting his hands behind his head. “So? Aren't you going
to tell me what that was all about?”

“She had a nightmare that made it feel like it was all happening again,” said Harry. Choosing
his words carefully, he told Ron almost exactly what Hermione had told him—he didn't have it in
him to tell his friend about those few statements that had made him so sick. “The thing is, she
kept insisting that it wasn't like a dream. She said she felt cold, and she had about ten more
blankets on her than anyone would need at this time of year. She remembered having her jaw broken,
and there was bruising on her face. She talked about him grabbing her arm, and she had marks a
little below her shoulder.”

“That's not—er, good,” said Ron when Harry finished. There was a moment of silence. “I
don't know what to tell you.”

“I guess... I guess I'll just get back to work on my essay,” said Harry.

“Worry about Hermione in the morning?” questioned Ron, a bit of a smirk on his face. “Or maybe
tonight...”

“You seemed pretty concerned about her, Weasley,” replied Harry.

“I think you missed the undertone of that one, Potter,” said Ron. He stood up just as Harry did,
clapping him heartily on the back. “Never mind. I'm glad you were able to be there for
her.”

“Me too.”

“Don't tell me you're actually going to work on that essay,” said Ron, standing in front
of the couch as Harry crossed back over to his neat stack of books.

“I'm not going to be able to sleep,” said Harry honestly, not caring what Ron might decide
to make of that. “I might as well. Besides, that's what I told her I was going to do.”

“Uh-huh,” said Ron, sniggering. He picked something up from next to him on the couch and threw
it to Harry. Harry caught it easily. “I found that with my stuff. I think you checked it out. Might
help you.”

“*The Dark Arts Under You-Know-Who*?” asked Harry. He turned it over in his hands. “By Igor
Karkaroff? What is this, some kind a joke?”

“Nah,” said Ron, shaking his head. He was already heading for the boys' dormitories. “An
agreement with the Ministry, you'll see, if you read the very first page. It sounds as if
writing it was part of his ticket out of Azkaban. Night, Harry.”

And Ron was gone, leaving Harry with a thin, leather-bound book in his hands as the fire died
completely. More out of habit than need for heat, Harry pulled out his wand.

“*Incendio*,” muttered Harry. A fire began to crackle merrily; the fireplace no longer
looked so dead. Satisfied, he plopped back down to read the book. It wouldn't have been the
first time that he and Ron had gotten things mixed up.

*The creation of the Dark Scar has almost nothing to do with incantations, spells, or charms
of any sort, which is probably the biggest misconception of its use. All Death Eaters are given the
power to create it when they wear the Dark Mark. Once bestowed with the Mark, it is simply a matter
of intention and purpose when a Death Eater wishes to inflict the Dark Scar on a victim.*

*Even those who dispense it know neither its use nor its purpose. Only a select few of
You-Know-Who's advisors were trusted with such information, partially because the Dark
Scar's purpose was changed on a regular basis. It would be required of Death Eaters to have the
magic in their Dark Marks modified in order to cast it with new effects.*

*You-Know-Who was particularly found of the tracking system developed in the second year of
his reign. He could locate anyone who wore the symbol, something that he found particularly
amusing. It allowed him to torment someone for several days, weeks, or months before killing him or
her.*

*In his final year, several modifications took place on the Dark Scar. It is said that the new
developments, a Death Eater would have the ability to touch his Dark Mark at any time and be
transported to the location of any single person bearing a Dark Scar of his or her own
hand.*

*Needless to say, use of any such modification would have allowed You-Know-Who a considerable
number of prisoners.*

The passage on the Dark Scar was barely five paragraphs long, but for some reason, each one
spoke volumes to Harry. They told him some things he didn't know, some things he did, and
contradicted many of his other sources. He quickly inked his quill, entitling his last section. “A
Death Eater's Memories of the Dark Scar.” It sounded a bit corny, but it was late, and Harry
wasn't up to much thinking.

He knew what he wanted to say, but it wasn't what his quill ended up recording. For a good
ten minutes, Harry scratched away at the parchment, not completely aware of what was being written.
He swore mildly when he realized what he'd been scribbling down.

*The more I find out about this stupid Dark Scar, the more I wonder if the one that just
happens to be on my best friend's* chest *has anything to do with the fact that some
bloody bastard had the urge to drag her into the forest, rape her, and try to kill her. So what do
I make of all that?*

Harry found himself “accidentally” smearing the ink on his essay before realizing it would just
be easier to cut the end of the scroll off. He'd done his best with the assignment, and he was
having more and more of a feeling that it had been more a test of character than researching and
writing ability. It seemed as if everyone had topics that they were deeply connected to, and it
seemed as if their ability to distance themselves enough to complete the assignment was being
evaluated.

And so Harry scribbled that last remark, placed his books on the corners of the scroll so it
would dry without rolling up, and headed up the staircase in the direction of his and Ron's
room.

* * *

“Mr. Potter, would you please end your stupor, lift your head from the desk, and explain to the
class the process of Anilendons?”

Professor McGonagall's voice cut at Harry like a knife, effectively pulling him out of his
daze. He was having trouble paying trouble to the lesson. He'd had so little sleep the night
before, between his essay and Hermione and his worries about both, that his head had dropped to the
desk ten minutes after he had sat down. Having only heard part of her question, Harry opened his
mouth to ask her to repeat it, but all that came out was a yawn.

However, instead of lashing out at him, McGonagall only looked amused. She crossed to the front
of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, wand still in hand.

“Is there a one of you that wasn't up until the wee hours of the morning, finishing your
essays for Defense?” McGonagall inquired, a smile almost playing at the corners of her mouth. “Miss
Granger—I remember you saying on Tuesday that yours was completed. Would you please explain to the
class the process of Anilendons?”

Hermione was gazing off into space, in the general direction of Neville and Dean, both of whom
were resting peacefully. McGonagall's face looked rather concerned when she did not promptly
respond, and Harry had to give her leg a squeeze underneath the table to get her to snap out of
it.

“Anilendons,” said Hermione, without a bit of her usual enthusiasm, “is the process of using
incantations to give an animal intelligence and personality. The animal, using one's pet, can
have the same feelings and thoughts as an Animagus in animal form, but they will obviously not have
the ability to become human. One must have a license before attempting an Anilendons
transformation.”

“Excellent,” said McGonagall, though she looked visibly concerned when Hermione glanced away
again. She proceeded to award five points to Gryffindor for the correct response, but Hermione
didn't even seem to notice. His hand still on her leg, Harry touched his friend's hand
gently, and she finally turned her head and gave him the smallest smile.

McGonagall launched into a long lecture about famous Anilendons transformations. Harry only
caught about the first five minutes of her breakdown of its history, during which she told that
former Hogwarts professors had done three of the most well done transformations. She was working
her way backwards and was nearing the eighteenth century when a faint knock came at the door.
Professor Snape strode in.

“Minerva,” said Snape crisply, handing her two large volumes stamped with the Hogwarts library
seal. “Irma asked me to bring you these books. She said you had requested them for a lesson this
afternoon.”

“Oh, yes,” said McGonagall, taking the two books from him. Harry recognized one of them; they
had done Transfigurations out of it for a week during his third year. McGonagall had third year
Ravenclaws that afternoon, so it made sense. “Thank you, Severus.”

“My pleasure,” said Snape, a hint of sourness in his voice. Harry assumed that the Potions
master wasn't pleased about having to run errands for the school librarian. He looked as if he
had something else to say, but he was interrupted.

“Lavender...”

Harry, along with the rest of his classmates, turned around to see Seamus sprawled across his
desk, looking not much different than he had the night before. Ron began sniggering, Dean smirked,
and Neville smiled. It wasn't the first time their Irish mate had taken to muttering her name
in his sleep. He had liked her since going to the Yule Ball with her the year before. McGonagall
raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to make of the dozing student. In the end it was Snape who took
action.

“FINNIGAN!” barked Snape. Seamus came to at once, looking around wild-eyed, choking out
Lavender's name one last name. Snape scowled, and Lavender turned bright red as the majority of
the class began to laugh.

That did it for Harry. He, too, joined in the chuckling. For some reason, Lavender decided to
look in his direction, and she looked simply furious.

“Don't you laugh too!” snapped Lavender, glaring at him. “*You're* the one that was
up in *our* room last night with Hermione and took forever to leave!”

The room fell silent, and Harry wanted to die right there. He was vaguely aware that a distinct
blush was rising to his cheeks, and Hermione had averted her eyes. It wasn't so much what they
all thought but what McGonagall and Snape had heard. He wasn't supposed to be in the girls'
dormitory, and he'd been in there once before, so it most certainly did not look good for
him—or Hermione.

“Potter,” said McGonagall in an oddly calm sort of voice. Harry squirmed in his seat, afraid of
her tone. She turned to Hermione. “Miss Granger, is what Miss Brown said true?”

Hermione looked about ready to burst into tears, and she nodded ever so slightly. Harry bit his
lip. He knew that, even if she had lied, Parvati would have been there to back Lavender up. Their
Head of House made a sort of clucking noise, looking from Harry to Hermione and back again.

“Well,” said McGonagall, sounding a bit ruffled, “I doubt you need me to tell you that your
entering of the girls' dormitories is strictly forbidden, Potter. I'm ashamed of you both.
I hoped that, as prefects, you would have stronger morals than such—”

“Minerva,” said Snape, cutting in, his voice taking on its usual cool tone. “If I may suggest
punishments? Fifteen points from Gryffindor, for Finnegan's decision not to pay attention, five
from Brown for speaking out of turn, and a detention with me tonight for Potter.”

McGonagall nodded. “It does seem reasonable to me, Severus,” she said. Her gaze settled on
Hermione. “Miss Granger, you may also serve a detention for your serious lack of judgment. Allowing
Mr. Potter up to your room?” she shook her head. “See me after class.”

Snape smirked in satisfaction, and Harry continued to silently voice his wish for death. He
didn't think it could be any worse than serving detention that night in the dungeons with the
Potions master. Besides the fact that he would be given a chore of utmost difficulty, Harry could
already hear Snape's likely taunts. He swallowed hard.

“See me after dinner, Potter,” said Snape as he exited. “I'll be in my office.”

The door closed quickly behind him, and his billowing robes were nearly caught within the frame.
Harry sunk down in the sink, unable to meet any of his classmates' eyes. He did, however,
glance over at Hermione. He knew that she was blaming herself, so he quickly inked his quill and
scribbled a note in the margin of his Transfigurations text.

*It's not your fault. I'd have been there for you if I had to serve ten detentions
with Snape and knew about them beforehand. I meant what I said last night.*

Harry slid the books silently in her direction, pulling out a fresh roll of parchment, deciding
it would be best if he paid attention to McGonagall's lecture.

-->



25. The Affinity of Relations
-----------------------------



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.

-->



26. The Dementor's Touch
------------------------



Chapter Twenty-Six

THE DEMENTOR'S TOUCH

Author's Note: Having trouble uploading this one. I think it might be too long. Part one of
two.

* * *

“I think I've actually figured something out! Well, maybe I haven't figured anything out
yet, but I think I've found a connection!”

Harry heard Ron's triumphant exclamation as his friend burst into the prefect common room
shortly after ten, but he didn't catch exactly what the redhead was saying. It had all come out
very fast, and it had been what pulled Harry from sleep.

“Oh please,” said Ron, tumbling through the room and seating himself opposite his two best
friends. Apparently, his entrance hadn't bee quite loud enough to wake Hermione; she was still
slumbering, rather contently, against Harry's chest. “I know, I know. There is nothing going on
between the two of you. Hermione's been upset. You were there for her. Had it been me, I would
have done the same thing.”

Harry blinked. “Well,” he said, rather defensively because Ron had his response down just right,
“it's all very true. Come on, Ron. You spent the evening with her—she hasn't slept in
days.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, and Harry noticed the triumphant look had gone from his eyes, the one that he
always got whenever he found Harry and Hermione together like so.

“So what's going on?” said Harry, quietly, so he wouldn't wake Hermione. Without really
thinking about it, he reached up to smooth over her bushy hair. Not once did she stir.

“She needs to hear it, too,” said Ron.

“Can it wait?” Harry wanted to know.

Ron hesitated. “I don't know, can it? It's about Clara.”

Harry bit his lip, studying Ron's face. He looked sincere, and Harry knew how important this
could be. Still, he felt rather guilty as he shifted so he could shake Hermione's shoulder. It
only took a few moments to wake her. At first, she looked rather startled, but a few more moments,
she had taken to studying her surroundings.

“What's going on?” she asked sleepily, pushing a hand up against Harry's shoulder so she
would be sitting up.

“I think I've found Clara,” Ron blurted, obviously unable to contain himself. “Lewick is
Anna's mother's maiden name. Clara would have been Anna's aunt!”

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks, but they were thinking very different things. He
couldn't believe how close they could be to finding out more about the mysterious girl in the
even more mysterious photographs. She frowned.

“Ron,” said Hermione patiently, “there could be any number of Lewicks out there. We can't
just assume it's the same family.”

Ron's eyes narrowed. “First,” he said, “Anna's entire family lives in Essendon and
always has, just as Clara Lewick and Lupin did. Her mother had two younger sisters. One of them was
just a few years younger, but the other was a lot younger. The older one, Vanessa, is Anna's
favorite relative. She talks about her all the time, but she's only mentioned the other sister
once. That one died in an accident at Hogwarts just a few days before she turned eighteen. Do you
not think it's one and the same, now?”

Hermione bit her lip. Then she grinned. “Brilliant, Ron.”

“Thanks,” said Ron. “Harry?”

“I just want to know how you came across that one,” said Harry.

“Don't worry,” said Ron, “I didn't drag Anna into everything odd that's been
happening. We were sort of playing keep away with a book Anna's Aunt Vanessa had loaned her. I
opened it and saw a nameplate that said Vanessa Lewick. Her aunt never married—something about
running on her wedding day.”

Hermione's eyebrow arched. “Shouldn't that scare you?” she teased, and Ron blushed. “So
what else has Anna told you about the sister?”

“Nothing,” said Ron, and he sighed. “And she's told me all she knows. She's the relative
that isn't really mentioned.”

“Oh, well, at least we know where to look for her now,” said Hermione, leaning into Harry. His
arm automatically went around her shoulders, which prompted Ron to make a strangled sound that
Harry chose to ignore.

“We do?” Harry asked. He immediately felt stupid because Hermione was giving him the familiar
look that told him he should already know this.

“Yes,” said Hermione. “If she died in an accident here at Hogwarts, there's going to be a
record of it. The Board of Governors would have had no choice but to shut the school down if her
death hadn't been correctly documented.”

“And what page is that on of *Hogwarts, A History*, Hermione?” said Ron as he and Harry
exchanged their own set of looks.

“If you'd actually take the time to read it,” said Hermione loftily, “you would know that
there's more than one version. But it is in chapter thirteen.”

That did it for Ron and Harry. Both boys burst out laughing, and Hermione blushed furiously. She
buried her face in her hands, muttering, “I did not just say that. I did not just know that.”

“Awe, it's okay, `Mione,” said Harry, moving his hand to pat her back.

“Yeah, Harry loves you anyway,” said Ron, and he was on his feet in about a second. “I'll
just be going now.”

“It would be recommended,” said Harry, raising an eyebrow. Still, his comment had caused
Hermione to look up, and she was smiling almost. He pulled away from her reluctantly. “I should
probably being going, too.”

Hermione stood when he offered her a hand. “Maybe I'll finally be able to sleep
tonight.”

“Maybe,” Harry echoed, keeping one eye on Ron as he made a beeline for the portrait hole. One
more comment like that, and he'd be forced to smother his best friend with a pillow. He said to
her, quietly, “You'll be okay, `Mione.”

“Are you coming?” called Ron from the portrait hole. He had one foot out the door and one hand
on its frame when Harry turned from Hermione.

“I'll be down in a moment,” said Harry.

“Suit yourself,” said Ron, shrugging. The portrait hole closed behind him half a second later,
and Harry's attention was once again on Hermione, whose hand he was still holding. When he
looked at her, she looked away, letting go of his hand. His fingers trailed against her palm as she
crossed toward the room's window.

“Hermione,” said Harry, only just catching her shoulder. “What's wrong?”

Hermione turned. Her eyes were wide and fearful. “It's too easy,” she said quietly.
“That's not good, Harry. You know what happens when—when it's like that.”

“I know,” said Harry, grabbing her hand again. Suddenly, he remembered what he had with him. His
hand closed around the protecao in his pocket as he spoke. “Danger's coming.”

“Maybe we shouldn't think like that,” said Hermione uncertainly.

“Maybe we should,” said Harry. “At least we'll be prepared for anything that might happen.”
He withdrew the necklace from his pocket, and he let Hermione's hand drop from his own.
Carefully he undid the clasp and secured it around Hermione's neck. Her hand flew to her throat
at once, her fingers tracing the delicate silver chain.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione whispered. “It's that necklace.”

“It's not just a necklace,” said Harry, catching both her hands between his. “It's a
protecao. Lupin told Ron and I about it ages ago, and I can't believe I just thought to give it
back to you now. It keeps Dark Magic from reaching its wearer.”

Hermione's hands flew to her neck again, but this time they went behind it in some kind of
frantic attempt to remove it. “I can't accept this,” she rushed. “Not if it's what you say
it is. You should keep it, Harry—put it in your pocket or something. It's always you that's
the target. Maybe this will help some.”

“No said Harry, firmly reaching up to pull away her hands. “I want you to have it.”

“But Harry,” said Hermione, “they might try to hurt you!”

“They might try to hurt you,” said Harry.

“But Harry,” Hermione tried again. He cut her off by placing his palm on her cheek.

“That would hurt me,” said Harry softly, “more than you know. Now go get some sleep, all right?
I think you could use it.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. She sighed, but she seemed to understand. She stood up and put her arms
around his neck. Harry patted her back gently as she thanked him. When they pulled apart, he
noticed that there was a tear on her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked, suddenly startled.

“Nothing,” assured Hermione, and she smiled up at him. “It's just... well, I never
thought...”

She didn't finish, and Harry tilted her head up so he could look into her eyes. “You never
thought what?”

This time, there were no tears, but Hermione's cheeks flushed. “I had this idea of what I
thought Hogwarts was like, and I was wrong. It was a thousand times better than I'd dared to
dream. But... I never thought that I'd find what I found in you.”

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. “And what was that?” he managed. It was awfully hard
to look at her like this. The silence between them made his heart beat a little faster, and finally
he bent his neck and kissed her lightly.

Somehow he knew that it would be okay.

* * *

By the time Harry had gone to bed on Friday night, things were going rather well for him. He had
kissed—actually kissed—Hermione twice. He had told Ron what Snape had said, and even though that in
itself wasn't pleasant, it felt good to have someone else to mull through it all with.
They'd talked about it, poured over the book, and theorized until Ron's head had dropped
sleepily to his desk.

The boys had tucked in after that. Harry had woken up for a time during the night but had no
recollection of it in the morning, so his good mood lasted. It had held, even when Ron threw *A
History of Magic* at his head to wake him up and when Neville had accidentally deactivated the
bathroom's heating charms during Harry's shower. In the end, it was the reason he'd
been so happy in the first place that threatened it all. Hermione had been waiting in the common
room for him to come down to breakfast.

It was awkward for Harry to look her in the eye while remembering the way her lips felt on his.
It was enough to make him go scarlet but not enough to merit the mental scolding that was most
surely due. Finally, Harry managed a hesitant smile.

"Hi," he said softly, suddenly very interested in his hands. It had just occurred to
Harry that this could very well be the end of their friendship.

"Hi," said Hermione, just as softly, and they finally made eye contact. Slowly, they
both grinned, and Harry knew that things would hold, for now at least. He stepped forward
hesitantly and hugged her tightly. This was okay. So there would just be some things between them
that they didn't talk about. They walked toward the Great Hall, side by side, not touching or
talking but contented to be in each other's presence.

“Are you going to Hogsmeade today?” Harry asked, finally summoning the courage to talk to his
best friend again.

Hermione's answer was short and to the point. “O.W.L.s?”

“What about them?” said Harry casually, hoping it would work.

“What about them?” Hermione echoed, her voice rising with each syllable. She had stopped in
front of him and turned to face him with her arms crossed over her chest. “Honestly, Harry, I'm
starting to wonder if you listen when I talk! Our exams begin a week from Monday! How can—why are
you laughing at me?”

Harry threw his hands up in surrender as he tried to suppress the laughter that was escaping
him. Finally, he was able to contain himself and reach out to touch Hermione's cheek.

“I didn't mean to laugh, but everything you were saying was just so... so... *Hermione*
that I couldn't help it,” said Harry affectionately. They were nearly to the Great Hall. “I
know when O.W.L.s are, I know that we need to study, and I do listen when you talk. It's
just...”

“It's just what?” Hermione prompted when Harry trailed off. Instead of finishing his
statement, he decided to try a new approach.

“Come on, Hermione. I'll study with you this morning, and maybe then we can go to Hogsmeade
for butterbeers or something this afternoon.” Harry looked at her hopefully.

“I really need to study then because I have that detention with McGonagall at half past four,”
said Hermione apologetically.

“Please?” said Harry. “Humor me, will you? Come on, Hermione. I'll treat.”

Harry had to try very hard not to grin as the corners of her mouth turned slowly upwards in a
smile.

“Okay,” she said at last. “I'd like that.”

“Good,” said Harry, and he held his arm out to her, and she took it, and they walked into the
Great Hall like that—together. That felt okay. It was something else, something Harry noticed upon
entering but couldn't place, that didn't. Harry and Hermione slid into the seats that Ron
had saved for them, sharing apprehensive looks. The mail had already come, and Ron was engrossed in
Hermione's *Daily Prophet*. When he finally looked up, he was deathly pale.

“What's happened?” Harry wanted to know. Hermione didn't wait for Ron to respond and
took up the newspaper from him. She, too, paled.

“What's going on?” Harry asked again. He was craning his neck and trying to read over
Hermione's shoulder but not having a very good time of it.

“Another attack,” said Ron in a hollow, dead sort of voice. Hermione nodded wordlessly and
passed the paper to Harry. She reached across the table and patted Ron's hand.

“Fenny,” said Hermione sympathetically. “It's rather close to Ottery St. Catchpole,
isn't it?”

“Read on in the article,” Ron urged, so Harry flipped to its continuation on the second page.
Mr. Weasley's name practically jumped off the page at him. “He and Mum saw the Dark Mark in the
sky. He and Mr. Diggory were there before the Aurors even. Eighteen Muggles dead this time, and two
more wizards.”

“But he's okay, right?” said Hermione anxiously.

“Lucius Malfoy criticized them both for saving Muggle lives,” Ron growled and balled up his
fist. “My dad's all right, but he took the Cruciatus Curse twice and then got told off for
holding back a Death Eater!”

It wasn't at all funny; Harry knew how awful the Cruciatus Curse was from experience, but he
couldn't help but snigger. “Think about who it's coming from, mate. That Death Eater was
probably Malfoy!”

Ron snorted, but Hermione still looked horrified as she ducked around Harry's arm to read
the paper. He casually put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her over so she could see the
page as well.

“`*Had Misters Weasley and Diggory received further injury in their escapades, I would have
been unable to find any pity for either man. Their actions were not only disgraceful to the
Ministry but also insulting to our elite division of Aurors that responded to the scene after their
arrival,*'” read Hermione. *“`It would be my usual course of action to seek their
resignations, but I cannot trouble myself with it at the moment. My concerns are, as always, with
the safety and secrecy of our community. If Minister Bom had acted properly after Monday's
similar attack, there wouldn't have been reason for Misters Weasley and Diggory's misguided
actions.'* He's simply dreadful!”

Although it was obvious that Ron had already read the passage in question, he looked as
disgruntled when Hermione finished as Harry did. “It gets better,” said Ron. “Keep going. The last
lines are justice.”

“*Malfoy went on to say that his opinion coincides with that of the other eleven advisors.
However, none have spoken out openly against either Weasley or Diggory yet. Other Ministry
officials, including the elite team of Aurors at the scene, went so far as to praise their
efforts.*

*“`I find it hard to believe that anyone would criticize Arthur [Weasley] or Amos [Diggory]
after their sacrifices,' said Matthias Friedman, an Auror unit supervisor. `They saved at least
three Muggle lives and assisted in moving Muggles to Ministry headquarters in London. It'll be
Order of Merlins for both if I have anything to do with it!'*” Hermione lifted her head so
fast that she knocked Harry's glasses askew. She was grinning widely. “That would be so
wonderful for your father, Ron!”

“Yeah, I'd like to see the look on old Malfoy's face when Dad gets it,” said Ron smugly.
“That's one honor he'll never be getting.”

“It's not for certain yet, Ron,” Hermione scolded gently, but Harry could tell that she was
grinning. “Oh, it really would be so wonderful.”

“What exactly is an Order of Merlin?” Harry wanted to know, feeling a bit foolish. He had
certainly heard of it before, but he wasn't totally clear on how it was earned. He could hear
Hermione's voice in his head before she even opened her mouth, giving admonishment to him for
not knowing something that might appear on their O.W.L.s.

“Harry!” It was almost as if she'd been reading from some cue card. “Were you not paying
attention when Professor Binns explained it? It's most certainly going to be on the examination
over wizarding life!”

“What Hermione means, Harry,” said Ron, glaring at her, “is that an Order of Merlin is something
you get for being a good wizard. You give Hedwig treats for getting your mail to you, right? Same
thing.”

“You would liken it to food of some sorts, Ron,” said Hermione, finally dropping the Daily
Prophet to the empty seat next to her and reaching for a piece of toast. She ate it slowly, tearing
little bits off and popping them in her mouth. “It's more like this, Harry. Remember how
Special Awards for Services to the School are given? Well, it's the grander equivalent of that,
an award for `those actions of benefit to all magical kind.' Dumbledore was given one for
defeating Grindelwald, and—” She lowered her voice. “—And Snape would have received one for Sirius
had he not escaped on Buckbeak.”

Ron laughed so hard that something unidentified flew out of his mouth in Harry's direction.
Ignoring it, Harry looked up to the staff table. It was almost as if the glaring Potions master
knew he was being talked about.

“So what do you make of last night?” Harry said, finally, after a few more minutes of
lighthearted conversation. Hermione bit her lip. Ron had his mouth open, as if to say something,
and Harry knew that what came out wasn't what it had once been.

“Twice in one week,” said Ron heavily.

Hermione didn't say anything, but she tensed visibly, grabbing Harry's arm. “Did you
have another dream, Harry?” she asked anxiously. “You didn't say anything, and Ron didn't
say anything, and I was just wondering if—”

“No,” said Harry quickly, cutting her off. He smiled at her. Then, suddenly, flashes and blurs
of color streamed through his mind, mixed with the shouts and screams of what could only be
terrified people. He must have gone pale or changed expressions or something because Ron also
appeared to be concerned when Harry looked up from his sausages. “I—I don't think I did. Did I
wake up or something?”

“I wouldn't know,” said Ron. “I was totally out—making up for the night before, I
reckon.”

Harry had to smile at that. “If I didn't know about our essays, I would have taken that a
completely different way.”

“You two could make out a joke out of anything,” said Hermione disapprovingly, but she was
smiling. Harry grinned at her, and the disapproval left her face entirely. “At least you
won't—at least you didn't have to see it happening again.”

“No,” said Harry. He could suddenly only manage a weak smile. Gone was his happiness of earlier,
replaced with the overwhelming realization of what had happened. Harry had known that it was
coming, but he hadn't been prepared for when it did. Voldemort had risen.

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, Hermione, as usual, finishing before the
boys.

“I'll see you in the library, Harry,” said Hermione, kissing his cheek before standing up.
“I need to get my notes about the Uric the Oddball back from Mandy.”

“Who was he again?” Ron asked.

“Didn't we learn about him ages ago?” said Harry at the same time. “Ages ago, as in first
year?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, giving them an all-too-familiar look. “You can't just assume that
someone won't be on the test because it's been a bit since we've studied it. Really, I
can't imagine how you two would go about studying if left on your own! I'll see you in the
library, Harry, won't I? And you, Ron?”

“I don't think I'll tell her,” said Ron, “that you and I wouldn't study at all if it
weren't for her.”

“No,” said Harry, watching her head in the direction of the Ravenclaw table. He probably would
have still studied but decided not to say it. Studying with Hermione wasn't all that bad, but
he didn't tell Ron that either. “Don't tell her that.”

Ron shrugged, shoveling in another bite of breakfast breakfast. “She's all yours,
Harry.”

“You would say that,” said Harry. He shoved a last bite of sausage into his mouth and headed off
in the direction of the Gryffindor tower for his book bag.

* * *

“Oh, I'm not sure if I like this—”

Harry grinned, having just dropped into the secret tunnel to Hogsmeade from the witch's
hump. He gathered himself from the earth floor and brushed his hands off on his robes. Not more
than a second later, Hermione fell from the chute behind him. Even though she opened them quickly,
Harry knew she'd had her eyes shut for the short trip down.

“*Lumos*! Not so bad,” said Harry, offering her a hand up. He grinned at her while reaching
out to brush some dirt from her robes.

“Won't we get in trouble for this?” Hermione asked anxiously. “Shouldn't we just walk
from the castle like everyone else?”

“And what's the fun of that?” Harry said. He was teasing, but the even more anxious look on
Hermione's face told him that she hadn't picked up on it. He added quickly, “Don't
worry. It's not like we're going to Hogsmeade on a weekend we're not supposed to, and
it's not like we don't have permission to be there. I just didn't want to put up with
Colin rushing around behind us for the rest of the afternoon. And you saw what it looks like out
there.”

It was true. The excited young Gryffindor had caught Harry and Hermione on their way out of the
library. When Harry had said they were going to Hogsmeade, the fourth year had suddenly decided
that such a weekend outing was a good idea. Not particularly fond of the idea of spending his
afternoon with Hermione with Colin as well, it was all Harry could do to drag Hermione around the
opposite corner when Colin started for the Gryffindor tower to get his money.

Also, the sky was so dark that it would soon look like night. Heavy with storm clouds, rain was
inevitable.

“Poor Colin,” said Hermione. “He just doesn't get it, does he?”

“No,” said Harry. He cast the light of his wand on her one more time. “Come on, you haven't
been this way before, have you?” When she shook her head, Harry continued, “It's narrow all the
way through, and low too. Careful where you step—the floor's really uneven.”

Harry put his hand out, and she took it, following him into the dark tunnel. He was taller now
than he had been the last time he went this way, and he had to duck a bit to keep from scrapping
his head against the packed earth at the top of the tunnel.

“It's chilly down here,” said Hermione, gripping Harry's hand tightly. It wasn't
really necessary, but Harry could tell that the dark, confined space was making her nervous.

Harry didn't really respond. Instead, he said, “You okay?”

“Okay,” said Hermione, and she followed dutifully behind him as the passage twisted first in one
direction and then the other. It was chilly, but the long walk to the cellar of Honeydukes kept the
cold from getting to them. They talked sometimes but not others, and the silence between them was
always companionable. After what seemed like ages, they reached the twisting staircase leading up
to the candy shop.

“Ah,” said Harry vaguely, gesturing to the steps. “There are a lot of these.”

“Oh?” said Hermione, and she followed closely behind him. Fifteen minutes later, they had been
through Honeydukes and were sitting at a table together in the back of the Three Broomsticks. Madam
Rosmerta, looking only a bit frazzled for the vast number of Hogwarts students that had been
through, had just scurried off to get them their butterbeers.

“So what exactly are O.W.L.s like?” Harry asked, settling more in his chair. They had spent the
entire morning studying for the approaching exams.

Hermione grimaced. “I asked Katie that the other day.”

“And?”

“And she held up a hand and told me it was much too traumatic to speak of,” said Hermione.
Seeing the worried look on Harry's face, she hastily added, “She got twelve, though, so it must
not have been that bad.”

Harry tapped his fingers on the table, looking down. “Katie's the best witch in her year.
She's Head Girl, after all. That's not me.”

“You'll do fine, Harry,” she said, and Harry looked at her skeptically. “Believe what you
want, but I know you'll do well.”

Harry couldn't help but smile when she grabbed his hand from across the table. “Three days
of testing,” he said heavily.

“O.W.L.s coming up, no?” It was Rosmerta with their drinks. She set a tankard of butterbeer in
front of each of them. “Be glad it's not N.E.W.T.s. They go on for five days, those do. O.W.L.s
aren't so bad. You'll walk out feeling rather numb, but I don't know of anyone who has
done as badly as they thought they did.”

“Oh, and that makes me feel better,” muttered Harry, sinking low in his chair and taking a long,
comforting drink of his butterbeer.

“Well, look at it this way,” said Hermione, curling her legs up beneath her in the chair. “As
long as you don't think you've worse than failed, you're guaranteed a passing
grade.”

“Run that by me again?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Hermione laughed, taking her first sip
of her butterbeer. This made Harry smile. It was happening more and more now. She would seem happy,
and relaxed, and carefree.

“We should practice actual spells tonight,” said Hermione. “There's a practical portion of
the exam, you know. We're taking it on Tuesday.”

“I know that,” said Harry. They had been reminded of their exam schedule so often that he was on
the verge of cursing the next teacher that so tried to tell him. They would be taking a written
test on Monday, practical exams would be administered on Tuesday, dueling would be Thursday
morning, and they had not yet been told what that afternoon would entail. “Let's not talk about
O.W.L.s.”

“You're the one that brought it up,” said Hermione with a smile.

“Yeah? Well—” Harry did not have a response for that, which made Hermione grin quite broadly.
“Well, once we're through them, we have a month of light classes, one last Quidditch match for
the Cup, and another Hogsmeade weekend or two before we find out just how bad our scores were.”

“So... cynical,” said Hermione. “Mmm... I've just decided that this is the thing I miss most
when I'm away from Hogwarts during the holidays.”

“You're kidding me. You've found something that you miss more than the homework?” Harry
joked. “More than classes? More than Ron? More than me?”

“Well, not more than you,” said Hermione.

There was no hint of teasing in her voice, and Harry promptly went scarlet. He averted his eyes,
surveying the rest of the pub's crowd. Most of the Hogwarts students were clearing out; the
lunch hour was just over. Some warlocks at the bar seemed to be starting their drinking rather
early, and a couple of goblins in the corner were having a heated debate, of which Harry
couldn't understand a word. An elderly couple got up and left, and Harry caught sight of a
certain redhead on the other side of the room. Several third year girls, including Ally Johnson,
were surrounding him.

“I think Ron's got himself some admirers,” said Harry, leaning across the table to
Hermione.

“Ah,” said Hermione knowingly. “I think he'd get on best with the short one with the blonde
braids. Her name is Joanna, if not Joelle. Very quiet, until you get on the subject of him.”

“And it used to be me with all the admirers,” said Harry jokingly. Ron was walking toward the
door now, and the girls seemed to understand that he did not want to be followed. He must have
known that his two friends were in the back of the pub because he shot Harry a wink and a thumbs up
before exiting.

“Oh, Alice only has eyes for you,” said Hermione slyly. “Taller, isn't wearing her robes at
the moment, dark hair. She's... a little scary. For fourteen, she has a very vivid
imagination.”

This, for some reason, made Harry blush. “I don't think I want to know.”

“I know I didn't,” said Hermione, wrinkling up her nose. She adjusted her watch on her
wrist; it has fallen back when she had gone to point the younger girls out. “She's the only one
like that, fortunately. Most of them are very sweet and very smart.”

“Girls after your own heart,” said Harry, watching the dark haired girl. She turned around at
that moment and gave him a little wave. Her little group of friends burst into giggles. Harry
rolled his eyes. “Must be interesting.”

“What, living with them?” Hermione shuddered. “You would not believe the things they talk about.
Lavender and Parvati, *those* two are immune to Silencing Charms. I'm amazed I'm still
able to keep my impression of Seamus before Lav took an interest in him.”

“She likes him too?” Harry wanted to know.

“Not-so-secretly upset about the outburst that earned you detention.” Hermione shuddered
again.

“That bad?” Harry studied her face and laughed. “I'll take that as a yes. Is Parvati
currently taken with anyone?”

“What, are you interested?” Hermione teased. “No, but—oh, oh... she just came in here.”

Harry's head whipped around very fast. Sure enough, Hermione's roommate had entered the
Three Broomsticks. Parvati seemed to be looking for someone.

“Don't look now, but she's headed in our direction.”

“I know,” said Hermione. She learned forward and whispered, “Do you think it's too late for
me to slip beneath the table?”

“I didn't know it was that bad,” said Harry.

“Well, the things she's been saying recent—”

“Hermione!”

“Hi Parvati,” said Hermione, smiling weakly. Harry gave the girl a sort of jerky nod. “How are
you?”

“Oh, you wouldn't believe it,” said Parvati. “It's Lavender. She's over there in
Gladrags, trying on new dress robes. You simply have to help me; she's suddenly got this idea
that *yellow* is her *color*!”

“I thought her color was blue,” said Hermione dryly, and Harry snorted into his butterbeer.

“It is blue,” said Parvati earnestly, pressing her palms on the edge of the table and leaning
into them, “which is why I need your help. This yellow—she might be able to pull off a gold,
perhaps—but this yellow just does not go with her skin tones. She's going to end up looking
like a... I don't know! It's my duty—*our* duty—to keep her from looking like an
overgrown lemon.”

“I happen to like lemons,” said Harry when Parvati began tugging on Hermione's robes. He
knew it was selfish of him, but he'd wanted to spend the afternoon with her. It would be hard
to do so if she was out and about with her roommates.

Parvati shot him a dirty look. She was tugging on Hermione's robes again. “You're
helping us Hermione. You might not have any sense when it comes to... never mind. Once we talk
Lavender out of those hideous—” Parvati shuddered “—robes, there's a set I want you to try
on.”

Hermione sent Harry a very apologetic look as she was dragged off in the direction of the dreary
street. Harry sighed, slouching even more in his chair and finishing off his butterbeer. He'd
hoped to spend an hour or two in Hogsmeade in her company, but now it looked like he'd be
spending the afternoon alone. Pulling some coins from his pocket, Harry figured that he might as
well head back to Hogwarts.

“So that's how girls bond. Funny, the last time I `bonded' with any of my roommates, it
was all done with a few bottles of... well, I better not say.”

Harry looked up to see Justin Finch-Fletchy standing a few paces away, his hands buried in his
pockets. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he wasn't really smiling.

“Yeah, you'd better not,” said Harry. He smiled awkwardly at Justin. “You here alone?”

Justin nodded. “It sounded like a good idea at the time. I didn't think I could stand
another person telling me how sorry they were about my `loss.'”

“So I'm guessing this isn't a good time for me to ask you how you're doing?” Harry
said, dropping his money back in his pocket and setting his hand on the table. “Do you want to sit
down?”

Justin started to shake his head, but he seemed to change his mind. Pulling the chair back, he
sat down heavily. “Okay, I guess. I just got back last night.”

“How's your mum?” Harry wanted to know. He actually wanted to talk to Justin. He felt like
he owed the Hufflepuff boy that much, having witnessed the atrocities committed against his family.
“And your sister Jessica?”

Justin gave him an odd look. He had been sitting with his hands on the table, twiddling his
thumbs. “How do you know her name?”

“I—” said Harry, and he quickly decided against telling Justin about his vision of that night.
The boy didn't need to know that. “I remember Hermione mentioning it.”

“Ah,” said Justin. He slumped in the chair, not looking Harry in the eye. “The Muggle doctors
say she'll probably never walk again.”

Harry let out his breath, not even realizing he had been holding it. He, too, had looked down.
“I know you're sick of hearing it, but I'm sorry. I really am.”

“I reckon everyone is,” said Justin at last, “but you actually sound sincere. Then again,
you're the only one of them without two happy, living parents.”

“It's not the same thing, though,” said Harry. “I can miss having parents, but I can't
miss my parents because I don't ever remember having them.”

“It's still awful,” said Justin. “I was really close to my dad. Everyone always said we were
just alike. I don't know what to do now that he's gone.” He was now drumming his fingers on
the wood tabletop. “I shouldn't have come back here so soon. I should have stayed with Mum and
Jessica for a few more days. It's... Mum didn't want me to miss my O.W.L.s.”

“Is that the truth?” Harry questioned. The hesitation in Justin's voice hadn't been lost
on him.

“Actually,” said Justin, smiling weakly, “it is. But it's more than that, too. I just
couldn't spend another day there. It's bad for everyone, not just us. If you didn't
lose someone, you lost your home, all to some stupid wizard that you'll never know. I
couldn't help but feel guilty. I'm one of them, after all.”

“Roll up your left sleeve and say that,” said Harry. “You're only one of them if you've
chosen to be. There's two kind of wizards just like there's two kind of Muggles—those that
hate us because of something we can't help and those that are content to let us be.”

“It all boils down to a lot of hate in the end,” said Justin. “It's not my fault, what
happened to them, and it's not because I'm a wizard that our neighborhood was targeted. I
know all that, and I still feel guilty.”

“You did nothing,” said Harry quietly. He knew how Justin felt. Voldemort hated him for reasons
beyond his understanding, yet Harry still felt responsible for the Dark Lord's return.
Voldemort hated Muggles and had so broken Justin's family, and, although what had happened was
beyond his control, the Hufflepuff boy would always carry shame for the actions of a small number
of his “kind.”

“I know,” said Justin. There was a moment of silence. “You should know that there's talk of
real conflict. The Minister's advisors are calling for confrontation. They think it's where
the Ministry when wrong all those years ago.”

“Confrontation?”

“You know,” said Justin, shifting, almost uncomfortably, “like the battles in a Muggle war. It
sounds... well, it doesn't sound like the best idea.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “That's one way of racking up the casualties.”

“Yeah, Bom's against it, and I don't believe in it,” Justin began fidgeting again, “but
I can't say I wouldn't go if it came down to that.”

“I don't think it will,” said Harry, desperately wishing he really did.

Justin nodded. “Thanks for... er, talking to me.” He relaxed into the chair, finally, and
managed a smile. “So... something not so heavy, maybe?” He was looking out the front of the pub and
across the street to Gladrags Wizardwear. “How long have you and Hermione been together now?”

“'Mione have I been friends since first year,” said Harry quickly. “There's nothing
together about it.”

“Oh?” said Justin. “I... well, sorry.”

“Hermione's not my girlfriend,” said Harry again. “Aren't you with—?”

“Hannah Abbot,” said Justin quickly. He looked thoughtful. “I haven't talked to her since
breakfast Monday. All well.”

The door opened on the opposite side of the room, but Harry did not turn to see who had come in.
“You don't seem too—” Harry frowned. There was a scream and...

The pub had gone strangely, brutally cold. It was foggy; his vision blurred. Harry tried to
turn, but it was hard.

*“Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—”*

*There was cruel laughter, but it was getting farther and farther away. It was hard to hear
what was happening. Then, a door burst open.*

*“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” Harry could hear his mother screaming. It was hard
to think about anything other than the panic in her voice.*

*“Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now...”*

“*EXPECTO PATRONUM*!”

The room began to come back into focus. Harry couldn't figure out who had conjured the
Patronus until he realized he was holding his wand out. Surely, he wasn't the only one that
knew how to protect against Dementors.

“They're in the street!”

There had been dementors at the door. As he charged purposely toward the door, wand in hand, it
barely dawned on Harry what that meant. The silvery wisps of Prongs were coming back at him, but
the stag disappeared before it reached him. However, several sinister, hooded creatures were still
in the streets. Before they had a chance to make him react, Harry directed his wand at them.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

The force of the spell sent Harry stumbling backwards. Another stag, more magnificent and
defined than the first, went at the dementors with an even greater gusto. Harry watched, eyes wide,
as the last hooded figures retreated. There were six on the street, and there had been three in the
pub. Nine dementors, nine supporters of the Dark side, had been in Hogsmeade.

The stag was coming back towards him, and Harry extended his hand. “Prongs,” he whispered,
feeling very spent. His head lowered, the creature brushed against Harry's fingertips,
immediately restoring his energy. Harry reached out farther, but the stag had retreated. It charged
into Gladrags Wizardwear, and a final dementor escaped the streets of Hogsmeade.

There was someone lying on the street not more than three feet from Harry. He was wearing
cheerful purple robes but had a very vacant expression on his face. One time, he blinked, and Harry
immediately felt sick. The man had been given the dementor's kiss, and so had several other
people on the street. Voldemort had, just as Dumbledore had predicted one year before, called the
Dark creatures to his side. Now, he was using them in a most deadly way.

“Harry?”

He whirled around. An ashen-faced Justin was standing in the doorway of the Three
Broomsticks.

“Is anyone in there—” Harry couldn't say it. “Is anyone in there like this?”

“One,” said Justin grimly. Harry took a deep breath. The man of the elderly couple he had seen
leaving the pub was back in the middle of the street.

“Out of the shops, everyone,” he was calling. “Come on, let's see if we can make some order
of this. Everyone, out!”

The first person to exit Gladrags was not Hermione or Parvati or Lavender. Instead, it was Anna.
She did not join the mass congregation of people hovering near the shops, but instead marched
purposely toward Harry. She looked very pale.

“Oh Harry,” she whispered. “Hermione...”

* * *

-->



27. The Dementor's Touch
------------------------



Chapter Twenty-Six

THE DEMENTOR'S TOUCH

Author's Note: Having trouble uploading this one. I think it might be too long. Part two of
two.

* * *

Harry had lost count of the number of times he'd been in this situation. He was sitting, his
elbows on his knees and his hands clasped before him.

In the hospital wing.

At Hermione's bedside.

Waiting for something to happen.

The sun was sinking fast below the horizon. Harry had been watching it for some time now, unable
to look at his best friend's face. He should have been used to this by now, but he wasn't.
What had once been concern for Hermione's well being was now a gut-wrenching pain and terrible
ache that came around whenever she encountered misfortune.

It was only a few hours before that Harry and Hermione had been in the Three Broomsticks sipping
butterbeers, but it seemed like a lifetime ago to him. Just as faraway in his memory was Professor
Lupin coming in to tell him and Ron the cost of the dementors' attack on Hogsmeade. Thirteen
injured. Six kissed. Two dead.

And one of them was a Hogwarts student, a third year Hufflepuff that Harry had never heard of.
Every time he looked over at Hermione's pale face, he tried to remind himself that it could be
worse, but a small voice in the back of his mind would tell him that it had certainly been bad
enough.

The space between the hanging privacy curtains widened.

“Hey,” said Ron, slipping back through with two glasses of pumpkin juice and a plate of
sandwiches. Harry turned just in time to see the redhead's face fall as he caught sight of
Hermione's still form. “No change, huh? I was... I was almost sure she'd be up by the time
I got back.” He paused. “That's usually how it works, anyway. Pumpkin juice and a
sandwich?”

“No,” said Harry, “I really don't think so.”

“It just doesn't seem right,” Ron agreed, “but take something anyway. I just got told off by
Madam Pomfrey. She's chucking us both out otherwise.”

Harry sighed and reluctantly took what Ron was offering him. He set the juice down on
Hermione's bedside table while Ron made his way around the hospital bed to the chair on
Hermione's other side.

“What do you reckon's wrong with her?” Ron said after a long pause. It had been that way all
afternoon; neither boy felt much like speaking. Ron's trip down to the kitchens had been the
first time the three had been apart since the somber return from Hogsmeade.

Harry took up Hermione's hand, which was cool to the touch. “Third year,” he said quietly,
“Professor Lupin told me that a person's reaction to the dementors has nothing to do with
weakness. Some just have horrors in their past that others don't. Harry dropped Hermione's
hand, his sandwich forgotten. “But you already knew that.”

“You might have mentioned it,” said Ron. Harry was looking down again, but he knew Ron had
finished his own sandwiches because he had heard his friend wipe his hands clean on his robes.
“They made you pass out, more than once, but that's as bad as I've ever seen it.”

“Yeah,” agreed Harry, and they lapsed back into silence. They were back where they started,
wherever that was. He had started to clasp his hands together when pinpricks of pain shot up his
right arm. His hand locked up for a few seconds, and Harry had to massage the feeling back into it
with his left hand. It had happened before, and it was his suspicion that it had not healed
completely in response to Hermione's charms the weekend before, but he didn't intend to do
anything about it at that moment. Maybe when Hermione woke up. Or after he'd completed his
O.W.L.s. Or before the term ended.

“Or before I graduate from Hogwarts,” muttered Harry. He reached out and touched Hermione's
cheek. “Oh, Hermione.”

“Hmm?” Ron wanted to know, looking up. “Did you say something?”

“I think I was talking to myself,” said Harry. A long stretch of time passed before Ron said
anything.

“Then you won't mind if I do a little talking—to myself.”

Harry looked up at his friend. It was a troubling statement in the sense that he thought Ron had
really lost it.

“It's really frustrating,” Ron said quietly, “to care—to be in love with someone when
someone or something else is keeping the two of you apart. It's made even more frustrating when
you have to watch something, day after day, that you know could be great.

“I've got these friends, you see, that would be perfect for each other. I'm not trying
to play matchmaker; they don't even need that. They're already more together than any
couple I know. They know each other, they understand each other, and they trust each other.
They're always there for each other.

“I just don't understand how they can be content as they are, as platonic friends. Maybe
they've talked about it and decided that this way is best, but they sure haven't told me if
they have.” Ron sighed. “If they haven't talked and haven't decided, I wish that they
would. Because I think that there's something there, something rare but right, and I don't
want them to miss out on that. They are, after all, my best friends.”

Harry was staring at Ron, his mouth fallen open just a bit, amazed that he'd been able to
get that out without looking the least bit flustered. Then again, it wasn't him. What does one
say in response to something so heartfelt? Harry wasn't sure.

“You'd best eat that sandwich,” Ron advised, “before Madam Pomfrey comes in to check on
Hermione again. The timing would be about right.” He took a last swig from his own glass of pumpkin
juice. “My, my. The reactions I get for just going off—”

Harry snorted. “Why did you have to do that?” he demanded, a little more angrily than he had
intended.

“Why? I told you why,” Ron said nonchalantly. “I don't blame you, Harry, in the least for
falling for her. I—” Ron paused. “I know I did. This time, though, she's fallen, too. And
I'll have trouble not blaming the two of you if it ruins your friendship because neither of you
admitted how you really feel.”

“I have *not* fallen for Hermione,” said Harry, a little more loudly than he had
intended.

“Let me rephrase that, then. You're in love with Hermione. It's always been there, so it
wasn't really falling. It was changing from what it once was.” Ron finally looked at Harry.
“I'm not trying to tease you, mate, make you feel uncomfortable, or put you on the spot.
I'm trying—well, look at it this way. What I said was all true, no?”

“All true,” said Harry quietly. His hands were, again, very interesting. Suddenly, Harry
realized what Ron had said. “Wait—you fell for her?”

“You didn't notice?”

Harry nodded, but it wasn't to say yes. “Last year,” he said slowly. “You were insanely
jealous of—Krum. I kind of knew that couldn't have all been about loyalty to me.”

“Sorry, mate,” Ron grinned.

“But—but—” Harry nearly bit his tongue. “That's all the more reason for me to back off. You
liked her first!”

“And I love Anna,” said Ron. There was no embarrassment in admitting this. “Hermione and I, we
don't tell you everything, just like you and I don't tell her everything and the two of you
don't tell me everything. There's even times when we just keep to ourselves.

“I had all summer to mull over Hermione. I worked it up to be more than it was. I got the
courage to tell her how I felt on her first day at the Burrow.” Ron laughed. “So here we are, ready
to try this new us, and I get the nerve to kiss her. Nothing. Nice and friendly, but no sparks. It
was like Hermione was suddenly Ginny, so we had a good laugh and a long talk, and we're
actually better friends for our misguided affection.”

“How'd you manage to keep that from me?” Harry wanted to know. He'd know, or at least
his mind had registered it as a possibility, that Ron had liked Hermione the year before. Maybe he
figured that Ron's crush had gone away over the summer. Or maybe he had forgotten because about
it because it was convenient to do so.

Ron shrugged. “It wasn't like we sat down and swore by Merlin that we weren't going to
tell you. It never even came up. It just worked out, not telling you.”

“Glad to know there wasn't some conspiracy to keep me out of the loop,” Harry grumbled. He
was looking at Hermione, not Ron, and his heart was racing. He didn't know whether or not this
was it. He didn't know what he was or wasn't going to say. He didn't know if it would
change his relationship with his two best friends, possibly forever.

“It just never came up,” said Ron. “Herms and I... well, I can't say it wasn't awkward
in the beginning. We had to learn to be friends again. The whole mess with the Forveret Bursen
brought the two of you together and helped me find Anna. That's when it started, didn't it?
You and Hermione?”

“You've just been trying to get a confession out of me this whole time,” Harry
countered.

“Yep, you've got me,” said Ron, but he was laughing. “You did just admit that there's a
confession to be had.”

“No confession here,” said Harry before he could stop himself. He mentally smacked his hand
against his forehead. This was his best friend Ron, after all. Then again, he gave the same title
to Hermione.

“In one sentence,” said Ron, reminding Harry of a stupid Muggle game show he was sure he had
seen before, “describe what Hermione is to you.”

“Hermione is...”

And Harry was unable to continue. His own words echoed in his mind. Already, his prompt answer
was a dead giveaway. He had been about a half second away from identifying her as his
everything.

“...My best friend.”

Even that spoke volumes. Ron couldn't help but look smug.

“You have it bad, mate,” said Ron wisely, and he smirked for a moment, but that, fortunately,
was all. It was so uncharacteristic of him.

Harry sighed. “You do not know how *weird* this is,” he said. “It wasn't so long ago
that we were wee ickle firsties without any sense of attachment to a certain know-it-all—” he said
this rather affectionately “—with bushy brown hair and bad teeth.”

“And now?”

“Now—five years have passed. We're not so far away from being out of Hogwarts. The two of us
are still best friends, but that little girl is also right there. She's told us how to brew
illegal potions and use a Time-Turner and do summoning charms. And—”

Harry broke off. “I'm beating around the bush. Somewhere in there, she went from a little
girl to a very attractive witch and—if you ever tell her or anyone else that I said that, Ron, the
fact that you're my best friend will become irrelevant. I will have to kill you.”

Ron was laughing so hard that he nearly took seat on the infirmary's floor. Pretending to
swoon, he began, “`*A boy like no other, perhaps—yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of
adolescence...*'”

Harry was about to make a lunge at Ron when the reality of the situation came back to him. A
very pale, sickly Hermione was still in the hospital bed between them, and not even Harry's
admittance of his feelings for her would wake her any sooner.

“She'll be okay, Harry,” said Ron quietly.

Harry nodded. He took her hand in his but had to look away. “I'm curious,” he said at long
last. “What made you start with all of that?”

“I told you,” said Ron. “You're my best friends. I know you two better than you sometimes
know yourselves.”

“No,” said Harry. “I get all that. Well, sort of. I want to know when you became the resident
love expert.”

“Oh,” said Ron, understanding. “I think everyone feels the way I do. They all go through me to
say so, at least. I talk about it with Anna, and I swear Dobby just isn't admitting his
previous occupation as a love shrink.”

“Dobby? Dobby the house-elf?”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron. “Dobby's very brilliant... and yes, I was just as surprised as you are.
Face it. You're my best friend. Given that and everyone else's opinions, I was bound to
know what I was talking about.” Harry nodded, looking to Hermione as Ron added, so quietly that
Harry did not hear, “And sometimes there's just some outer powers that declare how things ought
to be.”

* * *

“You're going to make yourself sick, that is, if you haven't already caught your death!”
Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue most impatiently as she checked over the still unconscious
Hermione. “Honestly, a third year drying charm for a downpour! Why, I have half a mind to—”

Harry and Ron never got what to hear what she had half a mind to do because, at that moment, she
had turned and caught sight of Harry's expression, which was parts worried, angry, frustrated,
and upset—all at once. The aging mediwitch sighed, her own expression softening.

“You did have a spot of dinner, no?” Madam Pomfrey asked Harry. He nodded. “Very well.
Perhaps... yes, perhaps the two of you can stay a while longer. I can't say I won't kick
you out... eventually... keeps rising... might just have to.”

Because she was departing as she said all this, Harry only made out part of what Madam Pomfrey
had said. Still, it was enough. He reached up to push some of Hermione's frazzled hair from her
face. The nurse had pushed some of the strands out of place.

“You got all that?” said Ron in disbelief.

Harry nodded. “`I won't kick you out yet,'” he said, filling in the gaps, “`but
eventually, if her temperature keeps rising, I might just have to.'”

“That does it,” Ron declared, “you're some kind of selective listener, mate. You don't
even hear half the stuff I try to tell you, but anything Hermione says or anything said about her
you can repeat word for word.”

“True,” said Harry sheepishly. “Then again, half of what you say, Weasley, is about the Cannons.
Face it—they're never going to get any higher in the league. There's no point in me
listening.”

“Hey! They'll be making a comeback anytime now,” said Ron, and Harry noticed that he was
crossing his fingers. “I can just feel it.”

“Like you did last year? And the year before? And the year before that?” Harry couldn't help
but add. “Just keep hoping for the best, will you?”

“I will,” said Ron crossly. “I don't think you should have the right to comment on it. You
got in on Quidditch much too late in the game to have a real opinion. You just support Puddlemere
because they're at the top of the league.”

“They were fifth when I first heard of Quidditch,” Harry countered, “I just like them... and if
they happen to win the league this year like everyone says they will, well, that's great,
too.”

“Still cheating,” Ron grumbled. “I'm going to stick to what I said earlier. You got in way
too late in the game to have a valid opinion. I've practically liked the Canons since before I
was born—”

“Follower.”

“Opportunist.”

“It's not my fault that the Canons suck.”

“Puddlemere only has one really good player.”

“Are you forgetting Wood?”

“He doesn't count. He's still reserve.”

“Reserve? Speaking of which, the Canons might have a chance if they'd play Kilroy.”

“He'll play next year.”

“Yeah? You said he'd play four years ago. He'll be dead before they think to do anything
with him.”

“At least I didn't pick a team just for their league rank. Puddlemere—”

“Was James's Quidditch team as well,” Professor Lupin chuckled, standing in the gape where
the privacy curtains didn't quite meet. “You used to have this Quidditch mobile in your room,
Harry, that would whistle support for Puddlemere. It was the only thing that could make you fall
asleep, which drove Lily nuts.” Without missing a beat, the Defense professor stepped in and added,
“So perhaps, Ron, he is justified in supporting Puddlemere. You'll get on well with Padfoot. I
think he's learnt to write with his fingers crossed. Quidditch was the one thing we never
agreed on—let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads.”

“Pr-professor L-Lupin,” Harry stammered. He had not expected to see him so soon, despite his
promise to return the current situation to Harry and Ron. Immediately, Harry took notice of how
weary he looked. It was much, much worse than usual.

“Has something else happened?” Ron wanted to know.

“There was a third death,” Lupin said softly. “The six year old girl in Honeydukes with her
parents.”

Harry felt as if he were going to throw up. Make that three dead and twelve injured.

“The Hufflepuff,” Ron said finally, never looking up, “did his parents get here?”

Lupin nodded solemnly, clutching Harry's shoulder firmly as he peered down at Hermione.
“That's where I came from,” he said. “Dumbledore sent me on for a word with the two of you.
Again, it is Professor Sprout that knew him best.”

It took Harry a moment to understand what Lupin had meant, but when it finally came to him, it
struck as hard and fast as being cursed with your back turned. Of course. There had been Cedric
just short of one year before.

“Voldemort set the dementors on Hogsmeade,” said Harry dully. He continued when Lupin nodded
again. “I can't believe he'd tell them to go after little kids and students.”

“He has never discriminated in his hate, Harry,” Lupin said gently. He took a seat next to
Harry. “The Ministry received warning an hour too late. The dementors were sent to target Hogwarts
students.” There was a moment of silence, obviously for the boys to absorb what they had just
heard. “You saved a lot of lives, Harry. Try not to—try not to think in terms of losses. The
dementors were to kill or kiss at least twenty people.”

Harry couldn't say anything in response, but Ron had some very choice words for the Dark
Lord, all of which his mother would have walloped him for.

“There has been an inquiry,” Lupin continued softly, “that I wasn't to tell you about. It
does not go to press until tomorrow. There was a unanimous vote by the Minister's advisors. I
won't go into details, but in all likelihood, they will have Bom out of office before the end
of the weekend. They... they are looking to find a miracle worker for a situation that not even a
miracle could make well.”

“What?” Ron exclaimed loudly. Although Harry felt just as Ron looked, he refrained from making
any similar exclamations. He didn't want Madam Pomfrey to remove him from the hospital wing for
being disruptive. “They can't—”

“They can,” said Lupin, quieter still, “and they have. Lucius Malfoy put the inquiry in less
than an hour ago. There is still time, of course, but—”

“That's it,” Ron said, standing up so quickly that his chair teetered dangerously toward
making a very loud noise that was sure to get both Harry and him dismissed. `Malfoy!” he spat,
clenching his fist at his side. “Of course he's behind it! Trying to get Bom removed from
office for something that he's at least partially at fault for! He and You-Know...
*Voldemort* and all the other bloody Death Eaters!”

Ron had more to say, but Harry stopped him. “Ron! Calm down!”

Ron's ears went red. “Um... yeah,” he said quickly, catching his still wobbling chair with
one of his hands and sitting back down. “Sorry about that.”

“Who would be replacing Bom?” Harry said, unsure of what Lupin would make of Ron's outburst.
Fortunately, Lupin did not seem the least bit phased. “It wouldn't be Malfoy, would it?”

“No, no,” said Lupin quickly. “If anything is likely to replace Bom, it is Harris Barker.”

“Who's he?” Harry wanted to know.

“First elect advisor to the Minister. The way it goes, if a temporary is removed from office,
the first elect takes his place,” said Ron. He cast a long look in Lupin's direction, and Harry
could only assume it was to see if he would be crossing any lines with what he was about to say.
“Barker hasn't a brain to think for himself. The only thoughts he knows and the only opinions
he has are as secondhand as my old dress robes. The people that helped put him in office are all
acquitted Death Eaters. Make what you will of that.” Ron leaned back in his chair, his arms folded
stubbornly across his chest.

“I usually wouldn't speak of politics with my students,” said Lupin, “but everything Ron
said is true.”

“Let me guess, Lucius Malfoy was one of his supporters,” said Harry.

Lupin smiled wryly. “Right in one. It was Malfoy who gave him the financial backing he needed to
come to Fudge's attention.”

“Why do they want Bom out of office?” Ron asked. “My dad says he's the best thing to happen
to the Ministry in years.”

“Oh, he is,” Lupin agreed, “but many do not see it as such. Their official reason is his lack of
attention after the last two Death Eater raids.”

“He didn't do anything?” Harry said incredulously.

Lupin chuckled. “That's what I was thinking, Harry. It was of my opinion that his complete
Auror investigations was action enough, but then he personally agreed to fund all inquires into the
situation that Dumbledore might have any one of the old crowd make. If that wasn't more than
enough, Bom is having the Aurors set up all kinds of wards around Muggle schools in hopes of
preventing another such attack as Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.”

“Wow,” said Harry. His brown furrowed and he took Hermione's hand without thinking on it.
“Why would they want someone so passionate about stopping Voldemort out of office?”

“Perhaps they don't want him stopped,” Lupin murmured, and he quickly added, “Bom's
appointment, as you both know, was controversial from the beginning. Some feel that the office is
no place for former Aurors. Others distrust what he is and what he came from. There is even a
handful of wizards that feel too much is being done. They're the sort that think Voldemort will
go away if he is just ignored.”

Ron muttered something about codswallop that Harry couldn't help but agree with. He felt
Lupin's hand on his shoulder.

“Don't you think on it. You have enough to be worried about with O.W.L.s and—” Lupin stopped
short, and Harry knew he'd been about to say Hermione “—and class selections for next
year.”

There was a moment of silence for all that had come to pass. “Professor Lupin,” Harry said
slowly, “What is it that's wrong with Hermione?”

“Ah,” said Lupin softly, “the reason I'm here. Tell me, how is she doing?”

Harry pressed the back of his hand to Hermione's forehead. Gone was her skin's earlier
coolness. She was growing paler by the minute. Harry's stomach knotted up.

Finally, he said, “She's running a fever.” He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself
for whatever was to come. There had been a lot of whispering between Madam Pomfrey and Professor
Lupin earlier, and a lot of care had been taken to keep the boys from hearing. Harry knew that it
wasn't a good sign. “She's dying, isn't she?”

“No!” said Lupin, so loudly and quickly that he seemed to surprise himself. “I mean, no,
she's isn't dying.” He seemed to be having some sort of inner struggle because a long time
passed before he continued. “However, she may wish that she had when she wakes up.”

“What did they do to her?” Ron growled.

“You know about the dementor's kiss, and you know what happens to those in their presence,”
said Lupin slowly, and the boys nodded. “There is one other thing that they can do. It is called
the dementor's touch.”

“Dementor's touch?” Ron and Harry echoed.

“Yes, dementor's touch,” said Lupin. He took a deep breath, and he began. “Long before there
was such thing as Azkaban prison, the Ministry of Magic was a new government just trying to get off
on the right foot. People didn't trust it; they wanted back the Wizards' Council. It was
often all the Ministry could do to put down rioting, so everything else was put on hold.

“Under the Council, dementors were regulated to a life on the island that would become Azkaban.
They died much younger then because there weren't any souls to feed on. However, the Ministry
was so occupied with formation that security grew lax on the dementor's island. They began
coming to the mainland.

“The dementors enjoyed the souls, but the Ministry quickly became aware of the situation. They
couldn't just have citizens being kissed right and left. Nearly all the dementors were
executed, and, without happiness to feed on, their entire existence was threatened.

“It wasn't satisfying, for them, to go on the mainland. They could no longer kiss, so their
content lasted only as long as they were `feeding' on the mainland. They needed a way to take
that feeling back to their island. It is said that it took them a generation to develop such
ability. That ability, of course, is the dementor's touch.

“So the dementors would leave their island. They would tap someone and they would `borrow'
his or her soul for a period of time. The person would be reduced to something nearly dead. For
hour or days, he or she would be in a coma of sorts. It would last just as long as his or her worst
memory, for he or she would be forced to relive it while the dementors feasted on his or her happy
moments.

“This obviously wasn't all right either, so the Ministry bargained with the dementors.
Azkaban was created to keep the dementors from harming the undeserving.”

For a few minutes, no one spoke.

“So... so Hermione's being forced to relive being... being...” Ron couldn't say it.

“It's often worse to remember that it actually was,” Lupin said quietly. “When Hermione
wakes, she will not know where she is or what came to pass. She will not remember the dementors,
and, until you tell her otherwise, her mind will block out all between then and now. Time will not
make sense. When Hermione wakes up, it will be as if she was just—” Lupin's voice caught; he
looked very sick and upset “—brutally raped.”

Harry was almost certain his heart stopped. It couldn't be like that. It just couldn't.
Had he know that this was going to happen, he would have gladly switched places with her. Anything
to keep her from all that. Anything. Once had almost killed her. Harry didn't honestly think
she could survive it all a second time.

Harry squeezed her hand tightly. He'd failed to protect her, again, but he would always,
always be there for her.

Lupin seemed to be tuned in to Harry's train of thought. “There is nothing you could have
done,” he said gently.

“Yeah Harry, said Ron, and Harry figured that the Defense professor had made some kind of motion
to get him to do so. “You did everything you could.”

“I should have gone will her. I should have insisted she stayed with me. Then, my Patronus would
have gone after the dementors before they could have gone after her.” Harry hated this. Harry hated
seeing her like this. It was killing him in a way that no curse or dementor could manage.

“Listen to me, Harry,” Lupin said. “This is no one's fault but Voldemort's. You—you and
Hermione—well, she's lucky to have you. She's lucky to have a friend like you. You'll
take care of her.” The Defense professor stood. “I have to go to Dumbledore, but I'll come back
and see how the three of you are doing shortly.”

“How long?” Harry heard Ron ask. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Hermione.

“It's hard to say. It will be just after her fever breaks.” Lupin glanced from Ron, to
Harry, to Hermione. “I'll see to it that the two of you are allowed to stay.”

“Thank you,” said Harry at long last.

“There is... one other thing.” Lupin said hesitantly, gripping Harry's shoulder. Harry
tensed. He knew that this wasn't going to be good. “It is very likely that... that
Hermione's magical abilities will be affected.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked. Harry shut his eyes tightly. He already knew.

“She will lose them,” said Lupin.

“For how long?” Harry forced himself to ask.

“Sometimes it is as little as a few hours. Other times, it lasts many days.” Lupin swallowed.
“Usually, it is forever.”

* * *

“But—”

“My decisions are final, Mr. Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey threateningly, wagging her wand in
Harry's face. She thrust it forward a few inches, which finally made Harry take a quick step
backwards. “Both of you, out! You've been here all night!”

Harry wasn't about to go so easily. “Hermione's going to be waking up anytime now,” he
said stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest. “Her fever broke ages ago.”

“All the more reason for you to leave now,” said the mediwitch, matching his stance. “The last
thing the poor dear will need is all the excitement that comes with you being here. She'll need
quiet for rest after all the trauma she's been through.”

“Funny, she's been `resting' for the last eighteen hours. The *last* thing she
needs,” Harry countered, “is to wake up all alone, thinking we've abandoned her.”

Madam Pomfrey threw her hands up in exasperation for what had to have been the tenth time since
Hermione had been brought into the hospital wing. The current debate had been raging for at least
fifteen minutes. “Mr. Weasley, would you care to talk some sense into your friend here?”

Ron, who had kept out of it up until that point, was still sitting at Hermione's bedside. He
looked up. “She's my friend, too. I agree with Harry.”

The mediwitch looked ready to burst. She closed her eyes and began to slowly count back from
ten. She was still muttering when she disappeared into her office. Harry peeked around the privacy
curtains to make sure she had really gone, and he sat back down. He'd barely moved all night
long. Ron had fallen asleep in his chair around midnight, but Harry wouldn't have been able to
even if he had tried.

“Thanks for backing me,” said Harry, looking at Ron while squeezing Hermione's hand. She
moved a little under her thin blanket.

“No problem,” Ron said, and they lapsed back into silence.

Harry had been unwilling, unable to leave her side, in sleep or otherwise. It hadn't been
long after Ron had drifted off that it had gotten bad. Hermione's fever had begun to level off
then, and she had started thrashing about in her bed. Her mouth had been moving, but no sound had
come out, and Harry could only imagine what she was screaming so silently.

It had been the first time he had ever felt Hermione was helpless, although he, too, had felt
pretty helpless at that moment. There was no use lying to himself about his feeling for Hermione
now that he'd admitted them to Ron. Harry wanted nothing more than to be able to keep her from
all the hurt.

Hermione grasped at the sheets with her right hand. A few seconds later, Harry realized that the
pain in his own hand was her bone-crushing grip. It was such moments that made him wonder just how
far away she was from reality. It was also such moments that reminded him of just how unfair it all
was. Hermione's pink bathrobe and ashen face made her seem much younger than she really was. As
her grip on his hand relaxed, Harry reached up to her forehead.

“Is her fever gone yet?” Ron asked. He had obviously been watching the whole, silent
exchange.

Harry nodded. “It broke awhile ago,” he reminded Ron. “She feels kind of cool. It can't be
much longer now, right?”

“Lupin said it would be within the hour,” said Ron.

“He did?”

Ron nodded. “He said it would be about an hour after her temperature was back to normal.”

This was of interest to Harry. He had not caught this part of their third and final conversation
with the Defense professor just a few hours before. He'd been too preoccupied with Lupin's
earlier proposition.

*“I shouldn't even be asking you this, but I've talked to Dumbledore, and we think
that it might be for the best,”* Lupin had said. *“How would you feel about telling Hermione
about the touch if she's not already familiar with it?”*

“Stuck on what he said first, weren't you?” Ron said, cutting right into Harry's
thoughts. Harry looked up, startled.

“Er, yeah,” said Harry slowly. “How do you feel about it?”

“I think he was talking to you, mate,” Ron said quietly. “To Hermione, I'm just the average
bloke.”

“That's not true,” Harry said quickly. “You're her best friend.”

“You're her best friend, Harry.”

There wasn't any real way to argue that. “But do you really think it would be so much better
to hear about it from me than from Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey or Professor Lupin?” Harry wanted to
know.

“Probably.” Ron paused. “You could tell her anything, Harry, and not fall out of her high
standing.”

“That's not true,” said Harry. He took a deep breath and said stubbornly, “I don't see
need for any explanation at all. Hermione's pulled through... well, not worse, but she's
pulled through a lot of stuff that she wasn't supposed to. This isn't going to be any
different. She'll just be mad to have missed out on an afternoon of studying for O.W.L.s.”

“Do you honestly think that's true?” Ron said hesitantly.

Harry responded just as hesitantly. “No,” he said hoarsely, “I don't, but it can't hurt
to hope, right?”

“No, it can't,” said Ron. He rested a hand on the sheets of Hermione's bed. She was
lying on her side, more toward Harry, so there was plenty of space that she wasn't occupying.
“At least she'll get to stay at Hogwarts, right?”

That much was true. Lupin had told them that a decision had already been made pertaining the
worst-case scenario. Being the exemplary student that she was, Hermione would be allowed to stay at
Hogwarts and continue her education in magic as a theory. It sounded like a nice, kind gesture, but
Harry knew it wouldn't be the same. He voiced that to Ron.

“But she'll have you.”

“Would you stop it with the two of us?” Harry snapped, a little more harshly than he intended
to. “I say one thing about her, and you turn it into—”

“I only—” said Ron, interrupting him, but the he shook his head. “Just hear me out once more and
I'll stop, all right? It might not be the best time to do so, but you've got to talk to her
about how you feel sometime.”

“Add another burden to her?” Harry laughed dryly. “What kind of a person do you think I am?
She's been through enough. The last thing she needs to be concerned with is the misguided
feelings of Harry Potter.”

“They are not misguided.”

“Yes, they are.”

“What would you know? You're still in—”

“—In a hospital ward! If the two of you don't cut it out, I won't think twice about
forcing you to leave!”

Harry and Ron exchanged a sheepish grin as the mediwitch materialized at the part in the
curtains, looking very much like a vulture. She made a loud sound of disapproval before stalking
off in the opposite direction. She was in mid retreat when Hermione's eyelashes began to
flutter.

“Hermione!”

He'd been anticipating that moment since the afternoon before, but it still surprised Harry
so much that her name came out almost like a squawk. Hermione's eyes flew open.

“No, please!”

Her throat was obviously parched, so her plea sounded positively desperate. It came out as a
half sob, and she separated herself from Harry's touch immediately, a second cry getting caught
in her throat. This caught Madam Pomfrey's attention, and she was back in an instant. “Miss
Granger—” she started.

“Hermione, it's me!” said Harry at the exact same moment.

Hermione had managed to push herself into a sitting position. She was glancing, wide-eyed, from
Harry to Madam Pomfrey to Ron. Gradually, the fear began to recede in her eyes, but a few tears
continued to glisten on her cheek.

“Potter, Weasley!” Madam Pomfrey said, sounding much more like a military commander than a
mediwitch. “Both of you, out! This instant!”

“No!”

All eyes were back on Hermione. She looked nervously between Harry and Madam Pomfrey.

“It's okay,” she said finally. She smiled very weakly, and Harry knew her heart wasn't
into it. “I thought he was someone else, Madam Pomfrey.”

If Harry hadn't known better, he could have sworn he saw Madam Pomfrey's eyes fill with
tears. He tried to say something, but he found that his mouth had gone very dry.

“Hermione,” he said thickly. Both his mind and his heart were racing. This wasn't how it was
supposed to be. When she had originally woken up after her ordeal in the Forbidden Forest, he had
been the one she'd gone to above everyone else. Shouldn't it have been like that again?

“How did I get here?” Hermione said. “The last thing I remember—”

“There were dementors in Hogsmeade, Hermione,” said Ron. He seemed a little more composed than
either Harry or Madam Pomfrey. “They made you go through that all again.”

There were a few moments of silence, and then Hermione said quietly, “Oh. Oh.”

It was one word, and it spoke volumes. Harry looked up, and Hermione averted her eyes. This
action was met with even more silence. He was starting to understand what Lupin had meant when he
said that it would be worse than it ever had been.

“I remember,” said Hermione finally.

“Then you know,” said Madam Pomfrey, her voice wavering. She swallowed heavily. “Then you know
that it was all just a memory?”

Hermione didn't say anything to this. She was starting to trace patterns on the thin
hospital blanket with her finger. “May I have a drink of water?”

“Of course you can, dear,” said Madam Pomfrey. Her wand came out of her pocket at once, and she
conjured a glass out of nowhere. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No... no,” said Hermione. “Can I... Can I have a moment?”

“Of course,” said Madam Pomfrey again. “Come now, boys, it's time that—”

“They can stay,” Hermione said quickly. The mediwitch looked skeptical, but she retreated.
Hermione finished her glass of water, and Harry took it from her when she was finished and set it
on her table. The same thought kept going through his mind, over and over and over again.

*It wasn't supposed to be like this.*

“So,” said Hermione, her voice wavering. “How long have I been out of it?”

“Since Hogsmeade yesterday,” said Ron. He seemed to sense that Harry had since lost his ability
to speak. “Harry hasn't left your side, not once. Me, I couldn't go without dinner.”

“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione. The way she said it made Harry look up. She gave him the weakest of
smiles. “Thank you so much, both of you.”

“No problem,” said Harry, finally finding his voice. “So... uh... how do you feel?”

Hermione did not answer this question either. She was looking from him to Ron and back again.
“Tell me,” she said, her voice rising a bit with each word, “what happened?”

“Well,” said Ron, and Harry was thankful for Ron's initiative in fielding the question
despite the look he received. “They... kind of swooped down on you. Everyone thought that you'd
be kissed, but... but...”

Harry took a deep breath. “They did something else to you. It's called the dementor's
touch, which is—”

“I know what it is.”

It was that statement that hurt Harry the most. She sounded so small at that moment, and so very
defeated. She stopped looking at him, and Harry realized she had begun to cry. He reached out for
her but pulled back. He wasn't sure if she'd find the gesture threatening or not.

“I think I want to be alone right now,” said Hermione. “And I'm sure of it.”

Ron nodded, filing out of the curtained area without another word. It was a bit harder for
Harry.

“Hermione,” he said, standing, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but he jerked his hand away
again, thinking better of it. “I'm here if you need me.”

“I... I know, Harry.” Her voice trembled, fell between the words. She caught site of his hand,
which was still in the air and shrank away from him. Harry dropped it to his side. He tried to
smile at her, and he left. Ron was waiting for him at the door to the hospital wing. It was a
beautiful day outside. The sun was shining brightly down on Hogwarts, and the sounds of various
birds could be heard.

But, to Harry, it was simply background noise to Hermione's quiet sobs.

-->



28. The Chamber
---------------



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.

-->



29. Summoning Charms
--------------------



Chapter Twenty-Eight

SUMMONING CHARMS

“Harry! Ron!”

Hermione was rushing down the lawn toward them, a very large stack of books cradled in her arms.
Harry felt very glad to see her; she had practically disappeared after lunch. One moment she had
been walking next to him on the way back to Gryffindor tower, and the next moment she was nowhere
to be found. He usually wouldn't have thought anything of this, but he was so afraid that
something—namely Marks—would befall her. She caught up with the boys quickly, and Harry wordlessly
took the majority of the books from her.

“I was just in the library,” said Hermione breathlessly.

Ron raised an eyebrow at Harry. “See, mate?” he said to Harry. “She's fine—just like I said
she would be.”

Harry didn't say anything. Ron hadn't been the one with his face smashed against the
wall as he was forced to listen to taunts about their best friend. Hermione seemed to ignore Ron as
well.

“Harry,” she scolded, “give those back. I don't want you to hurt your arm any more.”

“My arm is fine, Hermione,” Harry assured, patting her back gently. Hermione looked at him
hesitantly, but then she was all business again.

“Here,” she said, withdrawing a piece of parchment from the pocket of her robes. “Remember that
day in the library ages ago?”

“Yes,” Ron deadpanned. “Since we're not in there so much, it's standing out completely
in my mind.”

Hermione elbowed Ron. Hard. She brushed passed him and walked shoulder to shoulder with Harry,
glaring at their other friend. “You'll listen,” she said knowingly, showing him a list written
in her small, neat handwriting. “There was a day we were in there working on our essays when we
originally had Minister Bom's book, and I found a series of spells I wanted to try on it. Well,
Madam Pince wouldn't let me have that book, but I did get a list of spells that I think will
help. You'll cast them for me, won't you, Harry?”

“Of course,” said Harry, wrapping his arm around her back out of habit. Ron sniggered behind
him. He leaned in and whispered to Hermione, “Do you think we could set Erinel on him just this
once?”

Hermione giggled. “I'm going to miss him so much,” she said ruefully.

“Who? Ron? Why would anyone miss him?”

“I heard that!”

“Yeah,” said Harry, looking over his shoulder and grinning at Ron. He let go of Hermione as they
approached Hagrid's cabin. They were actually a little earlier than the majority of their
classmates; only Lavender, Parvati, and Seamus were already there. “Are these Ordinary Wizarding
Level, Hermione?”

“These three are,” said Hermione, kneeling on the grass. Harry followed her, setting down her
books and holding the list at its lower corners with his thumbs. She gestured to the first three
spells on the list. He noticed that she'd actually written in two different colors of ink,
green and black. “Everything in green, though, isn't.” She looked at him anxiously.

“I'll do my best,” said Harry. He looked at her sadly. “You could do all these stuff in your
sleep, couldn't you?”

Hermione didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if she was embarrassed or upset. Ron
dropped to his knees near them.

“Anything for me to do?” Ron wanted to know.

“Other than sarcastic comments?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow at his redheaded friend. He
couldn't help but add, “Or Anna?”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded, sounding almost mortified. Ron just went red, and he shut up.

“It's only fair,” Harry reasoned, looking past her at the groups of Slytherins that were now
gathered on the lawn outside of Hagrid's hut. “He's gotten in enough cracks this year,
don't you think?”

“Yeah, I do think,” said Hermione. Suddenly she squealed, clapping her hands together. There was
only one thing that he knew of that could evoke such a reaction from her. Sure enough, Hagrid was
standing at the pen, stroking his very wild beard. He looked ready to release the hursles. The gate
didn't look to be open yet, but something small and feathery was rushing toward them, its blue
tongue lolling out of its mouth. “Erinel!”

Erinel the hursle took a great running leap and landed soundly in Hermione's arm. He
squirmed and wiggled, crawled up on her shoulder and began licking her face. Hermione didn't
bother trying to calm him down; she just hugged him tightly and nuzzled her cheek to him.

“It's always so nice to see you,” she cooed. The hursles might have looked like shrunken,
feathered horses, but they behaved like lovable dogs. Erinel flopped around in her arms, relaxing
on his back so she could rub his stomach. Utterly content, his tongue kind of fell towards one side
of his mouth. Almost immediately, his eyes closed. Hermione sighed happily. “Is he not just the
most lovable thing you've ever seen?”

“All it takes is a feathery mutt to get Hermione Granger to go all mushy,” said Ron, stroking
the hursle's belly hesitantly. “Who would have thought?”

Hermione glared at him, still holding Erinel as if he were a baby. He batted one of his front
paws, opened his eyes, and leaped out of Hermione's arm. He wandered over to Ron, lifted a leg,
and peed right in front of him. As disgust spread across Ron's face, Erinel strutted back to
Hermione and curled up in her laugh. Harry did his best not to laugh as Ron moved back very
quickly. Even Hermione began to smile a bit once Ron began to laugh good-naturedly. She kissed
Erinel's forehead and allowed the hursle to relax in her lap.

“Hey, Erinel,” said Harry kindly. He patted the hursle's head. “Hey, boy.”

“Yeah, hey Erinel,” said Ron when Hermione glared at him once more. It wasn't that he
didn't like the hursle; Harry suspected that Ron was sort of put off by the fact that Erinel
had taken more to Hermione and Harry than him.

“So, about the book,” said Hermione once Erinel had drifted off to sleep again.

Ron got an odd sort of look in his eyes. “I've been meaning to say—don't you think this
all is a bit weird? Not so much the book, I know you think that is, but what about this Ben? I
don't know the guy, and I don't know how well you know him. So Marks had the book for a
while. What's to say the whole thing wasn't a set up? Maybe he wanted you to find that
book, Harry, and Ben was in on it.” Ron folded his arms across his chest.

“The thought's occurred to me, yes,” said Hermione briskly. Harry looked at her, surprised.
He found Ben likeable enough; he hadn't thought not to trust the Slytherin. “However, if Ben
were in the league with Marks, he'd also be in the league with Voldemort. Voldemort *did*
kill Ben's parents; I've known that a long time. It would be like Harry supporting the Dark
Lord, totally absurd.”

“You sound like you know him,” said Ron accusingly. “I still say Voldemort could have one day
been, `All right there, Agouti, it's time to prove yourself. Befriend that Potter boy.'
Where would that have us? Dead, I'll tell you. Right, then, let's trust him.”

“I do know him,” said Hermione rolling her eyes. “I *told* you, you should have taken
Arithmancy. Ben dropped Divination for it, so he's in my class. Professor Vector has us work
together; everyone else in there is a Ravenclaw. Didn't I tell you?”

“Glad he's just an open book,” muttered Ron.

“The Slytherins can't all be bad,” said Hermione.

“You're much too trusting,” said Ron. “Voldemort won't need a diabolical plan to get to
you. All it'll take is him claiming to be a redeemed wizard.” Ron glared at Hermione. “I'd
rather be safe than dead, thanks. I'm right, aren't I, Harry?”

“Er,” said Harry, sensing conflict. “Well, I'm sure Ben's no saint, but maybe he
deserves a chance. We could just... er, play the book and see how it goes. It never hurts to be
cautious.”

“All right, all right,” Ron grumbled, although he still looked a little skeptical to Harry.
“Ben's cool; Mark's a bloody menace. What if Marks did something to Bom's book alone,
then? I know I told you about all those cursed books once, Harry. I'd rather not get my eyes
burnt out.”

“It's just as it was, Ron,” said Hermione. “I looked it all over last night, and I don't
think Marks ever figured out how to open it. Come on, aren't you the least bit curious about
what's inside?”

“A little,” Ron admitted hesitantly.

“Then we'll try tonight,” said Hermione, pocketing the list of spells. “We won't put a
lot into it; we don't have that kind of time anyway, not with O.W.L.s.”

“Yer tests star' next week, don't they?”

The three friends turned at the sound of Hagrid's booming voice. Only Erinel didn't
stir.

“They start in exactly one week,” said Ron, suddenly sounding quite forlorn.

Hagrid knelt down, clapping Ron's shoulder and nearly knocking him over. “Won't be as
bad as you `spect, I reckon,” he said.

“No, Ron, they won't be so bad,” said Hermione. Ignoring the look he gave her, she turned to
the groundskeeper. “How are you, Hagrid?”

“Can't complain,” said Hagrid jovially. “Weddin's still on for the end o' August,
o' course. You'll be there?”

Harry, who had mostly been trying to stay out of anything that might come up between Ron and
Hermione, reached over and absently scratched Erinel. “We wouldn't think of missing it, Hagrid,
you know that.”

“Yeh, I reckon I do,” Hagrid said, scratching his wild beard. Harry and Ron had a bet on that
said there was as much hair on the groundskeeper's face as there was on Hermione's head. It
all had in common that it was very bushy. “I know yeh're all growin' up an' all, but
it'd sure be good to see you some. Last few weeks, yeh'll be done with yer hard lessons,
an' I was hoping yeh'd be down to see me more of'en.”

Harry's stomach turned a little. They hadn't been down to see Hagrid much that year, or
they hadn't seen him as much as they should have, at least. “I'm sorry, Hagrid,” he said,
and he also heard two other voices chiming in.

“Ah, no issue!” said Hagrid cheerfully. “I bin busy more an' more with Olympe, o'
course. It makes meh...” His dark eyes were starting to tear up, and he somehow found a
handkerchief the size of a baby blanket in one of his coat's pockets. “It makes meh happy, yeh
know?”

Hagrid blew his nose quite loudly, and he was smiling when he folded up the blanket and put it
back in his pocket. Harry was about to say something, but the half giant was suddenly all
business.

“Righ' well,” said Hagrid, and he stood up. “Well, I'm needin' to talk to yeh,
`Ermione, if yeh don't mind. Yeh don't worry about Erinel; the boys'll take good care
o' `im. Come on, now, jus' me.”

Hermione seemed reluctant to go, but once the sleeping Erinel had been plopped into Harry's
lap, she got up with another word. She didn't even glance back as she followed Hagrid to a more
private place to talk, which happened to be toward the back of the cabin. Hagrid stoked their
group's hursle as she disappeared from sight. Hermione had been called aside in every lesson
that morning, and Harry didn't worry so much about losing her when he knew she was right
there.

* * *

It wasn't that Hermione was scared to talk to Hagrid, considering she'd already been
through the same conversation with Professors Lupin, Vector, and McGonagall, it was just that
Hagrid was so different than her other professors. If someone were to ask her which of her lessons
she liked best, the three that she had been through that morning would have been at the top of the
list. She enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures, and she loved Hagrid very much, but Hermione had
always had trouble thinking about it as an actual lesson. It just wasn't the same as
Arithmancy, for instance. She might have enjoyed both classes, but she couldn't help but think
of Professor Vector as a teacher and Hagrid as, well, Hagrid. Hermione wrapped her arms tightly
about herself, pulling her sweater and robes tight to her body.

“'Ermione?” said Hagrid hesitantly, coming to a stop just beyond the sight of any one of
Hermione's classmates. He glanced down, studying his hands intently. His sudden interest in
them did not surprise Hermione. “Well, I jus' wanted yeh to know, Professor Dumbledore came
an' saw me las' night. He tol' me what happened, o' course, with the dementors...
an'... an'... yeah, he tol' me what happened, all right.”

Hermione couldn't help but hug herself tighter. She'd done okay so far with this today,
but she still wasn't sure what hurt the most. It was hard enough to be without her magical
abilities; it actually seemed harder to have lost the security in knowing that no one knew her
secret. Hermione wanted to tell Hagrid she was fine, but she couldn't.

“Now, I...” said Hagrid, but he trailed off. “C'mere,” he said instead.

Hermione did. Hugging Hagrid had the same comfort and security as hugging Harry, but, of course,
in a very different way. The half giant patted her head awkwardly, like Ron would. Hermione
didn't realize it until he let go of her, but tears had slipped out. Hagrid had his large
handkerchief again and was dabbing at his wet eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione hiccupped. “I really haven't done that yet today; I didn't
mean—”

“Yeh don't have anything to be sorry for, `Ermione,” said Hagrid gently, composing himself.
“Yeh're a great girl. I wouldn'ta wished this on no one, but I especially wouldn'ta
wished it on you. I wish it were jus' about anyone else. It jus' isn't right, what
happened, it jus' isn't right at all.”

Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. From another pocket of his large
coat, Hagrid pulled another handkerchief. This one was much smaller, and it was very clean. She
accepted it, almost smiling a little. He put a hand on her back.

“I'm okay,” said Hermione a few seconds later, handing it back.

“No, yeh're not,” said Hagrid. He blinked a few times. “But yeh will be. Yeh're a strong
one, `Ermione.”

Hermione bit her lip. People kept telling her that, but she didn't believe them. She
didn't understand how she could be brave when she was too scared to go to sleep in her own bed
back in Gryffindor tower each night. She didn't know how she could be strong when her insides
froze with unspoken terror each time Harry put an arm around her or patted her back. She didn't
know how she could keep living when nearly everything that had meant something had been taken away.
Of course, she still had the few things that meant the very most. Thinking of those
things—Hogwarts, Harry, her family, Ron—kept her going. She nodded to Hagrid.

“Good girl,” said Hagrid. It was almost as if he knew what she had been thinking. “Yeh knew, I
get the feeling that yeh don't think yeh'll make it through this. I reckon that yeh will.
Yeh got everyone on your side, `Ermione. Yeh got all the professors; yeh got Dumbledore, more than
yeh know. Yeh got Harry, and yeh got Ron, and I'll reckon that Harry would do anything for you.
Yeh won't have to face it all alone, yeh know.”

Hermione burst into tears, not because she didn't believe what Hagrid was saying, but
because she knew that he was exactly right. He was so lovable, Hagrid was, and he was a master at
saying the things that a person needed to hear. Suddenly, she realized that Hagrid looked
startled.

“I'm okay,” she promised. “I really am. You're right, Hagrid. I do have all those
people. It's not so bad when I think about it like that.”

Hagrid grinned through his shaggy beard. His beetle black eyes shining, he said, “Yeh know,
I've bin thinkin' on it. I really miss our sessions. I know I got Olympe an' all, but
I'd like to see more of you next year. Maybe the boys could come to.”

Hermione managed a real smile. What Hagrid was talking about was probably her best-kept secret.
During her third and fourth years, she had been down to see Hagrid without Harry and Ron on a very
regular basis. Having been expelled in his third year, Hagrid had never received a proper magical
education, and Hermione had been determined to teach him all about magic that he wanted to know.
She'd helped him, practically religiously, for two years, but this year had gotten off to a
rough start, and Hermione had gotten out of the habit of heading down to Hagrid's cabin two or
three times a week.

“I might be able to talk them into it,” said Hermione, still smiling a little.

“Yeh ready to go back?” Hagrid said, motioning toward the rest of the class.

Hermione started to nod, but something stopped her. Gazing into the Forbidden Forest, something
caught her eye. Two great oaks, standing side by side at the forest's edge, came into sharp
contrast. Her mind was spinning, as it had the day before in the hospital wing. It was March again,
and she was being dragged through the snow. Every part of her body hurt, but she was screaming as
loudly as she could, pleading for someone to help her. There was a hasty silence charm muttered,
and the snow was swirling around...

“'Ermione!” Hagrid bellowed.

It was late May again. There wasn't any snow on the ground. No one was forcing her to do
anything. No one but Hagrid was even in sight. Hermione was breathing heavily.

“Maybe... just a minute,” said Hermione. Hagrid clapped her shoulder in understanding and
trotted back to watch over the rest of the class. Taking several deep breathes, Hermione walked
over the half empty hursle cage. The majority of the hursles belonged to Hufflepuff groups. They
typically had Care of Magical Creatures right after Slytherin and Gryffindor did. Hermione
didn't know of any Ravenclaw fifth-years taking the class.

Hermione reached down into the pen cautiously. At once, an orange-colored hursle that Erinel
liked to chase around staggered to its feet. It bounded towards Hermione once it seemed aware of
its surroundings. It licked her hand, jumping about contentedly. She was so busy with the hursle
that, when she heard the footsteps, she only assumed it was Hagrid. Or Harry or Ron.

“You know, Granger, you wouldn't even be worth going after if you were any more of a
target.” With those words, Marks stepped out of the shadows, his face twisted into a sinister
smirk. He actually managed to look more menacing than Malfoy ever had. Hermione tried to step back,
but two people had appeared at her sides, grabbing her arms. One of them clamped a hand roughly
over her mouth. Marks laughed as she began to struggle.

“Where are your boys, Mudblood?” he sneered. “Why aren't they coming to save you?”

Hermione could feel her heart racing, not knowing what they wanted with her. Her fear filled
eyes darted around.

“That bloody boyfriend of yours got me in trouble,” said Marks, stepping closer. He touched a
rough hand to her face, and Hermione began to struggle more forcefully. Her fear turned to panic
when he began to caress her cheek and his other hand slipped beneath her robes to her side. Marks
chuckled. “I didn't think you'd like that. Oh no, I'm not very into that, Granger. Not
with Mudbloods, I'm not. I just want a bit of revenge. The Marks family doesn't do
detentions, and we don't lose house points. Now, how can I show Potter that? Through you, of
course.”

Hermione's heart was beating very fast by the time he went to withdraw his wand. In a way,
it was almost relieving; she'd been so afraid of what else he could have used to hurt her. The
feeling didn't last long. His spell hit her, a blast of searing pain that seemed to tear at her
insides. It happened again, and Flint, on her right, prevented her from dodging it.

“*Expelliarmus*!”

Hermione didn't know where the spell came from or who cast it, but the only thing that
really mattered was that it was effective. The next two hexes sent Flint and Moon running, and a
third knocked Marks to his feet. He, too, fled.

Draco Malfoy stepped out of the bushes.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked a visibly shaken Hermione. She was hugging herself again,
muttering things under her breath. Tears had started to slip down her cheeks, and Malfoy actually
looked concerned. “Do you need me to get someone? Potter?”

Hermione managed to shake her head.

“Sure?” Malfoy arched an eyebrow. “I always wanted to try the summoning charm on a person.”

“I'm fine,” said Hermione at last, and she managed a weak smile. “I'm sorry. They
just... well, it panicked me.”

“It's okay,” said Malfoy, rather soothingly. He looked as if he understood. “It makes sense,
with all that's happened. Now... come with me? I mean, will you come with me? I need to talk to
you about something. I saw you come back here, but then those three had to show up. I'll have
you back in a few minutes.”

He was heading into the forest. Hermione swallowed, and she followed him. She was unsure where
the sudden trust had come from. A few minutes later, he scurried down a rift of several feet,
offering her a slightly grubby hand. She took it, and he kept her from falling on her way down.

“Thank you,” said Hermione. The ditch was very deep, and Hagrid's hut was no longer visible
in the distance.

“Don't mention it,” smirked Malfoy. It didn't last for long. He actually looked very
concerned. “Merlin, are you sure you don't want me to get you Potter?”

Hermione shook her head very quickly. “He touched me,” she stammered.

“I saw that,” said Malfoy. He scampered off for just a moment, and Hermione glanced around. They
were standing at the foot of a very, very large tree with a peculiar trunk. Its roots were
practically removed from the ground, forming a tent of sorts that was would have been great enough
for her to stand on. There were two books in there, thick leather-bound editions of what looked to
be spell books. She lowered herself onto an adjacent to the tree trunk.

Malfoy appeared again at that moment, holding a cup of water. He had his wand out, and Hermione
recognized the charm as a purifying charm. He handed her the cup. It was chipped at the top but
very clean. She accepted it with a grateful smile, and he dropped down next to her on the log,
giving her plenty of space. He was still limping, but she had almost expected that.

“You saved me again,” said Hermione.

“Yeah,” said Malfoy. He didn't even try to gloat. “I still don't think we're equal,
though. I've hurt you a lot more than I've helped you.” He wiped at his forehead, looked in
the general direction of Hogwarts, and let the subject drop. “Those three are nothing but
trouble.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, which made Malfoy laugh. He extended his one leg out in front of
him. It turned in at an odd angle but did not look broken. She figured that her healing charm
hadn't been completely effective. At least he seemed able to walk on it.

“I take offense at people trying to take my place,” said Malfoy sarcastically. “Marks,
that's a name to know.”

“Is it?” Hermione said. She was distracted, temporarily, by the gaping hole in Malfoy's
robes. She giggled, knowing full well what had been there. “What happened?”

Malfoy looked down. “They belonged to that bloody Gryffindor boyfriend of yours. I wasn't
about to walk around wearing that thing.” He looked at her intently. “But you knew that.”

“Yeah, I did,” said Hermione. “Don't insult Gryffindors. I'm one, don't you
remember?”

“Blasted Gryffindors,” Malfoy muttered, but he was still smiling for some strange reason. He
arched an eyebrow. “So Harry is your boyfriend now?”

“No,” said Hermione quickly. “But you know that.”

“I know your every thought, unfortunately,” said Malfoy. He sounded quite rueful. “I'd
rather like to get you out of my head. You're the one that wrote a bloody essay on this
Affinity of Relations. How do I get rid of it?”

“I never did come across that,” said Hermione quietly, looking at her hands again. “Anyway, what
were you saying about Marks?”

“Well, I was going to say that you'd best avoid him,” said Malfoy. He grinned slyly. “Maybe
you should take Harry up on that sort of offer he made yesterday. I hate to be the one to tell you,
but Marks's brain works that way. He'll try to hurt you to hurt Potter.”

“I wish he just wouldn't hurt anyone,” said Hermione sadly. “What is his problem,
anyway?”

“He doesn't have a problem,” said Malfoy. His nose turned up. “Just when you had me
convinced, you started thinking like a Gryffindor again. Don't you get it? Marks has no problem
because he is the problem. He's a machine, Granger. His father is one of Voldemort's number
ones. Didn't you know that? Marks the senior even spent time in Azkaban. He got captured early
on—well, probably about a year before Potter put the Dark Lord out—in Voldemort's place. He
spent a good four or five years there.”

“You can call me Hermione,” said Hermione, cutting in.

“Let me finish, *Hermione*,” said Draco snidely. “Marks the senior is a wreck of a person
now, of course, you know what dementors do to a person. He's a St. Mungo's case, but
Voldemort will probably send him out on the field anyway. He's kill-crazy, not unlike Voldemort
himself. A Death Eater left without human emotion is just what Voldemort wants. No pesky thoughts
to get in the way.”

“Did you drag me all the way out here to tell me why Marks is so evil?” said Hermione. She
shivered. It was either chillier right where she was sitting than anywhere else or she found
Draco's words a little chilling.

“No, I actually wanted to see if you knew any charms for turning muddy water into fabulous mixed
drinks,” said Draco.

“I didn't know you had a sense of humor.”

“There's a lot you don't know about me, *Hermione*.”

“In about five more minutes, Harry's really going to start wondering where I've got off
to, *Draco*.”

“You know what Voldemort's plan is,” said Draco instantly. “He has to come back completely
to power. He wants Potter dead. All the Potters have been—well, I don't know what it is that
they are, but Voldemort doesn't like it. The whole lot of them, Gryffindors, so I'm
guessing it's something goody-goody.”

“What about Harry?” Hermione said instantly. “Why does Voldemort want him dead?”

Draco snorted. “Listen, will you? I don't know.”

“No, what is it about the Potters?”

“I don't know that either.” Draco stared at her, and Hermione hated the fact that he could
tell what she was thinking. “Don't tell me it's a surprise to you that there's
something about Potter's family. Why else would Voldemort want them all wiped out? Ask the
golden boy about his grandparents sometime. They're dead, too.”

“You don't have to sound so cheerful,” said Hermione. She didn't appreciate the way
Draco talked down about Harry. It was what she expected, but she didn't like it. Draco ignored
this.

“So anyway, I was around Death Eater activity all summer. Two main things were going on. They
were trying to locate Potter's Muggle relatives, and they were trying to plan an attack on
Hogwarts,” said Draco. “Crabbe and Goyle's fathers were part of the group trying to find Harry.
They failed because they're blithering idiots, and it cost the lives of their sons—my friends.”
Draco rushed on quickly. “Obviously, the thing about attacking Hogwarts fell through, so they
settled for a double attack on Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.”

“You told me that that was Voldemort acting alone!”

“It was Voldemort acting alone,” said Draco. He looked at Hermione blankly. “It's not like
he didn't discuss it with anyone first. He was all about waiting for the perfect moment. I
reckon that moment came at a time that wasn't *convenient* for him to tell everyone.
According to my *father*—” Draco spat the word out “—it makes him feel like he's even more
in control than he already is.”

Hermione bit her lip, nodding along. “So what you're trying to tell me is that Hogwarts is
in danger?” she said fearfully.

“No,” said Draco. “The wards can only be taken down by the person that put them up. I'm
assuming that Dumbledore did some of them, and it's not like he's going to let Voldemort
onto the grounds. I think some of the wards are so old that the wizards that put them up are long
gone, and others are so powerful that they would kill a person that even thought of taking them
down.”

“Weren't there wards on Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?”

“Sure there were,” said Draco, “but not like at Hogwarts. I know you read *Hogwarts, A
History* like Muggles read bibles. Surely you caught on to the whole underlying theme of
there's more to the school than meets the eye?”

“Well, that's usually true of most anything.”

“Yeah, that's why I called you out here.” Draco stood up, and he offered Hermione a hand up.
She took it. “No one knows why, but the old magic—blood magic, if you will—says that there's
something special about Hogwarts. Supposedly, any spell can be preformed much better on Hogwarts
grounds. I don't believe it. If you can throw a Killing Curse or torture someone to death with
an incantation, you can do it anywhere, but that's me.” Draco didn't say anything else.

“Is that all?” Hermione wanted to know.

“Yeah,” said Draco. They walked in silence toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Before long,
the castle was very much visible in the distance. Draco stopped. He looked at her sincerely.
“You're worried, and you shouldn't be. Voldemort wants what he can't have. He can't
get Hogwarts.”

Hermione stopped away from him. She did not look back as she spoke. “It's not Hogwarts
I'm worried about. It was never Hogwarts. He also wants Harry, Draco.”

“Yeah, I think it was established that he wants Potter,” Draco drawled. “I don't think
there's a lot you can do about it.”

Hermione nodded. “No,” she said softly, and Draco followed her a few more paces.

“Take care of yourself,” Draco said suddenly. “You don't have magic anymore, so you're
going to have figure out other ways to protect yourself.”

“I am, aren't I?” said Hermione ruefully.

“Just think it to me when you figure something out,” said Draco. He said it as if he were
commenting on something completely ordinary, like the weather. “Until then, I'm sure you can
rely on Potter to look out for you.”

“You mention Harry an awful lot.”

“You think about him an awful lot,” Draco retorted. He continued very matter-of-factly, “You
like him.”

“There's no use telling you otherwise,” said Hermione.

“No, there isn't,” said Draco. He was moving away from her now. He was going back into the
forest. “I'm serious, Hermione. Take care of yourself. I don't want to see you hurt.”

Hermione took a deep breath, and she headed back to Hagrid's lesson, back to Erinel, back to
Ron, back to Harry. She settled down on the grass next to him. Hagrid was talking about the
hursles, so she couldn't yet tell him anything about Draco. When Harry smiled down at her, she
was ready. She wasn't scared when he put his arm around her, and she even scooted a little
closer to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder. It had been a long time since she'd
felt so secure.

* * *

“I can't do this,” Ron muttered. “I give up. I can't summon the bloody chair. Can we do
something else?”

“Summon the chair, Ron,” said Anna. She sounded as if she'd been programmed to say that and
only that.

Ron spun around. She was standing a few feet behind him, her arms folded over her chest.
She'd been reviewing charms, curses, hexes, and jinxes with him for the better part of the last
two hours.

“I've already summoned quills, books, your hat, and Pig,” Ron protested.

“Summon the chair, Ron,” said Anna. She was completely uninterested in and utterly unmoved by
his pleas.

“Why does it matter if I can summon a chair?” Ron demanded. He folded his own arms across his
chest.

“Summon the chair, Ron,” said Anna.

“I've done three dozen summoning charms already,” said Ron. “One more is not going to
matter.”

“Summon the chair, Ron.”

“What if I'm ready to move on?”

“Summon the chair, Ron.”

“You're the most stubborn person I know,” said Ron. “I'm sick of summoning charms.”

“Kiss me.”

“I'm not doing another—” Ron stopped in mid sentence. He stammered, “Oh... oh!”

Even though Ron courteously bent his head quite low, Anna had to stand on the absolute tip of
her toes. His hands at her waist, he drew her in closer as his lips pressed rather urgently against
hers. Ron couldn't remember *ever* kissing her quite like that ever before, and the
sensation it left him with was simply indescribable. Forget O.W.L.s. He would have been content
just to hold her there for the rest of the evening and kiss her like his life depended on it, but
she just had to repeat her blasted line once more.

“Summon the chair, Ron.”

Was that what they'd been doing? Ron couldn't quite remember, but something in
Anna's eyes told him he'd better do as she said.

“*Ac-Accio chair*!” Ron managed, his brain still not working properly.

The chair lifted up and hurtled from one side of the room to the other. A little unsure about
its path of travel, Ron stepped aside and tugged Anna over towards him. The chair hit the
chalkboard behind them with a tremendous clatter. Anna grinned, and she threw herself right into
his arms.

“I knew you could do it!” she exclaimed. Ron really didn't really care whether she did or
not.

“Where did that come from?” he demanded.

Anna looked up at him innocently. “What, the kiss?” She grinned rather mischievously. “Oh, I
knew you'd worked yourself up too much to be able to perform the charm. The chair was farther
away, bigger than the other objects, and you'd convinced yourself you couldn't do it. As
long as you were putting any thought into it, you wouldn't be able to. I figured that... that
catching you off guard like that might clear your head a bit.”

“Clear my head a bit?” Ron complained. “You're supposed to be helping me study for the rest
of the evening, and I'm not going to be able to think of anything but you and that bloody
kiss.” He glared at her. “I don't know if you should be kissing anyone like that.”

“Well,” Anna said, and she backed away from him, folding her arms across her chest again, “you
didn't have to kiss me back, Ronald Weasley, and don't you even try to tell me you
didn't enjoy it.”

“Let me tell you something, Anastasia Clemens,” said Ron, emphasizing her full name as she had
done his. “I only kissed you back because—” He stopped. “What's wrong?”

“I told you,” Anna said softly, “that I hate to be called by my full name.” She looked up at
him, biting her lip. “I really hate it.”

“Anastasia is a pretty name, Anna,” said Ron carefully. He reached out, taking her hands in his.
“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. Anastasia.”

“Don't call me that,” said Anna again. She glanced up at him, pleading. “Please Ron?”

Ron's eyes searched hers for a second. “Sure thing,” he said, and he scratched his head. He
leaned forward, his forehead touching hers. “I'm sorry for teasing you about your name... but I
refuse to take back what I said about you being beautiful. Most beautiful girl I know,
actually.”

Anna just rested her head against his shoulder, and he hugged her tightly. She had Ron a little
confused, but he wasn't going to say anything. After a long moment's silence, Ron decided
to chalk it up to Anna's being hopelessly insecure, and he kissed her head again.

“I believe you were helping me study for O.W.L.s, Miss Clemens,” he said, letting go of her
rather reluctantly.

“Ah, yes,” said Anna. She grabbed his hand and led him over to the side of the room. They'd
met in the same empty classroom that they always had, and they'd cleared the desks to either
side of the rooms. Review lists and O.W.L. practice sheets were scattered all over several of the
desks.

Ron was starting to wish he'd stayed in the prefect common room with Harry and Hermione.
Anna was working him harder than Hermione ever had, although Ron personally thought she was a much
better tutor. And he couldn't help but like all the kisses he'd been getting.

“Let's see,” said Anna, picking up the list of charms and scooting herself up onto a desk.
Ron came over and stood next to her. He read over her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her back.
“You're able to do all the complicated charms on the review list, so you should be okay to do
anything else on the test.” She bit her lip and glanced up at him. “You just can't freeze. If
you're nervous, you just can't let it affect your charm work. I know you, Ron. You'll
want to do well, but you'll have yourself so flustered that you won't be able to do
*anything*.”

“I will not,” said Ron crossly. He hesitated, and he sighed. “Okay, you're right. I will.
What do you suggest that I do, Anna, love?”

“You're going to go sarcastic on me,” said Anna. She patted the area of the desk next to
her. “Come on, sit a while. *I* have faith in you. *I* don't think you'll have
too many problems on your O.W.L.s. In fact, *I* think you'll do quite well.”

“Thanks for helping me study,” said Ron.

“Uh-huh,” said Anna. He slid an arm around her, but she wasn't really paying attention. She
was half turned around from where she was sitting, and she was digging through her bag. Out came a
piece of parchment. She looked up at him. “You don't have to be back at the common room at any
certain time?”

Ron snorted. “It's a Friday night, Anna.”

“So? Maybe Harry or Hermione was expecting you to get back before much longer.”

“You actually think that they even noticed my coming and going? They have each other, after
all.”

“You really should play nice,” said Anna with a sigh. She unfolded the parchment. “Here,” she
said. “I want you to look over this. It's the letter I wrote to my aunt. I finished it days
ago, on Tuesday actually, in History of Magic, but I haven't seen you since then.”

“And you nag me about not paying attention in there,” Ron said, pulling her close as he began to
read. His hand rubbed her back gently, just as he often did.

*Dear Aunt Vanessa,*

*I received your letter, and package, early last week. The book looks wonderful, but I
haven't gotten a chance to read it yet, and even though your chocolate candies are my absolute
favorite, I found it in my heart to do as you said and share with John. (Now, I won't say
whether or not the portions are equal.) He's well, of course, you would have heard if things
were otherwise. He began his N.E.W.T.s yesterday, and so far, they seem to be every bit as nasty
and exhausting as they're made out to be.*

*Our last Quidditch game was over a week ago. We lost to Gryffindor, 50 to 230. Harry
Potter's still Seeker, you know, and Cho Chang's just no match for him. Still, I managed to
block three quarters of Gryffindor's shots. At least, that's what John says. I think
we'll have an even stronger team next year. Lena is going to try out, and I'm sure
she'll make it.*

*I've been rather busy the last few weeks myself. I'm sure you heard about the
dementor attack in Hogsmeade over the weekend. It's been really somber around school. I
didn't even know the boy that was killed, he was a Hufflepuff, but it doesn't make it any
less awful. I've been helping a friend prepare for his O.W.L.s, and I'll continue studying
for my own exams next week.*

*Anyway, I wanted to ask you about something. Aunt Clara's name came up the other day, and
it suddenly dawned on me how little I know about my own relative. I know she died before I was
born, and I know that Mum doesn't talk about her much, so I was wondering if you could tell me
anything about your littlest sister. I understand if it's too painful. I was just
curious.*

*I hope you're well, and Mittens. I'll have to write to Dad and ask him for permission
(or perhaps you could), but I'd love to visit the second week of July.*

*Love,*

*Anna*

“You know,” said Ron offhandedly, “Harry used to have a crush on Cho.”

“Really?”

“Really. He asked her to the Yule Ball and everything. A bit embarrassing, but all well. His
heart belongs to Hermione now.”

“You are so weird, Ron,” said Anna, giggling. “Read the letter.”

“It sounds fine,” said Ron, handing it back to her. “Who's Mittens? And why didn't I get
any of those chocolates?”

Anna elbowed him in response to the second comment. “Mittens is Aunt Vanessa's kitten.” She
looked up at Ron. “So you think it's okay?”

“I think it's great,” said Ron. “You don't need my permission to send a letter to your
aunt, though.”

“I know,” said Anna. She folded the parchment neatly but not before taking out her wand. Once it
was rolled up, she tapped her wand to it while muttering something or another. “Now, if Emiolet
will just come down here...”

As if on cue, the small owl swooped down and stuck out her leg. She and Pigwidgeon had been
playing some kind of air chase game for the better part of the study session. They were the same
kind of owl, but Emiolet was snowy white, like Hedwig, instead of gray.

“What was that thing you did with your wand?” Ron asked curiously.

Anna blushed. “Oh, that,” she said. “Way back when, before anyone I know today was alive, some
of my mum's relatives came up with a creative little incantation to seal documents and the
like. That way, they could send letters without worrying about others reading it. It's not
necessary today, but because my aunt taught me it, I always use it when writing to her.”

Ron scratched his head for a moment. “My parents worked a tricky little spell of their own
creation on the bathroom at the Borrow. It expels anyone that spends too long in there. Is that the
same thing?”

Anna nearly shoved him off the desk.

* * *

Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose and peered closer at the old textbook he was using to
revise for his O.W.L.s. Its last owner was Fred Weasley, and nearly all the other Weasley boys'
names were marked out on the inside cover. Three names even preceded Bill's, so it was a very
old book indeed. Hogwarts had stopped using it, but Fred promised it had been very beneficial in
studying for his own O.W.L.s two years before.

It being Friday night with testing to begin on Monday morning, Harry was willing to look at
anything that might help him out. He was sprawled out on the sofa of the prefect common room, a
small fire dancing merrily before him and Hermione as well. She was sitting with him, her head
against his sweater. Harry's arm went behind her shoulders, and his hand was resting at her
waist.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, glancing up from the book.

“Uh-huh?” Hermione muttered. She was very engrossed in some book of her own. Harry peered up and
around her very bushy brown hair. It had obscured his vision momentarily every time she had shifted
in position that evening. It was Gilderoy Lockhart's *Travels with Trolls*.

Harry snorted. “Why are you reading that?”

“*The Standard Book of Spells*,” said Hermione quickly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “First,” he said, “it looks a lot like one of Lockhart's books from
this angle, and second, I asked why you were reading, not what you were reading.”

Hermione tilted her head back until her eyes met his. She had a sheepish smile on her face and
was blushing a little. “It has a lot of factual information,” said Hermione composedly.

“Ah,” said Harry, snatching the book from her hand. She rolled over, trying to grab it. Harry
grinned mischievously and held it purposely from her reach. “`*I often found the accommodations
during my travels unsuitable*,'” he read loudly, “`*as any wizard of my caliber would. I
simply could not fathom inhabiting the dingy dregs of my subjects, so I would courageously
backtrack on my journey'*—I expect Lockhart never did figure out Apparating—`*to the
nearest suitable inn. Not wishing to frivolously spend the donations of my faithful readers, I
often had to get by on my charming good looks.'* That, Hermione, is some kind of quality
entertainment.”

“Oh, there really must have been a shortage of suitable professors that year,” said Hermione
dramatically. She managed to distract Harry just enough to steal back her copy of *Travels with
Trolls*. Laughing, she tossed it well out of his reach. Harry pulled her back to him, and she
turned around to look at him. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry admitted, and she scooted even closer to him so that she could see
Fred's old book as well. He pointed at one of the O.W.L. practice sheets that McGonagall had
handed out in class the day before. “We're going to have to write a one or two page parchment
on the transfiguration of a small animal to a small object.”

“Yes,” said Hermione. She glanced up at him. “You know, mouse to snuffbox, tortoise to teacup,
bird to saltshaker. We spent nearly two years doing it.”

“No, no,” said Harry quickly. “I know what it is... but I don't understand it. All you need
is an incantation, and there you have it. One to two parchments? What am I supposed to say?”

“It's not just an incantation, Harry,” said Hermione. She plucked the book right from his
hands and began pawing through it, talking all the while. “You must have horrible memory.
McGonagall spent nearly a month explaining this.” She stopped, shoving a page with a massive
diagram and minute text at him. “There are two methods for every transfiguration. One is a long,
complicated process. Beginner's transfigurations. The other is much more advanced, and not
everyone can do it. It rolls everything up into one.”

“Oh yeah,” said Harry. “She did explain that.” He looked at Hermione guiltily. “Ron and I
were... er, kind of playing hangman in the back of my transfigurations book that day.”

“You were what?” said Hermione sternly. She reached across to the table for Harry's text.
She flipped to the back. Sure enough, dozens of little hangman games had been written in. Shaking
her head, she put it back on the table. “Do you want me to explain it?”

Harry grinned. “With examples,” he said, and he settled in comfortably with her.

“Well, remember the very first thing we transfigured?” Hermione said. Harry looked at her dully,
and she sighed. “We started very small, transfiguring matches into needles. It was possible to make
it go all silver, or all pointy, or all shiny, but it took a long time before anyone was able to
make it do all of that. You did a little bit of the transfiguration each time, so it didn't
require a lot of skill. Now, McGonagall just teaches us how to do it all at once. That's why
Transfiguration is so dangerous, of course. If you're not very skilled at it, then you might
just transfigure one part of something.”

Harry chuckled. “Hagrid gave Dudley a tail once.”

“Ah, did he?” said Hermione. She was smiling, which told Harry that she had heard this story
from him or Ron before. “Most wizards don't have too much trouble with basic transfigurations,
even if they're done quickly. The only person I can think of that really has problems with it
is... Neville.” She smiled sadly.

“Neville's great,” said Harry. “He was asking about you the other day when you were in the
hospital.”

“Was he?” said Hermione. She didn't seem to be paying a lot of attention to him. Suddenly,
her brow furrowed. She reached forward and snatched Harry's transfiguration text up again,
flipping straight to the back. “One of Ron's words was Anna's name?”

Harry peered over his shoulder. He counted the spaces; he hadn't gotten this one right.
Chuckling, he said, “It took us an awful long time to realize that something was still going on,
didn't it?”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. She put the book down, and she actually took Fred's old textbook
from Harry and put it down as well. “I talked to Draco the other day.”

“You talked to—” Harry stopped. “*You did what*?”

“During Care of Magical Creatures on Monday,” said Hermione casually, “I talked to Draco.”

“You talked to Malfoy on Monday, and you're just now telling me about it?” said Harry. He
couldn't help but looking at her oddly.

“I'm just now telling you about it because I knew you'd start worrying,” said
Hermione.

“I'm not—” said Harry, but he changed his mind. “When did this happen? You were with Ron and
me the whole time. I don't see when you would have had a chance to talk to Malfoy. What did he
want?”

“You can call him Draco,” said Hermione. “He doesn't mind. And I wasn't around you and
Ron the entire time. Remember? Hagrid pulled me aside to talk about my little problem.”

“You shouldn't call it that,” said Harry, squeezing her tightly. He wasn't sure why, but
whatever fears and reservations she'd had about being around him after the ordeal with the
dementors were long gone. “Why did Malfoy need to talk to you? Why couldn't he have talked to
all of us at once?”

“Didn't I tell you?” Hermione quipped. She scooted right away from him and folded her arms
across her chest. “Draco and I've been carrying on together for ages. *Honestly*, Harry,
listen to yourself! Do you even need to ask?”

“Fine,” said Harry, matching her cross pose. “Why did he need to talk to you?”

There was a moment's pause before Hermione said, “I guess he didn't really have to talk
to me. You see, this is the part I didn't want to tell you. I knew that it would make you
worry.”

“Tell me.”

“Don't freak out,” said Hermione, and she took a deep breath. “Hagrid and I talked. I was
doing fine, better than I had during similar conversations with other professors, but then
something hit me. I don't know what it was, but I think I had another one of those little
memories. I saw the path into the Forbidden Forest, and I remembered being dragged into it. It
really scared me, and I needed a moment. Hagrid left me alone. It probably wasn't a good idea
because Marks stepped out of the shadows about a second later with two of his cronies.”

Harry tensed up. “I'll kill him if he did anything to you.”

“He didn't have a chance to,” said Hermione, but her voice shook just a little. “They'd
grabbed me, but someone disarmed them about a second later. Once they'd run off, Draco stepped
out from the forest. He sounded genuinely concerned, and he asked me to follow him for a minute,
and I did.”

Harry made a fist where she couldn't see it. He was going to kill Marks, regardless, at the
first opportunity he got. He was about to ask what Malfoy had wanted from her but thought
differently. “Malfoy sure does seem to know what's going on here all the time,” said Harry, his
eyes narrowed. “What is this, now? Twice he's *said* he's saved you?”

“He *has* saved me twice, Harry,” said Hermione. She studied her friend critically after
pulling away from him. “Don't you get it?”

“Don't I get what?” Harry grumbled, still feeling slightly aggravated. He couldn't
believe that Marks had the nerve to go after Hermione, and he hated the fact that it was Malfoy
that had helped Hermione, not him. “Perhaps you should enlighten me about... whatever.”

“It took me a while, too,” said Hermione, without telling Harry what it was. She bit her lip. “I
know I told you about the Affinity of Relations. Well, ever since the—the incident in Potions,
Draco has been able to pick up on a lot of my thoughts and feelings. He knows when I'm in
trouble, and I'm guessing that's why he came. He did want to talk to me, though.”

Harry had temporarily stopped caring about Malfoy's conversation with Hermione. He stared at
his best friend for a moment. “So you're trying to tell me that Malfoy's been inside your
head all this time?”

Hermione shifted. “Well,” she said hesitantly, “I guess that's one way of putting it.”

Harry shook his head. “Are you sure this guy is legit, `Mione? I don't like trusting
him.”

“You don't have to,” said Hermione, “because I do. He was really nice to me, Harry, worried
even. Marks scared me, and Draco was about to go get you.”

“Get me?”

“Yes, you know,” said Hermione, blushing. “He knew that you would be able to... bring me back.”
She rushed on. “Anyway, he's still living out of the Forbidden Forest. He's not looking as
sickly as before, but I almost feel sorry for him.”

“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed. “He put you in the hospital wing for nearly two months! How can
you?”

“Because I can,” said Hermione. “You're acting like I thought Ron would.”

“I just care about you, okay?” said Harry at last, realizing it was important to her to tell
him. She wasn't sitting so close to him anymore, and she crossed her legs and smoothed her long
skirt out over them. She grabbed Harry's hand.

“I know, Harry,” said Hermione. “Anyway, he didn't have a lot to say, other than to warn me
about Marks. Apparently, his father was one of the Death Eaters that spent time in Azkaban. He
seems to think the man is completely crazy, and I'm sure that's saying something if
you're Draco.”

Harry snorted. “So that's it?”

“Apparently there's something special about Hogwarts,” said Hermione, shrugging. “I think he
might actually be on to something there. It is supposed to be one of the most magical places known
to wizard kind, after all. I just don't know what that could have to do with anything.”

Harry nodded, biting his lip. His eyes met hers, and he squeezed her hand when he realized she
was doing just the same thing that he was. “So, are you going to tell Ron?”

“As soon as he gets back up from studying with Anna,” said Hermione. “I was going to tell the
both of you at once, but it suddenly occurred to me that I would probably need some help calming
Ron. Draco is not his favorite person.” She stopped, letting her understatement have a moment of
its own. She gave Harry a mischievous smile. “I wonder how much studying ickle Ronniekins is
getting done?”

Harry shook his head quickly. “I'm not sure if I even want to know,” he said with a shudder.
Hermione started to giggle, but a yawn cut into her laughter. “Tired?” Harry asked, knowing full
well that she was.

“Long week,” said Hermione, and Harry motioned for to come back to him like she had been
earlier. Her head dropped against his chest, and he wrapped an arm tightly around her. He knew that
it probably wasn't completely appropriate, especially considering that they maintained that
they were best friends and nothing more, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He knew that it
had been a long week for Hermione. Her frustration at not being able to use magic had only begun,
and Harry knew that it was already starting to hurt more than she had ever imagined.

The whole of Hogwarts seemed to be mourning Evan Dunstable. The last thing that Hermione had
needed when she was feeling so down was the somber mood of everyone in the school. Besides those
troubles, the Ministry of Magic was once again in uproar. Bom had, indeed, been removed from
office, and after just one week, Harry was starting to see why Harris Barker was considered
incompetent by so many. His very first appeal to the people was trying to convince them that the
whole mess with Voldemort wasn't really a very big deal.

“Are you feeling all right?” Harry wanted to know, reaching up to push some of Hermione's
bushy hair back. He rested his chin on the top of her head without really thinking.

“I'm just tired,” said Hermione. “Everything's just so out of the ordinary, and then we
have O.W.L.s to worry about. If you don't mind, I think I'm going to spend the rest of the
evening reading instead of studying. I'll still help you, but I just can't bear the thought
of cramming anything else into my head at the moment.”

“Ah, so what are you going to do?” said Harry, realizing it was a prime opportunity to tease
her. “*Travels with Trolls*, again?”

“Harry!” said Hermione, but not soon enough. They'd moved around enough that Harry was able
to grab the book. He was about to put it out of her reach when he saw a piece of parchment fall out
of it. “What's this?”

“That,” said Hermione, as he unfolded it, “would be a note from Professor McGonagall about the
prefect meeting next week. All fifth year prefects are excused next week because we're supposed
to be studying for O.W.L.s.”

“Why didn't I get one?” Harry wanted to know.

“Harry, Professor McGonagall stopped sending you and Ron prefect notices back in November. Are
you just now noticing?”

“We got prefect notices in the first place?” said Harry with a sheepish grin. Hermione rolled
her eyes and took the note from him.

“You don't even wear your badge anymore, Harry,” she reminded him.

“Nah,” said Harry. He grinned. “What meeting is it talking about?”

This time, Hermione just arched an eyebrow. “You know, the normal Tuesday prefect meeting that
school prefects attend?”

“There are meetings on Tuesday?”

“You didn't notice that I leave for an hour and come back every week?” Now, Hermione was
really looking at him like he was nuts.

“Wow, you learn something new everyday,” said Harry, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
She was having too much fun with this, he decided. He was about to say something in his and
Ron's defense when she made a lunge for the book of hers he was still holding hostage.

“Hey!” Hermione squeaked as he put it out of her reach again. “That's not fair! It was all
supposed to be a diversionary tactic!”

“Didn't work,” said Harry, grinning. He waved it around in front of her, and she went for it
again. Again, she missed, but Harry was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was more or less
lying on him. Hermione was his best friend, and Harry knew that he shouldn't have done it, but
his hormones got the better of him. He kissed her.

Harry fully expected Hermione to hit him or something, but she didn't. Instead, she kissed
him back. It was much different than the two kisses they had already shared. The first, in his dorm
room, he would long maintain she initiated, and the one they had already shared in the prefect
common room was mostly a mutual thing. This, however, was of his own doing. It was probably
completely and totally inappropriate, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. He also
couldn't really bring himself to think. They pulled apart as quickly as they had come together,
and Harry immediately felt a blush rising to his cheeks. Hermione was already sitting up.

“Hermione,” said Harry, his voice lower than usual, “maybe it's... er, time that we talk
about that.”

“I—” Hermione didn't finish the thought. She was gathering up her books. “Maybe tomorrow,
Harry. It's getting late, and I'm so tired. I really should be getting some extra rest
tonight.”

She hugged him. It was an awkward, one-armed hug, and Harry hugged her back only out of
instinct. He was baffled, and confused, and he would remain that way long after the portrait hole
closed behind Hermione. He scratched his head. Kissing Hermione had been something unexpected, but
it was like all that Harry had always wanted and never had. He couldn't explain it, but it had
been one of the truest things he had ever known.

“Harry?”

Harry turned around quickly. Ron had just come back in, his book bag swinging low on his
shoulder. He looked rather pleased.

“Hey, Ron,” said Harry. “You just missed Hermione. She's exhausted, so she went to bed.”

“Ah, that's okay,” said Ron. He tossed his bag down and plopped down on the sofa. Without
missing a beat, he said, “Anyway, there's something I've been meaning to tell you about
Anna and her aunt...”

And Ron told him all about Anna's letter, and Harry told him all about Hermione's run in
with Marks and talk with Draco because he knew that she wouldn't mind. He just knew without
knowing how he knew, but he knew it as surely as he knew that the night was ending as the weekend
began.

-->



30. Not So Ordinary Wizarding Levels
------------------------------------



Chapter Twenty-Nine

NOT SO ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVELS

That weekend, Harry discovered that it was much easier to make promises than to keep them. On
Friday night, he had decided to tell Hermione how he felt about her, but he was just too nervous to
do it on Saturday morning. His excuse had changed with the hour of the day, and by that evening,
Harry had reasoned his way out of telling her. Hermione had enough to worry about already without
his feelings for her. Sunday had almost looked promising; the two had been alone because Ron had
gone off with Anna. However, everything had been so comfortable that he didn't want to ruin it
with an ill-attempted declaration of what had to be love, or at least a very strong like that very
much scared Harry with its intensity.

So, as quickly and as excitingly as it had begun, the weekend was just as quickly—albeit less
excitingly—over.

He might have ignored how he was feeling, but there was something else that weekend that Harry
did not ignore. By the time Monday morning rolled around, Harry was more than sick of O.W.L.s. He
might not have taken them yet, but he had studied for them all weekend.

He and Ron had been suckered into Parvati and Lavender's impromptu Divination study session.
Harry had gone a bit morbid, twice “seeing” his own demise. Ron thought this was incredibly funny,
so Harry had gone on to predict his best friend's death. All the while, he had shot grins over
his shoulder to Hermione, who kept rolling her eyes.

There had been a bit of an explosion when Harry and Neville decided to work on an aging potion
that had come on the O.W.L.s the year before. Ron had been all too pleased when they offered it to
him to slip into Fred and George's goblets at dinner; the mischief was scheduled for Monday
night.

Harry and Ron and Hermione had spent part of Sunday down at Hagrid's hut, being served tea
and cookies of Madam Maxime's making as he helped them revise for the portion of the exam that
looked at their knowledge of magical beasts. He had showed them the invitations that Madam Maxime
had picked out, and he had made them promise once more to be at the wedding, which would take place
at the end of August.

The only other notable thing that had happened was the tremendous fireworks display that Fred
and George had put on to celebrate finishing their N.E.W.T.s.

It wasn't that it was a bad weekend, but Harry still wished he had talked to Hermione. He
didn't understand how she could go from kissing him the way she had to completely ignoring the
fact that they might be something more than platonic. As he shuffled into the Great Hall five
minutes late to breakfast on Monday, that was what he was thinking as he tried (and failed) to
smooth over his messy hair.

“Morning,” said Hermione. She was pouring through her Arithmancy book for what had to be the
thousandth time. He glanced over to where Ron usually sat, but he wasn't there yet. Harry
couldn't even remember whether his friend had gotten up before or after him.

“Hey,” said Harry, and he bent over to kiss her cheek. Maybe now wouldn't be such a bad time
to talk to her. “Hermione, I was thinking—” His throat was suddenly very dry. “—That...”

“Yes?” said Hermione, looking over to him. Her eyes settled even with his, and Harry lost his
nerve. He wasn't allowed to like her like that; she was his best friend, after all.

“Today's not going to be easy,” Harry blurted, not really thinking. Hermione patted his leg,
and he had to catch his breath in his throat.

“You'll do fine, Harry,” said Hermione. She smiled at him before gesturing at the other side
of the table. “Where's Ron?” she asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. “I haven't seen him yet?”

“He's your roommate.”

“That doesn't mean I've seen him,” said Harry stubbornly. Suddenly, realizing how that
had sounded, he added, “Er, not like that. I think we both woke up late.”

“Well, he'd better get down here on time,” said Hermione, “or he's going to have a real
time of it. The Portkeys are all set to go at a quarter to ten.”

“The Portkeys?” Harry said, stabbing at a sausage with his fork. He pulled it from the platter
in front of him and put it on his plate. “What Portkeys? Where are we going?”

“Apparently the Ministry decided last night that they wanted to have the O.W.L.s at the London
Headquarters,” said Hermione, passing a garish bit of orange parchment. “McGonagall's already
been by; she gave me these to give to you and Ron. She says that it was a massive organizational
disaster last night, trying to coordinate everything with the wards here and there.”

“I thought that we just tested here,” said Harry nervously, absently fiddling with his fork as
he studied his ticket. It wasn't more than a rectangle of orange parchment. There were only two
words on it: Potter, Harry. Hermione had put Ron's in front of his usual seat. Their redheaded
friend was on his way to the table, looking quite tired.

“Well, I think that the O.W.L.s usually are given here,” said Hermione, shrugging. “At least,
I've never heard any of the older students mention otherwise. They gave the N.E.W.T.s here last
week; I don't see what's different except that N.E.W.T.s are supposed—good morning, Ron—to
be more difficult.”

“Huh?” Ron's pale face was positively green. “We start our O.W.L.s today,” he said
forlornly, as if he had been unaware of this until only a few minutes before. “Today. Can you
believe that?”

“We've only known—” Harry stopped what he was saying, looking to his left. Hermione had
started to say the exact same thing at the exact same time. He grinned. “We've only known that
all year, Ron.”

“Do you understand what this means?” said Ron, mostly to his toast. “This week determines what
classes we take next year. It determines where we'll end up in life. It determines whether
we're decent wizards or awful ones.”

“I wouldn't take it that far,” said Hermione without even looking up. “Eat something, Ron.
You'll be hungry later.” She studied him. “Did Fred and George pull you aside for another one
of their little chats?”

“They put you in little rooms,” said Ron. This time, he was talking to a glass of milk. “They
make you write ten and twelve page essays on nothing in particular. They ask you to perform spells
no one's ever heard of.”

“Ron,” said Harry patiently, pulling bits of bread from his roll and popping them into his
mouth, “Fred and George also told you that the Sorting Ceremony had to do with wrestling
trolls.”

“That came shortly after,” said Ron stubbornly, but he did take a bite of his sausage, scowling
in the twins' direction all the while. “You know, if Percy had just told them about the exams
like any normal brother would have, then they wouldn't be so concerned with keeping the bloody
experience from me.”

“Take a deep breath, Ron,” said Hermione. “It's not a big deal. You're smart; you'll
do fine.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Ron stubbornly. “You don't even have to take half of it!”

Hermione looked like she had been slapped, and Ron lost all the color that had come back into
his cheeks.

“Oh Merlin, Hermione, I'm so sorry,” said Ron, his hand flying to his mouth. It was the
first time Harry had really seen his friend apologize for something he had just blurted out. “I
didn't mean it. I really didn't. Are you okay?”

“I'm *fine*, Ron,” said Hermione snappishly. Harry shut his eyes for a second. He did
not want the two of them at each other's throats. It was the last thing that any of them
needed.

“Hey,” said Harry quietly, “I don't think he meant anything by it.”

Hermione's features softened at the sound of Harry's voice. She bit her lip and nodded.
“Sorry, Ron,” she said quickly. She gave them a very appraising look, eyes set firmly. “The two of
you need to stop treating me like I'm so fragile, though, because I'm not.”

“We weren't,” said Harry and Ron at once.

“Oh!” said Hermione, ignoring them both. “Ron, they've decided to have the O.W.L.s at the
Ministry in London. They've give us all Portkeys; don't go throwing yours away—it's
that orange parchment.”

Ron flipped over the card of orange parchment with disinterest. “Okay,” he said, and his eyes
suddenly grew wide. “*What?* Why are we going to London to take our O.W.L.s? What are they
playing at? They've *never* sent fifth-years to the Ministry to take them!”

“Well, they are this year,” said Hermione nonchalantly. “Does it make a difference where we take
them, Ron?”

The youngest Weasley boy narrowed his eyes. “I'm telling you, this whole testing thing is a
conspiracy. I don't see any point in testing our skills as a wizard. What's it going to do
but make us feel bad?” he said, and he seemed to lose all his appetite, folding his arms across his
chest.

“Hermione?” said Harry, turning to her. He knew she'd be able to put down Ron's
complaints.

“Well, I believe you've already mentioned a few reasons why they're useful,” said
Hermione, beginning to tick those reasons off on her fingers. “It lets the professors know what
classes to put us in. It boosts our scores going into N.E.W.T.s, which in turn help us get jobs
when we're older. And—*honestly*, Ron! What do you have to worry about?”

“Oh, let's see,” said Ron bitingly, sticking his own fingers out for a count. “I've got
five older brothers, or did you forget? Percy and Bill got twelve O.W.L.s each. Charlie got ten—not
as many, but quite a few. The twins got nine each, which wasn't quite good enough for Mum,
*but it's still above average*!”

“You know, Ron,” said Hermione, “I know you're horribly lacking in self-confidence at the
moment, but I, at least, have faith in you. Now calm down, and grab your things. You'll do
fine.”

Harry grinned. “She's right, Ron.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ron, the tips of his ears turning red. He leaned across the table and grabbed
Harry's wrist to look at his watch. “How much longer until we have to go?”

At about that moment, Professor McGonagall stood up at the high table and began to gesture for
attention. Harry noticed that Professor Dumbledore was not around. “Fifth years!” she called.
“Portkeys will activate in about five minutes, so if everyone would gather their things and wait
outside the Great Hall. You needn't bring anything that you don't already have with you.
Teachers that will be helping with today's testing that have not already headed to Hogsmeade
should do so immediately.”

“Why are the teachers going to Hogsmeade?” said Harry, grabbing his Transfiguration text up
under his arm. He'd been planning to study it a little more over breakfast but hadn't
gotten around to it. He put an arm around Hermione's shoulders as she stood up. He ignored
Ron's sniggers.

“You can't Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts ground, Harry,” said Ron in a perfect
impression of Hermione. She just laughed, nestling up closer to Harry. This made their friend shake
his head. Walking off ahead of them, he declared, “I will never understand the two of you.”

“Fifth years!” called McGonagall. She was eyeing some of the Slytherins, all of whom were
shuffling stupidly from foot to foot. “Now, as you know, there was a little change of plans last
night. The Ministry mandates O.W.L.s, but never before have they monitored them so closely. Of
course, all will be explained to you in good time. Take your tickets and—”

She didn't get a chance to finish, but Harry had to hope that everyone had heard her because
he felt a pull on his middle as the orange parchment lifted him right up. He was jerked upwards
roughly, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and a few seconds later, Harry found himself thrown
hard against a marble floor. Ron managed to remain standing, but Hermione had also gotten knocked
off her feet. Harry picked himself up and offered her a hand up.

“Er... Hogwarts, quarter till ten!”

The trio turned around quickly as their classmates scrambled up. There were other students there
as well, students that they did not recognize. They were wearing different robes and uniforms, so
Harry knew at once they were from one of the smaller wizarding schools. The wizard that had
announced their arrival was a young sort of fellow; he looked a little older than Ron's brother
Percy but younger than Charlie. He was a shorter than Harry, with close-cropped black hair. His
clothes were a bit mismatched, and he looked like he hadn't gotten a chance for sleep or a
shave in several days.

“Er, everyone,” he said, waving his arms. “Everyone, over here, please. My name's Kyle
Quensot, and this is Darius Brooks, and Eliza Eladus.” The young wizard gestured to an older, much
sterner looking wizard standing next to him. The older wizard was scowling. Next to him was a squat
witch with a kind face. “Anyway... things are going to be a little different than what you were
expecting today, as you probably already know. The tests aren't any harder, though, so
don't worry.” He laughed nervously.

“Well, we're going to divide you up now. If everyone that's *not* from Hogwarts
would follow Ms. Eladus today, thank you. That way, yes.” Mr. Quensot seemed to be gaining
confidence now that the other students had cleared. “Everyone will last names A through K should
follow Mr. Brooks. Everyone else, that's L through Z, you can come with me.”

“Right, squirt,” said the old wizard, Mr. Brooks, sourly. He folded his arms and barked, “You
heard him! Get on with it! We don't have all day!”

Harry and Ron sent Hermione the most sympathetic of looks as she turned to follow Mr. Brooks out
of the room. Immediately, someone was at her side. It was Justin Finch-Fletchy. Harry felt a bit
better, knowing at least that someone would be kind to her.

Quensot was gesturing in the opposite direction, and the Hogwarts students with names in the
lower half of the alphabet filed quietly behind him. Harry wished desperately that Hermione had
been in their group; Quensot was already cracking jokes and trying to calm their nerves.

“You know, I was a Hogwarts graduate,” Quensot was saying. “I was a Hufflepuff, but I had
friends in nearly every house. Now, these tests aren't so bad, so don't get nervous just
because some higher people wanted to give them to you here. Okay, everyone, space yourselves out.
I'll put the quills and the booklets out in just a moment...”

Harry didn't even have time to marvel at the grand interior of the Ministry of Magic, for he
had started his exam a moment later.

* * *

Harry sidestepped quickly to be knocked to his rear by Mr. Quensot's Upending Charm. This
duel had gone on for ages, and Harry was getting rather tired of it. It was nearly killing him;
he'd done something to the shoulder Marks had injured early on. Now, it was all he could do to
clutch his upper right arm with his left hand and brace himself against the pain.

Aiming rather blindly, Harry panted, “*Impedimenta*!”

“Oooh!” Quensot muttered. He sounded just as surprised as Harry felt—the wards and charms on the
Ministry room seemed to deflect spells not cast just perfectly.

“*Expelliarmus*!” said Harry. Quensot's wand shot out of his hand, spun quite
creatively, and spiraled in Harry's direction. Harry caught it cleanly, grinning all the
while.

Considering that they'd been at it for over half an hour, it seemed right to keep silent as
both Harry and Quensot caught their breath. It was Thursday morning, the third and final day of
O.W.L. examinations, and each Hogwarts students had to go up against either Mr. Quensot or Mr.
Brooks. While the students didn't have to win, they certainly got better marks for it. Nobody
had won yet, but nearly everyone had been able to hold his or her own for at least ten minutes.
Harry was only one of a handful to last much longer.

As Harry passed Quensot back his wand, he was grateful for exactly two things. First, he was
glad to have Quensot as his examiner in dueling, and second, there was just one more examination to
be taken, that afternoon. He was trying to quite hard to forget that this one would be on potion
brewing. Harry had a feeling that it would be a ridiculously complicated draught of Snape's
choosing and the only one of its type that he wasn't familiar with.

It had been the longest of weeks, and it was only Thursday. Monday's exams had been the
worst for Harry. He didn't see how six hours of grueling written exams could be good for
one's sanity. It wasn't even that Harry didn't know his stuff because he did, but it
was something completely different to put the physics of magic into words. A particular brief essay
on multi-purpose draughts had taken him so long that he didn't get to a question about common
magical maladies to which he knew the answer.

Tuesday's practical exams were much more interesting, especially in terms of mishaps. Harry
had done reasonably well, only making some small errors in his transfiguration of a cat to a stool
and back again. He had overdone a Cheering Charm as well. Had he been in Quensot's group that
day, he was sure that the second mistake would have been pretty much overlooked, but Harry's
examiner at that point and time had been Mr. Brooks. This was okay, though, because it meant that
Quensot had done Hermione's examiner. The older Ministry wizard had no heart and liked to tell
people so.

Of the many interesting things that happened on Tuesday, Seamus had accidentally turned his own
hand into a sock. Parvati had absentmindedly used her wand to stir an essence reading for
Divination and ignited the testing room. (Harry had only been asked to read tea leaves.)
Harry's big laugh of the week had come at Ron's expense, though. When asked to recall a
dream to interpret, Ron had made the mistake of saying he couldn't recall one. Ms. Eladus,
thinking she was being helpful, had cast a spell to reveal his last dream, which happened to
involve Anna and things Harry would never let his best friend forget. Other comical moments
included Neville charming Quensot's hair blue and Pansy Parkinson's banishing spells coming
out the wrong end of her wand.

Wednesday was technically an off day, but the two main Hogwarts examiners—Quensot and Brooks—had
Portkeyed into the school. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all been relieved to have been assigned to
Quensot's group when it came time to discuss their Defense essays. Even though it wasn't
his topic, the whole day had Harry worried about the Affinity of Relation's impact on
Hermione.

“Harry?” said a grinning Quensot, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. “Off the record, of
course, that was bloody fantastic. Would you like to see your marks?”

“Could I?” said Harry, pocketing his wand. He wiped his sweaty hands on his robes.

Quensot nodded. “Strictly speaking,” he said, “I'm supposed to not look you in the eye and
turn you on your way, but I hate the grading system of these tests more than most, so here you are.
Full marks.”

Harry's eyes bulged as he looked down the sheet. Indeed, his scores had been the highest on
everything. “What?” he stammered.

“You're surprised,” said Quensot briskly. He pushed up the sleeves of his robes. “Don't
be. For what it's worth, Darius and Eliza and I, we're all the top duelers of our
respective departments. That's why students were only asked to hold their own for a few
minutes. You're the first to beat one of us, and I'm not even ashamed to admit it.
Everything I've grown up hearing you seem to be true.”

“Grown up hearing about me?” Harry couldn't help but ask.

Quensot smiled sheepishly. “Come off,” he said, “you don't think me that old, do you? Nah, I
was still at Hogwarts your first couple years there. I couldn't quite bring myself to call all
the N.E.W.T.s students last week by their last names, and the habit carried over. Those were
smaller schools, of course. You're the first group from Hogwarts to come through the Ministry.
Usually, the teachers are seen as competent enough to administer the tests.” Quensot shook his
head. “I'd say that Barker just likes to pull authority. Never liked Dumbledore, that one.”

Harry could have sworn Quensot winked at him.

“So,” said Quensot cheerfully, “I just wanted to compliment you on that series of jinxes you
used in the middle—Jelly Legs, Furnunculus, and Knee-Reversing, wasn't it? You must be one of
Remus Lupin's scholars. I couldn't even hear half your curses!”

Harry nodded, and he had to suppress a smile when he noticed the spots on Quensot's face. It
hadn't been that long ago when a tentacle had extended from each.

“Did you have Professor Lupin?” Harry wanted to know. Again, Quensot seemed to wink without even
batting an eye.

“Lockhart—egotistical git—was the last I had. No,” said Quensot, “I spent two and a half year
studying Defense under Professor Rettrest at the Mact Timgill Academy, really small school up
north, that is, but the man's a brilliant mind inside a failing body. His predecessor was so
young herself that she didn't want me as apprentice. I've been here for six months, ever
since Rettrest's stroke.”

Quensot smiled. “But I know Lupin,” he said. “Where do you think my loyalties lie? I'd love
to teach at Hogwarts one day.” And, as if they'd been talking of the weather, Quensot continued
easily, “So what do you and your friends think of the O.W.L.s?”

Harry was so surprised by Quensot's casual revelation that the only noise for several
moments came from the quiet conversation on the other side of the wall that divided Quensot's
examination room from Brook's. Suddenly, there was a bit of yelling, a thud, and the sound of
someone being sent out the door. Quensot looked thoughtful.

“Anyway,” he said.

“The exams weren't as hard as I thought they would be,” said Harry. He sniggered. “Tuesday
was the best, though. My friend Ron, he's the one whose inappropriate daydream ended up
projected on the wall.”

“Took Eliza by surprise, that one,” said Quensot.

“And my friend Hermione, she's the one that can't do magic right now,” said Harry. “It
was nice, what you did.”

Quensot had given Hermione partial marks for thoroughly explaining each part of the practical
exams she had been unable to do.

“Well,” said Quensot, “it can't be easy for her.” He checked his watch. “You'd best get
on, now. I'm due to test... a J. L. Pugh, Slytherin.”

“Well,” said Harry, “thanks.” He made for the door.

“Outstanding job, Harry,” called Quensot. Once in the doorway, he consulted his clipboard.
“Pugh, Jorway Lucius?” No one came.

Meanwhile, Harry was scanning the crowd of Hogwarts students for Hermione and Ron. He didn't
see either of them at first, and then his gaze fell on a huddle of boys in a far corner of the
waiting area. It struck him as peculiar, and then he saw some bushy brown hair in a gap between the
two largest boys. Quensot had already noticed this. He was nearly there, but Harry took off anyway.
He got there just in time to see Quensot wrench a beefy hand from Hermione's wrist, demanding
to know what the boys were doing at the same time. Sure enough, the boys were Slytherins; one of
them was probably even Pugh.

“Er...” said Quensot, studying Hermione. It seemed to dawn on him who she was. “Hermione, what
did they do to you?”

Hermione eyes were frozen with fear, and she seemed unable to answer him. Then, she saw Harry,
and the distance between them quickly closed. Flung into his arms, she managed, “Oh Harry! Ron went
to find a bathroom when I went in for my exam, but Mr. Brooks yelled at me and threw me out because
I couldn't do anything, and I was crying, and they cornered me, and now everyone knows that
I'm Muggle!”

Harry patted her head awkwardly, aware that everyone's eyes were now on them.

Quensot looked furious. “You taunted this girl about her loss of magical ability?” he demanded.
“You backed her into a corner and hit her? What gives you that right?”

“She's a Gryffindor!” said one of them, the one with the beefy hands. Harry was more
concerned with the rising bruise on Hermione's cheek. He led her away as Quensot went off on
the boys.

“I don't think I have ever been so disgusted by the behavior of students, or shocked by
their cruelty, and that includes all the years I was a Hogwarts prefect and an apprentice at Mact
Timgill. I will be speaking to your Head of House. I will be writing to the Headmaster. I will ask
that your O.W.L.s not be graded.” Quensot's eyes were flashing. “I am absolutely appalled at
the ruthlessness you have shown, and I am equally appalled that your actions are hurting the
reputation of the fine institution where I completed my studies.”

And, prodding the four boys forcefully in the back, Quensot marched them to where Harry assumed
the teachers were waiting for the exams to end. Harry sat Hermione down on one of the benches that
outlined the room and kindly pulled her hand from her face.

“How do you charm away bruises?” Harry asked, lifting her face up to him. “*Frendius*?”

Hermione nodded, tears still in her eyes. Harry withdrew his wand, almost waiting for her to
stop him. When she didn't, allowing him to touch its tip to her cheek, Harry was hit with the
sudden realization of how much she trusted him. “*Frendius*,” said Harry carefully.

“Thanks,” said Hermione softly. She hastily wiped away what tears were in her eyes.

“They're not worth your tears,” said Harry. Rooting his around in his pockets, he produced a
rumpled but clean tissue. Hermione clutched it tightly after wiping her eyes.

“I don't care about them,” said Hermione miserably. “It was Mr. Brooks. He didn't even
read all of Professor McGonagall's letter before he began yelling at me.” She wiped at her eyes
again with the tissue, which hand been crushed to fit within her fist. “I'm not worthy to
continue studying magic, in his opinion.” In a small voice, Hermione concluded, “Everyone knows.
They could all hear him.”

Harry didn't get a chance to hear about how she'd ended up cornered because Seamus,
Dean, Parvati, and Lavender had appeared on spot to see if their classmate was all right.

“I don't think they saw those vile boys grab my arm and pull me aside,” said Hermione as
they left, reading Harry's mind. “I'd excused myself to the restroom, actually.”

“I'm glad you're okay,” said Harry, pressing his lips gently to her temple in a sweet
kiss. “Are any of them Marks's lackeys?”

“I would assume so,” said Hermione, sitting close to Harry. He casually put an arm around her
shoulder.

“You know,” said Harry, “I've been thinking a lot about what happened the other—”

“How'd it go Harry?”

Ron was ambling toward them, and Harry swore under his breath. His courage to tell Hermione how
he felt about her had disappeared as Ron appeared. “Outstanding,” said Harry. “I actually got full
marks. Beat Quensot and everything.”

“Did you?” said Ron, amazed. He dropped down to Hermione's other side. “Bloody hell, mate,
that's fantastic!”

“Thanks,” said Harry, grinning. “Where have you been?”

Ron's expression grew dark; he scowled. “I really need to pee, but the only person anywhere
that knew where things were was Snape. Slimy git personally sent me in the opposite direction. I
ended up in a caretaker's closet with some unruly broomsticks thrashing about.”

Hermione giggled; Harry grinned. Ron just shook his head as he studied his two best friends.
Then, he seemed to notice Hermione's cheek. It was still faintly purple. Startled, he asked.
“Well, aren't you going to tell me what all went down while I was searching for the loo and had
to settle for a bucket?”

* * *

It was amazing, really, the relieved expressions on the fifth years' faces as they filed out
of the Great Hall after dinner with the rest of the school. Harry looked outside, forlornly noting
the intensity of the storm raging beyond the castle's walls. Even though Quidditch was over
this season for the Gryffindor team, there had been one more practice scheduled for that evening.
Harry figured it would be a fun practice, a three-on-three and one game followed by a lengthy
discussion to confirm the departing students'—Angelina, Alicia, George, and Fred—views on the
future. But that wouldn't be happening, not as long as the rain, thunder, and lightening kept
up.

“No Quidditch tonight,” said Ron, sounding just like Harry felt. “Damn. I wanted to run Seamus
by Fred and George as a possibility. I saw him playing the other day, with Dean, and he's
*good*.”

“Is he?” Harry asked. Ron nodded. “Chaser or Beater?”

“I can't say yet,” said Ron. “He plays both well.”

Hermione didn't seem to care about the future line up of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She
was, however, curious about why they had a scheduled practice that evening. She said, “I thought
only Slytherin and Hufflepuff were yet to play.”

“It was just going to be a fun practice,” said Harry, stopping short to watch the storm from the
windows of the Entrance Hall. A Gryffindor second year ran right into him and seemed so shocked by
the Boy Who Lived's precense that he couldn't manage an apology, so he backed away,
wide-eyed. Harry raised an eyebrow. “Er, anyway, we were just going to play three-on-three and
one.”

“That's when you play two teams, each with one Keeper, Chaser, and Beater, against each
other,” said Ron to Hermione. “Keeper acts as a Chaser then, too, and goals are worth triple.
Seeker plays a game against himself and wins if he catches the Snitch before one of the teams
scores five times.”

“Sounds...” said Hermione.

“How about we talk about something you can understand?” said Harry, grinning down at her.
Because of the storm, Professor Flitwick had had to charm the Entrance Hall full of bright,
artificial light. Hermione's cheek still looked very bruised under the garish light, which
worried Harry. He grabbed her chin to tilt back her head. “Maybe you could stand a visit to Madam
Pomfrey,” he said bravely.

“I need no such thing,” said Hermione crossly. Harry tilted her face to the side. He'd
listen to her as soon as he saw for himself that she was fine.

“What do you think, Ron?” said Harry.

“I think,” said Ron tentatively, “that you should probably drop the subject and back away from
Hermione before she knees you in the balls.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded, but she was laughing. She was also a bit red in the face, as was Harry.
Ron just grinned, falling into step on one side of her; Harry was on the other.

“Miss Granger.”

Hermione seemed to forget that her two best friends were on either side of her because she
turned so at the sound of her name and very nearly landed Ron on the floor. It was Professor Snape,
looking much greasier under the charm's light.

“If you'll forgive my curiosity,” said Snape lowly, “I couldn't help but wonder if
Potter was right. However, it seems that he was being... overly concerned. You did not see Madam
Pomfrey?”

“Excuse me?” said Hermione timidly.

“A member of my house put his fist to your face earlier today, or have you forgotten?” Snape
wore an amused sort of smile. “I overhead Potter expressing his concern, and I wanted to check if I
should send you to the hospital wing—that is, if you haven not already been.”

“I haven't,” said Hermione. Ron was eyeing the Potions master, but Harry was, as always,
looking out for Hermione.

“No?” said Snape. “It looks like it.”

“Harry did a healing charm on it ages ago.”

“Did he?” Snape wondered. “Well, that's nicely done, Potter. Perhaps—perhaps you have your
mother's talent for healing.” He gave them a collective, calculating look. “Granger,” he said
at last, “well done today at the Ministry. I was told that your Potions work was exemplary.”

And Snape headed in the direction of the dungeons, his robes billowing behind him. Ron stared
after him.

“Barking,” said Ron at last, shaking his head.

Hermione took one look at him, one at Harry, and squealed, “Did you hear that? I must have
gotten it, then, my Potions O.W.L.!” She said all of this very quickly, and threw herself into
Harry's arms. He caught her easily, laughing. Ron looked amused.

“Glad to know that at least one of us is proficient in Potions,” said Ron dryly. Harry was still
laughing as he lowered Hermione to the ground.

“Oh, Ron,” said Hermione anxiously, “you didn't do well?”

Ron snorted. “Did you ever glance up and look over those ridiculous shields they put up?”
Hermione nodded. “Did you happen to notice the torrents of blue smoke rising from one in the far
corner?” Hermione's eyes widened. “You've got it—how about you, Harry? Where were you in
the room, and what color smoke did yours end up spewing?”

“Almost the middle of the room, Ron, but no smoke for me,” said Harry, casually putting an arm
around Hermione's shoulders. On her other side, Ron had already done the same. “Nah, no smoke.
My brew was the one actually giving off sparks.”

Hermione looked horrified as she hurried down the hall between them, trying to keep up with
their longer strides. “Harry... Ron...” she said miserably, “I didn't mean to make you feel
bad.”

The boys grinned over her head. “I don't know about Ron,” said Harry, dropping his head to
her level, “but I felt a little weird brewing the potion that damn near killed you, Hermione.”

And so it was. The potion that they'd been asked to make was Forveret Bursen. Harry had been
so shaken by the realization that they were to brew the dangerous potion that had so hurt Hermione
and so confused by the Ministry's insistence that it be the concoction on the exams that he had
been a total mess for most of the two-hour testing period. He'd dropped every single thing that
had made its way into his hand and even some that hadn't. He'd poured this and that into
his cauldron in no particular order. Again and again, Hermione's tortured screams all those
months before had shattered his concentration, turning him into a twitchy bundle of nerves unable
to do anything accurately. It was probably a good thing that he hadn't actually managed to
create anything because he kept sloshing out what he had made onto himself.

It had been a disaster. Harry knew it; Quensot even knew it. After the sparks had started
flying, he had come over an apologetically removed Harry from the testing area.

“It wasn't a big deal,” said Hermione softly.

“Then why are you so pale?” said Ron knowingly.

In the same tone as before, Hermione said, “Don't be silly, Ron.” To Harry, she said, “It
was a long time ago.”

Harry squeezed her tightly before letting go of her. They were at the stairs now. “It does
bother you.”

“A little,” said Hermione quietly.

“You know everything, Hermione,” said Ron suddenly. `Why do we even need to know how to make
that vile... and the look you're giving me says that I should already know this.”

“Forveret Bursen is actually the base of the Wolfsbane potion,” said Hermione, sounding very
much like a textbook, “but unlike Wolfsbane, it can be neutralized and stored for just about ever.
Of course, the complicated part that follows is what truly makes it Wolfsbane. I reckon Snape
rather likes that challenge, but he wouldn't want to spend too much time on anything concerning
Lupin, so he had us make Forveret Bursen. It actually is just at O.W.L.”

“Great,” said Harry under his breath. “Snape's convenience for your health.”

“That doesn't explain why the Ministry wanted us to make it,” said Ron. He looked
thoughtful. “Then again, the Ministry hasn't done or allowed anything that made sense for
ages.”

“That's—” Hermione started. “That's—well, yeah.”

“So you actually managed O.W.L. in Potions without any magical ability to speak of?” Ron asked.
He looked impressed. You might still outscore Harry and I.”

“How will that look for us?” Harry wanted to know. Hermione ignored both of them.

“I don't care so much about that,” she said briskly, stepping onto the castle's seventh
floor. “Did you see the hourglasses when we were in the Entrance Hall, or were you too absorbed
with Quidditch? Yes, I figured as much. Anyway, Slytherin's down two hundred from this morning,
and that was Snape's doing. McGonagall told me after I sat the afternoon exams.”

“If I didn't know better, Hermione, I'd say you were pleased!” Ron grinned. “Is there
something we should—OW!”

“What's wrong?” Hermione said, startled.

“Emiolet!” Ron groaned, seizing something. “Ran into my head, the stupid feather ball!”

“Emily?” said Harry.

“No, Emiolet,” said Ron, opening his fist to reveal a white owl a little smaller than
Pigwidgeon. “Em-my-oh-lee. Anna's owl... feathery nuisance, if you ask me.”

Emiolet continued hooting excitedly around Ron's head as he unfolded the piece of parchment
she'd been carrying, reminding Harry very much of Pigwidgeon. As he read the note, Ron batted
absently about his head to ward off the bitty owl. Harry felt Hermione's fingers curl around
his own.

“They've even got the same type of owl,” she whispered, pointing to Emiolet, who was trying
to nip at Ron's ear.

“Yeah, and look at the way his face lights up as he reads,” Harry whispered back, grinning and
pointing. He leaned down to her. “I think ickle Ronniekins is in *lo-ove*.”

“So what if I am, Potter?”

Harry felt something thud against the side of his head. Emiolet hooted angrily this time.

“You just threw an owl!” said Hermione. She stared disapprovingly. Ron shrugged, pocketing the
note.

“Yeah, go back to Anna, Em,” said Ron, waving the owl away. It hooted happily, and off it went.
“Now, what were you saying about my girlfriend, Harry?”

“Only good things,” said Harry. He tugged on Hermione's hand and followed a few feet behind
Ron.

“What did she have to say, Ron?” Hermione asked kindly.

“Heading off to another rendezvous?” Harry couldn't help but ask.

“Yeah, but you're invited this time, you git,” said Ron, and before Harry's face could
pass through too many levels of confusion, he tossed the parchment over to them. `Er,” said Ron,
going very red, “maybe you could... uh... skip the beginning. You know, the first few lines.
They're kind of...”

Harry grinned, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hermione, and began to read.

*Dear Ron,*

*It's so silly—I saw you on Sunday, four days ago, and it seems like it's been
forever. It also seems like forever since we've really gotten a chance to talk or do anything
together. I'm telling you, Ron, you'd better do well, or else! (I don't yet know what
that “else” is yet, but trust me, it'll be bad). No, don't you worry—you might not think
you can do it, but I know that you can.*

*So, I keep hearing some story about how I came up on Tuesday. Anything you'd like to tell
me, dear? John hasn't heard yet; let's try to keep it that way. Please, Ron, you don't
know what it's like. We* have *to keep this a secret.*

*Anyway, there's actually a reason for me to be writing to you. Aunt Vanessa wrote back to
me about Clara—way more than I was expecting, and I think you'll be surprised. Will you meet me
in the garden at nine? Bring Harry and Hermione, if you'd like.*

*I love you, Ron. Thanks for understanding.*

*Yours,*

*Anna*

Because Harry and Hermione continued to walk as they read, the trio was at the portrait hole by
the time Harry had finished. (Hermione had always been a much faster reader than either of the
boys.) Harry looked up at Ron, grinning. Ron went scarlet, even more than before.

“You didn't skip the beginning, did you?” Ron grumbled. He gave the Fat Lady the password,
which had been “Gryffindor for the cup,” for several days now.

“Or the end,” said Harry innocently as he scrambled through the portrait hole behind
Hermione.

“Give me that,” said Ron, snatching the parchment from Harry before he'd even stepped into
the common room, which prompted Harry to throw up his hands in mock surrender. Hermione shook her
head, clucking her tongue in mild disapproval. Ron, meanwhile, was scanning the room for a place to
sit. The password to the prefect common room had been changed at that week's meeting, and they
hadn't seen any of the other prefects yet.

“Hey!” Ron called finally. “Little people by the fire! Don't you have somewhere better to
be? Like—over in the corner, playing Gobstones?”

As the three first years surrendered their seats, Ron got more than just their dirty looks.
Hermione, too, looked displeased.

“Ron,” she scolded, “you have no right to order those kids around. You used to hate it when
older students would do it to us!”

“Hermione,” said Ron, “you seem to have missed the point. There will come a time when they will
boss around students younger than themselves, so we have to make sure that they get theirs
now.”

Hermione probably would have continued to glare at him had Harry not grabbed her arm gently and
directed her to the chair nearest the fire. “See? They're actually over there playing Gobstones
already. They would have moved eventually.”

Hermione harrumphed one last time. She said, “Now, if you're done making fun of each other
and acting superior.” She looked at each of them in turn before curling her knees up underneath her
and resting her cheek on top of her hands on the arm of the chair.

“Tired?” Harry said, brushing back her bushy hair with his hand while Ron made gagging noises.
He scooted his chair closer to hers so that the arms were touching and draped an arm around
her.

“A little,” Hermione admitted.

“Take a nap,” suggested Ron from across the way. “We've got an hour an a half until we need
to meet Anna.”

“No, I'm really okay,” said Hermione, but a yawn betrayed her at that moment.

“It's okay,” said Harry. “Everyone's worn out from O.W.L.s. I'll make sure
you're up in time. Go upstairs to sleep.”

“Are you sure?” said Hermione dubiously.

“I promise,” said Harry. She lifted her head and stood up, smoothing her skirt. She walked over
and hugged Ron.

“Don't make fun of the first years at all, Ron,” said Hermione. She walked back over to
Harry. “And Harry, you don't make too much fun of Ron.”

“Hey!” said Ron incredulously. Hermione just grinned, bending down to hug Harry as well. Without
really giving it a second though, Harry kissed her lightly. Hermione smiled a little and waved at
the boys as she made her way back up the girls' staircase.

“Mate,” said Ron with awe, “you just kissed her!”

Harry was still watching where she had disappeared into the girls' dormitory. Amazed, he
said, “Yeah, I think I just did.”

-->



31. Clara Lewick
----------------



Chapter Thirty

CLARA LEWICK

Author's Note: Having trouble uploading this one. I think it might be too long. Part one of
two.

* * *

“We're going *outside*?” Hermione hissed. “We could chalk being around the castle at
this hour as prefect duties, but *outside*? *Outside*?”

“What, is `outside' a new word you learned today?” Ron quipped, stepping behind her and
pushing her forward with the palm of his hand. “Look, we're not even going to leave the
courtyard. You see that wall over there? Right through it.”

“Right through the wall?” said Hermione uncertainly.

“That's how I found Ron and Anna out in the first place,” said Harry reassuringly. “Just
think of it as the barriers at King's Cross Station, okay?”

“Okay,” said Hermione uncertainly. “What about Professor Sprout? How do we know she's not
going to barge in at any moment?”

“Marauder's Map,” said Ron. “Besides, she seems to prefer Private Garden Two. I've never
once seen her go into the others. Through the wall now, quick as you can.” Ron shoved Hermione
forward, and through the wall she went.

“You don't have to prod her along,” said Harry in disgust. “She was going.”

“Not fast enough,” said Ron, grinning. “If you'd rather be the one guiding her along, be my
guest, Potter. She's only your girlfriend after all.” He, too, passed into the garden before
Harry could do anything to hurt him. Shaking his head, Harry walked right into the wall and stepped
onto the cobblestone path on the other side.

“Wow,” Hermione was saying, “it's so beautiful here! Oooh... there's both magical and
non-magical plants here! Roses, in with Saes flowers, and lilies, in with... wow! It's simply
magical!”

“Yeah, you wouldn't have expected that here,” said Ron, striding purposefully down the path
toward the center of the garden. He turned his head and grinned at Hermione. “Anna calls it
romantic. Maybe that's what you're looking for?”

“It's beautiful,” said Hermione again. She was so taken with the surrounding greenery that
she nearly tripped over an uneven place in the path. Harry caught her just in time, which brought
about all the usual sniggers from Ron.

Harry and Hermione followed Ron down the worn pathway to the center of the garden. It was the
same route that Harry had followed the day that he had discovered the garden and therefore walked
in on Ron and Anna, but it felt as if he were discovering the place for the very first time. The
flowers had changed from what they once were, and Harry couldn't fault Hermione for calling it
a magical place. In fact, there was something about the area that Harry wanted to identify as even
more magical than the rest of the castle.

“Fiaxus,” whispered Hermione as they walked down the path. She seemed to be in absolute awe of
her surroundings. “Pixie Wings. Snapper's Herb. Red and White Feather Drops.” Harry felt her
squeeze his hand suddenly. “Isn't this place amazing?”

“Do you really know what all of those things are?” said Harry, still holding her hand. With the
other, he gestured at the different flowers she had just mentioned. Hermione blushed.

“Yes,” she said shyly.

“Come on you two,” called Ron. “Stop flirting.”

Harry blushed and quickly dropped Hermione's hand. If it hadn't been for the slight
color on her cheeks, he would have thought that Ron's comment hadn't fazed her. He glanced
ahead. There was the great tree that Harry was now sure served as Ron and Anna's exact meeting
spot because she was sitting under it, an aged leather book in her hands.

“Ron!” exclaimed Anna, hopping up and hugging him tightly. Harry shielded his eyes.

“Um, yes,” said Ron a moment later. “It's nice to see you, too.”

“Hey Anna,” said Hermione brightly, seizing Harry's hand again but only to drag him forward
into the expanse of cobblestone before the tree.

Anna smiled, albeit hesitantly, and Harry was suddenly struck by the thought that this was
probably a bit odd for her. Ron saw Harry and Hermione every day, but she hadn't seen them for
ages, and they probably had reason to believe that she was positively insane for keeping her and
Ron's relationship a secret. (For the record, neither Harry nor Hermione understood this, but
it wasn't like Ron seemed to, either.) Hermione seemed to pick up on Anna's nervousness as
well, and she hugged the younger girl reassuringly.

“It's great to see you again, Anna,” said Hermione brightly.

“Hey Anna,” said Harry, giving her a little wave. Anna smiled shyly, which wasn't at all
unusual, and she clutched Ron's hand, pulling him over to the base of the tree. Harry followed,
kneeling on the paved area in front of it.

It was then that he noticed there were actually seven of the leather-bound books. Harry looked
at them curiously as Hermione took a seat next to him. He looked to Anna, waiting for an
explanation, and was a little surprised at what he saw. She was more or less sitting in Ron's
lap, and he was whispering something or another into her ear, which made her smile.

It shouldn't have struck Harry as odd because they were dating, but it did because they
appeared even closer than they had been before Anna had “called it off.” Anna laughed suddenly,
shot Ron a look that was clearly meant to be stern, and elbowed him slightly. Ron pretended to be
hurt, but then he wrapped his arms around her waist and cleared his throat.

“Well?” he said, grinning.

“Er—hi!” said Anna, waving a little. She sounded nervous again and grabbed for the book. From
its innermost pages, she pulled a piece of parchment that she had been using as a bookmark. “Er...
so anyway... Ron kind of told me that you had heard some stuff about Clara Lewick, and that you
kind of wanted to know more about her, and since she would have been my aunt and all, I wrote to my
other aunt and... I'm rambling, I know.” Anna's cheeks flushed as she pushed a very curly
strand of red hair behind her ear.

“No, you're doing great,” said Hermione reassuringly.

Ron decided to step in then. “I told her about the pictures and the initials on this tree back
here.” He turned around a little and patted its trunk. “And what little we do know about Clara. I
guess we're assuming a lot, that she dated Professor Lupin, all that stuff.”

“She did,” said Anna automatically, going redder. “Well, when I wrote to my Aunt Vanessa, I
assumed she'd send back a page of generic information about Clara, if she wrote back about her
at all. I should have known better, though, because my aunt never does anything halfway. She sent
me back these—” Anna indicated the books “—journals Clara kept here at Hogwarts. I've read
through the first three—sorry, I was curious—and am nearly through the fourth. I got them on
Tuesday, but I didn't want Ron here distracted from his O.W.L.s for even a minute.”

“Everyone seems to hold the opinion that I am easily distractible,” said Ron forlornly. Anna
patted his leg.

“You are, sweetie,” she said, smiling all the while. She looked shyly to Harry and Hermione. “I
don't know if this will help you, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

“Well, you heard about the pictures someone sent Harry, didn't you?” said Hermione. Anna
nodded. “They were charmed with a message, and concealed, so it seems to me that someone is trying
to tell us something.”

“That what I thought,” said Anna, “when Ron told me. If you think these might help you,
you're welcome to read them.” She blushed. “Maybe you'll do better than me. They're
fascinating, but I feel strangely guilty reading them. I don't know if they were meant to be
read.”

“Diaries usually aren't,” said Harry, really speaking for the first time that evening. “The
other aunt you mentioned—Vanessa. Is she going to mind us reading them?”

Anna shook her head. “After—After Clara died,” she paused, gathering herself, “her roommates
sorted through her stuff and sent it home. My grandma couldn't stand to see it, so she ended up
putting it in storage without looking at any of it. Aunt Vanessa found it when she was helping
Grandmother clean out her attic and took it home with her. She said she's been meaning to read
them, but she hadn't the heart. She wants me to, though. She says Clara and I are a lot
alike.”

“What does she mean by that?” Ron wondered. “Was this Clara smart, sweet, and beautiful just the
same?”

“Ron!” Anna exclaimed, her cheeks going pink again. Harry grinned at Ron, and Hermione had a
pleased sort of smile on her face. She grinned at him, and Harry knew that they were thinking along
the same lines. It did seem that Ron had met his perfect match. “Anyway, if you want to start
reading...”

“Can I start from the beginning?” said Hermione, just as Harry made the same request. Ron smiled
down at Anna.

“Can you just fill me in on the beginning and let me read over your shoulder?” he asked in,
using the same tone of voice Harry and Hermione had.

“I'll just do that with you?” said Harry hopefully to Hermione. She nodded, and Anna passed
them the first of the diaries. It was the most tattered of the seven, although each one of them
looked well worn. She hesitated for just a second.

“Lily Evans is your mother,” said Anna hesitantly. Harry nodded. “I figured as much. She was one
of Clara's roommates. Your father—I know his name was James. He's in there as well. Er...
Clara doesn't seem to like him so much at first.”

“Aw, well,” said Harry, smiling in spite of this. “Lupin and Siri—Snuffles said that he was
quite the prankster back then. He probably charmed her hair a hideous color or put a levitation hex
on her.”

“Actually, he bewitched her trunk,” said Anna.

Hermione, meanwhile, had gone to open the diary. The covers would separate from the pages, but
the pages seemed to be stuck all together. “Anna?” said Hermione curiously.

“Oh!” said Anna suddenly. “They're all enchanted. It took me a moment to realize it myself.
You see, my... well, I believe she was my great-great-great-great aunt was very talented with
personalized charms, and she made one for the Lewick family. I'll take care of that.” And,
whipping out her wand, Anna began to say a very long and interesting incantation:

“Re'em hair and dragon hide,

Family name, family honor, family pride.

A secret message or special note, behold,

Speak incantation and it will unfold.

Dry Lydia's tears and remember Elaine,

For Lewicks rise above the pain.

*Patefacius*!”

The book sprung open at once; the pages fanned themselves out as ink glistened and dried on
their surfaces. Then, the book shut again. Hermione opened it back up. This time, the pages turned
easily. Anna looked embarrassed.

“My Auntie Enid,” said Anna quickly, “fancied herself something of a poet. I don't know how
successful she was, but there you have it. It's useful, really. My mum's never once used it
that I know of, but Aunt Vanessa thinks it's just lovely and taught me it ages ago.”

“Well, even if you don't think her poetry was up to scratch,” said Hermione briskly, “you
certainly have to admire her charm work. I would say that's a modified Confudcel Charm.
That's beyond N.E.W.T. level, isn't it?” Anna nodded, and Hermione grinned. “And being able
to work the incantation for the revel charm is even above O.W.L.”

“It's just something I've always done,” said Anna with a genuine modesty Harry had long
since come to expect from her. She had always struck him as shy, if not overly cautious, but very
sweet. Ron kissed the top of her head.

“I believe we were going to do some light reading on the past,” he said. “I, for one, am eager
for some interesting stories about Professor Lupin and... yeah, about Professor Lupin.”

“Honestly, Ron,” Harry heard Hermione mutter under her breath. She said something else that
sounded like “Snuffles.” Anna was looking at them curiously but didn't say anything. She opened
Clara's fourth diary again.

“Ron?” she prompted gently. In whispers, she began to tell him all that she knew about Clara
Lewick. Harry pulled Hermione back and put an arm casually around her.

“You don't mind me reading with you?” he checked. “I read so much slower.”

“I'm sure it won't be a problem,” said Hermione, resting her head against his shoulder.
She gestured to Ron and Anna and quickly whispered, “She's good for him.”

“I think he's pretty okay for her as well,” said Harry, grinning. He dared to kiss her on
the cheek for the moment.

“What was that for?”

“Er,” said Harry nervously, “just because.”

Hermione didn't say anything else. She just smiled, and opened Clara's diary to the
first page.

* * *

*September the first, 1971*

*I'm at Hogwarts! I'm finally, finally at Hogwarts! I'm finally where Rae and
Vanessa were, and where Joseph and Remus are! I've been waiting for this day for as long as I
can remember, and it's finally here!*

*Much to Mum's amusement and Joseph's horror, I was up much earlier than I really
needed to be, and had them out the door quite early as well. I was so excited, but Mum made me so
sad on the platform. It was her very first time to be left there alone. She was acting so proud of
me, and so happy for me, but I've never seen her look so lonely. Rae and Vanessa have been gone
for ages, and Joseph and I are both at Hogwarts now. It's just the Lupins for company now, not
that they're bad at all, but I like Remus best, and he's here with me.*

*I sat with Remus on the Express, Remus and his friends. They've taken to calling
themselves something or another special, but they won't use any of it near me, so I'll just
call them by their proper names—James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. James and Sirius
are troublemakers. They greeted me by bewitching my trunk. It danced circles until they were
immersed in a game of Exploding Snap. Hah! I took that moment to set my trunk on them. (Maybe
that'll teach them not to mess with first years!) Peter's a more pleasant sort. In his kind
way, Remus says Peter just needs more work. He's not so brilliant, but at least he doesn't
seek trouble as the other two do!*

*The castle is grander, more magnificent than even Remus's drawings made it out to be.
It's at a lake, and the first years always cross in boats. Remus bid me good luck (I rather
think Dad may have departed this earth just after giving Remus orders to look out for me). Joseph
hoped I would be in Slytherin with him, but told me I could go to him for anything no matter
what.*

*But Slytherin was the only house that the Sorting Hat didn't want to put me in. (Needless
to say, Joseph was lying—fighting a Lethifold off isn't a part of the Sorting.) It talked
itself out of Hufflepuff—Vanessa's old house, but I very thought I would end up in Ravenclaw.
That's where Rae was, but I didn't really want to be in Ravenclaw because I didn't yet
know anyone. I got my wish in the end—Gryffindor, with Remus! A Lewick for every house, isn't
that something?*

*Dinner was wonderful, but I was quite startled when Gryffindor's ghost, Sir Nicholas de
Mimsy-Porpington, popped his partially severed head through my plate. James and Sirius call him
Nearly Headless Nick, which I think is just awful. No respect, those two, none at all. They were
actually making effort in kindness but it didn't last long! Peter asked me about the Sorting
Hat, and the first thing James did was open his mouth to boast that ALL Potters are Gryffindors.
Well, I said that my parents went to Beauxbatons, and I've a sibling in every house, and I
wanted Slytherin if not Gryffindor. I didn't think I'd hear an end to it! James is lucky
Remus stopped me because after all he said about Slytherin, I was just what I thought of his
“Gryffindor pride!” Remus says I should let it go, James and Slytherin, but he won't tell me
why. Well, he best, if he really wants me to refrain!*

*Fortunately, the company of my roommates is much better than Remus's friends. Theresa
Angier is in my year, but Lily Evans, Nicole Frank, and Audra Brown are Remus's age, which is
one year older. I especially like Lily, she's very welcoming and smart. She's very nearly
my favorite person already, besides Remus of course.*

*—Clara*

It took Harry twice as long to read the first two and a half pages of Clara's diary as it
did Hermione, but she didn't say a thing. She started to turn the page, but he caught her hand
before she got a chance to do so.

“Hey Anna,” Harry called. “Is Rae your mother or is Joseph your father?”

Anna, who had been kissing Ron, looked startled. “Er,” she said quickly, very embarrassed. “My
Mum's Rae, and my dad's Daniel. They were married then. Clara also mentions Stephen and
Conrad and Patrick—they're all my brothers.”

“Ah yes,” said Harry weakly. He felt rather guilty for having caught her and Ron off-guard.
Hermione seemed to pick up on this.

“They're not embarrassed to be together, Harry,” she pointed out, flipping the page at
last.

Harry soon discovered that Clara kept a very thorough record of events. She wrote about
everything and anything, and she wrote every day. It was November before there was a day without an
entry, and the next day she noted it was because she'd spent all day in the hospital wing with
a broken arm after getting hexed inadvertently as two older students dueled in the hallway.

Together, Harry and Hermione followed Clara through her first lessons, flying and otherwise. It
seemed that McGonagall hadn't changed a bit in nearly twenty-five years. She didn't favor
her own house while the other heads did, and her course hadn't changed much either. A pleasant
but nearly deaf man, Professor Circus Cyer, taught Defense, and the Potions master seemed only
slightly more likeable than Snape. His name was Philo Archer, and he had horrible skin problems.
Clara noted hastily—they could tell this due to her handwriting—that Remus was visiting his mother
on several different occasions. Gryffindor won its first match of the season, and Harry's
father scored some six goals. Clara didn't seem all too pleased with James and Sirius for their
“negative influence on Remus,” but she tolerated them nonetheless. It didn't seem that Hogwarts
had changed so much over the years.

*December the second, 1971*

*It's a full moon tonight and I'm worried about Remus as always. I wish I could be
straight with him and tell him that I know, but I rather think it would upset him. He's dead
scared that we'll hate him if we find out. It's all a load of rubbish, I read up on it
years ago and figured it out then. Living where we do, it's no surprise that Remus was
bitten.*

*I won't be hanging out with James and Sirius and Peter tonight, that's for certain.
They're ready minds, James and Sirius, but they never apply themselves to anything but
practical jokes. I really think one of them has an invisibility cloak, the way they're sneaking
out all the time. (And getting Remus to go along with it! Do you know what Mrs. Lupin would say to
that?) James or Sirius might, but it's so hard to distinguish between those two! I've said
it before and I'll say it again, they might very well share a brain.*

*No, I'll spend tonight with Lily. I'm weeks ahead in Transfigurations, McGonagall
already has me turning mice to snuffboxes, which pleases her. So Lily said she'd show me some
second year spells. She's rather curious about our family privacy spell. I think she's keen
to write her own. I told her most seventh years wouldn't be able to, but she just laughed and
said she'll have years to work on it then.*

*We've got this week of classes and next before holiday. Mum's an awful mess, Joseph
wants to stay here for the holiday, which is very peculiar. Rae doesn't think she'll be
able to get up for Christmas, says they may go to Daniel's parents. I'm pleased to avoid
him, but I wanted to see the boys. Stephen's just turned seven, yesterday in fact, can you
believe?*

*—Clara*

Harry and Hermione shared a look as they paged onto Clara's next entry. It seemed that Clara
did, indeed, know of Remus's true nature.

“Finally,” said Hermione, pleased, “someone else that understands there's nothing wrong with
most werewolves.”

Their very own Potions master made his appearance exactly three days before term ended for
Christmas holiday. He had been mentioned, of course, as a nemesis of James and Sirius and Remus and
Peter, but things seemed to heat up on that Thursday afternoon. When James called Snape a fool,
Snape had hit him with an awful burning hex. The whole incident, according to Clara, “was a
whooping show of immaturity.” It left her mad at all involved, including Remus, who had been very
clearly established as her best and oldest friend.

*December the nineteenth, 1971*

*Well, it's home at last, and I don't think I've known anything so wonderful.
I've missed Mum to tears, and it was great to see Vanessa as well. She was with Mum at Platform
Ten and One Half. I felt so bad to Mum—Joseph had promised her in the end that he'd come, but
he didn't turn up on the platform this morning in Hogsmeade. I didn't know otherwise,
figured he was with the lot of his friends. Turns that he'd sent an express owl to Mum from
Hogsmeade yesterday to say he had business at school. I'm so upset with him as well, hurting
her like that, and he didn't even say why he had to stay. Mum was in tears from the time she
got it to the time I got there. She didn't want me to know, but Vanessa told me anyway.*

*We made cakes and biscuits all afternoon, and Remus even dropped by. He's so much nicer
with James and Sirius not around, so I accepted his apology. He says that his friends are the
greatest, but I don't believe that.*

*I've very nearly finished the scarf I've been knitting Mum to go with the gloves I
finished a few months back. I think she'll love them so, she loves knitted things but can't
do it for anything herself, not even with magic. They're the same purple as before, which I
already know goes well with her traveling cloak. I stole away to the closet and checked the gloves
to it.*

*—Clara*

Clara at Christmastime reminded Harry very much of Hermione. It seemed that nearly all of her
presents had been books, and it seemed that she couldn't have been happier about this. Hermione
had been delighted to see that Clara had listed out nearly all the titles she'd received
because she had some of the same books. (Harry didn't see how this was a reason for such glee,
but he went with it because he rather liked seeing Hermione happy.)

It wasn't long before Clara was back at Hogwarts, and nothing eventful happened for a long
time as long as one didn't account for the scuffle she had gotten in with Harry's father.
James had come out of it with pink feathers; Clara spent four hours locked in a broom closet before
anyone realized her missing. It was about the usual, of course—Slytherin.

“Your father's being very rash, Harry,” said Hermione when he completed the passage.
“He's not giving her a chance at all.”

“I know what my dad was doing,” said Harry shortly. He had been overcome by a sudden feeling
that James might have been justified in his dislike. “Slytherins aren't any better today,
Hermione.”

“Ben is nice enough,” said Hermione logically. “It's not a bad house. The people just
aren't so pleasant.”

Harry smirked. “That's what this is all about.”

They read on, Hermione nestled very securely under Harry's arm. Before long, Harry found
himself doing quick calculations between passages. 1971 was the second year of Voldemort's
first reign, yet there hadn't been any mention of the Dark Lord's rise to power. Hermione
turned to the next page, and it seemed that Harry had thought too soon.

*April the twenty-seventh, 1972*

*Today was just awful, and it didn't help that Daddy died one year ago today.*

*The Dark Lord raided a Muggle town last night and killed thirty-nine people. Thirty-nine poor
people who didn't know a thing about witches or wizards, let alone the war we're engaged
in. People that didn't know a thing about the stupid git that's turned the entire wizarding
community upside down! It was in the* Daily Prophet *this morning. It's like the other
articles they've run recently, according to Lily. He's devastated so much now that
everyone's too afraid to call him Voldemort anymore. I can't help but agree—You-Know-Who
sounds less intimidating. Lily still calls him Voldemort, but she's Muggle-born, of course. She
didn't grow up hearing about Grindelwald, and... Well, we've just starting saying his name
again, haven't we?*

*I don't know what else to say about today. It just doesn't seem right to complain
about my Potions exam or go on about how fun Professor Flitwick tried to make class today. It's
just an awful day all around, and I think we should just skip right over it. Even worse,
there's a full moon tomorrow. Remus isn't himself, he never is, and I know it must scare
him. I just wish it were anyone but him. He feels so responsible for what he is.*

*Not that I'd wish it on a single soul except perhaps the Dark Lord or one of his
followers, I dare say that James could learn something about responsibility from Remus. He was all
hung up this morning, but by afternoon he'd twice tried to hex me with a tickling charm. Hah.
Some truce.*

*—Clara*

*April the twenty-eighth, 1972*

*I'm never ever going to think any day being as bad as it could get again because today
was so much more awful than yesterday could ever hope to be. Thinking of all those poor Muggles
that died yesterday, I don't know if I even have the right to say that. I just can't stop
crying. It's all Joseph's fault. (And I finally understand James.)*

*I thought that I could go to Joseph for anything, so I went to him after class today. I
couldn't sleep last night because I kept thinking about Dad, and You-Know-Who, and all those
poor Muggles. I caught him on his way to Quidditch practice, but he made time for me like he always
has.*

*But when I stopped talking about Dad and started talking about You-Know-Who's latest, he
was totally cold to me. It scared me so much, what he said! He referred to all the dead people as
“just Muggles,” and he said that it was all for the best, even if I couldn't see it yet. I was
horrified, to say the least.*

*But Joseph wasn't done yet. When I told him that he wasn't being himself, he snapped
off with, “Maybe this is who I am, Clara.” He said some other stuff, but I can't remember so
much of it. He says that You-Know-Who has the right idea, and all gains will eventually be through
him. I don't know what to do! Joseph seems like he's in the league with them all of a
sudden! I want to write to Mum, but would she ever believe me?*

*I wanted to tell someone, maybe Remus, but he'd already been carted away for his
transformation. I really wish I could talk to him about that as well, but I just needed to talk to
someone! I was in a right state, I'm sure, all teary-eyed. Sirius and Peter were in detention,
but James was sitting alone in the common room. He acted human for once, and asked me what was
wrong. I hadn't meant to, but I told him rather everything.*

*James was so cold at first—accused me of being in the league with You-Know-Who as well! I
started yelling at him, I couldn't help but defend Joseph, and that's what really set James
off. He started yelling at me again and stormed off. I was so angry then, more angry than afraid,
and I went up to my room. Lily asked me what was wrong right away, and I told her as well.*

*And you know what she said? “Well, you shouldn't expect anything less of James, Clara.
Don't you remember the raid on the Ministry convention around this time last spring?
James's two oldest brothers were killed by You-Know-Who.”*

*Now I just feel so awful. I feel so bad for James, and I'm so scared for Joseph, and I
haven't a clue about what to do. I don't know how I feel about Slytherin now. James might
just have been right all alone.*

*—Clara*

Harry finished the passage after Hermione, of course, and he understood at once why it had felt
that she was looking at him nearly the whole time. It was one of the first decent entries regarding
his father, but it was the saddest they'd read yet. The pages it was written it were wrinkled,
and the ink smudged. It seemed that Clara really had shed tears over this entry. Harry just felt
that he'd been hit in the stomach. So this was what had become of his family.

“Harry?” said Hermione timidly. She had turned in his embrace, and then she hugged him for
real.

“I'm okay,” he said when they let go of each other. Hermione touched a hand to his face.

“Are you sure?”

Harry managed a hollow smile. “I know what happened to my dad's family now, at least,
right?”

“Oh Harry,” said Hermione sadly. Harry pulled her close to him. He needed her right there.
He'd never known his father's brothers. He hadn't even known that his father had
brothers, so he wasn't grieving for them. Rather he was upset, shaken by what he never gotten a
chance to know.

Clara's diary went on, and her first year of Hogwarts ended yet again. Hermione began to
seem more and more like her counterpart as she recorded her final grades for the year. She'd
received perfect scores and above in every subject.

The summer began, and Clara continued to immaculately record the days of her lives. The
relationship that she had shared with Remus became much more understandable. They were, indeed,
childhood friends.

Harry and Hermione got to know their longest-standing Defense professor as he was in his youth,
a quiet soul who loved to draw, be outside, and spend time at the Lewicks.

Joseph didn't really get mentioned. He had not come home to Essendon at the conclusion of
his seventh year of Hogwarts. He had simply walked away from his mother and sister on the platform
without a word being said.

Clara's first diary ended on a warm August afternoon. She promised to write more on the day
after next, once she'd had a chance to purchase a new book in Diagon Alley. “I could always
expand this one,” she had written, “but I'd want to do it myself, and I can't do magic away
from Hogwarts.”

Harry stood up first when they'd finished the diary. He offered Hermione a hand, pulling her
up with him. He glanced at his watch. It was well after midnight, and the light in the garden was
very dim. Ron and Anna had been reading the last time he'd looked up, but they were now holding
hands and talking very quietly under the tree.

“It's really late,” Ron was saying. “Shouldn't you be going to bed?”

“I'm not so tired,” said Anna. She sounded alert still. Not wanting to interrupt them, Harry
cleared his throat halfheartedly.

“Er,” said Harry, handing Anna back the diary, “Hermione and I finished this one.”

“Oh,” said Anna. She bit her lip before passing him the second diary. “I couldn't keep
reading. I kept thinking that she died at the end of it all, that she never got farther in life
than this castle. I know, it's awful, but I couldn't do it.” She laughed nervously, and
Harry noticed that Ron had started to rub her back the same way he would do to Hermione to make her
feel better about something. “I never liked reading books if I knew how they ended.”

Suddenly, Harry understood the emotion that had kept coming back to him in the last three and a
half hours. Clara was an amazing writer, and her life was very interesting, but none of that could
change the fact that she was dead now. The second volume of Clara's diary felt heavy in his
hands. He glanced at Hermione. Her warm brown eyes were sympathetic at first, but they came into
understanding.

“I'm going to walk Anna back to Ravenclaw,” said Ron suddenly, helping his girlfriend
up.

“You're welcome to keep reading,” said Anna sincerely. “I just couldn't. I've
written the charm down for Ron. He should be able to open it.” She looked apologetically at Harry
and Hermione. “You know how family Confudcel Charms work—you either have to have the blood or have
the love of someone that does.” Ron's arm tightened around her, and she waved before heading
off with him.

“I'll be back,” Ron called over his shoulder. Hermione started to say something about
getting caught, but Ron silenced her. “Do you honestly think I would have left without Harry's
cloak?”

And so Ron and Anna left, and Harry was left turning an old leather bound book over and over in
his hands. He probably would have kept it up if Hermione hadn't caught his arm.

“Harry,” she said softly.

“I want to keep reading,” he said forlornly. “What kind of person does that make me? These are
someone's private thoughts, someone who isn't even alive today to give permission to her
works. I know how the story ends, but I want to keep going.”

“Of course you do,” said Hermione, wrapping her arms around Harry's neck. “You never got to
know your parents, and you've only had a handful of glimpses into their lives before this.
It's the same as it's always been for you. You can look back to when they were happy and
carefree, but you've had to become used to the idea that no amount of reminiscing can bring
them back.”

Harry hugged her back. Of course she knew exactly how she felt. He took a deep breath, catching
a whiff of flowers and fruit that he knew was more her shampoo than the garden. Standing there in
moonlight that was neither artificial nor real, Harry wanted to come to terms with something from
deep inside.

“Hermione,” whispered Harry.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted you to know about earlier—that kiss,” said Harry softly. “I didn't mean to
kiss you, but I'm not sorry.”

And, for what it was worth, Hermione said, “Me neither.”

* * *

She had kissed him then, and they'd stumbled back to the Gryffindor Tower under his
father's invisibility cloak. He'd held her hand then, but that wasn't so unusual. One
of them had had enough sense to trod up the stairs to the back entrance of the prefect common room
as not to not be told off by the Fat Lady. They settled down on the couch together to read the
diary detailing Clara's second year at Hogwarts.

*August the seventeenth, 1972*

*Mum was really embarrassed today in Diagon Alley because we had to buy my Hogwarts things for
this year secondhand, but I don't see how it's a big deal. Mr. Lupin buys nearly all of
Remus's things secondhand. Maybe it wasn't so much the things in Diagon Alley. She got a
two-line letter from Joseph the other day that told her not to expect him home for the longest
time. That's enough to do anyone in.*

*I tagged along when the Lupins left for Diagon Alley this morning because they went so much
earlier than Mum wanted to, and I wanted to spend the whole day there. Besides, neither Mr. nor
Mrs. Lupin can Apparate, they've never been able to afford the test, so they use Floo powder to
get there. Mum slept in AND avoided getting messy, so it was the best deal for everyone. I spent
the morning there with Remus and Sirius, laughing and joking. The Blacks' owl died last week,
so I played with the cats in the Magical Menagerie while the boys picked out a new owl for
Sirius's family. (Sirius still has his own owl, of course.) Mrs. Lupin very nearly walloped
both of them for almost starting a fire with some Filibuster Fireworks they got at Zonko's.
A* Daily Prophet *reporter was lurking around the whole time, I never did figure out what sort
of assignment he was on, but I think we might have ended up in a few of his pictures.*

*James showed up around noon with his little brothers in tow. I think all the Potters must
look just alike because James is a miniature replica of his dad, and his brothers look like what he
must have at six and eight. I kept thinking about his other brothers, which made me really sad.
Still, we had a great time, the four or us, picking out our school supplies and stuff. They're
actually taking different subjects next year, can you imagine? Sirius is taking Muggle Studies and
Divination, I guess his mother believes in that nonsense guesswork, James is taking Arithmancy and
Care of Magical Creatures, and Remus is taking Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. (“I don't need to
know another thing about Magical Creatures, git. I am one.”) I guess that means they do know! Remus
was in a very good mood, it's a half moon tonight, so he's back from his last
transformation and not yet being affected by his next.*

*Mum let me get four new books and the only bad thing that happened the whole day was the boys
running into Snape. James called Slytherins smarmy, and Snape tried to hex him with his back
turned, so Remus and Sirius put him up a tree with a fancy bit of levitation. It's all very
immature.*

*—Clara*

Reading the diary, that hadn't been unusual, either—he had often slung one arm around her
shoulders and let her lean against him when they studied. Clara's words drew them in, again and
again, as she prepared to return to Hogwarts. She and Remus and Sirius had indeed been included in
an article in the *Daily Prophet*, and it hadn't been much longer before she was doing one
of Harry's favorite things—boarding the Hogwarts Express to another year of magic.

Clara had been unfortunate within the first few weeks of school, coming down with a vicious bug
that had half the Gryffindor house in the hospital wing. Its magical origin was so obscure that
Madam Pomfrey could only charm away a few of its symptoms rather than cure it. It was during those
weeks that Clara grew even closer than before to one of her roommates, Harry's own mother, and
Harry himself started to pay as much attention to the time Clara spent with her girlfriends as the
time she spent with the Marauders.

*November the eighteenth, 1972*

*Today was the first Quidditch match of the season, Sirius's very first game. Gryffindor
played Slytherin, and it was so long that I was sure I would be frozen to my seat in the stands
before the end of it, and the seats aren't even metal.*

*I wouldn't have gone to the match if it weren't for Remus and Nicole, and neither of
them even turned up in the end. Remus is excused, in my book. He's feeling under the weather
with his transformation so soon, and the cold wouldn't have been so good for him if you ask me.
Nicole, on the other hand, chickened out after all the time Lily and I spent helping her with
charms and posters to catch the eye of the new Gryffindor Seeker. Well, I think the boy's an
idiot that can't play now, but it wasn't like she knew that before.*

*Gryffindor won, but it's not because we got the Snitch or anything normal like that. If
Sirius and James hadn't worked together to get that last goal when the Seekers were diving for
the Snitch, then we'd have tied the game again Slytherin. It would have been quite sick,
really.*

*Lily and I talked the whole time it took for one of the idiots on broomsticks to sight the
Snitch. She kept mentioning some boy, and I think that she really likes him, which is probably
exactly why she didn't tell me his name. I'm dying to find out, then I'd have an excuse
to write Vanessa for advice on boys, and she'd probably concoct some scheme to bring Lily and
Mystery Boy together. Lily says I'm being silly when I say she HAS to like this boy, but I
really don't think so.*

*All well. I guess if she really wants to end up all alone in a few years with nothing but a
few really skinny cats (I imagine them all looking like Mikasa), then she can pretend all she
wants. Lily tells me that we're too young to care so much about boys anyway.*

*—Clara*

This entry brought about a bit of an argument between Harry, who insisted that his mother's
crush was on his father, and Hermione, who figured that there probably wasn't any such thing to
begin with. Their playful banter continued for several minutes before Harry decided that she could
be right, but he crossed his fingers while doing so. Hermione saw this and elbowed him.

Clara never did find out whether or not there really was a boy, let alone whether or not he was
James. On the year went, with more frequent mentions of Voldemort's attacks and Death Eater
raids that made Harry's stomach turn. She went home for Christmas again, and since none of her
siblings had been able to visit, she and her mum spent the holiday with the Lupins. Her days at
Hogwarts didn't seem nearly as exciting as some that the trio had spent in the castle, but it
was interesting nevertheless. In mid-March, things picked up as work on the Marauder's Map
began.

*March the twentieth, 1973*

*Remus was back in class today after his transformation, looking tired but very relieved to
have it over. The other boys were looking pretty tired themselves—they were up late last night,
talking in low whispers to Sir Nick well after the common room had cleared out. I swear, it's
the same thing they're plotting every time Remus is gone, whatever it is.*

*Remus gave me my birthday present before dinner this evening even though I told him he
didn't need to worry about it. He got me a new quill and journal because “knowing you, it
won't be so much longer before you have yours all filled up.” I just love Remus. He's so
thoughtful.*

*I messed up horribly today in Potions. I misread a line of the directions and added too many
daisy roots to my potion. It bubbled over the edge and made a mess on the floor. It wasn't like
I'd just leave that mess on the floor, but Professor Archer gave me detention for the next
three days. At least he didn't take points off Gryffindor. Some seventh years got caught in the
Astronomy Tower late last night. We were down fifty points this morning, it was just awful.*

*We were all sitting around the fire after dinner when the boys got an idea for a new toy.
They want to make a map of Hogwarts that shows where everything and everyone is. Remus is going to
draw it, James and Sirius will probably be the ones to enchant it, and I think poor Peter is going
to be the test rat for seeing if all the passages work. I think it's ridiculous, they just want
a way to make more mischief. I have half a mind to turn the idea into Professor McGonagall, but
I'd hate to sound like a snitch.*

*—Clara*

Hermione had to calm Harry down after this particular entry. He'd taken a sudden dislike to
Clara for trying to interfere with what he knew had to be the Marauder's Map. He said crossly,
“She wasn't any fun.”

“It's not important now, Harry,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “The map got written
didn't it?”

“Well, yeah,” said Harry reluctantly. He took off his glasses to rub his eyes. They were
starting to hurt. “If she'd had her way, though, it wouldn't have gotten made.”

“You know, Harry,” said Hermione primly, “I would have done the same thing.”

“You would have—” Harry scratched his head. “Yeah, you would have, wouldn't you?” Hermione
nodded. “That shouldn't surprise me.”

“No, it shouldn't.” She was eyeing his glasses, which were being held in his hand. “Do you
want me to read aloud for awhile?”

“What?” said Harry.

“Your eyes must hurt,” said Hermione, glancing at his watch, which was actually more in her line
of vision than her own. “You've been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. Here, I'll just
read to you for awhile—stop giving me that look.”

Harry did as he was told, wrapping his arms more around her middle than he had been. Hermione
read for quite awhile, but she yawned loudly as May ended, and her eyes began to shut a little. It
was four in the morning, after all.

*June the twenty-ninth, 1973*

*It's the last night at Hogwarts before summer holiday.*

*We just got back from the End-of-Term feast. All of the “Marauders” ate too much, so
they're sprawled about the common room, looking rather sick all of them. At least they're
not trying to read over my shoulder like always, or working on that map. It's actually a nice
piece of magic, from what I've seen of it, but still! As if they don't cause enough
mischief already. (I still haven't forgiven Sirius for hexing my robes so they could only be
worn backwards this morning.) We almost didn't get the House Cup this year. We were only five
points ahead of Slytherin, and it'd just be tragic if they won, so I wish the boys wouldn't
cause so much trouble.*

*I got my exam results back today. My highest score was a one-hundred-sixteen percent in
Charms, and my lowest an eighty-seven in Potions. I'm really upset about that. It'll knock
my average all off. Lily tells me not to worry about it because Professor Archer is an unfair and
ugly git, but I don't know what I'll tell Mum. I doubt she'll really care, but I just
think I could have done better.*

*Lily asked me to come stay with her in July. Her sister is getting married then, and she
absolutely hates the groom. He's just vile, and she refuses to watch “Petunia throw her life
away like that” alone. I don't blame her, but I can't help but wonder about Petunia in the
first place. Lily says she's awfully mean about Hogwarts. It must be how I feel about Daniel.
Still, I think it'll be good fun even though her family is all Muggle besides her. They're
pretty well off, and her house looks really nice in all the pictures I've seen of it.*

*I wish I could spend more time with Remus this summer, but it doesn't look like I'm
going to. He's going to spend all of August with James and Sirius and Peter. James's family
is going to France during that time, and they're all invited. (The Potters really are very well
to do.)*

*Well, I must go. I'm all packed, so there's a lot I want to do on my last night here,
but it looks like I'm going to have to try and talk the boys out of that stupid map again.
It's not like it'll do any good, but I can try. (Lily agrees with me. She thinks it's a
waste of time, they'll get caught with it and be in so much trouble and all those hours
wasted.)*

*—Clara*

Harry glanced down at Hermione. She'd stopped reading aloud ages before, and it hadn't
been long after that when she'd stopped telling him when she'd finished a page. She had
fallen straight asleep, her head against his chest. He kissed the top of her head and read on,
knowing that it wouldn't be anything for her to catch up the next day, if she wanted to. Harry
couldn't help but wonder if he was the only reason she had continued with the diaries.

The end of the Hogwarts term also brought about the end of the diary. Harry reached for the
third diary, which looked different than the first two. It was shorter and wider, with more between
its covers. This was the diary that Remus must have given her. Harry went to open it, and he
cursed. It had been so long since Anna had undone the privacy charm that it had activated again. He
dropped it to the table in front of him. As much as he didn't want to, he figured it was time
to call it a night and go to bed. It was four-thirty, and they would need sleep, even if all they
only were to read the diaries the next day.

Harry reluctantly shook Hermione's shoulder. She made a choked noise before pushing back
from him.

“No!” said Hermione. “I won't do that, I'll never do that, and there's no way that
you can make me! No!”

“Hermione?” said Harry timidly.

“What do you have against Harry?” Hermione muttered this. “Against Muggle-borns? Against—”

“Hermione!” Harry said, louder than he had intended.

Her eyes flew open, and she looked around as if she was completely unaware of her surroundings.
She seemed to be unable to focus on him. “Where'd it go? I'm not—I'm not in that room
anymore... Harry? What are you doing here?”

She was starting to scare him, and he grabbed her hand quickly. “Hermione! We're in the
prefect common room, and we've been reading Clara Lewick's diary. I don't know what
you're talking about. You dozed off, and you—”

“I was remembering that room,” said Hermione. She bit her lip, looking everywhere but Harry.
Absently, she went on, “I don't know what's wrong with me. I see it a lot now, but I never
saw it before. Voldemort and—and—damn it!”

Harry's eyes grew wide. Hermione never cursed. Tears were starting to fill her eyes, and he
went for the timid approach again. “Hermione?”

Hermione moved back to him, easing back into his embrace. “I scared you,” she said. “I
didn't mean to. It's that room I told you about first in the hospital wing. I keep seeing
it, Harry, whenever I go to sleep. I see everything, but I can't remember any of it when I wake
up. I don't know what's wrong with me.”

“You said Voldemort's name,” said Harry after a moment.

“Did I?” said Hermione. She bit her lip. “It'd be nice if I could remember what he has to do
with this.”

“You were going to say something else,” said Harry crossly. “Voldemort probably ordered someone
to hurt you.”

Hermione, for some reason laughed at that. “I don't think I mean that much to the Dark Lord,
Harry.”

“Maybe not,” said Harry. He lifted her chin. “You mean that much to me, though.”

“Do I?”

“You do.”

Hermione sighed, scooting away from him. She stood up, smoothing her clothes. “We still have a
lot to talk about, don't we?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets. “We do. A lot to talk
about... but I reckon you're ready to go to bed?”

“If you don't—” Hermione cut herself off, yawning. She smiled apologetically. “Walk me
downstairs?”

“Always,” said Harry, scooping up the pile of Clara's diaries in one hand and extending the
other to Hermione. They walked down to the common room and to the bottom of the girls'
staircase. He repeated what she had said. “There's a lot we need to talk about, Hermione.”

“Yeah...” she trailed off. “Does that mean I can't have a goodnight kiss until then?”

“You want a—a—” Harry grinned when he got over the shock of what she had said, and he kissed
her. She waved to him before disappearing into her dormitory. Harry's eyes followed her even
after she had disappeared. He scratched his chin.

Maybe Ron was right. Maybe he wasn't such an idiot liking Hermione after all.

-->



32. Clara Lewick
----------------



Chapter Thirty

CLARA LEWICK

Author's Note: Having trouble uploading this one. I think it might be too long. Part two of
two.

* * *

“`Mione, I think that it's safe to say that things have changed between us,” Harry was
saying. “We're... er, not exactly first years anymore, and everything that we've been
through has changed the way that I feel about you. And, well, after all that, I'm not sure if
things can be what they once were. You see, I, er, I really like—how long have you been standing
there?”

“Long enough to know you have it even worse that I'd reckoned,” said Ron, smirking from
where he was leaning against the doorframe. He stepped into the room and shut the door securely
behind him. “So you're going to talk to Hermione today?”

“If I can figure out what to say to her,” said Harry nervously. He sat down on the edge of his
bed, still unsure of how to tell Hermione about his feelings for her. Maybe it wouldn't be that
difficult after what he'd said to her the night before, but even that logic didn't do
anything to settle the growing knot of fear in his stomach. “I'm not supposed to be this
nervous, am I?”

Ron scratched his head before flopping down on his own bed. He propped his chin up on his
elbows. “Probably not, but maybe so. I was bloody terrified when it came time to tell Anna I liked
her.” He continued thoughtfully. “It all turned out well in the end. She told me that she liked me
before I managed to get all the words out.”

“Great,” Harry grumbled. He reached absently for the nearest object, which happened to be his
wand. He began to twirl it about his fingers and twiddle it unnecessarily. “So what should I do?
This isn't just any girl—this is Hermione. What if I screw this up? Then where am I? Five years
of friendship down the bleeding drain?”

“This is Hermione,” Ron repeated. “It's just Hermione, Harry. I doubt that even I know you
better she does. If you say the wrong thing, she'll understand. She always has before,
right?”

“But I don't want to say the wrong thing,” said Harry, sighing. “I thought you were going to
play some Quidditch with Dean and Seamus. That was only an hour ago, wasn't it?”

Ron looked reasonably guilty. “Er, we were going to do that,” he admitted, “but we kind of
changed the plans. Neville seemed to want to play. I like Neville and all, but you know as well as
I do what a disaster that would have been.”

“That's an understatement,” said Harry, snorting. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly
noon—he had skipped breakfast and slept in because he had been up so late. It wasn't even that
long ago that he had gotten out of bed, dressed, and showered. Because they had just finished their
O.W.L.s, the fifth years didn't have classes. “But what did you do for the last hour,
then?”

“Er, you see,” said Ron, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Anna's in Muggle Studies, you
know, she really thinks it's fascinating, like Dad does, but I still kind of convinced her to
skip class.”

“Yeah, well,” said Harry, grinning in spite of himself, “that would explain your cheek.”

“What?” said Ron, sitting straight up and rubbing furiously at his face. “Where?”

“What are you talking about?” said Harry slyly. Ron glared at him. “So what were you doing with
the dashing Miss Clemens? I used to think she'd keep you in check, but after last night,
I—”

“Belt up, Harry,” said Ron crossly, folding his arms across his chest. The tips of his ears were
turning red. “Anna... well... there's something special about her, and I...” He glared
defensively. “And my parents met when they were our age, so you can stop laughing now.”

“So it's like that?” said Harry, more seriously. He let his mind wander back to Hermione,
and the fiddling with his wand began again. “Have you talked to Hermione yet this morning?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “She had some huge book with her at breakfast, but she said hi to me and asked
where you were. I think I answered, but it wasn't much longer before I fell asleep in my
scrambled eggs. She'd gone back to the common room by the time I woke up, and she's sitting
down there with Crookshanks, reading, right now. I talked to her a few minutes ago. She—Bloody
hell, Harry!”

Harry's wand twirling had led to him accidentally igniting the corner of his bedspread. Ron,
swearing under his breath, put it in about half a second, but he got up and snatched away
Harry's wand nonetheless.

“You're not allowed to have this anymore,” said Ron, and he dropped Harry's wand into
one of his desk drawers. “Tell you what—I'm going to lock this up, but as soon as you've
come out of your Hermione-induced state, I'll let you have it back. Now go talk to her!”

“Or you could just keep my wand,” Harry protested, but it didn't do any good. Ron had drug
him from his bed and was now shoving him quite forcefully in the direction of the drawer.

“I can't keep you wand,” said Ron patiently. “You'll need it when we have class again,
and it'd be really unfortunate if you were to accidentally set another fire then. I can see it
now. `I didn't mean to, Professor McGonagall, honest! You have to believe me! I'd never set
Hermione on fire, never! Well, not on purpose, at least...' That wouldn't go over
well.”

“What do I say?” said Harry desperately as he was propelled out into the hallway.

“You'll think of something,” his best friend called, shutting the door in his face.
“Oh—I'd watch out for Crookshanks if I were you, though. He's in one of his moods. I'd
let you see the scratches if I didn't think you'd lock yourself in and me out! Go on now,
Harry!”

“Damn it,” Harry swore, hitting his fist to the door. Ron didn't say another thing, and
Harry realized that he was serious about not letting him back in. Choosing a few more curse words,
Harry set off down the staircase to the common room, hoping that the right words would come to him.
He clutched the railing tightly and took each stair slowly.

Hermione was sitting in one of the comfiest armchairs in the familiar round room, all the way on
its opposite side. A bunch of the fifth years were gathered in a circle around the fire. They had a
deck of Muggle cards out, and it sounded very much like Dean was explaining the rules of poker to
the group. Other than that, the common room was empty, but Harry figured he'd still probably
drag Hermione to some other part of the castle before talking to her.

“Hey,” said Harry, a little more shyly than he had intended to. Hermione looked up, shutting her
book quickly and flashing him an equally shy smile. It made him considerably more comfortable to
see her as she was. Harry was suddenly struck with a thought of just how pretty she was when she
smiled like that. Hermione was a plain girl by almost any standard, but Harry had long found her
bushy hair, once over-sized teeth, and small stature pretty. When he said that he liked Hermione,
he meant he liked everything about her.

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione. She hopped up so suddenly that Crookshanks went sprawling onto the
floor. He glared at both his owner and her friend distastefully before trying to claw Harry's
leg. He skulked away before Hermione could scold him. Hermione didn't really notice because
she'd thrown her arms around Harry's neck.

“Aw, did you miss me or something?” said Harry playfully, setting her back down. She was so much
shorter than him now that he nearly always ended up lifting her off the ground.

“Always,” said Hermione without batting an eye. “Ron said that you slept in. All rested
now?”

“Yes, I am,” said Harry. He kissed her forehead. “Did you sleep all right?”

Hermione kind of shrugged; it was clear that she wanted nothing more than to avoid that subject.
She grabbed his hand. “Sorry about Crookshanks.”

“He's no problem,” said Harry, his eyes searching the room for the ginger cat. Crookshanks
was now lurking around the base of the boys' staircase. “Hey, I was wondering, do you think we
could talk about something? Maybe not here—I kind of don't want them—” he gestured to their
classmates “—listening in. What do you say?”

“Let's go for a walk?” said Hermione, her brown eyes shining. They smiled, understanding
each other perfectly, and headed out of the common room. They were quiet as they passed the Fat
Lady even though she wasn't. Her exclamations of their compatibility of a couple were more or
less expected.

“Behave, you two!” the Fat Lady called as they headed down the hall. Harry was still holding
Hermione's hand, but he didn't make any motion to drop it.

“Where do you want to go?” Harry asked.

“Outside?” said Hermione hopefully. “I was going to read in the courtyard this morning after
breakfast, but Snape caught me heading out the doors.” She scowled. “I'm apparently a fool for
even trying to be alone now. I can't protect myself, you know. Honestly, they can't keep me
cooped up in the castle forever.”

“Well, we can go outside now,” said Harry helpfully. “We could even go to Professor Sprout's
garden, if you'd like. I remember the way.”

Hermione's nose wrinkled up, and Harry noticed for the first time that she actually had a
few freckles. Only a few, here and there, and certainly not like Ron had, and Harry found them cute
just the same. “It's too much Ron and Anna's place.”

Harry shuddered. “He's a bad influence on her. He convinced her to skive off from one of her
classes to spend time with him. I think—scratch that—I *know* they were snogging.”

“Oh, oh,” Hermione groaned, lacing her fingers tighter through Harry's. They walked down the
stairs without talking.

“I keep trying to imagine,” said Hermione as Harry held open the door for her, “what it would be
like next year to go to a Muggle school. My parents don't know yet, about my powers. I might
not tell them because I just can't picture it. It wouldn't matter if they sent me to the
most prestigious Muggle school in all of England. It wouldn't matter because there's no
place on earth better than here.” She laughed, and she leaned into Harry. “Besides, I think the
grounds alone should be reason enough to come here. They're so beautiful at this time of year.
Maybe I'll just have to take a leaf out of Ron's book next term and skip constantly. You
know, to enjoy all this greenery.”

“You wouldn't,” said Harry simply. He had this feeling that, like he would later, she just
needed to talk for a while.

“No, I wouldn't,” said Hermione with a laugh. “You know, things were so much easier before I
realized I was magical, and even when I knew but before I came to Hogwarts, but maybe
everything's still much better now. Maybe I'll never cast another charm again or ever get a
chance to hex Marks to next year—and I'm fairly sure that I've found a spell that does
exactly that—but maybe that's better than never even knowing this world existed. It's
something that I understand, how one levitates a feather or causes another to have a giggling
convulsion, but it's still something that amazes me. Do you ever feel like that?”

“Sometimes,” said Harry, squeezing her hand.

“It's wonderful, and I'm glad that I got a chance to know it,” said Hermione. She
glanced off into the distance. Even though it was a fairly warm spring day, smoke was rising from
the chimney of Hagrid's little house. “The seventh year girls were talking the other day, about
the things that they would miss most about Hogwarts. Angelina is going to miss the Quidditch pitch,
and Alicia is going to miss Charms class, and Katie actually said that she was going to miss the
library.” Hermione swatted at Harry when he grinned. “One of them is going to miss seeing her
friends every day, and another actually said that she'd miss Bryan Dawes, the sixth-year
Hufflepuff, the most `because he has a very nice arse.' I think I know what I'd miss
most.”

“And what's that?” Harry said as they approached the lake's shore.

“Hagrid,” said Hermione with finality. “He might not have been the very first magical person
that I met, but he was really the first to take any interest in me. Did you know that? It was just
like my Muggle primary school when I first came here because Know-It-All Hermione with the bushy
hair and large front teeth wasn't very likable. Hagrid liked me though, from the time he helped
me gather a certain type of plant we'd used in Potions. I wanted to learn more about it, so I
asked Professor Sprout, and she sent me to Hagrid. He was so very nice.” She glanced toward his
hut. “I should probably say that I'd miss you and Ron the most because I always miss the two of
you when we're not together, but I just don't see my life going anywhere without the two of
you. We'll probably end up living together in a flat near Diagon Alley. You'll be Aurors,
and I'll be the most boring librarian ever, but we'll all be together because that's
how it supposed to be. Right?”

“Right,” Harry murmured.

“Oh Harry,” said Hermione, stopping so suddenly that he kept right on going to the point that he
nearly ended up dragging her forward with him. He had seen this moment coming, but he figured
she'd just keep walking about the lake when it came. “I just want to be able to handle this
well. I don't want to be some kind of inconvenience, to you, to Ron, to Professor McGonagall
and Dumbledore. I don't want my parents to reconsider letting me stay at Hogwarts over
something silly—” she said this sarcastically “—like me not having any qualifications to be here. I
used to be magical, and now I'm not. I should be thankful that I'm not dead and haven't
lost my soul, but I just can't be. Magic has been a part of me since I was three and
inadvertently hexed Annmarie because she kept trying to play with my favorite doll. It's
just—it's just that I hate it,” Hermione finished, tears running down her cheeks. In a small
voice, she added, “I'm trying to be brave.”

“You are,” said Harry, holding her tightly. He started to wipe her tears away with his thumb,
but his heart seemed to have a better idea a few seconds later, and his lips ended up on hers. It
seemed that things just went in that direction anymore—rather pesky, really, and probably not very
good for Harry's already mixed up emotions.

“Goodness,” said Hermione, when they broke apart. “I really was rambling quite a bit there for a
while, wasn't I?”

“Just a little,” said Harry with a grin. He took her hand again. “You're allowed to, though.
You're amazing, Hermione. I can't even imagine what it's been like to have to confront
all that, again and again, day after day. I get the feeling that you've had way too much time
to think about it lately.”

“I haven't been sleeping well lately,” said Hermione, and she squeezed his hand. He wrapped
an arm around her. “What was it that you wanted to talk about?”

“Do you want to walk around the lake?”

Hermione didn't answer right away. She said instead, softly, “Do you think that we could go
there?”

“Go where?” said Harry, confused.

“I want to go into the Forbidden Forest,” said Hermione, taking a deep breath. “I see it all the
time in my dreams, Harry. It's just a couple of trees, I know, but I want to see them. We can
talk on the way.”

“Your nightmares,” said Harry gently, and he added unconvincingly, “but I don't have my
wand.”

“Why not?”

“I—er, well, you see—I set my bed on fire this morning,” Harry admitted. “It was a total
accident, but Ron's decided I can't have it for a few hours.”

“I'm pretty sure that I don't want to know,” said Hermione. She shook her head and
withdrew something from the pocket of her robes, blushing. “Take my wand. I know, I know. It's
pathetic that I still carry it, and I know that it isn't yours, but if what I've read about
wands in the past is true, it shouldn't be that big of a problem.”

Harry didn't say anything, but he did take her wand away from her. “You know, the Forbidden
Forest is off limits to all students, or am I not aware of a new rule? Because we all know that
Hermione Granger always plays by the rules.”

“Please Harry?”

Harry hesitated before hugging her. He grabbed her hand and started toward the forest. They were
already at the lakeshore, and therefore past the point where the Forbidden Forest was visible to
the rest of the school. “Okay, but you're staying right with me the whole time.”

“What? Do you really think I was planning to lead you in there and stray away at once?” Hermione
said. “Now, what was it that you wanted to talk about?”

“Well,” said Harry, stalling for time. His throat was suddenly very parched, and he was very
sure that his heart was racing. “Er, it's about last night.”

“Ah,” said Hermione, her cheeks faintly pink. “I figured as much. So, this is about my brazen
request at the foot of the staircase? Oh my, I spent an hour thinking about that and still
couldn't figure out what had gotten into me.” She glanced up at him. “Sorry?”

“It was a little surprising,” Harry admitted, stepping a little faster so he could be in front
of her now that they were in the Forbidden Forest. He wasn't sure how much he liked this idea,
but he could tell that it was really important to her. Maybe it had to do with closure, or
something similar. Either way, if it was what she needed, Harry was determined to let her have it.
“But rather endearing, nonetheless.”

Hermione laughed nervously, and she stepped closer to him when something in the distance made an
odd noise. They walked along in their companionable silence once more; she understood that Harry
was still trying to collect his thoughts.

“It hasn't been an easy year,” said Harry at least, “especially not for you. It wasn't
supposed to be easy, but I thought that the hardest thing to deal with would be Voldemort. For some
reason, as much as the thought of him scares me, it scared me so much more to see you hurt. The
thought of losing you—to anything—well, that's what really did me in.”

“Harry...”

“I'm almost done,” Harry promised, squeezing her hand gently while holding his other hand
up. “It's not like when we were younger, when we cared because we were best friends. You're
still my best friend, Hermione, you and Ron, but I've started to care for you in another way.
Not just as a friend anymore.” He glanced over at her; he'd been following his feet with his
eyes for several moments. “I really like you, Hermione.”

“You do?” she sounded surprised, and confused. “Why?”

“Er,” said Harry. “Because you're pretty, and smart, and sweet, and kind, and—just because
you're you. Because you're Hermione. And—what did I do wrong? You're crying. I
didn't mean to—oomph!” She had chosen that moment of his stammered apology to hug him so
tightly that he really couldn't breath.

“Oooh,” said Hermione, pulling away from him, her cheeks scarlet. “I've really had issues
lately with keeping my emotions in check.” She hastily wiped away her tears. “You didn't do
anything wrong, Harry. That was just so sweet of you.”

“So it's okay?” Harry said, sure his relief was noticeable. “It's okay that I like you?
I'm not crazy or ruining our friendship?”

“Of course not,” said Hermione, pressing her side to his as he wrapped a familiar arm around her
shoulders. “Are you trying to tell me that Ron never told you that I like you?”

“He might have mentioned it,” said Harry, reaching up with his other arm to scratch the back of
his head. “Yeah, he did. He'll be happy, won't he?”

“Oh, so you did notice that he's been trying to get us together for the better part of the
year?” said Hermione. She looked anxiously at Harry. “Does that mean we are? Together, I mean?”

“Sure,” said Harry. He had to be grinning stupidly at the moment. It was all he could do not to
jump with joy. Something behind them began screeching.

“On second thought,” said Hermione, “a walk around the lake would have been more romantic.”

“I think we're almost to the Life Circle,” said Harry softly. It was weird; he'd been
concentrating so hard on saying all the right things to Hermione that he hadn't paid a bit of
attention to where they were heading. Nevertheless, they were currently walking through a grove of
trees that Harry found very familiar. “That's—er, not where it happened, but..”

“That's where you found me,” said Hermione.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Harry blurted. “We could go back to the castle now, you
know. It'll just upset you, to go beyond the Life Circle and see where it happened. Come on,
Hermione. Let's just go back.”

Hermione whirled around on him so fast that he had to take a step backward. “I do *not*
like it when you do that, Harry.”

“Do what?”

“I'm well aware,” she said, “of what it'll do to me to see that spot. It's not going
to make me break, though, Harry. I know you think that I can't do anything on my own, and
it's very nice to have you looking out for me at times, but at others it's quite annoying.
I usually do quite well to take care of myself, though. You can't protect me from everything.”
Hermione looked at him for a long moment, and her tone was suddenly very shy. “It's just
something that I need to do.”

“In defense of myself,” said Harry nervously, “it's only because I care about you?”

“Oh, I know,” said Hermione, sighing almost guiltily. “I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean
to go off on you like that. I'm not thinking so clearly. And—I meant what I said, but it's
rather difficult to stay mad at you when you look so innocent and lost.”

“Okay,” said Harry, “I'll stop being overprotective—well, not so overprotective at least.”
He looked down at her hopefully. She pulled herself away from him and grabbed his hand.

“How much farther?” she asked once they were past the Life Circle.

“It's over there,” said Harry vaguely, “but not far. Ron and I passed it once we had you. We
could see the—see the—we knew where you had been.” The memory of that day was suddenly as clear as
it would have been if Harry had stored it in a Pensieve, which was odd because he knew that he
hadn't been thinking that clearly when it had actually happened.

“There,” said Hermione suddenly, pointing. She sounded strangled. “From my dreams...” She
dropped Harry's hand and started forward. He folded his arms across himself as though he had a
stomachache. If he kept thinking about what this place meant, then it wouldn't be any time at
all before he had one for real.

Harry tried to step forward, but he couldn't make himself, so he kept a careful eye on
Hermione as she stood firmly between some of the greatest trees in the forest. He was starting to
understand what she was doing, and he hated it even more. He knew that she was trying to ease the
memories she knew for sure as well as the fragmented visions she had been experiencing for almost
two weeks now. Still, even though this was of her own violation, it didn't make it any easier
for him to watch her stand there, hugging herself as the wind picked up, silent tears streaming
down her face.

“Nothing,” Hermione said quietly a few minutes later, walking back toward him. “It was all for
nothing. I didn't have a single flash of what happened before I woke up in the forest, no
dungeon room, nothing. It must have been the head injury, that's all. I just can't remember
what happened because of it. That's all.”

“Probably,” said Harry. “Are you ready to go back?”

“Yes,” said Hermione. They walked as closely as they always had, and it was enough to make Harry
realize that things really hadn't changed. It all seemed pretty inevitable from here.

“So,” said Harry a few minutes later, once they were past the Life Circle and into the more open
part of the Forbidden Forest, “you said that you couldn't stay mad at me. Does that mean we
won't ever fight?”

“Everybody fights, Harry,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “We've fought before.”

“Yeah, we've fought before because you just didn't understand what an amazing broom my
Firebolt is.”

“I was right in the end,” protested Hermione. She giggled suddenly. “Did you see Ron and Anna
last night when they were fighting?”

“They were fighting?”

“Oh, only for a few seconds,” said Hermione waving her hand. “I reckon you were trying to finish
one of Clara's diary entries. It was actually pretty funny. Ron says they get into it a lot,
about having to keep everything a secret and all.”

“Well,” said Harry nonchalantly, “they still spend more time trying to find the other's
tonsils.”

“Harry!” exclaimed Hermione. “You're no better than he is.”

“But so much more charming, don't you think?”

“Oh, my opinion is a bit biased,” said Hermione, “but I suppose so. I do believe you're
flirting with me, Harry Potter.”

“And what if I am?”

“Then...” Hermione trailed off. “Dork.”

“That's some kind of insult,” said Harry dryly. “Did learn that one during first year, or
before?”

“Ugh,” said Hermione. “Okay, you're not a dork. Maybe that's what I should be calling
myself. I should warn you, I'm a bit of a nerd. Always reading and stuff...”

“Nah, you're just studious,” said Harry affectionately. “I can be the nerd if you'd like
me to. I have the glasses and everything.”

“Oh, I've always found your glasses most endearing,” said Hermione.

“That was my word earlier,” said Harry.

“I'm not allowed to use it?”

“I reckon you can, if you really want,” said Harry. “I'm feeling charitable, can't you
tell?”

“When did we start bantering like this?” Hermione wondered aloud.

“I thought it was flirting,” said Harry. “Have you changed your mind on me?”

“I'm allowed to,” said Hermione knowingly. She dropped his hand, which she'd been
holding, to let him wrap an arm around her. “You know,” she said softly, “we should have figured
this out ages ago.”

“Yes, we should have,” said Harry. And they should have, for this new them wasn't so
different from the old them. It was only better. They walked out of the forest together, his arm
around her, not really needing to talk.

“Ron really is going to have it with us,” grumbled Harry as they stepped out of the forest. “Do
you have any idea how smug he's going to be?”

“Yes,” said Hermione. She paused. “Especially because there are Galleons on the line.”

“What?” Harry screeched, a little louder than he intended. “He said he wouldn't be taking
bets on us.”

“Oh, well,” said Hermione, blushing. “I probably should have told you, but I was quite scared of
scaring you away, and as much as Ron insisted, I didn't believe that you could ever like me.
Anyway, it's just against Fred and George. They thought it would take us until next year, and
he was fairly sure that his meddling could make it happen this year.”

“Maybe we just shouldn't tell him,” said Harry, sounding slightly wicked.

“Oooh, maybe we shouldn't,” said Hermione. An uncharacteristically sly grin was spreading
across her face. “Wouldn't that be just the way to torture him?”

“I always knew your mind was amazing, but...” Harry dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
Hermione glanced up, her eyes searching his.

“You don't want to tell anyone,” she said quietly.

Harry shook his head. “And it's not because I'm embarrassed or anything, rest assured,”
he said. Then, he smiled sheepishly. “It's that pesky overprotective thing again. I keep
thinking about Voldemort, and that it was he that wanted you hurt. I'm so afraid that you were
a target because of me. Now...” he trailed off. “No use making it any worse, right?”

Hermione sighed. “You have a point,” she said, sliding out from under his arm and grabbing his
hand. “I was actually thinking about a certain beetle as we left the forest. You know, her year is
very nearly up.”

“I'd forgotten about her,” said Harry, smacking a hand to his forehead.

“Oh, I tried to,” said Hermione, “but then I realized that she had been right. She shouldn't
be allowed to be right.”

“You didn't like me all the way back then, did you?” Harry asked, alarmed.

Hermione's cheeks went pink, and she averted her eyes. Quickly, she said, “I kind of liked
Ron back then.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that,” said Harry, grinning a little.

“Goodness, he told you,” said Hermione, sounding very relieved. “I think I would have died of
embarrassment if I had to be the one.” She shook her head. “No, it wasn't like that. You know
how much I love him, but it's all as a brother.”

“He could certainly use a few more sisters,” said Harry, starting to walk more slowly as they
approached the castle. If he and Hermione were going to keep this quiet, then this moment would
have to end, and he didn't want that.

“Who, Ron?”

Harry and Hermione whirled around quickly at the sound of that familiar voice. Hagrid, in all of
his great and shaggy massiveness, was standing behind them with a wide smile barely visible through
his thick beard.

“Yeh've been off in yer own little `orld,” said Hagrid cheerfully. “I've bin walkin'
behind yeh for awhile now, an' yeh never once looked around. How are yeh? How'd yeh do with
yer O.W.L.s?”

“Hermione did so well in Potions that Snape complimented her,” said Harry, grinning proudly.

“Harry!” scolded Hermione, her cheeks going pink. “He's the one that got a perfect score
during the practical part of the Defense exam.”

“Well yeh've bin fightin' the Dark Arts since yeh was a baby, `Arry,” said Hagrid
reasonably. “It all makes sense. Can I interest yeh in a cuppa back in me hut? Olympe's making
lunch righ' now. Going to France this af'ernoon, talking abou' the wedding with her
mum, she is.” He looked hopefully to Hermione and added, “Erinel's bin all in a frenzy.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick glance. He could almost see some sort of wheel turning
behind her eyes and knew at once that she'd just come up with yet another reason to visit
Hagrid than to be sociable and to see Erinel. Either way, it had been a long time since he'd
spent time with the groundskeeper, and Madam Maxime's cooking always seemed to make the area
around Hagrid's little hut smell just wonderful.

“That would be great, Hagrid,” said Harry. Hermione had opened her mouth at the same time.

“We'd love to,” she said.

Hagrid landed a beefy hand on each of them. “Come along then,” he said. “I'm so hungry that
I could ea' a hippogriff, not tha' I would.”

Ten minutes later, Harry and Hermione were sitting in Hagrid and Madam Maxime's house on the
edge of the Hogwarts property. It kept changing, that little hut did. It had gone from being purely
wild, very much like Hagrid, to a very comfortable and livable place. It was still all one room,
but there were definite divisions of where each room started and stopped. Madam Maxime had welcomed
the two more warmly than they would have ever expected when she had first arrived almost two years
before while Hagrid warmed up a few bottles of butterbeer that he had lying around.

“So yeh both did well on yer O.W.L.s, all things considered,” said Hagrid, setting down two
piping mugs in front of them. “Any interestin' stories yeh want to share? There's always
some, yeh know, this time o' year. Professor McGonagall jus' couldn't stop laughin'
the other nigh' at dinner. Said that one of yer classmates had a dream charm forced on him, and
up came somethin' with his girlfr'end.”

It was all that Harry and Hermione could do to keep from laughing, and even that didn't last
long. Choking on his butterbeer, Harry said, “Er, that was Ron.”

“Was it?” said Hagrid, chuckling while he planted what had to have been a very whiskery kiss on
Madam Maxime's cheek. “I didn' know Ron had a girlfr'end. Though' tha' one girl
broke up with `im.”

“Oh, they're sort of back on,” said Hermione, waving her hand.

“Zat happened once at ze Palace of Beauxbatons,” said Madam Maxime sadly in her heavy French
accent. “Ze poor boy, `e was so embarrassed.”

“Are the O.W.L.s your students took very different than ours?” Hermione asked kindly. Harry
worried at first that this would upset Madam Maxime, but she looked pleased to have been asked.

“No, zey were just in our language, of course,” said Madam Maxime, shaking her head grandly. “It
iz not so bad to think about now. I am lucky to be here. Do you like the—eh...”

“Pancakes,” supplied Hagrid helpfully. He had gone over to the other side of the room to
straighten out something or another.

“I always get zese food names confused,” said Madam Maxime. “Cooking here is so different—it is
all so rich.” She shook her head once more. “Presentation is not so important anymore.”

Hermione, who had been to France on holiday twice before, began asking Madam Maxime a bunch of
questions about French culture that prompted Harry to go over and talk to Hagrid. It wasn't
long before Madam Maxime had served their lunch, which was as wonderful as it always smelled. Harry
had headed out back afterwards to retrieve Erinel while Hermione helped Madam Maxime with the
dishes. He got back just in time to hear her question to Hagrid.

“Hagrid, did you ever know a Clara Lewick? She was here at Hogwarts with Harry's parents,”
Hermione asked politely, scrubbing furiously at a pan with a dishrag. It seemed that they had opted
out of magic use altogether because Madam Maxime was doing the same to one of the pots.

“Eh, sure I knew Clara,” said Hagrid cheerfully; he had been scratching behind Fang's ears.
“Professor Lupin tell yeh about her? She was a real smart one, real focused, like yeh, Hermione,
and yer Mum, Harry. Year or two behind `em though, I think. Real sad what happened—or is tha'
what you wanted to know?”

“Well, yes,” said Hermione, sharing a look with Harry, her eyes growing wide with happiness
anyway when she saw Erinel, who was squirming in his eyes.

“Er, didn' reckon Professor Lupin would tell yeh that part,” said Hagrid sadly. “Grew up
together, those two, and dated for years. `Ey was like all the young couples in love back then—yeh
got married righ' out of Hogwarts `cause yeh just didn' know if yeh'd have another day.
Never did get a chance to, which was righ' sad. Clara could do some o' the fastest wand
work I've ever seen, and our side needed those types back then.

“It must o' bin March, if not April. There was the worst fight, and it wasn't far from
here,” said Hagrid, shaking his head. “Lotsa people died in it, and Clara was one of them. They
must've been when your parents were right out o' here, Harry. Yer father took so many
Stunners that we weren' sure if he'd make it fer awhile.” Hagrid seemed to chill because
his great shoulders shook. “It was a ruddy awful day.”

“Iz it ze Life Circle fight you are referring to?” said Madam Maxime, leaning down on the table.
Hagrid nodded, and she turned to Hermione. “It was ze worst day of fighting I ever saw. It was
right here, actually. In ze Forbidden Forest.”

Harry had dropped Erinel in Hermione's lap before standing behind her to listen to
Hagrid's tale. He had his hands on her shoulder, and he could tell that this wasn't the
kind of story she had been looking for.

“That's horrible,” said Hermione at last.

“Yeh don' think on it, `Ermione,” said Hagrid at once. “Yeh don' need to worry abou'
summat that happened years ago and can' be changed. Yeah, yeh jus' forget yeh heard that.
I'll tell yeh something happier about Clara. She was the only match I ever did know to James
and Sirius's pranks. Used to set random things on `em, let `em chase the boys around the
ground. I think she migh' o' intimidated `em. They picked on her something awful because
they knew she'd retaliate.

“She was a prefect, and then Head Girl, like `Ermione `ere is going to be,” said Hagrid jollily.
“I remember tha' real well. It was when we were setting the wards on the castle again. Worth
it, o' course, but real hard with my work. Head Girls and Boys then were not only the smartest
but also the best figh'ers. Clara, along with your parents and Sagesse Bom and a couple o'
others, they rewrote half the wards on this very castle. Dumbledore needed their help, he was so
busy `imself. Had `im working with the very original book o' wards.”

There was a silence for a moment before Hagrid clucked his tongue nervously. “I shouldn't
o' said that.”

-->



33. The Book of Wards
---------------------



Chapter Thirty-One

THE BOOK OF WARDS

“Oh, you,” said Hermione, sighing as she reached back into the pen behind Hagrid's hut for
Erinel. This was the third time she'd tried to put him back in with the other hursles but
failed. He bark-hooted happily and squirmed about as she took him into her arms again and let him
lick her face. “I just hate to leave you.”

“Hermione,” said Harry patiently, his hand at her waist. “Hagrid went in ages ago, and not to...
er, rush you or anything, but... er, he seemed to be looking for some... er, alone time with Madame
Maxime, and I don't quite... er, feel comfortable standing out here during *that*.”

Hermione turned so quickly that he still had his hand on her waist—just on the other side. She
looked from him to Erinel and said, “You know, I'm well aware that Harry hesitates often and
even stutters some when he speaks, but that might be the most I've ever heard in one sentence.”
Erinel barked, and she stood on her toes to kiss Harry quickly. “But—point well taken.”

“All right then,” said Harry, leaning down to return her kiss. He cautiously patted Erinel's
head; the hursle was now regarding him with an almost disdainful expression, probably jealous of
Hermione's affection for him. He rolled his eyes. “We'll be going now,
dog-horse-bird-thing, provided you'll allow me some time alone with your person.”

Hermione turned toward the pen again, giggling. She kissed Erinel's feathery little head
once more before setting him down in the pen. He whimpered, which made her flinch, but she
didn't reach down for him again. Instead, Hermione just patted his head before turning to go
with Harry.

“Two of my favorite guys,” she said, grabbing Harry's hand while waving over her shoulder to
Erinel, who had already stopped whimpering and joined again with his hursle friends.

“Not your two favorite guys?” Harry squeezed her hand as they headed back to the Hogwarts
castle.

“Well,” said Hermione, blushing, “yes. There's a lot of important `guys' in my life—you
and Ron, Erinel and Crookshanks, my dad... Hagrid, even.”

“But...” Harry couldn't help but ask, “am I your favorite?”

“Wouldn't you like to know?” said Hermione mysteriously, but the way she squeezed his hand
and smiled gave him his answer. “So... what do you think of what Hagrid said about Clara?”

“Hmm... What Hagrid said about Clara?” Harry repeated. “I think he just told us what we already
knew, didn't he? She was in love with Professor Lupin, she was friends with my parents, and she
died too young.”

“No, I meant his slip-up,” said Hermione. “About the wards?”

Harry chuckled. “Hagrid's pretty prone to doing that, but... a book of wards? What
shouldn't we know about that? She and some other students helped protect the castle.
Wouldn't that be a good thing?”

“There's obviously something about it,” said Hermione firmly. Harry looked at her
skeptically, and she pressed on, “Harry, there *has* to be. Why else would Hagrid not want us
to know of the book of wards?” She glanced at him in frustration. “Think back to first year—would
it matter if we knew Dumbledore was friends with Nicholas Flamel unless there was something to hide
from us there?”

“Point well taken,” said Harry, grinning at her. He continued playfully, “So we're trying to
figure out what we shouldn't know about some—Hermione?”

He had very nearly walked on without his girlfriend. It was apparently a good place to stop,
halfway between Hagrid's hut and the castle. She wasn't blinking, and she didn't quite
seem totally there, which scared Harry for some reason. He was about to say something when she
scowled.

“You don't have to curse,” said Hermione disapprovingly, and Harry didn't even get a
chance to tell her he hadn't before her eyes widened. She tugged on his hand. “I think I've
figured something out! Come *on*, Harry!”

Instead of having his arm yanked backwards, Harry felt himself being pulled forward so suddenly
that he nearly fell. He scurried along with Hermione, curiously listening as she muttered things he
only caught words from. “Charm... Clara... Bom... oooh, where's Ron?”

“Maybe our room...” Harry trailed off and stopped, forcing her to stop as well. “How about you
telling me what you've just figured out?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don't know how to tell you, but if I'm right, I can show
you.”

“Can you at least tell me where we're going?”

“Back to Gryffindor,” said Hermione. “And we'll probably need Ron... where is he?”

“I think he's in our room,” Harry repeated, “but he could be with Anna.”

“Classes are still in session for everyone but the fifth years for at least a few more minutes,”
said Hermione.

Harry snorted. “That's not likely to stop those two.”

“Well, we'll deal with that when we get back to Gryffindor.” Hermione was now walking
briskly instead of running. “Okay, I guess I can try to explain it to you on the way, but
you're going to have to help me.”

“With what?”

“The book of wards, of course,” said Hermione, her tone as brisk as her walk. “Okay, Hagrid
mentioned an original book, remember? He also said that different students of the day helped with
the revisions—your parents, Clara Lewick, and Sagesse Bom, among others. All Head Boys or Girls,
right?”

“I remember,” said Harry, “and you're right.”

“Well, there would have been a Head Boy and Girl between Bom and Malfoy—”

“Malfoy?” Harry's nose turned up in disgust.

“Elena—the Hufflepuff,” Hermione reminded him. Harry nodded thinking back to one of the
detentions that had really gotten them into this. “There would have been a Head Boy and Girl
between them and your parents. Don't you think they would have worked on the wards as
well?”

“Probably,” said Harry, bemused.

“That's four years of work on the wards then,” said Hermione matter-of-factly, taking the
stairs two at a time. “Plus the original work, of course, which was done in the thirteenth century.
That's five people—well, five sets or groups, actually—that have worked on the wards. Five
people, five sections! Don't you see?”

“Er... see what?” said Harry, stepping out of the stairwell behind her. They were fast
approaching Gryffindor tower.

“Sagesse Bom's book!” said Hermione. “You know, the one we found in—oh, I *told* you
that I needed to show you.” They skidded to a halt in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. “Lion
pride.”

“That's right,” said the Fat Lady, creaking on her hinges. “Don't you forget it!”

Harry waved to the portrait as he scrambled through the hole she concealed. “Hermione, do you
want me—” she was already on the staircase “—to get Ron?”

“Get Ron!” Hermione called, apparently not having heard him. “Tell him what Hagrid had to say,
and make sure he has the words to that charm!” She disappeared into the girls' dormitories.

“It's nice that no one's down here,” Harry observed of the empty common room. Their year
was the only one not in class, so that didn't leave so many people to be around. He headed
quickly up the stairs to his dorm and very nearly collided with someone on his way down—Ron.

“That's one problem solved,” Harry muttered, and the bell rang somewhere else in the school
to signal the end of classes for the day.

“What?” Ron said. “Did you say something, mate?”

“Nothing important,” said Harry, grinning. “Come on, Hermione needs you for something that I
don't quite understand. We've been to see—”

“Oh good, you've found him!” said Hermione, rushing towards them. She slipped under
Harry's arm and let him hold her there. She held something—a book—up in his line of vision.
“See? Five sections!”

Harry ran his fingers down the block of stuck-together pages. The pages that had once seemed so
seamlessly bound were as bound as ever, but Harry could see now that it was more messily so. It
seemed to be slightly uneven in five places. The first part was half the pages, but the other four
were closer to equal. It was Sagesse Bom's book.

“Er... well, as fascinating as this is,” said Ron, sounding rather confused, “classes just let
out for the weekend, and I'd like to find my girlfriend.” He headed off in the direction of the
portrait hole, but Hermione seized the back of his robes to keep him from going.

“We need you for a second,” said Hermione.

“But Anna...” said Ron in a voice strangely reminiscent of a child in search of a lost pet.

“We need your help with something,” said Harry. “This is Sa—”

“Clara Lewick's diary,” said Hermione quickly, interrupting Harry.

“Oh, you want me to open it?” said Ron, still sounding rather distracted. He dipped into the
pocket of his robes and fished out both his wand and a scrap of paper. He cleared his throat, took
the book from Harry, and proceeded with Anna's rhyme and the incantation:

“Re'em hair and dragon hide,

Family name, family honor, family pride.

A secret message or special note, behold,

Speak incantation and it will unfold.

Dry Lydia's tears and remember Elaine,

For Lewicks rise above the pain.

*Patefacius*!”

“There you go,” said Ron, passing a wide-eyed Hermione the now-open book. She and Harry shared a
look; Ron hadn't seemed to think it anything unusual. “I'll just be with... you know, with
Anna. Well... bye.”

For a moment, Harry forgot about the mysterious book Hermione was holding. Still standing at the
bottom of the boys' staircase, he turned to her. “Why'd you tell him it was one of
Clara's diaries?”

“Did you see the way his eyes lit up when he mentioned Anna?” said Hermione, her eyes looking a
bit misty. “He wouldn't have paid us any mind with her on the brain. We'll tell him about
whatever we find at dinner. Prefect common room?”

“Huh? Oh yeah!” said Harry, putting his arm around her again as they headed towards it. He
pressed his lips to her forehead in a sweet kiss, thinking to himself just how lucky he was.

They had no sooner entered the prefect common room that Harry found himself caught in one of
Hermione's bone crushing hugs. She blushed when she pulled away from him.

“Sorry,” said Hermione, sitting down on the couch. “I just can't believe we finally got that
thing open!”

Harry flipped past Sagesse Bom's heavily glued in bookplate to the pages. He expected to see
the names of spells—long ones that he probably wouldn't recognize—but there weren't any.
Instead, symbols even less recognizable covered every part of the first two pages. He waited for
Hermione to start flipping through the book. The next pages were the same, though, and the next.
The first half seemed consistent of both hand and pen, but the next parts weren't so
uniform.

“Er...” said Harry, “Hermione, do you... er, understand this? It's all a bunch of... lines
and dots and stuff.”

“I expected this,” said Hermione, running a finger down a page. “It's written magic—an old
wizard alphabet in which every character stood for a magical property. Spells were recorded as what
they were capable of, not as they sound when spoken, like they are today. It was pretty common
until the fifteenth century, but it's practically a lost art now.”

“Okay,” said Harry slowly. He could easily imagine Hermione stumbling over such a fact in a
large and dusty book somewhere. He peered down again at the book in Hermione's lap. His eyes
grew wide. “The symbols are moving! Are they supposed to be moving?”

He felt her hand close around his. “It is magic, Harry,” said Hermione gently, “and yes, the
symbols do move when being read. They're supposed to. That's one of the reasons wizards
stopped writing spells like this. Knowing magic just to write it? For a first year or any other
beginning student, that would certainly have been a challenge.”

Harry glanced at her. “You understand this, don't you?”

“I can read some of it,” said Hermione in a voice that told Harry not a single character
didn't make sense to her. “We learned about it in Ancient Runes third year. It was so
interesting that I did an extra credit project on it, and I've studied it ever since.”

Harry dropped a kiss on the top of her head, knowing that she was blushing furiously.
“That's my Hermione,” he murmured. “Don't be embarrassed about being smart.”

Hermione let him draw her closer, once again tracing a line down a page with her finger. “Do you
see how its written, top to bottom instead of left to right?”

Sure enough, the symbols lined up in columns rather than rows. “So... they'd write spells
like this but say them like we do?”

“Well, for most spells, they would,” said Hermione, “but probably not these. When a spell is
written by magical properties, one of two possible spells much finish it. The first makes it
readable. The second does the same, but it also executes the written spell.”

“Is there a way to tell which one is used?” said Harry. “Or is it even important?”

“Not so important, but I'd like to know. I can look up the incantation you'd use to feel
for magical energy,” said Hermione. “I'm fairly certain that the spells were executed from this
book, though. Otherwise, the Head Boys and Girls would have just written out the spells to be put
into place.”

She began to flip through the book again, and this time Harry noticed things that he could
understand. A few pages into the book's second half, he caught her hand and pointed out
something scrawled into the margin. “There's something there.”

“*Hey Elena, check my symbols, will you? My fire is much too similar to my combustion*,”
read Harry. He made a face. “Why would he need to know?”

Another note appeared several pages further. Hermione read this one. “*Your fire is supposed
to resemble combustion. It has three over-dots while combustion has two, though. You're doing
it all right otherwise.*”

“*Your guidance is always appreciated, my lady*,” read Harry. And, several pages later.
“*Hogsmead next weekend... what do you say? Go with me?*”

Hermione laughed. “Let's see if your parents had anything to say to each other,” she
suggested. She flipped past the work done by the next Head Boy and Girl to the start of the fourth
section, where a few lines had been inked on the very first pages. The script was very much like
Harry's own.

“*Hey Lily-love, what do you get when you cross a vampire with a mosquito?*” James had
written.

Hermione read Lily's response. “*I'm not sure I care to know, James, but I'm sure
you'll tell me anyway.*”

“*You get a very itchy neck!*”

“*That might be the worst joke ever.*”

“*Yeah, but it was awfully fun to make up. Padfoot and I wrote a whole list in detention last
week.*”

“*I wasn't even aware that you had a detention last week.*”

“*Oh, well, you know how things go. We charmed ol' Sev's robes to flash `Slytherin
Loser.' Probably shouldn't have done it in front of Professor Flitwick, although he did
compliment on us because it was such a nice piece of magic.*”

“*James, that is terrible! Poor Snape.*”

“*`Poor Snape' lit my robes on fire after lunch that day, or did you miss the
display?*”

“*You weren't hurt, were you?*”

“*Nah. Anyway, that's why we were writing vampire jokes.*”

“*Vampire jokes? Why? Because you have it in your mind that he might just be a creature of the
night?*”

“*Don't tell me the thought never occurred to you.*”

“*Never once until Sirius mentioned it last year.*”

“*Well, he is unnaturally pale, and I've never once seen him out in the daylight.*”

“*Oh, well, do all those Quidditch matches and Hogsmead weekends not count?*”

“*Minor technicality, but if you want to go that way, there are other jokes.*”

“*James, that really is disgusting. I'm stopping this now.*”

“*Stopping what? You can't stop this, you don't know what you get when you cross a
sleeping draught and ol' Sev's hair grease yet!*”

Hermione flipped straight through the next few pages, all done by Lily, without seeing a single
note from her to James. There was however, one from him in his next bit, which Harry read as he had
been.

“*Lily? I didn't mean to offend you with my Snape jokes. I'll even apologize to
ol' Severus for transfiguring his hair into a mess of snakes yesterday if it means you'll
talk to me again. I miss you, Lily-love.*”

“*The flowers you sent me this morning were lovely, but I know full well you nicked them from
the greenhouse last night. It was good of you to apologize to Snape after Potions, but the vampire
jokes still weren't necessary. The Muggle candy kisses you went at dinner were tasty, but
I'd much rather have a real kiss from you.*”

“*I love you, Lily.*”

“*I love you too, James.*”

“*Marry me, then? After graduation?*”

And, instead of a response the next time Lily worked on the wards, “*I can't believe you
proposed to me in a note scrawled in the margin of a book as part of a conversation that began with
a joke about itchy necks.*”

“*Hey, you didn't have to come dashing up to my room in your dressing gown to throw
yourself at me and ask whether or not I was serious, and you didn't have to say yes, even then,
although I would have been quite disappointed if you hadn't. And you act like it's just any
book. Didn't you listen to Dumbledore? This is a very special book.*”

“*I hadn't forgotten, but he said it much better than you did, which reminds me of
something. Shouldn't we be working on the wards instead of writing back and forth in the
margins? You are sitting about ten feet away from me, after all.*”

“*Lily-love, you're taking all my fun away. What do you say to seven kids? I'm still
sad that you shot down ten.*”

“*James, I'm not even going to dignify that with a response.*”

“*Three, then?*”

Harry's arm tightened around Hermione. She squeezed his hand, and the rest of Lily and
James's comments to one another were read in silence. There weren't as many as there had
been in the beginning, but James would still occasionally ink a sweet line or two to Lily, and she
would respond. Hermione reached up and touched Harry's face as the book went from all Lily and
James had done to the beginning of Clara's work.

“Are you okay, Harry?” said Hermione.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” said Harry. “I was just expecting a look at the wards protecting the
castle, not another look at my parents' lives.”

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione, and he felt her squeeze his hand again. “They sound just
lovely.”

“You really think so?” Harry said, twirling a strand of her hair about his fingers.

“Really,” assured Hermione. “So you're sure that you're okay?”

Again, Harry promised her that he was before he said, “All these triangle things and circle
shapes really make up the castle's protection, huh?”

“I think that they do,” said Hermione. “I only read a few lines, and the impenetrable symbol
showed up seven times. Wards, don't you think?” She shrugged. “Your mother even referred to it
as wards.”

“I believed you when you told me what this book was,” said Harry. “I just can't believe
there's a symbol for every spell.”

“There's a symbol for every magical property, not every spell,” Hermione corrected
gently.

“Still hard to believe,” said Harry, shrugging. “So we know what this book is now, and who wrote
in it, and even why it was sealed, but we still don't know how it landed...” His eyes focused
in on the inside cover with its bookplate. `What's with that?”

“What?” said Hermione.

“The bookplate. It obviously hasn't been there since the beginning, and the only name on it
is Sagesse Bom's, but he certainly wasn't the only person that used it. If anyone's
name is in it, shouldn't it be the guy how originally wrote these wards?”

“Goodwin Dryvhorn,” said Hermione. “That's who wrote the original wards.”

“*Hogwarts, A History*?” Harry asked, grinning.

Hermione didn't cite the source of her knowledge; instead, she stopped running her finger
around the bookplate and glue. “Do you have a pocketknife or something that I could use?”

Leaning forward, his brow furrowed in a bit of confusion at her request, Harry fished the
penknife Sirius had given him for Christmas of his fourth year out of his trouser pocket. He handed
it to her, watched her eye its attachments, and said, “Be careful.”

Hermione finally chose the part meant to unlock any lock, and she slid it into the glue around
the bookplate. With very careful motions, she separated the bookplate and the cover. The glue went
with the bookplate, and she squealed quite suddenly.

“Goodwin Dryvhorn,” read Harry. The ink was fading with age, but eight hundred or so years would
potentially do that. (He had a feeling that, like most magical books, this one had protective
spells on it to save it from the usual wear and tear.) “Well, if we'd been unsure of this book,
I think that would have told us.”

“Yes, it would—” Hermione stopped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Harry this is the original
book of wards to this very castle!”

“I know,” said Harry, returning his penknife to his pocket. “Hagrid said that... we've known
it since then, haven't we?”

“But Harry!” Hermione said. “We shouldn't have this! It should be sitting on a magically
protected shelf in Dumbledore's office, if not a vault in Gringotts! It's nearly eight
hundred years old, but besides that, it's what's keeping us safe at this very moment. We
could be in so much—”

“Hermione,” said Harry firmly, “no one's noticed this book was missing in all the months
that it has been. It must not be one of Dumbledore's greatest concerns because it had to have
been sitting in that blue box for quite some time. We can't be in trouble for having this book
if no one even knows we have it.”

“But Harry—” said Hermione, her voice rising with just two words.

“Hermione,” said Harry firmly, again, this time grabbing her shoulders gently. “Don't you
reckon it's a lot safer for us to have it than whoever had it for those weeks in between?”
Finally, she nodded slowly, and he let go of her. “Good girl.”

“Just keep in mind that the last thing I want now is to be expelled,” said Hermione, which Harry
couldn't help but laugh at.

“You're not going to get in any trouble,” said Harry. “I promise. If anything happens with
this book, I'll say it was all me. They'll probably doubt that I could have figured it all
out on my own, but that's their problem.”

“You could have,” said Hermione. She picked up the bookplate from where she had set it down
between them, her eyes scanning it as if she were looking for any clue or explanation. She started
to turn it over in her hand but stopped suddenly, flipping it back to Bom's name. “Well,
that's one mystery solved.”

Harry kept his amazement of how her brain worked to himself, and he glanced back at the name.
“What is?”

“Well, this is in Dumbledore's handwriting,” said Hermione, and she laughed. “I would know.
You would not believe the number of times I read my Hogwarts letter. To this day, I could probably
recite what it said from memory.”

“Dumbledore wrote your Hogwarts letter?” said Harry, glancing up at her as he took the bookplate
from her. “McGonagall wrote mine. ”

“Well, there's an awful lot of letters to write every year, wouldn't you say?” said
Hermione matter-of-factly. “It's probably different parts of the alphabet. Anyway, I think that
explains a lot. If the book had gone missing in the castle at any time, the person that found it
would automatically assume it was just a student's journal. Of course, it wouldn't have
worked outside of the castle—”

“Like if Voldemort got a hold of it?”

Hermione's nose wrinkled up. “Yes, like if Voldemort got a hold of it. He probably
doesn't know it exists; otherwise, I'm sure he would have. I bet anything that other
protections on this book prevent it from leaving the castle.”

Harry nodded, although something deep within his mind reminded him that neither of them had any
idea of where the book had been during the majority of the time since they had found it. He
didn't say anything, though, because the look in Hermione's eyes told him that she was
trying to think through the exact same thing. The stakes were certainly higher now that they knew
what the book contained.

“I can't believe you were able to figure it out just from a little detail about the
magically bound pages of the book,” said Harry at least.

“The sections were really an afterthought,” said Hermione absently.

“What do you mean?” said Harry, his brow furrowing.

“Well, it just sort of came to me,” said Hermione, shifting uncomfortably. “One minute I was
walking with you, having just convinced you that it there was something to be hidden about the book
of wards, and the next it had just come to me.”

“It just came to you?” said Harry, still confused. “Like, you just pieced it together all at
once?”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don't know.”

* * *

Harry and Hermione might have been planning to inform Ron of all their recent discoveries during
dinner or at least directly after, but things didn't turn out exactly as planned. There had
been one problem—their redheaded friend had not been at dinner, nor had they been able to locate
him directly after. It seemed that their newfound knowledge of Sagesse Bom's book would have to
keep, at least for a little while.

“Where do you think he's gone off to?” said Hermione, almost a little worriedly, grabbing
Harry's hands and letting him help her out of her chair in the Gryffindor common room. Upon her
mentioning that she had a headache, he had suggested that they go up to the prefect common room,
where it was a little quieter. “It's not like Ron to miss dinner... he's something like a
human... human... human garbage disposal.”

“Forget what you were saying there for a moment?” said Harry quietly, slipping his arm around
her waist and ignoring the snort of laughter that came from the couch where both of the Weasley
twins and some of their friends were sitting. He figured it was George, or maybe even Lee Jordan.
The last time he had glanced in their direction, Fred had been so busy with Angelina that Harry
doubted he would have noticed.

“No,” said Hermione, laughing a bit herself. “I'm so used to catching myself before saying
Muggle expressions in front of Ron that I did it just then. It's just not worth explaining it
to him, you know.” She settled into Harry's embrace. “Then I remembered that the reason why I
was saying it in the first place was because Ron *wasn't* there.”

“I'm sure he's just with Anna,” said Harry, picking up on her worried tone for the
second time. It wasn't unlike her to get nervous about such small things.

“Anna was at dinner, though,” said Hermione. Her nose crinkled up a bit. “I'm really not
that worried. I just want to show him the book of wards. Maybe his input is just what it will take
to discover all of its remaining secrets.”

“It's possible,” said Harry, and he found himself tilting his head to let his lips meet hers
for a few seconds. It was really remarkable how quickly his and Hermione's relationship was
progressing. It was almost as though they were meant for this, that it was something eventual. It
really wasn't even that different from the friendship they had shared up until that morning,
but Harry already couldn't imagine having anything else with her.

When they got to the portrait hole that led into the prefect common room, it wasn't the
first time that Harry had given Godric Gryffindor's daughter the password since dinner. They
had gone up once before, right after, thinking that Ron might have been up there. That time, he
wasn't—the room had been undeniably empty. Now, there was no mistaking the tall, gangly redhead
pacing between the comfortable couch and matching chairs.

Hermione's relief was visible. “Ron, we have so much to tell you! We tried at dinner, but
you weren't—”

“Oh, you noticed, really?” said Ron in a nasty sort of voice, suddenly snapping his head up so
that he would face them. He continued to pace, his eyes flashing all the while. Harry and Hermione
shared a look. What had gotten into their friend? In a high-pitched sort of voice, he said, “What
wonderful, wonderful friends I have!”

“Are you mad about something?” said Harry cautiously.

Ron snorted. “No, everything's just *great*, Harry. Of course I'm mad about
something!”

The two calmer members of the trio shared another look. It certainly didn't seem like their
normally agreeable friend talking, so it was more likely that something had caused his fiery temper
to get the better of him. Of course, as long as he was on about whatever had him so mad, neither
Harry nor Hermione had a chancing of knowing what that something was.

Harry dropped his arm from around Hermione, trying desperately to remember anything he might
have done recently that would have Ron so angry. Then again, it was entirely possible that it had
been something of Hermione's doing that had Ron fuming, and probably even more likely that it
had absolutely nothing to do with either of them. Ron could have been fighting with Anna for all
Harry knew. He studied Ron for a moment, and asked, “And what would that something be?”

“I just had the greatest talk with Ginny,” said Ron, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Finally got around to telling me what's had her so edgy all year, my sister did. Remember how
curious we *all* were about that? Remember your assurances, *Hermione*, that she was
*just growing up*? And you, *Harry*, remember trying to talk to after that fight with
Seamus that *we didn't understand*?”

Of course. It had been ages since Ginny had promised the youngest of her brothers a full
explanation of her odd behavior over the course of the last year, so long that Harry had almost
forgotten about it. It seemed that the littlest Weasley hadn't a reservation about telling Ron
who knew and didn't know of her problems. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but his pacing
friend cut him off.

“As it turns out, Ginny's been *devastated* since the attack on Durmstrang at Halloween
because of the loss of a certain Bulgarian Seeker, a certain Viktor Krum that she had been carrying
it on with for *months*. She kept it secret because of *one* person,” said Ron
accusingly, rounding in on Hermione, “who ended up being the only person that she told.”

“Ron,” said Hermione patiently, though Harry could tell that the tone was a difficult one for
her to maintain at that moment, “the only reason that I didn't tell you was because Ginny asked
me not to tell anyone.”

Ron glared at her. “It seems to me that you, of all people, would have enough sense to tell me
something about my own little sister.”

“You need to calm down,” said Harry carefully. “Hermione was just doing what Ginny told her to.
You can't fault her for—”

“Didn't hear her, did you?” Ron interrupted. “She wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but
just as I thought, I'm sure that she told you. *Didn't* she?”

Harry was taken aback. “Yes, but—”

“But what?” said Ron scathingly. “I thought that the three of us were the best of friends, but
anymore it seems like the two of you are, and I'm the mate left out. Maybe that's how you
feel—fine! See if I care, but you should at least have some consideration for the fact that Ginny
is *my* sister. I can't believe that you didn't say a thing to me when she was
carrying on with a nineteen-year-old. Ginny is fourteen! *Fourteen*!”

Hermione's bottom lip began to tremble. “Ron, please. I didn't know anything about it
until after it was over! You're being completely irrational. If you want to talk about this,
that's fine, and I'll be totally willing, but you have to calm down! This is *exactly*
why Ginny didn't want to tell you. I know you're mad, and upset, but you can't just let
your anger get—”

“WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT BEING ANGRY?” demanded Ron.

He advanced on Hermione.

She screamed.

And, the color leaving his face, Ron dropped back. He swore, rather loudly, but the next thing
out of his mouth was a quiet, “Merlin, I just really messed up, didn't I?” He suddenly sounded
quite miserable. Clearing his throat, he said, “I'm so sorry—are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” said Hermione tearfully, managing a thin smile. Seeing that Ron had scared her
and made her cry, it was Harry trying to keep his anger at bay now. “You just startled me.”

The look on Ron's face was enough to make Harry forgive him. He cleared his throat and made
an awkward gesture. “I—er, kind of lost it, didn't I?”

“Yes, you kind of did,” said Harry, actually smiling a little when Hermione did. He looped his
arm around her. “Want another chance?”

“Er, yeah,” said Ron sheepishly. Through with his pacing, he dropped heavily onto the couch and
sighed. “I really am sorry. I didn't mean to yell at the two of you. I just can't believe
it, that idiot going after my sister.”

Hermione sat down on one side of Ron, Harry on the other. She said gently, “Ginny's going to
date someday, Ron. She's already dating again. You can't tell her what she can and
can't do.”

“She's not going to date guys five years older than her,” said Ron darkly, “at least not now
she isn't. Besides, if you ask me, he used both of you.”

At this, Hermione looked away, which only made Harry give her an intent look. If Ron knew what
had happened with Ginny and Krum, it was certainly time for him to know what Krum had tried to do
to Hermione. Harry cleared his throat, but Ron wasn't finished.

“I'm *still* sorry that I scared you,” said Ron. “I was just mad that I hadn't been
told about something so important. And I was mad that I'd been lied to—you told me that you
didn't go to Bulgaria last summer, but Ginny said that you did.”

“I did,” said Hermione carefully.

Ron seemed to consider this for a moment, but he finally said, “I'm sure you had your
reasons. I don't care about that, I guess. I'm just mad at Krum. Dead or not, it sure
sounds like he hurt my sister *and* my best friend. I don't like that.”

“Then you're not going to like the rest of the story,” said Hermione.

“The rest of the story?” Ron's nose crinkled up, but Harry remained silent. He looked across
Ron to her, silently willing his girlfriend just to get it out.

Hermione looked away and began quietly. “There was a reason why I didn't want you to know
about my time with Krum in Bulgaria. Ron—he turned out to be a Death Eater.”

Ron's eyes bugged. And he screeched, “*What*?”

“Viktor Krum was a Death Eater,” said Hermione in a calm tone that amazed Harry. “He wasn't
the same person that we knew at Hogwarts, or even the same person that had chased madly after the
Snitch at the World Cup. He was vicious, and cold-hearted. He wanted me to give more than I was
willing.” Her hands were shaking in her lap; she didn't have to verbalize what it was he
wanted. “Krum tried to make me give in, and I managed to hex him just before he could. He started
ranting madly that he could do so much better than me. That he had another girl. That she was more
willing than I.

“Then Krum remembered that, as a Durmstrang student, he hadn't a restriction on using magic
in the summer. He used me to get closer to Harry. He probably used Ginny to get close enough to me
to get to Harry. I guess he was working for Voldemort all along.” Hermione trembled. “He wanted to
kill me, but he failed to work the Killing Curse on me. It's probably good that he's gone
now.”

Hermione looked quietly down at her lap. Harry was leaning forward, looking around his other
best friend to see that she was okay. Ron was watching Hermione just as intently. Suddenly, he
jumped up, beginning to pace, at which Hermione slid closer to Harry. She leaned her head against
his jumper, and he wrapped his arms around her.

“That story doesn't make any sense,” Ron declared. “My sister is a better judge of people
than that. *You're* a better judge of people than that. The two of you wouldn't end up
with some Death Eater. You just wouldn't.” He looked slightly forlorn all of a sudden. “You
wouldn't, right?”

“I have the Dark Scar to prove it, if you need to see,” said Hermione softly, her cheeks turning
red. Harry was immediately filled with a hope that Ron wouldn't demand to see it. It was a
situation that had an awful lot of potential to be awkward.

“Where is it?” said Ron at last.

“My chest,” said Hermione. It was enough to change her slightly pink cheeks bright red with
embarrassment. It was also enough to bring a similar patch of coloring to Harry's face.

“Er, well,” said Ron uncomfortably, “you don't have to show me then.” Suddenly, though, his
face lit up with an almost wicked grin. “So she really has it, Harry?”

“Er,” said Harry, and that was it. He gave a sort of shrug as Ron laughed. However, as quickly
as it began, the same laughter ended. Their redheaded friend stopped in his tracks, his eyes
growing wide.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Ron, holding up his hands. “Hermione, did you say that Krum was allowed
to use magic over the holidays as a Durmstrang student?”

“I did,” said Hermione, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Merlin! How did I not
see it before? It's not the schools at all! It's the Ministry!”

Ron nodded grimly. “The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery—you're not
supposed to do magic outside of school—any school—if you're underage.”

“How did I not see that?” said Hermione, sounding furious with herself. “He mentioned it so
casually, but I still should have know!”

“It's okay, Hermione,” said Harry, biting his lip. “So how did he do what magic he did
without getting a warning? Is it like Fred and George in the summer—too close to other wizards and
witches of age for the Ministry to notice?”

“I reckon,” said Ron, and he began his pacing again, reaching up to stroke his chin. Again, he
stopped. “What am I talking about? What are you talking about? Viktor Krum would have graduated
last year! He wasn't at Durmstrang at the attack!” He shook his head. “What were we
thinking?”

“No, Ron,” said Hermione, although she looked distressed. “Krum was at the start of his final
year at Durmstrang. He was going to take a year off after that, and then he was going to sign with
a professional Quidditch team... or at least that's what he said. It's what he said all
along.”

“But he already graduated, Hermione,” said Ron.

“He couldn't have.”

“He did, though,” Ron insisted, “and that year off between school and Quidditch is this year
right now!”

Harry looked from his girlfriend to his best friend. “Er,” he said. “How do you know, Ron? Maybe
he turned seventeen early in his seventh year... I know Angelina did. It's not that
unusual.”

Ron sighed, and he took his wand from his pocket. “*Accio Quidditch clippings*!” He
pocketed his wand. “You might want to duck.”

Sure enough, a heavy-looking volume whizzed into the room. Ron caught it easily, and began
flipping through it. Most of the pages pasted inside were from the *Daily Prophet*, but others
had come from various Quidditch magazines. Well over half featured Chudley Cannons players and
games, and some dated back before any of them were even born. Harry had seen Ron using paste and
Spellotape on several occasions to add new bits to the collection. He had even looked through it
before, but never had he noticed anything about Viktor Krum. Apparently, though, there was
something, and Ron was doing his best to locate it.

“Aha!” said Ron at last, and he dropped the book on the table before the sofa, shoved it towards
Harry and Hermione, and pointed out a particular paragraph. “It's all right there.”

*Krum, though best known for his performance in the 1994 final of the Quidditch World Cup, has
decided to take a year away from the sport now that he has graduated from Durmstrang School of
Sorcery.*

It was one of the clippings from a magazine rather than the Daily Prophet, which gave Harry a
bit more confidence when it came to its validity. He slowly leaned back on the couch, glancing at
Ron. He gave Hermione a gentle squeeze when he noticed the very stunned expression she was
wearing.

“I feel so stupid,” she said at last.

It was Ron who was quick to dispel her worries this time. “You couldn't have known,” he said
soothingly, finally sitting back down. He threw an arm around her shoulders to compliment the hold
Harry had on her waist. “There wasn't a reason to doubt him until you found out he was a Death
Eater, right? And after that, you were probably too shocked to—”

Suddenly, it was Harry who sprang forth with a new realization. “That's it!” he said.
“Remember our Defense essays?”

“How could I forget?” Ron grumbled, and then he seemed to cotton onto what Harry was saying.
Hermione was already nodding along. “That's why the Sorting Hat assigned you to the Dark
Scar!”

Harry nodded. “Of course that's why,” he said, “but that's not the point. Look, one of
the things about the Dark Scar is this—it's tied somehow to the Affinity of Relations.
Hermione, I know you remember that day when I had to have you explain it to me for my own essay.
It's a very, very weak form of it, though, but don't you think it would have been enough
for Krum to make you *not* notice his lies?” Concentrating very hard on his theory, he had
absently begun to twirl a lock of Hermione's hair. “It's not like you would have had reason
to think twice about anything he said before, right?”

“Right,” said Hermione, uncertain at first, but then she nodded. “I doubt it would have been
enough for him to put thoughts in my head, but just keeping me from thinking about something sounds
entirely possible.”

“Well, that's settled then,” said Ron after a few moments of silence. “If I ever see Krum
again, I'll kill him once for being a Death Eater, once for leading Ginny on, and once for
trying to hurt you. Now, didn't the two of you have something... All right. I give up. I'll
stop pressuring the two of you to just get together already, but you're going to have to stop
all the cute gestures, Harry. I can't take it. It's been forever since I've seen Anna,
and you're making me wish she were here.”

“Didn't you just see her before dinner?” said Hermione, catching Harry's hand in hers,
forcing him to stop his absent twiddling. She gave him a friendly peck on the cheek.

Ron's ears went pink. “I might have,” he mumbled, at which Harry grinned. He tightened his
arms around his own girlfriend while his best friend cleared his throat. “So... er... what was it
that you were saying? You and Harry had something to tell me?”

“Loads, actually,” said Hermione, and she launched into the most thorough explanation possible
of their talk with Hagrid and discovery of the book's true identity. She went so far to tell
Ron of James's proposal to Lily but excluded all mention of the talk she and Harry had had that
morning as they headed deeply into the Forbidden Forest, a moment that seemed so far away now. By
the time she had finished, Ron had reopened the book and was turning it over in his hands with the
same awe that Harry had.

Ron blurted, “These symbols really make up the wards to the castle?”

“Really,” said Hermione.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, quickly flipping through the pages. “This thing goes on
forever.”

“It's like that enchanted tent your father borrowed,” supplied Hermione helpfully. This was
something that she had already explained to Harry as they walked down to the Great Hall for dinner.
“It appears to have a few hundred pages, but I think the actual number is much closer to a few
thousand.” She smiled sadly. “It's amazing what magic can do.”

Harry, used to such comments but more impressed by how well she was holding up otherwise, kissed
her temple. He knew that Hermione wasn't looking for pity. Ron seemed to realize this as well,
but he hadn't spent as much time with her and certainly didn't have the same connection
with her that Harry did, so he just cleared his throat.

“So, er, you can read this stuff?” Ron's question, though said in awkward tones, was enough
to get the trio going again. “That really doesn't look like it would be easy.”

“Oh, it's not that hard,” said Hermione, and smiling sweetly, she offered, “I could teach it
to you if you're interested.”

“That's okay,” said Ron hastily, which caused Harry and Hermione to exchange a small smile.
“What kind of modification do you think they were making to the wards, then?”

Hermione took the book from him when he offered it to her. Opening it carefully, she went back
to studying it as she had when she and Harry had originally unlocked the book's secrets. She
ran a finger down a page in the new part—it was within the section that Clara had done.

“Well, obviously, Dumbledore would have wanted the wards strengthened when Voldemort was first
such a threat,” said Hermione at last. “The only magic I know that doesn't weaken over time is
a Permanent Sticking Charm, hence it's name. Still, the original magic to the wards would have
been so powerful that it was probably just falling into disrepair then, after seven hundred years.
Yes, probably reinforcements, and improvements...”

“Any interesting improvements?” Ron wanted to know.

“Well, Bom used the combustion symbol repeatedly,” said Hermione, amused. “He probably had the
consequence for triggering an element of the wards as that. Imagine coming in contact with it
accidentally—you'd end up singed!”

“How would you come in contact with it accidentally?” asked Harry, tying but failing to come up
with a possible scenario.

Hermione shrugged, her eyes still not leaving the page. Her brow was now furrowed in
concentration. “It certainly wouldn't be likely. I'd say that you'd have to make an
effort to `accidentally' penetrate a ward. Then, of course, it wouldn't be...”

She trailed off without continuing. Looking up now, her eyes seemed to glaze over a bit.
Finally, Ron waved a hand in front of her face. “Wouldn't be what, Herms?” he said.

“You okay?” said Harry nervously when she didn't say anything, even then. He was strongly
reminded of their way back into the castle from Hagrid's hut. The look of not being quite there
was rather the same.

“I wasn't there, but the day in Care of Magical Creatures that the hursles tried to run
Malfoy off the school grounds!” said Hermione excitedly without a word about her trance-like
moments. “Don't you remember Dumbledore going on about some `surprise' for anyone who tried
to stray off Hogwarts's grounds? I was still in the hospital then, of course, but Harry told me
all about Malfoy running right into an invisible barrier.”

“Dumbledore's eclectic fence?” said Ron excitedly at once.

Harry had his own question. “What happened to that, anyway?”

“What?” said Hermione inattentively “Oh, Ron, yes, and it's really `electric' not
`eclectic.' But you see what I mean now, yes? It has to be related to this book. It just
*has* to.”

“It would make sense,” said Ron, obviously mistaking Harry's concern for Hermione's odd
behavior as skepticism. “The box with the book *had* just been thrown into the storage
dungeon. I think you even said at the time that it would have been the perfect place to conceal
something so valuable—or maybe it was Hermione. Still, if the book had been put there for
safekeeping, then it would only make sense to put it back once the wards had been put up. I think
it explains a lot.”

“Yeah, it does,” said Harry, never taking his eyes off Hermione. She had pulled away from him
and was flipping intently through the book of wards yet again. “So why were they put up and taken
back down? Is there some kind of glitch in them, Hermione?”

“I'll have to see,” said Hermione quickly. “What do you mean though, taken down?”

“Well, when Harry and I came after you in the forest after... well, you know,” said Ron,
shifting uncomfortably and giving her a bit more space, “we broken into a run and prepared for the
shock of our lives. Never came, though, and Dumbledore said that it would protect against students
entering the Forbidden Forest.”

“That's strange,” said Hermione. She bit her lip, looking nervously from her boyfriend to
her best friend. “It's also quite worrisome.”

“In what sense?” said Ron automatically.

Harry, on the other hand, knew at once what she was talking about. “It was working at the
beginning of the year, Ron, when Malfoy tried to escape the hursles, but a few months later, it
wasn't. That's...”

“Right when the disappearances were going on,” Ron filled in. It wasn't what Harry was about
to say, but it was an even better point. The redhead swore.

“Ron!” scolded Hermione.

“Sorry,” said Ron quickly. “That's it, though. Someone obviously figured out the wards and
took them down so that he could get into the school. That's when he started snatching people.
It's the only explanation that there is.”

“Not necessarily,” said Hermione. “I know you're not familiar with this way of writing, Ron,
but it's so much different than the spell-casting that we know. It was unbelievably handy
during the time period because one could write his own spells. Let's say someone did take down
the new wards—he'd need to know about the book, first, and he'd need to be able to access
it. Even all that is dependent on whether or not one of the students wrote the wards in question,
the invisible barrier around the school.”

“Well, we've already determined that, haven't we?” said Harry.

Hermione shook her head. “No... what makes you think that we have?”

This time, it was Harry and Ron that shared the look. “Well, you were reading the book,” said
Ron reasonably, “and then you realized that invisible barrier wards came from it. Isn't that
because you read its magical properties in that book?”

“No, not exactly,” said Hermione. “It... well, it just kind of came to me again.”

“Just kind of came to you?” Ron's nose crinkled up.

“Earlier, Hermione just sort of saw the connection between what Hagrid had said about
Clara's work on the wards and Sagesse Bom's book,” explained Harry. He glanced at Hermione.
“I didn't know that it happened again.”

Hermione looked very nervous. “It just happened,” she said. “I wouldn't look into it if I
were you.”

“Why's that?” said Ron, narrowing his eyes. “I don't want to be rude or anything, Herms,
because you're really smart, but you're not that smart. You always run off to the library
for hours upon end. You don't just sit down and have things `come' to you. It's not
normal.”

“Maybe not,” said Hermione, still sounding very uncertain.

“I'll say,” Ron snorted. “You're not at all worried by the sudden parallels you seem to
be making between things?”

“It's not like she hasn't looked into all of this stuff a thousand times before. Maybe,
now, she's just putting—” Harry started to say, but Hermione waved for him to stop.

“A little,” she said squeakily.

Harry wasn't sure he wanted to explore what Hermione's momentary lapses meant. “I'm
sure—”

“Bloody hell, you're not surer than she is,” Ron interrupted. “We can't just have this
keep as it is, mate. Hermione, you aren't going to ignore it, are you? You've lapsed out
twice in one day now, right?”

“And it was like I wasn't even thinking for myself,” said Hermione hesitantly.

Ron's eyes bugged. “That's it. We've got to do something. It must be that bloody
Affinity of Relations from the—”

“What Affinity of Relations?” said Hermione, obviously confused. “I know you wouldn't
believe it, but Draco's honestly tried to keep out of—”

“No, the arse that raped you,” said Ron, giving her an odd look for only a second before
realizing what he had said. Harry had realized it at once even though he had very nearly forgotten
discussing the Snape's words and Halae Sueuorum's book with Ron. In fact, he'd done his
best not to think about it for several days now. “Er, I mean—”

“What do you mean?” said Hermione sharply. There was a moment of silence, followed by a crisp
accusation. “You've been hiding something from me.”

Harry shot Ron a desperate glance. “No, not hiding...” he muttered vaguely. “It's just...
well, we found out that an Affinity of Relations occurs when... you know, a wizard r—r—rapes a
witch.”

“No it doesn't,” said Hermione. “My Defense essay was the longest of anyone's. If it
were so, then I would have come across it. I know I would have! I have every resource
available...”

“Er, not quite,” said Ron, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I guess there was a day that
Snape kept you from checking out a book on a library. It's the only of its kind.”

“Then how do you know?” said Hermione. By this time, she had wriggled farther away from each of
the boys and looked ready to jump up from the couch. “It would have been a book from the most
restricted of the restricted section books.”

“It was in that detention I had for being in your room,” said Harry reluctantly. “Snape sort of
ended up showing me the book, and he let me have it after that.”

“You showed Ron?” said Hermione quietly. “You showed Ron but not me?”

“Yes,” said Harry. She slid forward to the edge of the sofa, facing him. He looked pleadingly at
her.

“You were going to tell me,” said Hermione, almost hopefully, “but you had to wait for the
right—” she stopped and said flatly, “You weren't going to tell me.”

Hermione slipped off the edge of the sofa, the accusation apparent in her eyes. Harry found that
he was suddenly very hoarse, wishing very much for Ron to come to his aid. Ron looked equal parts
stunned and scared.

“What's it going to do to me?” Hermione said. “What does it mean? It's more than just
mind manipulation, isn't it? It has to be bad, or you would have told me.”

“Hermione...” said Harry, but he couldn't go on.

“That bad?” Hermione had begun to blink; it was a motion Harry knew well. She was on the verge
of tears. He couldn't tell, however, whether the tears were for her sudden knowledge of the
Affinity or for his silence on the subject.

“Hermione,” said Ron at last, “please don't be mad at us. Harry and I were just looking out
for you. I think Snape even advised Harry against telling—”

“Snape's opinion suddenly matters more than my own?” said Hermione, her cheeks wet. “Did you
not think I'd want to know about something that could kill me?”

Harry felt very hollow, suddenly very dead. “We didn't say anything—”

“Exactly,” said Hermione tearfully. “Thanks so much, Harry, and you too, Ron, for looking out
for me. For *protecting* me. We'll see now, I reckon, how I fair on my own.”

And, with that, she fled the room.

-->



34. Cloaked and Charmed
-----------------------



Chapter Thirty-Two

CLOAKED AND CHARMED

“No, I won't let you into our dorm room,” said Lavender, her eyes ablaze with a fury he
hadn't often seen. She folded her arms across her chest. “You're not supposed to be up
here, Harry Potter, and I'm not going to let you in any farther!”

Harry hoped very much that his face was every bit as expressive as hers. “Let me in,
Lavender.”

“Hermione doesn't want to see you,” said Lavender scathingly. She pulled her wand from her
pocket and jabbed it at him, causing Harry to take a few steps backward. A satisfied sort of smirk
on her face, she continued, “She told me so herself.”

“I need to talk to Hermione,” said Harry, having very much to restrain himself shoving her right
out of the way and barging into Hermione's dorm room. “You're going to let me in.”

“I'm not going to do any such thing,” said Lavender curtly. “Hermione asked Parvati and I to
keep Ron and especially you away, and that's exactly what I'm going to do!
*Harrumph*!”

She turned on her heels so quickly that Harry didn't have a chance to slip in behind her as
the door opened and shut quickly. He started to turn the doorknob, but Lavender had already locked
it both physically and magically. Harry swore, attracting the attention of two tiny firsts years
just down the hall.

“You aren't supposed to be up here!” said one of them incredulously. She had her hair
plaited in two pigtails, tied off at the end with pink bows. As for her height, Harry and Ron had a
theory about the first years shrinking in size over time, this girl being yet another example. “You
need to leave!”

“I could hex you all the way down to the Slytherin common room,” said Harry nastily, the words
just slipping from his mouth at this point, “or attempt to turn you into a toad. Now why don't
you run along now, and go play with some dolls or something?”

The girl, and her friend, both gave Harry the most wide-eyed expressions. They seemed to be
frozen in place. He sighed.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Harry muttered quickly. “Lost my temper there. Run along though, would
you?” The girls didn't move. “I'm not going to hex you or turn you into a toad... well, er,
don't just stand there. Do something useful at least. Say, why don't you run down to the
common room and tell a one Ron Weasley to clear off if he values his life? He'll be the redhead
slumped in a chair looking like he really would hex or transfigure you. Just go!”

Nodding shakily, the first year girls scuttled off faster than Harry had ever seen any student
move outside of the Quidditch pitch. He raised his eyebrows and look off and away for a second.
“Must have been intimidating right then,” he muttered before knocking loudly. “Hermione, please! I
need to talk to you!”

No answer.

“Please, would someone just open up again, at least?” Harry said, figuring it was all in vain.
He had been alternately pounding on the door and arguing with Lavender for the better part of an
hour now. It had been exactly that long since Hermione had fled the prefect common room with wishes
to be alone, but Harry wasn't about to give up on her that easily. The more he thought about
it, the more he could see where she was coming from, but he was still very aware of what it would
have done to her to know. Of what it *was* doing to her to know.

As the minutes passed, Harry began to wonder more and more whether he could get away with
killing Ron for blurting out such statements about the Affinity of Relations Hermione shared with
her attacker. He sighed, pounding on the door once more before folding his hands on top of one
another and resting his forehead against them on the door. It was the absolute worst moment he
could have picked to do so—Lavender had chosen that second to throw the door open one last
time.

“Are you so dense that you cannot take a hint?” said Lavender. She could see him peeking over
her head to try and see Hermione's bed, which was where Harry assumed she was sitting.
“*You're* the reason why Hermione's so upset. *You're* the one she never
wants to see again. *You're* not going in there, and that's final!”

Harry tried to put on the most threatening face he could. “What makes you such an authority on
Hermione?”

“She's my roommate,” said Lavender fiercely.

“She's my best friend,” said Harry.

“Not anymore she's not,” Lavender shot back. “She told—”

“She told you to watch out for her because she couldn't have me or Ron,” interrupted Harry
rudely. “You're her roommate, Lavender, and that's it.”

“It doesn't really matter what I am, does it?” said Lavender smugly. “I'm the one
she's talking to.”

Harry's eyes flashed as hot as hers once had. “You're going to let me in,” he said in
the coolest tone he could muster. “I don't care what Hermione told you to do because I know
`Mione better than that, and she—and I need her. Got it?”

“No I don't,” said Lavender. “Even if Hermione hadn't told me to keep you out, I
wouldn't have let you in. You can't tell me what to do with my own room.”

“So that's what this is about?” Harry's eyes narrowed as he folded his arms across his
chest. “You're still mad about the bloody night we were working on our Defense essays?”

“Hermione went to me,” said Lavender, ignoring him. “She went to me and Parvati, and there's
nothing that you can do to change that. She obviously doesn't want you right now.”

It was a good thing that Harry's wand was still locked in the drawer of Ron's desk, and
that he'd forgotten he was holding onto Hermione's wand, because it was in that moment that
Harry realized that Lavender was really the one that got him into the mess in the first place. If
she had not been so angry about a few minutes of sleep, then he would have never gotten detention
with Snape and never would have found the book. It was originally good that he knew, but now it was
just messing everything up.

“You can put that face on all you want, Lavender,” said Harry coldly, “but it doesn't
matter. You are not Hermione's best friend. For every time she's gone to you with
something, she's gone to me a hundred times.”

“Oh yeah?” Lavender challenged. “You're not the one that has to deal with her every night
when she wakes up screaming her head off for no apparent reason!”

“No, I'm not,” said Harry. He advanced on Lavender. “I'm the one that knows why
she's having nightmares. I'm the one that would be there in a heartbeat if I could. I'm
the one that wouldn't care if I lost sleep as long as she was okay.” Shoving his hands in his
pockets, he finally turned away. “Tell her I'll be in the prefect common room.”

Dejected, Harry headed down the spiraling staircase and back into the main part of Gryffindor
tower. Several girls peeked out of their dormitories to give him odd stares on his way down, but he
paid them no mind. He scanned the common room once for Ron, and when he did not see his friend, he
headed right up to the prefect common room. After bartering with Lavender for the first few
minutes, he had realized that she wasn't about to let him in to see Hermione, but it hadn't
stopped him from trying. All he could do now was wait.

The prefect common room was just as they all had left it, their things still strung all about,
which was unusual. The sixth and seventh year prefects weren't necessarily as close as Harry,
Hermione, and Ron were (or, as it was looking, had been), so they weren't up there nearly as
often, but the Head Boy and Girl, Tyler Etherington and Katie Bell, were infamous within the
Gryffindor tower for their tucked-away snogging sessions. Harry could understand being that
attracted to someone, but he still found walking in on it unpleasant.

Closing his eyes, Harry flopped against the worn couch. He really hadn't a clue whether or
not Lavender would even give Hermione his message, let alone if she would come up to talk later. As
much as he tried not to, Harry found himself considering the possibility of Hermione having heard
him but not paying him any mind. She'd been his for less than a day, but already she was
something that he wasn't willing to do without. Five years of friendship alone was a lot to
just throw away.

Harry wasn't sure how long he sat there, just hoping and thinking and wishing, but he later
finally found himself reaching for the book of wards; it was still sitting on the coffee table. He
wanted to read his father's proposal to his mother once more (and perhaps draw some comfort
from the fact that they, too, had fought but made up). Unfortunately for him, though, the book had
since sealed itself, causing Harry to swear. He threw it back onto the table.

Back to where he had started, Harry began to wonder if what had come between him and Hermione
was really even an argument. It certainly seemed that she was mad at him, but he hadn't a
single harsh feeling towards her. Everything he had said to Lavender was exactly how he felt, and
he thought that those few statements had summed it up quite well. It wasn't like he was trying
to keep anything from Hermione. He was simply trying to protect her, which would have made him a
bit mad if not for part of the conversation he had with Hermione that morning.

The longer he sat there and thought about what had all gone down, the more tangled his thoughts
became. Eventually, Harry found himself abandoning thought almost entirely. He found himself, for a
while, in that place between dreams and reality, but it wasn't long until he had drifted
off.

Harry dreamed of a feast in the Great Hall, a feast no different than all the others he had
attended in his days at the school, yet it was unlike anything he had ever known. It was on a rare
occasion that he had witnessed the hall so silent, and such quiet had never come during the meal.
For a moment, he sat there in silence, but then he glanced up at the teacher's table, which was
eerily empty. His eyes did not hesitate at the Head Table for long, though, for one piercing scream
at that moment led to several more. The hall erupted into chaos, and things all around him turned
into snake after snake. Instead of talking to them, Harry searched the room for anyone familiar but
found no one. He began to run, faster and farther than he could ever remember going, his scar
burning all the while. When he reached the Forbidden Forest, he just encountered more snakes, and
then he heard a door open.

But doors could not open in the middle of unpopulated forests, and Harry realized that the sound
was really the opening of the portrait hole. The dream already long gone, he straightened up
quickly. He glanced at his watch, which, much to his annoyance, had stopped working again but
continued its maddening glow. Wordlessly, he held his arms out to the small figure approaching in
her pink dressing gown. Hermione slid onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting
her head on his shoulder. Her hair seemed more frazzled than usual somehow, and Harry ran a hand
gently down through it.

“Is it late?” he asked finally.

Hermione pulled back from him, and he got a good look at her face. She had the coloring of a
person who had been several times ill within a short space of time. “Yes,” she said. “I was so
adamant about not wanting to see you at first that I waited until Lavender and Parvati and
Sally-Ann and even Ginny had fallen asleep.”

“Lavender wouldn't let me in,” Harry grumbled.

“I heard you through the door,” Hermione murmured. “I'm so sorry.”

“No, I am,” said Harry, leaning forward so that their foreheads touched. For a long time,
neither of them said anything.

“Forgive me?” Hermione said at last. “I've forgiven you.”

“There's nothing for me to forgive you for,” Harry said quietly. “You didn't do anything
wrong—I should have told you, and I'm sorry that I didn't.”

“Shh, it's okay,” said Hermione, bringing a finger up to his lips. “I should probably move,
shouldn't I? You're probably dying under all this weight.”

“But you don't weigh much of anything,” Harry protested. “Besides, I like having you this
close.”

“Aw, okay,” said Hermione, blushing a little. She kissed his forehead. “Perhaps I was thinking
back to you at eleven—skinny and so very short.”

“I was not short,” said Harry indignantly.

“I was taller than you were.”

“Well, maybe you have a point,” said Harry, lacing his fingers through hers. He locked eyes with
her and acknowledged at last, “You want to talk about it?”

“A little,” said Hermione softly. Hesitating for a moment, Harry squeezed her hand and went on
to tell her all about the detention with Snape several weeks before. He told her of the fights he
had witnessed and even how he had accused the Potions Master (a moment during which his girlfriend
stayed very, very quiet), but she stopped him before he could get into the contents of *Heinous
Happenings, Heinous Harvests*. “I'm sure it's no different from any of the other
Affinities.”

“No, probably not,” said Harry. He went back to stroking her hair after they lapsed into a
momentary silence. “Hermione, I really am sorry.”

“I told you that there isn't really any reason to be,” said Hermione, but she did lean her
head back against his shoulder. “You were only looking out for me.”

“I just thought that it was something I could protect you from,” said Harry, “which is exactly
what you told me not to do this morning.”

“Yesterday,” Hermione corrected. “Did you not know that it's after midnight?”

“Really?” said Harry, surprised. He shrugged a bit. “I guess I didn't realize it.”

“Yes, after midnight,” said Hermione, and she scooted away from him then. He glanced over at
her, confused, and realized that her cheeks had gone faintly pink.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked.

It only made Hermione blush more. “I just feel a little unattractive in my night things,” she
finally admitted.

Harry dragged her back to him, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “You're beautiful.”

She smiled up at him before dropping her head to his shoulder. He cocked his head in her
direction, and they didn't talk for a while. Finally, it was Hermione that spoke. “Snape really
didn't want me to know about this?”

“No, he really didn't,” said Harry. “That's why I... er, you know, accused him of
hurting you. I think he's trying to repent for everything he must have done as a Death Eater.
Or something like that.” He paused. “Snape's doing all he can with the Affinity of Relations to
try and keep it from hurting you.”

“Is he really?” said Hermione incredulously.

Harry nodded. “He was almost human for awhile back in his office there. Well, as human as I
think someone as greasy as Snape can be. I think... well, I guess that I know he really does care
about his students deep down.”

“I guess so.”

“Well, maybe not me,” said Harry thoughtfully, “but I reckon he cares about you.”

“Why? He's so awful to me in class,” Hermione pointed out.

“I think that's for two reasons. You're my best friend.”

“Girlfriend.”

“He doesn't know that,” said Harry quickly. He dropped a kiss on her head. “But don't
worry—I do. The second reason, though, is because you're a Gryffindor.”

“It really would be interesting to find out how he treats the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs,”
Hermione mused. “I would think that—”

“He's pretty awful to everyone,” someone interrupted. It was Ron's voice, but Ron was
nowhere to be seen. Harry and Hermione looked around in silent confusion for a few more seconds
before their redheaded friend emerged from beneath Harry's invisibility cloak. Anna was with
him, but she hung back, her cheeks pink. “Just yesterday, wasn't it, that he took points from
Ravenclaw because he was `sick of you all doing so well?'”

“Yes,” said Anna shyly. “Hello Harry, Hermione.”

“Hello Anna,” said Hermione pleasantly, but then she was all business. “Ron,” she said sharply,
exhaling slowly. Her hand was at her chest; he had obviously startled her. “You really
shouldn't do that to people.”

“No, you shouldn't, mate,” said Harry. “How'd you get through the portrait hole without
us knowing?” He glanced at Anna. “How are you, Anna?”

“I'm fine,” she said quietly, “and you?” At this, Ron put an arm around her shoulders to
keep her from backing away.

Though he knew it really wasn't any of his business, Harry had always wondered about
Anna's shyness. Even before her and Ron's relationship had become a secret, she would try
to stay in the background whenever they would all do something together. It wasn't even that
he, Ron and Hermione were the most talkative of people because they weren't, but their time
together was always filled with laughing and talking and bantering. Ron had said, and Harry had
even seen, that Anna was different when it was just the two of them, and he had to wonder what made
her act so shy around him and Hermione. Still, Harry kept such thoughts to himself and smiled
warmly. “The same,” he said, and to Ron, “Well?”

Ron, his arm still around Anna, plopped down on the second couch. “We come up here sometimes,”
he said simply. “I really wasn't going for the talking-from-under-the-invisibility-cloak thing,
it just sort of happened. I always take it off for the portrait and put it back on in case Tyler
and Katie are closely examining each other up here. You forget, after a while, that you have it
on.” He eyed his two best friends. “You must not have been talking much because I didn't hear
you. If I had, I wouldn't have come in.”

“It's okay,” said Harry, and it was. “When did you clear out of the common room?”

“Two little girls came looking for me after you'd been up there for a while,” Ron said, a
slight smile on his face. “Scaring the first years, eh, Harry? Two came looking for me in the
common room. It was all wide-eyes and hushed whispers—`we've just run into Harry Potter,'
one said, and the other—`he wants us to tell you to leave.' There was also some stuff about
valuing my life. Congratulations, Harry, I didn't know you had it in you.”

“Harry!” Hermione chided, but he could tell she was just kidding because she snuggled closer to
him. Ron grinned.

“So you two are on again?” said Ron slyly.

Harry knew not to trust that tone. “We've cleared everything up,” he said. Teasingly, he
added, “No thanks to you.”

“I'm sorry,” said Ron, the tips of his ears turning red. He cleared his throat, and the
devious look came back. “So, I guess I can collect my galleons from Fred and George, eh?”

“What can you do?” said Harry, scowling.

“Well, you and Hermione looked *awfully* comfortable when we first walked in,” said Ron.
“Are you sure that the two of you aren't on for real?”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. She had been regarding their little talk with amusement.
Finally, smiling sheepishly, Harry said, “Yeah, we are. We talked things through.”

Never before had Harry seen such a look of excitement cross Ron's face, and that included
birthdays and Christmas. “Thanks to you, mate, I'm twenty galleons richer,” he joked. “Er, I
mean, congratulations.”

“Yeah, well,” said Harry, grinning in spite of the fact that he was still having trouble
believing that his best mate had actually placed a bet on him getting together with their mutual
best friend. Ignoring Ron's ohs and ahs, he kissed Hermione's temple and muttered, “I still
think I'm the one that really won.”

“Well aren't we just so cute?” said Ron, and at this, Anna swatted his arm.

“Let them be happy,” Anna scolded shyly. Ron pulled her back against his chest, and even though
he said nothing more, he was still wearing the same sly smile.

Harry glanced at Hermione, expecting her to still be regarding their banter with an air of
amusement. However, instead, she was looking at the crumpled invisibility cloak where it lay on the
floor. “Hermione?”

“You never did tell me,” she said, “the story of how you got that back from Filch?”

“Got what back from Filch?” asked Ron, bewildered. Unlike Harry, he had not noticed where
Hermione was looking.

“The invisibility cloak,” said Hermione, giving Ron an odd look.

“Eh?” said Ron. “What do you mean?”

“You know, that night we ended up polishing plaques in the trophy room,” said Hermione
carefully, and Harry could tell by the quick look she shot Anna that she was worried about saying
too much. He felt his heart sink as her explanation went on. “It was detention, or had you
forgotten? Filch also confiscated the cloak that night. Of course... I was in the hospital wing
about a second later, so I guess I must have missed the big rescue.” Playfully, she finished, “You
still could have told me about it.”

“There wasn't any big rescue, Hermione,” said Harry quietly. “At least, not one I was
involved in. Ron?”

“Er,” said Ron, shifting nervously. His voice faltered. “There wasn't one?”

“I'd forgotten that Filch had it,” Harry confessed. “I reckon... I reckon I was so worried
about you that I didn't think on it a second longer. I can't believe I forgot.”

“Maybe you forgot that you'd gotten it,” said Ron uncertainly. “It was always in the trunk
when I needed it.”

“No, I never got it back from Filch,” said Harry with conviction.

“Then it must have been you,” said Hermione sensibly, nodding in Ron's direction. “It's
okay to have forgotten, as long as you did get it... and you did get it, right?”

“I think I'd remember something like that,” said Ron lightly.

Harry swallowed hard. “Er... I guess...”

“If I could say something?” Anna said timidly when he trailed off. “There was a while there that
Ron didn't have it—a few weeks maybe. Remember? Filch nearly caught you one night when you were
in the Charms corridor. I asked you, then, why you didn't use Harry's invisibility cloak
anymore, but you were startled, and you never gave me an answer.”

“You weren't the one that had to witness rubbing his hands together in the middle of the
hallway,” said Ron indignantly. “`Student out of bed, I sense a wee student out of bed, I'll
catch that student out of bed. Won't write him up, won't write up student out of bed,
I'll take him straight to my office and put him up for a few hours... hang him up for a few
hours...'”

Anna shuddered. “He's scary,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry. I noticed Ron wasn't
using it, and I would have asked why if I had realized it would later be important. I just figured
we'd never before had a problem with Filch or any of the other teachers catching us, so he
decided it really wasn't necessary. I really am sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” said Harry. “It's not like we can fault someone for not being
observant when we weren't either. Do either of you remember the first time you saw it again? I
know I haven't used it since then.”

“It was the day we turned in our Defense essays,” said Ron with conviction, “which was just a
few days after I ended up ducked behind a statue for half an hour. I hadn't seen Anna for a few
days because I was trying to get my essay finished, but when I went that night, I remember thinking
that I didn't want to get caught in that situation again. So I fished Harry's cloak out of
his trunk.” He scrunched up his face. “That was... which night was that?”

“We were in one of the classrooms on the fifth floor, weren't we?” said Anna quietly,
glancing up at her boyfriend. Ron kissed her lightly.

“If you think we were,” said Ron.

“That's the night you realized Clara Lewick was Anna's aunt,” said Hermione. “You came
back to tell us right away.”

“How do you remember that stuff?” Ron muttered. Then, suddenly, he shifted. “Wait,” he said
slowly, “I would have had the invisibility cloak on me then. How come you didn't notice?”

“She was asleep when you came through the portrait hole,” said Harry.

“It doesn't matter,” said Ron after a few seconds. “That's not the point. The thing is,
Hermione, that I've used the invisibility cloak loads of times since the night that we finished
our Defense essays, and you've seen me using it some of them. Merlin, there were a couple of
times in there that even you used it with Harry and me! How come you're just now noticing
it?”

Hermione looked like she'd been slapped. In a voice that had become all too familiar the day
before, she stammered, “I... I don't know. It just... well, it just dawned on me.”

Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “How many times is that now for this weekend? Two? Three?
Four?”

“I'm not sure,” said Hermione quietly.

“Isn't that convenient?” Ron muttered, which brought about a smooth glare from Harry less
than a second after he realized Hermione's lip was trembling. “Er, well, *convenient*
isn't really the right word. It is strange, though, and a little frightening, and even you
can't say it isn't.”

“No, it is,” Harry admitted.

Hermione laughed nervously. “Strange and frightening?” she said lightly. “Think of how I
feel!”

“Maybe I should go.”

Three pairs of eyes were all looking in Anna's direction. She shifted nervously on the couch
she was sharing with Ron, which pulled her out of his embrace. “You know,” she said, her voice
faltering, “I don't really know what's going on, and I don't just want to invade your
privacy by listening to the whole conversation.”

“You're doing no such thing,” said Ron at once, but the question was now out there. Slowly,
slowly, his eyes met with Harry's and then Hermione's. Harry and Hermione looked at each
other, and then at Anna. A decision had been made.

“Er, well, a lot of weird things have been happening this year,” said Harry stupidly. He gave
Hermione a sheepish grin. He talked for a long while about the year that they had had beyond what
she already knew, and Ron filled in some of the details that he missed. For the most part, Hermione
remained quiet, but there were times that she reminded the boys to explain this or that and others
during which she called them on saying the same thing twice. Harry had gotten through recounting
what all Hagrid had said as well as Hermione's almost immediate connection between the
described book of wards and the book of Sagesse Bom's that they had found when she finally
jumped it.

“No, it really was just like that,” said Hermione, snapping her fingers. When Harry had said so,
Anna had looked on in disbelief, but now her bright eyes were alight with understanding. Hermione
glanced at her boyfriend, as if to confirm whether or not it was all right to continue. When he
nodded, she said, “Harry and I had Ron open the book of wards for us with the family charm you
wrote down for him.”

“Practically tricked me, they did,” Ron grumbled, slouching in his seat. “They knew I was on my
way to see you, so they didn't tell me what it was.”

“Oh, you looked so happy,” Hermione said with a wave of her hand. She grinned at Anna, which
caused the younger girl to shyly return the smile. She went on then, outlining what they had found
in the book of wards, (giving the boys an I-told-you-so look when Anna admitted to being able to
read its magical language as well), before letting Ron go into all that Ginny had told him after
dinner.

It was Hermione that finished the story. Anna's eyes widened the most they had when she
noted Krum's Death Eater status. Talking her way to the second before Ron and Anna had emerged
from beneath the invisibility cloak, Hermione finished, “So that's what Ron meant earlier.
Things have just been coming to me all day.” She gave a hollow laugh. “I guess it's just one
more thing to worry about when it comes to my sanity. On top of all that, ever since the dementor
attack on Hogsmeade, I'll have these weird and sketchy dreams of what came before I was...
before I... before I was *taken* *into the forest*. For a few seconds I'll recall a
passage and people and... and... well, do you see what I mean?”

For a few minutes, they all sat there in silence, not really even looking at each other.
Finally, Anna laughed a little. “And this sort of thing happens every year?” she said lightly.

Their answers came all at once.

“More or less,” said Ron.

“If by that you mean we find ourselves involved in something largely complicated every time we
come back to Hogwarts,” said Hermione, “then yes.”

And, defensively, Harry said, “No!” For a second, they were all quiet. His face red, he
continued, “Well, it's never been this complicated before. And it's not our fault. We
don't go looking for trouble; it always finds us.”

“No,” said Ron after another moment. “It's really always you it finds. We'd feel pretty
bad sticking you alone for it, though.”

Harry was still looking rather indignant, so Hermione kissed his cheek. She whispered, “He has a
point.”

Resigned, Harry patted down at a particularly frazzled area of her long, bushy hair. “Yeah, he
does,” he said with a sigh. “I wish it wasn't always me.”

Hermione and Ron nodded, as did Anna, but she also said, “So you... so you think You-Know-Who
has something to do with this?”

“I can't remember ever having a trouble he didn't have something to do with,” said Harry
darkly.

“At least not here,” Hermione offered quietly. She glanced up at him with wide eyes that said
just what he was thinking.

“No, at least not here,” Harry echoed. “Why do you ask?”

“Well...” said Anna slowly, as if what she were about to stay was obviously, “don't you
think that Viktor Krum might have more to do with this than the Dark Scar he gave you,
Hermione?”

“Like he was the one that—the one that—well, you know which one,” Ron piped in.

Hermione rounded in on him. “Raped me,” she said. “Like he was the one that raped me. You can
say it, you know.”

“'Mione, we can say it,” said Harry uncomfortably, “but do you realize what you just
said?”

Hermione's hand flew to cover her mouth. “No,” she said.

“Maybe there's a point to be had there,” Ron pointed out hesitantly, sounding completely out
of his element. “Krum's a Death Eater, Hermione, a Death Eater that, last summer, tried
to—”

“No!” said Hermione forcefully. “No! Stop it! It wasn't him!” With this, tears began to well
up in her eyes, and Harry had a sick feeling that it very well could have been, whether or not his
girlfriend wanted to consider the possibility. He tried to put his arm around her, but she wriggled
right away from him.

“Look, Hermione, we should really just tell one of the teachers what we know and leave it at
that,” Harry said kindly. “They'll need to know if it was—”

“Stop it!” Hermione cried, tears streaming down her face for real. “I don't care! I
don't care who it was, I don't care if he could still be hurting me, I just don't care
anymore! I want to forget about it. I want you to be able to put an arm around me with me flinching
because you moved too suddenly. I just want to be memory charmed, okay? Someone just make me forget
all about it!”

“No, it'd make you more vulnerable to the Affinity of Relations,” said Harry, doing his very
best not to panic. “Please Hermione, you don't want—”

“Harry, don't.”

His eyes leaving Hermione, Harry was very surprised to see that Anna had disentangled herself
from Ron and was approaching Hermione. If it were possible, Ron looked even more surprised. Anna
sat down on the couch in the small space between one of its arms and Hermione, and hugged the older
girl.

“No, you don't want that,” said Anna softly but firmly.

“I don't?” said Hermione, sounding bewildered. Her tears stopped quite suddenly, and she
gave Anna a look of astonishment similar to that of the boys'. Almost instantly, her cheeks
went red with embarrassment. Weakly, she said, “No?”

“No,” said Anna soothingly.

“Why not?” Hermione sniffled.

There was quiet for a second. Then, Anna said softly, “Because I'm almost positive that a
memory charm is at least part of what has you so upset.”

“Wh—what?” Hermione stammered. Harry learned forward from where he was sitting.

Anna took a deep breath. She folded her hands in her lap because they were shaking, but Harry
hadn't seen that. “Hermione, tell me about the dreams you said you'd been having since you
lost your powers.”

“I... well... I...” Hermione looked flustered. She obviously hadn't been expecting this.
Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking on with curiosity, before realizing that she was looking to
him. “Can Harry help me?”

“If you need him to,” said Anna, forcing a cheerful smile onto her face.

“You can do it,” said Harry, squeezing her hand. “Just start at the beginning... you woke up in
the hospital wing and asked to be alone.”

“But I didn't thinking about it until after Dumbledore came through and sent Dobby for you,”
said Hermione shakily. “We talked for awhile, and I told Harry that I was being allowed to stay at
Hogwarts. I asked where Ron was...”

“I was with Anna,” Ron filled in, almost guiltily.

“And I...” Hermione frowned. “I...”

“You shivered,” said Harry. “I think I asked you if you were cold, and you said it was cold, and
damp, on the stone floor, didn't you?”

“I did,” said Hermione lightly. “Harry wanted to know if I meant the forest, but I didn't. I
really did mean the stone floor. I was somewhere in the dungeons, and Voldemort—”

Ron and Anna both flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, although Ron's
reaction was considerably less than it once was. They all waited for Hermione to continue, but she
didn't.

“I don't know,” said Hermione honestly after a few minutes. Miserably, she continued,
“I'm sorry, Anna. I can't remember it if I think about it.”

Anna nodded. “So before you were... before you were taken to the forest you were taken somewhere
down in the dungeons, but never before had you remembered being taken there?”

“Never before,” Hermione confirmed.

“You said some other stuff in the hospital wing that day,” said Harry. “Something about other
people being there but not moving. And just a second ago—well, it wasn't the first time that
you mentioned Voldemort.”

Again, Anna flinched at the Dark Lord's name, but Harry was pleased to see Ron actually
hadn't reacted that time. She said, “Do you remember anything else, Hermione?”

“That's the point, I can't remember anything,” said Hermione, frustrated. “It's not
even like it's something that has been sketchy from the beginning. In the beginning, such a
detail didn't even *exist*.” She shook her head. “I just don't understand why it
always escapes—and that's it, isn't it?”

Hermione sat up very straight all of a sudden. Harry and Ron stopped their slouching, waiting to
hear what she had to see. Anna was nodding along quietly but without really making eye contact.

“Oh, I'm sure you're right, Anna,” said Hermione. It was odd the way she said it—pleased
to understand it, miserable to realize what it would mean. “All memory charms are cast the same
way, but they adhere differently to the mind of a Muggle than they do to a witch or a wizard. It
actually takes a less powerful charm to modify a wizard's memory than a Muggle, you know,
previous exposure leads to faster acceptance, in theory. Since I lost my powers...”

“How do you know this stuff?” Ron asked in disbelief, breaking the silence that had descended
upon the room. “Let me get this straight—something happened after you were taken that you
weren't supposed to know about or see. You did, so you were memory charmed. However, after you
lost your powers, the charm wasn't strong enough to keep you from remembering everything, so
you're getting little flashes of this and that.” He shook his head. “That makes absolutely no
sense. Hermione, you're a great friend, and Anna, I love you, but I think you're both
nutters. They left you to die! Why bother modifying your memory, Hermione, if they were just going
to kill you?”

“In case they didn't succeed,” said Harry quietly. “Right?”

“I guess so,” said Anna just as softly. “Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry that you had to go
through any of this.”

“It's okay,” said Hermione shakily. She sounded startled.

Ron was still looking at all of them in disbelief. “But what good does knowing Hermione's
memory was modified do us?”

“We obviously have to figure out how to break the memory charm,” said Hermione. “Right?”

Ron snorted. “Yeah right, Hermione. I know you aren't about to go to a teacher for
help.”

“Who said anything about a teacher?” said Hermione defiantly.

“Er, I think what Ron's trying to say is that it's really dangerous to break memory
charms,” said Harry.

“Exactly. No number of books in the library could teach Harry or me how to dig through your
memories.”

“We'll find someone to do it.”

“Hermione, please,” Harry said. “Please don't do that to yourself. We have no idea how
strong the memory charm on you is or anything. Don't you remember what happened to Bertha
Jorkins? The memory charms Crouch put on her were so powerful that Voldemort destroyed her in
undoing them.” He shuddered, reaching out for her. “I don't want that to happen—”

Hermione squirmed away from him. “I don't want that happening to me either,” she said,
taking offense. “*Obviously*, whoever would break the charm on me would be a little gentler
than *Voldemort*.”

Again, Ron snorted. “So, *obviously*, we'd have to find someone to break the charms
that had done it before. Around here, that would be a teacher, and like I said, you wouldn't go
to one of them.”

“No, I wouldn't!” said Hermione bitingly. “I would go to someone I trusted.”

Ron glared at her, folding his arms across his chest. “Fine. Name someone that you trust who can
already undo memory charms.”

Ron did seem to have a point because Hermione finally seemed to be at a loss for words. Harry
had known better to get involved, but he couldn't help but feel the same way that Ron did. He
was about to move in and try and talk intelligibly to Hermione when a voice, almost as quiet as its
owner had been throughout the whole exchange, piped in.

“I know how to break memory charms,” Anna said.

* * *

“What I don't understand,” said Harry, getting a tighter grip on his broomstick, “is where
Anna picked up the ability to break memory charms in the first place, unless, of course, fourth
year charms curriculum has really changed in the last year.” He dropped into a dive.

It was Monday afternoon, and classes were over for the day. There had been lots of arguments
that weekend—between Harry and Hermione about the dangers of breaking memory charms, between
Hermione and Ron about asking Anna to do it, between Harry and Ron about his finally agreeing to
ask Anna, and even between Ron and Anna after she made it clear that she would have no part in it.
It was all why the boys were out on the Quidditch pitch. Harry and Hermione had gotten into it once
again in Transfigurations, their last class of the day, and Ron and Anna were also into it,
although Harry hadn't the details. So, because their girlfriends weren't taking to them,
Harry and Ron had had to settle for just talking to each other.

Ron brought himself up level a few seconds after Harry, having gone into the dive later. Harry
was still the better flyer, but a year of Quidditch had Ron flying so well that it didn't seem
like so much. He rocketed forward, this time forcing Harry to follow. “Her dad works for the
Ministry, and I'm positive she said something about him being on the memory modification squad.
Of course, that would have been she was a lot younger.” He paused thoughtfully. “Anna's so
smart, though. She probably picked it up, even then, without any trouble.”

“That's nice that she's so smart,” said Harry, a little more shortly than intended, “but
how old are we talking about, here?” It didn't really matter to him what he said or what Ron
did because the only thing he could think about was Hermione.

“*You don't understand it, Harry,*” she had said. “*You don't know what it's
like to not know thoughts that are your own. You don't know how helpless it makes you feel when
you're unable to recall an entire chunk of time.*”

“I don't know,” said Ron at last. “She was probably eight or nine.”

It was a good thing that Harry hadn't decided to drop into some tricky Seeker maneuver at
that moment because he probably would have fallen from his broom. “Wh—what?” he sputtered. “Seven?
She heard something from her father when she was seven and claims she can break memory charms?”

“I *said*, she was eight or nine,” said Ron.

“Big difference,” said Harry rather nastily. “Has she even broken one before?”

“*Yes*,” said Ron defensively, “she says she has.”

Harry snorted. “So she says. I'd hate to see the sad state of affairs that had a
seven-year—”

“EIGHT!” Ron bellowed.

“—Seven-year-old breaking a memory charm. Even less I'd want to see that person when the kid
was through.” Harry ignored Ron entirely.

“Anna knows what she's doing!” exclaimed Ron.

“At *eight*?”

“She's fifteen now,” said Ron, the tips of his ears starting to turn red. “Stop being such a
prat, Harry.”

“I'm not being a prat,” said Harry. “I'm just making sure that you aren't humouring
your girlfriend's *abilities* at the sake of my girlfriend's *life*.”

“Hermione's still my best friend,” Ron pointed out. “I'm not going to hurt her.”

“No, you're not,” said Harry, the cruel words all coming out before he could stop them,
“you're letting Anna do that.” He went into a dive at breakneck speed when he saw that Ron
looked like he'd been slapped.

Harry dismounted his broom quickly and made off towards the locker rooms at once. He hadn't
meant to be so harsh; he really hadn't. He just couldn't bear the thought of Hermione
putting herself through something so dangerous (and dangerous it was—Harry had looked breaking
memory charms up in the library that day during lunch). Behind him, he heard Ron land.

It happened very fast. Harry heard footsteps, and he felt someone tap his shoulder—Ron, of
course. An apology actually on his tongue, Harry turned around, but before he could even open his
mouth, his best friend's fist had connected solidly with the side of his face. Harry stumbled
backwards. It really had hurt; he had no idea that Ron could throw such a punch.

“I didn't like doing that,” said Ron in an oddly calm sort of voice, “but you really
deserved it. Now, this is the moment when I'm going to lay it out for you. I don't like
what Hermione wants to do anymore than you do. However, I can see where she's coming from, and
I know it's not my choice to make. It's Hermione's choice, and Anna's, if anyone
else. So, keep that in mind—I'm going to try and make peace with my girlfriend. If I succeed,
by some miracle, I would suggest going now to make up with yours. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Harry, although it didn't really sound like he said okay because his face was
starting to swell up so badly. He reached up to rub his cheek (which turned out to not be a very
good idea because it was so very painful), and watched Ron walk away, shoulders slumped. He really
might have deserved that one.

Holding his Firebolt on his shoulder, Harry got over the shock of having his best friend hit him
and continued on towards the locker rooms, albeit much slower than he had been going, his face
stinging all the while. Part of him, by then, wanted very much to slug Ron in return, but the more
sensible part of him was a constant remind of how much he had deserved it. Those last few moments
on the Quidditch pitch had been telling of the entire weekend—he really had been a jerk.

Harry quickly shed his practice robes, a set of Gryffindor team robes from way before he had
even started at Hogwarts, wincing in pain when he accidentally touched the swollen right side of
his face. Even though he was the only one in the changing room, he was subtle about sniffing about
to see if he needed a shower. He and Ron had only been out on the pitch for about an hour and a
half, but it looked like he would need to freshen up a bit, especially if he went to find Hermione
later.

The more he thought about it, the more that made sense. Ron was right—for as much as he cared
about Hermione, it wasn't his decision to make, and for as much as he would rather not have
Hermione go through with it, he could see where she was coming from. Reaching out to adjust the
shower's faucet because the water was getting rather hot, Harry couldn't help but worry,
though. He would find Hermione and tell her that he would support her, but that didn't mean he
wasn't scared.

Shutting the water off and reaching for his towel, Harry figured that Hermione would probably be
in the library if not in one of the common rooms. He had pulled on a pair of khaki pants and was
buttoning his shirt, trying to think of what to say to his girlfriend, when he heard someone call
his name.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” he called back. The person was far enough away that he didn't recognize the voice.
He shuffled forward, still fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

“It's me.” Hermione. There was a pause. “Are you decent?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Harry, stepping out from the showers area and into the main part of the
locker room. His shirt was still half undone, but that was okay because he had another on
underneath it. She was standing near the entrance, books under her arm and still in uniform,
looking shyly in his direction. “How are you?”

Hermione looked away for a second as she stepped towards him. “You just saw me a couple of hours
ago. I'm still fine.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Harry.

“That's funny because you look like someone's since punched you in the face,” said
Hermione, closing the short distance between them and touching his face so lightly that it
didn't hurt him.

“Er, well, that's funny...” said Harry feebly. “Actually, yeah, someone did punch me in the
face.”

“And who would that someone be?” Hermione prompted.

“Er... Ron?” said Harry. “We're okay, though. I, er, kind of deserved it, you see...”

“If you say so,” said Hermione uncertainly.

Harry smiled genuinely at her, ignoring what pain it brought about. He almost wished, for once,
that there were mirrors in the locker rooms. It would have done him good on this one occasion to
know what she was seeing. “I was being a real git, but I'm over that now.”

“I believe you,” said Hermione, dropping back from him a bit. “So anyway... do you need some
help with that? You're mixing up buttons and buttonholes.”

“Am I really?” said Harry, glancing down. He groaned. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He did his best not
to fidget as she stepped closer and began to straighten him out—he already felt like a small child
that did not know how to dress himself, so there was no need to give the appearance of one as well.
She was halfway up the row before he got the courage to speak. “I'm sorry I was such an
idiot.”

“You don't have to apologize to me for something that happened with Ron,” said Hermione in
an oddly formal sort of voice.

“No, I'm sorry, I've been such an idiot around you as well,” said Harry. This got her to
glance up, and he gently slipped his hand beneath his chin. “What Ron said... well, the more that I
thought about it, the more unfair I realized I was being every time I tried to dissuade you from
getting that memory charm broken. It's just... I care about you so much, Hermione, and this
memory modification stuff is so dangerous. I don't even like to think about you going through
it if everything goes all right, let alone if something were to go wrong.” He sighed. “I'm
sorry. I wasn't going to say that. This is it. If it's important to you... if you really
think it's worth the risk—” he cleared his throat “—then I'll be the first one to support
you.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Hermione brought her hand to rest on the one of his
that was holding up her chin. “That means a lot to me.”

“Does it?” said Harry nervously. He rushed on. “Then please, please be careful, okay? I looked
up—”

Harry didn't get to finish. He was cut off; Hermione's lips were on his. They had kissed
before, sure, many, many times that weekend and even on a few occasions before that, but he had
always associated those kisses with politeness—the kind he generally wouldn't have felt awkward
sharing with her in public. This, on the other hand, he couldn't imagine doing in front of an
audience. He honestly hadn't ever expected Hermione to kiss him with such fire and urgency,
(although he had to admit having thought about it), and he was actually surprised to find himself
kissing her back in kind.

When they broke apart, it was all they could do to stare at each other with a certain level of
shock and surprise. It took a few moments, but Hermione began to talk, suddenly all business. “I
know. I was up in the library just a few minutes ago, asking for the same information. Madam Pince
said that someone had wanted it just this afternoon, so I knew that it had to be you.

“Anyway, I'd just left when I saw Professor McGonagall. She was wondering how I was doing,
so the two of us had tea in her office and talked—mostly about advanced Transfigurations next year.
That's when I saw you and Ron out on the Quidditch pitch.

“I headed outside as soon as I was done with McGonagall. You weren't flying any longer, and
I actually ran into Ron, who was on his way inside. He said that you were in the locker rooms. He
was on his way to see Anna... he was going to try and talk her into breaking the memory charm on me
at least one more time. And that's when I came in here to see—” Hermione broke off, glancing up
at him. She finished in a small voice. “And you'd really support me if Anna said yes?”

“Yes, I would,” said Harry sincerely. Hermione let lose a barely audibly sigh of relief. Her
hands were pressed against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. “How long ago was
it that you ran into Ron?”

Hermione's eyes were still sparkling. “Oh, it's been a while.” She blushed a little. “No
one seemed to be in here when I came in, actually, but then I saw your things and heard the water
running. I just kind of hung back and waited to call out until some time after it had stopped.”

“Well, then, good estimation of the time it takes me to get dressed,” said Harry pleasantly,
which only made Hermione blush more.

“Ron looked quite guilty when I talked to him,” she said, quickly changing the subject. She
touched Harry's cheek softly again. “I'm guessing this is why?”

“Oh, yeah, I'm sure,” said Harry, putting a hand on her wrist. “I don't think he
realizes I'm not mad at him. Maybe he thinks I didn't notice how bad he felt. I honestly...
I honestly deserved it.”

“I don't know,” said Hermione, letting him hug her against his chest. They stayed like that
for a long time, until the locker room door opened again. Startled, the two of them jumped apart.
The person stepped out from the shadows—it was just Ron.

“Er, hey,” said Ron, glancing down. He shoved his hands down into his pockets, obviously trying
not to look at the black-and-blue of Harry's face. “I looked for you everywhere, then thought
that you might still be here. Anyway...”

“Yes?” offered Hermione kindly.

“Anna said she'd do it,” Ron blurted out. His face went red, and he spun around quickly,
walking out the way he came. “We're meeting at midnight in Private Garden Four.”

He didn't even give them a chance to confirm whether or not this was okay. His hands still
in his pockets, Ron was gone about one half of a second later. Harry and Hermione shared a look,
and she began to giggle.

“I would say that he feels bad about your cheek,” she said between giggles.

“Yeah,” said Harry, still watching the door. He was trying to let Ron's words sink in.
“You're really going to go through with it?”

Hermione turned back to him, staring into his eyes for a long time. “I want to,” she said
quietly, “but if you really are as scared as I think you are, then...”

Harry held a finger up to her lips to shush her. “According to all those books, you'll need
someone to look out for you directly afterwards.” Hermione nodded, and he kissed her lightly.
“I'll be there.”

Hand in hand, Harry and Hermione began to walk out of the Quidditch locker room. They were
barely at the door when Hermione stopped and pointed to his front.

“Your shirt is still half unbuttoned,” she said.

Harry looked down. Sure enough, it was. He smiled sheepishly at her. “It is, isn't it?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Here, let me do—”

“I can handle it,” said Harry indignantly, and he promptly went about the task, sticking the
second button through the third buttonhole.

-->



35. Old Ravenclaw
-----------------



Chapter Thirty-Three

OLD RAVENCLAW

The hours after Anna agreed to break the memory charm on Hermione should have passed quickly,
but they were some of the longest in Harry's life, really only second to all those hours he had
spent at Hermione's bedside in the hospital wing. It was agonizing, to wait, and Harry felt his
heart fill with a little more dread with each passing minute. He was restless, fretful, unable to
study. Instead of responding to some Transfigurations questions, he paced the length Gryffindor
common room again and again.

On the other hand, Hermione had curled up one corner of a sofa already partially occupied by
Alicia Spinnet and Ally Johnson—some first years had taken the comfy old chair by the fire that she
liked to occupy, and Tyler and Katie were having at it up in the prefect common room. She had
quietly answered the questions Harry hadn't been able to concentrate on, translated several
pages of ancient runes, read up on some potion they would be making in class later that week, and
written a paper for Professor Flitwick to make up for the charm work she (obviously) had been
unable to do. Now, she was flipping nonchalantly through one of the books on memory modification
she had checked out earlier that evening. Harry just didn't understand how she could sit there
in quiet anticipation when it was all he could do not to trample some second years playing
Gobstones in the general area of his pacing.

It was twenty minutes to ten.

He was a wreck, and she had to be more nervous that she was letting on. After all, it was her
memory that had been rearranged, not his. Harry really hadn't a clue how Ron was doing. It was
actually almost calming the way his best friend had squirmed during dinner after noticing his
cheek. The satisfaction had been short-lived, however, when in lieu of concentration on his
Mobility Charms (with the end result of a very disgruntled Crookshanks), it had dawned on Harry
that he had had the same nasty outburst twice before, then only getting hit with a “settle down,
mate, and remember that it's Hermione, not Anna, who's being so adamant about going through
this,” and a slightly more exasperated “you know how shy Anna is—she wouldn't have even said
anything if she wasn't completely confident in her abilities.”

Harry felt something tap at him as he passed. Stopping short, he peered down to see that his
girlfriend had caught his hand and was now glancing over the top of her book. Hermione smiled at
him, a sweet grin that reminded Harry of both why he was a wreck... and, well, why he was a wreck.
He cared for her so much that the thought of what she was about to put her through was about to
kill him, yet that care went just as far for him to endure the sick feeling that was building up in
his stomach because he knew how important it was to her.

“Is it helping?” said Hermione quietly so that everyone around wouldn't hear.

“Eh?” said Harry, still a little caught off guard.

Hermione giggled, drawing his hand back closer to her so that he would lean in. “You're
pacing.”

“O-oh,” stammered Harry, mentally chiding himself for not coming up with something halfway
intelligible to say. He suddenly felt himself being pulled down for a quick kiss, released, and
pushed away.

It was seven to ten.

Within a quarter of the hour, all the younger students had cleared the room. It was actually a
little late for them to be awake (or awake and in the common room, at least) but final exams were
approaching. It was for that very reason many of the fourth and sixth years were working furiously
on assignments and studying instead of their usual socializing and game playing. Because of O.W.L.s
and N.E.W.T.s, the fifth and sixth years didn't have to sit another set of exams, and could
therefore be seen lounging around with minimal homework or talking with friends. Harry was still
pacing.

It was eighteen past ten.

“You know, Harry,” said George, rather kindly, “we used to have a puffskein.”

“Puffskeins are round, fuzzy creatures that like to be cuddled, which is why they make good
pets,” Harry rattled off, startled to have been addressed. He figured he might as well continue.
“They also don't object to being throw about, either, which is probably why Fred used yours for
Bludger practice.”

George blinked, and he scratched his head. Standing up, he said, “Actually, I was just going to
say that it loved to run in this wheel thing because it thought it was actually getting somewhere.”
He clapped Harry's shoulder heartily. “You haven't gone anywhere. You're still in the
Gryffindor common room, mate.” He headed in the direction of the boys' staircase.

It was ten twenty-three.

Modifying one's memory was actually a fairly simple charm to work, but left to a poor or
inexperienced caster, the modification could be as messy as the wand work. To cast a memory charm,
one would summon as much energy as they could to a specific moment, preparing to focus on one
memory to replace the other. The trick to casting good memory charms, apparently, beyond knowing
what made good replacement memories, was saying the incantation and switching focuses all at once.
It had sounded simple until Harry had read that, and then the process seemed a little trickier. If
that was the easy part, he had dreaded to learn of the hard part but flipped the page anyway.

Breaking memory charms was a considerably more difficult undertaking, although the whole spell
was controlled by one simple—if you could call four lines that—incantation and the caster's own
power. The person would be put into a trance of their own memories with the first two lines while
the caster watched for breaks in the thought flow. Then, the second part of the incantation would
be said, generally causing the person to tremble and convulse as their minds adjusted to the truth.
Then came the next tricky part—pulling the person from the trance at the exact right moment. (Harry
couldn't even imagine doing all of this to himself, although all the sources said it was
possible.) The undoing of memory charms was an ancient and skilled magic ritual now classified as
an almost Dark Art because, according to one book he had read, “One thousand, six hundred forty-two
possible ways to disrupt the undoing of a memory modification exist, as were counted in 1889. There
are probably more, but everyone got tired of counting, and no one would agree to be a test subject
any longer, not even for the vastest pile of Galleons.” Harry glanced at his girlfriend. She was
still reading, stroking Crookshanks's long, ginger fur.

It was ten thirty-six.

Not really paying attention to where he was going (as the common room had emptied considerably),
Harry had accidentally trod on the Muggle chessboard belonging to the Creevey brothers and was
apologizing profusely when the portrait hole swung open. He didn't even look up—Colin might
have been excited to just be in proximity of the great Harry Potter, but Dennis was ranting and
raging about in a manner Harry had really only known before when Uncle Vernon got *really*
mad.

“Just because you think you're somebody doesn't mean you are,” the second year was
shouting now, pointing a finger to Harry's chest. Even drawn to his full height, Dennis was
more than a head shorter than Harry. “You watch it, you watch it, you best watch it because
you're heading for trouble. Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are not to have
consideration? I'll tell you, I'll tell you how you've just begun to get what's
yours, only just begun—”

Colin, his face vividly red, now had his younger brother by the arms and was dragging him up the
stairs. In a last attempt for quiet, he had clamped a hand over Dennis's mouth. “So... sorry...
Harry... mate,” Colin squeaked, panting with the effort. “He doesn't mean it... I don't
certainly... Don't think poorly of us, Harry... He hasn't been himself in a while... right,
Dennis?”

The only thing more Harry got from the youngest Creevey was another, “It's only just begun,
only just begun,” before the door at the top of the stairs shut behind them. Harry turned to see
that the eyes of everyone still in the room were on him, including Ron's. The redhead had just
come through the portrait hole.

It was a quarter to eleven.

“Er, if it makes you feel any better, he blew up at me the other day,” said Ron hesitantly,
shoving his hands into his pockets. “I'd lost my Transfiguration book in the common room, left
it on one of the tables near where he and Colin were sitting. He started yelling at me just for
asking where it was.”

“Yeah, well,” said Harry, looking down but matching Ron's stance, “then I should have known
that trampling his chessboard would have brought about that kind of response.” Without thinking
about it, he began to shuffle towards Hermione. Ron followed. “How are you, mate? I thought you
were going to spend the evening with Anna.”

“It's off,” Ron blurted.

“What?” said Hermione sharply.

Harry bit his lip, looking down at her. She had pulled a blanket over her lap and looked rather
small. He hadn't realized that they within her earshot. Glancing over his shoulder at Ron,
trying to mask his obviously relief, he said, “What do you mean, it's off?”

“It's off,” Ron mumbled. “We can't do it tonight. Professor Sprout's just been
through the garden. She's doing some summer planting tonight under the half moon. We'll
have to do it tomorrow, or some other time.”

“No,” said Hermione. “No. We need to do it tonight.”

Ron took to Harry's side, glancing quickly at his friend's bruised face. “I'm sorry,
Hermione, I really am. It's not like we knew that she was going to chose tonight—of all
nights—to be in there. She's *never* come through before.” He shook his head. “Hermione,
please—it's not like there was a real plan in the first place. It won't matter if we do it
tomorrow—”

“*Yes*, it *will*.”

Both boys' eyes were on Hermione, who had quickly clamped a hand over her mouth. Her words
had come out in a tone so not her own that it scared Harry. She peered up at them with wide, open
eyes. Even Crookshanks looked startled—he had jumped up from her lap and was staring up at her from
the floor, his bottlebrush tail high.

“That... that wasn't me,” said Hermione softly. “Or it was me... but it just... it just...
you know.”

“It just came to you,” said Harry heavily, grabbing her hand. He sat down beside her, peering up
at Ron. He threw his other arm around her shoulders. “I don't like that.”

“Me either,” said Hermione quietly.

Harry glanced up Ron, finally understanding the quiet determination she had shown all evening.
Something told him, now, too, that time was running out. “We have to do it tonight, Ron. Can't
we do it somewhere else... say, the prefect common room?”

Ron nodded at this suggestion, but Hermione shook her head.

“No,” she said. “There's hardly a Gryffindor that doesn't know of its existence, and any
one of them could come in at any time during the process. How would we explain it if Tyler or Katie
were to come through? One of the sixth or seventh year prefects? McGonagall, even? Her quarters are
right above the prefect common room, did you know?”

“Where, then?” said Ron, sounding a little exasperated. “The prefect bathroom would be out for
the same reason, wouldn't it?”

“We have to find a place to do it,” said Hermione determinedly. She bit her lip. “Please, Ron.
Don't you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ron, holding up a hand. “You're seeing things, hearing things, knowing
things that you shouldn't, and time's running short. Yeah, I think that you had better get
that thing taken off you as well, especially if you think it might help, but there's nothing I
can do if you keep giving me impossible situations. Don't you think it'd be worth the
risk?”

“Yes, it would,” said Hermione in a small voice, “but there's no place else to go?”

“Hermione, think about what it is that you want to do,” said Ron suddenly. He plopped down in
the tiny amount of space on Hermione's other side. “I've been talking, talking with Anna,
for hours now. It's so dangerous, what you want to do. You could be hurt—killed, even. You
might never be the same for it.”

“Did you see Professor Sprout in the garden or not?” said Hermione sharply.

“Yes,” said Ron defensively. He sighed. “Look, Hermione, Anna's scared for you. I'm
scared for you. I'm pretty sure that Harry's scared for you—” Harry nodded “—aren't you
even a little scared for yourself?”

“There's another place already, isn't there?” said Harry quietly.

Ron looked hesitantly over Hermione's head for a moment, and then he nodded. “We're
meeting in the prefect bathroom at midnight, and Anna's going to show us where to go. I just
wanted to make sure that... well, that you were sure.”

“I'm sure,” said Hermione. “The prefect's bathroom it is.”

And she did something that she usually didn't, hugging Ron tightly as he went to stand up.
He gave a jerky nod in Harry's direction as he headed for the portrait hole, so Harry got up,
giving Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek. She stood up with him, causing him to stop for a
second.

“Where are you going?” asked Harry.

“I'm going to change into something more comfortable,” said Hermione, kissing him lightly.
“Come, Crookshanks.”

Hermione took off toward the girls' staircase, but the ginger cat didn't streak off
behind her as it usually did. Harry watched her part before following Ron.

“How are you holding up?” said Ron quietly as the door shut quietly behind their best
friend.

Harry didn't meet his eye. “Things just got a lot more complicated.”

“Did they?” said Ron. He sighed. “You know, mate, I remember a time when the most complicated
thing I had to deal with was Fred and George's latest scheme. Mind you, some of them were
really complicated, but...” He shook his head. “Knowing you has certainly made for some interesting
times, yet the only times I regret are being jealous of you, and, well... slugging you. Sorry about
that, mate.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harry, rubbing his face carefully. He finally looked to Ron. “It's not so
bad. I deserved that.”

“No,” said Ron, shaking his head. “My temper just got the better of me.”

“I really did deserve it. It's okay,” said Harry.

“No—well, okay, maybe you did,” said Ron, smiling.

Harry grinned. “Now, what is it that has you sounding so serious all of a sudden? I'm not
used to that from you, mate.”

“I don't know,” said Ron, faltering. “It just seems like something's about to
happen.”

“Yeah, it does,” said Harry heavily. “Prefect bathroom at midnight?”

“Prefect bathroom at midnight,” Ron confirmed. The two boys, friends for years and practically
brothers, made a move toward each other as if they were going to hug, but they didn't.
“It's going to be bad, isn't it?”

“Yeah, I think it is,” said Harry. “Tell Anna I appreciate her doing this.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Ron, slipping out of the common room.

It was four past eleven.

Harry sat down heavily on the sofa Hermione had occupied until a few minutes before, not
thinking to look to see if it were empty first because there wasn't anyone left in the common
room. That wasn't a good idea. He had plopped down on top of Crookshanks's tail, as well as
something with hard edges. Hermione's cat more or less climbed her boyfriend in his frantic
attempt to free himself, slashing his claws against Harry's already bruised face. It stung like
no other, and Harry could have sworn, for all it didn't seem to like him sometimes, that the
ginger cat gave him an apologetic look when he reached for his now-bleeding cheek. At least it
wasn't very deep.

“Crook-*shanks*,” Harry groaned, and the cat promptly leaped onto his lap. Stroking its
fur, he reached beneath him for the second object—this one was the book Hermione had been reading.
He grimaced when he saw the crease running down its front. He wasn't sure who would hurt him
worse for it—Hermione or Madam Pince—and he hadn't any time to think about it because at that
moment, the door at the top of the girls' staircase swung open, and Hermione slipped quietly
out. She was now clad in a green plaid skirt with a very comfortable looking green wool sweater
over a blue blouse, and in spite of everything, Harry grinned at the sight of her. And he quickly
set aside the library book so she wouldn't see.

It was eleven eleven.

“Did Ron leave?” Hermione said shyly, stepping in front of him.

“Yes,” said Harry, grabbing her hands and pulling her down for a kiss, just as she had done with
him earlier. “You look pretty.”

Much to his surprise, Hermione laughed. “In this?” she said.

“Yes, in that,” said Harry quizzically.

Hermione giggled again. “Thank you,” she said. “You should have seen Parvati, sitting at the
vanity with a smoothing potion on her face, charming her hair up on rollers, and having just a fit
when I pulled this out of my trunk.”

Harry chuckled. “It's only clothing, right? Besides, I was talking about you—you're what
I was calling pretty.”

“Right,” said Hermione, her cheeks faintly pink, but she looked pleased. She quickly let go of
his hands, spotting Crookshanks. Scooping him up, she asked, “You haven't been giving Harry any
trouble, have you?”

“Well, actually,” said Harry hesitantly, and he turned his cheek towards her.

Hermione gasped. “Crookshanks!” she scolded.

“No, it wasn't his fault,” said Harry quickly when the cat cast him a grumpy look. “I sat on
his tail.”

“It doesn't make it right,” said Hermione critically, lifting Crookshanks into the air to
study him, which seemed to take a great deal of effort, partially because of his weight and
partially because of his squirming. She signed. “Be nice to Harry, Crookshanks.”

“It's not a big deal,” said Harry, really not wanting to lose the cat's favor. Hermione
grazed her fingers over his cheek. “See? It's not very deep.” And, without thinking, in
response to the worried look that followed, “You could fix it with about one flick of your
wand.”

Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes. She dropped Crookshanks onto the floor, (he meowed
angrily), and snatched up her book from where Harry had dropped it.

“Hermione, I didn't mean anything by it,” said Harry, frustrated. She was halfway to the
other side of the room by then. “I just forgot for a second, okay?”

“That must be nice,” she said tearfully.

It was eleven eighteen.

Harry truly did feel bad about what he had said to Hermione. He really hadn't forgotten like
he had told her, rather he had just lapsed in his thinking for a few moments. He was glad, at
least, that Crookshanks had gone with her. She had curled up in her favorite armchair and picked up
in her book where she had left off.

It was eleven twenty-two.

The seconds that passed now were an eternity each. When Hermione snapped shut her book, Harry
was just about positive that it was time for them to meet Ron and Anna, but a quick glance at his
watch told him it wasn't so. He bit his lip, waiting to see what Hermione would do.

Wordlessly, Harry held his arms out to her. Even though he was sure she was still upset,
Hermione slid onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his
shoulder. Harry smoothed flat her bushy hair with his hand, knowing now she was more scared than
she had let on.

It was half-past eleven.

They sat like that for quite a while. It was as though they needed to be right where they were
to draw what little comfort they could from one another. It scared Harry a little, the connection
he felt to Hermione at that moment. Unsure, even, of exactly what they were to one another, yet he
knew that it was the closest he had ever felt to another human being. It dawned on him that they
were both worried about what was going to happen, and he had to wonder why they were putting
themselves through it.

Finally, Hermione pulled away from him and slid from his lap to the couch. “Now that I've
crushed you...” she said nervously.

“Never,” said Harry, and a shy glance told him it would be okay to kiss her forehead in spite of
everything. “I really am sorry, you know.”

“I know,” said Hermione quietly.

The door to the portrait hole swung open.

It was eleven to midnight.

Ron pulled the invisibility cloak from where it was folded beneath his robes, the fluid, silvery
material concealing his hand and wrist. Harry and Hermione were all ready standing. Their redheaded
friend laughed nervously.

“I tried to tell Anna that you wouldn't forget, but she insisted that I come anyway. The Fat
Lady just gave me quite the telling off,” Ron joked. He thrust the cloak forward at Harry.
“Actually, I just figured you would want the invisibility cloak.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulders. “Do you have the
Marauder's Map, too?”

Ron patted his pocket. “Snape is out and about, and Filch. They're both in the dungeons,
though.” He looked curiously at Harry's cheek. “I really haven't been gone that—what
happened?”

“Oh, I had a bit of a run in with Crookshanks,” said Harry. He glanced down at Hermione. She
wasn't really looking at him or at Ron, instead looking determinedly into beyond. He squeezed
her gently, still holding the folded up cloak in his left hand. “Ready?”

It was eleven fifty-two.

Even though she was still quite leery in regards to its sudden reappearance and needed a few
quiet words of reassurance, Hermione ducked under the invisibility cloak with the boys once they
had gone around a corner. They had to wait as not to confuse the Fat Lady with invisible comings
and goings, and she attempted to give them quite the lecture for their late departure. As they made
their way down the stairs, slowly, slowly, she could still be heard burbling words of disapproval
and threats to report them to McGonagall. Harry heard Hermione swallow hard at this, and he
suddenly saw his foot emerge on the other side of the cloak. Quickly, he adjusted his pace, as Ron
had already, to allow for her considerably shorter stride.

The trio, of course, walked in total silence as they made their way to the prefect's
bathroom. They passed Mrs. Norris without so much as a hiss from the scrawny cat, which was
something. For a long time it had been generally accepted that she might have the ability to see
through invisibility cloaks, but it apparently wasn't so. When they reached the statue of Boris
the Bewildered, they did not bother to remove the cloak. Ron gave the password to the wayward
wizard, and not even the admittance of unseen prefects into his bathroom could make Boris look more
confused.

Hermione was the first to step out from under the cloak, and Harry had his wand out before Ron
did. He unlocked the bathroom door with it. Anna had obviously been pacing in anticipation of their
arrival but had stopped to pull her curls into a messy ponytail. She gave them a wary smile.

Midnight.

* * *

“Did Filch go?” Anna asked anxiously as they filed into the bathroom, Ron in the lead. He
didn't answer but stepped forward, bent way down, and kissed her. Before pulling away, Harry
saw him grasp her hand and whisper something in her ear. She had to put her other hand on his
shoulder and pull herself closer just so he could hear her response.

Harry had to smile, reaching back. He closed his hand around Hermione's, glancing over his
shoulder to his girlfriend. She was regarding the scene shyly, the night nervously. “Filch?”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron, patting Anna's back before letting go of her and straightening. “I
didn't tell you?” Harry shook his head, pulling Hermione forward to put an arm around her. “No?
Well, when were trying not to get caught by Sprout—”

“Flitwick,” Anna cut in softly.

“Yeah, Flitwick,” Ron added. He explained, “We managed to get out of the garden without Sprout
catching us only to hear Filch cackling not more than a handful of paces away. So we walked so, so
quietly until we were around the corner, and then we had to take so many turns that neither of us
knew where we were—”

Ron broke off, shaking his head. He grinned, wrapping his arms around Anna's neck from where
he was standing behind her. Her eyes darted up at him before she reached her hands up to cover
his.

“We went into the Charms classroom,” said Ron, cringing, “and Professor Flitwick was still in
there, floating some odd blue globes towards the ceiling, expect he's so small that we
didn't see. We were already laugh—”

“—But thankfully still under your cloak, Harry—”

“—Before we realized he was there. We managed to get out before we got caught, *again*, but
then there was still Filch to contend with. Bloody amazing we're not getting some kind of
disciplinary lecture from Dumbledore followed by what could only be a *very* embarrassing talk
about sex—”

Anna elbowed him.

“Hey! It was getting late! What else would they have thought we were doing?” Ron looked
thoughtful. “But I think we get it anyway. In sixth year.”

Anna rolled her eyes but the moment had gone. There were things to be done. She broke away from
Ron. “Are you sure about this, Hermione?”

Hermione nodded. “I'm sure,” she said quietly.

“Okay, then,” said Anna, and she put her hands together in what could only be a nervous gesture.
“Have the two of you ever heard of—” she stopped. “Harry, what happened to your face?”

“Oh...” Harry's hand flew up. And, at the same time Ron's mouth opened, he said, “I kind
of fell... and Crookshanks scratched me...”

“Don't take this the wrong way, sweetie, but that, er, was kind of my fault,” said Ron. The
boys exchanged a smile.

“I deserved it,” Harry assured her. “Trust me.”

Anna just shook her head again. Harry could have sworn she and Hermione exchanged a sort of
superior smile. She pulled her wand from the folds of her robes, muttered an incantation, and the
pain in Harry's cheek lessened considerably. It wasn't often that she worked spells in
front of him, and Harry noticed for the first time the odd way she held her wand, her wrist at such
an angle that it turned inward, her fingers so light on it that he was amazed she didn't drop
it. Anna looked at him critically.

“It doesn't look any better, but... did it relieve some of the pain at least?” she
asked.

In lieu of a response, Harry thanked her. Putting on the most determined front he could muster,
he said, “Now, what were you asking us about?”

“I wanted to know if you had heard of old Ravenclaw, or even of old Gryffindor or
Slytherin?”

Harry shook his head, but Hermione smiled a little and, blushing, said, “*Hogwarts, A
History* might have mentioned it.”

“Yes,” said Anna, “it did. Anyway, Harry, with the exception of Hufflepuff, all of the house
common rooms have been moved about the castle in more recent centuries because heating—”

“—charms became more efficient,” Harry finished. Hermione beamed. “I reckon I do know what
you're talking about, but only because Nearly Headless Nick might have mentioned it once.”

Anna smiled as well. “Obviously, *Hogwarts, A History* doesn't disclose the location of
any of the common rooms past or present, but old Ravenclaw was used as a safe house during
You-Know-Who's first reign, when my brother Stephen was in school. It's actually just a
huge, nearly vacant room under the current dormitories. If we shove some of the old beds out of the
way, we'll have plenty of room.” She looked timidly from Harry to Hermione. They both
nodded.

And then they all just looked at her. For several moments.

Finally, Ron quipped, “Come on, you two, say something. You should be proud of Anna; I know I
am. The old dormitories are off-limits to students, and the sweet, timid girl I first met would
*never* have done something like this. It's good to know that I've been a
significantly bad influence.” He added quickly, “Not that you aren't still sweet, honey. I know
this is all from the kindness of your heart.”

Anna rolled her eyes, but she was trying not to smile.

“Ron!” Hermione scolded, and she shook her head.

Harry just laughed, pulling Hermione back to his side. She went back to resting her head on his
shoulder, which had always been very reassuring to Harry to know she was right there. He kissed her
forehead.

Ron cleared his throat. “Should we go, then?”

* * *

“So,” said Harry, his voice a rather conversational whisper as they shuffled around a corner,
going in the general direction of the hospital wing, “Where is Ravenclaw, anyway? Gryffindor is in
one of the towers, everyone knows that, and it only takes half a brain to figure out that Slytherin
is in the dungeons. No one really cares about Huffle—”

“Harry!” said Hermione. Ron chuckled.

“—puff, but Ravenclaw—”

“Ravenclaw is right down the next corridor. It's all that empty space around the hospital
wing. You know, all that wall without any doors?” said Anna. “That's all ours.”

A few more paces and they were there, judging by the sudden stop both Anna and Ron made. Such a
thing wasn't a very good idea with four people under one invisibility cloak, and Harry nearly
tripped over someone else's foot. Hermione giggled, grabbing his arm.

“Arithmetic deviance patterns,” said Anna, but the wall before them didn't do a thing. Harry
was about to shoot Hermione a nervous look when he realized Ron had just walked through the wall
behind his own girlfriend. Harry let Hermione go, and he brought up the rear.

“Sorry,” said Anna as he folded up the invisibility cloak. “The way the story goes, one of
Ravenclaw's grandchildren though it was tacky just to have the wall swing open...”

“Oh, to be that smart,” Ron said, pretending to be forlorn. Harry didn't comment; he was
taking it all in. The Ravenclaws took much better care of their common room than the
Gryffindors.

“It's all Marielle,” said Anna with a wave of her hand. “Don't be fooled—the most of us
are right old slobs.”

“You aren't,” Ron pointed out. Then, glancing at Hermione, who was looking more and more
anxious, he said, “Lead the way.”

Anna did just that. Instead of heading to the center of the rectangular room, where most of the
furniture was concentrated, they hugged the entrance wall until they reached the corner of the
room. Anna already had her wand out.

“*Terminus occulto*!” said Anna. Harry recognized the incantation as the one that had
undone the concealment charms on the mysterious photos of the past he had been sent. Slowly,
slowly, the façade of an ancient stonewall began to fade. It lightened, its colors evanescent. They
disappeared entirely.

What had once been a chipped and aged stonewall was now a most impressive set of double doors.
They were made of the same stone as the rest of the castle but were trimmed in gold and bronze. A
lifelike bronze eagle was mounted center to and above the doors. It moved its majestic head, and
Harry caught sight of the glimmering sapphire it held. On the doors, in bronze inlay, was row after
row of names Harry recognized as great magical scholars. He guessed that they had all been
Ravenclaws.

“Impressive,” said Ron.

“When John first started here, someone would remove the charm almost every week,” said Anna
briskly, “but that hasn't happened in ages.” She was busy rolling up the sleeves of her robes,
a determined look on her face. With great concentration, she raised her arms, wand in hand. She
took a deep breath. “*Effregius*!”

Harry stepped back at once, pulling Hermione back with him because he had his arm around her,
and shielded his eyes. From Anna's wand had come the purest, blinding white light, and it was
growing. It attached to the door, and it enveloped it. There was surprisingly little sound,
although the wind coming off the door was tremendous. Harry had to brace himself against it; his
arm tightened around Hermione. The light was so much that he couldn't even see her, let alone
Ron or Anna. It was all silence, and stillness, and then Harry heard the chanting of Anna's
trembling voice. “*Effregius*... *effregius*... *effregius*...
ef-ef-*effregius*!”

All at once, the startling light flew out of Anna's wand tip and slammed with such force
into the doors that they flew open backwards, swung through towards the trio and Anna, all before
slamming shut with a shuddering sound sure to wake all of Ravenclaw. Then, there was only silence,
silence and the sparkling of the eagle's sapphire.

Harry was impressed, Hermione startled. Ron was concerned, and rightfully so. Anna had sunk down
to the ground, shaking.

“Anna!” said Ron, horrified.

“What was—” Harry started.

“Anna!” said Hermione. “That's well above N.E.W.T. level! You—you—you... you could have
been... you must be a—”

And she didn't get to finish because the eagle that had once looked back and forth over the
room so serenely was twisting and turning, struggling to free himself. Suddenly, he was no longer a
bronzed head but an entirely bronze eagle, and he was flying overhead. He dropped the sapphire, and
Anna caught it.

“Sorceress,” said the eagle, his voice smooth and low, not unlike the young centaur Firenze.
“Young sorceress, are your intentions pure?”

“Y-y-yes,” Anna stammered, and the sapphire grew very bright.

“Very well,” said the eagle, and, sadly, “you were much too young. Now, pass that along. Young
wizard, are your intentions pure?”

“Yes,” said Ron, a steadying hand on Anna's shoulder still, “they are.”

“There will come a moon when all is not right, and another when all is,” said the eagle. The
sapphire stopped its glowing for a few seconds as Ron passed it to Harry. “And you, your
intention—is it pure?”

“Yes,” said Harry, and the sapphire did its glowing thing once more. It was surprisingly cold in
his hand, and he would have passed it quickly on to Hermione if not for the eagle's
interruption.

“You do not have blood of magic running through your veins—to touch that stone will kill you
instantly,” said the eagle, and he looked thoughtfully at her for a long time. Harry's hand was
still poised over hers, ready to drop the sapphire.

“But there was a time when you could practice magic, a time when you were very powerful.” The
eagle bowed its head to its wing. “Sorceress. You may touch my sapphire. It will cause you no
harm.”

Hesitant still, Harry dropped the sapphire. Hermione did not keel over though, fortunately. She
only spoke what the others had in a smooth, clear voice. “My intentions are pure.”

The sapphire glowed perhaps more blue that it had before, and then it went white. This light,
too, was blinding, and when it cleared, the once animated eagle was merely a still, bronzed head
above the doors, holding his sapphire once more. The double doors opened slowly.

* * *

“Well,” said Ron quietly, peering down the aged staircase that had been revealed. It was quite a
drop to the first step and so dark that Harry couldn't see where it led.

“Quite,” said Anna shakily.

Ron grinned, turning her around in his arms and kissing her. “That was amazing, sweetie.” He
looked thoughtfully at the eagle above. “He's a character, all right.”

“What *was* that?” Harry asked. When the girls didn't say anything, he and Ron
exchanged a shrug.

“Well, we had better get a move on, then,” said Ron. He took a last glance down the stairs and
remarked, “How long has it been since anyone's been down there?”

“It hasn't been used since the seventies, but I don't think it was sealed off until a
few years before I started here,” said Anna. “Now... that's a bit of a step down, isn't
it?”

“I suppose that's one way of saying you're going to need some help?” said Ron. He hopped
easily down to the first step, drawing his wand. “*Lumos*.” With his other arm, he caught Anna
easily around the waist and helped her down.

“What's it like?” said Harry as he cautiously followed his friends. Hermione gave him a
grateful smile when he did for her what Ron had done for Anna. He could see more clearly now for
the twisting of the stone steps. He smiled at Hermione questioningly before taking her hand.
Quickly casting a charm to temporarily make the doors only open from their side of them, Anna
grabbed Ron's hand and followed him down the stairs.

As they rounded the first bend, Harry noticed Hermione's grip on his hand tightening. His
eyes adjusting to the dark, he glanced over at her. She looked as brave and determined as ever, but
it was wavering.

“It's okay to be scared, you know,” said Harry quietly.

“I'll be okay,” said Hermione, just as quietly.

“You're sure?”

“Promise you'll stay with me the whole time?”

Harry was taken aback. “Of course—not like I was planning on going anywhere.”

This seemed to satisfy Hermione. She squeezed his hand in return and said, “Then I'll be
okay.”

It wasn't a very long staircase, or even a very large one. Narrower the lower they went,
Harry quickly ended up walking in front of Hermione. The walls on either side of them reminded him
very much of those in the dungeons—rough and dark and even kind of damp. It didn't smell the
same, of course, not having to house the Potions dungeons and not being located below the lake, and
it wasn't nearly as cold. As they stepped off the stairs in front of another set of doors
(these less decorated than the first), Hermione seemed to read his mind.

“This is an older part of the castle,” she whispered, lacing her fingers through his. “Had you
ever read *Hogwarts, A History*, you would know that much of the south castle—where Gryffindor
is—burned in the eighteenth century and had to be rebuilt.”

“I promise I'll read it—eventually,” said Harry. And, with a sudden look of horror, “Wait...
it *burned*?”

“It's a fascinating book,” said Hermione dryly. Now, she was walking in front of Harry. She
dragged him forward as Ron and Anna disappeared behind the doors. These two were wood, not stone,
and rotting badly. One of them shuddered so severely on its hinges that Harry was very much afraid
it would fall off right then and there.

It was darker than it had even been on the stairs. Harry dropped Hermione's hand to fumble
around for his wand. It took all three of them—Harry, Ron, and Anna—casting “lumos” to light even
the little part of the room they were in. That was enough for Harry to see that old Ravenclaw was
much like the hospital wing—bare old four-posters ran in rows down the length of the room. It was
much wider than the hospital, allowing three additional rows of beds down the center.

“Talk about communal living,” Ron muttered, an ever-present arm around Anna. “This is the
boys' and girls' dormitory?”

Anna swatted him. “Make yourself useful and conjure up some candles,” she said.

“That's a yes.” Ron grinned and trotted off.

“Harry, why don't you make sure he doesn't set himself on fire?”

“Good thinking,” said Hermione, waving him on his way. The two girls moved closer together to
talk as he headed towards Ron.

“You know,” Ron remarked as Harry neared, “It just dawned on me that you probably don't have
any experience moving furniture.”

“No,” admitted Harry.

“That makes two of us, then,” said Ron. He rolled back his sleeves. `Well, it's only
levitation... *leviosa*!”

It went surprisingly well; the four-poster floated up, glided towards them, turned in the air,
and wedged itself between the next two beds.

“Not bad,” said Ron, surveying his handiwork. “Not hard, either. I'd say that bed, over
there, moved between those two, and—”

Someone else muttered an incantation, and half the beds in the room picked up off the floor and
rearranged themselves.

“Focus, Ron,” Harry heard Anna call. “I said candles, not beds.” She and Hermione were
laughing.

“She do that?” said Harry as he and Ron moved into the open area.

Ron nodded, “She's good, isn't she?”

“Good? She's like Hermione—bloody brilliant.”

“Powerful.”

Harry reached up to adjust his glasses. `What was that she did earlier? To get in here?”

“Broke a binding charm,” said Ron. “After that, it didn't surprise me. Not about Hermione,
either... *incendio*!” He had conjured up a whole row of candles and lit them all with just
one flick of his wand.

Harry, who had been setting his candles floating, stopped to glance at his best friend. `What do
you mean?”

“You know, what the eagle said.” Ron was now setting his own candles adrift. “About Anna and
Hermione being—”

“Are you ready?”

Ron didn't finish whatever it was he was telling Harry. He spun around, kissing Anna
lightly. “If you are, and Hermione.”

“I'm ready,” said Hermione softly. She was several paces away from Harry, hugging herself.
He wanted to go to her, put an arm around her, tell her that no one there would think any less of
her if she didn't go through with it.

But he knew better. Harry buried his hands deep in his trouser pockets.

“Now,” said Anna carefully, lowering herself to the ground. Kneeling, she asked, “So... you know
I'll see most of your memories, right? And so will Harry and Ron, as long as they're
here?”

Hermione nodded in response to both questions. “I trust you. All of you.”

And she, too, lowered herself to the ground, crossing her legs beneath her. The boys followed
suit.

“Hermione,” Anna prompted gently. She swished her wand through the air to rearrange the candles
so they were more evenly distributed.

“I'm ready,” Hermione repeated. Anna looked at her. She nodded. And she reached blindly for
Harry's hand.

“*Obligatus ad aliud mens*—”

—Hermione tightened her grip—

“—*Tu sapis quid nunquam erat*—”

The words were no sooner out of Anna's mouth than Hermione had dropped his hand. She
didn't really seem to be looking at anything at first, but then a swirling light began to
extend from Anna's wand. His eyes followed the light, and Ron's, and Hermione's. It was
like a movie of the defining moments of Hermione's life.

Hermione's cousin Annmarie, then a chubby toddler, stealing a doll from an equally tiny
Hermione. Little Hermione stamping her foot only to have the doll sail across the room and back
into her arms.

An equally tiny Hermione paging through a book twice her size.

Five-year-old Hermione, dressed up in a little yellow dress and bow, sitting through Sunday
school class. Her grandmother was the teacher.

Hermione starting school. Hermione getting a cat for her seventh birthday. That same cat dying
just two years later. Hermione falling down the stairs, hitting her head, but walking away with
little more than a bruise. All he hadn't known about his girlfriend's life playing out in
front of Harry's eyes.

Hermione getting her first wand at Diagon Alley. Parvati and Lavender trying to comfort her
after some second years made fun of her for being so smart. Hermione cowering in a bathroom with a
mountain troll. Hermione throwing her arms around him before he went to face Quirrell, thinking it
would be Snape.

Hermione worrying about her two best friends when they failed to board the Hogwarts Express at
the start of term. Hermione looking around corners with a mirror, Penelope Clearwater at her
side.

“What ever happened to her?” Harry wondered aloud.

“I believe she and Percy continue to share the dullest and most boring evenings with each
other,” said Ron dryly.

Harry had missed a few of Hermione's memories.

Hermione realizing that Professor Lupin was a werewolf. Hermione, so scared as the three of them
confronted Sirius. Hermione holding him back as they did it all again, this time to save
Sirius.

Hermione at the Borrow that next summer; then, the three of them running from the Dark Mark.
Hermione trying to bring her two best friends back together after Harry's name came out of the
Goblet of Fire. Her panic during the first and third tasks, embarrassment following the second.

It was really something to see his own memories being played back through her point of view.
Harry looked down at Hermione and quickly away again. Her stillness was unnerving.

And memories again that were only his through her recollection. Hermione frantically
straightening her clothing as she yelled at Krum. Hermione with Ron that summer at the Borrow
before he had arrived her stepping close to him, and...

“Well, there goes any last remaining secrets between all of us,” said Ron, blushing furiously.
“Sorry, mate. I kissed your girlfriend.”

“Wasn't my girlfriend,” said Harry. “Not then, at least. I'm the one that moved in on
her after the fact.”

Hermione talking to Harry late into the night.

“I wouldn't be so sure of that,” said Ron at last. “I reckon she was always kind of
yours.”

Harry's stomach began to knot up. Hermione getting covered in Forveret Bursen. Hermione
recovering so, so slowly. Hermione being terrified that her mere presence would be her friends'
end.

And the moment Harry had been dreading. Hermione walking up to the prefect common room. Blinded
by the smoke. Her wand knocked out of her hand. Roughly being shoved into a wall and then...
blackness. And blackness. And...

Whoever he was, he was dragging her into the forest. He purposely ran her over Ripped her
clothes, held her down. Forced himself on her. Took things that could never be replaced.

Harry couldn't do it. He couldn't stand to hear about it, let alone watch it. He
stood.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” said Harry. Folding his arms across his chest, he strode
quickly over to the absolute farthest corner of the room.

When he returned, he realized that Ron had long since turned away. “I can't say I'm
feeling so well myself. Don't blame you a bit, mate, it's hard enough for me...”

Harry glanced at Anna. Tears streaming down her face and arms shaking, she was still very much
focusing on the spell. He dared glance up at the project of Hermione's memories. Another wave
of nausea, and then there was blackness.

“Wh—” Harry started.

Hermione walking up to the prefect common room. Blinded by the smoke. Her wand knocked out of
her hand. Roughly being shoved into a wall and then... blackness.

It was like her memories were skipping, flashing this and that at random. Wet, rotten wood. Cold
stone floors. Crude staircases. Screams and yells and heartless laughter. Cruel images, cruel
sounds. Hermione trembled, and Harry reached for her, but—

“Don't,” said Anna. Another flash—this one was of a tall, pale figure in fine black robes
with slits for eyes. There were people in the background. And Anna raised her wand.

“—*Exiscor intus vestry mens*—”

“—*Omni qui est infidus*.”

The chill that engulfed the room was like no other, and the accompanying breeze did more than
just stop the projection. It extinguished all the candles in about a second. Harry and Ron were on
their feet at once, Ron casting lumos and Harry lighting the candles one more. Still kneeling, Anna
seemed to be shaking the effort of it all. The chill and the wind stopped, and it was now Hermione
that was shaking.

Drawing her knees to her chest, Hermione began to rock back and forth, her wide brown eyes
filling with tears.

“Hermione?” said Harry tentatively.

“She's in a trance,” said Anna. “I hate this part; I really do.”

Harry found that he hated it as well. Her stillness earlier had been a little worrisome, but the
more he thought about it, the more he decided it wasn't that much different than going into a
daze during class (not that Hermione ever did that). On the other hand, this was just disturbing.
He'd actually see her like this before, but then he had been able to talk her through it. He
glanced over at Ron and Anna just in time to see her slid into his lap. He wrapped her arms around
his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. He put one arm around her and began rubbing her back
with his other hand.

Finally, Harry could take it no longer. `What's going on?” he blurted.

Anna turned to rest her head against Ron's shoulder. “Her memory is rewriting itself,” she
said quietly. “If all went well, then it'll rewrite itself to the truth... otherwise, it'll
be the same old memory replacement as before.” She laughed nervously. “I do hope it's the
former that happens.”

“It will,” said Harry.

Ron smiled gratefully at him over Anna's head. Reassuringly, he added, “It looked like you
did everything right, honey.”

Anna shifted in his arms. Ron had let down her ponytail and was twisting curls around his
fingers. “Fifteen years of memories in less than that many minutes.” She shook her head. In a small
voice, she added, “There are a lot of sick people in this world.”

“Unfortunately,” said Ron, resting his chin on Anna's head. He took her hands in his before
wrapping his arms around her. “How are you holding up, Harry?”

In lieu of a response, Harry asked, “So, er, how much longer until you can bring her out of
that?”

“She actually has to come out on her own,” said Anna quietly. “It shouldn't be much longer.
The two parts to breaking a memory charm are usually rather equal in length.”

Harry sat back, resigned. He glanced at his watch. It was almost one-thirty in the morning.
Under his breath, he muttered, “Come on, Hermione. I can't take seeing you like this.”

“Did you say something, Harry?”

The groggy voice was most definitely Hermione's. He couldn't help but smile, knowing at
least all that trembling and shaking and rocking was over.

“Just that I wanted you to come on out of that,” said Harry, reaching for her.

Hermione smiled weakly. “That's so... I think I'm going to be sick.”

Anna was on her feet in seconds. “That means you will be.”

And Hermione was—three times. When all was said and done, she was about the palest Harry and
ever see her. She was also the most embarrassed as Anna cast a cleaning charm.

“I'm sorry,” said Hermione weakly. She let go of her hair, which she had been holding back.
“I don't—”

“Hey,” said Anna soothingly. “That always happens, actually.”

“Always happens?” Hermione asked.

Harry looked nervously at Anna before squatting down next to his girlfriend. One hand resting
gently on her back, he said, “You know, after breaking a memory charm?”

“Oh yeah,” said Hermione, and her hand flew to cover her mouth a moment later.

“Hermione?” Harry's hand tightened around her shoulder.

“Oh,” she muttered.

Anna seemed to know just what to do. She, too, lowered herself to their level. “Try to focus,
Hermione.”

“My head—”

“I know your head hurts, honey,” said Anna kindly. “I've been there, too. You *have* to
try, though.”

“What's going on?” Ron said, and he, too, kneeled in a resigned sort of way.

“The memory of what actually happened has always been there,” said Anna quietly. “It takes
awhile to realize that anything is different.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ron turned to Hermione.

Reaching forward, she grabbed the hand he had extended. “It's really hot in here.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Harry had conjured up a glass of water and handed
it to her. He looked cautiously at Anna, and she seemed to know what he was thinking because she
nodded. He took a deep breath.

“Hermione, think back to the night you were... the night you were raped. Do you remember where
you were before being taken into the forest?”

Hermione swallowed the last sip of water she had taken and looked away. Softly, she said, “I
remember.”

-->



36. Tears
---------



Chapter Thirty-Four

TEARS

Two words had never had so much meaning. As her short statement echoed off the high ceiling of
the old Ravenclaw dormitory, Harry looked up at Ron. He was trying to place just what emotion lay
behind her words, which had seemed to him equal parts confused, saddened, angry, hurt, and worried,
among other things. There had been a hesitation that scared him, and it certainly wasn't
helping that Hermione wouldn't look up at him.

Hooking an arm around her shoulders, Harry sat down on the stone floor, finally acknowledging
just how cold it felt through the seat of his trousers. “Do you want to tell us about it?”

“No, not really,” said Hermione, her shoulders tensing up. After a few seconds, she exhaled and
relaxed a little. “But I will.”

It wasn't exactly the response Harry wanted to hear. He nervously reached over with his
other hand to push back some of her hair. “You don't have to do anything you don't want
to.”

“You need to know,” said Hermione quietly. “I need you to know.”

Ron dropped down onto his knees across from Hermione so only Anna remained standing. She hugged
herself like Hermione had earlier and muttered something quickly before glancing skyward but did
not join them. She seemed to be listening just the same, though.

“'Mione?” Harry prompted gently.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and Harry realized a tear had slipped down her cheek. He
wiped it away carefully with his thumb, expecting the worse. Instead, however, Hermione let out a
shaky laugh before swiping at unshed tears with the back of her hand.

“Look at me,” she said. “I'm crying when there's nothing to cry about, scaring you when
there's no reason to worry you at all. It's just—it's just that I hate this feeling. It
was oddly comforting to think that, horrible as the situation was, at least I knew what had
happened to me. The experience was my own. All that time, I just hoped that we were wrong, that
there wasn't any memory charm, that we were getting carried away with theories and ideas. Then,
realizing...” Hermione faltered. “And now I'm rambling, aren't I?”

Ron grinned. “Only slightly.”

Harry was about to reprove Ron for his remark, but that was before Hermione laughed so sweetly
and reached forward to hug their best friend. Ron patted her back awkwardly, looking surprised but
not embarrassed. Hermione settled back in with Harry, wiping at her eyes once more.

“Okay,” said Hermione, taking a deep breath. “It began, at least, how I always thought it had—I
raced up to the prefect common room after class because I wanted to get there and leave again
without crossing paths with the two of you. I was just going to retrieve a book I left
there—*Arithmancy: Chaldean Beginnings*. Me and my extra coursework.” She gave Harry a shaky
smile. “Of course, the prefect common room had more in it than just my book. He was in there,
waiting for me. I managed to get my wand out, but he knocked it out of my hand, and then he hit me
so hard that I blacked out.

“But I wasn't out of it for a very long time at all. I thought I was, but I wasn't. I
came to a few minutes if not seconds later, and I was still in the common room with him. The room
was still just as smoky, just as disorienting as it had been when I walked in, but he had used my
wand to add his note to the two of you. I heard the two of you beyond the wall, unsure why it
wouldn't open, and I tried to scream. He'd not only put a silencing charm on the room but
also had a hand clamped over my mouth. He backed into the far corner with me.

“He held me there, underneath an invisibility cloak, until the two of you left. He'd stowed
a broom in the corner of the room, and after casting a disillusionment charm, took flight. It was
so bitterly cold, and it had started to snow again.” Hermione shivered in retrospect. “There's
a trapdoor on the forest side of the lake, also disillusioned. I stumbled as he yanked me off the
broom and towards it, so he kicked me to the ground and broke my leg. If that wasn't bad
enough, the curves and tunnels beyond the trapdoor were all sloped downward, so he just pushed me
down stairs and ladders and chutes. I don't know how far we went below the lake, or underneath
it. I—I couldn't focus. I'm sorry.”

There was a moment of silence. Harry, pulling gently on Hermione's shoulders, let her rest
her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. Reassuringly, he said, “I don't
blame you, sweetheart.”

Hermione nodded against the soft material of his shirt. There was a moment's pause, and
Harry noticed how Anna had retreated further from the three friends. She looked rather ill, and
more than a little upset. Ron was glancing at her with worry, but he seemed to know not to get
involved.

“Finally, we reached a series of rooms,” said Hermione, her voice slightly muffled. “It
didn't seem like anything we had passed through before. For as elaborate and confusing as the
staircases and chutes and passages were, they all fit with the design of Hogwarts. These dungeons
were different. They were just as cold, just as damp, just as dark, but they looked more like—more
like I had always imagined the Chamber of Secrets. Elaborate stone doors, carved serpents, and dark
objects everywhere.

“One, two, three, four. I couldn't follow all the twists and turns to get down to them, yet
I remember counting these rooms. Each one was a little larger than the one before it, but all of
them were completely empty. We stopped in the fourth room... all of the missing students were in
there, hovering perfectly still a few inches above the ground. They were in a magically induced
stasis—*stupefy immotius*, I would think. He actually stopped dragging me at that point, and
he took a moment to heal my broken leg. I had no idea why at the time.

“He pulled his wand out then. Even it looked sinister—short, and thin, and gnarled. He just
stared at me for the longest time. The look in his eyes—I was so sure he was going to kill me,”
said Hermione, and she shuddered. Harry bit his lip, turning over what she had said. If she had
been able to see his eyes, then she had been able to see him. He was about to call her on this when
she rushed on. “Finally, he pocketed his wand, yanked me up by the back of my rooms, and muttered,
`Pathetic.' He half marched, half shoved me through another door, and another... four more
rooms in all, each of these rooms a little smaller than the last.”

Hermione had begun to scoot away from Harry. He leaned forward a little so that he could get a
good look at her face, watery eyes and wet cheeks and wary expression. Debating whether or not he
should give her that space, he held out a hand to her.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” said Harry softly, so softly that neither Ron nor Anna would
hear. Hermione hesitated for a few seconds before reaching across to lace her fingers through his.
There was something else in her eyes now—guilt. Harry wasn't sure what to make of this, but he
gave her the same reassuring smile he had all night.

“Hermione,” said Ron suddenly, “if you could see his eyes, doesn't that mean you saw—” He
stopped. Harry, having seen Hermione tense up at the sound of her named, had realized at once that
the question was anticipated—and very much unwanted. He had given Ron the most silencing look he
could manage, and it had, fortunately, worked. Hermione looked most relieved.

“Then, the doors just stopped,” she said quickly. “Until that room, they had been all in a row,
room after room after room. I thought we'd reached the end, but he took his wand out again and
stared at the wall for the longest time. It was almost like he wasn't sure if he would be able
to what he was about to do. Turning around to look the stone door behind me, he shoved me to the
ground. Then, he worked a series of charms similar to what Anna did to get us in here.”

At Anna's name, Harry glanced over to where she had last been standing. She had detached
herself further from the group with the progression of Hermione's story, which was odd, but it
wasn't really Harry's place to say anything.

“He passed through this door, and I heard him lock it behind him. I couldn't hear what he
was saying after that, but I could tell that he was talking to someone. There was a lot of laughter
before he burst back through on my side of the doors a moment later. That's when—when—”
Hermione looked away, gathering her knees to her chest with her other arm. “He tore my robes trying
to get them off me. He yanked at my shirt and sweater, and he shoved my skirt up. He was—he was—he
was going to do it then, but the door opened.

“Voldemort,” said Hermione quietly, speaking almost directly to Harry. “He was so much more
horrible than I had ever imagined. Pale, and red, and that voice—” She shuddered. “But Voldemort
told him to stop. `Now, now,' he said, `you will have time for that later.' I don't
think I've ever been so scared to be relieved. He turned to me then, addressing me first by my
name, and then as your friend. He told me to straighten myself out, but when I went up to get my
robes, he put me under the Cruciatus Curse.

“He just held me under it for the longest time. When he finally let up, it was all I could do to
try and breathe. I've never before been in that much pain.” Hermione took a shuddering breath
then, leaving Harry to call upon his own experience with the curse. Somehow, it hurt him ten times
worse to know that Voldemort had done the same to her. He squeezed her hand. “He told me that I was
to always to his commands with either `Yes, Master,' or `Yes, my lord.' It still hurt so
much that I couldn't talk, and he put me under it again when I nodded.”

Hermione seemed caught up in the memory, unable to continue. Harry glanced down at his watch,
which had suddenly chosen that moment to begin its maddening color-changing once more. Shaking his
head, he suddenly remembered chilling urgency he had felt earlier. Gently, he prompted, “And?”

“I think I finally got it right,” said Hermione softly, almost as though she was ashamed. “I
hated that I had submitted to him, but I just couldn't take it anymore.” She looked up at
Harry. “I'm sorry.”

Harry put aside his reservations of earlier and tugged her towards him. His arm went around her
shoulders, comfortingly, as it so often had. “Why?”

“I just—” Hermione started, but she stopped, giving him a grateful smile. “That's when it
really started, I guess. He made me stand up, but I couldn't. My arms felt as though they were
broken, and my legs couldn't support my weight. Everything just—just *hurt*. Voldemort
couldn't stop laughing. He asked me if I had liked that, and then he told me that I had been
the first recipient of his `improved' Cruciatus Curse. It inflicts actual injuries to cause
pain. And, just because he could, he put me under it once more.”

Hermione said this all rather determinedly, but her voice started wavering soon after.
“Voldemort started talking about you then, Harry, and all the times you had foiled him. I tried to
be brave, and courageous, and all the other things a Gryffindor is supposed to be, but I
couldn't. I couldn't even stop thinking about the pain for long enough to follow what he
was saying—things about you, and me, and Ron, things about a key, a keeper, a prophecy. I'm
sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” said Harry firmly, so quick in his response that he nearly cut her off.
Ron reached over and touched Hermione's shoulder.

“Herms,” Ron said, somewhat playfully, but he quickly grew serious. “Correct me if I'm
wrong, but you came into the hospital wing that day with cuts, bruises, broken bones, internal
injuries... Madam Pomfrey wouldn't even *tell* us how bad off you were. Do you really
think you need to apologize for being tortured?”

“They're right, Hermione,” Anna affirmed softly. Harry realized that, as removed as she was
from them at the moment, she was still listening quite intently. “Try to... try to distance
yourself from it. It'll... it'll help.” She was studying her hands rather intently.
“Don't be so hard on yourself.”

Hermione finally nodded at Anna's words, leaning her head against Harry's shoulder. He
smoothed out her hair, kissing her forehead lightly. He wouldn't admit it to Ron, or Anna, or
even Hermione, but he hadn't expected things to progress as far as they had. He had done his
best to convince himself, like Hermione had, that the memory charm was just an idea they had, an
idea without bearing. Hermione closed her eyes.

“Voldemort insisted on calling me a Mudblood the entire time, but he at least refrained from
insulting my abilities and my parents. Then, suddenly, he laughed spitefully and kicked me, and
made reference to your mother, Harry. He was just so... so... so vulgar that I couldn't help
it.” Hermione opened her eyes, but she glanced away.

“Couldn't help what?” Harry asked.

Hermione finally looked back up at him and said sheepishly, “I expect you could say he'd
pushed me a little too far. I asked what he had against your parents, Harry, and you, and Muggle
borns. Rather stupid of me, wasn't it?” The boys didn't say anything, but Harry was
secretly proud of her and Ron was openly grinning.

“When Voldemort let off the Cruciatus Curse, I couldn't talk. I was so scared. Those
horrible red eyes of his were flashing with the utmost contempt, and there wasn't anything I
could say or do. He stared at me, just stared at me, for so long that I found myself wishing
desperately for anything to happen. It was painful for me when I was just sitting there, and I just
wanted so badly for it to all be over.” She shuddered.

“Voldemort finally said that he had no use with me after all. He told me that his plan had been
to accept me into his ranks, sparing my life in exchange for information about you, but because I
had been so *foolish* to defy him, he would not give me such a chance.” Hermione looked
defiant. “I couldn't believe his arrogance, and I told him that I would not have sided with him
even if given the option. I fully expected to be tortured again, but he didn't. He just stood
there for a long time before... before giving me a sick little smile and letting him...”

Hermione said all of this slowly. “Voldemort gave him the directive to take me into the forest
and kill me, but not before encouraging him to... to finish what he had tried to do earlier. He
wasn't supposed to use the Killing Curse on me. He thought that `a brutal murder' would
have the most impact on you, Harry.” She had slid as close as physically possible to her boyfriend,
and in response, Harry began to rub her back.

“The last thing he said was something about a map. Voldemort put me under the Cruciatus Curse
one last time, but I couldn't take it. I blacked out. The next thing I can remember is waking
up in the forest.” Hermione fell silent. Her eyes were red and puffy as she pulled away from Harry,
but she wasn't crying. Harry's stomach clenched, knowing that she hadn't any tears
left.

“That's the map Dumbledore and Hagrid found, wasn't it?” said Ron after a moment's
pause. Harry honestly couldn't tell if he genuinely wasn't sure or if he was simply looking
for words. “He mentioned it to Harry and I while we were waiting in the hospital wing because it
led them to the rest of the missing students.”

Harry nodded briefly, realizing that Ron had, indeed, been unable to bear the silence. He
glanced at his redheaded friend, knowing at once that he wanted to know the same thing. Taking a
deep breath, Harry carefully asked, “Who raped you, Hermione?”

Hermione didn't look at him. “It was Viktor,” she said quietly.

“It was Krum?” Ron said at once, incredulously. He paused for a second before cursing rather
severely. “Of course it was him,” he growled. “I'm going to kill him.”

“Ron,” said Hermione softly, “*please*.”

“He has a point, Hermione.” Harry squeezed her hand. Grimly, he said, “I can't say I
won't do the same.” He reached over to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear because it kept
falling across her face, but she followed his gesture with a shift away from him. “Hermione?” he
asked, slightly bewildered.

“You shouldn't say things like that,” said Hermione. “You aren't supposed to feel that
way.”

Harry was taken aback. “I'm not supposed to feel the way I do?”

“No,” said Hermione, but she didn't hold his gaze. “It's so violent.”

“Bloody hell, Hermione, what he did to you was pretty violent!” Ron didn't look
bewildered—he looked positively dumbfounded, though he was clenching and unclenching one of his
fists.

When Hermione didn't say anything, Harry knew he had to try again. “'Mione, you've
got to tell us what you're thinking because we don't understand it.” He closed his eyes but
opened them again quickly because the images he saw in the stillness were those of Krum raping her.
Harry found himself clenching his fist so tightly that there was a crack. “I see what he's done
to you, and I want to—”

“Just stop it, Harry. Just stop it.” Hermione sounded so weary that he allowed her interruption
to silence him right then and there.

Ron, on the other hand, seemed to take offense. “Stop what?” he demanded, hopping up. “Harry and
I have wanted to kill him for what he did to you ever since we found out. What difference does his
identity make? It gives a name and a face to it, that's all. Now come—”

“Stop it, Ron,” said Hermione, her voice a little higher that usual.

“I'll stop when I get a chance to do what I've been saying I would all along,” Ron
retorted. “Now let's make for that ugly stone gargoyle and yell the names of Muggle sweets
until it opens. It's about time we—”

“What? What makes you think Dumbledore will let you go after him?” Hermione interrupted.

“I think he means that Dumbledore will know where to go from here,” said Harry quietly. The last
thing they needed was to be at odds with each other, not when he had a sinking feeling that they
were fast approaching a time when they would need each other the most.

“Oh yes,” said Hermione. “What makes you so sure Dumbledore will do something at all. He has
been—oh, how to say it?—completely ignorant of the whole thing so far.”

It really should have been enough for Ron, but it wasn't. “Dumbledore's not just going
to let it slide, not when your attacker finally has an identity!”

“He has a lot more important things to worry about,” Hermione shot back. “Voldemort, Barker,
entire cities that could be reduced to rubble should any Death Eaters chose to descend. I
wouldn't say that one teenage girl and her problems are his greatest concerns right now!”

“Maybe not the problems of the average student, but those of one tortured and raped at the hands
of the Dark Lord?” Ron snorted, stepping forward. “Seems to me that it's one with his other
worries. But how would I know? I'm just barbaric because I want to see Krum suffer for all the
suffering he caused you! Use that head of yours, Hermione. He's not the—”

“Stop it! Can't you see that you're scaring her?”

It was Anna. She had emerged from the shadows and proceeded to put an arm around the older girl.
She whispered something to Hermione, talking quietly so that Harry and Ron could not hear her.
Nevertheless, Harry caught the kindness in her voice. Finally, she straightened and said to Ron.
“Honey, your heart's in the right place, but you can't just jump to your feet and yell, not
now you can't.” Her voice softened. “You can't solve violence with violence. You have to be
softer, kinder, right now. That's...”

And Harry saw her mouth the words, “That's what Hermione needs.” He took a deep breath.

“Got a little carried away, didn't I?” said Ron apologetically. “Bloody sorry, Hermione.
Er... maybe we could take Harry's approach to it?”

“I don't like it,” said Hermione softly. “I don't like thinking that someone I thought I
knew could be someone else entirely. I hate it. I wish I had never—that's all. I don't like
thinking I'm so easily deceived, that's all.”

Harry knew at once that this wasn't true, that there was more to it than that, but he
didn't have the words to ask her for more. So, he said the only thing he could think to say.
“What do you want us to do, honey?”

Hermione closed her eyes. In a small voice, she asked, “Can you understand it?”

“Understand what?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“Understand where I'm coming from,” Hermione said. “Understand why I don't want you and
Ron running off after him. Understand why I don't want you taking this to Dumble—”

“But Hermione,” Harry interrupted, “what's to say he won't hurt other girls—other
women—like he hurt you?”

“Please Harry,” Hermione said, her voice cracking. “Please Harry, just listen. Just try and
understand, please, why I don't want revenge. Please, can you try and understand?”

In that moment, Harry became painfully aware of the fact that she was no longer addressing the
group, small as it was, but asking for his understanding. Painfully aware that Ron was clearing his
throat and suggesting that maybe he and Anna could go ahead and take care of picking up the room.
Painfully aware that it was he who had taken her hand and led her to a dark corner on the other
side of the room. Painfully aware of what the way she was clinging to him could mean.

Finally, Harry looked down at her. He drew her even closer, touching his forehead to hers. “I
can't understand it,” he said quietly. “I'll try, but it will take time, and I don't
even know if I'll be able to then. I'm not like you, Hermione, I'm not as good as I
think you are, or as pure. For me, understanding is too much like forgiving, and forgiveness is
something I can't give. I—”

“Can you accept it?”

“Yes,” said Harry.

“Will you?”

He exhaled slowly. “Yes.” Had he known that his statement would cause her to burst into a fresh
round of tears, he wouldn't have said anything. “What did I do?” he asked, bewildered.
“What's wrong?”

“Why do you have to see it as me being a good person?” she said, looking up at him, her dark
brown eyes filled with tears. “I'm not a good person. Not at all.”

Now Harry truly didn't know what to think. “Yes, you are,” he said. “I think you're the
best.”

“No,” she said stubbornly. “No.”

“Why?” Harry wasn't even quite sure what he was asking her to explain.

“Because last year I had myself convinced that I felt for Viktor what I know I feel for
you.”

Harry was still confused. “Well that's okay,” he said reasonably. “You didn't know
then.”

“Because last year I had myself convinced that it was forever.”

This time Harry's voice caught a little. “You were a lot younger then. You didn't know
any better.”

“Because last year I had myself convinced that I loved him.” And while Harry turned this all
over in his head, she rushed on, “Because this year I still care enough that I don't know if I
want to see him hurt.”

“But he—” Harry stopped. His throat felt horribly, horribly dry. One part of him was trying to
formulate a response to what she had said first. If she had thought she loved Viktor and thought
she felt for him what she truly felt for Harry, then that would mean... but at the same time he was
trying to process what she had said second. “So you don't want to believe it was him—”

“I can't believe it was him,” said Hermione miserably. “Before you or Ron even suggested
that Viktor might be involved, I thought that it could have been him.”

“Why didn't you say anything?” Harry said incredulously.

“Because I convinced myself otherwise,” said Hermione quietly. “There wasn't anything but
circumstantial evidence, Harry. There wasn't anything but... I didn't want to think him
guilty if he were innocent...”

“Dammit, Hermione!” Harry swore. “Why do you have to think the best of everyone?” And they were
kissing, albeit angrily. He had meant to comfort her, but as it turned out, he was a little angry
himself. He was angry that Krum had tricked her, angry that she had fallen for it, angry that she
hadn't told him. More than anything, he was angry that they could have figured it out sooner
and without having to have put her through so much.

But the part of him that was still thinking rationally told him that it wasn't entirely
true. That part of him told him that it had sorely been luck that they had gotten as far as they
had—luck, good or bad. Bad that Hermione had lost her magical abilities, good that had cracked the
memory charm to the extent it had. Bad that breaking memory charms was such awful business, good
that they at least had connections to someone able to do it. And Harry realized that he wasn't
angry at all, but rather upset, and worried.

With a start, Harry realized just how fiercely they had been kissing. Her back was against the
smooth stonewall they had been standing in front of, and his hands were not only at her waist but
creeping beneath the wool of her sweater. It was also with a start that he realized how much she
trusted him. That was one worry, at least, that he figured he could discard—the worry that she had
once had stronger feelings for Krum than she now had for him. He smiled apologetically, but when he
made a motion to withdraw his hands, hers came down on top of them.

“Are you mad at me?” Hermione said softly.

“No,” said Harry. He looked at her intently. “I'm upset, but not with you.”

“I'm scared.”

“I understand.”

“I—” Hermione stopped, and Harry, who usually knew her so well, found himself unsure of what
she'd been about to say. She looked down for a moment, and her cheeks were still pink with
embarrassment when she looked back up. “Harry...”

A smile playing on his lips, he pressed a finger to hers. “Shh...” he whispered, and that smile
said, he asked again, `What do you want us to do?”

With quiet determination, Hermione said, “I want to go there.”

“What?” Harry said, his brow furrowing. “You want to go there?”

“I want to go there,” she pressed. “I want to see what it's like.”

“W—when?” Harry sputtered, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him as well.

“Tonight.”

“I don't think that's such a good idea,” said Harry honestly. His hands finally left the
smooth skin of her waist. “I really don't think that's such a good idea.”

“I think it's a worse idea to leave it to the unknown.” Hermione's face softened, her
tears finally starting to try on her cheeks. “H—Harry, it's that urgency I felt earlier. I
can't explain it, but it's this feeling I have that I can't make go away. There's a
reason that we had to break that charm tonight, a reason other than wanting to know.”

“Do you really think that we'll find that reason down in that room?”

“I think we might. I think it's worth a shot.”

“I think it's dangerous, that you could get hurt,” Harry shot back.

“You're the one that kept reminding me earlier that I had already been hurt,” said Hermione.
She glanced around the large room, and she shivered. Instinctively, Harry wrapped his arms around
her. “This room is starting to give me the creeps.”

Harry hadn't been thinking it, but a chill ran down his spine as she said this. “Yes,” he
agreed. So what if he couldn't place it? He had certainly felt it.

“Come on,” said Hermione, slipping from his embrace but taking his hand. “Let's tell Ron and
Anna we've decided to do something.”

As it turned out, they hadn't far to go—Ron had come to them. He asked quietly. `Well? Are
we going to do something?”

“Yes,” said Hermione before Harry could even get his mouth open. “Where's Anna. It will take
a lot less time if we only have to say it once, and time's something we haven't a lot
of...” she laughed nervously.

“Anna's not going to come,” Ron blurted.

“She's not?” Harry asked.

“No,” said Ron, shaking his head. `We talked about it, and—”

“I hope you'll understand.” It was Anna. She stepped out of the shadows, slipping under
Ron's waiting arm. Again, the darkness of the room sent chills down Harry's spine. I take
that you're going to take some course of action?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “We're going to—”

“No,” said Anna gently, holding her hand up. “Don't tell me. I—I think I've seen enough
for one night.

“Don't think you aren't welcome,” said Hermione, although the look on Ron's face
said something else, and it was hard to consider something so potentially dangerous as welcoming,
“because you are. You're one of us, Anna, especially after all you did tonight.”

Again, Anna held up her hand. “But I'm not like the three of you. I'm not in Gryffindor,
and I'm not so brave. No, I'll stay here, and I won't have you tell me where you're
going or what you're going off to do.”

Harry and Hermione shared a look. He said, “Are you sure Anna? Because—”

“It's you three that have done the exploring, have always been brave enough to go to the
places that could be more dangerous then anything else. Not me. I've made my decision, and my
decision is to stay,” said Anna quietly. It was obvious then that she truly had, and Harry and
Hermione said little as they all walked to the door. It was only then that Hermione tried just once
more.

“Anna—you're sure? It doesn't feel right to exclude you now.”

“You're not excluding me,” said Anna, and she hugged Hermione, “and I'm sure. Good
luck.”

Hermione gave Harry a helpless look as she returned to his side. He was standing at the door,
holding it open, having retrieved his invisibility cloak. For a second, no one moved. Then, Ron
waved his hand.

“Go on,” he said. “I'll be up in a minute... let's meet back in the prefect
bathroom?”

Harry nodded. His hand in Hermione's, they disappeared up the curving stairs. Had they
stayed, they would have seen another young couple come together, not unlike they had earlier.

“Promise me,” Anna said at last, wrapping her arms around his neck and looking up anxiously. Her
voice softened. “Promise me, Ron, that you wouldn't do anything dangerous?”

Ron just smiled. “I love you.”

Anna sighed. “I love you, too,” she said. “Go on, now. You know I hate to say good-byes.”

Ron kissed her, and because he was obliged to listen to her, he did as he was told. It was only
when the doors had shut securely behind him and she could no longer hear him on the stairs that the
tears began to fall again, tears not even entirely for him but rather tears he would surely not
understand, as that was how secrets worked, after all.

After all.

* * *

It had certainly been easier to wander the halls beneath the invisibility cloak in their younger
days, back when Harry and Hermione at least had been the same height. It had take enough skill
then, to coordinate their shorter strides to Ron's longer ones, but they had gotten quite good
at it.

Then, of course, Harry had grown as well, and for the first time he found himself having to
adjust his own pace. Even though it had been that way for the better part of the last two years,
Harry wasn't particularly good at slowing down or Hermione at keeping up, and while they
managed sometimes, they didn't have much success at others.

That night, Harry preoccupied with his own thoughts and Hermione with hers, they had done even
less of a job of it than usual, which explained the current situation: Hermione, sitting up on the
counter in the prefect's bathroom, was holding out her bleeding hand; Harry, opening and
shutting cabinets, was cursing under his breath.

“Can't... find... stupid... *dammit*!” Harry swore. He slammed the last cabinet of the
row so hard that it shuddered on its hinges, earning him a sharp reprimand from the nearby
mirror.

“Hey!” cried the large wall mirror, which had a reputation of being quite sassy. The face of a
large woman popped out of the otherwise smooth surface. “Watch it, will you? I will *not*
stand to have the surrounding cabinetry treated like that. I will not, I will not! Now you had
better offer me an apology, boy, and a promise that you won't go treating me like that the next
time I give you the honest truth about your completion. And fix your hair!”

Harry scowled, but Hermione laughed. The mirror made a harrumphing noise and settled quietly
back to the wall. Hermione seemed to have grown tired of holding her palm out and up to prevent
blood from dripping on her clothing; she grabbed her arm at the wrist with her other hand and held
it up that way.

“You know,” Hermione said slowly. “You are a wizard. Why don't you just cast a simple
healing charm?”

Harry pretended as though to have not heard her. “I know there has to be something in here
somewhere for that. There are bandages that heal cuts upon contact and potions that do the same
thing, swabs and wipes and rags of the magical sort that... I've used them in here before!
Where the bloody hell have they gone to?”

Quite calmly, Hermione said, “They used to be in the third cabinet on your left.”

“That's the one I just slammed. There isn't anything in there.”

“I know that,” said Hermione patiently. “I'm sure they've here, but they've probably
been moved. Now, seeing as my plans for the future do not end with bleeding to death on this
bathroom counter, why don't you cast a healing charm?”

“I...” Harry began. This was actually the fourth time she had made the suggestion but his first
time even acknowledging it. The first had been during his profuse apologies after she had tripped
on the edge of the invisibility cloak and fallen into a statue of a medieval wizard complete with
still-sharp weaponry, the second he truly hadn't heard her as he was banging cabinets open and
shut, and the third he had purposely ignored. Now, it was all he could do to stall for time.

“It's scarcely been two months since we covered them in Professor Flitwick's class,”
Hermione prompted. “Surely you haven't forgotten how they go, have you? It's—”

“I know, I know,” Harry interrupted. He let the cabinet door he was holding open shut, and he
trotted over to her. Placing his hands flat on the counter on either side of where she was sitting,
he did not quite meet her gaze. “I'm not very good at them, though.”

“Harry, your healing charms are *fine*.”

“They're not perfect,” he said defensively.

“Neither were mine,” Hermione quipped. He slowly looked up at her. “Come on, Harry. I trust
you.”

“Funny, I don't trust myself.” Harry sighed. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I would hate to see the end result if I were ever truly hurt with
only you for company. `Oh, I could have saved her, but I'm not so sure about my healing charms,
so...' Come on Harry, it's a little cut. A little deeper than what we dealt with in class,
but I know you'll be able to handle it.”

“Don't joke about that,” said Harry quietly. “I don't want to think about you getting
hurt.”

For a long moment, Hermione was quite. Then, her uninjured hand left her opposite wrist and
touched his cheek. “Really, as sweet as it is for you to be worried about hurting me, and as cute
as you are when you're fretting, *it will be fine*. Yes, wand out, okay, good, now
focus...”

Harry had to smile at her commands, and he took her hand gently in his. He set the tip of his
wand on her palm and, gathering more courage than he had even imagined needing, spoke the first
incantation. It went well enough, cleaning in an instant the area around the cut, which indeed was
rather deep. Then again, out of all the places on the statue, Hermione had managed to grab onto the
wizard statue's *sinoramuc*, a magical one-edged blade. Harry glanced up and smiled warily
at his girlfriend.

But the moment he began the second incantation, the door to the prefect's bathroom creaked
open, someone stepped in, and Harry jumped back, startled. His wand tip went forward, however, and
a great beam of blue light disappeared into Hermione's wound. She sucked in her breath,
flinching openly as blood oozed out rapidly, and Harry's spirits sank. He had done just what he
thought he would do, worsening her injury. Ron, new to the commotion, quickly crossed the room,
peered down at Hermione's bloody palm, and then patted Harry's shoulder.

“Mate, are you messing around with healing charms again?” Ron asked, shaking his head. “Should
have let me deal with it—I probably could have severed her hand off entirely.”

Ron's words did not help Harry, though they were quite true. “I am so sorry,” Harry said at
once. “I was startled, that's not what I meant to do, I didn't...” Before, he had felt bad
enough about her falling into the statue, although, admittedly, it had not been by fault of his
own. This, on the other hand, he felt more than responsible for.

“Yes, you were startled,” said Hermione, her voice faintly higher. She did not blame him, but
what happened had certainly hurt. Still, she smiled at him, urging him to try again. “You can do
it, though. I know you can. You're just going to have to try again.”

Harry looked up at her pleadingly, but something in her eyes told him he had better not question
it again. Taking another deep breath, he noticed that Ron had stepped back without a further
question, his hands clasped behind his back. Harry bit his lip, and this time he nailed both of the
incantations. The blood cleared, the cut mended, and the only indicator left of the injury was in
the form of a thin red line spread across Hermione's palm. Wiggling her hand, she grinned at
him.

“What did you manage?” asked Ron incredulously at once. “I can't think of where you'd
get an injury like that walking from up one floor from Ravenclaw.”

“About half a hall from the stairwell,” said Hermione, still looking quite impressed with her
boyfriend's handwork. “I stood on the edge of the invisibility cloak, tripped, and tumbled into
the statue of Venerable Proel. Don't take hold of his sinoramuc; it hurts something awful.”

Ron grinned. “Imagine,” he said sarcastically, “a sword causing injury! Why I never—”

Harry swatted at him, but nothing could stop Ron's smiling. That is, nothing could stop it
until Hermione pressed her palms flat against the counter, looking down towards her feet where they
dangled off the counter. She cleared her throat, and almost at once they were drawn back into the
matter at hand, a matter much more serious than a charm gone only slightly awry.

“Well,” said Hermione.

“Quite,” responded Harry lightly.

Ron glanced from one of his friend's faces to the other. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
he demanded.

Hermione glanced first at Ron and then at her boyfriend. Harry nodded, urging her to continue.
She tucked some of her hair behind her ear, taking a deep breath. “I was thinking,” she said
quietly, “that I would like to go there. I-I don't know why, but it's important to me to
know what I faced. Wh-what we might still have to face.”

Ron looked at them for a second, and then, much to Harry's surprise, he nodded.

“Okay,” said Ron. “We'll go there. Do you think you know the way?”

Again, Hermione answered quietly. “Now that I know what happened, I don't think I'll
ever be able to forget.” She didn't meet either of the boys' gazes, and Harry touched her
arm lightly, reassuringly. “It's just what I think we should do.”

“You don't have to justify it to me,” said Ron, looking thoughtful. “Dumbledore and the
other professors wouldn't have had it sealed off, though, or would they?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I don't think that they would have,” she said finally. “I
don't know how, Ron, but I just know these things. Something's drawing me to that room; I
can see it just while sitting there. I have to know if...”

“What do you have to know?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed, but Hermione wouldn't say
anymore. Ron cleared his throat.

“Hermione,” he said, glancing at Harry, “I don't know as much about that Affinity thing as
your or even as Harry, but it's it possible that you're able to see all this stuff
*because* of Krum? The whole mind-influence thing? He sees what you see, so wouldn't it
work in reverse?”

“No, it only works in one direction,” said Hermione firmly. “Can't it just be a feeling that
I have and nothing more? I thought the two of you wanted to do something earlier. Wouldn't
going there be doing something?”

“Only if Krum is down there and you'll allow us to blast him apart, one limb at a time,”
said Ron. Harry, though his sentiment was the same, saw Hermione pale at this. He had no sooner
opened his mouth to correct Ron when something his friend had said made his blood run cold.

“That's it,” said Harry slowly.

This time, it was Hermione's brow that furrowed. “What is?” she asked. Ron was also looking
at Harry questioningly.

“If you were a Muggle, and Krum was a Muggle, but he still raped you, there wouldn't be an
Affinity of Relations, would there?” Harry blurted. He cringed at his own words. That wasn't
how he had planned to phrase it, not by a long shot.

Hermione stiffened. “No,” she said quietly.

“Then that's it,” Harry said. “That's it,” he repeated, turning his theory over his head
one more time. “It's like memory charms, I'm sure. It's different for wizards than it
is Muggles. Affinities don't happen between wizard and Muggle. When you lost your powers, I
don't think the Affinity was broken, but something obviously had to give. I think that's
it—I think you're getting some of his thoughts.”

“No,” whispered Hermione.

“No?” Harry questioned.

“No,” said Hermione again. “I mean it, no! That can't be it. If that was it, then that would
mean that he's down in that little room at this very moment... and that would mean he was here
again... and that would make him so close... a-and...”

“Hermione!” said Harry, knowing that she was on the verge of panic. He firmly put his hands on
her arms, but he also looked up and caught her eyes so that it would not startle her. Tears had
already begun to well up in her eyes; he waited until her breathing evened out to say anything.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Don't panic.”

“He... he... but he could be so close!” said Hermione shakily.

“You don't know that,” said Harry softly, reassuringly. He leaned in, never moving his eyes
from hers. “You really don't.”

“Y-y-you're the one that thinks I'm probably getting his thoughts!” Hermione protested.
“You're the one that—”

“Hey!”

Harry turned away then, as did Hermione. Obviously, Ron was the one that had interrupted her.
The tips of his ears went red the second he seemed to realize that he really had gotten their
attention. Tugging nervously at his collar (as he had not yet changed out of his school uniform),
he cleared his throat.

“Well, I was just thinking that you shouldn't be so scared about this,” said Ron slowly. “I
mean, for the longest time, *he* was the one that knew what *you* were thinking.
Doesn't this give you a little bit of an advantage? He can't really plan his next mind
manipulation without you knowing. Right?”

Harry glanced back at his girlfriend. “He has a point, you know.”

Hermione nodded. “Y-yes,” she said, her voice still shaky, but she actually smiled gratefully at
Ron. “That makes me feel a little bit better.”

“Always glad to be of some service,” said Ron generously, giving her a friendly smile. Harry was
very pleased to see her returning it. He had been desperately sorry for opening his mouth, but now
that Ron had found a positive in the situation, it made it all for the better. “So... where were
we? What now?”

“Well, I think I'm going to... er, clean myself up a bit,” said Hermione after a
moment's pause. Tears were drying on her face, and she looked rather nervous. Harry gave her a
kind smile as his hands slid down to her waist, and he helped her off the counter. She lifted her
arms up and wrapped them around his neck, kissing him lightly. “I guess we'll be off then.”

The boys watched her disappear into the adjoining room of sinks and showers and toilets. Harry
sighed. Ron sighed. Harry sat down heavily on one of the marble steps on the other side of the
room. Ron began to pace the perimeter of the swimming pool-sized bathtub. For a moment, it looked
like neither of them would speak. Then—

“I just want to kill the bastard, that's all,” said Ron heavily.

Harry looked up. He had rolled up his sleeves and dropped his elbows to his knees, but his hands
remained clasped before him. “Yeah, me too.”

The boys stared on. Ron stopped pacing and joined Harry on the marble step. He, too, dropped his
elbows to his knees, but then he rested his chin on his open palms.

“We could be wrong, you know, and not have the advantage we think we do,” said Ron suddenly. “He
could be trying to lure us down there, just waiting to blast us into splinters.”

Harry continued to stare dead ahead. “It's a possibility, isn't it?” he said flatly, but
then he sighed. Turning to Ron, letting his one of his hands drop and reaching the other up to run
through his hair, he said, “I didn't even consider that until she said it. I just had this
idea, and I told you before I could consider what it meant. Maybe he is down there. What do we do
then?”

Ron was still yanking at his collar. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, at long last, just as the
faucet that had been running in the next room shut off, “I don't know what we'd do if we
found him down there, probably rip him to bits despite what Hermione wants, but the way I see it,
we can either chance it, go to Dumbledore, or call the whole thing off.”

“Well, never let it be said that we didn't have options,” said Harry, turning his head back
so he was looking forward again. “When Hermione first told me what she wanted to do, my initial
response was that it would be dangerous, but on the way up here, I really thought about it, and it
dawned on me that it wouldn't be so dangerous if all that we went to was a bunch of empty
rooms... after all, that's half of the castle, right?” He sighed. “But I couldn't shake the
feeling that it would be dangerous, and now I really can't.”

“Because if Krum was there, then it would be dangerous,” said Ron. He stood up suddenly.
“It's hot in here.”

“Yeah, it is,” said Harry. His eyes fell on his best friend in time to see Ron discard his robes
and his sweater and loosen his tie before sitting back down. “What do you think?”

“Anna wanted me to promise her that I wouldn't do anything dangerous,” said Ron. He paused.
“I told her that I loved her instead.”

Harry exhaled slowly, reaching down and running his fingers over the cool surface of the marble.
“I shouldn't have brought you into this, much less her.”

Ron shrugged. “Come off now, Harry. I might always end up out of it for the very end, but
don't I at least always go along with you for the final battle?”

“Is that what this is, then?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. “The final battle?”

Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Harry never did get to hear what. Hermione appeared
in the doorway. She crossed over to them, stepping right over the discarded parts of Ron's
uniform as though it didn't faze her, (which, of course, it probably didn't).

“Stripping now, Ron, are you?” Hermione said briskly. She glanced from Harry to Ron and back
again. “Well? Are we ready to go or not? It'll be dawn in a few hours' time, and after
that, we'll have a full day of classes ahead of us.”

Harry glanced at Ron, who glanced at him at the same time. They exchanged nervous looks, but
fortunately for Harry, it prompted Ron to clear his throat and open his mouth. He said, “Then
don't you think that we should go back to Gryffindor, get what sleep we can, and do this
tomorrow night?”

Hermione just looked at him as though he hadn't spoken an understandable language. “I think
that we should go on. We're already out; if we do it tomorrow night, there will only be more
risk of being caught.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Come on, what are you two waiting
for. We need—”

“We need to reconsider our options,” Harry blurted, unable to help himself any longer.
“Hermione, it's too dangerous. We can't do it. I wasn't thinking properly earlier; it
didn't occur to me that Krum could be there. We might very well be walking into a trap. I think
it's time we go to the headmaster.”

“Go to the headmaster?” Hermione said. “Go to Dumbledore?” Her bottom lip had begun to quiver.
“We can't do that!”

“I think what Harry is trying to say is,” said Ron nervously, and Harry found it quite ironic
because he wasn't even quite sure what he was trying to say. All he knew was that the biggest
part of him was positively screaming at whichever part had initially agreed to do something that
even had the potential of putting her in harm's way. “Er, in the past, it's usually been
your desire to take the more sensible route and seek outside help. Usually, er, you'd be the
first to suggest Dumbledore.”

“So now I'm not being sensible?” said Hermione scathingly. As biting as her words were,
there was quality to them that put something hard in Harry's throat. She was upset rather than
angry about this suggestion. “Do you know what happened the last time I trusted the headmaster? He
announced that it was important to assure the well-being of all the victims but rather
*unimportant* to find their attacker and give them piece of mind!”

“Hermione, I'm sure—” Harry and Ron began at the same time, but they were both
interrupted.

“I'm sure Dumbledore will do something eventually, but we have to do something tonight!”
Hermione said fiercely, tears welling up in her eyes. Suddenly she dropped back, tears starting to
stream down her cheeks, and buried her face in her hands.

Despite his earlier observation, this surprised (and startled) Harry, and he was on his feet at
once, an arm around her shoulders, leading her back down to sit between him and Ron on the step. He
wrapped both of his arms around her and let her cry into his shirt, glancing worriedly over her
head at Ron, who shrugged helplessly. Finally, Harry couldn't take it any longer and cleared
his throat.

“Hermione?” Harry asked tentatively, dropping his left arm so only the right remained around her
shoulders.

“Just a second,” she said, her voice still slightly muffled. Harry glanced at Ron again but gave
her that, rubbing his hand up and down her arm in what he hoped was a reassuring way, and
eventually her sobs turned to tears and tears to sniffles. Quietly, pulling her head away from his
chest, she said, “Okay.”

“Are you all right?” said Harry awkwardly.

Hermione nodded, dropping her head to his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she said apologetically. In
a small voice, she continued, “I don't know what's gotten into me, Harry. I just can't
take this anymore. It seems so often anymore that I have moments like I had a second ago and
moments live I've been having all evening. I'm not myself, or at least I'm not as
strong as I used to be, and it's as though I can't take care of myself any longer. I-I...”
She trembled.

“I have you,” said Harry so quietly that Ron would not hear. It was an odd thing to say yet made
perfect sense to both of them.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. She looked up at him, her eyes puffy from all that crying. “I have this
feeling that we should go there, and I don't think it wise to ignore that feeling.”

“But it's going to be so dangerous,” Harry argued, dropping his other arm from her as well
and leaning forward, his hands clasped together before him. He cocked his head up to look at her
still. “I don't think it's wise to ignore that feeling either, but I also don't think
it's wise to just traipse down there without any solid plans.”

Hermione laid an arm across his back, squeezing his shoulder. “We don't have time for solid
plans. Whatever we have to do, we have to do tonight. It's going to be too late tomorrow.
It's that feeling again. *If we wait until tomorrow, it will be too late*.”

“But Hermione,” said Ron, dropping his arm to the side so that she would not see him clenching
and unclenching his fist, “there's a good chance that Krum's down there at this very
instant, just waiting for us to walk into his trap and start throwing Unforgivables. I know I'm
not usually the one to put his foot down and demand we reconsider, but I don't think any of our
other adventures have been so... uncertain. Do we even know what we're up against, besides
Krum? Besides... er, hurting you, and Ginny, do we know what he's responsible for?”

“He's one of Voldemort's followers now,” Harry threw in. “His age isn't the only
thing to consider. Not only has he been taught more magic than we have, but he's probably been
taught the Darkest magic there is out there.” He unclasped his hands and slowly reached out.
Hermione hesitated, tentatively allowing him to take her hand in his. “Hermione, earlier you
couldn't even take the thought of him being on the same property as you. How will you feel if
he's in the same room? I think you're brave, and strong, even if you might not, but I
can't expect you to be that brave, or that strong. You also can't defend yourself in what
ways he can or even in what ways Ron and I can. I'm not saying that we wouldn't look out
for you. I just don't know how two Underage wizards would fair against a trained Death Eater,
that's all.”

“But we have to do something!” The urgency was yet to leave Hermione's voice.

“Yes, tonight, we know,” said Ron dryly, but he tossed an arm around her shoulder so that she
would know he was only kidding. “Hermione, it's just too dangerous. I know I don't want to
put you in a situation where you're absolutely terrified and couldn't protect yourself even
if you weren't. Something tells me that Harry doesn't want to either.”

But Hermione would not listen to their reason. For several minutes, they went back and forth,
Harry and Ron trying in vain to put down her insistent claims. Finally, Harry could take it no
more. He suggested, “Fine. We understand. We'll do something, and we'll do it tonight. Ron
and I can go down there and check things out tonight. If the passages and adjoining rooms are
empty, then we'll know that there's nothing to worry about, and we'll all go down there
tomorrow night so that you can see all of it like you wanted. How's that sound?”

Harry was too pleased with his suggestion too soon. He had thought it was a pretty good idea,
but no sooner had the words left his mouth than Hermione was on her feet, her eyes no longer watery
but rather ablaze.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she demanded. “Why are you forcing me to take the backstage in
all this? I don't understand, Harry. I seem to remember going with you into many dangerous
situations in the past. Why did you allow me to be at my side then but don't want me near now?
Did I really mess things up so badly before?”

“Did you miss the whole thing about us being worried about you not being able to defend
yourself?” said Ron at once, tilting his face up to look at her. “I thought it was pretty clear,
Hermione. Harry and I don't want to see you hurt, and if anyone gets hurt in this, it's
going to be you. You're the most vulnerable and the least able at the moment. What's so
wrong with us not wanting to risk that?”

“You expect me to believe that if a dementor hadn't come into that shop that day and
destroyed my powers you would let me come with you?” Hermione asked. “Would you, Harry? I don't
think so. I think you would still have eventually come to the conclusion that I should stay where
it's safe because I obviously can't take care of myself!”

All of this was making Harry's head hurt. He was trying to keep in mind what she had said
earlier about not being entirely herself, but it was hard. Though what he really felt was hurt, as
it seemed she was unaware of how much he cared for her, he was starting to get angry. He stood
up.

“You know what?” Harry said. “You're right. I wouldn't have wanted you to go even if the
dementors hadn't touched you in Hogsmeade! Of course I wouldn't have, Hermione, I care
about you! Do you really think I'm one to willingly put the people closest to me at risk?”

They were practically shouting at each other. Hermione's eyes flashed. “You don't have
to be,” she said unkindly. “Everyone that knows you is constantly at risk! I know that, I've
accepted that, and if I'm already in danger, is it really going to matter if I put myself in
more?”

“To me it does!” Harry shot back. “Don't you know how much I care about you?”

Hermione didn't answer his question. “Why is it that there's no question about whether
or not Ron's going? I thought he was your best friend; I thought you cared about him. Why is it
any different putting him in harm's way?”

“If he'd lost his...” Harry trailed off. With as much resolution as he could muster, he
said, “Because you're my girlfriend!”

“Until a few weeks ago, I was also your best friend,” said Hermione sharply, “and I thought that
you told me I would always be, no matter what.”

“You always will—” Harry stopped short, realizing at once that she'd caught him.

“Then why won't you let me go?” said Hermione. “I'm still your best friend, and
you're letting your other best friend go. What makes me so different?”

“Because I don't think I can stand to see you hurt again!” Harry shouted. Hermione stepped
back; he lowered his voice. “Because I think I'm in love with you.”

Hermione's features softened. “Harry, I-I—”

But she didn't say it back. Instead, she stepped back and folded her shaking arms across her
chest. Rather, what she said was, “Harry, it doesn't matter how I feel because I don't see
this working out. All we do since we've gotten together is argue, and I don't see that as
being worth not doing my part.”

And Hermione turned away from him quickly and did not tell him for several years that it was to
keep him from seeing the tears streaming down her face. “I'm going, and I'm going now,” she
said at last. “You're either ready or not ready, going or not going. I think that I may need
you, but I'll go alone if that's how it has to be.” Despite her declaration, she did not
move.

Harry stepped forward and touched her shoulder. She did not look at him, and for that he was
actually grateful. He wasn't sure what he would do if she did, as he couldn't remember a
time in his life when he had felt worse than she was making him feel. “I'd never let you do
something like this alone, and I'm not about to start now,” he said heavily. Someone behind
them cleared his throat.

“Well, I guess I'll go along too, then,” said Ron cheerfully, standing up. “We'll make
it like old times, the three of us rushing senselessly off to what'll likely be our demise.” He
strode over to his robes and sweater, picking them up and wadding them into a ball before throwing
them randomly into one of the empty cabinets. He continued walking to the door. “Well?” he said
finally, his hand on the doorknob. “I'm ready. One of you grab the invisibility cloak; I really
think we should be off.”

Harry squeezed Hermione's shoulder once, out of habit, before removing his hand. He grabbed
the invisibility cloak as told. He walked to where Ron was standing, and Hermione followed him. The
left the bathroom silently and turned the corner before huddling together beneath the cloak. Harry
was vaguely aware that his head hurt for real now and that his scar had begun to prickle. Never
before in this company had he known such deafening silence.

-->



37. The Snake in the Stronghold
-------------------------------



Chapter Thirty-Five

THE SNAKE IN THE STRONGHOLD

“I really don't see how we're going to find this trapdoor if it's been
disillusioned,” Ron hissed, swearing loudly as he stubbed his toe on another tree branch. He
grumbled, “There has to be another way to do this.”

“There isn't one that I know of,” Hermione snapped. She was in a testy mood, Harry knew,
because they had been searching for the door now for almost twenty minutes now without any success.
She stopped and tilted her head down, one hand shading her eyes and the other on her hip.
“You're too close to the line of trees, anyway. Come back over here. When I said on the lake, I
meant *on the lake*.”

Harry sighed. Ron, at least, had been in good spirits when they left the castle, but as soon as
they had gotten to the lakeshore and out from underneath the invisibility cloak, the bickering had
begun. “It's not going to help anything if the two of you are at each other's throats,” he
said diplomatically, “and it's certainly not what we need right now. Can't you two call a
truce, at least for awhile?”

His eyes, though ill adjusted to the dark, saw Ron trudge back, towards them and away from the
forest's edge. Ron patted Hermione's back in a friendly manner as he passed her, lumbering
over to Harry's side and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his other best friend. He, too,
seemed to be squinting in the darkness. Finally, he sighed and withdrew his wand from his pants
pocket. Pulling up a corner of his shirt from where it was tucked in his pants, he stuck the wand
underneath the fabric and muttered, “*Lumos*.” When he realized that the other two were
staring at him, he just sighed.

“Ron,” Hermione whispered, “all of Hagrid's lights are still on! Didn't we agree not to
use any light of our own so that he wouldn't see?”

“Well, it didn't seem that we were getting too far without any,” Ron retorted. “Look, we
have to find that door. If one of you can find a better way to do it, then I'll cast *nox*
and... Dammit! I didn't mean put that out just then. *Lumos*!”

Hermione looked first at him, then at Harry, and dissolved into giggles at once. The heavy air
between the three friends broken at last, Harry did what he could to push her harsh words of
earlier to the back of his mind, drawing his own wand. Like Ron, he covered the tip of it with his
shirt to keep the light it scattered to a minimum. It was still such a noticeable improvement that
he couldn't help but think there was no way they wouldn't find the trapdoor now.

But after another twenty minutes of searching, they weren't any farther than they had been
before lighting up their wands. Harry and Ron were so discouraged that they had taken to blasting
disillusionment charms every few feet, but to no avail. Hermione was so frustrated that she looked
to be on the verge of tears. Finally, she said miserably, “Maybe it wasn't meant to be.”

Harry, even as he reminded himself how much her declaration in the prefect bathroom had hurt,
hated the dispirited look she currently wore. “Hey, don't just give up,” he said quietly,
touching her shoulder. “We aren't.”

“But I'm obviously wrong about something,” said Hermione, sounding rather distressed at this
possibility. Ron walked over to her, squeezing her other shoulder.

“Why don't you sit down over there for a second?” he suggested, gesturing vaguely with one
hand. “Harry and I'll keep looking, and I know we'll find it yet.”

Hermione nodded, and although tears were still threatening to stain her cheeks, she did as she
was told and plopped down on the slightly damp grass. She crossed her legs Indian-style, dropped
her elbows to her knees, rested her chin on her hands, and a few seconds later screamed. Harry and
Ron, startled, glanced over to where she had been sitting, but she wasn't there anymore.

Not bothering to keep the light to the minimum, Harry pulled his wand unceremoniously out from
under his shirt, practically charging forward. Where Hermione had been sitting, there was now an
earthen hole, a grass-and-dirt covered door dangling down into it. He shook his wand until the
amount of light it dispelled was the greatest possible. Hermione was at the bottom of the shaft,
looking a little worse for the wear.

“Hermione!” he called down, probably a little more frantically than necessary. Almost at once he
noticed the ladder that was attached to one side of the hollow, and he started down it as quickly
as he could, which wasn't that quickly at all considering he was trying to look back at her and
hold on to his wand all at the same time. “Are you okay?”

“I-I think that I found the trapdoor,” said Hermione shakily. She did not stand, which worried
him.

“But are you okay?” Harry said. He was nearly to the floor now, so he hopped off the ladder
despite the fact that there were several more rungs to it.

“I-I think I've—” Hermione started, but she didn't finish. “Would you help me up?”

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He had already pocketed his wand and stooped to her
level, so all he had to do was steady her and help her off the floor. “Okay?” he asked, his arms
still around her as they straightened.

“Yeah, are you all right, Hermione?” asked Ron, who had just hopped off the ladder in the same
way Harry had. He stood there for a second, regarding his two best friends as he rubbed his hands
together to get the dirt off of them, before telling Harry, “I shut the trapdoor on my way
down—that okay?”

Harry nodded, but his attention was still on Hermione. Again, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Just fine,” said Hermione, though her hands did not move from where they were gripping
Harry's left shoulder, one on top of the other, even when he dropped his arms from around her
waist.

“You sure?” Harry said, glancing back to Ron, who shrugged.

“Positive,” said Hermione, but when she smiled at him and stepped forward, her leg collapsed
beneath her and left her wincing on the ground once more. Gritting her teeth and placing her hand
on her foot, she admitted. “Well, maybe with the exception of this ankle.” She cringed. “And my
knee is a little sore as well.”

“One's broken, the other's probably sprained,” said Harry, trying to keep the anger out
his voice. He bent down to help her again and almost immediately felt that anger leave him. She was
in pain, that much was obvious, and it was impossible for him to say mad at her for any length of
time. “See,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up again, “this is
why I didn't want you coming along.”

“I'll be fine,” said Hermione reassuringly, and for a moment, as their eyes locked, Harry
was able to forget what she had—or rather hadn't—said to him earlier. He bit his lip.
“Let's just... get on with it, shall we? I think I can manage on my own.”

“I don't think so,” said Harry, shaking his head. “I don't think it's a good idea
for you to continue on that at all. You need to see Madam Pomfrey, not crawl through a maze of
tunnels right now. Come on, let's get you out here.”

“Harry,” said Hermione forcefully, “we need to go down there.”

“You can't manage it,” said Harry. “It can wait.”

Hermione didn't say anything, but she did cast a pleading look towards Ron. He cleared his
throat. “Er, Harry, I hate to say it, but I'm starting to feel it to. It's creepy down
here, yes, but I think we're doing the right thing.”

There. For a second, Harry stood in stunned silence at Ron's declaration, and he felt it
too. Something about this place was drawing them in; there was urgency even as they stood there.
Finally, he swallowed hard and nodded. “I agree, but I think you need to stay here, Hermione. Ron
and I can go check things out and report back to you.”

“Please don't leave me here alone,” said Hermione quietly, staring into his eyes still. “I
want to go, too.”

“You stay with her—” Harry started, but he was suddenly unable to continue. A pain burst forth
in his forehead, and he forgot that he was supporting Hermione, and he reached up to his old scar.
When the pain subsided, he was vaguely aware that he was the one lying on the cold dirt floor.
Hermione had fallen against him, but Ron had already snatched her up. Hermione looked terrified and
rather seemed to want to escape Ron's grasp and go to Harry.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked shrilly when he began to massage his temple. She was still
squirming about in Ron's arms, so much so that Ron sighed and gently lowered her down to the
ground so that she would be on Harry's level. Harry, who had already managed to prop himself
up, was nearly knocked flat when she hugged him.

“Hey, I'm fine,” said Harry, though in reality his head was throbbing and he wasn't
quite sure if standing was such a good idea. “Are you?”

“Why are you asking me?” Hermione said, her cheeks reddening as she let go of him.

“Because I think I dragged you down with me,” said Harry with a sigh. He managed to lift himself
off the ground; this time, he was the one brushing his hands and clothing free of dirt.

Hermione shifted into what had to be a more comfortable position. She looked up at him but did
not seem to expect him to help her up again. “Ron caught me.”

And the three friends just looked at each other. Finally, Ron broke the silence, not with words
but with several sneezes. He smiled sheepishly and seemed to realize, like it had many times
before, that the obligation of speaking first had fallen to him.

“What just happened, Harry?” he asked.

“I don't know,” said Harry, his hand still over his forehead, pushing his unruly hair out of
the way. Finally, he let his hand drop. “My scar hurt, that's all.”

“Never a good sign,” said Ron, letting out a low whistle. Hermione did no such thing, but a
small frown came to her face.

“Harry, bend down for a second, will you?” she asked quietly. He did as he was told, and
Hermione did something that surprised him. She reached up and touched his scar lightly. He
hadn't expected it sting when she did, and he jerked his head away quickly.

“Harry, it's bleeding,” said Hermione softly. She held up her fingers, which, sure enough,
had a faint smear of blood on them. “I-I thought it looked raw.”

“It feels raw,” Harry muttered, keeping his hand over his forehead without. His heart was
beating much faster than he thought it should, but he wasn't about to say anything of the sort
to his two friends. “Well,” he said diplomatically, “we had better get going.”

Ron and Hermione just stared at him.

“You mean to tell me,” said Ron incredulously, “that you're not even fazed that your
*scar* is bleeding?”

“It's a little disheartening, yes, but I figure it's a sign that we better get a move
on,” said Harry briskly. “You ready?” he repeated, bending over and looping an arm around
Hermione's back, his other hand resting on her hip.

“Or it's a sign that this entire thing is a big mistake,” said Hermione quietly. It was the
first time all evening that she had shown doubt in what they were doing, and it in fact frightened
Harry more than his bleeding scar, had.

“I thought there was something for us to do here,” said Harry kindly.

“I think that there is,” Hermione responded, “but that doesn't mean it couldn't be a big
mistake.”

Ron uncomfortably shifted his weight from one foot to the other in the background, and Harry
knew at once he was ill at ease watching the two of them at the moment. He decided not to say what
he had intended to, saying instead, “What's got you down all of a sudden?”

“The realization that this is the real deal,” said Hermione quietly. “That one of us could get
hurt.”

“You already did,” Harry pointed out.

“I don't care about me,” said Hermione. “I care about you and Ron.”

“Well, I care about you and Ron, too,” said Harry, managing the greatest smile that he could.
“And I say that neither of you is going to get hurt, at least not anymore than you already are.” He
looked at her pointedly. “Come on. I think we need to get going.”

Harry kept a firm arm around Hermione as they moved forward, fully expecting either her or Ron
to say something, but no response came. He really didn't know what he was waiting for or even
what he was moving towards, but with each step they took, he felt the sense of dread in the pit of
his stomach grow. He was having trouble remembering what they had come here for and even more
trouble considering what they would find. He thought he remembered something about finding answers,
but he *couldn't* remember asking any questions. He was so lost in thought that he found
his movement through the chambers and passages and chutes nearly mechanical.

“Careful,” he said as he and Ron helped Hermione over a particularly steep drop-off not more
than fifty paces from where they had started.

“You can't keep walking on that,” he had said a few minutes later when she stepped too hard
on her injured ankle, which reminded the trio of the existence of splint charms. Ron had cast
one—he remembered the incantation from the incident in the Shrieking Shack all those years before
and hadn't needed Hermione to give it to him. She still needed Harry's help then, but not
nearly as much as before.

“Slow down,” he had called when Ron had gotten rather far ahead of them.

“What are your thoughts about levitation?” he had asked when they came to a ladder of at least a
hundred rungs. Much to his surprise, Hermione had shrugged, and he had been able to put aside even
the deepest of his thoughts then, seeing as he did not want to drop her.

That's where they were now: Harry, lowering Hermione the final few feet to the ground;
Hermione, her eyes closed in understandable nerves; Ron, trying his hardest not to laugh from where
he was standing, which was several paces behind Harry. When she was safely back on the ground, Ron
burst out laughing, which only caused the other two to scowl.

“What was funny about that?” they demanded at the same time. Ron just shook his head, muttered
something under his breath, and started walking again.

“*Lumos*,” said Harry, recasting the spell. He held his wand out in front of him only to
see Ron disappear around the next bend in the passageway. “Wait up, will you!”

“I'm not more than twenty paces ahead of you!” Ron called back. “It's not like
you're going to lose me!”

“We're not, Harry,” Hermione pointed out. She had seemed a little out of it until that
moment, looking slightly dazed following Harry's feet of levitation. He grabbed her arm anyway.
“I'm not sure if that's the spell to use for human levitation.”

At once, Harry's brow furrowed. “What do you use? Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to! Are
you going to be all right? Is there something I can do for you?”

“It's `*mobilicorpus*,' you didn't hurt me, I'm fine already, so
there's nothing you need to do.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn't have been able
to levitate me using the other anyway, not without practicing you wouldn't, so if you had I
would have surely been injured. Does that answer all your questions?”

“Yes, actually, it does,” said Harry, matching her arched eyebrow. He gave her a second, as it
seemed she was trying to catch her breath, then asked if she was ready. He began to put an around
her when she said yes, but she scooted away from him.

“I want to see if I'm at least capable of managing on my own,” said Hermione quickly, and
Harry probably would have let her try if it had not been for the shakiness of even her first two
steps. He strode forward easily and offered her a steadying hand. That was all she really
needed.

“Are you coming or not?” By this time, Ron had obviously grown tired of waiting for them and had
trudged back around the corner. He waved his wand around a bit before catching them in its glow,
and Harry realized for the first time how similar the passage they were walking in was to the
Hogwarts castle. It was so similar, in fact, that Harry suspected it might actually be an original
part of it. “How much longer do we have to go, Hermione?”

“I think we're getting close,” said Hermione, and she extended an arm behind her to point to
the ladder. “I remember him levitating me down that particular chute. He put me in a full body bind
first and let me fall the last several feet.”

Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy looks in what light they had. It was so dark in these chambers
that their glowing wands barely seemed to penetrate it. They went first around the bend Ron had
called from, then around another, and another, and another. There wasn't more than one way to
go through the intricate passageways, but Harry still felt rather like he was trying to find his
way through a maze and probably not making a very good go of it.

Harry became so lost in thought once more that he would have walked off a drop-off had Ron not
grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him back. He muttered a quick, embarrassed apology
as he slid carefully down from one level to the next. Ron helped Hermione over, and once Harry had
her in his arms, Ron scrambled down as well. Harry could tell, even in the few seconds that
Hermione was in his arms, that her breathing had become short and ragged. They couldn't have
been far from the dungeons she had mentioned or she wouldn't have been so nervous. He stepped
forward.

All at once, the short corridor before them was illuminated and Harry's scar began to ache
again. He tried to ignore the blinding pain in his forehead as to not worry his friends, but it was
so much that he couldn't help but stumble. He probably would have fallen if it hadn't been
for Ron grabbing his arm and yanking him up.

“Scar?” asked Ron, and Harry was finally able to nod as the pain subsided. “I guess that the
light wasn't the only thing triggered by your movement.”

Those intense moments of pain had actually made Harry forget the sudden appearance of light in
the hall. He blinked several times. Up and down the corridor, on either wall, there were a
tremendous number of sconces, each one now burning bright. Harry's heart sank: something about
his movement had caused them to light, and he couldn't see how that was a good sign. He stepped
closer to one of the sconces to inspect it, and his heart sank even further. It wasn't any
ordinary candleholder; it was carved in the shape of a snake. Harry was so worried about what the
sudden radiance meant that he almost did not see Hermione begin limping determinedly forward in the
direction of the door. He caught her wrist.

“Is this it?” Harry asked quietly. “Are the rooms the only things that lie beyond?”

Hermione nodded slowly. “Let's go,” she said, but then she hesitated. From her side she
withdrew a thin piece of wood Harry was very familiar with—her wand. He wasn't sure what she
meant with it until she forced into his palm, closed his fingers around it, and whispered, “Just in
case.”

Harry pocketed the wand, swallowing heavily. He might need it if they found Krum in one of the
rooms beyond and certainly if they found Voldemort. He felt hot and cold and sick all at once when
he made note of that possibility.

Ron moved faster than Harry could with Hermione and reached the door first. It looked heavy,
made of dark wood that surprisingly wasn't rotting, edged and detailed in some kind of magical
metal. Ron held it open for them, but even so, Harry noticed that the handle was also a forged
snake.

Like the hallway before it, this room also illuminated as they stepped in. Hermione had been
right about the appearance of this dungeon—there was little difference between it and the Chamber
of Secrets. Harry swallowed hard when something on the floor began to move, immediately putting his
wand to it. There was a walkway through the center of the room, and on either side of it, animated
stone snakes slithered. Harry found Hermione shifting every near him.

The trio crossed the room quickly, and though his experience in the Chamber of Secrets had been
more than enough for one lifetime, Harry was quick to shuffle through the second door with Hermione
and into the second room. Again, the sconces and chandeliers and floating candles in the room were
quick to illuminate, which only served to give the trio a better look at the colossal snake statues
on either side of the third door. Through the third door they went, through the third brightened
room. Harry, who had held his breath as they entered each of the first three rooms, found himself
relaxing slightly with each empty room despite the increased presence of carved snakes and other
sinister Slytherin-like touches. They entered the fourth room, which was as bright at the others
and fortunately just as clear.

That was when Hermione slipped away from Harry on an unsteady leg that made him cringe with its
every wobbly footfall. He stopped dead in his tracks when she left the path and its edging of
slithering stone snakes, causing Ron to run into him. Ron swore loudly, but even then Harry barely
noticed anything. He was quite relieved when Hermione finally reached the wall.

“Here's where the other victims were,” said Hermione, her fingers brushing lightly across
one spot. “I-I can't remember where all of them where, but J-john was right here, and D-dennis
was right here and—” she returned to the center of the room “—and he healed my broken leg here.
I-I—”

Instead of finishing her thought, she limped determinedly forward and through the next door,
leaving the boys no choice but to follow her. She went through the next door, and the next, and
another after that. If Harry had gotten the numbers right as she told her story, then there would
be one more door after this, one more room after that. His heart was positively racing now, so
afraid was he to encounter whatever might be beyond that door. He was actually several paces behind
Hermione, and as her hand took hold of that last door handle, he wished very much to be right with
her. This door creaked slowly open, and Hermione walked through its frame. Harry followed her,
holding his breath.

But the room was empty—devoid of people, devoid of stone snakes, devoid of all that had made him
so nervous in the first place. Harry was so relieved that a grin broke out across his face, and Ron
let out a low whistle, declaring, “Things just got a whole lot better.”

Hermione was not so quick to celebrate, but when she grinned, her smile was wider than either of
the boys. However, when she hobbled into the middle of the room, that smile vanished, and
Harry's disappeared with it at once. Quietly, she said, “He tried to hurt me here.”

“That does it,” Harry whispered to Ron. “I don't care if she... well, I don't care about
what she said earlier. I'm *not* letting her do this to herself.” He cleared his throat.
“Her—” He whipped his head around, stopping before he could even get her name out, because he
hadn't expected to feel any resistance when he tried to step forward. Sure enough, Ron was
holding him back by a handful of his shirt. The redhead arched an eyebrow, which only prompted
Harry to grumble, “You're not supposed to be the sensible one.”

Ron just smiled, folding his arms across his chest. “Hey Herms, all right?”

Hermione turned slowly around, and slowly, slowly, her face broke into another grin. “We
didn't have anything to worry about,” she said slowly. “We didn't have anything to worry
about!”

And moving faster than Harry thought possible with an untended broken ankle, Hermione hugged Ron
and then threw her arms around Harry. “We didn't have anything to worry about,” she whispered
happily. Harry could not help but smile, and even Ron, behind them, seemed to approve. She pulled
out of his embrace but kept her hands on his upper arms “Earlier—Harry—what I meant to say was—”
she laughed nervously, glancing down. Then she smiled and looked back up, her cheeks faintly pink.
“I-I think I'm in—”

But the stones of the wall behind them had begun to move. The made the most horrible scratching
noise and the turned and slid and shifted into an archway around a magnificent door. The stones
stopped, the door opened, but what lay beyond in the shadows remained concealed. From them came the
sound of horrible, heavy footsteps as they approached, and—

“Hermy-own-ninny, I am very disappointed in you. How could you and your dim-vitted friends
forget about this door?”

Viktor Krum stepped out of the shadows, his nose still hooked, his shoulders still hunched, his
eyebrows still thick and bushy. “Vell,” he said, “if it isn't Potter, Veasley, and my own
Hermy-own-ninny. For you, I haff been votching.” The corners of his lips curled upward in a smirk
as his gazed settled on each of the boys in turn. Hermione had turned in Harry's arms, and he
quickly shoved her behind him. Still, Krum stepped forward, extending his arm towards her. “For
you, I haff been *vaiting*.”

* * *

For the next few seconds, Harry's senses felt as though they were on overload, and he made
his first mistake immediately. When the jet of light burst first forth from Krum's wand tip and
magically sealed the door behind him, Harry drew his own wand. Krum took care of that immediately.
“*Expelliarmus*!” he shouted, and the force of the spell was so tremendous that it disarmed
both Harry and Ron at once, and, in Ron's case, propelled his body forcefully backward as his
wand rocketed forward. The thud that resounded upon Ron's impact rang true in Harry's ears
for several moments, as did the cracking of what could only be one of his friend's bones.

Ron picked himself up off the floor but wore an expression so pained with effort that Harry
wished his friend had stayed down. A few seconds later, he knew that Ron should have. With a hoarse
chuckle, Krum stepped forward and shot ropes around each of the boys' wrists, magical twine
that would not break. That was another sound Harry would not forget—it swished through the air like
a gentle breeze, but then it made a horrible snapping sound as it wound painfully tight around his
wrists, digging into his flesh. Within seconds, he felt something wet and warm on his hands, and he
knew that the cords were just tight enough to draw blood. It startled Harry, but it wasn't a
great concern for long because he was hit suddenly with another burst of light from Krum's
wand, and this one brought him to his knees and bound him to the floor.

Harry gritted his teeth, not wanting Krum to know how much the ropes were hurting or how
uncomfortable it was to kneel as he was. He glanced first back to Hermione, sure that his relief
was visible when he saw that she was still free to move—she had backed all the way up to the wall
and was glancing from him to Ron with a look of sheer horror on her face. Harry glanced over at Ron
as her arms darted in that direction again. Ron was certainly the palest Harry had seen him in a
long time, but his teeth were gritted much like Harry's own, and he seemed just as determined
to give Krum the least satisfaction possible. It was only then that Krum seemed to notice the
boys' attitudes, and again he raised his wand.

“Stop! They're not going anywhere; why do you have to hurt them?”

Harry's head whipped around in amazement. Hermione was trembling, her hands clenched in
fists and pressed firmly against the wall behind her, yet she had still managed to stand up for
them. His amazement didn't last long, however, and he wished almost at once that she had not
said anything. Krum's eyes narrowed at her words; he did not look happy.

“Hermy-own-ninny, do you not think that is vot I vant?” said Krum thickly. “You alvays vere very
idealistic.”

But Hermione stood her ground. “What have they ever done to you?” she demanded. “Nothing! So you
don't want them to get away, all right. I understand that, but there's no need for added
roughness!”

“Do not try and reason,” said Krum sourly. “You are speaking of things you haff not
understanding of.” He raised his wand, and Harry found himself looking towards his shoulder, unable
to bear the thought of Hermione getting hurt. However, instead of hexing her, Krum lowered his wand
again, and extended his arm. The corners of his mouth began to turn upwards once more as his finger
curled in and out, gesturing her to come to him. “Hermy-own-ninny, be a good girl and come
here.”

Harry could practically feel her stiffen against the wall behind him. Silently, he urged her not
step forward, and she seemed to be getting the message. Krum's eyes flashed.

“Hermy-own-ninny,” he said again, “come *here*.”

Again, she did not make a move to come forward. Krum had looked displeased when she initially
did not respond to his command, but when he had to repeat himself, his face fell into unmistakable
fury.

“You vill come here, Hermy-own-ninny,” he said, but she still did not come. Krum stamped his
foot. “You vill come here this instant, Hermy-own-ninny, you vill come here, or—” another smirk
suddenly spread across his features “—or I vill haff to kill Potter over there.”

“No!”

Krum and Hermione looked at once to Harry, and if he were to crane his neck in Ron's
direction, Harry was fairly certain his best friend would be looking his way as well. “Don't do
it, Hermione,” said Harry in a low voice, never taking his eyes off Krum. “He'll hurt you, and
I don't want that.”

“I vill be happy to hurt you instead, Potter,” said Krum, pulling his wand back out and pointing
it in his direction. “I vill—”

“You are *not* going to hurt him,” said Hermione as forcefully as she could manage, which
was only so much considering how terrified she was at the given moment. She limped forward
slowly.

“Hermione, please don't—”

“I am not going to let him do anything else to you,” said Hermione sharply as she passed Harry,
not looking at him. She shook her head and muttered, “*Honestly*!” before stopping a few feet
in front of Viktor, and even though Harry knew she was absolutely terrified, she said bravely, “Is
this what you wanted?”

Krum smiled wickedly. “Not quite,” he said, and he advanced on her so quickly that she screamed,
but only for a few seconds because he effectively silenced her, bending down and pressing his lips
roughly to hers, kicking at her injured leg. That, in combination with the desperate attempt she
was making to get away from him, caused her to lose her balance, which put her at even more
disadvantage—Krum caught her, but he took it as an opportunity to slide one of his hands up her leg
and beneath her skirt. Harry knew what he was doing to her, and as sick as it made him, it also
made him angry. He struggled against the magic binding him to the floor until his knees were
bleeding through his pants, until sweat dripped down his forehead, until Krum finally pulled away
from Hermione and shoved her to the ground.

That was all it took—Harry felt his anger explode first within him and then radiate off him, and
in one smooth motion, Krum was lifted off his feet and flung at least halfway across the room,
hitting the floor on his side with a rather satisfying thud. He was slow to rise, and Harry's
spirits would have been quick to soar if it hadn't been for Hermione's ragged breathing and
half-released sobs. He opened his mouth to say something but found that the sudden burst of magic
had taken more out of him than he had thought, so he was relieved when Ron's voice called out
tentatively, “Hermione?”

Hermione was doing her best to sit up. She would not look at either of them as she answered.
“I'm all right,” she mumbled, and that was when Harry began hating himself for not insisting
she stay behind with Ron. Sure, he would have had to face Krum alone, but it would have been better
than her having to endure that. His stomach began to knot up with the realization it would probably
happen again if they did not do something, and he didn't see that happening, at least not
anytime soon. Harry swallowed hard just as Krum rose to his full height.

“Potter,” he growled, advancing on him. “*Cr*—”

Harry closed his eyes, ready to endure whatever Unforgivable Krum chose to throw at him, but no
pain came. He finally dared open his eyes. Krum was obviously waiting for him to. With a sick
smile, he quickly whirled around and aimed his wand at Hermione. “*Crucio!*”

Certain all the color had drained from his face, Harry whipped his head to the side. He
couldn't bear to see Hermione's convulsions, not when he could still hear her screams of
anguish. The possibility that Krum was using the `improved' form of the Cruciatus Curse
Voldemort had mentioned to Hermione crossed his mind, but Harry did his best to force the thought
aside. No sooner had he done that, Krum shouted again, “*Crucio!*”

This time, of course, it was for him. Harry vaguely recalled that it had been almost exactly a
year since he endured the curse for the first time, after the Triwizard Tournament, but it
wasn't a thought that lasted for long. His bones were burning within him, his limbs were being
ripped from his body, his organs were being crushed. If only Krum had just killed him, if only, if
only, if only...

Finally the pain subsided, and Harry found himself sprawled out backward on the floor, his arms
flopped out at his sides. It was one of the most uncomfortable positions he had ever found himself
in, considering that his lower legs were still bound magically to the floor. Very slowly, he pulled
himself up so that he was kneeling again.

Hermione was curled up in a ball a few feet away from him, not moving but not screaming either.
Her breathing was highly irregular, he could tell that much from looking at her. He glanced over at
Ron. The redhead had obviously had to endure the Cruciatus Curse as well; he had been flung forward
onto the stone floor, and when he picked himself up, his chin was bleeding profusely.

Harry glanced down. His pants were now quite covered with blood, hopefully just from his raw,
bleeding knees. He knew he had been withering in pain at the onset of the curse, and it only made
since that it had got smeared. Taking a deep breath, he looked forward.

If it were possible, Krum looked angry as well as pleased, probably angry with them and probably
pleased with himself. Harry figured he had gotten a good deal of satisfaction from watching them
suffer and was determined not to give him anymore, so he did his best just to stare forward. Of
course, Krum seemed to realize what the Gryffindor was doing at once and strode over, grabbing
Harry's chin and more or less yanking at his head.

“Vot do you think you are doing, Potter?” Krum demanded. He smirked. “*I* know vot you are
doing. I know you think you disappoint me when you act brave. You know why I know? Because she
knows you, she knows you vell, and she knew right avay vot you vould try to do.” Krum wrenched
Harry's face off in one direction so that he would get a good glimpse of Hermione's still
body. “I get vot she is thinking. You know vot she is thinking right now? She is afraid I am going
to kill you. Trust me, Potter, if my master did not want so badly to kill you himself, then I vould
kill you. As it is...” Krum shook his head savagely and shoved Harry's head in the other
direction.

As Krum walked over to Hermione, Harry really wished his hands weren't bound. They were
starting to feel sticky, for one thing, and for another, Krum's knocking his head in one
direction and then the other had hurt his neck more than he thought it would. Still, his concern
for Hermione was much greater, as she had not yet picked herself up. Harry glanced uneasily at Ron,
whose mouth was set in a thin line and eyes were trained on Hermione as well. Krum paused as he
walked by her.

“Get up,” he demanded, and he kicked her, which caused her to shift slightly out of his way.
Harry hated to admit it, but he was at least glad she had stirred. He watched as she slowly lifted
herself from the floor, her face streaked with tears. Oddly, one of the first things he noticed was
how her right sleeve had gotten shoved up on her arm and how the exposed skin had scratches all
down it, probably from when she was under the Cruciatus Curse. He managed to catch her eye,
managing a small smile for her. Hermione didn't smile back, but a rather relieved look spread
across her features.

Krum, looking disgusted at how long it was taking her, kicked her again. “Mudblood filth,” he
muttered, drawing his wand again. He said the incantation for a third time, and Hermione's
wrists were soon bound as the boys were. Krum started to say something that sounded rather like the
incantation that bound them to the floor, but stopped. He glared at them accusingly, conjured up a
chair, sat down, and began tapping his wand lightly to the palm of his other hand. “Vell, I truly
expected more of you, but I cannot say I am not pleased. So villingly you came down here—so
foolishly.” His eyes, which had been gazing from Ron, to Harry, to Hermione, in turn, focused on
Hermione.

“My master and I thought you vould haff to be lured down here, even after the dementors
blundered in Hogsmeade and took your powers. Ve knew, of course, that if ve could only get you to
come to us, you vould get the boys to come to us in turn,” said Krum smugly. “Of course, I am
getting ahead of myself. I am sure that ven my master asked me to detail your many mistakes, he
vanted me to tell you how this evening came to be. He asked me to start from the beginning.” He
rose slowly from his chair and walked over towards Hermione, lifting her chin as he had
Harry's. “Hermy-own-ninny, ven do you think it all began?”

“I-I don't know,” said Hermione quietly, her eyes downcast, and Krum immediately tilted her
head further so that she would have to look at him. Miserably, she guessed, “This summer? I-In
Bulgaria?”

“This summer in Bulgaria?” Krum raised an eyebrow and let go of her face. “Pathetic,” he
muttered again. “Vot about last year? How do you account for that, Hermy-own-ninny? A vorld-famous
Quidditch star still in school? Vhy vould I go back to Durmstrang ven I had that kind of
favor?”

“I-I asked you that... y-you said that you wanted an education.”

Krum did not seem to remember telling her this because a look of confusion spread across his
features. It was so quick and so slight that Harry thought at first that he was seeing things, but
he knew it was also possible that Krum just recovered quickly. Either way, he wasn't about to
say anything.

“An education?” said Krum. “You are mistaken, my Hermy-own-ninny, *I* said nothing of the
sort. Do guess again.”

“T-to compete in the Triwizard Tournament?”

Again, Krum shook his head. “You are not as smart as they say, Hermy-own-ninny,” he said, his
eyes flashing. “I came to school not for an education or for the Triwizard Tournament, but to do my
master's bidding. You do know who my master is, do you not?”

“V-Voldemort,” Hermione stammered.

Again, Krum's eyes flashed, and Harry winced as he picked himself up out of his chair and
walked back over to her. This time, he kneeled before her, so that they were practically
eye-to-eye. “Vot did you say?”

“I-I said, `Voldemort,'” said Hermione, tears shining in her eyes. Meanwhile, fury had
awakened in Krum's.

“You do not speak my master's name, you filthy Mudblood!” Krum hissed, and he spat at her as
he stood. “You vill refer to him as the Dark Lord, for that is who he is to you!” He grabbed her
arm and pulled her up, but then he looked at her for a long time as if he wasn't sure what to
do with her. “*Filth*,” he said, and he threw her back to the ground. He did not return to his
chair, however, and instead began pacing. “I vill tell you of your imprudence now, and I vill not
ask you to contribute any longer. You obviously haff not the mind for it.

“It started much before last summer, or even last year,” Krum began harshly. “I vent to
Durmstrang vith the ambition of my family. My family vos very ambitious, yes, but also very naïve.
I did not suffer from that weakness. My ambition, even then, vos for power, and at Durmstrang I
found someone villing to teach me of the true vays of the vorld and of the greatest Dark wizard
that ever lived.

“That someone vos Karkaroff. He vos all I could have asked for in a mentor, at first. He seemed
so villing to help me and in turn help my lord, but as the years passed I saw it vos not so. I
learned of his betrayal and became aware of his ambitions—he vanted to be more powerful than
Voldemort himself. That vos one and one half years before I first came to Hogwarts. I realized that
to serve my master as he deserved to be served I could not follow Karkaroff and his ideals any
longer. In refusing his vant of power, I found the strength to abandon my family and seek the
master I had not met.

“Ven I found him, and Vormtail, I knew I had found myself. I vanted to dedicate my life to him
right then and there, but my master is a noble man and did not let me. He told me that he vould
have more use for me if I remained as I was, a Durmstrang student. He asked me to keep an eye on
Karkaroff for him, and I promised him I vould. I returned, then, to my home and to my family.”
Krum's expression suddenly changed. “They refused me.” His eyes suddenly became cold and
stormy; his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He stopped pacing.

“It made it much harder to carry out my master's vill, but I did as he pleased just the
same. For one full turn of the wheel, I vos the perfect Durmstrang student, determined to show
everyone vot all I could be. I pretended to discard my earlier vays to return to Karkaroff's
favor. Until late in the school year, it seemed to be vorking.

“But too vell had my master taught Karkaroff about trust. Just a veek before the summer term
ended, he accused me of using illegal magic the summer before and convinced the school governors to
expel me. It vos the vorst day of my life, for I felt that I had betrayed my master. I had been
corresponding with him regularly, but when I sought him again I could not find him. I had failed
him, and in the circle of people I had come to know through him, I heard rumors of an old and most
faithful servant's return.

“Although I vos pleased to hear of his assistance and this devotion to our cause, I vos also
crushed, for I vos no longer certain vhether or not I vos in our lord's favor. Our original
plan vos to haff me come to Hogwarts, and so that I managed. *That* vos the beginning.” Krum
smirked.

“I began my vork at once. I entered my name into the Goblet of Fire. When your name came out of
the Goblet, Potter, I knew that I vos not the only servant of the Dark Lord there. I tried to seek
him out, and ven I could not, I tried to think of vot my master vould vant me to do. I decided he
vould vant me to votch you, Potter, and I vos right. I saw that you hung out so often with Veasley
over there—” Krum gestured to Ron, who made a very disgusted kind of noise “—and then saw Veasley
vith his sister Ginny. I took up vith her at once. She vos quite easy to string along.”

At this, Ron made another disgusted noise. Krum whirled around, his wand out at once. “I allowed
the first one to slide, and I will allow this one to slide as vell,” he said in a low voice, “but
if you make another sound, then I vill haff no choice but to silence you.”

Krum pocketed his wand, smiling all the while. “Ginny vos more naïve than I expected her to be.
I had heard vhispers in the past of a plot that unfolded before my time of service. Apparently she
had been fooled by an enchanted diary two years before.” Krum stepped forward, this time in
Ron's direction, and Harry's eyes followed him. “She adored me, and thus she fell again as
she had before. She told me all vot she knew of your good friend Potter.

“But I soon found that I had erred slightly. Ginny vos lonely, and she vanted more than a
friend. I vos running out of time, and I vanted someone closer to Potter. I vanted someone that
could possibly deliver him to me, not someone to deliver her hopeless crush on him to me. Vot I
needed vos you, Hermy-own-ninny.” Krum's hands were behind his back now, and he quickly turned
on his heels and started towards her. “That, of course, vos much harder than it vould seem.”

“Why?”

Harry's eyes flew from Krum to Hermione, and had he whipped his head around to glance at
Ron, he would have seen his friend's eyes do the same thing. Hermione was staring determinedly
up at Krum. He scowled, taking his wand back out and jabbing it towards her. He seemed to be daring
her to speak. “Vot did you say?”

“I asked you why it was harder than it would seem,” said Hermione bravely. “Was it because I
would never, not in a million years, turn on Harry? Was it because Ginny was too close for comfort?
Or was it because Viktor was already trying to get my attention?”

Harry suddenly had his doubts about his friend's sanity, as he hadn't a clue why she was
referring to Krum in the third person. He glanced at Krum. Much to his surprise, the older boy had
pulled his wand back and folded his arms across his chest and was smiling as he had been most of
the time since they'd stumbled through.

“Is that so?” he murmured. “Or should I say, is that vot you think? Why do you refer to me as
such?”

“I wasn't referring to you,” said Hermione shortly. “I was referring to Viktor. I don't
know who you are; you've never given us your name.”

Harry took a moment to glance over at Ron, who looked as confused as he felt. He wanted to say
something, but he hadn't a clue what to say, so he just sat there, resigned, waiting for
Krum's response. Slowly, Krum did as he had earlier, lifting Hermione's chin.

“Vot makes you think I am not Viktor?” he said softly.

“Y-your story,” Hermione stammered, but she seemed to be picking up in confidence. “It's
purposely ambiguous. You want us to think you're Viktor, yet you've never said anything
definite to prove that you are.” She took a deep breath. “Your hand,” she said next. “There's
no scar on it. I noticed when you grabbed my chin the first time and then pulled your hand away.
Viktor accidentally bit himself during the Second Task, or at least cut his hand on his teeth.
Madam Pomfrey patched it up, but because it was a wound not inflicted by magic, she could not heal
it completely. It left a thin, white line.”

“That is all very circumstantial evidence, Hermy-own-ninny,” Krum murmured.

“No, but your wand isn't,” said Hermione. “Viktor's wand was a Gregorovitch creation,
and Gregorovitch doesn't produce wands anymore like Mr. Ollivander does. On the rare occasion
that he does create one, it is not intended for someone's use but rather made for it. You
don't get rid of a Gregorovitch wand. They cannot be snapped, and if you do lose one, it can
only be replaced by another Gregorovitch wand.” Slowly, she concluded, “I know that's an
Ollivander's wand because I remember him telling me five years ago that *the exact wand you
hold* was too sinister for me.”

For a long time, no one said a word. Then, suddenly, Krum began to laugh. He stepped back from
Hermione and clapped his hands together. “Maybe you are as smart as they say, Hermy-own-ninny.” His
smirk had returned, and he spread his hands wide as he regarded Harry and Ron. “It does not make
any difference to me if you know or not, and I am in fact pleased that you noticed, for it has been
quite a long time since I have been known by my true name. You see, I am, as you said, not Viktor.
I am Vihar, his twin brother.”

And Vihar Krum—if he was indeed who he said he was—threw his head back and laughed, a deep and
echoing cackle that resounded from the stone walls on their every side, and he looked as mad as the
insane fire burning in his eyes. His wand pointing towards the two boys, he began to beckon
Hermione forward, again calling her to his side.

* * *

Harry, who for the last half an hour had been more scared than he had ever been before in his
life, was now perhaps more confused than ever before as well. Again and again, he turned the Death
Eater's words over in his head, wondering what implications they would have if true. How could
Viktor Krum have a twin brother? It just didn't seem possible. Harry cocked his head to the
right as he heard someone snort.

“Ridiculous,” said Ron savagely. “*Impossible*. Do you really expect us to believe
you?”

“Haff I given reason for you not to?” said Krum, smirking. His arm dropped, his wand returned to
his pocket. His hands clasped together behind his back, he began to pace.

Ron's mouth was set in a grim line, but he had an oddly determined look to him despite the
situation. As if to prove a point, he tore his hands against the bounds that held them behind his
back. Harry could see a fresh trail of blood start down his friend's hands them even with the
distance that lie between them.

“Other than worshipping the Dark Lord?” said Ron, his tone biting. “Other than raping Hermione?
Other than holding us against our will? All that stuff aside, no, you haven't given us a reason
not to trust you.”

Harry grimaced. Had his head not been spinning over who the Death Eater had claimed to be not
more than a minute before, he would have interrupted Ron. Lashing out at the older boy couldn't
have been a good idea, he reasoned, and Harry expected to see Krum pull out his wand at any moment.
Needless to say, he was startled when Krum began to laugh.

“You are funny, Veasley,” said Krum. “Maybe I vill haff to reconsider vot I said earlier about
not liking you…” The Death Eater paused, then— “Or not. *Crucio*!”

In the time they had spent in the dungeon room, Harry had come to suspect there were many
different strains of the Cruciatus Curse, some worse than others. The strain Krum currently held
Ron under had to be one of the worse. For more than a minute, the redhead flopped and trembled on
the dungeon floor in such a violent manner Harry felt himself looking away. Hermione, still
standing in the middle of the room, had silent tears streaming down her face. For another long
minute after Krum removed the curse, Ron did not move.

“Come on,” Harry found himself muttering. Having looked away, he had not been prepared for the
amount of blood that greeted him when he glanced back at Ron. “Come on, please let it not be that
bad…”

Finally, Ron struggled to his feet. He was no longer bound to the floor, which made Harry's
stomach turn only when he realized that it was through the tortures of the Cruciatus Curse that his
friend had been freed. Ron's pants were smeared thick with blood, and when he went to wipe at a
gash on his face, he only managed to smear more across his cheek. For a brief second he caught
Harry's eye. Amazingly, he looked as stalwart as ever.

“Nice,” said Ron, his words slightly garbled. He spit out a mouthful of blood and saliva and
wiped his hands on his pants. “Nice, but I still want to know why you expect us to believe that
you're just his twin. Convenient, isn't it, *Viktor*? I'm not sure what you're
playing at with this twin bit, but you better believe that I bloody well don't buy it. If you
think that by being the twin you'll later be able to convince Hermione or Ginny or some other
poor girl that you're just some dashing, hook-nosed, hunch-backed—”

“Ron, please! You're going to get yourself killed.”

Again, Harry's attention was with Hermione. She sounded so desperate, watching their friend
rather than their captor. Ron took a few short, ragged breaths but stopped his ranting. Hermione
sighed in relief, but Harry only felt a little better—now, he was worried about her safety.

Krum chuckled. “No, no,” said the Death Eater. “I vill not kill the veasel, for my master has
another plan for him.” The corners of his mouth turned upwards in yet another sinister smirk, and
he took several steps in Ron's direction. “Though I find it curious, that you, Veasley, haff
trouble believing I am Viktor's twin ven the Mudblood seems sold on the idea and Potter at
least is not protesting.”

“Why's that?” said Ron challengingly.

“Your brothers,” said Krum simply.

Harry immediately found himself recalling a certain photograph that had run in *The Daily
Prophet* nearly three years before, one featuring all six Weasley brothers plus Ginny and the
Weasley parents. The twins had been standing front and center, decked from head to toe in
traditional Egyptian garb. “Six times more often for wizard and witches than Muggles,” Harry found
himself muttering, recalling the day they had reviewed wizarding traditions and culture in History
of Magic.

“Indeed,” said Krum, smirking. “Do you believe me now, Weasley?”

Ron didn't answer. He clamped his mouth shut, staring resolutely forward. Krum gave him a
second before narrowing his eyes to slits and shooting yet another set of magical bounds in
Ron's direction. As the redhead bore the pain of the cutting twine, the Death Eater knocked him
off his feet with a second binding charm. The boys were both back on the floor, and Harry found his
own hands bleeding again as he resumed his struggles.

“Now vere vos I?” Krum asked, holding his wand in one hand and tapping its tip against the palm
of the other. “Ah, yes. Hermy-own-ninny?”

“Yes?” said Hermione timidly, and Krum began to head towards her once again. She began to back
away from him, but a rough patch on the stone in combination with her injuries caused her to
stumble.

“Get over here,” Krum growled, obviously annoyed by her fall. He conjured himself a chair, and
after sitting down, he began to make a horrible clucking sound with his tongue, and as Hermione
struggled to her feet, Harry wanted—and meant—to call out to her again but found himself unable.
Hermione shot him a quick glance. She was biting her lip.

When Hermione stepped within arm's reach of Krum, it was with a cruel laugh that he snatched
her to him. She seemed caught off-guard, and her weight fell heavily on her injured leg. Her yelp
of pain intermingled with her cry of surprise, and that exclamation fell to Krum's laughter. As
he began to idly twist locks of her hair into curls around his finger, Harry had to close his eyes.
It did not help his nerves one bit when Krum began to whisper to Hermione in Bulgarian, saying
things none of them could understand, a wicked smile on his lips all the while.

“So beautiful,” said Krum at last. “So much more beautiful if you veren't already
Potter's Mudblood whore.” He pushed her away from him, but as soon as Hermione stepped back, he
shook his head. “No, no,” he murmured. “You vill kneel beside me, so that I may keep on you an
eye.”

As Hermione lowered herself to the cold dungeon floor, she cast Harry such a look of terror that
he couldn't help but resume his contention with his restraints. He had vowed earlier to give
Krum as little satisfaction as possible, but that look had broken his resolve. It no longer
mattered how Krum felt, only that he not have the chance to hurt Hermione again. Harry's
stomach turned just thinking about what Krum had proven himself capable of.

“There vill be no escape from those bonds, Potter,” said Krum, looking up as he cupped
Hermione's chin in his hand. “Unless,” he cackled, “you haff at your disposal your vand, and
though I am certain it is not vithin your reach, I shall take it now—*Accio!”*

Harry wasn't sure which he hated worse—the feeling of having been disarmed or the sizzling
sound his wand made as it whizzed towards Krum. The long, thin piece of wood was smoking, and Harry
was at least relieved when Krum released it immediately from his hand as though it was too hot to
touch. The Death Eater narrowed his eyes as he wiped his one hand on his robes and shoved away
Hermione's head with the other.

“Ve vill continue!” Krum shouted sulkily. He stood up suddenly and with such force that his
chair tipped over backwards and clanged to the floor. With several long strides, he reached Harry,
and then he did something that struck Harry as unusual, though not for long. Krum pressed two
fingers up against the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead.

At once, Harry's eyes rolled back in his head. His body broke into convulsions. Hermione let
out a piercing scream, and Ron's indignant cry broke through the silencing charm, but Harry
heard none of it. Krum spoke to him as well, but his mind registered instead the cries and shouts
and pleas of dozens.

Like he had in nighttime visions before, Harry found himself witnessing the destruction of a
Muggle village, bands of Death Eaters having their way with the unsuspecting townspeople. Homes
burned as the Dark Mark glowed in the sky above, and Harry found his own body felt as though it too
was on fire. As the last eerie shriek resounded in his head, he found himself saying, “I shall come
in the hour. Have patience!” in a voice so unlike his own that it sounded far more eerie than the
screaming that had just stopped.

Harry's eyes sprung open; he was falling forward. With a loud crack that split his chin, he
hit the stone floor facedown. His scar hurt, and with it his entire body ached. He finally managed
to pick himself up, noticing at once the way in which Krum's arm was still extended—the fingers
he had held against Harry's scar were smeared with blood. Hermione looked horrified, Ron looked
furious, and Harry suddenly understood what Krum had done. His heart began to race—Voldemort had
just spoken through him.

Again, Harry's stomach turned, and his head began to hurt not of pain but of thinking. What
did that mean for them, if Voldemort was coming? Harry did his best not to dwell on the
possibility, but only for the sake of maintaining a calm exterior as not to scare his
friends—anymore than they already were, of course.

Wearing an unusually satisfied sort of smirk, Krum returned to his chair. Harry expected him to
say something in the form of a taunt, but no such words ensued. In fact, when Krum began to talk
again, he acted as though nothing had happened since his revelation of not being Viktor. He said,
“Yes, I am dear Viktor's twin brother. So tired am I of being him, but you three vill be the
only ones to know of my charade. That is my lord's vill.”

With a rough jerk, Krum's hand shot very suddenly forward, cupped Hermione's chin, and
forced her to lie on his knee. He began stroking her hair again—very softly, Harry could tell,
which only furthered his anger. Krum continued to speak to Hermione in his native tongue, this time
punctuating it with inaudible whispers in English that were equally infuriating.

“In my youth, I yearned to haff vot Viktor had—his talent, his luck, and later his fame. I
yearned to be Viktor. That, I found out later, vos my lord's purpose in haffing me at hand at
Hogwarts. I spent all of last year reestablishing my knowledge of my own brother, for long years
had passed since I had his favor, let alone his friendship. I soon knew his every move.

“I votched him kiss you after the Yule Ball, Hermy-own-ninny. I heard him ask you to our home
after the Second Task, heard him shed tears for me after the Third. Stupid, stupid. He knew vot I
vos.” Krum's eyes flashed.

“At first I saw covering my brother's activities as a cover for my own, but then my lord
came again to form. He recalled me—oh yes, he did—and personally he gave me me his mark. He helped
me see that becoming Viktor vos the next logical step, that his name would give us access to vot
people and places ve needed most. Imagine—a twin, not a Polyjuice double, for that had been tried…
and, ultimately, had failed.”

“So, bearing my lord's mark, I became my brother. It was the night you arrived,
Hermy-own-ninny. Storming, vosn't it, my pet?” Slowly, Krum grasped Hermione's chin again
and turned her head, forcing her to look at him. Harry watched her bite her lip. She said nothing.
“I asked you a question, my pet. Von't you answer me?”

“It was storming,” Hermione reaffirmed after several moments' pause, her voice soft and
scared.

“And ven you vere walking into the house vith my brother, you fell.”

“And when I was walking into the house with Viktor I fell,” Hermione recited quietly.

“And ven he saw how vet and muddy you vere, he sent you upstairs to change.”

“And when he saw how wet and muddy I was, he sent me upstairs to change.”

Krum was now grinning broadly. “You catch on so quickly, my pet,” he purred. He pushed her away
as suddenly as ever and stood. Had it not been for the cocky smile on his face, Harry would have
been confused, but his expression had given him away. Harry felt stupid for not having recognized
it before, but more than that, he felt enraged. Control. Of course this was all about control.

“I vaited for Viktor to carry her things to the guest bedroom. All day I had vaited to make my
move, sneaking into the house ven my family left for the train station. I stunned my parents ven
Viktor headed upstairs vith Hermy-own-ninny's last bag. I put them under the Imperius Curse… I
vould not do avay vith them just then.

“I crept up the staircase behind Viktor and reached your room just in time to see him kiss you
politely. He tried nothing, which surprised but did not disturb me.” Krum continued to smile
broadly, murmuring quickly, “What a pretty little thing you vere.” With a deep sigh, he continued.
“At last you closed the door so you could shower before dinner, leaving Viktor all alone. I stunned
him as vell; then, I had Father Floo him to my lord. My lord vanted to interrogate him before
sending him to his death.

“I vent back upstairs ven I vos certain Viktor had gone. You had just gotten out of the shower,
Hermy-own-ninny, and vere vearing an old bathrobe as you dried your hair. Krum closed his eyes;
Harry did not like the smile that played upon his lips. “Don't you see, Hermy-own-ninny, that
you vere my temptation, my prize? You vere my one failing, Hermy-own-ninny, my only failing. I
could not give you to my lord, for I vanted you for myself. For one veek, I did my job only
half-heartedly—I slipped you lies about my haffing one more year to go in school. I asked you to
tell me about Harry, but I did not demand compliance.”

Krum's breathing had become quite labored; he sat back down. “I haff received punishment
from my lord, for I saw soon after the error of my vays. He demanded it not, for my actions
benefited him still; rather, I asked for it. I needed to be taught a lesson, for that night, the
last of the first veek, I lost all control because I vanted so badly to control *you*. Again,
you had just showered. Again, I had dissolved the door to votch you. You vere so beautiful that I
could not contain myself. I forgot that you vere in doubt of my stories. I forgot you vere not
enjoying yourself. I even forgot about vot mark I bore. I had to haff you.”

Harry hardly realized Krum was moving until he had again pressed Hermione against the wall. His
hands closed roughly around her wrists, holding them hard and fast to the wall, extended above her
head. He pressed himself to her struggling form, bringing his head down to kiss her sloppily. One
of his hands released her right wrist only to snake up her skirt. She screamed, pleading with him
to stop only to be forced into another violent kiss. Her sweater ripped, she screamed, her skirt,
she screamed, and—

The burst of ensuing light and noise was so great that Harry found himself temporarily blinded,
and he was having trouble hearing as well. His entire body trembled, and he felt what bonds that
held him give. He was overwhelmed by a feeling indescribable, knowing only that the magic now
spreading through the room was in part his. He still could not see through the dazzling light, and
energy surrounded him.

Some of the magic was his own—he knew because it felt so natural. The rest of it could only be
Ron's—he knew because there was no other way to account for the foreign but familiar way in
which it touched him. Harry struggled to his feet as he released one last wave of free magic, and a
second later felt Hermione at his side. He reached for her blindly, still unable to see, but he
could hear her sobs. He wrapped a loose arm around her and let her cry against his shirt. A hand
falling on his shoulder told him that Ron was near as well, his breathing still frightfully uneven.
The light cleared, but no one spoke.

Krum had been thrown across the room and into the wall. He had not been knocked out, but his
fingers were stroking the back of his head gingerly, in a fashion that matched his dazed
expression. Knowing that he would be unlikely to stir and retaliate for several minutes, Harry
focused on the small, shaky form clinging to his side. “Hermione,” he said, peering down at her and
tightening his hold on her at the same time. She flinched visibly, and stiffened, and Harry felt
guilty at once. He relaxed his grasp, and she seemed to relax with it.

“Sorry,” she croaked, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. Harry kissed her hair
lightly.

“Don't be,” said Ron briskly. Harry felt his friend's hand leave his shoulder, and Ron
began to walk to where they had come in. “We have to get out of here.”

Harry gave Hermione a last gentle squeeze before striding towards Ron. His breath had caught in
his throat, and he exhaled slowly when he found himself confronted by a thick stone wall. “That
wasn't there when we came in,” he said dryly.

“Dammit,” Ron swore, pounding a fist against it. “Do you remember him closing this?”

“No,” said Harry, frustrated. He glanced at Hermione, who shook her head. She had wrapped her
arms around herself, hanging back from the boys. Harry looked at Ron before focusing on her again.
“So how are we going to get out of here?”

When Hermione did not respond, it was Ron this time that glanced in Harry's direction.
“Herms, that's your department. Know a spell, a charm—anything?”

“No,” said Hermione. She looked up, tears shining still in her eyes. “I have nothing. Nothing at
all. Oh, God, I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” said Harry, just as the tears began to run down Hermione's cheeks. He looked
over at Ron, cocking his head in Krum's direction. The Death Eater hadn't yet stirred.
“Watch him,” Harry ordered, and when Ron nodded, he turned back to Hermione. He put his hands on
her upper arms. “Shh,” he said soothingly. “Shh, it's okay. We don't expect you to have
something right away. Think on it for a second, and I know you'll come up with the right
incantation.”

“It's not that,” said Hermione miserably. “S-s-so *insistent*. If o-only I hadn't
been s-so…”

It only took Harry a few seconds to piece together what she meant. “Hermione, we all agreed to
come down here. If you insist on blaming someone, you're going to have to blame Ron and me as
well,” he said softly.

Hermione's eyes locked with his. “You didn't want to come down here.”

“No, *I* didn't want *you* to come down here,” said Harry gently. “Remember? I
didn't want you to get hurt.” He kissed the top of her head, deciding to ignore whatever it was
that had come to pass earlier. “I was going to come down here anyway, check things out without
you—that's me, completely ignorant in regards to my own well-being.”

“You're ignorant in regards to a lot of things, mate,” Ron contributed generously, “but I
don't suppose it's the time or place for that. Hermione—how's that leg of yours?”

“I'm fine,” said Hermione hastily, wiping away the last of her tears, “but look at the two
of you! You're bruised, and bleeding, and Ron, isn't your arm broken, and Harry, what did
he do to you earlier—”

“Hermione,” Ron cut in. “I wanted to see if you were good to walk over here. I wanted to see if
you could get a little closer, figure out where the door went.”

“Oooh,” said Hermione shakily, managing a small smile. Harry's hand on her back, he guided
her to where Ron stood. She placed her palms against the wall, running them lightly in all
directions. Anxiously, she glanced back at the boys. “But you're okay? You are okay? Oh, and
Harry, your… and Ron—”

“Hey,” said Harry quickly, cutting her off just as her tone grew frantic. “Hey, don't worry
about me, at least. I'm no worse for wear. Ron?”

“Me neither, said Ron darkly, glancing over at where Krum's form still lie. The Death Eater
groaned, shifting but not standing. Dropping his voice, Ron continued, “But I'd like to put him
a little worse. I could kill him for what he just tried with you.”

Hermione paled. “Th-thank you,” she said softly. “You know, for getting him off me.” She bit her
lip, tracing a particular groove in the wall for a second time. Her eyes shut for a brief second.
“It's…”

“It's?” Ron prompted as Krum groaned again.

“I think it's an advanced form of the Fermiat Charm,” said Hermione hesitantly. “That's
why we didn't see Krum dissolve the door and restore the wall. It's possible to activate a
Fermiat Charm with the mind.”

“So how do we deactivate it?” Harry asked. Hermione bit her lip.

“Well… we can deactivate it, right?” said Ron, suddenly breaking away from his friends. He
seemed to be scanning the ground for something, probably for Harry's wand or to see if Krum
might have dropped his. When Hermione didn't answer, Ron gestured vaguely, frowning. “We
can't?”

“Only the person that cast it, generally speaking,” said Hermione wearily. “What are we going to
do?”

“What we always do,” said Harry, quietly, his eyes downcast. “We keep our chins up, we take it,
and we hope for the best. There's nothing else to it.”

“Well when you put it like that—” but Ron stopped, unable to crack a joke. `We should have told
Anna where we were going.”

“Yes, we should have,” said Hermione, “but it's—” her eyes suddenly grew wide “—*Ron, look
out*!”

But Ron hadn't time to glance over his shoulder, let alone turn around, before Krum was on
top of him, practically howling. He knocked Ron over, and, with a shriek from Hermione, began
pummeling him, knocking his fist into the redhead's jaw and then grasping his shoulders in an
attempt to crack Ron's head against the stone floor. For a second, Harry stood there, stunned,
unable to figure out why they hadn't seen Krum approach, unable to comprehend why he had
resorted to a Muggle method of fighting. For a second, Harry stood there, unmoving, watching Ron
first slug Krum and then flip him over.

Harry recalled vaguely being told once by one of the other Weasley boys that Ron could hold his
own in a fight, and then he got a move on. He darted past the two, writhing around on the ground as
they were, and began to scan the ground for his wand, having just remembered how Krum had dropped
it. He felt around frantically for it, and when he did not see it, Ron's groan of pain did not
help to encourage him.

“Harry, it rolled to the other side of the chair... hurry, while Krum hasn't got his
wand!”

Harry hadn't time enough to do any more than glance in Hermione's direction, but he made
that glance count. He stumbled, but his fingers had little trouble after that, curling solidly
around the familiar piece of wood. Blood pounded in his ears, and he said the first thing that came
to mind. He cried, “*Leviosa*!”

At once, Krum floated up into the air and away from Ron. He was still howling and yammering like
a wounded animal even as he drifted way up towards the ceiling, and when Ron managed to snatch his
own wand from Krum's back pocket, the Death Eater began to swear in both his tongues. Ron used
the wall behind him for leverage and scrambled to his feet but wasn't up for spell casting.
Rather, the redhead's first priority seemed to be spitting out all what blood was in his mouth,
and Harry couldn't blame him. Because the room suddenly seemed to be nothing but noise, he
hollered his thanks.

“Impressive, Ron!” Harry shouted, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He hadn't had any trouble
levitating Hermione earlier, but his arm was shaking now with the effort of keeping Krum afloat.
Harry held him for as long as he could but finally had to let Krum fall. He plummeted the few feet
with such speed that one would have thought the fall was much longer, yowling with pain as he hit
the floor just where he had originally lain. There was a sickening crack as Krum's shoulder,
the first thing to hit, shattered.

It was, perhaps, the single worst timed thing that happened that night. Had Harry only known how
close he had just delivered Krum to his fallen wand, he would have had mind to drop him later or
even sooner. “Potter!” Krum gurgled, but as the Death Eater rolled over onto his back, he made an
exclamation from deep inside his throat. There was some hurried fumbling on his part, then—

“*Stupefy*!”

Harry, who was trying to regain feeling in his arm as well as figure out why levitating Krum had
tired him so, did not see how had cast the Stunner. He had not seen Krum repossess his wand, and
for all he knew, the garbled voice saying the incantation was Ron's.

But when Hermione shrieked again, Harry knew this wasn't the case. He looked up just in time
to see Ron crumple against the adjacent wall. Finally thinking like he was in a duel—and, rightly,
he might as well have been—Harry raised his own wand to disarm Krum, but by then it was too late.
Krum had already bellowed “*Expelliarmus*!” and, a second later, caught Harry's wand. For
a moment, the Death Eater looked as though he was on the verge of collapse, but just as quickly he
regained his strength. With another awful holler, he charged forward, effectively pinning Harry to
the wall, his wand at Harry's neck.

And Krum spat, his blood and spit just adding to the grime on Harry's shirt. For a second,
he just stared calculatingly into the younger boy's eyes. Harry gulped. Gone was Krum's
earlier smirk, replaced with a thin, hard line. His eyes had even lost their earlier tease and
taunt. As Krum jabbed his wand into the flesh of his neck, Harry couldn't help but wonder if
perhaps even that was better than the cold menacing stare that replaced it. Krum might have looked
cruel earlier, but he had somehow maintained a human quality to him. That was gone. He had to him a
malicious look that Harry had seen before only once—on Voldemort himself. Again, Krum spat, this
time in Harry's face. When he began to blink behind his glasses, Krum drove his wand further
into Harry's throat.

“Potter, did Hermy-own-ninny tell you vot happened that night?” Krum growled. He cast a glance
over his shoulder in her direction, which gave Harry a chance to do so as well. She had slid down
onto the floor next to Ron and taken his limp hand, and he could tell she was doing her best not to
look at them. Krum turned slowly back to Harry. “Vell, Potter?”

“She told me,” said Harry darkly.

“So you know, then, just how close ve came that night?” Krum asked.

Harry glanced uncertainly at Hermione. “I reckon so,” he said at last.

Krum repeated what exclamation he made earlier, a loud sound that came from deep within his
throat. His dark eyes remained as cold and heartless as ever. “And did she tell you that?”

Harry didn't really know what the Death Eater was getting at. Instead of answering directly,
it was all he could do to maintain what he had already said. “She told me what happened, all
right?”

“All right?” Krum echoed. “All right?” His eyes flashed. “Does this mean it is all right to
remind you of vot happened that night?”

A response was at the tip of Harry's tongue, but he wasn't given any chance to respond.
No sooner had Krum finished his question had he jabbed his wand again so hard and suddenly into
Harry's throat that it gagged the younger boy. He coughed and sputtered long after Krum
withdrew it, his eyes opening and for several seconds locking with Krum's. Suddenly, the Death
Eater cried savagely, pulling Harry away from the wall and then shoving him brutally back into it,
which disoriented him for several more seconds. When the pain subsided, Krum had such a cruel look
to him that Harry gulped.

“I'll tell you vot happened,” Krum growled. “I'll tell you vot the Mudblood whore vos
afraid to say. I vill not try to soften the blow, as I know she did, I vill not lie. I von't
tell you stories about her having her vand and throwing third-year jinxes at me because that is not
how it happened. I did not valk in there and begin kissing her; I burst in there and began ripping
off her bathrobe. Sick of asking her, I vos ready to force her to give me more...”

And suddenly Krum's wand was no longer at Harry's throat. Krum pocketed it but did not
let Harry go, balling his fists up and grabbing handfuls of Harry's shirt. He lifted the
younger boy several inches off the ground only to shove him back into the wall as he had done
before. Hissing, Krum leaned in close, his words fast and hurried.

“H-how her skin tore ven I raked my fingers over it,” he breathed, “how it bruised as I held
her. So smooth and pale and perfect it vos ven her robe first came off, how and blood-smeared and
discolored it vos ven she got away. She screamed at first, and I began to touch her everywhere,
everywhere—” Krum lowered his voice even further “—*everywhere*. You vill die tonight, Potter,
and you vill die vith the knowledge that even if you had lived, you vould not have gotten to
experience Hermy-own-ninny the vay I did. It vould not have mattered, Potter, because votever you
vould see vould not be as beautiful as vot I saw, for what scars she bears I gave to her. It vould
not have mattered, Potter, because votever you vould do vith her I vould have done already done
with her. She might have been yours for a short while, but even then she vould haff been mine.”

Krum jerked his head away from Harry, still not smirking as he had earlier. He glanced at
Hermione, who was still crying and trying to revive Ron, while fishing his wand out of his pocket
once more. The thin piece of wood back at Harry's neck, he had one more thing to whisper.
“Control, Potter. That night I began to control her. She got avay from me that night, but not
before I marked her as my own. I do not know where she went that night because I did not yet
understand what we shared. But I learned, and from then on, she doubted not my vords. She thought
me a horrible person, yes, but never a liar. I influenced her until came the day to take her again,
and that night I joined us in a vay you shall never be able to deny. I have controlled her ever
since, and at last that control has finally—”

The Death Eater stopped abruptly and stared at Harry for a long time. Krum spit in Harry's
face one last time, and suddenly, his hands were on Harry's arm, on his shoulder, on his back,
roughly shoving him in Hermione's direction. Krum's dark eyes narrowed, bringing together
his bushy eyebrows, and he barked, “Get over there!”

Harry did as he was told, walking slowly but cautiously to where Hermione sat and Ron lie. Krum
did not seem to think the younger boy was following his directions and followed closely behind him,
several times jabbing his wand into Harry's back. When they were only a few paces away from the
trio's other two members, Krum yanked at Harry's shoulder again and shoved him into the
opposite corner.

“Stay over there,” Krum growled. He glared at Harry for a few more seconds before walking back
to Ron and Hermione. Harry could hear his girlfriend—assuming she still was, of course—trembling as
Krum extending his wand. “*Ennervate*!”

Ron came out of it sputtering, his fingers moving gingerly to the back of his head. Harry and
Hermione exchanged a confused look, one that she would shake more quickly than he would. Biting her
lip, she focused on Ron, grabbing his shoulders and helping him into a sitting position. Krum had
returned to his chair and was idly spinning his wand.

“Now,” the Death Eater purred, “can ve behave ourselves, or do I haff to—” he aimed his wand
“—make you?” None of them spoke. “That is vot I like to hear. Ve vill continue, for the hour grows
late and my master draws near.”

Krum then stood, dissolving his chair with a wave of his hand. Harry noticed his lack of wand
use at once—the fact that Krum was capable of wandless magic did not bode well for them. The Death
Eater moved several paces before waving his hand again. He conjured almost a dozen candles,
lighting them with yet another wave. The room actually darkened—the light from before seemed to
have consolidated, then redistributed itself. A fourth wave, and a fifth. A great big sweeping
gesture. The room chilled tremendously.

“*Silencio*.”

-->



38. Blood
---------



Chapter Thirty-Six

BLOOD

Author's Note: Having trouble uploading this one. I think it might be too long. Part one of
two.

* * *

Harry would not remember that followed in the days or weeks or even months to come, but at the
time he didn't know that. So along with Ron and Hermione, he listened with rapt attention to
Krum's story. It wasn't that he wanted to be listening to the Death Eater, and he
especially didn't want to be hanging onto his every word, but as bad as the situation was,
Harry recognized that beneath Krum's rants and raves were details of a story worth knowing.
Though he would later have trouble identifying those details, he would never forget how collected
Krum seemed, or how calculatingly he kept to the shadows.

“*Accio cigarettes!*” said Krum, and a package came whizzing sure enough through the
chamber's back wall toward him. He opened it, pulled one out, and lit it. He took several long
drags.

“There is no use denying that my master's resurrection did not go as planned,” Krum said,
exhaling slowly. “The Trivizard Tournament vos an affair doomed from the start. So many things vent
so very wrong—Viktor, a more suitable champion than I? You and Diggory, duel Hogvarts champions? So
*very* wrong.

“And you just *had* to be a Gryffindor. As the eve of the Third Task drew near, ve
considered the possibility that von of the other champions might arrive at the cup first. No
problem—ve vould simply turn them against von another. Ve however did not anticipate vot you vould
do for Diggory—`Let's take the cup together, Cedric!'

“I hate those unvilling to fight to get ahead. I hate those unvilling to take advantage of the
veak, the stupid, the innocent. That is vhy I follow vot path I do. That is vhy Death Eaters follow
vot pathes they do. Even Vormtail, in all his incompetence, vos able to take care of Diggory.

“Vormtail managed to correctly perform the blood ritual to restore the master—or the first part
of it, at least. Those few drops of your blood allowed the Dark Lord to rise again, but more vos
needed in order for him to sustain the transformation.” Krum lit a second cigarette. “He needed the
rest of your blood but did not get it. Even the most dedicated Death Eaters failed the master that
night. They allowed you to escape, allowed you to take avay the life force of our lord.”

The Death Eater dropped his light. “Master vos too veak to go on. He vos forced to retreat to
our most concealed chateau. I joined him there, and so did the others—in time.”

* * *

*Carteret, France* *—* *July 2, 1995*

*The embers glowed long after the fire burned out, and still the Dark Lord didn't
speak.* *Shivering figures were gathered all around the ornate sleigh bed that sat in the
master bedchamber of an unplottable chateau**, grown men in the blackest robes, all utterly
terrified of the pale, sickly creature before them.*

*“Failures,”* *it* *hissed at long last. “Failures, the lot of you. What gives you
the right to stand at my bedside when you in the first place put me here?” When none of the masked
figures responded, the creature's thin, cracked lips broke into sinister smile. “No one? No one
will be the first to answer? Well, then, who will be the first to beg forgiveness?”*

*With a cho**ked sob, a round figure in the corner* *dropped* *to his knees. A
murmur began in the shadows; others followed. “Please,” the round figure cried. “Please, my lord, I
beg of you. I would give even my other hand, my other limb! Anything, my Lord, anything if
you'll spare me. My head—would you like my head, Master? I'll give it, if you'd like,
freely. I'd give it freely, if you'll only spare me**...**”*

*The creature—Lord Voldemort—waited until the round man was merely blubbering to chuckle.
“Wormtail, get up before you soil your nice robes, and don't be silly—I couldn't spare you
and take your head both, and what use would your severed head be to me, really? Run along,
Wormtail, run along. Fetch for me another* tasse *of unicorn blood with that new hand of
yours—I'm still thirsty, so very thirsty, and you haven't been using what I so generously
gave you nearly enough.”*

*Wormtail scurried so quickly to his feet that he fell**, and several more* *times
on his way to the door* *he lost his balance**. Again, the Dark Lord smirked.*

*“Pity he forgot to address me. I'll have to torture him for that later,” said Voldemort.
“Krum, my wand.”*

*“My lord,” another one of the figures breathed. This one stood just at the Dark Lord's
bedside. “My lord**, an honor, your vand, an honor...* *Master**..**.”*

*Quick as a flash the creature's long fingers wrapped around the narrow piece of wood. In
a bored voice, he said, “Yes, Krum, everyone knows you're my lap dog. Now step a little
closer.” The Death Eater did as he was told. “*Crucio Merendé*!”*

*With the exception of Krum, the Death Eaters dropped to the floor, howling and flopping.
Light poured from the tip of Voldemort's wand until he fell gasping against his bed pillows.
Krum threw himself at the Dark Lord as the others, many of the bleeding and all of them bruised,
struggled to stand.*

*“Master, you are not strong enough!” Krum sobbed.*

*“Does anyone wish to speak now?” the Dark Lord whispered hoarsely. “I implore you, what gives
you the right to stand at my bedside when you first put me here?”*

*Another figure dropped to his knees. This one's long, blonde hair was disheveled, now
from the sides of his hood. “Master, we come seeking forgiveness.”*

*Voldemort did not smile. “Lucius, you annoy me,” he said at last. “All of you, you disappoint
me. Thirteen years have passed, but I surely thought my intentions the other night were clear.
Death Eaters you are, followers of the blood traditions and the old magicks! How could it be that
you let Potter get away? Fools! Failures! Things more vile than the Potter boy himself! I meant to
drain him, take his blood, regain my strength. Without blood, I cannot sustain my transformation,
yet you allowed my new blood to escape.”*

*Six or seven Death Eaters fell to the floor at once. “Drain me!” they wailed, their cries a
sick chorus. “Master, drain me in exchange for forgiveness!”*

*The Dark Lord's scarlet eyes narrowed to slits. With what seemed like tremendous effort,
he raised a pale hand, beckoning the closest of the wailing Death Eaters closer. “Remove your
hood.” The man did. “Yes, Parkinson, yes. You are willing to let me drain you?”*

*“Master, yes, my lord.”*

*“Because I need blood but cannot have Potter's?”*

*“Yes, my lord.”*

*“Tell me, Parkinson, does your blood unlock the forgotten gates?”*

*“No, my lord.”*

*“Then is your blood of any use to me?”*

*“No, my lord.” The man was trembling now.*

*“And yet you offer yourself to me anyway.”*

*“Yes, my lord.”*

*The Dark Lord's eyes flashed, for he had no brows to raise. He seemed to be daring the
man. “Very well,” he said finally, and before anyone in the room had blinked, his long fingers
snatched beneath his pillow, drew out a small dagger, and slit the man's throat. The Death
Eater's mouth flapped open several times, and he hit the floor. “I always liked him,” said
Voldemort sadly. “As for the rest of you fools—” his scarlet eyes fell on the others that had
offered blood “—get up unless you mean what you say. Potter's blood has escaped me. I will
drink the blood of innocents until the chance to kill Potter comes again. Wormtail?”*

*The Death Eater in question had slipped into the room not moments before. Quivering, his
silver hand presented Voldemort a cup overflowing the liquid the same color—unicorn blood. The Dark
Lord drank noisily, smoke pouring out of his mouth with every gulp.*

*“It burns,” Voldemort hissed. “It strengthens me. Now, Nott, did you receive my owl?”*

*“My lord, yes,” another Death Eater said graciously, bowing low. “I thank you for the
opportunity to serve you. Potter indeed revealed young Crouch as expected. I arrived at Hogwarts in
time to watch the experience harden the boy.”*

*“Harden?”*

*“He rests only with the aid of potion.”*

*“Good, good. And you tracked him from the train?”*

*“To the edge of Surrey, my lord. The magicks protect him. A more precise location escapes me.
Forgive me, my lord.”*

*“Forgiveness granted, Nott, and freely. We cannot yet fight the old magicks. The
girl?”*

*“The reports seem at least in part true, my lord. I observed her bidding him farewell with a
kiss. We may wish to—”*

*“Draw up the casting stones, Travers. Burn them for seven days in the eternal flame. May a
curse of pain be on her henceforth. You were saying, Nott?”*

*Nott now spoke hesitantly. “My lord, I think we may wish to kill her and have it done
with.”*

*“We shall impress upon her the anguish to come should she remain his. She is an
asset.”*

*“But master, while her magical aptitude is great, it is unlikely her alliances will shift. We
should eliminate her before she and Potter grow closer. The moment he gives and receives
love—”*

*“We will have to deal with two keys rather than one,” the Dark Lord finished dryly. His mouth
was set in a grim line. “Do not tell me again what risks not to take.* Crucio*.”*

*Voldemort let Nott's body spasm for a good minute. His eyes darted through the shadows,
finally falling on a tall figure. His tone commanding, he rattled off a whole list of demands.
“Neesley, open the other chateaus and estates. Reset the wards and prepare them all as though I
could arrive at any moment. MacNair, bring me the blood of three slain unicorns and two to drink
fresh later. Leer, obtain the old layouts of Beauxbatons and anything new you can about the
castle's wards. The rest of you shall await my owl—you are dismissed. Everyone but you,
Krum.”*

*In less than thirty seconds, the Death Eaters had gone. Most of them Apparated, but a handful
had left the room for the one next door, which had a fireplace they could Floo from. Others still
had made for lower parts of the chateau, having been asked by owl at the beginning of the week to
come serve their master. As soon as they had all gone, Krum drew his own wand. “*Finite
Incantatum*!”*

*The glamour on his body lifted, the Dark Lord stopped looking merely ill—rather, he looked
dead already. His face was covered in boils, his arms with sores, and his skin appeared
translucent. “Potter,” he groaned as Krum began to dab at his face with a wet rag. “I... meant...
to... take... him. I... meant... to... preserve... my... strength.”*

*“In time you vill be strong again, my lord,” Krum breathed. “In time.”*

*The Dark Lord shuddered against his pillow. “In time,” he muttered. “And until then, you will
work for me, my boy?”*

*“I vould be honored, my lord.”*

*“Then we will go tomorrow to the house in Romania. You will within the week assume your
brother's life and intercept the girl in Bulgaria.”*

* * *

“Ve left Carteret the next day for Deva, vich vos close enough to the Bulgarian border for me to
safely Apparate between the Dark home and my parents' home. I caught up vith Hermy-own-ninny
outside Pleven, but you already knew that.” Krum, now finishing his third cigarette, chuckled. He
reached again for his package, but this time paused before lightening a fourth. “Look at me here,
smoking all over the three of you. I am so—*inflamaré!*”

Harry wasn't prepared for the burse of flame that shot from the Death Eater's wand. Fire
seemed to consume the room, licking a little too close for comfort. Come to think, Harry hand to
wonder if he still had eyebrows, as he was sure he had at least one shiny burn on his face. At
least Krum hadn't shot flames in Ron and Hermione's direction as well.

“Carteret for a veek, Deva for three. Soon it vos the beginning of August and ve vere back in
France—St. Etienne this time. Master vos growing strong vith every passing day. He loved to go in
his veelchair alone through the gardens—” Krum's eyes flashed “—or so he said.” The Death Eater
suddenly advanced, hauling Harry up by the collar. “Because of you, I vos not allowed to stand at
Master's side for his first great triumph.”

* * *

*St. Etienne, France* *— August 23, 1995*

*“Aloutte, gentille aloutte, aloutte, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai...”*

*Faint and far away as it was, the singing was about to drive the Dark Lord mad. He shook his
head, raising his wand a little higher. Another brick from the wall crumbled. Though time
consuming, Voldemort had always gone for the slow destroy. He'd been in the same room for
hours, blasting each and every individual brick to dust. Some might consider it a waste of time,
but the Dark Lord preferred to think of it as an investment. There would be no rebuilding
Beauxbatons.*

*“...la tête, je te plumerai la tête. Et la tête, aloutte, oh oh oh oh...”*

*“By Merlin, if I have to listen to the other six verses of that song even once more,”
Voldemort muttered.*

*“Aloutte, gentille aloutte, aloutte, je te—”*

*“CHARLOTTE!”*

*The singing stopped, and Voldemort swore to himself. He hadn't meant to call out to the
child, the five-year-old daughter of the French academy's former Potions Mistress and Charms
Fellow. Her grandfather had been the school's head chef, her grandmother the nurse, and her
uncle professor of Transfigurations. Like many of the other teachers and staff members, they lived
at Beauxbatons year round. Voldemort hadn't had any trouble killing any of them when he'd
arrived at the school days before. With the exception of the child.*

*Usually, he wouldn't have thought twice about killing her, either, but just in case her
pathetic parents had been trying to save her when they'd attempted to fight him, the Dark Lord
decided he'd best not risk it. Besides, the child had an unusual energy about her. She might be
a sorceress, or at the very least, had the Sight.*

*So Voldemort hadn't killed Charlotte, but at times since he had wished he would have.
Having witnessed the slaughter of her entire family, she had gone a bit mad. All she did now was
wander about the castle, looking for her parents and singing a song her grandfather had taught
her.*

*“Hallo?” Charlotte called, stumbling around the corner. Her dress was even more tattered than
it had been the last time Voldemort had seen her, but the wear had not yet diminished the vibrancy
of the bloodstains that covered it. Her appearance, however, had not startled the Dark Lord like
her greeting had. An attempt at English.*

*Every day now, once if not more frequently, his path had crossed with Charlotte's, and
every time she had spoken to him in French, only to have him pretend not to understand her. Now
that she seemed to have caught on, Voldemort felt obligated to speak to her. He drew up his hood so
she would not recognize his face.*

*“Well hello there, little one. Where'd you come from?” The Dark Lord even bent down so
he'd be on her level.*

*But Charlotte just looked at him blankly, obviously not understanding what he had said. “My
name... Charlotte. I mean... my name... is Charlotte.”*

*The Dark Lord nodded sympathetically. “Well, Charlotte, I'm Tom, preferably Voldemort,
but you'll call me `Master' if you know what's best for you. Is there anything I can
help you with?”*

*Nothing. Charlotte bit her lip. “Est-ce que vous connaissez Maman? Elle est la maîtresse de
Potions. Ou Papa? Il est un professeur aussi. Ou—”*

*“No, little one, only English,” Voldemort purred.*

*“Mais... mais... je* dois *parler à Professeur Ménard. Un serpent viendra. Il tuera. Il
détruira le monde. Je l'ai vu, et maintenant je dois parler à Professeur Ménard!” Charlotte
said desperately, causing the Dark Lord to chuckle.*

A snake will come. He will kill. He will destroy the world. *A sly grin began to form beneath
the hood of Voldemort's cloak. He had been correct in his perception of the young girl—a Seer.
And she was* *asking to talk to the Divination professor. Well, the former Divination
professor.*

*“Je ne parle pas en français,” said Voldemort, trying his hardest not to taunt. The
child's lip was already trembling.*

*“Mais...” Charlotte certainly was on the verge of tears now. Many times now, when she had
wandered by, she had carried with her a delicate porcelain doll. She had it with her this time, and
she currently clutched it more desperately than ever. “Maman. S'il vous plait, je dois trouver
ma mere.”*

*The Dark Lord had actually begun to hum, softly, to himself, unconsciously to the tune of
“Aloutte.” “Poor, poor little pet.” He offered the little girl a boney hand. “You'll be all
right. I'll take good care of you. Anyone who sees me destroying the world—well, I'd take
care of anyone, if you know what I mean, which you don't, because you're five and don't
understand a word of English.” He reached for her with his other hand. Charlotte was trembling now,
probably for his cold touch. “Don't be scared, little one. I'll give you things your
parents couldn't. You'll be my little pet, my little Seer.”*

*“Maman,” Charlotte whimpered, and the Dark Lord let his hood drop.*

*Her scream was blood-curling. It stretched on for several minutes, at least, and by the end
of it, she lie sprawled on the floor, holding handfuls of hair stripped from her doll's
head.*

*“Papi aime faire le petit dejeuner. Il fait des oeufs sur le plat pour Mamie et moi. Alors
elle reparer les trous dans Maman et Papa et Oncle François. Je dois trouver ma famille. Au matin,
Papi aime faire le petite dejeuner. Il fait...”*

*Voldemort stepped right over the ranting girl, leaving her on the floor in the midst of the
destruction. Having finally cracked the castle's sole remaining occupant, he decided he'd
had enough. He wasn't even about to listen to even one more minute of Charlotte's pleas for
breakfast, for eggs, for family and the coming morning.*

*The Dark Lord went about securing the castle, checking its every inch. The destruction of
Beauxbatons had been two weeks in the making. He had decided to destroy the school to make a
statement to the wizarding world, to destroy it alone over the summer holidays to make a statement
to his followers. He wanted the European ministries to know of his rise so he could laugh at their
feeble attempts to stop him, and he wanted to impress upon his Death Eaters the power he commanded,
even with fourteen years gone. He also wanted to punish them for their errors the night of the
Triwizard Tournament. Voldemort hoped not getting to participate would hurt them as they had hurt
him.*

*Not even Krum, his current lapdog, knew of his daily escapes to the Beauxbaton's chateau
in St. Etienne. He had been so incapacitated at first that not one of his followers doubted his
claims of being weak still. Having turned the school almost inside out, he was ready to let his
presence be known.*

*The plants of the interior courtyard had been trampled and uprooted. The main dining hall had
become a place of dust and scrap metal, the gorgeous dining tables within it now in splinters. In
the kitchen, there were twelve bodies, with two more lying in the hospital ward. The castle's
south tower had collapsed all together, the north tower was charred and perhaps burning still, and
the east and west towers would soon be reduced to rubble. Slow-effect spells were in place on
both.*

*The Dark Lord triple-checked every square inch of the school before heading back to the
entrance hall for Charlotte. Her rants and raves had changed from her family to her beloved doll.
Voldemort scooped her up, despite her kicking and squirming, and hauled her to the chateau's
exterior. He strode a significant distance away from the school, set Charlotte down at his side,
and raised his arms.*

*“I call beyond the forgotten gates,” he commanded. “I implore the ancient magicks. Destroy
this place of impure blood.* Amyantah!*”*

*The black night went green. Sparks flew as the Beauxbatons castle collapsed in on itself. The
roaring sound seemed never to stop, and when the smoke cleared, only flames lived among the rubble.
“*Morsmordre!*”*

*There. Voldemort paused to admire his handiwork—a fallen castle, a broken child, a glowing
mark high above. “Beautiful,” he hissed, and he Apparated with Charlotte back to the Dark home in
Romania.*

* * *

Krum had traded his cigarettes for a small blade, a small blade dangled close enough to
Harry's face that he could make out the thin, engraved snake on its handle. Harry disliked that
very much, having somewhere gotten the feeling that any object that found its way into the Death
Eater's hand would make its way around as a device of torture. He swallowed hard.

“Got his point across, don't you think?” Krum murmured. Harry was careful not to flinch,
seeing as he could feel the Death Eater's knife against his cheek. He calculatingly withdrew
the blade, replacing it with his thumb.

“Master meant to startle the Ministry. He didn't mean to startle it such that the
Minister's Council vould turn to Dumbledore following Fudge's resignation.” Krum's brow
furrowed. “Bom. He vos perhaps the most harmful thing that happened to our cause last year. Master
decided to let his feelings about that be known also—do you remember how that vent?” Krum paused,
waiting for a response.

But he had earlier placed a Silencing Charm on the trio.

So no response came.

“Ah, yes. You can't talk, can you, but vould you know vot I vos referring to if you could?
No?”

Knife for hand, blade for thumb. Krum cut into Harry's cheek.

* * *

*King's Cross Station*

*London, England—August 29, 1995*

*“Lucius, might I have a word?”*

*Despite the surrounding chaos, the Dark Lord's voice was easily recognizable. He floated
towards the Death Eater nearest the now broken train tracks, crossing over a pile of crushed brick
and shattered glass. His servant looked up, lowering his hood and bowing to his master.*

*“My lord,” said Malfoy, dropping himself so near to the ground that his flowing blonde hair
grazed the platform's surface. “I was just destroying the tracks per your
instructions.”*

*Voldemort brushed against Malfoy as he floated by, hovering in a misty red light above the
tracks. “No, Lucius, I believe I asked you to blast each tie into wooden splinters. It seems that
you are only reducing them to playground bark. Next time,* try harder.*”*

*Malfoy gulped. “Master, I reasoned that it would be acceptable, given the limited amount of
time we have. I mean—”*

*“I do not know how many times I should tell you before it sinks in,” Voldemort said bitingly.
“You annoy me, Lucius, and I will in no way validate your opinions. In other words, just speak only
when spoken to, and only in response to my exact questions.”*

*“Master, I implore you—punish me! Torture me! I wish for your forgiveness only!” Malfoy
begged, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I—”*

*“*We just talked about how you annoy me,*” said Voldemort sharply. “Get up.”*

*Malfoy got up. “Yes, Master, now I—”*

*“Shut up!” the Dark Lord demanded. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He shook his head violently,
floating so that he hovered before Malfoy. The red mist around him dissolved, leaving him standing
on the platform. “That's better. You'll find that I will remain happy so long as you remain
quiet. I actually did not come over to scold. I wished to inquire about your son.”*

*“Master, yes. What would you like to know about Draco?” Malfoy whimpered.*

*Voldemort chuckled. “Only how he is. I enjoyed observing him last week at your estate. He
possesses a quality and wields a spirit different than yours. When might we welcome him into the
fold—that is to ask, when will you finish with the Malfoy blood rite nonsense?”*

*“Give me time for a few more lessons, Master,” Malfoy begged. “Only a handful, I promise.
Christmas! Yule, if it pleases you! I need only a few more days, but with—”*

*“Get on it,” said Voldemort pointedly, recasting the red mist with a wave of his hand. He
floated away from Malfoy's quivering form, clear to the other side of platform nine and three
quarters.*

*“Master!”*

*The Dark Lord turned, or rather twisted about. Bowing low before him—though it was difficult
to see through the haze of destruction that surrounded them—was Krum, his current lapdog.
“Yes?”*

*“I only vished to tell you that I haff ripped apart the platform's southeastern corner,”
the Death Eater said eagerly. He rushed on, “I reduced the planks to splinters and the bricks to
dust, just as you requested.”*

*Voldemort's mouth twitched. “Why Vihar, you shouldn't have!” he said playfully,
patting Krum's shoulder. “Did you remember that I like things done thoroughly, or did you
overhear the conversation I just had with Lucius?”*

*Krum smiled sheepishly. “I did the job, my lord.”*

*“You always do,” said Voldemort proudly. “And the rest of the platform?”*

*“Also being turned to dust and splinter,” said Krum. “And the magicks have been nearly
dissolved. Travers has returned the barrier existing between this platform and the Muggle world
back to a barrier, and the magical pocket that it exists vithin has been separated from those that
contain the rest of the tracks.”*

*“Then on Travers's signal, we leave,” the Dark Lord directed. “The longer we linger, the
more likely our paths cross with that of the headmaster. I doubt it not that Dumbledore already
knows of our activity.”*

*“Yes,” said Krum. He started to scurry off, but not before remembering to address the Dark
Lord. “I mean, yes, master.”*

*Voldemort could only smile from that moment onward, despite the things he saw as he floated
around the platform one last time. Price's section of the platform was less than adequately
disassembled, Travers was chanting a little too loudly for his taste, and Malfoy still wasn't
reducing the tracks to small enough pieces. But instead of torturing them, he just shook his head.
He waited for Travers to stop muttering Latin phrases and then gave his Death Eaters the signal to
clear out.*

*But the Dark Lord did not depart. He lingered for a few more minutes, turning his wand on a
few of the platform's architectural aspects. Finally, he prepared to Apparate, but before he
did, he noticed a small, antique clock hanging over the sign that identified the platform as number
nine and three quarters—or, at least, it used to. The sign had been broken apart after the word
“nine,” and what remained was badly charred.*

*Voldemort cocked his head one way and then the other. He had noticed the clock earlier but
decided that it should remain intact, figuring the headmaster would assume it symbolized that time
did not pause for tragedy, or something ultimately more poetic. The Dark Lord now decided that it
might bring the headmaster comfort of the oddest sort, and he smashed in the clock's
front.*

*The air cracked as the Dark Lord departed, and not more than five minutes passed before it
popped with the sound of another's Apparation. The Hogwarts headmaster, by all his skill and
wisdom, managed at least to land on one of the platform's few solid areas. A single tear rolled
down Dumbledore's cheek, but he wiped it quickly away. The sound of dual Apparation pops
followed. Professor Snape, by luck, had ended up standing beside the headmaster, but poor Professor
McGonagall would have disappeared beneath a broken out section of platform if not for the Potion
Master's quick wand work.*

*“Thank you, Severus,” said McGonagall, managing much poise for someone covered in dust and
ash. She brushed her skirt off as she surveyed the damage. “Oh, Albus...”*

*“I'll cast the charms to transfer the magical energy of this place back to ten and one
half,” said Snape briskly, hopping to the next solid patch of platform.*

*“No, don't,” said Dumbledore. He chuckled, adjusting how his half-moon glasses sat on the
bridge of his nose. “I mean, it will not be possible. The magic linking this platform to the
outside world has been all but destroyed. I will have to recast the spells, so you will need to
help Minerva dispatch owls.”*

*“Of course, Headmaster,” said Snape. He sighed, separating himself from the Headmaster and
Deputy Headmistress. Pulling out his wand, he began tidying the areas that had sustained the most
damage.*

*McGonagall watched him move, then stepped closer to the Headmaster. “Albus, I—”*

*“Really, Minerva,” Dumbledore said gently. “Should you apologize for this mess when you did
not make it?”*

*“I only meant—”*

*“Oh, I know,” said the headmaster, actually managing a small chuckle. “I hope you are ready
for a long two days. Owls to dispatch, space to create, wards to reset. I am going to need your
help.” He glanced in Snape's direction. “His too, and the rest of the staff.”*

*McGonagall sighed, removing the hand she had replaced on Dumbledore's arm. “Should I
contact the governors? They are certain to help finance the rebuilding—”*

*“Oh no,” said Dumbledore. “I would not bother. I do not intend to rebuild, not for several
years at least. It would probably only encourage Voldemort to return.”*

*“Of course,” said the Transfigurations professor, glancing in Snape's direction. She had
to hide a small smile behind her hand, for the hem of his billowing robe had gotten caught on a
broken board.*

*“Severus?” Dumbledore questioned, raising an eyebrow. He, too, glanced over his shoulder. His
gaze lingered for a second only before returning to something far overhead.*

*“What are you looking at?”*

*“My clock,” the Headmaster said sadly. “A gift from my grandmother. I hadn't any room for
it in my quarters when I first began to teach, so I donated it, and it always looked so quaint
there that I never had the heart to repossess it.”*

*“It was there when I started at Hogwarts,” said McGonagall. “Which grandmother?”*

*“Would I care if it was Granny Wittlewolf?”*

*“Ah, the gypsy Syeira,” said McGonagall knowingly. “Well, I believe Severus could use a hand
tidying things up. Trusting that you will aid him in not tripping over his own attire, I will see
to it that the Aurors might access the other side of the platform also during their
investigation.”*

*“Yes,” said Dumbledore, and the Transfiguration professor headed cautiously across broken
boards. “Investigation.” The Headmaster raised his wand, shattered what remained of the clock, and
began clearing debris.*

* * *

At first Harry had associated the frequent slashing at his face with Krum's anger, but about
the time he realized how bad the scarring would be, he also realized it had more to do with the
Death Eater's excitement. It actually had *him* a little angry.

“Got that point across too, didn't he?” Krum was saying. “Vards vere up on the castle vithin
days, vards stronger and more powerful than ve anticipated. Dumbledore even allowed the Ministry to
place hursels on school grounds, a decision that ultimately cost him. The fool never vonce
considered vot vould—”

“Dumbledore isn't a fool.”

The statement surprised even Harry, who had finally felt the thick sensation about his throat
lift. That wasn't what startled him, though. He knew that Krum would eventually anger him
enough to break the spell, but he hadn't thought that a mild insult—about Dumbledore, no
less—would do it for him. Especially considering the anger had in regards to the headmaster's
general lack of action.

“Oh, no? I though you might agree vith me on that von, but I... guess... *not*.” Krum's
smile broke, his tone changed entirely. He had ripped at Harry's flesh for each of the last
words. He tilted Harry's head to once side and tugged over the collar of his shirt. “I...
guess... not... at... *all*.”

The hurt was almost unbearable. Now thinking in terms of whether he would actually make it out
of there alive, Harry found himself deciding that at least the lightning bolt on his forehead
wouldn't be so prominent any longer. Krum finally backed off, allowing Harry a clear view of
his friends again. Ron had averted his eyes, but Hermione had not. Silent tears streamed down her
cheeks. `I'm okay,' he mouthed, despite how much worse it made the pain.

“The vards Dumbledore placed vere old, written before any of our times. Old, strong. But never
tested. As vere the hursels, the vards vere meant to protect the castle, but the two together
provided us vith an outlet.

“I in particular had been most displeased vith the ill-regard young Malfoy showed you,
Hermy-own-ninny, but after his attempt to escape the hursels, I had to forgive him somevot. Vere he
broke the vards, ve could cross from then on. The more often ve crossed, the more the vards there
broke down. By Halloveen—vell, by Halloveen, Master had a plan. Trust that ve used that flaw to our
every advantage.”

* * *

*Lochnager, Scotland—October 31, 1995*

*“But Master, surely you can appreciate that these are quality—”*

*“*I said*, not this set!” Voldemort said, his anger resonating through tone, thought,
and action. He sent Wormtail flying backward into the room's far corner. “I rejected these
robes not an hour ago. Did you really think the passing of sixty minutes would change my mind about
them?”*

*“Forgive me, Master,” Wormtail pleaded, edging around the room's exterior, purposefully
avoiding the full-length mirror that stood in the room's center and the figure before it. “I
forgot that you had earlier surpassed them.”*

*“And did you forget that I earlier deemed black the wrong color for tonight's
festivities?” the Dark Lord sneered.*

*Wormtail shrank further away from his master. “My lord, I remembered, but when Travers fire
called, he did suggest it. Black is traditional for All Hallows—”*

*“Silver and green.* Silver and green,*” said Voldemort pointedly. “A month ago I
requested an order be sent out for robes spun of metal and hythe. What you presented me today was
all of ordinary thread. I'll give you the fine emerald color, but I paid for precious metal and
a nearly extinct animal's fur.”*

*“I did not take the order, Master,” Voldemort stammered.*

*“But you received it,” Voldemort hissed. “Honestly, Wormtail—and you're one of the ones I
almost trust.”*

*Wormtail's eyes grew wide. “My lord**...* *your words**...* *they
mean so much to—”*

*“It* wasn't *a compliment,” the Dark Lord interrupted. “Wormtail, tell me what today
is.”*

*“Master,” said Wormtail, confused, “you and I both know it's Halloween.”*

*The Dark Lord just picked up his wand. “*Crucio,*” he said lazily, with Wormtail
shrieking through the curse's duration. “What day, Wormtail?”*

*“Do you wish that I call it Samhain, my lord?”*

*“*Crucio!*”*

*“All Hallows Eve, my—”*

*“*Crucio!*”*

*“Master, there are so many names for the upcoming festivals that you—”*

*“Wormtail, what day is it?”*

*“Please, my lord! Just tell me whether you wish it Shadowfest or Martinmas or Old Hallowmas,
or even whether you wish the name for tonight's celebration or those of the coming—”*

*“*Fool.*” Voldemort lunged at Wormtail, yanking the round man up by his shirt collar. He
grabbed the rat's silver arm and with a tremendous tug, left a stump as raw and bleeding as it
had been months before. The Dark Lord shook the prosthesis in his servant's face as he pinned
him to the floor. “Tell me what this day means to me!”*

*But the rapid blood loss had rendered Wormtail speechless.*

*“Today I shall ascend, Wormtail, today I shall acquire power beyond my wildest dreams,” the
Dark Lord breathed. “So it is that few challenge me in terms of power now—soon it shall be that all
shan't challenge me as a whole.” He clutched a fistful of Wormtail's robes. “Tonight I
shall unlock the forgotten gates, Wormtail. Nothing will stop me, but your incompetence will shame
me.” And, smacking Wormtail's head against the room's stone floor for emphasis, he
bellowed, “The... most... important... day... of... my... life...* and I lack the proper
attire!*”*

*Tears streamed down Wormtail's face. “Master, I am sorry!”*

*The Dark Lord just shook his head, snatching up Wormtail's bleeding stump with his free
hand. He shoved the silver arm back onto it, sealing the two by incantation. Still, blood continued
to stream at their intersection.*

*“Oh, Master,” Wormtail croaked.*

*“Forget it,” Voldemort hissed, slamming Wormtail's head to the floor once more for good
measure. “You failed me. Get out of my sight, Wormtail. Fetch Krum, lick your wounds, and find
somewhere to stand perfectly still without disturbing anyone. Wait there for further
instructions.”*

*“Master,” said Wormtail, still sobbing, but he quickly dragged himself to his feet and out of
the room, causing Voldemort's taut face to stretch into smile. He cast off the black robes,
stepping nude across the room to his wardrobe. Third shelf, hidden drawer, false bottom.*

*The Dark Lord pulled out a thin package, brown paper secured with twine. He cut the cording
with one of his unusually long (and sharp) fingernails. He unwrapped the package to reveal
magnificent silver and hythe robes, the exact set he had described to Wormtail. He had no sooner
slipped them about his shoulders and tightened their elaborate fasteners than a knock came at the
door.*

*“Mas—”*

*“Come in, Vihar,” Voldemort said solemnly. He had taken his place before the mirror by the
time Krum had crossed the room's threshold and secured the entrance. “Ah, my boy—you come at
last. Tonight I wear the colors of my old house.”*

*Krum bowed low. “And I need nott remind you that you are returning to Hogvarts, my
lord.”*

*“No,” Voldemort tittered, holding his arms out for the sheer purpose of admiring the way they
hung. Krum stood in awe. “Suits me, yes?”*

*“Oh yes,” Krum agreed. “My lord, should you not mind me saying so, I cannot imagine even the
silver and hythe robes fitting so vell.”*

*The Dark Lord turned on the boy. “These* are *the silver and hythe robes,” he
admonished.*

*“But Vormtail—”*

*“Wormtail had to pay some sort of penance for the other day, boy,” Voldemort interrupted.
“Surely you haven't forgotten his failures?”*

*“Of course I haven't forgotten, my lord. He vos to secure the book of Hogvarts vards vile
on the premises yesterday.” Krum chuckled nervously. “I-I did not think you serious, Master. After
all, ve are speaking of Vormtail. He is incompetent.”*

*It was the Dark Lord's turn to chuckle. “Don't I know it. My dear boy, you by now
should have noticed that I enjoy assigning impossible tasks to my... should we say,* lesser
*followers.”*

*“Of course, Master.” Krum sank lower.*

*“Speaking of lesser followers—Crabbe and Goyle. You've been reassigned. You'll take
care of them for me tonight,” said Voldemort, floating towards his dresser to slide snake-shaped
rings onto each of his fingers. “Get up. I hate it when you grovel as I give orders.”*

*Krum scrambled to his feet. “Yes, Master, of course. Vot vould you like me to do vith Misters
Crabbe and Goyle?”*

*“Not Misters. Masters. Their sons, Vincent and Gregory, are Hogwarts fifth years. Might you
kill them for me?”*

*“This evening, Master?”*

*“It would please me.”*

*“Then it vould be an honor, my lord. At vich point in the evening should I kill
them?”*

*“Well—run through the night's festivities with me, then I'll decide. Where is Travers
in conjuring our tenth smoke?”*

*Krum was scrambling for a wooden chair about the room's exterior. It was as though they
had been through all this before, which they had. “Master, as I told you this morning, Travers
finally mastered the skill yesterday evening. He conjured the smoke at least twice more last night,
and by noon today had managed it on the scale you requested. He Apparated to Hogsmeade at two, and
just thirty minutes ago young Marks fire-called a message from him to say that he vos in place in
the duct above the Great Hall.”*

*The corners of Voldemort's mouth turned upwards as he circled the young Death Eater's
chair. He even tousled Krum's hair. “You make me proud, Vihar, always on top of things.
Let's see—Neesley?”*

*“He is also in place,” Krum breathed. “My lord, they all are—Malfoy and Corner are in
Hogsmeade, Immethun and Nott in the Forbidden Forest, Pembrooke and Updegraff and Zabel standing
vith them until called for your finest hour.”*

*“My finest hour,” Voldemort sighed. “I do love it when you talk like that.”*

*“Thank you, Master.”*

*“My inner circle,” said the Dark Lord, beginning to pace. “Hand picked to stand tonight with
me. Maximilian, Lucius, Rose, Daniel, William, Poseidon, Aidan, and Peridot. Some I like more than
others, but that's true of all my followers. Since Wormtail's helping too, I suppose
he's in there also, but I don't trust him. No farther than I could throw him, though I
could toss him reasonably far.” Voldemort seemed to realize then that he had strayed from topic.
“And then there's you, Vihar. Continue showing what initiative you have, and you will find
yourself in a realm that exists even beyond that inner circle.”*

*Krum hung onto his every word. “Master—vot shall I do with Crabbe and Goyle? That is, to say,
Vincent and Gregory?”*

*Voldemort had been lacing and unlacing his fingers. “Why Krum, we went over this—and right
when I thought you might be on the path of ascension. I want you to kill them. We went over
this.”*

*“B-but—” Krum stopped and composed himself. “Master, I only meant for you to assign a time to
the slaughter.”*

*Voldemort just chuckled. “There, there Krum. I know. I just wanted to get you going, my dear
boy. You will enter when I enter, through the Hogsmeade passage that goes beneath the lake. While I
unlock the gates, you will come up through the dungeons. Go towards the Potions
classroom—you'll find the youth in a storage close three doors to the left, bound and gagged
and drugged. Just the two, though—no slaughter tonight, my boy.”*

*“And then, Master, I vill take the girl?” Krum asked, once again the all-too-willing Death
Eater.*

*“No, no. Don't you remember what I said earlier?” Voldemort asked, avoiding the question.
“I want you to float the boys' bodies to the Great Hall, after Travers conjures the smoke but
before it clears. You'll have to work quickly—just use the Killing Curse. Get back down to the
dungeons, where you will intercept a package from young Marks, if of course he is able to obtain
it. Then, return to the lake passage. Weak from my ascension, I am likely to need your
aid.”*

*“My lord, you have not spared me any time to take Hermy-own-ninny.”*

*“Tsk, tsk. Like I said, you've been reassigned. We'll leave Miss Granger alone for
the time—and don't give me that look, Krum. I know you've big plans for her, but I have
something else in mind for our girl.” The Dark Lord, back before his mirror, straightened his
collar and pulled his hood about his face. “I think you'll like what I've planned.”*

* * *

Krum's attitude had taken a surprising turn. Far from angry and sadistic, the Death Eater
seemed rather sad. He had turned away from Harry, Ron, and Hermione and even pocketed his
knife.

“No, no. Do not say it—not that two of the three of you can. Ve vere too optimistic. Even as the
Rouge Apparation loomed overhead, as Dumbledore took heed and attempted to secure the castle, ve
believed it vould be Master's finest hour. “It—” And Krum interrupted himself.

“Potter,” he said, advancing slowly. “*Harry*. Do you mind if I call you that? You and I
both know that vithout you, the ritual to open the forgotten gates can be performed again.
According to the ancient prophecy, it vould be the first time in centuries—millennia, maybe. Seeing
that killing you had so far proved difficult, Master asked Travers to examine the prophecy in its
earliest recording rather than most recent translation. He vanted to know if there vos any other
vay to open the gates.

“Blood, Harry. Your blood. Potter blood. Vouldn't that make sense? As connected as life and
death are, so are yours. Your death and the ritual could be exchanged for your life force. Trust
that it pleased Master to know vot Dumbledore had not yet realized, but that is not to say he did
not feel foolish for not killing your mother before she could run vith you. He just alvays assumed
her survival vos key because she knew how to perform the ritual.

Krum shook his head. He had again knelt before Harry's level, but Harry could not focus on
the Death Eater's movement. Again and again he had mentioned some forgotten gates as if Harry
knew what he was talking about. Now, Harry was sure that he should and quite confused as to why he
didn't.

“But ve're talking about last Halloveen, not Halloveens long past. Master began
thinking—your life force, his life force. Or vot should haff rightly been his. It does not matter.
Your blood—granted, a very small amount of it—had mixed vith the master's. The prophecy said
that a drop vould unlock the gates, and Master believed if he bled long enough, he could unlock the
gates.

“And so ve vent. To Hogvarts. To the origin of mystic energy and vere the gates most surely used
to stand. The Dark Lord never thought that opening those magical doors by blood vould require
*pure* Potter blood. Ven Master's blood touched the gates, he vos very nearly ripped
apart.

“And you blame me,” said Harry, doing his best to manage a bored tone.

Krum actually smiled—this time, fortunately, not because he was carving up Harry's face.
“Yes.” He stood.

“Halloveen, however, vos not a complete loss. Traver's smoke, Hermy-own-ninny. Did you come
across its purpose in your study?” Harry's head spun in his friends' direction. Hermione
seemed to be shaking all over, not just shaking her head. “Now, now—clear your throat. You and I
both know the silencing charm has since worn off.”

“No,” came Hermione's quiet response. “I never discovered the smoke's purpose in my
study.”

Krum smirked. “Naturally, ven the time comes to take sides, Gryffindors follow the Light and
Slytherins take to the shadows. Hufflepuffs are drawn to the first to appeal to them, and
Gryffindors are usually standing by vith their big talk of bravery. It is usually no loss... most
are too stupid to carry our cause.

“But the Ravenclaws... vell, they go both vays. Intelligent, driven, and many every bit as
crafty as the Slytherins. Master likes Ravenclaws, and Master really likes knowing who and who not
to vaste time recruiting. The vons that could not stand the smoke are unlikely to stand in the
Light. They vill align vith us.” Krum focused on Ron. “Veasley—”

“Anna was on her feet. Don't you bloody bring her into this,” Ron sneered.

“Nice talk for somevon still relying on the little lady to prop him up,” said Krum. Harry fully
expected his wand, or knife, or something to follow his words, but the Death Eater drew nothing. “I
vos able to kill Masters Crabbe and Goyle, and the confusion at Hogvarts distracted all the
European ministries such that pleas for help at Durmstrang vere not answer, or even heard.”

All concept of time had been lost on Harry. He hadn't a clue how long they had been in that
dank little chamber at the Death Eater's mercy. As Krum conjured himself a glass of water,
Harry checked his watch, even though he already knew it probably had stopped working.

“It does not work,” Krum sing-songed. “Did you not know? The magicks Master used to veaken the
vards has made the energy of this area unstable. They allow the transmission of errant Muggle
vaves, break vatches, shift veather patterns—but I am getting ahead of myself. Ve've done July,
August, September, October—” the Death Eater ticked each month off on his fingers
“—*November*.”

“The first Quidditch match,” Hermione whispered.

“After seeing how Hermy-own-ninny's injuries affected you, can you blame us for trying?”
Krum said sadistically. He had been facing Harry but swirled suddenly towards the trio's other
two members. “Before you can ask, Veasley, vhy ve used the Belvit Curse, it vos the only thing that
ve could use. Dumbledore, after Halloveen, changed the vards to protect against violent magicks.
But object magic—usually not anything to vorry about.”

Ron, who had made indication that he was going to interrupt moments earlier, fell silent. Harry
shot him a small smile, and Hermione, who had placed a hand on the redhead's shoulder and begun
to rub in small circles. Keeping Ron's temper in check was always a good idea. They all waited
for Krum to continue. But he just stared at the back wall.

“Well?” Harry finally prompted.

Krum spun around. “*Crucio!*”

Harry had only enough time to grit his teeth before losing control of his body. He came away
from the pain belly-up, Krum standing over him, obviously waiting for some sort of response. “That
was bracing.”

“Ve though that the Quidditch incident vos sufficient reminder of our presence,” said Krum, “but
that vos not the alternative to taking you, Hermy-own-ninny. It vos merely fun for me vile Master
recovered.”

“Then what was the alternative?” said Harry through clenched teeth. He didn't want to endure
the Cruciatus Curse again, but he also had to do something about the knot that had been growing in
his stomach since learning that Voldemort had originally intended Krum to take Hermione at
Halloween.

The Death Eater shrugged. “Take her in February ven I did. Subtlety—Master likes subtlety. He
allowed me to attack you in November, Veasley, but only if I attacked the other Gryffindor
Quidditch players and our boys in Slytherin alike. The papers made it seem like a prank gone
awry.

“It tore at you but brought you closer. That observation made vot ve did vell vorth our time. Ve
vanted to pick students off, von by von, until ve had the headmaster forced to take action. Then ve
vould take you, Hermy-own-ninny, use you, kill you. Send Potter a message and send the other
students back into the vorld, under the Imperius Curse and unable to remember anything about their
time vith us. Ticking time bombs, Master likes to call them. They're just now starting to
turn.” Krum licked his lips. “Vhy don't you tell me vot Anna's brother did to her after
another *fun* Quidditch match?”

Ron blinked. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I did not figure she vould tell you,” said Krum. “I know, though, because I made him do it. He
found out about the two of you, and he did not like you—mostly because I made him not like you, but
that is beside the point. But he expressed his anger to her phys—who I am kidding? He beat the shit
out of her. Had her valking about under a glamour for veeks. As close to home as that must haff
struck, it is no surprise to me that she did not say a vord.”

Harry watched Hermione grab more firmly to Ron's shoulder. The redhead was seething.

“But back to Quidditch—that first match. You knew a real chance existed, Potter, that your
friend vould die. To depart in friendship—it still tore at you. Ve realized then how much more
impact Hermy-own-ninny's death vould have if you vere *not* friends. More tragic. I had
begun to grasp the concept of the Affinity of Relations, and Master directed me to begin
controlling you by vay of the Dark Scar on your pretty chest.

“I convinced you, Hermy-own-ninny, that you vould be the death of your friends. At first you
thought you vere crazy, hearing voices and vhispers at this turn and that, but then I figured out
how to enter your dreams. And once you began to have the dreams, it vorked. You turned your back on
Veasley and Potter here. It allowed me to take you, to torture you, to—”

“—not kill her?” Harry cut in. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, but he didn't
care. He'd already seen what had been done to her, and he wasn't about to hear about it
again from the Death Eater that had caused her such pain. If she wanted to talk about it to him, he
would listen, but he'd be damned to let the monster before him distort what had happened. “To
fail your master? Did you just plain underestimate her, Krum?”

The Death Eater stepped forward, drew his wand, and jabbed it against Harry's throat.
“Potter,” he said calmly but then lost his cool completely. “I believe *you* haff
underestimated *me*. *Avada*—”

“No!”

Both Harry and Krum's heads turned, and Ron of course was already looking at Hermione. Her
cheeks red and eyes starting to glisten with tears, she started, “I mean, you won't—you, er,
can't... if you curse Harry...”

“He vill die?” Krum suggested helpfully.

Hermione rushed on. “If you kill Harry, your master will kill you!”

The wand pressed harder into Harry's throat. “Death means nothing to me.”

“But what about disappointment?” Hermione's tone had softened, almost as though she was
trying to soothe the Death Eater. “What about your master's disappointment?”

* * *

*Hogwarts*

*Outside of Hogsmeade, Scotland—February 23, 1996*

*Krum clasped his hands together behind his back as he paced the dimly lit chamber. Just hours
before it had held the missing Hogwarts students captive, but the headmaster and several professors
had come through earlier that afternoon for them, having found his map of the castle and environs
with the Granger girl in the woods. Everything they had worked towards had in a minute been
destroyed.*

*It was dangerous to return, but the Dark Lord had deemed it necessary. Officials of the
wizarding school had yet realized the rooms existed beyond the one in which he currently stood, and
since he, the master, and several other Death Eaters had resided in them for the past two months,
there was much to clear out before the headmaster returned. Krum swallowed hard, unclasping his
hands to run them over a particularly rough section of stone.*

*And he roared suddenly, a deep guttural sound that drew from animal instincts, and he kicked
the wall with all the force he could muster. Krum slid down the wall, grasping fistfuls of his hair
in his hands. Tears streamed down his face, for they had lost what they had because of him.*

*Years before Krum had chosen this path for himself. He had spent years now hating Viktor for
being so humble and his parents for acting as though he was equally accomplished. He told those
around him that his family had driven him in this direction, but he knew that it had been his
choice entirely. Not once had he hated that fact, not once until now.*

*Viktor and Vihar had been equals in the beginning. They had showed Quidditch promise from the
age of four, and by nine they had attracted international attention. When they started school, both
had excelled—Viktor in Defense and Potions, Vihar in Transfigurations and Charms. When coaches
began visiting Durmstrang to scout as early as third year, the twins had made it clear that if they
signed in their sixth or seventh year, they would sign together, Viktor as Seeker and Vihar as
Keeper.*

*Then there had been the summer with the national team, the late night banter and dares and
risks. As Seeker, Viktor was used to flying higher and faster than his brother, but Vihar was
determined to prove that he was just as good. When he had fallen, Viktor had even broken an arm
trying to catch his brother, younger by seven minutes. Vihar had suffered severe head trauma and
had not woken from a coma until the spring term of the next school year.*

*Vihar hadn't flown since that evening. His head could no longer handle altitude of any
kind without suffering searing pain. The scouts had all but forgotten him, many of them secretly
relieved that they would not have to boot their current Keepers to make room for him on their
teams. So thankful to have his brother back, Viktor would have given up his own Quidditch career if
Vihar said it would make him feel better.*

*After returning to Durmstrang the next school year, Vihar had attempted a powerful
time-reversal spell in an attempt to change the outcome of that evening, but all it did was give
him a taste for the black arts. He shut out his parents and his brother, refusing to accept that
they loved him in spite of his accident. He took up with Karkaroff, accepting the headmaster's
teaching as sworn until the day he turned on Vihar. That was when he became a servant of the Dark
Lord. After finally receiving the Mark, he had sworn that he would not fail in this endeavor as he
had in his last.*

*The way Krum saw it now, it hadn't even taken him as long to fall short this
time.*

*Behind him the wall dissolved. Voldemort came sweeping into the chamber, his red eyes, if
possible, appearing more like blood in color than ever. He did not look happy, but he did not have
the anger about him one might expect. In one had he held a shimmering invisibility cloak, in the
other, a small, worn book. He sighed when he saw his faithful servant huddled against the
wall.*

*“Get up,” the Dark Lord said. “Get up, Vihar. You know how I hate to see anyone—especially
you—sulk.”*

*“Master,” said Krum, but when he scrambled to his feet, it was only with the half the vigor
as usual.*

*“I've talked to one of our liaisons in Hogwarts,” Voldemort began. “The girl,
unfortunately, is out of danger. Despite what hope we had she would not live, she has. There will
be a recovery time, of course, and I would expect her to be very shaken by what was done to her.”
He exhaled slowly. “I will not lie to you, Vihar. I am very disappointed by your shortcoming, but I
under that there were extenuating circumstances. I did tell you to leave her broken and bleeding,
not curse her to death, and until I figure out what might have interfered with her slow death,
there will be no punishment.”*

*“Thank you, Master,” said Krum, still lacking in enthusiasm.*

*“We let her know too much to let her survive, my boy,” said Voldemort. “You know that as well
as I do. Everything we've worked for will be lost if we don't do anything to right this
wrong.”*

*“I vill try again to kill her if it pleases you, Master,” Krum replied. “I vill—”*

*“You will not have an opportunity to kill her before she has the opportunity to share our
secrets,” the Dark Lord interrupted. He handed Krum the invisibility cloak. “So no killing. Memory
charm her, but do not make her forget more than absolutely necessary. Whatever you did to her in
the forest—that stands, but as little as possible until that moment. Take the cloak and go now to
the hospital wing.” Krum did, wordlessly, and was about to wrap it around himself when Voldemort
grabbed his arm to stop him. “I'm not finished.”*

*“Forgive me, Master.”*

*“Of course, Vihar,” said Voldemort. He slid the book into his servant's hand.*

*“*Heinous Happenings, Heinous Harvest*,” Krum read. “Master, vot is this?”*

*“Required reading. Steal upstairs, modify the girl's memory, and come back here to
collect your things. Then, return to the chateau in Carteret—that's where I intend to head. I
want this book to be your priority once you arrive.” The Dark Lord drew his flowing robes about
him. He stepped backwards into the wall, which was still hazy in appearance. “Good luck,” he said,
and disappeared.*

*“Of course, Master,” said Krum, despite his lord being unable to hear him. He wiped absently
at his eyes and drew the cape about him. He stood there for a few minutes, invisible, while
gathering himself again. In no time at all, his focus had returned, as had the steely look in his
eyes.*

*He swept out of the room, able to walk quickly and without worry because the invisibility
cloak he had been given was so oversized. Through the next room, and the next, and the ones after
that he traveled, but once past them, he ducked into shadows. It was nearly impossible to tell that
the tunnel branched off in two directions, but having helped his master construct the elaborate
system, he knew about the dual corridors. He kept to the left, taking several before reaching a
ladder that took him up to a storage closet in the dungeons, near Slytherin house.*

*“Hospital ving,” Krum muttered, exiting the closet. It being near the dinner hour, students,
most of them Slytherins, were rushing upstairs to the Great Hall. He fell in step behind Pansy
Parkinson, her cousin Daisy, and their friends. Krum knew that Pansy already bore the Mark, as did
three of the other four girls. Daisy had been on the list of initiates until several months prior,
but he couldn't remember whether or not he had seen her since the master had killed her
father.*

*He tramped out of the dungeons practically within the girls' pack, but he lost them
quickly after the stairs as he continued towards the third floor. Just like he hadn't had any
problem entering the castle, he hadn't any problem entering the ward. Never before had he
actually entered the room, but it didn't matter. It was pretty typical as wizarding infirmaries
went. Sterile and white, the hospital wing was actually a long room with a row of beds against each
wall and an enclosed office in the far left corner.*

*Only one bed was occupied, a number of charms and talismans hanging overhead. The small
figure in the bed was shivering beneath her thin blanket—standard issue. She had been badly beaten,
and by him. Krum swept towards, relieved that neither Harry nor Ron was currently at the girl's
bedside. He drew his wand, glancing around before slipping it outside the folds of his
robes.*

*“*Obliviate!*”*

*Hermione just continued to squirm uncomfortably beneath the bedcovers. She whimpered a little
also but did not wake. A satisfied smirk began to take place on Krum's face. He left the
hospital wing with much more confidence than he had entered with. The few seconds he had been in
Hermione's presence had provided him with a rush. He felt alive again, and his will to go on
had been restored.*

*It didn't take him even half as long to get back to the chambers beneath the lake as it
had taken him to get to the hospital wing. He discarded the invisibility cloak as soon as he
dissolved the fourth room's back wall. The chamber beyond emptied into several others, and Krum
headed into the room on the far right—his bedroom. He locked the door behind him and opened his
closet door. Gagged and bound, Viktor Krum could only tremble slightly when he saw his
brother.*

*“Get up,” said Vihar in their native Bulgarian. “We're returning to France, and
there's no where there for me to keep you. I guess that means its back to Pleven for you—I just
hope that I can remember the incantation to conjure the long-lasting sort of chains.”*

* * *

Krum withdrew his wand but did not lose the coldness that had settled in his eyes. He hauled
Harry up, punched him hard in the face, and threw him towards Ron and Hermione. Harry landed on her
injured leg, which nearly elicited a yelp on her part. An apology was on the tip of his tongue, but
she held a finger up to his lips before he could get it out. Instead she hugged him, quiet tears
now drying on her cheeks.

“Not that I vont to break up the charming three meter reunion—vait. Actually, I do.” Krum
stepped forward, hauling Harry up with one hand and Ron with the other. He marched Harry to one
corner and recast the binding spell on the boys' hands; then, he shoved Ron across the room and
repeated. “Hermy-own-ninny?”

“Yes?” she said tentively.

“Vere vos I?”

“You were saying that you memory-charmed me. After. Afterwards. When I was in the hospital
wing,” Hermione said. Krum just laughed.

“Yes, yes. Ven you should have been dead. It vos not the vorse thing that could haff happened,
but it vos close. There vos von positive, only von.” Krum whistled. “One Affinity traded for von
much stronger. This time, I knew ven it vos established how it vorked. I knew how to use it. The
headaches, the loss of appetite, the frequent illnesses. You experienced it all immediately.

“Vith Hermy-own-ninny alive still, ve had to take your year in a different direction. Ve turned
to our agent vithin Hogvarts—I believe you vill recall several run ins vith young Master Marks?”
Krum laughed, rubbing his hands together. “I love that entire family.” He glanced at Ron. “You love
one. I reckon that means ve have something in common.”

“Doubt it,” Ron responded. Harry finally snapped out of it long enough to note that the redhead,
at least, sounded better—earlier, Krum had surely knocked out several of Ron's teeth. “Who
could I possibly love that would be related to that filthy—”

“Anna.” Hermione had done the interrupting that time. And I didn't actually get it from you,
*Krum*, even though the Affinity is slipping. Joseph, Clara's brother—I never found
anything about Joseph Lewick, but Joseph Marks—” Hermione shuddered “—awful. I checked into the
Lewicks—Ada Marks married Leland Lewick, the pureblood princess married the pauper. Let me guess,
Dad's blood wasn't pure enough, so his name was lost.”

“And how long since you figured that out?” Krum asked, and he nodded when she said nothing.
“Protecting Veasley, aren't you?”

“A person is not their family,” said Hermione, teeth gritted.

The Death Eater just laughed. “The vay vizards lie about their relatives, how vould you ever
know?”

* * *

*The Hog's Head*

*Hogsmeade, Scotland—April 18, 1996*

*Geoffrey Travers had not attended Hogwarts School, Beauxbatons Academy, or Durmstrang
Institute. He had not attended the Mact Timgill Academy or any of the dozen or so other, smaller
European wizarding institutions. He had not been taught magic at home or in another country.
Muggle-born and Muggle-educated, Travers was a made sorcerer. Working as the librarian and museum
curator, he had begun studying ancient and ritual magicks as a young man. Just theories, he
thought, until thirty years prior to that very day.*

*He had discovered a switching spell that allowed him to access power by rendering an actual
wizard powerless. He had been practicing magic ever since, but never the summoning and levitating
that so aided most witches and wizards. Only the ritual magicks, the Dark forces, the blood
traditions—it wasn't that he couldn't learn basic magic, it was just that he had no desire.
In fact, Travers had only learnt to Apparate when the Dark Lord had threatened to reduce his
favorite set of conjuring crystals to powder.*

*Travers had those crystals out now. He was set up in the Hog's Head, having rented a room
for the week. He had always been able to move freely through wizarding neighborhoods and towns,
even while doing his master's bidding, on account of his nondescript appearance. Slightly
built, he would pair secondhand tweed suits with thick glasses and worn briefcases, and nobody
expected him to pull anything sinister at all. So, after securing a room and buttoning it up for
the night, Travers had been able to set crystals in each of its corners and chalk the outline of
Hogwarts on the floor.*

*“If I step across this threshold, will I interrupt anything important?”*

*Travers, who had been sitting in the middle of his supplies, was washing his hands in holy
water. He had already surrounded himself with black taper candles and did not look up. “How did you
enter, Master?” he asked.*

*“Smoke and mirrors,” said Voldemort with a chuckle. “Turn around.”*

*“That must mean you are in disguise,” said Travers absently, still not looking. “Have you
come to watch me read the Latin, Master?”*

*“I have actually come to bring you a fresher vial of Lewick blood,” said the Dark Lord,
sweeping into the room. Instead of his usual black or ceremonial green and silver, he was wearing
neatly patched blue rooms and wore glamour to make him resemble an old man.*

*“Thank you, my lord,” said Travers. He welcomed Voldemort into his circle and accepted the
vial. Uncorking it, he smeared it across his palms. He stood, turned counterclockwise, and began
lighting the tapers. He then circled clockwise on the outside of the circle, repositioning his
crystals. He raised his hands from the room's south corner. “*Reperio!*”*

*The room grew very cold, and a magnificent wind blew through the room, breaking all the
windows and extinguishing each of the candles. The blood flew from Traver's hands and settled
on the chalked outline of the castle. It separated into five parts, all but one of which settled
and did not move. The last headed steadily through what represented an interior corridor of the
castle.*

*“Yes,” Travers breathed. “Oh yes.”*

*Voldemort, his hands behind his back, stepped forward to get a closer look at the blood
splatters. “I don't know what this means.”*

*“Well, four of the five stains represent the children born of Lewick blood,” said Travers,
sweeping a hand over the chalked square containing two of the splotches. “This area represents the
male Slytherin dormitory, where the Marks brothers are certainly sleeping. Hence, two of the
stains.”*

*Travers walked carefully across his chalked diagram to the other two still smears. “Here are
the Ravenclaw dormitories—boys,” he said, gesturing to one of the two spots, “and girls. John—” he
gestured at the first splotch, then moved his hand back over to the second “—and Anna.”*

*“Then the moving stain represents the book of wards,” said Voldemort. “The* book *of
wards. It seems to me, Travers, that books cannot move by themselves.”*

*“Of course not, Master,” said Travers. He followed the moving blob for several paces before
reaching down to scoop it into his hands. The droplets formed a rounded, crystalline ball. Closing
his eyes, he closed the ball into one of his fists. It began to glow, and when Travers lifted his
hand, he lifted off the ground. He released the ball, and his feet returned to the floor.*

*If the Dark Lord had had eyebrows, one of them would have arched. “Well?”*

*“The item so-moving through the lower corridor does not live,” said Travers in a low, hollow
voice. “It is a book besmeared with Lewick blood. Before this evening, it had for months rested in
a blue box in a disheveled storage room, but tonight it is being carried away by a young
sorceress.” His eyes were glowing.*

*Voldemort frowned. “Sorceress?”*

*“Yes,” said Travers solemnly, coming out of the trance all at once. “Master, I know it must
displease you to watch the volume slip away, but know that the amazing magical aptitude narrows
down the possibilities considerably. You will surely find the girl.”*

*“Sorceresses.” The Dark Lord's nostrils flared, mentally going through the possibilities.
One was much too old to be considered young. One rested peacefully in the Ravenclaw dormitories.
Three were unlikely, but one was a definite possibility. He stamped his foot, positively seething.
Without another word to Travers, he stormed out of the room.*

*Travers watched his master depart, and he used a minimal amount of the magic he loathed to
tidy the room before collapsing, exhausted for the spell he had just performed, to the room's
chalky floor.*

-->



39. Blood
---------



Chapter Thirty-Six

BLOOD

Author's Note: Having trouble uploading this one. I think it might be too long. Part two of
two.

* * *

Harry was having trouble wrapping his mind around Krum's words. “Sorceresses? You mean
witches?” he interjected, hoping that the Death Eater would elaborate, but all Krum did was
glare.

“Master knew immediately that it vos Hermy-own-ninny that possessed the book,” Krum continued.
“Ve needed that book, so it vos not long before ve sent Master Marks after her. He attacked
you—vere vos it again? The starivell that time?” He shrugged. “It does not matter—ve soon had the
book of vards at our disposal. After securing these quarters beneath the castle once more, ve
started to examine the protection barriers—but that project took the backseat to another.”

“Azkaban,” Hermione whispered.

Krum chuckled. “Thrilling, is it not?” he asked. “You are beginning to get my thoughts, as I
long did yours. You enjoy it—as did I. I am not sure how I feel about that.” He stepped forward,
circling Hermione. Harry's breath caught as he laid a hand on her shoulder. She had trembled,
but only once—it seemed as though she had adopted the boys' attitudes about giving him as
little satisfaction as possible. It scared him almost more than her vulnerability had, but Harry
couldn't help but be proud of her too. “Vell... actually, I do not like that.”

The Death Eater slapped her—so hard that Harry could see the handprint on her face in the dark,
from across the room. That was all it took. Anger surged through Harry—not enough to knock Krum
nearly unconscious like earlier, but enough to send him stumbling backwards, away from Hermione. He
dropped to his knees, howling, and Harry realized that he had also managed to give the Death Eater
boils. One hand covering his face, his other arm flailed about until he managed to reach his
pocket. He staggered forward, and it was Harry's turn to suffer—Krum had pulled his knife from
earlier back out and driven it into the boy's leg.

“Azkaban,” Krum choked, boils still covering his face. He took his time charming them away
before yanking the knife from Harry. If possible, it seemed that it hurt more on exit than entry.
Harry moved his hand automatically to the wound, pressing as hard as he could to stop the bleeding.
“Next, ve raided Azkaban.”

* * *

*Azkaban Fortress*

*North Sea—April 23, 1996*

*“Secure the boats!” the Dark Lord shouted, but none of his servants heard him over the wind
howling and waves crashing against the shore. It was entirely the wrong evening to storm the island
fortress, but he had been insistent about coming any way. When his most trusted Death Eaters had
pleaded with him to wait for the squall to pass, it had only encouraged him more. He was starting
to agree, but he would never admit his wrong. It was a sign of weakness. “Can't anyone hear me?
SECURE THE BOATS!”*

*“Master, ve cannot hold them back much longer!” Krum shouted from his right, referring to the
dementors that they were battling. Scattered between the droves of dueling Death Eaters were fallen
Death Eaters—the dementors had sucked their souls. “Ve must—”*

*“Forget it, Krum!” Voldemort shot back, conjuring a snake-like Patronus. “They are our
natural allies! If we can just break their ranks and reach the prison, then Travers will have time
enough to complete the ritual! They will come willingly with us! Now—SECURE THE BOATS!”*

*Krum did as he was told just as the Dark Lord had to jump out of the way to avoid a Killing
Curse thrown by one of his own. He gritted his teeth in frustration, considering that it had come
after his explication that such a curse would be ineffective on the dementors. He worried around to
see one of his servants cowering several meters away.*

*“Master, I only meant—”*

*Voldemort's eyes flashed. “*Avada Kedavra!*” he bellowed, and the man's eyes
rolled back in his head as the jet of green light hit him. That was enough for the Dark Lord.
Hand-to-hand combat with the dementors was ridiculous, as was waiting for Travers.
“*Poneré!*”*

*The eruption of noise and light that followed closely rivaled the storm that raged around the
tiny island. The Dark Lord smiled, as he had always loved such chaos. He prided himself on
remembering that particular incantation. It would reveal the true alliances of anyone in range
enough to hear the noise, causing them to fight truly. The effect of the spell was
instantaneous—the dementors stopped battling the Death Eaters at once and glided towards the
fortress in the island's center. The magical barriers holding the prisoners dissolved.*

*“Release Dolohov!” Voldemort shouted. “Get all three Lestranges! Bring me Rookwood, Harker,
Kirschbaum, Jellico, Leaderman, Livesley—” he rattled off one name after another, almost a hundred
in total “—and Holtz! Kill all the others!”*

*The Dark Lord watched in satisfaction as his servants scurried off behind the dementors. His
favorite thing in the world was to watch others hang onto his every word, though he would never
admit that either. It was just tacky. He folded his arms across his chest as the beach cleared, the
other Death Eaters much closer to the fortress. Soon, he was joined by Krum, who was
panting.*

*“The boats are secure?” Voldemort asked.*

*“Yes,” said Krum. “Master, did Travers's spell take effect?”*

*“I tired of waiting,” said the Dark Lord. “I wanted to do it this way in the first place, you
know, but he insisted on that fool ritual.”*

*“Master, I thought that ve had a better chance of controlling the dementors in the future
should we do it as he said,” Krum responded.*

*“We'll deal with the dementors when the time comes,” said Voldemort. He shot the young
Bulgarian a look that clearly said the conversation was over. His focus once again on the fortress,
he began smiling as imprisoned Death Eater after imprisoned Death Eater came down the hill. Some
were walking freely towards the boats, but the majority moved only with the aid of their healthy
brethren. Augustus Rockwood passed Voldemort on his left, stumbling absently towards the boats. His
eyes wild, he wasn't focused on anything in particular.*

*“Master,” he said called. “Master! Master! Master! Master! Master—”*

*“Get him, Krum,” said Voldemort, having to shy away from Rockwood as he dropped to the sand,
pounding his fists against a head-sized rock. “Lead him to the boats.”*

*The Dark Lord watched Krum and Rockwood depart, the older man flailing and kicking all the
while. It actually pleased him to see his followers in such a state. He had during his first reign
recruited many servants fresh out of Azkaban for petty crimes, and he had found their slight
madness most refreshing. Insanity was a virtue, as far as he was concerned.*

*It took half an hour to get all the former prisoners onto the waiting boats—Voldemort had
insisted traveling that way to the island, knowing full well most of them would be unable to
Apparate. Krum returned to his side just as the last prisoners wandered from the fortress.
“Rockwood is onboard?”*

*“Ve had to secure him with the manacles,” said Krum hesitantly. “Is that acceptable,
Master?”*

*“I proved them for that very purpose,” said Voldemort with a smile. “We will return with the
others to Scotland, and I will ask that you spend the night at the home rather than at Hogwarts. I
will go with you to the school tomorrow, in time for afternoon lessons. I would hate for Miss
Granger to grow complacent if relieved of the headaches and nausea for too long.”*

* * *

“And now our ranks are complete once more,” Krum finished. He had been pacing with his hands
clasped together behind his back again, which actually was keeping with his behavior all evening.
New was the bloody knife laced between his fingers. “The prisoners ve freed had been contained for
upvards of fourteen years. Raving lunatics, every last one. To have that unequivocal brilliance—it
vos vell vorth it.” Chuckling, he added, “Not to mention the dementors.

“Ve knew ven ve attacked Azkaban that there vos discontent in the Minister's Council. It is
hard for vizards living their second century to take orders from a sorcerer half their age. Ve
figured that they vould vote Bom out of office right then, but it seemed that they vere so fearful
for vot happened that they vere villing to try even his newfangled approach to defense. Master
began making threats. He vos tired of varning people—if Azkaban had not done it, he did not know
vot it vould take.”

“Sent Harry those pictures,” Ron muttered, more quietly than some of the trio's earlier
interjections. The look of pain on Harry's face probably had him playing it safe.

“Yes, Master vanted to send a—” Krum spun around suddenly. “Vot did you say?”

“Not him, me,” said Harry, trying to ignore the pain in his leg. He didn't want Krum paying
any more attention to his friends than necessary. “He sent me those photos, didn't he?”

“Not you,” said Krum, his brow furrowed. “Dumbledore.”

Now Harry was confused. “Then who sent me the photos?” he asked honestly.

“Something *ve* have in common,” the Death Eater replied, inserting a menacing smile. “No,
those photos did not come from us, though trust that ve, like you, vould like to know vere they
*did* come from. Our target vos the headmaster all along—no living relatives, ve decided to
target his oldest and closest friend—Samarus Pericle. I believe it vos his replacement, Malfoy,
that actually did the honors. An injection—Black brackish, the drug he vos so outspoken against. Ve
thought that made for a nice touch.”

Krum clasped his hands together, in front of him this time. He stretched his arms before
continuing. “Vonce ve had Malfoy in place, there vos little ve could do about the political
situation but vait—ve knew that Lucius vould stir things up enough that the rest of the council
vould get scared and relieve Bom of his duties, but ve knew that it vould take time.

“So ve concentrated on other tasks in the mean time. Vith full ranks, ve vere able to begin
eliminating Muggles. Master's vision is very specific, and impure blood is not of the details.
Ve began in Grand Harmony. An unusual number of Mudbloods haff hailed from the area in the last
century, and that is most unacceptable. Our numbers that evening vere dismal, though it is my
understanding that ve did manage—” Krum smiled “—to destroy one impure family.”

Harry's stomach turned thinking about Mr. Finch and little Jessica. Remembering his
conversation with Justin in Hogsmeade weeks before, it turned again. He figured that the dementor
attack on Hogsmeade would be the next topic of conversation.

But the Death Eater surprised him. “But I am sure Potter told you all about that evening. To
Master, his dreams and visions vere a bonus—Master is a fan of mental anguish.” He chuckled. “And
*that* vould be vot the two of us haff in common. Hermy-own-ninny, do remember that nightmare
you had? The evening you vere so displeased vith your boys for procrastinating on their Defense
essays?”

Hermione nodded, sucking in her breath as Krum settled behind her, playing with her hair. “Did
it feel real, Hermy-own-ninny?” he breathed, dropping his head to whisper in her ear. “Ven vos it
that you realized it vos? The next morning, in the shower, no? That vos ven you saw—” he licked his
lips “—the rest of the bruises.”

Harry's heart sank when Hermione averted her eyes, not understanding how the Death Eater had
managed to violate her again that night, not understanding how anyone could get pleasure from
something so sick and twisted. He must have worn his hurt openly, because Krum's smile widened.
“And how you helped, Potter,” he said. “Your invisibility cloak—I hope you do not mind my borrowing
it vithout asking. After all, you had allowed it to sit in a drawer in Filch's office for days,
maybe even veeks. I am sketchy on the details—you can understand, right. It is hard for me to think
of anything right now, remembering the way it felt to first enter her dreams and then to
enter—”

Krum was thrown across the room before he could finish his statement or say anything else
equally as vulnerable. Harry couldn't explain it. He had thought he was more upset and shocked
than angry. The Death Eater's eyes flashed as he picked himself up. He had his knife in his
hand once more and was about half a second away from sticking Harry again when Ron spoke up.

“That was all me, you bastard,” Ron said coolly. “I care about her also, or did you forget?
Can't you tell that he's much closer to violently ill than angry?” He shook his head. “You
make me sick.”

The Death Eater sucked in, yanking the knife back and throwing it at once in Ron's
direction. Fortunately, the redhead was able to shy away from it, and the knife clattered loudly
against the back wall and thudded against the floor. Krum didn't retrieve it. Instead, he
returned to Hermione, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I could snap her neck right now,” he
said, bending his knees to lower himself. He craned his neck around to look at Hermione. “But I do
not think I vill. I am getting to the good parts. Do you not vant to hear the good parts?”

“Please... I can't... you're hurting me,” said Hermione in lieu of a response. Harry
glanced away, imagining that the Death Eater was tightening his hold on her.

“Vere haff I heard that before?” Krum hissed, and he clucked his tongue. “Right—I heard it that
night, and in the forest, and vonce before in this very room. Stop pretending I do not live to hurt
you.” He shoved her forward as he let go of her. “Ve vere talking about vot happened as ve vaited
for Bom to be removed from office, no? Vell, there vos the attack on Fenny—” he smirked as he
glanced towards Ron “—vere I seem to remember blasting at your father's leg. And after
Fenny—Hogsmeade.”

Krum shook his head. “Ve overestimated the progress ve had made vith the dementors. Ve thought
that they vere clear on the fact that you, Hermy-own-ninny, vere not to be harmed for any reason,
but then their touch made you lose your powers. Bom had been removed from office, but everything
else had started to slip—the Affinity of Relations, Marks. The afternoon he attacked you, Potter,
out of personal vendetta rather than overall gain. Marks vos supposed to open the book for us
again, then return it to me. Instead, he dropped it vere the Agouti boy vould find it and return it
to you.

“After the book vos yours again, things really got out of hand. I had lost complete control of
the Affinity at that point. You kept realizing things, one after another. It seemed as though it
vould be our end—*you* even heard *me* curse as I realized vot vos going on. I vos almost
out of your head by then, so I am sketchy on the rest of the details. You must have investigated
the book of wards and somehow realized that you had been memory charmed. That realization—vell,
that von I could *feel*. Master vos upset, to say the least, sure you vould take our secrets
straight to the Headmaster.

“But ve overestimated you,” the Death Eater chuckled. “You had to have closure. You sensed the
urgency I had about getting to you before you could get to the headmaster, and it resonated as
urgency to come down here. This encounter, it vos not planned, but it vill vork out quite nicely.”
He was smiling more now than he had been all evening.

“Today, ven ve raid Hogvarts, ve vill not haff to vorry about Potter attempting to save
everyvon. Ve vill not have to vorry as much about Dumbledore, either—he vill be too concerned
trying to find the three of you to realize vot is happening before it is too late. Ve vill destroy
the school, kill the Mudbloods and most of the half-bloods, force the purebloods not yet on our
side to chose. And then, because you vill be dead, Potter, Travers will be able to perform the
ritual to open the gates, and Master vill haff all the power he can stand.”

And Krum laughed. “*Stupefy!*” he shouted, whipping his wand from beneath his robes. The
stunner hit Ron with tremendous force, knocking him back several feet. The redhead lie still, but
the Death Eater was not finished. “Master is coming,” he breathed. “He vishes to be the von that
kills you, Potter, the von that puts Veasley under the Imperius Curse, the von that presents me
vith Hermy-own-ninny. But since he is not here yet—”

The Death Eater howled as he had many times before that evening, lunging at Harry. He yanked the
boy up from the floor and threw him into the wall. Again and again, he slammed his head into the
wall, until Harry could no longer make out the stone chamber or any of its details. His mind went
blank, and his unconscious body slid down the wall when Krum released his shirt front.

* * *

Harry's eyes fluttered open, his hand at once darting to the back of his head. Sure he was
going to make contact with a rather large lump, he was quite confused when stopped far from where
his head ought to have been. “What's going on?” he groaned, trying to sit up. No luck there
either—if only if head would stop spinning. “I—”

“Shh,” someone whispered, and Harry felt a hand smooth over his hair. “You didn't need to be
touching the back of your head. It'll only make it worse, you know. Ron! Ron, I think
Harry's coming to!”

Harry gave up trying to open his eyes, at least for the moment. He tried to focus on the
footsteps he heard in the background, then on the whispering in the foreground. Someone else
crouched down beside him.

“Harry! Harry! Dammit, mate. I know you must be able to hear—” Whoever was talking paused.
“Actually, Hermione, I'm not sure if he can. Are you sure he said something?”

“*Yes,*” the first voice shot back. “Harry, please. You have to wake up. You *have*
to.”

Again, Harry groaned, and the same hand as before moved to smooth over his hair. Hermione. It
had to be her, and Ron. Focusing on her image, Harry forced his eyes open. Sure enough, Hermione
was hovering above him. Her legs were tucked sideways beneath her, and his head seemed to be
resting in her lap.

“Hi,” Harry managed. Prompting Hermione to cast a scathing look over her shoulder at Ron.

“See?” she said pointedly. “How's your head, sweetie?”

Harry shut his eyes as he lifted his head from Hermione's leg. He reached back quickly, this
time getting to the bump on his head before she could stop him. He winced as his fingers made
contact. “Lumpy. What was I out, ten minutes?” The trio's other two minutes exchanged a look.
“Ten minutes and the two of you had already started bickering?”

Ron cleared his throat. “It's actually been the better part of an hour, mate,” he said,
adjusting his watch on his wrist as he straightened. He extended his hand to Harry, who gave
Hermione's hand a quick squeeze before grabbing hold. If the room had been spinning before,
which it had, then it really began as Harry stood. “All right?”

“Fine,” Harry managed. He pulled away from Ron but then had to grab for the wall with one hand.
The other was already pressing against the stab wound in his leg. “An hour?”

Ron shrugged, toying with his watch again. “Well, it seems like it's been that long at
least.” He shook his head, holding his arm up. “He broke it earlier, and we all know yours
isn't ever working, but Hermione reckons it's almost dawn.”

“Dawn. Wow,” said Harry. He shook his head despite it not being a good idea. Wincing again, he
asked, “I get that he wanted me knocked out, but why'd he insist on actually knocking me
out?”

Hermione gave him a small smile. “I guess you would have preferred getting stunned, like
Ron?”

Harry squinted in Ron's direction. “You *always* get the Stunners,” he complained.

“Yes, well, Hermione got left alone to play nursemaid,” said Ron bitterly.

“Oh?” Harry wondered, breathing a sigh of relief a little too soon. When Hermione just shrugged,
it worried him slightly, but he knew better than to press for more information. He pressed harder
against his wounded leg, wincing more with every second that passed.

“Harry,” Hermione said softly, “you should probably sit back down.”

Harry didn't have the strength to argue with her, or to bat away Ron's helping hand. The
redhead lowered his friend back to a sitting position, and Hermione scooted closer to him. “Hold
still,” she said, touching one hand to his very injured cheek. With her other hand, she grabbed a
rag and a vial of clear potion from the floor next to her. Transferring a bit of the liquid to the
cloth, she wiped gently at his cheek. He started to shrug away despite her instruction to hold
still.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded.

Hermione gave him a very motherly look as she wagged the vial in front of him. “It's a
healing potion. Since you have the Dark Mark carved very crudely into your cheek...” she trailed
off pointedly.

Harry let her touch his cheek again. “Where did you get it?” was all he wanted to know.

“Prefect's bathroom,” Hermione said, shooting him an apologetic smile. “I know, I know... I
said that I was fine with your healing charm, but I had found this, and it wasn't quite healed,
so I grabbed it and took it with me to the washroom.”

“Oh,” said Harry, knowing that he should probably feel some sort of hurt over her admission, but
there was none. “He carved the Dark Mark into my cheek?”

“Er,” said Hermione, grimacing. “Maybe?”

Harry just shook his head. He waited for her to finish and tried standing again, very relieved
when it did not inspire even half as much dizziness. “Where are we on getting out of here?”

“Well, I came out of it about twenty minutes ago, and Hermione's had me throw every opening,
unlocking, and unsealing charm at it that we've learned in the last five years—and some we
haven't—at it, but nothing.” Ron sighed. “It's definitely that Ferm-it thing.”

“Fermiat,” Hermione corrected quietly but offered nothing more. Her concern of earlier gone, the
stupor that replaced it was completely unlike her, even taking the situation into consideration.
Harry took a deep breath, having to steady himself this time, before kneeling beside her again. He
placed a hand on her shoulder, a hand she quickly covered with her own.

Yet she wouldn't turn and face him.

“You all right?” Harry said softly.

“Yes. Fine.”

Harry's heart sank. Even more quietly, he replied, “You aren't all right.”

“Harry, please.” Suddenly she turned, knocking his hand away from her shoulder. “There actually
might be another way, but I—never mind. It—you'd have to—”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Help me up.”

This time, Harry raised an eyebrow. He and Ron both moved to either side of her, neither of them
really in any condition to offer assistance alone, and they each helped hall her up on one side.
She stepped forward on shaky legs, running her hands across the stone wall, just as Ron had
earlier.

“No. Never mind,” Hermione sighed, teetering unsteadily. “Not going to work.”

“What's not going to work?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“Nothing.” The boys exchanged nervous glances. “Look, I thought there might be another way,
but—no.”

“What was it?” Ron wanted to know.

“*It won't work*,” Hermione snapped.

Sensing a row, Harry stepped between the two of them, only to find that sudden movements still
weren't such a good idea. Gritting his teeth, he put both his hands up.

“Fighting isn't going to get us out of here,” said Harry cautiously.

“Neither our getting along,” said Hermione softly. “We're stuck here, and there's
nothing we can do to get out. Voldemort will destroy the school in a few hours, then he'll come
for us. Or he'll come for us and then destroy the school. Either way—*we're dead*.”
Tears glistened in her eyes.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione?”

Needless to say, Ron had both Harry and Hermione's attention. “Come on, haven't we been
in mortal peril loads of times before? We got out alive then, and we'll get out now. Or—” Ron
muttered this part “—our dead bodies will eventually add something to this room's décor.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don't know what's gotten into me.” She looked away, and Harry
noticed for the first time the black eye she had acquired while he was unconscious. “I-I don't
know.”

Ron touched his chin, then nodded. “You were saying something about another way?” He glanced at
Harry, who shot him an appreciative look.

“There is, but—” Hermione shook her head, shaking her hands in front of her also. “There's a
privacy charm that works much like the Fermiat charm, but it's... not so easy to deactivate. It
doesn't involve magic, it involves—”

“Blood.” This time, Harry had the other two's attention. Hermione nodded, and Harry at once
held out both of his arms, which were covered in cuts and scrapes. “So, how does it work? Do I just
dribble a little bit on the wall?”

“In theory,” said Hermione. “but—you'd have to shed your own... Harry, no. I'm not sure
if what I have in mind will work, and I won't have you slicing yourself up until I've had a
chance to consider the magical prop—”

“I really don't think we have time for that,” said Harry, casting a glance at the room's
back wall, which earlier experience had taught him could dissolve at any moment. He'd first
pulled out his penknife, then started to replace it, then decided against it. He winced as he slid
the blade across his palm. He started to put it back in his pocket and step toward the door, but
Ron stopped him.

“Any chance it'd work better if we both tried?” The redhead glanced back at Hermione.

“No—you—ugh! I'm not sure if this is going to work, and you're both just—look, I was
only considering that the two spells have almost the same written form, and that blood will
deactivate the privacy charm because someone willing to shed blood to reveal something probably
deserves to have it—”

“Works for me,” Ron interrupted, and, with a shrug, he too sliced his palm open. Wearing the
same grimace as Harry, he lifted his hand. “Want to test Hermione's th—” A drop of Ron's
blood escaped his cut, and it had hit the wall to no effect. “Never mind.”

“Reckon that leaves me. Here goes.” Harry had already lost faith in Hermione's idea, but
still he squeezed his hand into a fist to smear his blood about. He pressed his palm to the wall,
and the wall began to move.

* * *

Much more slowly than they surely disappeared, the doors of the chamber began to reappear. The
trio wasted no time. The boys were already on their feet, but Hermione had sunk back down to the
floor during her explanation of the blood rite. Ron was a little steadier on his feet than Harry,
so he grabbed hold of Hermione and hauled her up.

“Wands,” Harry managed, despite his shock. He turned to Ron. “He's got mine, that I
remember, but what happened to yours?”

“I was using Hermione's,” said Ron, shrugging as he handed the thin piece of wood to Harry,
who pocketed it once again. “I think I might have dropped it over there.” He nodded in the
direction of the room's far corner, unable to point for holding up Hermione.

“Got it—” Harry started, heading in that direction. A loud tearing noise interrupted him.

“On second thought, he probably took it with him,” said Ron quickly. “I'll just... get
another!”

The ringing noise Harry had first heard when he came to gone, he was now fairly certain that he
was able to hear his own heart beating. Forgetting his palm was so bloody, he placed a hand on
Hermione's back as the room began to shake. “*Go!*”

Thankfully, the doors had finished forming. Ron and Hermione stumbled through them first, and
Harry pulled them shut behind him. The rumbling intensified, a mist formed, a far-off wailing
began. And hadn't the door seemed somewhat wrong as well? Ignoring the pain he was in, Harry
again urged his friends—and himself—forward. “Come on—we have to get out of here!”

Forget mist. The room was now enveloped by a very thick fog. They got through one room, and one
more, running, moving as fast as a six-legged cluster of bodies could. One more room, but Hermione
stumbled, dragging Ron down with her and causing Harry to trip.

Before the room had felt like it was spinning. Now it actually was. Great gusts of air swirled
around them, making more noise than wind was ever meant to. Maybe the blood-letting wasn't the
best idea. Maybe they had opened something much greater than the doors.

Maybe they were just back where they had started.

“Didn't we just leave here?” Ron muttered, picking himself up. “I mean, not more than thirty
seconds ago?” He helped Harry up but didn't make a move towards Hermione until she cleared her
throat. “Sorry. Forgot.”

“That's all right,” said Hermione primly as she was passed from Ron to Harry. He wrapped an
arm around her back as she rested both her hands on his one shoulder. “I... I really don't know
where it went wrong.”

“Maybe it's a trick of the light,” said Harry hesitantly.

“More like it's a trick of Krum's,” Ron scoffed. “Hermione?”

“I just said that I didn't know,” she replied. “Maybe—”

“Maybe dear Vihar was wrong.” A new voice had chimed in. “Maybe you *are* aware of your
birth rite. Maybe Dumbledore *has* explained to you the power running through your veins.
“Maybe—” Through the fog, a pale hand of long fingers and cold skin emerged. It was attached to a
long, lean body, at the top of which sat the most horrible head imaginable—bald, with a distorted
face of cracked lips and scarlet eyes. Krum's master. The Dark Lord. Voldemort. “Maybe you
thought you could escape.”

Voldemort, more a creature than a person, had somehow materialized before him. That, Harry
supposed, was a trick of the light. He knew that they had spent plenty of time with the book of
wards to the castle, but he highly doubted it hand been long enough to dismantle the Apparation
protection. The Dark Lord chuckled, probably at the look of surprise on Harry's face.

“Potter,” he said.

Harry took a deep breath. Ignoring Hermione's tightening grasp on his shoulder, he replied,
“Voldemort.”

The Dark Lord's eyes flashed. “Weasley. Granger. Step away from your friend.” Sensing what
was to come, Harry shoved Hermione into Ron when they did not obey. He said nothing, just braced
himself for the Cruciatus Curse. As Voldemort raised his wand, he tried to appear unaffected, but
he couldn't help but wonder how many times one could endure the curse before his body went out
or he went insane. “*Nonte*.”

Not the Cruciatus Curse. Just as bad.

Harry's knees buckled, his breath caught. He first went numb as *something* bound his
hands, but the icy cool sensation soon passed, replaced by fiery hot. It was as though someone was
driving scorching pokers into his body. He continued choking as one hole after another was burned
into his chest and stomach. Finally, the spell stopped burning his flesh, but there was more for
him to endure.

Seconds later, Harry's arms were pulled out in front of him, and they were soon covered from
wrist to shoulder with deep gashes. The invisible force that had grabbed his arms then dropped
them, yanking his head back. He could have sworn that there was a blade at his throat then, but the
sensation passed quickly. The same something as before hit him hard in the face before shoving him
to the ground.

Voldemort just stepped forward and yanked the boy up, examining his handiwork. “Pity,” he
muttered, stepping back. “I hadn't meant to mar you so badly, but it's just so hard to find
the right incantation. Now, why don't we try again? I'll even guide you through the
greeting process—I will speak to you, and you will kneel and call me `Master.'” His face froze
in a smile so caricature that it could have been on a child's doll. “Potter.”

When Harry dropped to his knees again, it was actually in pain, not of obedience. He was
twitching, sweat dripping from his brow, but he wasn't about to give in to the Dark Lord's
demands. His hands again bound behind his back, he forced as much expression to his face as
possible. “What... was that?” he gasped instead.

“Not going to play by my rules,” said Voldemort, shaking his head. He had Ron and Hermione
scrambling farther into the room's corner as he circled Harry. “But, if you must know, that was
a torture charm made popular by an Asian wizard in the fourteenth century. I forget how convenient
it is—binds the hands, buckles the knees, freezes the body, drives red-hot pokers into the skin,
slashes, threatens, elbows... it makes torture so much easier. I can't recall how long it's
been since I used it last.” The corners of his mouth turned upward in smirk. “Well, when I was
torturing your father to death, yes, but since...

“Now,” said the Dark Lord, beginning to pace. “Krum tells me that the three of you have made
real nuisances of yourself, breaking memory charms, entering our chambers, stirring things up.
He's not without bruises, so he isn't too pleased, but I just don't think it has sunk
in yet how much easier the three of you are making things.

“I figured that tomorrow would just be a nightmare—headaches all around, what with Potter trying
to sneak people out `secret'—” he actually made air quotes at this point in the conversation
“—passages to Hogsmeade, Weasley and his siblings bringing shame to purebloods everywhere,
Granger—well, up until the dementors took your powers, I figured you'd run about playing
nursemaid, but anymore I'm not sure.

“Three separate kills. I figured I would have to waste precious time on each of you, but not
anymore. And you've even taken care of Dumbledore and many of the other able professors for
me—someone will notice your absences, and soon all of Hogwarts will be engaged in your search.
I'll just be able to... walk... right... *in*.” His eyes appeared more catlike in
appearance as he hung to the shadows. “Just... just imagine for a moment, how different this hour
would be had you gone to Dumbledore instead. I'm sure it would have worked Vihar up so much, to
receive just a glimpse of what you were doing, that our plans would have come to the girl.”

The Dark Lord had left Harry wheezing in the room's center, cornering Hermione instead. He
forced her against the wall and lifted her chin akin to Krum. “Coming down here,” he said, shaking
his head, “everyone benefits, with the exception of you three. I'll have to kill Potter, of
course, and I reckon even Weasley's spirit can be destroyed with the aid of magic. Krum has
asked to keep you for his own use, which I have no problem with.”

Shaking his head, Voldemort continued, “I never understand that. So many of my boys have similar
fixations, though usually not with any particular girl like he does. Personally, I find it a bit
disturbing, very twisted, incredibly sick, but when one does work of Krum's caliber, you learn
to overlook.” He drew his wand, but instead of inflicting pain, he said, “*Frendius*.”

Harry finally managed to catch his breath in time to watch the bruise around Hermione's eye
fade. The Dark Lord dropped her chin, patted her shoulder, and focused on Ron. “Weasley—why do you
shake in fear when Krum tells me you were more problematic earlier than even Potter? When Granger
trembles less when the touch is mine rather than Krum's? Is it that you feared me years before
they even knew my name?

“You don't have to fear me,” Voldemort whispered. “Other purebloods look down on you, but
not I. I care not for your riches—I care for your blood. I have always felt that the Weasley
family's hard times were most unfortunate. Your parents might have denied the blood traditions,
but I am sure you know just how pure your linage runs. Weasley, I can redeem you. I can overlook
your foolhardy bravery if only you'll agree to charge at my command, not Dumbledore's.” He
motioned for Ron to rise. “Call me `Master' and say you'll serve me, and I'll burn the
Mark into your flesh.”

Both Harry and Hermione watched, horrified, as their redheaded friend did as he was told. Their
was something about the Dark Lord's tone and the way he carried his wand that had made Harry
realize he was working some kind of manipulating magic on Ron, but he still hadn't expect his
friend to—

“Master,” said Ron.

Harry's heart sank as Voldemort's thin lips stretched into a wide smile. “Yes,” he
breathed. “Yes—”

The redhead interrupted him by swinging a hard punch in the Dark Lord's direction. Ron's
fist collided easily with Voldemort's face, and Voldemort yowled in pain. His hands flew to his
face, giving Ron an opportunity to duck around him. Harry was grinning stupidly, but Hermione
wasn't.

“You're going to get yourself killed,” she hissed, stumbling over to where Harry kneeled
still. She had a hand on his shoulder, their roles reversed as she helped Ron haul him to his feet.
Hermione's attention, however, was not on Harry. She glared at Ron. “Why did you do that?”

“I think I broke something,” said Ron, cringing as he rubbed his hand, ignoring Hermione
completely. He glanced at Voldemort, who was still clutching his face. “Not sure if it was my hand
or his jaw.”

Harry couldn't stop stressing his amazement. “I thought you—”

“He's going to have to throw something worse than a *Macero* command to get me on his
side,” said Ron savagely. Hermione shot him another look. “What? I can't just know some—fine.
It came up when I was researching the Belwit Curse.”

“See?” said Hermione. She would have had more time to look smug if the Dark Lord hadn't
chosen that moment to stop hollering and start blasting everything in sight.

“I'll kill you,” Voldemort growled, advancing on Ron. His wand discharged several spells and
charms, breaking apart the back wall. A ragged piece caught Ron in the face, ripping into his
flesh, and a full brick discharged and almost caught Hermione in the side of the head. Startled,
she lost her balance and fell before Harry could catch her. “I'll kill all three of you.
It's Potter that I want, Potter that I need, but you've made me mad. You could have stood
beside me, Weasley, could have joined my inner circle, and I would have let the girl live despite
her disgusting heritage. *Not* *anymore*.

“*Crucio!*” Voldemort shouted. “*Stupefy! Relashio! Nonte! Serpensortia!*
*Imperio!* *Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!*”

Magic flew around the room. Harry caught two of the four Cruciatus Curses; the other two tore
apart one of the room's side walls. A fire started in the room's center, and the Ron was
currently enduring the same curse of torture Harry had. Snakes slithered all about the room, and
the Dark Lord began speaking Parseltongue to them. The Imperius Curse, fortunately, hit no one, but
the effect it had on the room was tremendous—it began to rumble, chunks of wall falling all around
them.

The back wall dissolved, and Krum rushed in, probably having heard the noise. The Death Eater
took only seconds to take in the situation before raising his wand. “*Finite—*”

“No!” Voldemort interrupted. He continued hissing to the snakes, and they began to circle
Hermione. The snake-conjuring charm seemed to be the only thing that Hermione's fall hadn't
protected her from. Harry, coming out of the second round of the Cruciatus Curse, strained to make
out the commands, but he was too tired. He picked himself up only to stumble backwards into the
wall.

Something poked him in the back.

“*Expelliarmus!*” Harry shouted, drawing Hermione's wand with a shaking hand. He prayed
that it would work, what with it not being his and all. But he had no reason to
worry—Voldemort's wand rocketed through the air, Krum's following slightly behind. Harry
caught both of them but let go almost at once. One of the two had burnt his hand. With Harry's
luck, it was the one that rolled away. Not allowing himself to dwell on that thought, he stomped on
the second wand. The thin piece of wood snapped cleanly in two. “*Finite Incantatum!*”

There was silence, but not for more than several seconds. Voldemort lunged at Harry, closing the
distance between them surprisingly fast. The Boy-Who-Lived had thought perhaps the Dark Lord was
still somewhat weak, considering how long Ron's punch had stalled him, but the very opposite
was true. With amazing strength, he pinned Harry against the wall and plucked Hermione's wand
from his hand.

“No matter what, you die,” Voldemort hissed. “I was going to let you fight for your friends,
however. Not anymore. I'm going to kill you, and with your own wand. Didn't you know?
Brother wands? It will work just as well for me as it does for you.” Harry hadn't time to
correct him before he raised Hermione's wand. His lips curled upwards in smile, and Harry
braced himself, hoping against hope that maybe his friends would still find a way out. “*Avada
Kedavra.*”

The green light hit Harry half a second later and reflected off him in half a second more. It
shot across the room, widening its path with every inch it traveled, and hit Krum square in the
chest. The Death Eater's eyes bulged. He crumbled and lie still.

Now it was Voldemort's eyes that widened. “What... Vihar?” he questioned, the pain in his
voice real. He started towards the fallen Death Eater, but he didn't get farther than a step
before he turned and grabbed Harry's neck. “*You*... what is your magic?”

Harry could hardly swallow. “Don't... know...” he choked.

The Dark Lord held up Hermione's wand with his other hand. “Your...” his eyes flashed. “Not
yours. Hers. And since she won't be needing it—” He snapped her wand in one easy motion,
discarding both pieces. Never relaxing his grip on Harry's throat, Voldemort yanked the boy
with him as he backed up to the room's other wall. He picked up the first wand, the one that
had rolled away from Harry when he dropped it, and pressed it into the boy's stomach. Harry
tried to squirm away, but it was no use. “*Guniet*.”

Voldemort backed away from Harry, and the boy slid down the wall. His hand moved automatically
toward his side, only to find that there was much less flesh there than there should have been. He
blinked several times, his hand smeared thick with blood when he pulled it away. Harry felt as
though he had been ripped apart as the Dark Lord knelt. He grabbed at the boy's collar.

“You could have gone quietly,” he said. And he stood, and he sashayed out of the room, back to
where the doors Vihar had created still stood wide open. He gave the trio one last look before
closing them, focused very much on the room's forward wall. “I'll be back.”

Hermione was first to his side. “Oh God,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks
already. “Harry?”

Ron had reached them by then, limping even more than she was. He, too, crouched beside them.
“Get his shirt off,” he ordered, already unbuttoning it. When that had been shed, Hermione reached
gingerly for Harry's undershirt. Harry, meanwhile, did not even have the strength to fight them
off.

“Oh God,” Hermione repeated, and Harry found he was having trouble focusing. “He...”

“What,” Harry managed then, “what did he do?”

“Guniet,” Hermione whispered. “It's an incantation, like a Muggle gunshot. It... it rips
into... it always...”

“Kills,” Harry finished when she could not. He could feel her hands on his stomach, right above
where he was wounded. He finally managed to grab one of them, giving it a tight squeeze. “Help me
up,” he demanded.

“What?” Hermione replied, startled. “Harry, we can't move you.”

“It's not that bad,” said Harry honestly. He was shaking horribly, he knew, but the pain had
subsided. He knew he was losing blood; he wasn't sure how rapidly. All he knew was that he had
finally managed to focus his eyes, only to see an open door. That's what Voldemort's
intense last look was for. He had actually provided them a way out. “It's...”

But Harry had tried to stand on his own and gotten no where. Minutes before he had been almost
prepared to die, staring down the wand Voldemort held, knowing that the Killing Curse was to come.
He willed himself to think that this was no different. He batted Hermione's hands away when
they moved towards his midsection this time. “The doors are open. You... you have to get out.”

“We're not leaving you,” said Hermione fiercely.

“No, we're not,” Ron chimed in. It was only the second thing he had said since rushing to
Harry's side. “I'm not going anywhere, not when—” the redhead turned his head “—it's my
fault.”

“What, your punch?” Harry choked. “I... enjoyed... that. You have to do... what you have to do.”
He could see now that his blood was everywhere. Hermione had backed away from him just enough for
him to see that just trying to examine his injuries had covered her up to the elbow in it. “So...
get out of here.”

“We're not leaving you,” Hermione repeated, more firmly this time. “Ron, hand me his other
shirt, will you?”

Ron must have done as he was told, as Harry soon felt Hermione press the garment against the
wound. She leaned in and kissed his forehead. “It's going to be all right,” she said, but Harry
had to wonder if it was really for his benefit or hers.

He managed a small smile and glanced up at her. “No it's not,” he said quietly. The wave of
pain that hit him earlier subsided, he was starting to feel numb all over. He found it easier to
talk. “The two of you need to get out of here. I doubt... Voldemort... will linger... in there...
much longer than I linger here.”

“Don't talk like that,” Hermione said. “You're going to be fine.”

Harry just shook his head. He glanced at Ron, who was staring at him with equal parts despair
and admiration. “Get her out of here.”

“Harry—” Ron started.

“Do it,” Harry interjected. He smiled when the redhead opened his mouth, closed it again, and
nodded. “See you, Mate.”

Ron stood up. He grimaced when he put weight on his one leg, but it was clear that a little pain
wasn't going to stop him. He reached for Hermione's armpits to haul her up, but she
squirmed away.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Surely you aren't serious about leaving him.”

“Hermione,” said Ron, glancing at Harry, who nodded. “It's what he wants.”

“It's not!” she sobbed, squirming away from him for a second time. “How can it be?”

Harry's vision had been blurring for a good thirty seconds now, and he finally gave in,
closing his eyes. “Hermione, he's right. It'll be easier for me if I know that the two of
you made it out at least. Please?”

“No,” Hermione muttered, her sobs coming in great gasps now. “Harry, I—I—” she said, grabbing
for his hand. Despite wanting her to go, Harry couldn't help but take it. He tried to ignore
the way her fingers settled on his wrist, right where she could feel his pulse.

“Come on, Hermione,” Harry heard Ron say. “We'll just... we'll just go get help.
You'll see, it'll be okay.”

“No it won't!” Harry imagined she was biting her lip. “Not if... not if... Harry...” He
heard her take a deep breathe, felt her lips touch his forehead once more. “I love you,” she
whispered.

She said something else, and so did Ron, but Harry couldn't make it out. He felt his
expression change—he imagined he was smiling. The numbness had been replaced by the nicest warmth.
More time passed, but he wasn't sure how much. It could have been seconds, minutes, or even
hours, but it didn't matter. He managed to squeeze Hermione's hand again. For a second, he
could have sworn he felt a tinge of energy pass through him, but in the end, he slipped silently
into blackness.

The Boy Who Lived had passed.

* * *

Hermione had felt Harry's pulse slow, then stop entirely, long before she had the heart to
announce it to Ron. Admitting it made it real, but even then she couldn't bring herself to say
that Harry had died. “He must have lost too much blood,” she said in a small voice.

Ron only nodded. “Yes,” he said finally, not even bothering to hide the tears escaping his own
eyes. “He must have.”

Wordlessly, Hermione dropped Harry's hand, leaning over his still body to kiss his forehead
one last time. She tried telling herself in that moment all the things her grandmother had told her
as a little girl, when her aunt died and her one grandpa and her beloved pet cat, that Harry had
gone to a better place. She glanced up at Ron. “Help me,” she whispered.

The redhead did as he was told, helping her up. He had to catch her even then, because her legs
had started to buckle beneath her. It was odd—she could have sworn that she felt something pass
through her seconds before Harry died. Apparently, though, she had mistaken exhaustion for energy.
Once standing, she had to turn her head away. Ron did not.

“See him, right,” he muttered. Ron shook his head. “We have to get out of here.”

“Yes,” said Hermione, but they lingered for another thirty or so second before heading for the
double doors. Ron was helping Hermione through them when they slammed close, knocking her off her
feet and him clear across the room. The doors on the *other* side of the room reappeared, and
the Dark Lord stepped back into the chamber. He was holding onto his wrist as he stepped over
Vihar's body.

“Time of death,” Voldemort announced, “was 3:06.” He smirked. “That is, of course, taking into
account the time replacement spell I used to keep the three of you in here earlier. How does it
feel now, now that the trio's down to two?”

Ron had picked himself up off the floor. “You—”

“*Stupefy*,” the Dark Lord commanded, turning his wand on the redhead. Cut off, Ron fell
over backwards. “What is that,” he murmured, advancing on Hermione, “the third time tonight? The
fourth? Too many Stunners will stop a person's heart, you know, and we don't want
that.”

Voldemort tossed her something then. “Potter's wand,” he said, his voice cutting. “You
can't, of course, use it, but I thought that I might—”

Sparks had flown from the wand when Hermione caught it, and something inside her snapped. She
picked herself off the chamber floor and advanced on the Dark Lord, forgetting entirely how her leg
hurt when she put weight on it. Her arm was shaking as she extended it, but she managed to hold
firmly to Harry's wand.

“He didn't deserve to die,” Hermione said angrily. She hated the way the word `die' felt
coming out of her mouth, but it was the kind of hatred that drove her to get going. “Harry is a
good person, and while I might not be ready to refer to him in past tense yet, I am ready to make
you *pay* for what you did to him.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Voldemort wanted to know. He was chuckling.

“Like this,” said Hermione, her voice cold. She lifted Harry's wand higher.
“*Crucio.*”

Voldemort just kept laughing. “Besides being magical, you'd have to mean—” He shrieked in
pain as hit the floor, his limbs twisted around him. Hermione's arm was still shaking, but it
did nothing to keep her from directing the curse to the Dark Lord.

“I mean it,” she shot back, finally pulling up the wand.

“You,” Voldemort hissed, glancing at her as he picked himself up off the floor, the curse having
thrown him face down against the chamber. “You can't—” his eyes narrowed. “His magic. He passed
his magic to you when he died.”

“Since you're so hell-bent on getting his blood,” Hermione said, “just be glad it wasn't
that.”

“You're in my way,” the Dark Lord replied. “He loved you. And you loved him.
And—*c**rucio!*”

Hermione felt a surge pass through her, and she dropped Harry's wand. However, the surge she
felt was not the tortures of the Cruciatus Curse. With a wave of her hand, she cut the light
pouring from the tip of the Dark Lord's wand. His wide eyes only widened, and she took a deep
breath. That's when it hit her—she *had* received Harry's magic. That was the surge
she had felt. More were coming now, as magic coursed through her veins once again. She waved her
other hand, creating a silvery film that quickly surrounded her.

“I've read a lot of books,” said Hermione, tears streaming down her cheeks, “a lot of books
on every subject, including Harry. Not one of them tells me why *you* wanted *him* dead.
Tonight Krum tells me that there are some gates, some stupid forgotten gates that only can be
opened if Harry dies, and I've never found them in any of my books either.” She stepped
forward, extending one of her hands in Voldemort's direction. The gesture had him backing
cowardly up. “I want to know one thing—if they're so forgotten, *Voldemort*, why do you
know about them?”

“Magic,” said the Dark Lord, trembling. “Did you ever stop to think about the origin of magic?
Why there are Muggle-borns and squibs? There is another realm... a realm where magic is stored.
There are gates... very old barriers that separate this world from that world. Before... before
they were put up, there were no Muggles. But there's only so much magic in this world... magic
is a constant, you see, and as the population grew, there was not enough to go around.

“Everyone was still magical, but as centuries passed, everyone had less power. Soon it would be
that no one had any, so the forces that control such things stepped in, creating the gates and
appointing a gatekeeper to dispense magic to the worthy. Several more centuries passed, with
everyone at first accepting that the Keeper knew best. However, it soon became difficult for the
Muggles and the Magicians to get along. The Muggles were jealous, the Magicians arrogant.

“A war broke out between the two groups. The Muggles tried to storm the gates, which at the time
were still physical barriers between the realms. Most of the Magicians only cared that they would
no longer be superior. A wizard artisan in Hogsmeade—the village nearest to the gates—realized that
there would be much bigger problems. He single-handedly protected the gates from the Muggles, and
the forces stepped in to create a new system.

“The physical gates had been destroyed, and it seemed that there was no longer an entrance to
the realm. It had to still exist—after all, wizards were still being born—but people soon realized
that they had no way to access it. They forgot about it, until a little more than a thousand years
ago—a new establishment was being built, and some old ruins on the site caused quite a stir.
Everyone knew that there was something about it, something that made magic more possible in the
area.

“Then Rowena Ravenclaw—yes, the establishment was Hogwarts—managed a rough translation of the
ruins. A prophecy had been written there when the gates had been destroyed. They existed, still,
between the world and the realm, and could only be accessed through ritual. But in order to perform
the ritual—”

“The artisan hero and his bloodline had to be destroyed,” Hermione finished. She had cried all
the tears she could, but one more managed to escape her. “Well congratulations. You did it. You
killed Mr. Potter's family, you killed him, and you killed Harry. I guess you can perform your
ritual now.”

Voldemort stopped trembling. “Actually,” he said. “I can.”

Hermione hadn't realized that the silvery film she had put up had dissolved. She only
narrowly avoided the Dark Lord when he lunged at her. She stumbled but managed to grab Harry's
wand again. “*Expelliarmus!*”

Nothing happened.

“Pity,” said Voldemort sadly. “I guess the transfer of magic was only temporary. Now,
there's something else about the destruction of the Potter bloodline—the ability to protect the
gates can be extended—through love. Fourteen years ago we figured that once James Potter had been
killed, Lily Potter would lose the ability. I thought I could allow her to live long enough to
perform the ritual, but now I know it isn't so. Had I spared her, she would have kept the
ritual invalid still, and I would be that much further from the power I deserve. And, since Harry
loved you—*Avada,*” he whispered, “*Kedavra.*”

Time seemed to stand still. In reality, the green light was moving towards her at incredible
speed, but to Hermione, it seemed to go incredibly slow. She braced herself, instinctively throwing
an arm up to shield her face.

The light shattered.

For a second, the room was still, but then a roar cut through the silence. Sparks of green left
over from Voldemort's attempt to kill her erupted as the chamber began to spin. Hermione found
herself first on her feet, then being lifted into the air. The Dark Lord began to scream as the
room rotated faster and faster around them. Having trouble telling if the revolutions were real or
aftereffects of the spell, Hermione began to feel nauseated.

“Potter,” Voldemort hissed as he was plucked from the ground. The green light went blue, then
purple, then red. With another loud explosion, the room froze, Hermione hovering a good foot off
the ground and the Dark Lord caught in a whirlwind of light and noise. The light cracked, and he
disappeared with it. “POTTER!”

Hermione could hear his scream long after he departed. Suddenly, the room cleared of the
overhanging fog, and she was thrown onto the ground. Her landing snapped her wrist, but she was far
beyond noticing the pain. She still held tightly to Harry's wand.

Voldemort was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't make the other three bodies any less
noticeable. Dead Krum, dead Harry. Hermione glanced across the room, praying that the same
wasn't true for Ron. She knew that he had only been stunned, but she had no idea what kind of
magic she had just performed or what its effects might be. She shivered, her arms still covered
with Harry's blood and her clothes still torn from when Krum had knocked the boys unconscious
to rape her again. She looked around the chamber for signs of life once again, but there
weren't any. It was just her, alone, in the rubble.

She had thought she had cried all her tears, but it wasn't true. More came as she hugged her
knees to her chest. That was when Hermione noticed the feather in the center of the room, where the
tunnel of light that had consumed Voldemort had originated.

There were more pressing issues at hand, but Hermione had to know. She raised Harry's wand.
“*Wingardium Leviosa,*” she whispered.

The feather floated higher than any she had floated before.

-->



40. Come Back to Me
-------------------



Chapter Thirty-Seven

COME BACK TO ME

More upset than she had been all year, Hermione wanted nothing more than to curl up in
Harry's lap to hear him tell her that he would be there no matter. She wanted him to take her
hand and stroke her hair and rub her back in those little circles like he was so good at doing. She
wanted him to get angry so she could calm him down. She wanted his confidence in her so that she
would not lose what little she had left in herself. She wanted him so desperately and ached for him
so much that she was certain she had stopped wanting Harry for her need of him.

It didn't matter, what she wanted or even what she needed. Sitting on the stone floor of the
dark chamber, covered in blood and sweat and tears and all sorts of fifth, Hermione had to settle
for hugging her knees to her chest. It seemed as though time stood still in that dank little room
as she cried the same tears and banished the same thoughts and made the same wish over and over
again. She couldn't imagine life without Harry, let alone live it, and she was so scared that
what little she had would crumble also, she couldn't bring herself to try and awaken Ron.

Resting her cheek on her knee, Hermione found herself unable to turn her head from Harry's
body. If one were to disregard his obvious abdominal wound and look past the scratches, bruises,
and blood on his face, he looked oddly peaceful. One of his hands had actually come to rest across
his stomach, blocking the worst of that, and the other rested on his leg—she had placed it there
when she finally let go. His hair was messy, as always, and his glasses no more askew than they
ever were.

It didn't seem right, that his time had come so soon. Even if this moment was years and
years down the line, Hermione couldn't see how he deserved such a violent ending. Krum had gone
in an instant, and if anyone deserved an excruciatingly painful death, it was him, if not
Voldemort. Hermione didn't even allow herself to think about the Dark Lord. She was afraid that
she would convince herself that his disappearance was for good only to have him reappear in the
following minutes.

Hermione also didn't allow herself to think about her own injuries. Certainly, the only
thing worse than the crushing pain in her right leg was the throbbing of her left, or perhaps the
certain break in her wrist. Her entire body was stinging, probably from the magic left behind in
Voldemort's wake. She did realize that both her legs were injured now, which would make
escaping the room nearly impossible, and she finally worked up the courage to call out to Ron.

“Ron?” she said, suddenly aware how much time had passed. Ron should have stirred by now, yet he
did not respond as she called. Her heart began to break all over again. “Ron?”

Still no answer. *No, no, no.* She had already lost Harry; Ron couldn't be gone as
well. He just couldn't. Convincing herself to cast a glance in the redhead's direction,
Hermione found him as still and unmoving as their friend, his body actually slumped more awkwardly
on the floor.

Hermione let out a strangled sob. They were only supposed to find an empty room. They were only
supposed to find clues to her attacker's identity, not her attacker. They were only supposed to
stay there a few minutes. Harry and Ron weren't meant to find eternity there, were they?

“Ron,” Hermione said again, “please, not you too. Please...” She dragged herself closer, and it
was only then that she noticed the rise and fall of his chest. Ron was still out from the Stunner,
that was all, but tears continued to flow down Hermione's cheeks. She scooted closer to the
redhead, finally close enough that she could touch him. Even then he did not stir.

At that moment, the doors leading into the chamber flew open. Hermione yelped, fully expecting
an angry Voldemort to step through, looking for revenge.

“Miss Granger!”

It was the same voice that called on her so often in Transfigurations, but never before had
Professor McGonagall sounded so frantic. The witch stopped dead in her tracks. “What has happened
to you? Where are you hurt? Who has... *oh, Albus!*”

“Is Malfoy's story true?” someone else called. It was Professor Lupin. “And Miss
Clemens?”

“Can't you tell, Lupin?” spat Snape, sweeping into the chamber behind the Defense professor.
“Granger, where is all the blood coming from?”

“Harry,” Hermione found herself sobbing. “H-he killed him. He killed Harry.”

“Potter?” said McGonagall timidly, lowering herself slowly to Hermione's level. Hermione
felt a hand on her back, and she stiffened.

Snape, on the other hand, strode forth without hesitation. Lupin seemed to be in shock, and
Professor Dumbledore, the last of the teachers to enter the room, had lost the twinkle in his
ancient eyes as he took in the situation. His mouth was set in a thin line.

“Voldemort killed him,” Hermione whimpered, not allowing her professors to pull her away from
Ron. She watched the Potions Master lower himself over Harry. “He was trying to protect us. He was
trying to keep Voldemort from killing us, so Voldemort tried to kill him, but my wand wouldn't
do it. It killed Vihar instead. He was so mad... he used the Guniet Charm, Harry hadn't a
chance...”

“He is not dead Miss Granger,” said Snape briskly. “He seems to be holding on still, but
probably not for much longer.”

“No, don't tell me that,” Hermione begged, resisting Lupin's attempts to help her up
now. “Don't tell me that... Don't, Professor. I felt him go... I mean, I felt his pulse.
And his magic, it transferred to me. Please don't—”

Hermione was sure she made for quite a sight, fighting against the Defense professor in her
ripped and torn clothing, all of which was stained with blood. She couldn't stop talking
either, even when she knew she wasn't making any sense.

“Well his pulse is back, Miss Granger,” Snape interrupted snidely. “It is obvious that you have
been—”

Dumbledore cut in. “Get him to the hospital wing, Severus, before it is too late,” he commanded
in a low, gravelly voice.

Snape did as he was told, levitating Harry's still body with a flick of his wand, hurrying
past the Headmaster. It was only then that Hermione saw Professors Sprout and Flitwick standing
behind him, and beyond them was the most unlikely person she could imagine—Draco Malfoy.

“Hermione,” said Dumbledore calmly, “is Mr. Weasley all right to move?”

Hermione finally stopped struggling, allowing Lupin to separate her and Ron. She nodded, her
cheeks wet with tears. “He's been stunned... a few times.”

“Very well,” said Dumbledore solemnly. “Filius?”

“I'll get him to the hospital wing,” Flitwick squeaked. He cast a charm on Ron at once,
staggering backward as the redhead lifted, and guided him carefully out of the chamber.

“And the Krum boy,” said Dumbledore cautiously. “Vihar, was it?”

Hermione nodded as the headmaster had the Herbology professor float the dead Death Eater out of
the room. She started struggling again, causing Lupin to try and calm her. Despite trusting all
three of the men left in the room, she couldn't help but shudder at their nearness.

Hermione couldn't take it anymore, her sobs racking her body. “"Vihar... hurt...
memory... Voldemort... Harry...” she choked out, well aware that the vast majority of her words
were unintelligible. She made a move to wipe away her tears and the sound of footsteps echoed
across the floor. Her eyes still watery, she wouldn't have known whose hand was on her shoulder
if he hadn't offered his words of comfort.

“He'll be okay,” said Draco awkwardly. “Potter's strong. He's been in bad scrapes
before, and he's always pulled through before. This time won't be any different.” He
glanced at the headmaster for approval before guiding her to her feet, though she really wasn't
standing as much as being held up. Despite needing comfort only Harry could provide, she clung to
Draco as though her life depended on it.

“You didn't see,” she whimpered. “He was hurt so badly.”

“I see what you see,” said the former Slytherin, filthier than she had seen him yet.
“Remember?”

“You brought everyone here,” said Hermione, finally understanding.

Draco just nodded.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Mr. Malfoy, will you be able to manage the tunnels alone on your
leg? I need you to retrieve Miss Clemens from my office and then go to the hospital wing, where the
two of you must tell Poppy everything that you can.”

“I can manage,” said Draco, and he scurried off, but not before passing Hermione to the Defense
professor.

The headmaster looked back to Hermione. “Miss Granger, are you ready to leave?”

Hermione bit her lip, studying the room's four walls intently for the last time. She hoped
she would never again see this chamber again, but she felt strange just leaving it. Finally,
however, she nodded. Dumbledore looked at Lupin.

“I wish that no more magic than necessary be used on her,” he said. “If what Malfoy says has
happened actually has, then it would be detrimental to try and levitate her now.”

Dumbledore said something else then, but Hermione for whatever reason could not make out the
words. She felt her head swimming, and she was suddenly very dizzy. She felt the professor lift her
carefully and start for the door, but everything after that would be a mystery to her. Hermione
closed her eyes, praying for better times when she opened the again.

* * *

“And they told me I was wasting my time, waiting for you to wake up,” a lazy voice drawled.
“Said you'd be out until at least tomorrow. How are you feeling, Granger?”

Hermione blinked several times, very aware that her eyes were open and somewhat worried about
why she couldn't see. Despite being unable to make out her surroundings, she quickly recognized
the feel of the standard-issue pillow beneath her cheek. Hospital wing. That gave here where she
was, but not who she was with. She couldn't think of a single person, besides Harry or Ron,
that cared enough to wait at her bedside, and her boys had certainly been injured worse than she
had the night before.

The person at her bedside clucked his tongue impatiently. “Come *on*, Granger. Do I really
sound like a member of the bloody bravery brigade?”

Though it clicked then that it was Draco, Hermione's mind had moved so far elsewhere that
she didn't acknowledge the realization. Everything came flooding back to her—breaking the
memory charm, going down to the room, finding Krum, facing Voldemort, waiting Harry die. Her vision
just beginning to clear, the tears now slipping down Hermione's cheeks ruined it again. Of
course it wasn't one of her boys at her bedside, for her rash insistence had killed Harry and
nearly killed Ron. She struggled to sit up.

“What have I done?” Hermione sobbed. She was completely oblivious of Draco, even as he grabbed
hold of her and started calling her name.

“Granger! Granger! Dammit, Hermione, get a grip! So Potter sang with the angels for a bit. Do
you not remember what happened after that?”

Hermione still wasn't listening, not entirely, at least. “My fault... he didn't want to
go... he died trying to protect...” As her sobs intensified, the hands gripping her shoulders
moved, and Hermione felt herself being drawn closer to the former Slytherin and even wrapped her
arms around his neck.

“I should have told him,” Hermione managed before her sobs consumed her completely. For a good
minute, she found herself crying into Draco's shoulder, gently being rocked back and forth, but
it didn't last. Draco pulled back and held her at arm's length, his hands holding on to her
upper arms. Finally, he sighed.

“That thing in the prefect bathroom,” Draco muttered. “Yes, you should have told him then that
you love him, not as he bled to death down there this morning.” She found her hands resting atop
his lower arms, the tears slowing but not stopping. “Do you remember—”

“How do you know about the prefect bathroom?” Hermione wanted to know. It had suddenly dawned on
her that it should have been weird waking up with Draco there. She couldn't figure out why it
wasn't. “What are you doing—”

“You don't remember,” said Draco. It was his turn to interrupt. His question had at some
point or another become a statement. “Hermione, what's the last thing you can recall—”

“Why do you know about the prefect bathroom?” Hermione interrupted frantically. “Where were you?
Were you there, spying on us? You always show up when something bad happens. What's—”

“Get a grip!” Draco roared, causing Hermione to recoil. Her outburst had her eyes brimming with
fresh tears. “Hermione, it's the Affinity. We're linked, remember? It came and went after
you lost your powers, but—” Draco shook his head, loosening his grasp on her shoulder as to not
startle her more than she was already. “I'm not going to hurt you,” he said, soothingly, “but
you're going to have to talk to me. Potter knew what had happened after the Dark Lord cursed
him. He knew he was dying, and it surprisingly didn't take Weasley too long to realize that as
well. Weasley tried to get you away, but—”

“But he couldn't,” Hermione cut in softly. “I stayed, but it wasn't like it was going to
make a difference. Harry had lost too much blood. I-I shouldn't have been so surprised.” She
lowered her head, the tears falling yet again. Draco's arm went around her shoulders this time,
and his other hand cupped her chin, lifting her head.

“Do you recall before that, still while you were holding his hand. That surge you felt?” Draco
took a deep breath. “His powers at that moment transferred to you—you realize it later, but I'm
not sure if you recall that. He died, minutes later, which the Dark Lord could sense because he had
been monitoring those gates—Dumbledore thinks that they could have been becoming more defined in
physical appearance until that moment. He came back in, seeing that Harry had died, but not
before... well, the whole thing about exchanging love.

“That's when the Dark Lord stunned Weasley—do you remember any of this? He tossed you
Potter's wand, not realizing you had also regained your powers. You threw a Cruciatus Curse at
him, blocked one he tried to throw at you, and forced him to tell you why he had killed Harry. He
tried to kill you, but since Harry had essentially died to save you, his magic and your powers
created a... I'm not sure what you would call it, but the Dark Lord disappeared. The professors
burst in a few minutes later—I had been with them almost as long as you had been with Krum, trying
to—”

“You saw what was happening,” Hermione said slowly, and Draco nodded, not even smirking even
thought that was exactly what he had been saying. “You—wait, Voldemort disappeared?”

“The Killing Curse he cast was essentially reversed, but since you really don't have the
correct mindset to killing anyone... no one knows where he is, but at least he's considerably
weaker now,” said Draco.

Hermione bit her lip. “But not dead?”

“Weakened considerably,” Draco repeated, then sighed. “The headmaster doubts he's dead or
even as far gone as he was the last time he disappeared, but—”

“Weakened considerably,” Hermione whispered. “Not good enough.” She was trying to work up enough
courage to ask about Harry, but Draco didn't make her.

“I'm not going to lie to you,” said Draco hesitantly, though it was very clear that he
wanted to. “Potter's in a bad way. He died, Granger, nothing can change that. Your—something
about all that magic brought him back. The energy or something shocked his heart back into beating.
He came back, but it's not to say what happened was reversed. He was dying when you brought him
back—bought him time, didn't save him. It doesn't look good, but Madam Pomfrey is
determined to save him if she has to exhaust her magic for a lifetime.”

Hermione, who had been helped back against her pillows minutes before by Draco, was pushed back
down by him when she tried to sit back up. “I have to—”

“You *can't*,” said Draco forcefully. “It'll only upset you to see him as he is,
and besides, you're hurt too. Not in any shape to be up and about.”

“You could help me,” Hermione pleaded.

Draco arched an eyebrow. His gaze shifted for the first time from her and down to his leg, which
was propped up on a chair and wrapped to well above his knee with clean white bandages. An apology
on her tongue, Hermione was shocked to hear the same from him.

“I know you want to see him, but I'm not exactly in the position to help you even to the
other side of the ward. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” said Hermione, averting her eyes. Draco's giving of himself had left her
slightly off her game. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Thanks to you. Snape patched us all up because Pomfrey had to focus on Potter and Weasley. I
told him all about your healing charms all those weeks ago—it turns out you stopped a massive
infection from growing. I might have lost my leg.” Draco shrugged suddenly. “Don't think that
way. It's nothing that a nice regimen of magic and therapy can't fix.”

Hermione cracked a small smile, wondering if it should have been stranger for him to know what
she was thinking. The thought had no longer crossed her mind before Draco smirked, causing her to
glare at him. “Then no more limping?”

“Yes, but not for awhile. At least I'll have company—you had a hairline fracture Snape
fixed, but it'll take a few days for your sprained knee to heal.”

Hermione nodded, reaching down to her knee. Even beneath the sheets and blankets, she could feel
the bandages wrapped around it. “So...”

Draco glanced away. “Harry has a lot to live for, Hermione, but...”

“But?”

“They still aren't sure if they got to him in time.”

Hermione nodded, wondering if it were possible to feel much worse than she did at the moment.
“What sort of condition is he in?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to know.

“Head trauma, cuts, bruises, massive internal injuries,” Draco said, muttering through much of
it. “And they're worried about blood poisoning or something. His leg was shattered by one of
those destruction spells the Dark Lord cast. Pretty much dusted the bone. Granger, I—”

She wasn't sure how many more tears she could cry. “Call me Hermione,” she whispered.
“We've been over this before.”

Draco just nodded. “Right,” he said. “You want to know about Weasley?”

“Do I?”

“He'll be all right, if that's what you mean,” said Draco. “One of his arms is pretty
busted, and his knee, I think. He had some internal injuries, but they've been taken care of.
Gave the half dozen or so redheads milling about quite a scare earlier. One of his lungs had
collapsed—something about one of his broken ribs. It's all been sorted out, though. He'll
recover. You know, with time.”

“How much longer could he have gone done there?” Draco only shrugged, turning something over in
his lap. He had been reading a Quidditch magazine. Hermione just leaned back more heavily into her
pillows. “Then you saved them both. You saved us all. Last time I saw you, you were trying to
redeem yourself for the Forveret Bursen, and you said you'd never make it up to me. Now—”

“We will *never* be even,” said Draco firmly, cutting in. “Don't try to make me forgive
myself. I can't.”

“I can.”

“Blasted Gryffindor.”

Hermione smiled slightly. “Can we all be friends, though?”

“Maybe you and I can,” said Draco after a moment's pause. “And maybe we can all *not*
be enemies. But I don't find myself desiring Potter or Weasley's friendship any more than
they must desire mine.”

“Aren't we all on the same side now?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“No?” Hermione was confused. “But—”

“There will always be issues.”

“Yes, but issues—we can resolve issues. Take care of them as we get to them. Bridges! Like
bridges we can cross when we come to them!”

“We'd have to burn them.”

“Okay, then burn.”

“You're a bridge that can't be burned. At least not again,” said Draco. He didn't
elaborate, just opened his magazine. “You need to take the potion on your bedside table. Snape made
me promise I'd have you drink it.”

Hermione glanced over to the table in question. Sure enough, a goblet sat on its edge. She
shifted to grab it, her heart sinking when she saw what was inside. It wasn't her first
encounter with the watery blue liquid. She knew it would knot her insides and make her head ache
and play on her conscious. Until, of course, it put her to sleep for a few hours.

“Is it—is it what I think it is?”

Draco didn't look up. “Yes.”

“And I have to?”

Draco shrugged. “Only if you're unwilling to face certain consequences.”

Hermione bit her lip before downing the contraceptive in a great gulp. Her head began to swim.
She shut her eyes immediately, missing the incredible concern that passed across Draco's face.
Her stomach knotted, but she resisted the urge to heave. *Please let everything work out*,
Hermione found herself wishing, burying her face in her pillow.

* * *

It had been late afternoon when Hermione had first awakened, but it was well past midnight
before her eyes fluttered open again. She felt reasonably dizzy as she struggled into a sitting
position, but she did not let the nausea stop her. Draco had left her bedside, probably long
before, and the curtains around her bed were still shut. Drawing back her covers, Hermione swung
her legs over the side of the bed. Her still-injured leg hardly supported her weight, but she
forced herself to stand anyway.

“Hello?” Hermione called quietly, clutching the back of the empty chair still sitting next to
her bed. No one answered, which prompted her to shuffle the few feet over to the curtains. She
peeked through them, only to discover that the hospital wing was equally abandoned.

After ducking between the curtains' folds, Hermione began to wonder whether if she might
perhaps be dreaming. She was wearing an old nightgown, white and somewhat lacy, that she wasn't
sure if it was actually hers, and her hair fell more smoothly than it usually did. She couldn't
figure out why she was so clean when the incident in the chamber had left her so dirty, and she
couldn't figure out why the hospital wing was so quiet, or so abandoned.

Her eyes finally adjusting to the dark, Hermione realized that the room wasn't quite as
abandoned as she had previously assumed. Several beds down from hers, in the direction of the door,
was Ron. The redhead seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and a small figure was curled up in the
chair next to him. Realizing it was Anna, Hermione couldn't help but smile. Anna had fallen
asleep still holding Ron's hand.

Then, somewhat between Ron's bed and Hermione's on the other side of the room, another
area had been curtained off. Already very worried about losing her footing, Hermione clutched the
exposed foots of other beds for balance. She took a deep breath, glancing around before slipping
between these other curtains.

Sure enough, she had reached his bedside. “Harry,” Hermione whispered fearfully as she treated
closer. He was rather pale, whiter even than the sheets, she wasn't used to this. Had she
looked like he did all those times it had been her in his position? Had it torn him up as much
inside as it did her?

Hermione stepped closer, her eyes adjusting finally to how much darker it was behind these
curtains. A few tears slipped down her cheeks as she reached out to Harry.
Several dials spun and sprung and glowed above his head, and he had a black ring around one eye and
a large bandage on the opposite cheek. One of his hands lie across his chest, the palm of it
wrapped securely just where he had cut himself, and overall he looked as close to death as he had
down in that awful chamber.

Still, what scared her most was the absolute lack of expression on Harry's face. She'd
seen him sleeping a number of times, and while she rather liked the half-smile he sometimes wore,
she would have settled for something much less pleasant. Any expression at all really, so long as
it was something. Without one, it was hard for her to believe he was really alive.

The only thing that Hermione found at Harry's bedside to derive comfort from was the shaggy
dog sitting at the foot of his bed. She smiled slightly at the sight of the large, black creature.
Having his godfather there had to help Harry's condition. Managing a small smile, Hermione
leaned over, kissing Harry's forehead lightly. He didn't even stir, but Hermione found
herself backed against the wall with a wand jabbed against her neck seconds. She yelped, and so did
the wild-looking man holding out the wand.

“Hermione,” said Sirius uncomfortably, chuckling nervously as he quickly pocketed his wand.
“I'm so sorry, I thought—”

Hermione held up a hand to stop him, gargling slightly to clear her throat. “It's all
right,” she said quietly, glancing back at Harry.

Sirius glanced back at Harry as well. Smiling sadly, he hesitated for only a second before
embracing Hermione in a downright fatherly way. “Are you okay?” he asked finally, holding her at
arm's length.

“Is he?” Hermione replied quietly. The sad smile returned as Sirius led her over to the edge of
Harry's bed, where she sat down next to him. She carefully took Harry's bandaged hand in
her lap, reaching with her other hand to touch his cheek. She felt Sirius place a hand on her back.
“I mean, Draco told—he said... I reckon—”

“Harry's—” Sirius started. He shook his head. “He's out of the woods, I guess. I
don't know my healing magic, not the way Madam Pomfrey does or Lily did or even James. But his
injuries don't run the risk of killing him, not any longer. Now, it's just waiting to see
whether or not he's going to wake up. He might, he might not. There might be head trauma
we're not aware of, or brain injury from... well, dying. He might...”

“Not even be Harry when he wakes up,” Hermione whispered. “What then?”

Sirius shrugged, but he had a faraway look on his face. “Then—there's actually a place, in
the country... you know, where I could take him. It belonged to an uncle of mine. We've been
using it as headquarters, but I'm sure Dumbledore—” he broke off. “That's probably not what
you meant.”

But even Hermione wasn't sure what she meant. This time, when she leaned over Harry to kiss
his forehead, tears slipped onto his face. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don't be,” said Sirius, and she was only vaguely aware of what was happening as he
extracted Harry's hand from hers and helped her off the bed. He had guided her away from the
curtains and across the ward in the direction of Madam Pomfrey's office before she really knew
what was happening.

“You warned us,” said Hermione desperately. “Told us not to pursue the Ten Smokes of Brilliance
and the origin of every other thing that had anything to do with—”

“Which is practically telling a teenager to have at,” said Sirius gruffly. He knocked heavily on
the office door, which swung open on the third knock.

“Miss Granger!” the school nurse hissed, completely ignoring Sirius and grabbing the girls'
hands. She tried to guide Hermione back to her bed at once, but Sirius caught her shoulder to stop
her. He cleared his throat, which only caused the mediwitch to glare at him. “She's weak.”

“You check on Harry while I talk to her in your office,” said Sirius.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. “She needs to rest, *Mr. Black*,” she said pointedly.

“She's not going to be able to rest if she doesn't get some answers,” said Sirius.

“But getting answers isn't going to guarantee she'll be able to rest,” the school nurse
snapped, though she did manage a kindly smile for her patient. “Hermione, dear, let's get you
back to bed.”

Sirius sighed as he trotted towards Madam Pomfrey and Hermione. “Hermione, feel free to jump in
any time here,” he said. He turned to the mediwitch again. “Please check on Harry?”

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Hermione?” she prompted. “Do you feel up to talking to the escaped
convict that insists on transforming every five minutes into a large, disgusting dog that sheds
*everywhere*?”

“Yes?” Hermione said, after a moment's hesitation.

The mediwitch just threw her hands up, passing Hermione to Sirius before heading off in
Harry's direction. Sirius just shook his head as he helped Hermione into the nurse's
office. He conjured a rather comfortable chair for her to sit but just leaned against Madam
Pomfrey's desk himself.

“Don't you want—” Hermione started, gesturing in the direction of Madam Pomfrey's desk
chair.

“No,” said Sirius shortly. He cast an illuminating charm, giving Hermione her first good look at
him in months. When he had talked to her and Ron in the early morning hours of November the first,
he had finally traded in his shaggy Azkaban-issue robes for some much cleaner. When he had talked
to her and Harry over the spring holidays, the clean robes from Halloween had grown quite tattered.
Now, he was wearing Muggle clothing but looked quite tidy. “So how are you feeling?”

“You already asked me,” said Hermione, managing a small smile.

“I asked if you were okay,” Sirius corrected, returning the smile. “And you asked if Harry was.
But really—how are you holding up?”

“I've scarcely been awake since... everything,” said Hermione vaguely, which earned her a
stern look from Sirius. “I... the nausea is starting to subside.”

Sirius exhaled slowly. “You haven't had it easy, have you?”

Hermione just shrugged. “How is he?”

“He's—like I said, there might be... he might not be the same,” said Sirius. “He might not
remember anything, or he might... there's a natural order that's been altered, and
there's not a lot to say what might happen as a result. This doesn't happen often.”

“So it's entirely possible Harry's some sort of...” Hermione's lip trembled.

“Invalid?” Sirius supplied. He gathered his long hair back in one of his hands, not looking at
her. “There was something similar that happened during the last war, if I recall. A man lost it
after Death Eaters murdered his wife, and his energy killed them and revived her. She's
severely brain damaged.”

“God,” Hermione found herself muttering, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands. “And
when Draco described what had happened, I thought of electricity and heart paddles.”

“Muggle reference?” asked Sirius.

“Going to be lost on you?” Hermione asked, and Sirius only nodded. “Do... do you know anything
about Ron?”

“Molly and Arthur are here,” said Sirius, “and the twins and Ginny, of course, and the Clemens
girl. He woke up late in the afternoon and seemed—” Harry's godfather stopped short, worrying
Hermione tremendously.

“But he...” Hermione started. “He's all right, isn't he? He has to be! I mean, he
looks—”

“He was laughing and joking and seemed all right, but...” Sirius had looked down, folding his
arms across his chest. “You saw the amulets above his bed?” Hermione shook his head. “Voldemort...
tried to bend time. It worked only temporarily, but it still forced Ron to take multiple Stunners
in a very short period of time. Combined with the snap forward from the energy—he'll have to
have a charm put in to keep his heart working properly.”

“Voldemort should have known better than to mess with me,” Hermione found herself saying. “If
this is how I treat my friends, he should have known how it would end for him.”

“Hermione...”

“I made them go down there,” Hermione said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I know you've
talked to Draco. You have to know that I insisted we go down there that very night. I lead both of
them to that.”

“Hermione, you saved the lives of the five or six hundred wizards here that would have refused
to join Voldemort's circle when he stormed the castle. Had you not insisted...” Sirius shook
his head.

“Then I should have hung back while he went down there,” said Hermione. “Maybe Harry
wouldn't have ended up dead had he not been so worried about taking care of me.”

“Or maybe Harry would have stayed dead because he wouldn't have had anything to fight for
down there,” said Sirius shortly. “Hermione, it hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet.
Harry's... more alive than we anticipated. Maybe...”

Hermione shivered, hugging herself. “Maybe he'll be all right.”

Sirius smiled before conjuring a blanket for her. “Good girl,” he said. “Now...”

“Now what?”

“Remus, Dumbledore, and I were able to search the Voldemort's lair beneath the lake while
Snape and Pomfrey tended to the three of you. The Death Eaters intended to raid Hogwarts shortly
before lunch yesterday morning. They intended to kill all the professors, all the Muggle-borns, and
any half-blood with linage less than three pure generations. Everyone else would have had to choice
between service and death. There were lists, charts, blueprints, every sort of plan. You three
saved hundreds of lives, let alone what you saved in protecting the school and castle.

“We've gained insight on Dark organization in the past weeks and months as well as
reestablished links that we lost when Bom was removed from office. We know names that we didn't
know before, and Voldemort—”

Hermione bit her lip. Her tone rising, she said, “He must not be gone. Everything else
wouldn't matter other—”

“He was thrown backwards against the temporal time fold he bent to contain you in the first
place, snapping his secondary magical ability temporarily, rendering him powerless long enough that
your acquired energy bent him into a forward dimension,” said Sirius pointedly. He surveyed her for
a second, and his face suddenly broke into a grin. “You have to be the only fifth year to ever
understand that.”

The room had started to darken, but Hermione still just shrugged. “He used a time-altering spell
to turn time back to keep us in the room without disrupting what had already happened. When my
powers returned, the flow of magic in the room eventually sent him forward in time. In other
words... our reality with catch up to his eventually.”

Sirius recast the dimming charm. “You bought the Order anywhere from two weeks to four months at
a time when we needed it the most.” He pushed against the desk he had been leaning against,
crossing the room to help her out of the chair. “There are... some other things.”

“Like?” Hermione prompted, wincing as she pushed against the chair's arm to help him help
her up.

“We found Viktor Krum down there, locked in Vihar's closet, keeping him much like Crouch
kept Moody all last year. He's... malnourished and disoriented, but he's been very
helpful,” said Sirius, guiding her to the door and holding it open for it for her. “We're
keeping him downstairs, in the unused quarters next to Snape's. We didn't want him to... to
startle you.”

“If it would be easier for him to be up here—” said Hermione quietly, but she couldn't bring
herself to finish. “Thank you. I don't know if I'm up to seeing him... yet. Someday,
maybe.”

“Someday,” Sirius echoed, which caused Hermione to smile a little. They seemed to have focused
quite often on the maybes. “But... Hermione, there's something else. *Someone* else.
Someone else that came back when you brought Harry back.”

They were at her bedside now, and Sirius helped her kindly back into her bed, adjusting the
blanket he had conjured for her on top of the ones already there. Hermione looked up at him, her
brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Vihar,” said Sirius, looking away.

“Oh,” said Hermione. She swallowed hard. “And... w-where are you keeping him?”

Sirius had removed his wand from his pocket and began twisting it around his fingers.
“Dumbledore... I've never see him so angry.”

“Oh,” Hermione said again.

“The Headmaster took care of him, Hermione,” said Sirius quietly. “Vihar's dead.”

* * *

Two days later, Hermione's condition had improved tremendously. Able to walk without aid and
not as prone to nausea and exhaustion, Friday morning found her sitting at the edge of her bed,
Anna brushing her hair for her. Showering and dressing by herself for the first time all week had
her feeling slightly better, although the activity had made her realize that her broken wrist had
not been entirely healed. Madam Pomfrey had wrapped it for her straightaway, and it had prevented
Hermione from dealing with her hair.

“You know,” said Anna, “your hair really is more curly than straight. If you brushed it less
and—” she cast a glance upward as though searching for the right word “—scrunched it more, it
probably wouldn't look so...”

“Bushy?” Ron suggested, propped up against his pillows several beds away. Both girls whirled
around, glaring at him. He sunk quickly beneath the sheets, Ginny giggling from where she sat at
the foot of his bed. “Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, though beneath his breath he continued
muttered. “Heart rattles more now than it beats, and I still can't catch a break.”

“Honey, please,” Anna reprimanded quietly, and Ron piped down right away. Hermione kept her head
turned just long enough to see Ginny glance away before looking forward. Things were improving for
her, in terms of physical condition at least, but the forty-eight hours that had passed since her
predawn talk with Sirius had done little to make everything right. Harry was still in a state she
would have liked not to think about, and the awkwardness that had just passed had much to do with
Ron and Anna's loud fight the day before.

“Sorry babe,” said Ron gruffly. Hermione felt Anna stop braiding her hair long enough to glance
back at him, but then the Ravenclaw finished the two plaits and tied them off with ribbons. Anna
gave her a quick smile as she scooted off the bed. Ginny left Ron's bed to return to Hermione
as the other redheaded girl curled up next to him.

On Wednesday morning, while she had still been asleep (probably from a sleeping charm, as she
was sure Sirius had cast one), Madam Pomfrey had apparently carted Ron off to a different part of
the ward to insert the talisman Sirius had mentioned. By the time Hermione had woken up, around ten
thirty that morning, the hospital wing had gone from incredibly surreal to horribly depressed.
There had been some sort of complication, two very long hours, and a very solemn group of redheads,
as well as Hermione, Sirius, and Lupin.

In the end, Ron had pulled through, but there were certain images of that morning Hermione would
never forget. For the better part of the first hour, Mrs. Weasley had tried to retain her composure
but finally broke down in awful sobs. Mr. Weasley had led her off into the far corner of the room,
staring forward as he tried not to cry himself. Fred and George had been unable to crack even a
single joke, and Ginny and Anna had sat quietly with Hermione. Ginny chewed nervously on her hair
while Anna twirled one of the many rings she wore around her finger.

The next afternoon, Ron had made several jokes about his condition and prompted his argument
with Anna. Hermione had agreed instantly with the Ravenclaw—she also didn't understand how Ron
could be so flippant about what had happened to him, though she supposed that was rather his way.
Hermione couldn't help but smile as she glanced over at the two. It pleased her to see them
getting along again, Anna snuggled against Ron, his arms around her waist and his chin resting on
the top of her head. Ginny had also noticed, elbowing Hermione and nodding in their direction
before realizing the older girl had already looked.

“Mum's planning their wedding already,” Ginny stage-whispered. “Yesterday, when Anna and I
were cooking dinner with her and Madam Pomfrey, she was actually talking about whether they'd
want you for Maid of Honor or me. I just laughed—obviously you.”

“Hey,” Hermione protested weakly. She had turned around on the bed, now sitting cross-legged and
facing Ron and Anna. “And aren't the two of you supposed to be protesting as well?”

Ron shrugged as Anna did her best to glance up and gage his reaction. Neither of them, however,
said anything.

“Boys, commitment,” said Ginny, flopping onto her stomach on Hermione's bed. “You're
supposed to be afraid of it?” When her brother shrugged again, she rolled her eyes. “Harrumph,” she
muttered. “It'll be up to you, Anna, but you're rather closer to Hermione as it is, and
besides, it'll be Matron, not Maid, with Harry as—”

Ginny broke off, and all four friends looked away. For the last two days, they had done their
best to avoid Harry in their conversation and had so far managed. Even as Hermione had broken away
from the other three each of the last two afternoons to relieve Sirius at Harry's bedside, they
had done well to not mention him. It was a horrible, unspoken decision, and Hermione knew it, but
it had done her well over the last few days. She wasn't sure if she would have gotten through
the last forty-eight hours without having made it, simply for the feeling that had settled in the
pit of her stomach in the last few minutes. She shouldn't have been joking with Ginny and Anna.
She should have been joking with Harry and Ron.

Hermione slid off the bed seconds later. “Sirius might need a break,” she said, walking around
Ginny toward the back of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had moved Harry to one of the far beds
the night before in an attempt to get the four of them talking more. It was the only time she could
recall the mediwitch actually encouraging conversation and laughter under her watch.

“Hermione, wait,” said Ginny, sliding off the bed to follow the older girl. “I didn't mean
to—”

“Someone had to say his name eventually,” said Hermione, slipping between the curtains, leaving
Ginny on the other side. She closed her eyes for a second, listening to Ginny retreat in Ron and
Anna's direction. The youngest Weasley hadn't much choice—Madam Pomfrey had scarcely
allowed Hermione to sit at Harry's bedside over the last two days. When Hermione had entered
his area the day before, the mediwitch had only stopped yelling when Sirius started. The
nurse's compromise was all about keeping her ward quiet.

Sirius, as Padfoot, was waiting for her on the curtains. Even though charms had been set up
around the hospital wing to disorient students and have them head to Snape for help, Dumbledore did
not want Sirius taking any chances. He quickly changed from his Animagus form, conjuring up a chair
for Hermione. She sat right down, dropping her elbows to her knees and her face in her hands. She
probably could have pulled up her own chair, but she hadn't done magic since that night in the
chamber and wasn't sure if she was prepared to start again.

“Wedding talk is supposed to be happy,” said Sirius gently, “even if it is very much
hypothetical and—I hope—way into the future.”

“But it's not okay,” said Hermione, her voice muffled. “It's not right to laugh and joke
that way with Harry... is it okay? I'm not... I d-don't...”

“You're asking the wrong person for permission,” said Sirius. “Remus has lessons to teach,
and I have responsibilities and Order obligations. It's killing him to see Harry like this as
well, but he somehow manages to function. He's telling me that I have to do the same, but...
you don't see me leaving very often, do you?”

“You and I do seem to enjoy the self-flagellation,” said Hermione, finally unburying her face.
She looked up at Sirius with teary eyes. He had, sometime when she wasn't looking, removed a
tattered piece of parchment. He turned it over in his hands, several times, before replacing it in
his pocket. “Any change?”

“Some of the readouts from the talismans were actually up yesterday,” said Sirius, “after you
were in here all afternoon. He must have known you were here.”

Hermione scooted her chair closer to Harry's bedside, taking his hand in hers and brushing
his hair back gently from her forehead despite the tinge in her injured wrist. She glanced up at
the former prisoner of Azkaban Fortress. “Do you believe that?”

Sirius conjured up a second chair for himself. While in his Animagus form, he usually just
curled up at the foot of Harry's bed or paced its perimeter, and without occupants, the created
chairs had a tendency to dissolve over time. He, too, scooted towards his godson's bedside. “I
reckon it's more important that you do.”

Because Hermione did not know how to respond to that, she only asked, “What was on that slip of
parchment you just looked at?”

“Message from Dumbledore,” said Sirius after a moment's hesitation. “Something for me to do
for the Order.”

“Hmm,” Hermione muttered. Her curiosity finally getting the better of her, she found herself
blurting, “Is Dumbledore ever going to tell us more about the illustrious Order of the Phoenix, or
are we going to have to take what we will from your vague allusions?”

Surprisingly, Sirius chuckled. “He'd prefer only having to say everything once.”

Hermione cocked her head in Sirius's direction. “When Harry wakes up.”

“When Harry wakes up,” Sirius repeated. “He has shown significant improvement in the last few
days, since you've been sitting with him at the very least.”

“I don't know how I feel about all this pressure,” said Hermione, biting her lip. “If I
saved him from death, it's only because he saved me a hundred times before. I don't know
how to bring him back, Sirius, though I feel as if I should.”

“Hermione...” Sirius sighed. “Hermione, whatever happens to Harry, it's not your fault.
I'm sure you've heard that so frequently in the last few days you've rather tired of
it, but it's true. I'd tell you not to blame yourself or not to regret it because you
ultimately did so much good, but that would be rather hypocritical to me. James... James and Lily,
I'll never forgive myself for allowing Peter to betray them, but almost fifteen years after the
fact I've finally realized that I could never have known.”

“Is this the kind of advice meant to help me sleep at night?” Hermione wanted to know.

“It only helps me get through every day I see Harry,” said Sirius after some hesitation. “You
aren't sleeping any better, are you?”

Hermione bit her lip. “But it's not just Harry,” she said weakly.

“I imagine not,” said Sirius at last. He stood. “Would you like a few minutes alone with
him?”

“Do you talk to him when it's just the two of you?” Hermione blurted. Sirius nodded. Feeling
slightly less crazy for her desire to talk to Harry, she made a small request. “I-if you
wouldn't mind, I'd rather enjoy a few minutes.”

Sirius wordlessly became Padfoot and bounded between the curtains. Hermione felt the start of
fresh tears down her cheeks as she watched Harry's godfather depart. She knew also that she
shouldn't be looking for justification, but she found herself oddly comforted by the fact that
Sirius also talked to Harry's unconscious form. Lifting his hand to her cheek, she gave him her
best attempt at a smile.

“Hey sweetheart,” Hermione said quietly. “It's Friday morning, if you were wondering—three
whole days, though it rather feels like much longer. Madam Pomfrey let me get up this morning and
shower, and though she had to wrap my wrist afterwards, I think she'll release me later this
afternoon. Ron's much better as well, his heart talisman's regulating as it should, and
he'll probably get to leave at the end of the weekend.” She had to pause, setting his hand down
so she could wipe her eyes. “And Sirius tells me you're also improving.

“God, Harry. I feel so stupid just rambling. I would like to think you can hear me, but that
horribly logical part of me tells me that it's ridiculous to think so. I just wish that there
was something else I could do. Something, *anything*. I need you, Harry. So many other people
do as well—Ron, Sirius, Professor Lupin. And I know that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley aren't lingering
anymore just for Ron.

“Everyone out there seems to care about me as well, which confuses me because I can't help
but feel responsible for what's happened to you. If you'd been... I don't know, but if
it wasn't me, I wouldn't have been able to forgive whoever it had been. I kept getting told
that I couldn't have known and couldn't have changed things, but I'd rather like a
chance to try. But—” Hermione broke off, taking a shuddering breath “—but there's something I
think I can finally say. Thank you, for what you did for me, and Ron, and everyone, really. Thank
you for believing me, for protecting me, for saving me. It's hard for me to thank you because
I'd switch places with you in an instant if I could, but that's apparently your line to me
when I'm lying where you are.”

Hermione leaned forward, kissing his cheek. She lowered her voice, her breath catching. “If you
don't wake up or wake up completely different, Sirius would still assume responsibility for you
in a second. He talks about taking you to live with him at Order headquarters, but there's
something that scares me about the faraway look he gets whenever he mentions it. I think we both
know it's nothing more than a nice fantasy. There's no way the Light side could protect you
if you couldn't protect yourself, and they'd never allow...”

But it was another realization too awful to voice. Hermione kissed him, this time on the mouth
rather than the cheek, wondering every time now if it would be for the last time. “I-I reckon
I'd force myself to keep going, but I can't even imagine what it would be like without you.
I'd try, for you, but... I need you, honey. I love you *so much*.” She stood up, starting
to take his hand with her before realizing that it just wasn't work. Instead, she touched it to
her cheek again. “Come back to me, Harry.”

Hermione slipped quietly back through the curtains, realizing that the rest of the hospital wing
had grown rather quiet in her absence. She glanced around, noticing at once that Ginny had since
cleared the wing. She wiped at her watery eyes with the back of her hand as she padded towards Ron
and Anna. Before she had passed her own bed, Anna had extracted herself from Ron to summon chairs
from the across the room.

“Thanks,” said Hermione quietly, taking a seat. “Did Ginny decide to go to class?”

“She does have Potions this morning, but she was planning to skive off before... well, you
know,” Ron finished vaguely. Anna had rejoined him on the bed, this time, however, at the foot of
it. Hermione had noticed this about them—especially when she was their only other company, the
young couple tried not to be overly-affectionate with one another. “How is he?”

“No real change,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Sirius seems to think he's improving.
That's what all the amulets and talismans seem to be saying, but I'm trying not to get my
hopes up until he opens his eyes and can rattle off his name, birthday, favorite color, house, and
the date we first kissed.”

Ron glanced at Anna. “October twelfth,” he said automatically, “for us, anyway.”

Hermione couldn't help but smile slightly, especially when Anna blushed. “I thought it was a
good test of cognitive process.”

“How are you doing?” Anna then asked, directing her question at Hermione. Her eyes shone with
genuine concern, and Hermione felt herself relax slightly. Anna, after all, had only stopped
wearing the same worn expression as Hermione a few hours earlier.

“I just wish I knew more,” said Hermione heavily, casting a look over her shoulder in the
direction of Harry's area. She wasn't sure if Sirius had returned to his bedside yet, and
she had to overcome the urge to check. She didn't really want Harry left alone. “What about
you, Anna? Don't you have Potions with Ginny?”

“We're only reviewing for end-of-term exams,” said Anna with a shrug. “I'll probably
drop into Defense this afternoon, but other than that, I feel rather confident. Ron's siblings
and I are all pretty much excused from our lessons until next week so long as we're in here
with one of you.”

“Mum and Dad have been making Fred, George, and Ginny go to classes,” Ron added, “but they
really can't say much to Anna. Fred and George tried to convince them that there was rather
little point, since they've all but graduated, but Mum seems to think it reflects poorly on her
and Dad if they encourage skiving.”

Hermione shuddered slightly. “I'm glad most fifth year classes aren't even meeting this
late in the term.”

“You know,” Ron said slyly, “because it would kill you to miss a lesson.”

“Ron,” said Anna warningly, swatting at his arm. Ron caught her hand and held it as the
Ravenclaw turned back to Hermione. “Have they let you know anymore about O.W.L.s, Hermione?”

Hermione felt her stomach sink a little, though she had been thinking the same thing. Although
it was obvious that Dumbledore and the other Hogwarts professors were keeping what transpired in
the chamber as quiet as possible, they had been required to tell the Ministry that Hermione had
regained her powers. Barker had first accused Dumbledore of telling stories, but then he had
demanded that Hermione arrive promptly at the Ministry at nine o'clock Monday morning to sit
all portions of her O.W.L.s again.

“They're even making me repeat the written portions of the test,” Hermione muttered, shaking
her head. “I just can't believe that they're more worried about administering standardized
tests than responding to Voldemort's activity.”

“That's Barker,” Ron grumbled. “Get used to it. If Dumbledore manages to get anything out
about how close Hogwarts came to attack, then he'll have *The Daily Prophet* discredit him
so quickly you wouldn't believe. Dad's worried Barker might even try to remove Dumbledore
as headmaster.”

“Great,” Hermione muttered. “It's nice to know that people appreciate what—” She broke off
when something crashed loudly to the floor. On her feet in seconds, Hermione peered anxiously to
the curtains surrounding Harry's bedside. Ron had grabbed for his wand, which had been sitting
on his bedside table, and Anna had hers at the ready as well. Taking a cautious step forward,
Hermione called, “Sirius?”

No answer. Suddenly very worried that someone had somehow gotten into the hospital wing and done
something to Harry, Hermione would have charged forward completely ill-prepared if Ron had not
grabbed a handful of her jumper. There was another loud crash, and the curtains swung precariously
from their rails. A loud whistling sound only added to the commotion.

“Hermione?”

The fabric parted, and a skinny figure with messy black hair and bright green eyes emerged.
Hermione could have sworn her heart skipped a beat. “Harry?” she whispered, taking another step
forward. She did not get far before she was sure her heart stopped altogether. Harry pitched
forward and did not get back up after falling.

* * *

After expressing her continued interest in medical magic and desire to study under Madam Pomfrey
over the next two years, Hermione found herself learning to properly dress abdominal wounds. The
mediwitch had used both magic and Muggle medicine to heal Harry, and when the Gryffindor had
attempted to leave his bed, he had pulled more than half the stitches in his stomach by standing,
and falling. As Harry groaned, Hermione shot him an apologetic smile, trying not to apply so much
pressure to the injured area.

“No, Hermione,” said Madam Pomfrey at once. “I know you don't want to hurt him, but
you're going to have to if you want to help him.” She clicked her tongue impatiently after
inserting a long needle into the crook of Harry's arm. Attached to a long, thin tube, she
waited for the dials on one of the wall talismans to start spinning. “Now have we learned anything
about attempting to get out of bed when one has internal injuries and a very useless leg, Mr.
Potter?”

“Not... to... do it... again,” Harry said, through gritted teeth. As Hermione pushed slightly
harder against the magical stitching pad on his stomach, she took his free hand in hers, hoping
that he would know she wasn't trying to hurt him. Having chosen that moment to look away
because Madam Pomfrey had taken out yet another needle to poke into him, he caught her eye.
“You're okay,” he mouthed.

“And I'm going to hope you won't,” said Madam Pomfrey. She lifted her nose slightly as
she gave Hermione a critical glance. “There you go, Hermione. Another thirty seconds or so and the
stitches will have taken, and you can cover them then. I'm going to—”

“How much longer?” an impatient voice called from the other side of the curtain. Sirius, who had
slunk out of the hospital wing in Animagus form to get something to eat, had missed his godson
waking up. The mediwitch had not allowed him to see Harry yet, which had him rather agitated.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes flashed. “After I shut that annoying man up, I'm going to retrieve
some potions from my cabinets. Hermione, go ahead and finish patching Mr. Potter's one wound,
and keep an eye on those dials. If anything starts whistling...” The mediwitch waged her finger at
the two teenagers as she slipped between the curtains. The first thing they heard her do was cast a
silencing charm, but Harry and Hermione could still hear whispers of her and Sirius's
argument.

“O-okay,” said Hermione cautiously as she peeled the pad away from Harry's skin. She
surveyed the thick pink lines that had closed his wound for a few seconds before tossing the bloody
rag. Giving his hand a final squeeze, she reached for one of the healing solutions Madam Pomfrey
had left her. “I know one of these is supposed to sting,” said Hermione apologetically, dabbing
some of the cream onto Harry's stomach. When he grimaced, she did as well. “I guess it's
that one.”

“It's not so bad,” said Harry at once, but she knew he was lying because he had attempted
then to wiggle away from her. After she arched an eyebrow, he admitted. “Yes it is, but...” he
trailed off. “Madam Pomfrey's let you help take care of me?”

“Before today there wasn't a lot of taking care of you, at least not on this level,” said
Hermione honestly, deciding he deserved the look she gave him for the scare he had given her.
“Everything was going fine until you decided you needed to... whatever you decided you needed to
do. Honestly, Harry... the charms taped to your hand and the needles stuck in your arm didn't
give you the slightest hint to stay in bed? And your leg?”

“I didn't know that the bone had been dusted,” said Harry defensively. “And... I... it's
not like I even know what happened now.”

Hermione stopped what she was doing for just long enough to study his face. Lying flat on his
back in the hospital bed, his shirt unbuttoned and right pant leg cut to above the knee, he looked
rather miserable, and her heart went out to him. “And you're waiting for me to jump in at any
time to fill you in, aren't you?”

“Pretty much,” said Harry, managing a grin that made her smile as well. “We... the two of us...
we aren't still fighting, are we? Not that we really were, but the last thing I remember is
trying to talk you out of letting Anna break your memory charm.”

“That smile gets you rather farther than it really should,” Hermione remarked, finally lying
clean gauze against Harry's abdomen. “No, we weren't really fighting then,” she said,
though she neglected to mention that they had been later that very evening. “We met Ron and Anna in
these creepy old dormitories beneath the existing Ravenclaw dormitories, and breaking the memory
charm... well, it went as smoothly as that sort of thing can.”

“Is this going to be one of those stories where I really don't want to know when things
stopped going so smoothly?” Harry asked. Hermione eyed him critically, pressing the last piece of
Magi-Med tape to his skin. She bent down to kiss his forehead, but he had caught on and lifted his
head so that she would actually kiss him.

“Probably,” Hermione said after a moment's pause. “Here, let me help you with your
shirt.”

Harry at first didn't seem to want her help, but it didn't take him long to realize that
he really wasn't capable of doing much for himself. Hermione could feel his intense eyes on her
as she slid the last button through the last button hole. It scared her slightly, how much he
seemed to trust her, even though it couldn't have been half as much as she trusted him.

“What then?” Harry wanted to know. “What did we find out?”

“There was... a chamber,” said Hermione after a moment's pause. “Beneath the lake.
That's where I had been taken that night in February. I-I had the oddest urgent feeling about
it, and I insisted that—” she bit her lip “—maybe someone else should tell you all this.”

Harry groaned, frustrated this time rather than in pain. “If it was anyone else suggesting
that...” he started, grabbing her hand. “Just tell me... whatever we found down there... whoever
must have done all this to me... definitely someone much larger and more powerful than myself?”

Hermione couldn't stop the tears from coming at the earnest look he gave her. “Oh Harry,”
she said touching his cheek. “I was so...”

“Harry?”

Both teenagers at once looked up as Sirius slipped between the curtains. Hermione pulled her
hand back from Harry's face at once, pleased at least to see him smile at the sight of his
godfather. She quickly slipped off the edge of the bed so that Sirius could catch Harry in a very
careful embrace. There were tears in the older wizard's eyes that he was obviously trying to
keep from his godson.

“Merlin,” Sirius had whispered. “Thank Merlin.”

“How are you?” Harry wanted to know. “Have you been here long? What's—”

As Sirius sat down in one of the bedside chairs, Hermione returned to her perch at the edge of
Harry's bed. Brushing back Harry's messy hair, she caught Sirius's eye before
interrupting, “Honey, I reckon Sirius isn't supposed to be in here on Madam Pomfrey's
watch, and while he is, I think he'd rather like to know how you're feeling. He's
scarcely left your side since—”

“How long have I been here?” Harry interjected. Hermione and Sirius exchanged a look. “Not more
than...”

“Three days,” said Hermione quickly. “Not just long, just...”

“Three days,” Harry repeated. He glanced away. “Wow.”

“It's not like—” Hermione started, but she was interrupted by the curtains parting. Wearing
a very stern expression, Madam Pomfrey bustled in, glaring quite a lot at Harry's
godfather.

“And I could have sworn that I told you to stay out in the meantime,” the nurse muttered. She
glared at Sirius until he shrugged out of her way. His arms folded defiantly across his chest,
however, he hung to the shadows rather than leaving entirely. “How's he looking, dear?”

Hermione at first didn't realize that the mediwitch was talking to her. “Oh!” she said at
last. “He's—”

“Now that you're awake, Potter, we might as well proceed with treatment for your leg,” said
Madam Pomfrey briskly, never once minding Hermione. She did, at least, beckon the girl to her side
as she produced several downright Muggle-looking gadgets. For the next few minutes, no one could
get a word in edgewise as she gave Hermione one instruction after another. Even Harry and Sirius
could only shrug helplessly across the room at one another.

A few bandages, potions, and adjustments later, Madam Pomfrey had decided that one of
Harry's two visitors had to go. Because Hermione was still technically under her care, the
mediwitch had chosen her to leave. Hermione had shot him a sad smile as the older witch led her
away, and currently Harry was watching the curtains sway from their departure. It wasn't that
he didn't want Sirius's company, but he just hadn't wanted to see her go.

“So...” said Sirius slowly, scooting onto the edge of Harry's bed, careful not to nudge the
shiny metal tube that Madam Pomfrey had clamped around his injured leg.

“So she doesn't look like she's had it easy,” Harry started. “What happened in that
chamber? Hermione... she looks like she hasn't slept, hasn't eaten, hasn't—” he
swallowed hard. “She doesn't even look like she's smiled, Sirius. And her wrist is bandaged
and she's limping slightly and she has that black eye and she's—”

“You really haven't taken a good look at yourself yet, have you, Harry?” Sirius interjected,
chuckling slightly. “Though I should have known—every time I ask how she's doing this week,
she's turned it around and asked about you.”

Harry folded his arms across his chest, cautiously as not to disturb any of the devices attached
to him. “What happened to her, Sirius?” he demanded.

“Worry,” said Sirius, matching his godson's stance. “She's been worried about you.
She's been so afraid of losing you that she wouldn't sleep in case your condition changed
overnight, that she wouldn't eat because she didn't want to move on when you couldn't,
that she wouldn't stop crying because she blamed herself for your condition.”

“Oh,” Harry found himself mumbling.

Sirius cringed at once. “Harry, I didn't mean—”

“I know,” Harry interrupted. “Everything's so confusing right now, Sirius, and I don't
know if it's going to get better even after it all gets explains to me.”

After a moment's hesitation, Sirius nodded. “After Ron's girlfriend broke the memory
charm on Hermione...” he began, and for the next forty-five minutes, he recounted every detail of
the trio's experience he had been made aware of. Only in the story's last moments did he
reduce it to a kind of sketch.

Sirius finished, “...and Voldemort's charm killed you. Ron was with you when you died, and
Hermione was even holding your hand. You... you somehow transferred your powers to her in those
last few moments, and she went on to fight Voldemort with that magic. Ron had been Stunned again at
that point, so it was just the two of them. Hermione, I don't think, even remembers exactly
what happened. But... she sent Voldemort somewhere forward in time.”

“Which she was able to do because he had earlier bent time to keep us in that room,” said Harry,
breaking in for the first time in several minutes. “How did you all reach us?”

“The Malfoy boy,” said Sirius. “He and Hermione... remained linked even when the bond that had
been forced on her by Vihar had since broken. He headed for the castle at the first sign of trouble
and... and in the end allowed the headmaster and other professors to reach you in time.”

Harry nodded slowly, wondering if he would ever be able to accept that Malfoy had saved his
life—which, of course, begged the question of his life in the first place. “There's... one
thing I'm not getting,” he said at last. “You keep saying that I died, Sirius. If I'm so
dead, why do I feel... somewhat alive? You know, outside of the pangs and pains I'd only expect
after... I'm not sure, getting hit by the Knight Bus?”

Sirius chuckled, maybe more than he should have. “Don't talk about the Knight Bus like
that,” he said finally, laughter in his eyes for the first time Harry had ever seen. “You actually
had a great-uncle that was run over by that purple monstrosity.”

“Really—” Harry startled, but then he scowled. “Why am I not dead, Sirius?”

“Hermione.”

“Hermione,” repeated Harry. He suddenly had his first substantial image of the evening. His body
prickled as he remembered the numbness that had passed through him, and the unexpected warmth. That
was when she had squeezed his hand, and when he must have transferred his energy to her.
“Hermione... I had to come back to her.”

Sirius's brow furrowed. “I... suppose. The energy she released was what brought you back,
Harry. The magic that caused Voldemort to disappear was so great that it revived you.”

But Harry wasn't listening, not entirely at least. “I came back to her,” he whispered.
Realizing that Sirius was still glancing at him with the same peculiar expression, he quickly
cleared his throat. “So... how's Ron? And where's Voldemort? And—” the last one had dawned
quite suddenly on him “—I'm still magical too, right?”

* * *

Author's Note, 10/31/04: And we're caught up on Portkey to what had been on ff.net
before I got booted. Thanks so much to everyone's that reviewed. One chapter to go! I hoped to
have it posted by Halloween, but then life happened. Baaaad life. But I'll be working on it
whenever I can in the next few days, so hopefully soon.

But below you will find the summary for my year six fic. Which you'll all read, right?

You guys are the best.

Elle

* * *

*Harry Potter and the Eagle's Sapphire*, Year 6:

Failing marks are the least of Harry's worries after arriving at Hogwarts for his sixth
year. Still recovering from his last confrontation with the Dark Lord Voldemort, he can scarcely
handle the intensive defense training he is thrown into just hours after stepping off the Hogwarts
Express. Hermione's unwillingness to deal with the events of the year before has her and
Harry's relationship at a standstill while another relationship progresses much too quickly.
Working with Draco proves more challenging than working against him, and there's a third-year
causing more trouble than even the Weasley twins ever managed. The new Defense Against the Dark
Arts professor just wants to be everyone's friend, and members of one Hogwarts house seem to
draw Harry into uneasy alliance after uneasy alliance. Outside of the castle, Voldemort's
attacks on Muggle towns grow bolder with each passing day, to the point that the corrupt wizarding
government cannot maintain even the slightest sense of order.

Yet the war brewing between Dark and Light is nothing compared to the war Harry is waging
within. By day, Harry struggles to understand the blood burden he bears. By night, he dreams of the
life he was meant to have. It's torment unlike the Boy-Who-Lived has ever known, and it's
torment he's ill-prepared to handle. He can't forget about everything, no matter how much
he wants to.

Because while the fate of the wizarding world might lie in the usual hands, its destruction lies
in those long-forgotten.

-->



41. The Good Fight - part one
-----------------------------



Chapter Thirty-Eight

THE GOOD FIGHT

Author's Note 7/21/05: Part one of two, and I know that it's taken me long enough.
Although I expect you've tired of waiting for the next installment by now, I'm taken with
this fan fiction and plan to finish it. I'm doing a rewrite of a scene in part two, but it
should be up tomorrow if I can just work late into the night tonight. Last chapter, but sequels
will follow. Thanks for everyone that did stick with this—gold stars to all of you!

As always, feel free to comment/question/criticize here or in an e-mail.

Elle

* * *

Warning: For this chapter, just the fact that it's supposed to be somewhat emotional. There
are mentions of rape (as in the rest of the story) and also abortion.

* * *

“It feels different now,” said Harry, by way of explanation, as the curtains about his bed in
the hospital wing swung madly on their rods. His third attempt at a Guiding Charm that evening had
gone awry, though not perhaps as much as the first, which had lit the curtains on fire, and the
second, which had stripped them clear from the ceiling. He gave Hermione what he hoped was a
charming smile. “I've never had trouble with Guiding Charms.”

Hermione looked at him skeptically as she stunned the fabric still. “Really, Harry—if you never
mastered them, you can tell—”

Harry glared at her. He was sitting in a wheelchair along the hospital wing's far wall. “If
you'd been talking to Ron and me, in early February when we learnt them, you'd know
Flitwick told me I was more proficient at them than everybody—” he shifted suddenly “—well, all
right, he might have said everybody but you, but that's still—”

“I'm sorry,” said Hermione, cutting him off. She gave him a sincere smile as she headed
towards him. Smoothing her skirt before sitting, she took a seat on the edge of one bed. Harry
returned her smile as he rolled closer to her, watching her fold her hands in her lap. The wand
borrowed from the school lie at her side. “So...”

“I'm... not sure how to explain it,” said Harry, leaning forward. “When I try to do magic
now, it doesn't feel the same as it did last week. All the easy spells, all the charms that had
become second nature to me—I can't get them right any longer. Everything is too much. I
levitate a pillow, it rockets out of the room. I cast a heating charm on my bed, the whole thing
incinerates. But... it's not every charm or every spell. I...”

“You've performed the most difficult magic without hesitation,” Hermione supplied.

Harry nodded, absently clasping taking her hands in his. “When Professor Lupin worked with me
yesterday afternoon, I produced a corporeal Patronus on my first attempt. I've never done that,
Hermione, *never*. It always takes me about ten tries and more dementors than I'd like to
think about.”

Hermione hesitated. “Your quill enchantments were always shaky at best, but you charmed the one
this morning to start duplicating *Hogwarts, A History* without any trouble. You also managed
to enchant all those chairs when I've never done anything larger than a teakettle.”

“I did that Crystalline cleaning charm Friday.”

“Earlier you put privacy charms on all those journals.”

“I managed an alternating incantation for... well, the second time ever, but—”

“The Reverse-Chronology Counter-Hex...”

“...disillusionment charms...”

“...Sanchura's Second Switching Spell...”

“...that bed,” said Harry grimly before realizing how it sounded. “I mean, I conjured another
after incinerating the... wait. Why am I upset that I managed a permanent establishment charm on
something that large?”

“*I'm* proud of you,” Hermione declared. Her nose crinkled somewhat. “And... perhaps...
maybe a bit jealous.”

Harry grinned at her admission. “Hey,” he said, “so long as I keep blowing up things when I try
to levitate them, I don't know if you really have anything to worry about.”

“At least my regaining my powers didn't cause you to lose yours,” Hermione reasoned.

“Just control of `em.” Watching her face fall, Harry said quickly, “Nooo. I mean... well, not
that.”

“But what if that's what happened? What if restoring my abilities somehow limited
yours?”

Harry shrugged. “Then you'll have to levitate all the furniture into our place, but I'll
be able to keep it all really clean.”

The implications of his statement not lost on Hermione, she carefully extracted her hands from
his. She leaned back on them. “Harry...”

“Look, two days ago we thought that maybe all my powers had transferred to you. Now we know I
can still do magic. Maybe in a few days I'll be able to focus again.”

“But what if it was a transfer? The ability to harness your energy? What if—” Hermione stopped
at the look he gave her. “Well, at least you're talking to Dumbledore tonight, right?”

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said, and added under his breath, “it was good of him to work me into
his busy schedule.”

“Harry... he has had a lot to think about,” Hermione reminded gently. “Dealing with what
happened in the chamber and keeping it quiet all at once? Not a task I envy.”

“Hermione, it's Sunday evening. He's had all week—since Monday.”

“Tuesday morning,” Hermione corrected quietly, glancing away at once. “Sorry.”

Harry sighed. She wasn't the one he was mad at. “No, I'm sorry,” he said. “I just want
answers. I need them. I have to know that Dumbledore's doing something, Hermione. I have to
know he's not ignoring this like he's ignored everything else. That's why this
happened, isn't it? We got involved because Dumbledore didn't. Don't we deserve some
sort of explanation?”

“We'll get one, yours will probably come tonight. It's just taking Dumbledore time to
sort everything out, I'm sure. In time he'll—”

“Now, he needs to,” Harry interrupted. “He needs to take time out *now*.”

“He's dealing with the mess we—” Hermione started.

Harry snorted. “Voldemort right under Dumbledore's nose all this time? Somehow I don't
remember inviting him here,” he said sarcastically.

“Harry...”

“No. I'm sorry, Hermione, but no. I reckon my death is what put things into perspective.
There's *not* time.” Both teenagers fell silent.

“What time are you meeting him?” Hermione finally asked.

Harry glanced at his watch, which had finally begun to work after the wards around Hogwarts had
been reset. “Nine. Not for another hour.” Sighing, he maneuvered his wheelchair around so he could
stand long enough on his good leg to sit down beside her on the bed.

“How is your leg?” Hermione wanted to know.

“I thought you were the one studying under Madam Pomfrey,” Harry shot back, though he grinned so
she would know he didn't mean anything by it. “Shouldn't you be telling me?”

Hermione, who would otherwise have been content not to lift a wand until her O.W.L. retests
beginning Monday morning, had been thrown by the mediwitch back into the world of magic.
Considering how the nurse usually fussed about those under her watch, they had all been surprised
when right away she had Hermione brewing, bandaging, even performing basic healing charms,
especially Saturday, when numerous Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had gotten into fights over the last
Quidditch match of the season. However, after those first few hours Friday, Madam Pomfrey steered
Hermione away from Harry's care.

“You know she's worried about how I'll react to your injuries,” Hermione replied.

“Which I don't understand. Not that I can actually recall anything that happened in the
chamber myself, but Ron said you were rather close to the nice, gaping hole in my gut,” said Harry
absently, slightly frustrated at not being able to remember. Still, based on what he had learned
about the ordeal over the weekend, he secretly agreed with the school nurse not allowing Hermione
to assist in his care. He didn't like how nervous she got when it came to his injuries, nor did
he feel comfortable with her having to care for him. Part of his frustration about not knowing what
happened in the chamber came from not knowing how he could comfort her.

“It scares me still,” said Hermione quietly, “to think that I lost you.”

*And it scares me twice as much to know there were times in that chamber during which Krum
could have done* anything *to you*, Harry thought, though he said nothing to the effect.
Instead, he laced his fingers through hers. “Madam Pomfrey still hasn't come up with anything
for my leg. She even tried Skele-Gro, but nothing. Something about... I don't know. She's
brought in dusty books now.”

“It's the spell's properties. Voldemort had the intent to do damage that could not be
repaired,” Hermione explained. She smiled sadly.

“Hmm,” Harry shrugged. “But do you like it? The mediwitch thing?”

“It's nice to help with something other than research,” Hermione said, biting her lip in the
cute way she did. Noticing this, Harry took a second take her in, and he decided that in her denim
skirt and worn pink jacket, hair in two braids, she had never looked lovelier. “And healing is a
good skill to have, anytime, though I have this feeling even more so in the coming months.”

Harry nodded. “So...”

“So,” Hermione echoed. She pulled her hands from his again, tucking them under he legs as she
began to swing her feet. When she tilted her head in his direction, Harry decided he couldn't
take it any longer. They had agreed Friday to hold off on the issue of them until they knew more
about what had happened in the chamber. Suspecting she might know more than she was letting on,
Harry really did want to talk to Dumbledore, but when he kissed her, he decided he'd put off
talking forever to do that instead. The Headmaster didn't matter anymore, neither did the Dark
Lord, not anyone or anything.

But the moment didn't—couldn't—last. Without realizing it, Harry's hands had slid
from Hermione's waist to her hips and grazed the strip of skin just where her jacket and shirt
had ridden up. She yelped.

Harry took to apologizing at once. “Sorry,” he said. “I'm sorry, so sorry. I didn't—I
didn't mean—”

“It's fine,” said Hermione quickly, and though she scooted closer to him then to prove her
point, she did it with a grim expression that told him very clearly that she was no longer
comfortable. Harry tried not to let it hurt his feelings. “Really.”

“No,” Harry found himself saying. He had intended to ask her to talk then, but he had lost his
nerve. “We agreed to... well, we agreed. Later.” He forced a smile on his face. “Would you like me
to help you review some for your O.W.L.s?”

Hermione nodded, scooting off the bed at once to get her books. And though he could tell she was
trying to be discreet, Harry watched her hastily wipe tears from her eyes. It broke his heart in
such a way and caused pain in him beyond any curse Voldemort had ever thrown.

* * *

Rolling up to the ugly stone gargoyle that protected the entrance of Dumbledore's quarters,
it suddenly occurred to Harry that he hadn't a clue how to proceed. He had a password—“fizzing
whizbees”—but also the sinking suspicion that the spiral staircase beyond the gargoyle would not
accommodate a wheelchair. The boy wizard gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to get down just
yet, though in all actuality, he was more worried about keeping his anger in check than being
depressed. His responses earlier to Hermione had been an indicator, if anything.

Harry came to an awkward stop, still unfamiliar with navigating a wheelchair, especially one so
obviously antique. He exhaled slowly, hoping for the best. “Fizzing whizbees,” he said.

The gargoyle turned more slowly than usual, and it shifted to reveal a platform instead of
stairs. Harry took it as a good sign when he was able to roll onto the platform and have it slowly
lift him up. Dumbledore had obviously put some thought into their meeting if he had modified his
quarters to allow for Harry's injuries.

Dumbledore's office, Harry saw as the platform came to a gentle stop and he rolled off, was
as unchanging as ever—same portraits, same paintings, same array of magical gadgets. Fawkes sat on
his perch, and the Sorting Hat snored ever-so-softly. There was one noticeable difference, however.
The figure that sat behind the headmaster's desk, shuffling through papers, was not Dumbledore,
but rather Professor Lupin.

“Professor,” said Harry, smiling at the defense instructor, as usual glad to see him. Having
classes to teach had prevented Lupin from spending much time in the hospital wing. (“Not that I
wouldn't like to!” he had assured.)

Lupin stopped scratching his quill against his parchment for just long enough to glance up at
Harry and return the smile. “Hello, Harry,” he said, “give me just one moment?”

“Oh, yes, sure,” said Harry, resting his hands on his lap. Although he thought it odd that Lupin
offered no further explanation to his presence, Harry didn't mind waiting for the headmaster
all that much. At least he was there, and in no time Dumbledore was sure to come in, or Lupin to
excuse himself to get the headmaster.

But several minutes passed, and Harry looked up to see Lupin staring across at him,
Dumbledore's desk tidy now in front of him. He didn't look like he was going anywhere.

“So Harry,” said Lupin, “where would you like to begin?”

Harry's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Lupin chuckled. “Surely you realize that what delayed this meeting was the sheer volume of
things to cover, and the headmaster wanting enough time to have them explained properly—”

“*Have* them explained?” Harry cut in. “He won't be doing the explaining?”

Lupin shook his head. “I'm afraid not.”

Harry leaned forward with a start. “But he'll be coming, eventually, so I can ask him some
questions?”

The Defense professor's hesitance was unmistakable. “No, Harry. He's busy, but trust
that—”

“That what?” Harry said scathingly. “That I would settle for—” the boy wizard stopped short, the
anger catching in his throat as he tried to determine whether or not he had offended his favorite
professor. He did not seem to have. Swallowing hard, Harry struggled to regain composure.
“Professor, not that I don't trust you to give me a complete and honest recount of the events
of the last several months, but for my own sake, I think the explaining ought to come from the
headmaster. Where is Professor Dumbledore?”

Lupin, who had folded his hands together on the desk, did not meet Harry gaze. “Before Voldemort
rose the first time, he...”

Harry's heart sank, and all he heard was noise as Lupin started to talk. “Professor, did he
put you up to this?”

Lupin stopped short, and sighed. “I tried to tell him you wouldn't listen to me or
McGonagall or even Sirius. I'll try again, Harry, I will. I can't promise you anything, but
I will tell—”

“Professor,” said Harry calmly, “if you will, just let the headmaster know that I have no
intention of leaving his office until he *personally* offers an explanation as to why
Voldemort has wanted to kill me, and that while he's at it, an explanation of why he allowed
things to spiral so out of control would also be greatly appreciated.”

Much to Harry's surprise, Lupin nodded. “It is apparent,” he said, “how much time you have
spent with Hermione... you've begun to sound rather like her. Albus?”

Harry didn't have time to protest his involvement with Hermione before a bookcase behind the
desk swung forward and the headmaster appeared in the opening. He wore plain robes, for the first
time that Harry could recall, and a solemn expression. He quietly made a few remarks to Lupin
before shaking the Defense professor's hand and allowing him to exit. Settling behind his desk,
Dumbledore cleared his throat, removed his half-moon glasses, and leaned forward.

“I was told you would settle for nothing less than the truth as I told it,” said Dumbledore. “I
think I knew your professors and godfather were correct, yet my way still seemed so much more
logical...”

“No sir,” said Harry, as politely as he could muster. “In all honesty, I see little logic in
your thoughts and feelings expressed to one person by another.”

“Yes, yes,” said the headmaster absently, leaning back in his chair again as he tapped his
fingertips together. “Tell me, Harry, what is it that you wish to take away from our meeting?”

Harry's answer was automatic. “Answers, Professor.”

“But you haven't asked me any questions,” said Dumbledore, a response Harry probably could
have lived with if not for the twinkle in the headmaster's eye. What was this to him, a game?
To Harry it rather felt like his life. Still, he tried to remain calm, hoping he wasn't out of
line removing a dragon-shaped paper weight from the edge of Dumbledore's desk so he would have
something to fidget with.

“I came here hoping to gain understanding, then,” said Harry, hoping his voice sounded steadier
to the headmaster than it did to him, less irritated, less worried, less nervous. Six days ago,
right now, I was waiting for midnight. Anna had said she would break Hermione's memory charm
then. I don't know why there was a memory charm to break in the first place. I don't know
why my best friend had memories so violent and awful that my stomach turned. And—” Harry nervously
combed his fingers through his hair “—I don't know why I ended up having to confront the
darkest wizard of all time at Hogwarts, a place I always believed to be safe and secure.” His heart
was beating so fast in his chest that he had to wonder if the headmaster could hear. “I'm
asking why, I suppose. Why, Professor, why did all those things happen?”

Dumbledore did not meet Harry's gaze. “Last week, you, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Miss
Clemens made a rash and foolish decision to harness magicks you could not possibly understand or
appreciate. Risking Miss Granger's very *life*, you brought forth memories not meant to be
remembered. You acted on impulse, and you should be so glad your hot-headed behavior cost you
little more than it did. Mr. Potter—good *evening*.”

Nothing had ever hit the boy wizard so hard—not Uncle Vernon or Ron that one time in the
Quidditch locker room, not when he had thought Sirius had murdered his parents or when he had seen
Voldemort rise in that cemetary. Dumbledore's choice of words at that moment would be something
Harry never forgot, never let go of, never completely forgave him for, not even years later and
then some. He rose from his wheelchair, and he chucked the dragon paperweight so hard that when it
hit the wall, the neck snapped and the wings bent and it even sparked a little.

“I *died*,” snapped Harry. Furiously, he continued, “I'm standing here on one shaky leg
because the other I may never be able to walk on again. My best friend will live the rest of his
life with a weak heart, and *the girl I love*...” He trailed off, having to grip the arms of
the wheelchair behind him and lower himself back into it. It wasn't like he would have been
able to vocalize Hermione's suffering anyway. “Don't tell me *we* haven't
paid.”

“Ha—”

But the headmaster could not even get out his student's name.

“You can get angry with me, I don't care,” said Harry furiously. “Kick me out of Hogwarts,
see how it sits. But don't ignore what happened. Don't ignore *us*. Because for a long
time, you were the only person I could count on to do the right thing, that's what I was trying
to do down in that chamber. What was right—right by you, even. Hermione and Ron? Anna? It
doesn't matter what they said or did to get down there. They followed *me*. *I'm*
the one with this *stupid* scar—” he jabbed at his forehead, where the lightening bolt was
less of a scar than a healing wound “—and *stupid* connection to Voldemort. And you know
what?”

The headmaster's response was barely audible. “What?”

“I'm done,” said Harry. Now his voice was eerily calm. It was in such contrast to the anger
that had just consumed him that he surprised even himself. Words were just coming to him. He had no
idea what direction he was heading until after he heard himself speak. “I reckon you could say
I've been fighting evil on and off since I was one, so going on fifteen years now. That's
most of my life. I don't feel bad throwing the towel in. That's most of my life. I'm
going to try life as an average wizard. You know, play Quidditch with Ron this summer and take
Hermione on a date in Diagon Alley. Just—settle things up with Voldemort for me, all right? Tell
him I'm out of this. No use fighting when you have no idea why you're throwing curses.”

Harry leaned back in his wheelchair. His breathing was heavy and irregular, and his heart was
racing even more than before. The headmaster, to his surprise, gave him a moment, then nodded.

“Fair enough. You may go, or—”

But Dumbledore left that statement so open for so long that Harry actually turned his chair and
started towards the platform.

“—or you can give an old man a moment to gather his thoughts, and he will try his hardest to
make things right.” The headmaster sighed. “if they can be made right, if they were ever right at
all.”

* * *

*December 1979*

*“I'm* what*?” Lily Evans said in disbelief, sitting up with a start in her bed in
the Hogwarts hospital wing. Her fiancé, James Potter, dropped her hand, his mouth slightly
agape.*

*“She's* what*?” he echoed.*

*Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts mediwitch (never mind that neither James nor Lily was a Hogwarts
student) just clucked her tongue impatiently. “You're pregnant,” she said briskly, “and the
headmaster will come by later to speak with you.”*

*“No!” said James, startled by his own ferocity. “I mean, Madam Pomfrey, the charms—we...
we... we* always *use the charms. Should you... I don't know, check your wand
work?”*

*The hospital matron was taken aback. “I say check yours, Mr. Potter—about two months ago!
Harrumph!” She stalked off in the direction of her office.*

*“Jaaaames!”*

*James felt his friend Sirius Black's hand on his back in no time at all. No sooner had
Sirius given James's shoulder a hearty clap, he was kissing Lily's cheek. He backed off,
looking at his two friends expectantly.*

*“What?” Sirius wanted to know. “Come on, you two! Show some enthusiasm! This is good! You
both want a big family, and you're getting married in four days! So you have to put a
disillusionment charm on everything so the guests remember an October wedding instead of a December
one so they don't ask questions when the baby comes in July! Let me—let me just fire-call Remus
and Peter, all right? Don't worry, the Marauders will take care of you. We'll get—”*

*Lily had started to cry.*

*“Merlin,* what*? What's wrong? Sure, things are the best now, but a little baby?
That would be a bright spot. Months off—the Order might have Voldemort in the bag by then and in
the mean time, it looks like Dumbledore will work with you, Lily, don't cry baby, sounds like
he's already considering how to handle it and when to take you off—”*

*“Sirius?” James interrupted, exhausted. “Shut up.”*

*The wizard with the dark, wild hair opened his mouth to protest, but James nudged him in time
to direct his attention to Lily, whose sobs were now shaking her entire body.*

*“What's...” Sirius wanted to know. James shook his head, signaling he needed a moment
with his soon-to-be-wife, during which he smoothed her hair and whispered a few things that seemed
to calm her just enough to allow him time for a few words with Sirius.*

*“Don't say a* word *to Remus,” said James abruptly when they reached the opposite
side of the hospital wing from Lily's bed. “Not to Remus, not to Peter, not to* anybody*.
I mean it, Padfoot. Keep your mouth fucking shut for once. If anybody asks for a couple days about
Lil's condition, you just say it was a rough fig**ht—”*

*“Which* *it was,” Sirius broke in thoughtfully, as he had a shiny burn on his arm and
several broken ribs to prove it, thought then hadn't been the time to interrupt James.*

*“It was a* rough *fight and she* got *hit but she's* recovering*!”
James's voice rose until he was shouting.*

*“What is going* on*?” Sirius demanded. Having always had a shorter fuse than James, it
was remarkable that he hadn't shouted* completely *back.*

*“Lily and I can't have kids.”*

*Sirius snorted. “How's that work when you're having one?”*

*James turned away from his friend to press his palms to the wall above his head.
“Dumbledore,” he said, an eerie calmness suddenly to his tone, “is—I'm certain of this—coming
down to discuss mine and Lily's options for aborting the child. We should have been more
careful, shouldn't have let this happen. It won't be easy, but to bring a child into the
world right now would be irresponsible.”*

*Sirius only continued to stare at James in disbelief. “What?”*

*James shook his head. “Lily and I,” he said through gritted teeth, “we aren't* allowed
*to have children.”*

*“But* why*?”*

*“Too risky. We're both in the Order. It would be like wishing death on our child. Best
take... care of things... now.”*

*“*Ridiculous*. Alice Longbottom just announced she was pregnant—everyone was excited for
her! And that red-headed woman with loads of kids already? She's pregnant, too! Other people in
the Order have kids, Prongs! What really makes you and Lily so different?”*

*“The fact that any child of ours will have the fate of the wizarding world resting on his
shoulders!” James burst out. “So Voldemort* wants *the rest of the Order dead? Fine. He*
has *to have me dead. He wants power, but only the kind he'll have to spill my blood to get.
My blood because I'm a Potter, now my son's—because odds are it's a boy even if
I'll never get to see him—for that same,* stupid *reason.”*

*Sirius blinked. “What?”*

*And it all clicked into place for Sirius. “So it's true then,” he said slowly. “The basis
for the pureblood argument of supremacy. There really* was *a war between Magicians and
Muggles, one purebloods reckon they won because they can still cast—bloody hell, James, are there
really gates? Some kind of barrier that protects magic, forces that disperse—”*

*“*I'm *the barrier,” said James. “And apparently there* are *forces—they're
ruining my life, I'll have you know!”*

*Sirius could hardly believe what his friend was saying. Coming from a long line of pureblood
wizards, he had grown up in the shadows of dark magicks and wondered if he dare believe the
whispers—ancient legends, traditions, and lore—more magic in the world than wizards, and if you
could just find the Forgotten Gates, than magic would be yours—oh, you'd have to be willing to
kill of the righteous family protecting it, but what's a little blood spilled compared to all
that power? And now there was some prophecy about the end of the Light! The oldest, darkest wizards
said it was about time, too.*

*Attitudes like that had been what drove a wedge between Sirius and his family, leading to the
current situation—his estrangement. That little amount of blood to spill was suddenly quite a
lot—James's blood and his unborn child's. Sirius's own blood began to boil.*

*“And Dumbledore's told you no kids?” said Sirius angrily. “Why not have `em, James? Why
not have an army of `em and see how—**”*

*“Remember my five brothers?” James wanted to know. “My five* dead *brothers That
didn't work, unless you consider their five graves and my parents' a raging success! No,
Dumbledore never told Lily and me we couldn't have kids. We bloody well came to that decision
ourselves! The only thing we can do is try to get me through this war and to some ripe old age
where I can die in my sleep and seal those gates and end this* stupid *blood rite!”*

*Sirius, who had known James for the better part of his twenty-one years, could only stare on
in disbelief as his friend slammed one more fist against the wall for emphasis before shoving his
hands in his pockets and returning to Lily's beside. Lily, her sobs reduced to silent,
streaming tears by now, Sirius was sure had listened to most of the exchange. The red-headed girl,
who he had always teased and tormented and maybe even had a crush on for about two seconds there
that one time, was as much a sister to him as James was a brother. Funny how blood hadn't
mattered—until now. Sirius couldn't image how she must be feeling. He watched James slide onto
the side of her hospital bed and wrap his arms around her, which did it for Sirius.*

*Yes, that was it. Without saying a word, Sirius slipped out of the hospital wing and stormed
off in the direction of Headmaster Dumbledore's office.*

* * *

“That,” said Dumbledore quietly, “was the story your godfather came to me with that evening. Of
course, he was not yet your godfather, but hearing that two of his closest friends were to have a
child was all it took to make him love you. So much, in fact, that over there—” the headmaster
pointed over his shoulder to the wall Harry had thrown the dragon paperweight at “—is the wall
against which he had me pinned, wand to my throat, so convinced was he that I was directly at fault
for James's downtrodden, dejected attitude.”

Harry, who was feeling quite downtrodden and dejected himself, couldn't help but suggest,
“Perhaps you were.”

“Perhaps I was,” Dumbledore echoed softly. “Harry—the purpose of that story was not to make you
feel useless, or unwanted. Your parents loved and wanted you more than anything, but they
didn't want for you want they had had for themselves. Your mother was twenty years old then,
Harry, and your father, twenty-one. Lily had seen her parents murdered. James had made the decision
to let his younger brother, left mad and child-like by the Cruciatus Curse, die rather than make
him an easy target for Voldemort. They had buried too many friends and hardly any enemies. Both had
been wounded more times than they could count, especially your father. How could they protect you
when they hardly could themselves?

“No—for as much as they loved each other and as much as they loved you already, your parents
felt compelled to put the future of the wizarding world first. Those, Harry, are the sort of people
you hail from. That attitude is the type that earned the Potter family such a cursed blessing.

“And Harry? For as much as I admire spirit, brotherhood, and bravery, what pained me in that
moment was not Sirius's wand against my flesh, but the fact that your parents had already
decided to deny themselves the pleasure of children. Since their own childhood, they had been asked
to bear too much. I would never once have considered asking them not to have you—yet they expected
someone to. James had lived with the knowledge of his blood rite since age thirteen, and your
mother with the knowledge of what loving James would mean since age fifteen. That night I Told them
to have their child, to have you, Harry, and I promised them I would somehow see you protected and
the Forgotten Gates preserved.

“I never will regret that, Harry. Your parents loved you so very much—your father was so proud
of his baby son. He would bring you to every Order meeting in a baby carrier, brandishing your
bottle much like a wand. Your mother fretted that you would turn out just like your father, and
deciding that she could scarcely handle the one, hoped to instill you with slightly more discipline
and self-control. She'd read you baby enrichment books every night and take you to her Charms
circle.

“Sirius would talk constantly to you about Quidditch, insisting he, not James, would buy you
your first broom. He hung a mobile above your bed, and once Remus had finished painting a wall
mural of a spirited game, Sirius was right over to enchant the players into actual flight. You
really were the bright spot he had anticipated.

“No, Harry, in a little over a year, you gave them so much. I regret you had not more time to
spend with them, that I could not keep my promise to them of your happy, healthy childhood. I did
not see you for ten years, Harry, and when you returned to the wizarding world, you were the
splitting image of your father, only with your mother's eyes—a constant reminder of them. You
stood out as a scholar more than you might have realized in your first year of studies, and I had
to hope you would be the one that lived the quiet life with no reason to know your destiny.

“But almost at once, you took your first glimpse at Voldemort, and you proved yourself your
parents' child—you possessed the same courage, the same determination, and the same spirit. Let
that be enough, I said. Let twice be more than the Dark Lord can take, and let him seek power
beyond Harry's veins.

“But then you faced Tom Riddle the very next year. I kept telling myself that while Tom Riddle
became Voldemort, he was not necessarily Voldemort—whatever that boy at Hogwarts knew about the
gates was a distant memory. What I knew about your blood rite would surely keep.

“The next year, you gained a godfather, and he was far from being a murderous fiend. He was the
family you so deserved, yet you did not get him. I told myself that the last thing you needed was
to hear the implications of Pettigrew's betrayal had you, too, been murdered. It was already
too much that you had lost your parents. Then you lost your godfather, so I waited.

“And the year after that, you somehow ended up in the Triwizard Tournament. Too much for a
fourteen-year old boy, I said. How could I put such a burden on your shoulders when you had already
been forced to witness the execution of your classmate by Voldemort? Never mind that he would
certainly continue to try for you now that he had risen. I would wait even longer, and I would vow
to put a stop to Voldemort before he could find you.”

Harry sat quiet, still as the headmaster paused. In his plain robes, he did not look regal. He
looked ragged, a worn out old wizard. And nervously, he chuckled.

“Do you see, Harry? I always wanted to protect you. I could keep you in the dark, and perhaps
the problem would go away. I ran myself in circles trying to deny you the truth. In my mind, I
actually imagined you safe at the Dursleys' because at least the Muggle world was out of sight,
out of mind for the Dark Lord. I buffered the wards on the castle, and I scoffed at the deaths of
two students rather than admit Hogwarts was not the stronghold I thought it was. I knew you were
asking the questions, but how could I let you find the answers? Especially not then, as you grew
closer to my gr—”

Dumbledore stopped short. He closed his mouth and seemed to switch gears.

“Harry, you asked me why you ended up in the chamber that night. I hope you have seen the reason
why. It was I who led you to that chamber last week—not the Dark Lord, not one of his followers.
Had I not so convinced you my concern for him was non-existent, had I only been forthright about
his plans for you, then certainly you would not have fallen in his trap.” Dumbledore finally made
eye contact with the Boy Who Lived. “Have I given you your answers?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, Professor—you have. Thank you. And—” he searched feebly for a better way to
say it but found none “—I'm sorry.”

The headmaster shook his head. “No, Harry, I am. I am sure you are, however, still confused,
still concerned. I am sure you have gathered by now that the Order of the Phoenix fought against
Voldemort the first time and has banded together to try to put him down again. There are...
*others* your age who participate, and should you accept the invitation, you can as well.

Harry nodded. “I accept.”

“Very well,” said Dumbledore. “You will join some of the finest wizards in the fight—your
godfather, Professor Lupin, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape, Mr. Weasley and Ron's eldest
brothers, to name a few. I will send word of the next meeting just before—sometime tomorrow,
certainly.”

It was all Harry could do to keep nodding, listening as carefully as he could to what the
headmaster went on to say. Most of it he had heard already, from Sirius, Ron, or Hermione. Krum had
been unusually honest with them, given that Dumbledore did not even go so in-depth about Death
Eater activity and Order response. As a result, Harry found it hard not to let his mind wander.

Had he meant it? Was he really sorry about what he had done in light of Dumbledore assuming
responsibility for the behavior that Harry had merely responded to? A little voice in the back of
his mind kept asking whether he felt violated in having his own fate kept from him. As it turned
out, to some extent, he did.

“...and since then, the Order has been trying to keep the *Daily Prophet* and the Ministry
off the fact that Hogwarts was so near attack,” Dumbledore finished. He gave the boy wizard a long
look. “Harry?”

“Hmm?” said Harry, caught off guard. “Oh yes, Barker would have been all over that...”

“Would he not?” said Dumbledore, the corners of his lips turning up in a smile. “Now, Harry—I
will ask you to deliver a parchment to Ron so he might be extended similar explanations tomorrow—”
the headmaster, indeed, produced this document and handing it across his desk to Harry “—and
thought I suppose it will be up to your discretion what to tell Hermione, I would appreciate...
caution.”

For a moment, Harry waited, expecting the headmaster to elaborate. He did not. “Professor, as
much as Hermione's been through, she was still at my side in the chamber, just like Ron.
Doesn't she have as much of a right as either of us to know the truth? I can tell you she hates
more than anything when people treat her like she's going to break at any moment.”

“Harry...” the headmaster offered reluctantly, “...perhaps you remember the conversation we had
many months ago, on your first evening back at Hogwarts?”

“That...” Harry said slowly. He frowned. “That you were Muggleborn, and to tell Hermione, and...
you lied to me! Once before you told me your brother had gotten caught performing illegal turkey
charms or something, and your parents were disappointed!”

“Goat,” Dumbledore corrected, which only made Harry angrier. Not only had the headmaster lied to
him, he had made Harry feel stupid for falling for it. “But Harry, though that story was a
fabrication, it was the only thing I could think of to relate to Hermione with.”

Harry didn't care. “What do you think you're playing at?” he demanded.

“Have you ever heard of Grindelwald?” Dumbledore wanted to know. Harry just shrugged. He had,
sort of. “About fifty years ago, as Muggles claimed victory over Hitler, Grindelwald took advantage
of the fact that so many Muggleborns were displaced, or coming out of service, or longing for their
families. He took their hurt and anger and channeled it into the Dark Arts, and the Ministry feared
how it would look to come down hard on such an already downtrodden group. A group of us decided we
had to act anyway. Defeating Grindelwald cost me my post at Hogwarts, and sent me into hiding for
several years.

“Up until that point, I had been working aside Nicholas Flamel, so I retained the look of a
young man even though I had since celebrated my one-hundredth birthday. I fell in love with Muggle
war widow, married her, and had a child. Soon my natural age started to catch up with my
appearance, leaving me with no choice but to tell my wife the truth.

“She was a God-fearing woman, and I was an abnormality she wasn't prepared to deal with. At
her request, though it pained me, I cast a curse on my newborn son so that he might never know
magic. I drew up a death certificate for myself, and she moved back in with her widower father and
began to use her maiden name.

“But there is a problem with anti-magic spells, Harry—they affect your ability to perform magic,
but not the fact that you are magical. So, as it would be, five years ago my granddaughter came to
Hogwarts. And Harry, though there is little I can do about the fact you and Hermione are fated to
be together, it is only my instinct to want to protect—”

That was it for Harry. “Protect?” he interrupted, half-shouting. “Protecting her would have been
telling me at eleven why Voldemort wanted me. Better yet, `protecting her' would have been
telling me before that—save me from the Dursleys and her from me!”

Harry was now rolling to the lift. “You know what, Professor?” he concluded cooly. “You were
right. I reckon it just *was* too much.”

* * *

“Harry?”

The boy wizard neglected to turn around when he heard his name being called. Part of it was his
wanting to be left alone. Another part of it was him having forgone his wheelchair to tromp down to
the lakeshore. The pain in his leg had been so intense coming down that he had ceased to feel it,
and it was his guess that any sudden movement would send him into the lake when it gave out on him.
He skipped another stone across the lake. One, two, three, four, five. Maybe he'd enchanted
some of them to feel better about himself.

“I think I would have rather it from you, Professor,” said Harry. “I doubt you would have made
me so angry.”

“Maybe,” said Lupin vaguely, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder, “...maybe not.”

“I don't think I have it all straight,” said Harry at last. “Or maybe I do. It's hard to
tell anymore. So there's some ancient magic source that only remains protected so long as
I'm not dead because all of my relatives are?”

Lupin picked up a stone, tapped it with his wand, and skipped it as well. “No, I reckon you have
it. There's more history to it than that, but it's mostly a matter of your standing in the
way of what Voldemort wants—*power*.”

“Maybe my parents *were* being selfish,” said Harry. “After all, they died trying to
protect *me*. Unnecessary complication, then and now. The way Dumbledore tells it, the three
of us created quite a mess.”

“Harry... this isn't going to work unless you keep in mind that we're all only human,”
said Lupin. “You, me, your parents, Dumbledore. I'm not going to lie to you, Harry. Too many
people have done that. Like your father before you, you bear more weight on your shoulders than any
other man I know. The fact that one family should protect the entire wizarding population from
perversion is an idea I find as archaic as the notion of pureblood supremacy. But—I was not alive
thousands of years ago to be consulted.”

“Why *not* let it die out?” Harry wanted to know, too impatient to wait for Lupin to get
there. “If that artisan in Hogsmeade was so self-sacrificing, why did he go on to have kids and
grandkids and get to me eventually? Doesn't it all end if the last Potter dies naturally, all
alone? Why didn't anyone try it? How could *everyone* else related to me be dead?”

“Each and every one of us, Harry—we're only human,” repeated Lupin. “That artisan already
had kids, and grandkids, and honestly no one understood the extent of the burden placed upon the
Potter family. People forgot all about the gates, or forgot enough to question whether the war
between the Magicians and Muggles ever happened. Members of the Potter family themselves let go.
Sure, head turned at the runes found at Hogwarts, but what were those but guesswork? After all,
Ravenclaw translated them, and her later years she is said to have gone quite mad.”

Harry did his best to manage a small smile. “Then how did Voldemort come to know about the
gates? And *really*—thousands of years of Potters? Am I *really* the only one?”

Lupin smiled. “I should give you house points for being so quick to ask the right questions.
Voldemort leaned about the gates the way anyone does—a whisper in the pureblood circles, an awesome
legend that couldn't possibly be true. He researched, and researched, and called on the most
ancient texts and forbidden methods of scrying until he had what he was looking for.

“And you see, it just so happened that in the late 1950s, a young mystic had made a name for
herself by predicting the next Dark wizard to rise would actually be able to destroy the Light side
forever, if only he could unlock the Forgotten Gates. The only chance the decent wizarding folk
would have would be in a triumvirate of a young couple and their best friend. The mystic's name
was Millicent Trill, although you might know her better as Sibyl Trelawney—”

“That old bat?” Harry burst. “Sorry,” he said, realizing Lupin wasn't through. But the
Defense professor only chuckled.

“Isn't she, though?” said Lupin. “But it wasn't what she said. It was *how* she
said it. They started to compare it to a series of tarot readings during the American Civil War, to
the crystal gazing of a French mystic during the Enlightenment, to a prophecy from China and one
out of ancient Egypt. They all went back to the runes at Hogwarts. And the more prophecies and
predictions that emerged, the more Trelawney's prophecy was given credit. She predicted the end
of the world, Harry: the destruction of the Light by a dark power who finally managed to solve the
puzzle of the Forgotten Gates.

“Harry... there are Potters in Spain, in Peru, in Canada... Japan, the Bahamas, Australia, even
a few in the States. But the prophecy cites that only Potters who have always stayed near Hogsmeade
still carry the blood burden. And the prophecy calls for the very last of those Potters, his love,
and their considered brother. You, Ron, and Hermione. Or maybe James, Lily, and Sirius. Perhaps
this prophecy has already served, and James was meant to save us all but didn't, and now we
have no hope.” Lupin looked closely at Harry. “I don't think so.”

“Why?” Harry wanted to know. He hoped it was not product such a response as the last time he had
essentially asked the question.

“There... is a line in the prophecy. It begins, `*Be it destroyed her innocence...'”*
Lupin recited quietly.

Harry threw the stone he was holding as hard as he could to the lake, his leg collapsing on him
as he was overcome with anger, and he just sank to the ground straightaway.

“I'd never ask her to confirm or deny,” said Harry, “but he did it *again* down there,
Professor. Three times, it makes. *Three*. I was unconscious, and I couldn't protect her.”
He wiped angrily at his eyes with the back of his hand. “And a part of me is glad I was because I
reckon he would have done it anyway, and a part of me dies every time I think about it, and I think
it would have really killed me to have had to see it.”

Harry could hear the lake behind him, but he concentrated on the distant sounds of the forest
instead. The howls and wails sent shivers down his spine.

“I don't know what lies ahead for you and Hermione,” said Lupin softly. “I reckon that soon
you're going to tell her that it's just too much of a risk being with you. But if you do,
you'll miss the point of what saved you all in that chamber. You're already in the
situation your father and mother found themselves in—carefree and in love, though at the expense of
her safety and security, for when their souls bonded he shared his burden with her. However
inadvertent, you and Hermione are in it together now.”

“I won't love her,” Harry said stubbornly, “and I can make her hate me.”

Lupin just looked out over the lake. “Your magic is hers now, and I reckon you now access the
powers stolen from her by the dementors. You'll each have to hate yourself as well.”

“I'll do it, make it happen—whatever it takes to keep her safe,” Harry insisted.

“Let's go inside,” Lupin suggested, helping Harry up. At his wheelchair, left at the door he
came out of, Harry nodded.

“Thanks Professor,” he said quietly.

Lupin looked thoughtful. “Call me Remus,” he said finally. “You'll have a new Defense
professor next year.”

Harry's mouth dropped open. “What? Why? You're such an amazing teacher!”

“But quite the fantastic beast,” said Lupin sadly. “Though thank you.”

“But people knew this year!” Harry protested.

“Part of the wards that went up around the castle made students who had problems with my animal
side or who had parents with such problems forget about the wolf. But trying to undo what Voldemort
had done, Dumbledore had to take down those wards. More owls than ever this time, enough to keep us
from having a third go of it,” explained Lupin.

“That was us,” said Harry bitterly.

Lupin shrugged. “I'd rather have the school safe... and the three of you.”

Harry was somewhat astonished by how unfazed his professor seemed. “How do somewhat astonished
by how unfazed his professor seemed. “How do *you* not sound at all bitter?”

“My life has known greater disappointment and hurt than this. I stopped worrying so much about
these small things after I lost Clara,” said Lupin carefully.

Harry nodded, wondering if his professor could even see him in the dark. “I'm—I'm sorry,
by the way. Her journals... she sounded like an amazing person, Professor.”

“Remus,” corrected Lupin. “And don't be sorry, Harry. Clara made me happy, happier than most
ever get to be. I'll always be grateful for the time we had together. Sometimes... that has to
be enough.”

“Wow,” Harry heard himself say. “How do you do it?”

“I didn't,” said Lupin, exhaling slowly as he leaned against one of the stone archways.
“After she died, I shut down. Do you remember what Sirius said that night in the Shrieking Shack
two years ago? That he believed it was *I* who was the spy?”

“I do,” said Harry quietly. Lupin smiled at him, resting his hand on Harry's shoulder.

“When I came to Hogwarts your third year, it meant more to me than you could ever know that you
came to *me* to learn the Patronus Charm. It made sense, of course, I *was* the Defense
professor, but getting to spend time with you meant the world to me. You see, by the time you were
born, I was so deep in my own despair that I rarely came around. Half-mad, half-drunk, I was not a
suitable character to have around a child. Your mother asked me politely to go—and I did. I stayed
in the Order but kept my distance. I'm sure your father knew, but Sirius never did. I'm
sure it wasn't hard to imagine me going to Voldemort, not in the least.”

“But wasn't it because of Voldemort that Clara died?”

“You do strange, incomprehensible things, sometimes mad or amazing things, when you lose your
love,” said Lupin. He raised an eyebrow. “Hermione certainly did when she believed she lost you. At
least for awhile vanquished the Dark Lord, she did.”

Harry thought about this. “You really just don't want to talk about Clara, do you?”

Lupin chuckled. “No more right now than you do Hermione.” He looked every bit as thoughtful as
Harry as he gazed out into the darkness. Finally, he spoke. “I hate to even ask, Harry, but...
would you... go... no, I can't.”

“Can't what?” Harry wanted to know, confused.

“Can't ask you to go back to the Dursleys,” said Lupin. “Sirius is dead against it, and I
happen to be as well. But Dumbledore needs time to strengthen the wards around the Burrow and the
Granger home.”

Harry felt his heart thud against his chest. He was sure of it. “The Dursleys moved,” he said
desperately. “Over the winter holiday!”

Lupin nodded. “I know. But because they are Muggles and your blood relatives, there are certain
bonds that will protect you where even magic could fail.”

“They don't love me,” said Harry grumpily, but he knew that it was just resignation in
disguise. Lupin would handle the situation, he was sure. It wouldn't be more than a few weeks
there, he was sure. He could get through this one last summer, he was sure.

The Defense professor sighed, releasing the hold he had taken on Harry's shoulder. “Good
boy.”

“Sure,” said Harry.

“Well.”

“Quite.”

“Word will be sent tomorrow about the Order meeting. Good night, Harry.”

And Lupin gave Harry one last pat on the back before he disappeared into the darkness, leaving
the boy wizard with no choice but to return to the hospital wing.

* * *

In the coming months, the argument being waged between Ron and Mrs. Weasley would become
increasingly familiar to Harry, but when it began for the first time on Monday night, he did not
know that, and he found himself listening intently through the curtains. It wasn't really
eavesdropping, he reckoned, because his best friend was having a go at it so loud with his mother
that Harry was certain that, on the other side of the castle and down in the dungeons, some
Slytherins were picking up the exchange.

“Your father and I—” started Mrs. Weasley. She was interrupted by the funny sound Ron made.

“Bullocks,” Ron broke in, which had Harry wondering for at least the fifth time if perhaps his
redheaded friend was braver than he, as he hadn't known his mother but thought he knew enough
about them in general to avoid the use of some words. “You know as well as I do that Dad's in
favor of my joining. He's just too afraid of what you think to say one word!”

If Mrs. Weasley had heard what came after Ron's cursing, Harry wouldn't have known it.
“Ronald! Language!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry, Mum—”

“Oh, don't you *sorry* me, young man,” said Mrs. Weasley threateningly, and Harry could
only imagine that she was wagging her finger at her youngest son. “You know as well as I do—oh,
*never mind*! Let's say your father *is* in favor of your joining—which, I might add,
I *highly* doubt—then the fact that he hasn't said a word to me just shows he's
questioning himself! It's just *too* dangerous, Ronald. You're just *not* old
enough!”

“Next March I will be,” Ron shot back. “So put your foot down, Mum. Like you did with Fred and
George. You didn't want them to join either, did you? You *know* they told me they were in
the *second* they knew I was.”

“And they weren't even in until *well* after their seventeenth birthdays!” said Mrs.
Weasley. She seemed less angry now—more fretful. Harry shifted uncomfortably from where he stood on
the outside of the privacy curtains. He wanted to clear his throat or something, but he wasn't
sure if it was the best idea.

Almost a full twenty-four hours had passed since his meeting with Dumbledore. Done seething,
Harry had been impatiently waiting for the nine o'clock hour so that he could attend his first
Order meeting. Hermione hadn't helped him at all when she returned from her first round of
make-up O.W.L.s only to run off to study for those she still had to complete, and neither had Madam
Pomfrey when she had applied a charm to his injured leg from one of the dusty old books she'd
been scouring for days. Now, so long as he didn't push too hard, he could walk on his own for
short periods of time, which had him pacing from one side of the hospital wing to the other, trying
to ignore the sharp pains that still plagued his leg.

Ron had come through before dinner and dragged Harry to the Great Hall, which had actually
provided a great distraction from his fretting. Ron's motives, however, had been twofold, and
as a result, they had taken the “long” way back to the hospital wing. With a great deal of
enthusiasm, Ron described how his own meeting with Dumbledore had gone that afternoon. Harry, for
the most part, could only nod and smile. He had known everything that Ron told him already, as well
as a great deal more, but had also known that it meant a lot to Ron to have had interest taken in
him as well. One thing, or rather two, that Ron had revealed surprised him: he too, had been
invited to join the Order, and provided he could get his parents to agree to Dumbledore's
conditions, he would be joining not just his father and two eldest brothers, but Fred and George as
well.

The boys' quiet chatter had ceased almost immediately when they reached the hospital wing.
They had been careful in the halls when discussing the sensitive issue, but Harry at least had
figured that Mrs. Weasley's anger upon their return had something to do with not being careful
enough. No, quite the contrary—almost immediately, she had hauled Ron off to the far corner of the
ward and drawn the curtains around them. Harry almost wondered if the usually kindly witch had
meant to cast a silencing charm as well but had just forgotten in her haste.

“When Fred and George turned seventeen, there wasn't an Order to be joined!” Ron was saying,
or rather shouting. Something clattered beyond the curtain, causing Harry to cringe.

“What's to say there will be one when you do!” said Mrs. Weasley. There was no hint of
questioning in her voice.

“That's right, Mum, what's to say?” Ron said coolly. “For all I know, things could be so
bad by then that most of the Order will have been killed, which probably means I'll be dead
too. It's just a matter of whether I get killed fighting against the Dark Lord or killed
because I don't know how to fi—”

“Don't say that,” said Mrs. Weasley softly.

“Why not?” Ron wanted to know, his voice rising ever so slightly. “Dumbledore's telling me
how involved with the Order you are—group mum, really, but you don't seem to understand what
we're up against. If it's as Dumbledore tells it, then it's bad. Mum, Voldemort—”

“*Ronald*!” hissed Mrs. Weasley. “Don't say his—”

“VOLDEMORT!” Ron bellowed, and for a few seconds neither mother nor son spoke. Then Harry heard
his friend sigh. “Mum, I'm sorry. But look how scared you are when I just say his name!
You're right about what you said earlier. I can't remember what it was like last time.
*That's* what I'm just not old enough for. But you do remember... and you're
terrified of what's to come. And that's okay—I am too. It's why I want to fight.
Don't you see? I'm already right in the thick of it, been destined to be since I sat with
Harry that day on the train. I'm going to have to fight no matter what, and don't you think
it'd be better if I at least knew how?”

Mrs. Weasley still didn't say anything. Harry could hear her shuffling around for something,
presumably in the large bag she had carried in. “For the record, I do *not* approve,
Ronald!”

The curtains parted quite dramatically as Mrs. Weasley made her exit. Harry knew at once that
they'd be flung open by magic, but he also could tell that it had been involuntary on her part.
She had left Ron, open-mouthed and quite red, holding a parchment in one hand and standing among
various magical surgery tools—obviously, what had clattered to the floor earlier. However, instead
of striding purposely to the door like he figured she would, Mrs. Weasley paused in front of Harry.
She drew something else from her bag, shoving another parchment, identical to the one Ron held,
into Harry's hand.

“Here,” said Mrs. Weasley, obviously quite exasperated. “From Dumbledore.” Harry hesitantly
reached out to take the paper from her. He gave it a slight yank, but she kept a firm grip on her
end. He gave her a helpless look, which only caused her to sigh impatiently as she released it. She
drew in very close and wagged her finger in his face just as he imagined she had done to Ron
earlier. “For the record, *I* don't think it's a good idea that *you* join
either!”

Harry, oblivious to the rustling of parchment not far over, watched the matron of the Weasley
family depart. He glanced in Ron's direction, but the redhead only waved a hand. “She'll
come around,” said Ron dismissively. He looked up at Harry and shrugged. “Or else she won't,
and then we'll have this argument again tomorrow, and again the next day, and again the
next...”

“Right, you can stop now,” Harry said, grinning even as he took a cautious step forward. Just
because he was walking again did not mean it came as easily as it once had. Every step required a
certain concentration he didn't usually associate with such an ordinary task, and he often
found he could only *just* tolerate the searing pain that came with each footfall.

Pity wasn't something he was used to seeing on the stern mediwitch's face, but since
applying the charm, Madam Pomfrey had fretted over him so. Personally, Harry thought that walking
now was a little like stepping on daggers, but he wasn't about to say anything negative about
his new freedom that would get it taken away—not that he ever thought he'd consider
*walking* a freedom.

Shoving all astonishment aside, Harry gritted his teeth as he shuffled towards the nearest
hospital bed. He gripped the end of the metal frame for support as he began to unfold the
parchment. At about that moment, Ron said something, but for whatever reason, Harry couldn't
make out the words.

“What?” Harry asked, glancing up. This time, he saw Ron's mouth moving, but all he heard was
garbled noise. He frowned. “What?” he asked again.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Read that already,” the redhead prompted, lifting his injured arm, still
in a sling, in the direction of the parchment Harry held as he drew his wand from his pocket. A
quick incantation lit the paper on fire, leaving Ron to quickly rub his fingers together as flames
licked at the last of it. Startled, Harry quickly focused his attention on his own parchment:

*All meetings of the Order of the Phoenix in the month of June will be held on Monday evenings
at 9:00 p.m in the Hogsmeade Shrieking Shack.*

Stamped in the lower corner of the parchment was the outline of a phoenix, and small print
beneath it read, “Please protect this phoenix—put this parchment to place promptly!” Harry
didn't hesitate to draw his own wand as Ron had, quickly igniting the message. Still not
entirely comfortable with his new magic, however, he cringed as the last of the flames left the
tips of his fingers feeling quite crispy. He was about to give Ron a sheepish smile as he wiped his
hand on his pants when he realized his friend had already moved.

“Shrieking Shack, eh?” This time, Ron's words did not sound garbled to Harry's ears.
“Dumbledore must be Secret Keeper for the Order,” he said, much spring in his step as he passed
Harry on his way to the door. “Or—something else that would explain why you couldn't understand
what I was saying before you read your note. Come on, we better get going.”

Harry's brow furrowed. More used to Ron charging into things than taking charge, he
couldn't come up with a thing to say in response to his friend's observation. As the
redhead reached the exit, he grabbed the door handle with his good hand and turned back to Harry,
jerking his head in the direction of the hall as if to ask whether or not he was coming. Harry
could only nod, ignoring the stabbing pain that came in following.

The two boys headed towards the grounds with Ron in the lead and Harry trailing behind by
several feet because of his leg. In the coming months, it would just be something else for the Boy
Who Lived to become familiar with.

* * *

“Cor blimey! `iam, `s `arry Pott'er!”

Harry's cheeks began to burn almost immediately upon entering the Shrieking Shack. He and
Ron, coming up from the passage that opened from under the Whomping Willow, had no sooner entered
the main room of the old house than they began to attract attention. Two identical older wizards,
with ruddy complexions and dimples in their left cheek, were whispering excitedly to one another
from where they sat behind a heavy oak table close to the door of the shack. The second wizard
hopped up excited, scooting the table forward as he reached out to shake Harry's hand. The boy
wizard took it awkwardly, only to have his shoulder nearly pumped off in the man's
enthusiasm.

“Bless my soul! `s him, `s Harry Potter!” the man exclaimed. His Irish brogue wasn't quite
so thick as the first wizard's, nor did it sound nearly as drunken. He released Harry's
hand only long enough to punch the other wizard's shoulder. “Connor, didn' yo' once say
if we ever did meet th' Boy `ho Lived, yo'd give me yo'r best daisies?”

The first wizard, Connor, stopped staring long enough at Harry to give the second an angry look
before popping him on the side of the head. “'said no su'sh thing!” he insisted.

“Yo' did!” said the second, Harry obviously forgotten. “At the end o' the firs'! We
was pickin' up the las' o' the Det E'ers outsi' o'... o'... it
doesn' ma'er where! We'd had some jus' surren'er like that, but we had us some
swam' to cross, and yo'r leg was s'ill botherin' yo' from the Dublin raid, and
yo' told me if they'd all just surren'er so easy, yo' wouldn' be having trouble
with yo'r leg, and I told yo' to thank Harry Potter, and yo' said yo'd give
yo'r best daisies to meet him!”

“No' `o yo'!” Connor shot back. “'ons'ly, `iam, yo'r s'ill su'sh
pony. N'one o's yo' anyth'n—”

“Connor! Liam! *Good* to see you again!”

Harry spun around, never more pleased than then to see the Weasley twins making their way
towards him. As the two Irishmen fought, a small crowd had gathered behind him and Ron.
Fortunately, most of the witches and wizards wore the same amused expressions as Fred and
George.

Connor looked up. “Fre' Weas'y! 's been a'ges!”

Fred grinned as he extended his hand to the older wizard. Following close behind his brother,
George chose that moment to elbow past Harry and Ron. “Can't fool a fellow twin as to which one
I am. Are you two out already?”

“Tw'eeks sooner than they sai'!” boosted Connor, causing Liam to hit his shoulder again.
Connor glared at his brother. “What yo'—”

Fred took it as an opportunity to grab a quill from the table and scribble something on one of
the many sheets of parchment floating around. When Liam opened his mouth, he hastily passed the
quill to George. To Harry and Ron he whispered, “He'll pass the quill to one of you—sign your
name beneath ours on the register, don't make eye contact with either Brody twin, and pass the
quill right along.”

“Yo' don' brag abou' `t!” Liam chided. George slipped the quill to Harry, who wasted
no time signing the parchment. He found it curious that the order of the names went George, then
Fred, but said nothing as he passed off the quill to Ron. “Yo' don' know when one o'
Barker's boys migh'—”

“Well the' we're in trou'le alrea'y for this—” Connor interrupted. Now, Ron was
making a hasty retreat from the table, but obviously not hastily enough for George, who had
commandeered him around and passed the quill to a laughing witch with shocking purple hair and two
nose rings.

“Can't be too careful when it's Barker, isn't that right?” said Fred, but before
either Connor or Liam could respond, he had grabbed a handful of Harry's robes and given him a
forceful yank in the same direction as his brothers. Once in the opposite corner of the room, the
Weasley twins erupted in gales of laughter as Ron and Harry shared confused looks.

“Fred,” Harry said, addressing the twin that had steered him away from the Irish wizards, “who
are those...?”

The Weasley twin smirked. “George, actually,” he said.

“And I'm Fred,” said the other, the one Harry had thought was George. “Honest. That's
Liam and Connor Brody, the Order's other resident twins. Connor, you have to let him think
he's got us down, but he's really only right half the time. Connor's a bit of a—”

“Drunk?” suggested Ron. His brothers laughed.

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” said George with a glance at his brother, “but were you going to
say... character?”

Fred nodded before clapping Ron on the back. “Not that he isn't fond of the ale, little
brother. He and Liam both are. He just talks like he's more so because a number of years
ago—”

“—as the s'ory goes—” George broke in, doing an almost perfect imitation of Connor's
accent.

“—he and Liam got in fight at an Irish pub in the States right before an intelligence wizard
raid. They put him under Veritaserum before he was completely sober, and to make this story much
shorter than when he tells it, it made him sound like that all the time,” finished Fred.

“Instead of, you know, only half the time,” George reasoned. “They got in another bar fight a
few weeks ago, and Barker put them in one of his pet correctional facilities. We didn't think
we'd see them for another few weeks, but then Alicia's been saying they're out and they
picked up something while in...” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Nah, Connor and Liam are worth
little scenes like that. They're fiercely loyal to Dumbledore and never fail to come through
when they're needed most.”

“Little tasks, though?” Fred threw out. “Pretty daunting. What they're doing is running
registers tonight. Everyone signs in on one of those parchments with that quill, which Dumbledore
cast a charm on. Anyone that's not who they say they are, anyone that's not supposed to be
here...”

George made a gagging noise for his brother. “It's how you can tell I'm George and
he's Fred. You saw how we signed in.” He shrugged. “But you'll learn fast enough. I suppose
we could actually help you—”

“—not that we're the ones *actually* showing you around,” said Fred. He sniggered. “No
one here's *that* stupid.”

“Unfortunately for the Dark Lord.”

Harry and Ron both turned. Alicia Spinnet had approached, grinning. She threw her arms around
Harry, nearly knocking him off his feet, before grabbing his hands and kissing both his cheeks.
“It's good to see you, Harry,” she said breathlessly. “Everyone at Gryffindor's been so
worried, we knew what had happened, of course, but not everyone does—just that something had,
something bad.” She gave him one last hug before stepping back and giving the twins a small wave
and grinning at Ron. She told him, “You I'd make a fuss over seeing too if I hadn't already
when you came back to the dorms yesterday.”

“You're in the Order, too?” questioned Harry. He felt stupid immediately upon asking,
knowing full well that her presence there meant she was. Still, Alicia nodded.

“I've actually been in longer than these two,” said Alicia with a grin. “My dad was a member
during the first war with the Dark Lord, and since it's just him and me—” Harry remembered now
George mentioning once that Alicia's mother had died when she was very younger “—he thought it
was a good idea I understood what he was fighting for. They had me trained before these two even
got their mum to cave.”

“So does that mean Angelina's in too?” Ron wanted to know.

Fred shook his head furiously. (Harry swore George and Alicia shared a smirk behind him.) “You
think I'd let her put herself in danger like that?” he said crossly.

George covered one side of his mouth with his hand as if he were going to tell Ron and Harry a
secret. “They go back and forth about it,” he stage-whispered. “And you thought Mum could put her
foot down about things—at least we know where Fred got it, I suppose.”

“Shut it,” said Fred, elbowing his brother. “Don't think Angie didn't get recruited,
because she did, but in light of... well, let's just say she can do her part another way.”

“Recruited?” said Harry.

All three seventh years nodded. “At the beginning of the year,” said George. “Almost all the
Gryffindors, most of the Hufflepuffs, handful of Ravenclaws and even a—”

“Slytherin or two,” filled in Ron. He jerked his head to the right, and Harry turned to see what
he was motioning towards. Ben Agouti was bent down over Liam and Connor's table, signing the
register. “So that's why you all insisted he was one of the good ones.”

Fred nodded. “He really is. He's training with Lupin and Sirius, Harry, and Snape, to
infiltrate the Death Eaters.”

“He's *good*, too,” Alicia said, causing Harry to recall the limited number of
encounters he had had with the Slytherin. He couldn't help but think all over again that
*not* knowing him had only been a guise for Ben that afternoon in the hall. “He's where I
was after six months, and he's only been in for four.”

“You're not going to...” Ron trailed off questioningly, and Alicia laughed.

“Nooo,” said Alicia, drawing the word to several syllables. “I'm training with Tonks and
Kingsley. I'm trying to get into the Auror Academy after graduation. You know—so much for
Quidditch, but we need more people in the Ministry.”

George grinned, touching Alicia's back. Again, he stage-whispered, “Don't listen to her.
She loves it, and she's incredible at it. Good enough that she's the Order's
*only* placement in Auror training for the autumn super session. They could have put in two
others, but they trust that she'll do the best job. They've got about six wizards doing
what Agouti over there does.”

“George, stop it,” said Alicia patiently. “Ben will actually be the fourth wizard we get on the
inside, Harry. It's a lot more dangerous than what I'm doing. I'd much rather face
Barker than face the Dark Lord!”

“Who's Tonks?” asked Ron. Harry glanced at his friend, who seemed so at ease with everything
that was going on. Harry, on the other hand, could not help but feel overwhelmed. He turned from
their little group to survey the room, still trying to comprehend the memberships of Fred, George,
and Alicia in the Order, as well as the knowledge that some kind of recruiting had been done among
the seventh years. Dumbledore had said he would be surprised at the extent of the Order when he saw
it, which Harry was starting to take as the extent of deceit of those around him over the past
year. He snorted. Not that he hadn't come to expect it after meeting with Dumbledore.

*And I rather should have,* Harry thought. *Since I've been lied to my whole life and
all.*

(He had started questioning whether he had more of a problem with being lied to or the fact that
he never suspected he was being lied to.)

*Would it have killed any of them* *to hint at all this going on**?* Harry
wondered as he spotted Lee Jordan signing the register. Lavender Brown followed him in, which he
was sure at first was a double take until she saw him too, and quickly averted her eyes. Harry felt
his cheeks burn, remembering a certain confrontation with Lavender in the doorway of the dorm room
she shared with Hermione. *Who else am I going to see walk through that door that I never would
have expected**, not* *in a million years?*

Harry felt someone touch his shoulder, and he swirled around. Somehow, in his distraction, his
friends had moved back several feet, and now his godfather stood behind him. Sirius, though
incredibly concerned over his godson's condition early on, had made himself scarce over the
weekend. He hadn't so much as made an appearance, even as Padfoot, since Lupin and Dumbledore
had spoken with Harry.

“She's a Seer, Harry,” said Sirius quietly, his hand still on his godson's shoulder as
he followed Harry's line of vision outward to Lavender. “I know she tries your patience when
she and her Indian friend hang on that bat Trelawney's every world, but three days before
Halloween she insisted on seeing Dumbledore because she'd had a fit the afternoon before and
had seen something terrible coming. She came back in tears the day after Durmstrang, knowing
details of the massacre before we did. At least seven times since she's been dead on—”

“Who's going to come through that door next?” Harry wanted to know. “Who else has been
deceiving me? Hermione? Dumbledore told me he's her—”

“Harry!” hissed Sirius, which at least told Harry he wasn't the only one who had heard that
story.

“Well how do I know that's not a lie as well!” Harry said loudly, not really caring that a
handful of other wizards had begun to stare. “I trust Hermione, but is she going to walk through
that door next?”

“No one's been deceiving you,” said Sirius with a small sigh. Harry withered out of his
godfather's grasp. “I won't lie to you. We were on—”

“You did before,” said Harry shortly. “Call it what you like, but when almost every person in my
life is told to make me believe the exact opposite of what's happened is what's actually
happened...sounds an awful lot like lying to me.” When Sirius said nothing, Harry found that he was
seething again. “Do you have any idea what it's like to go through what Ron and Hermione and I
did last week? Any idea what it's like to find out afterwards that you went through it all for
*nothing* because you thought that was all that was being done when it *wasn't*?”

Sirius said nothing, just folded his arms across his chest. He stayed silent for a long time,
watching with Harry the door. Professors McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Lupin (of course) entered.
Hagrid and Madam Maxime. Mad-Eye Moody (the real one). Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came in arguing,
followed closely by Bill—Harry half expected to see Charlie walk through then, but then he
remembered Ron telling him that Charlie actually headed up the rapidly-growing Romanian division of
the Order.

And those were just the witches and wizards Harry knew. At least a dozen others scampered
through as the hour grew late, to make more than fifty crowded together in the decrepit shack. He
glanced at his watch—the one Sirius had given him, no less—to see that only a minute remained until
nine o'clock. Promptly on the hour, the Headmaster entered the door, cast what could only be a
sealing spell on the doors, and made small talk with the Brody twins. As he picked up the quill and
parchment from the table (Harry presumed it was to check the validity of the signatures), Sirius
uncrossed his arms.

“Do I know what it's like to be tortured by Voldemort?” said Sirius. “Yes. Do I know what
it's like to go through something for nothing? I do, actually. But Harry? You *don't*.
I don't reckon Dumbledore made it clear to you how much he appreciated what you did. How
*important* your actions were. So you made something of a mess—nothing so bad to clean up as
the massacre you prevented. Harry, I don't agree necessarily with how the headmaster has
handled your situation to this point. But you made a difference the other night and you'll
continue to—you're brave, you're strong, and you fight well—but *only* if you force
yourself to forgive Dumbledore.”

Harry ignored his godfather. “You never answered my question about Hermione.”

Sirius sighed. “She knows nothing of this unless you've told her, which Dumbledore—”

“—doesn't want,” finished Harry. When the headmaster clapped his hand and drew the meeting
to order a minute later, the boy wizard took a seat on the opposite side of the room from his
godfather and everyone else he knew when Dumbledore conjured a large table and enough chairs for
everyone there. He didn't know the witch with the purple hair and two nose rings on his right
or the tall wizard with the crooked nose on his left, but that was okay because they didn't
know him and couldn't have done anything to change the fact that everyone he did know was
deceiving him.

“I'm Tonks,” whispered the witch as Dumbledore began the meeting.

Harry awkwardly offered his hand, wishing suddenly he had paid more attention to the twins and
Alicia, who had Ron with them, looking quite at ease, on the other side of the table. “Harry
Potter,” he whispered back.

“I know,” said the witch eagerly. “Sirius is my mum's cousin, and he's said so much
about—”

For the rest of the meeting, Harry ignored this witch too.

-->



42. The Good Fight - part two
-----------------------------



Chapter Thirty-Eight

THE GOOD FIGHT

**Author's note, 7/24/05**: 388,653 words and 31 months later, I'm *finished*.
You have no idea how excited I am to say good-bye, Truest Power, hello, Eagle's Sapphire!
Hopefully, there will be a few of you that are equally ready for the transition.

Chapter thirty-eight, The Good Fight, *part 2 of 2*. Don't read until you've read
part one!

Special thanks to Alan, who wrote about two pages of this for me after I panicked because a
lightning storm made me lose about 19 pages. None of this fan fiction, I repeat, none of it, would
have been possible without him.

Enjoy, and check out the Eagle's Sapphire summary below.

Love from

Elle

* * *

**This one's for Alan, who** **kept me going; for Colleen, who first believe in
me****; for Claire, who just rocks my world; for the boys, who keep me laughing; and for Kate
and Erwin, who** **were always, always there.**

**For them, a****mong others.**

* * *

Ron's check-in visit with Madam Pomfrey on Tuesday, two days after she had released him from
her care, finally earned him an all-clear on everything but his arm. The talisman around his heart
had settled into a somewhat more natural-sounding rhythm, and now that he had had a full week's
work of whatever potion the school nurse had been forcing down his throat, he wasn't having
trouble breathing anymore. Most of his bruises were still painful to the touch, but they had almost
all faded in color. His cuts and scrapes were all healing as well, with the exception of the deep
gash on his cheek from one of Voldemort's hurtling bricks.

But Ron could deal with the bandage taped across his cheek and the sling about his left arm. At
least he was clear of the hospital wing for the rest of the year, provided nothing earth-shattering
happened between that afternoon and Sunday morning. His parents had finally departed as well, and
though he would be reunited with them in a few short days, it was nice to be able to take off after
his appointment as he pleased for now. With Hermione finishing her O.W.L.s that afternoon and
Sirius doing things for the Order once again, Ron had felt bad leaving Harry all alone in the
hospital wing, but Madam Pomfrey had shooed him away in the end. She seemed very eager to poke
around Harry's injured leg some more.

Ron was in the stairwell when the final bell rang to dismiss classes for the day. He scurried
down the last few steps and into the Charms corridor. As it turned out, he needn't have worried
as much about his timing as he had. He only had to hang along the wall across from Professor
Flitwick's classroom for a minute or so before Anna came out, talking with two other Ravenclaws
and a Hufflepuff as well.

Despite the tension that had grown between them since that night in the chamber, he couldn't
help but grin when he saw her. Ron started to head in her direction, but he quickly decided against
it. He shoved his good hand into the pocket of his trousers, tilted his head in her direction, and
hoped she would make the first move.

Anna saw him, and after a sideways glance at her friends, she broke away from them. Ron sighed
in relief as she trotted over to him. He started to tilt his head so he might kiss her before
realizing that it could be awkward, given that her friends probably still thought they had broken
up all those weeks and months before. Anna solved that problem as well—standing on the tip of her
toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck. After kissing him softly, she rested her cheek against
his chest instead of releasing him.

“I—er, I wasn't sure... you know, your friends...” Ron muttered, instantly feeling
flustered. A blush rose to his cheeks. More comfortable with Anna than pretty much anyone, times
like these for whatever reason still had him every bit as nervous around her as he had been during
the first few weeks of their relationship.

“They know...” Anna sighed. “Not everything, but what they need to know. About the two of us...
you know.”

“Yes, I know,” said Ron, resisting the urge to crack a joke about their fragmented conversation.
He relaxed his grip on her waist. With one fluid motion, he slid Anna's bag from her shoulder
and hoisted it onto his own.

Anna tried at once to snatch it back, but she was no match for Ron's height. “Ron,
you're still hurt. Give that back.”

“No,” said Ron pleasantly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders after swinging her bag back. “I
was in the hospital wing not fifteen minutes ago—clean bill of health.”

“Uh-huh,” murmured Anna, glancing around at his arm in its sling. “Then why all the bandages,
sweetie?”

“Just the two,” said Ron defensively. He had been glancing down at her all the while, and she
caught him just then when she looked up. “We need to...”

“Talk,” finished Anna. She managed a small smile. “Wow, listen to us.” Almost like she'd
read his mind. She said nothing else until they had passed into Professor Sprout's private
garden. Anna glanced up at him. “Our first chance to be a real couple...”

“You're the one that finds this place incredibly romantic,” said Ron, relaxing when he
realized she was only teasing. He guided her down the stone path, releasing her so he could set
down her bag beneath their favorite tree. Without meaning to, he groaned. Smiling sheepishly as he
lowered himself to the ground, he said, “Worse than Hermione, you are.”

“That's with the featherweight charm,” said Anna sadly. Dropping to her knees beside Ron,
she began to rub his one shoulder. “It's the magical properties of the texts. Professor
Flitwick likely explained it to your class in third year, it—”

Ron silenced her with a kiss, and another, and one more, and he had to remind himself that they
were supposed to be talking through things as his hand slipped beneath her robes. He smiled what he
hoped was an easy smile as he pulled away, scooting back so he was propped against the tree. Anna
folded her legs beneath her, biting her lip. Ron took her hand in his.

“It'll be another week or two before my arm heals completely,” said Ron at last, “but my
talisman's finally all aligned and that potion did all it was supposed to for my one lung.
I'm a little beat up still and a lot bruised, and that gash is definitely going to leave quite
an ugly scar, but...”

“I don't care. About the scar, I mean, it doesn't matter what it looks like,” Anna said,
attaching her second statement quickly to her first. Tears had begun to well up in her eyes. “Ron,
I—”

“Hey, shh,” Ron muttered, drawing her into his arms, beginning to play with her curls as he
always did. Much to his surprise, she pulled away from him.

“No,” said Anna, shaking her head. “No, Ron, no `shh.' I can't... we can't... I...”
She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. “Ron... I know... I knew
when we first met that you weren't like the other boys I knew... Harry Potter's best
friend, the only pureblood besides your brothers within ten years of my age I'd never met. You
were sweet and smart and funny and treated me with more respect than anyone. Yet... all those
things I'd heard whispers about... you know, helping save the world from You-Know-Who
doesn't always equate `hero,' at least not with purebloods. All those things were
dangerous, all were risky... but I liked you and took a chance and everything seemed... until...
when you...”

Anna trailed off but again found her voice. “When you nearly died after that Quidditch match, I
almost wanted to run because I was so scared of losing you, but then I realized I was only scared
because I cared so much... and I... and John... my father... but by then I think I realized I loved
you. And every thing... everything that you and Harry and Hermione tried to learn more about,
everything you pursued... I tried to help when I could, even though it scared me—the diaries, the
memory charm—I still don't understand it all, Ron.”

“I can explain it,” Ron muttered feebly, but he knew that wasn't the direction in which she
was heading. “Everything. Anything you want to know that I know.”

“No, Ron,” said Anna quietly. “No. I'm sure you know I didn't just clean up old
Ravenclaw and head up to my room to sleep. I couldn't have, no matter how hard I tried. My
stomach tied itself into another knot for every minute that passed. I went the Professor Flitwick
in the end because I could barely walk. I was almost sure you had been severely injured or worse.
It...”

Ron's mouth had gone dry. “Well... weren't... at least you know it's... you know,
real,” he managed, though it wasn't the comfort he imagined she needed. He had known for months
now that they were likely bonded, meant for each other and no one else. Maybe he hadn't been
taught the blood rites and traditions like most purebloods, but he knew that witches and wizards
had it much easier in matters of the heart. They had powers and energies working for them to urge
them into relationships, ones that had a tendency to last. Witches and wizards married young and
stayed married because of such bonds.

A tear escaped Anna. “Ron, oh... Merlin,” she said, touching his cheek lightly through his
bandage. “I didn't need you to take that many Stunners to know it was real. I just... I needed
you to run into me in the Defense corridor and track me down the next day to see that I was all
right even though you were the one that got caught in the head with my heaviest textbook. I needed
you to calm me down after I got a ninety-two in Charms instead of a ninety-five even though you had
been about to swallow your pride and ask for my help in raising your seventy-one. I need your smile
and your laugh and...” Anna trailed off. “I love you, Ron, and I need you, and it scares me so much
to know that I could lose you.”

“I love you, too,” Ron murmured, and the young couple began to kiss. Several minutes passed,
Ron's one hand roaming where it probably ought not have. Anna's robes were lying on the
ground behind her, and her sweater and skirt were both hiked up when Ron pulled away. “I'm
sorry,” he said, breathing heavily.

“I trust you,” Anna whispered, placing her hand over his, which rested on her thigh. Usually,
she would have been the one stopping him, then glancing away shyly and straightening her clothes as
he apologized profusely.

“Then I should tell you what's coming,” said Ron. “Fights. Battles. War. Anna, it's
going to be worse than anything that's ever come to pass between Dark and Light. Final showdown
kind of thing, the way Dumbledore tells it, and—”

“You won't be content to sit back while others fight,” Anna finished quietly, to which Ron
nodded. “You... you'll do whatever it takes, whatever they ask of you, and you won't be
able to...”

She trailed off, but Ron knew what she meant. “No, I can't promise you everything I want to.
There's a group—the Order of the Phoenix—that fought against Voldemort last time. Harry and
I've been asked to join, and I reckon Hermione will be also. Mum's none too pleased,
she's not a member, but Dad is. They might still say no, but I'll be seventeen next year
and it's not likely this will all be over by then, and...”

Anna pressed a finger to his lips. “Kiss me.”

Ron did. “My dad lost one of his two brothers last time, my mum lost both hers. But they're
still going to fight.”

“You're not the same boy you were two weeks ago,” said Anna absently. “When did you become
so old and wise?”

Ron smiled sadly, taking her hand and placing it over his heart, which still shook more than it
beat despite the talisman finally regulating. “Funny. Everyone else labels me as young and
stupid.”

“You weren't much farther from death in the end than Harry, were you?” Anna wanted to know,
her eyes shining with tears once more.

Ron shook his head. “Dad managed to keep Mum from knowing. How did I not keep *you* from
knowing?”

Anna took a shuddering breath. “You'd do it again if you had to, no?”

“In a rattling heartbeat,” said Ron jokingly, realizing at once what he had said and thinking of
their fight earlier. “Honey, I—”

“I know,” Anna whispered. “But I meant what I said about no more joking. At least not about
things so serious.”

“Not again,” said Ron solemnly. “I'm going to have to ask something of you also.”

“What?” Anna wanted to know.

Ron took a deep breath. “Krum... well, despite what little worth his words had, he told me... I
know what John did to you,” he finally blurted, and then he waited, praying she would at least try
to deny it.

Instead, Anna did something startling. As Ron's heart sank with realization, she pulled her
disheveled sweater over her head, untied her blue-and-gold school tie, and began to unbutton her
blouse. Pushing it to one side as she pushed down the waistband of her skirt, allowing him to see
the bruises.

“B-but the Quidditch match was two months ago,” Ron stammered, touching her abdomen lightly. Not
that he would have thought it possible before, but he scarcely noticed her lack of clothing for her
discolored skin. He slid her shirt off her shoulder, only to find more scrapes and bruises on her
back. “How—”

“The Quidditch match, two weeks later, a couple of days after that, the weekend before last,”
Anna admitted quietly. “*Affrendius*.”

The glamour she had been wearing faded, revealing a black eye that had only just began to fade
and bruising all across her jaw. Anna jerked her head away when Ron attempted to touch her face.
She quickly recast the glamour. Ron usually would have said something about her wandless magic, but
he was too busy rising to his feet.

“That's it,” said Ron angrily. “I'm going to—”

“Ron, it wasn't him,” Anna tried desperately. “John didn't know what he was doing.
He—”

“He's going to be living a wall away from you in the coming months,” Ron growled.

“I know!” Anna pleaded. “But it's—it's not John you need to worry about. It's—I
mean—Ron, *please*.” She finally managed to grab his arm. He turned, actually intending to
tell her off, but there was something in her bright blue eyes that stopped him. She led him back to
the tree, where he helped her get dressed again despite his bad arm.

Anna smiled through her tears. “That's what I wanted to do to Krum for what he did to you.”
She shook her head. “What happened—to me, I mean—that was him as well.”

“All they'd ever have to do to hurt me would be to hurt you,” said Ron gruffly, trying to
keep the tears from welling up in his own eyes. “So this is why Harry's trying to hard not to
let himself get involved with Hermione.”

Anna, who had been leaning against her boyfriend, sat up with a start. “Nooo,” she said. “You
aren't going to pull that with me. You aren't... are you?”

“He's a better person than I am,” said Ron, looking away.

“I don't care if being with you puts me at risk.”

“She doesn't care with him either.” Ron gestured for Anna to come back to him, and she did.
Even when her weight settled a little too heavily against his injured arm, he said nothing. “Have I
told you... I think you're... and I...”

“Yes,” said Anna softly. “Yes. All those things. And me as well. So... next year... you'll
be fighting then?”

“I'll hopefully be learning how to,” said Ron, “But later...”

“Later?” Anna echoed.

He hesitated. “Defeating Voldemort won't be easy. Or maybe even possible.”

“But you'll try to help anyway,” said Anna, to which Ron nodded. “Then so will I.”

Ron sat up with a start. “No... *no*,” he said. “No *chance*.”

“Yes,” said Anna stubbornly, though she had begun to wring her hands together in one of her
classic nervous gestures. “Y-you'll have to keep in mind, of course, I-I'm no Gryffindor,
but I want to help, and I think I can. M-maybe not on the... I don't know, on the front lines,
but maybe behind the scenes. M-my Defense work might not be up to scratch, but I've always been
good at... you know, Charms and Potions and Herbology, and the old magicks...”

“You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?” said Ron finally. Anna nodded, and he
took her hands in his. “Okay. I reckon if I'm doing it, I can't tell you not to. But...
have you given anything else a lot of thought?”

Anna's nose crinkled up in that adorable way it did. “What do you mean, sweetie?”

Ron's cheeks flared pink first, then red. “Well, Mum and Ginny and even Hermione a little
were talking about us so much, you know, our future, and I just wanted to know if—”

“Oh, honey, no,” Anna interjected. “No, no, no. That's all so far away. We didn't mean
to—”

“Oh,” said Ron oddly.

“Oh?” Anna questioned.

“You don't ever think about that stuff?”

“Well, I do, but I can see how it would make you nervous, and it's all so far away, and
don't think I'm not aware of that, and I'm also well-aware that it's supposed to
scare boys your age more than the—”

“I actually tried to get a rise out of one of Voldemort's favorite boys,” Ron reminded her.
“Suddenly the future seems less scary, so long as I have one and all. And... er... my dad gave me
something before he and Mum left. He thought I might want to give it to you someday, but all I seem
to be able to think about anymore is now.”

The Gryffindor nervously fished something from his pocket, a delicate golden ring on an even
more delicate golden chain. “It's my great-grandmother's promise ring,” Ron explained.
“When she died last year, Granddad passed it on to Dad because he's the only one that married
another pureblood, and now I'm with you. It's—it's not so much that we care so much
about that, but since—”

Anna just nodded, tears welling up in her eyes again. “I'm happy, I promise,” she assured,
noticing the look on his face. “Happy tears,” she repeated, accepting the ring on its chain and
wordlessly latching it around her neck.

“I'm pretty sure it's your size,” said Ron, “but with your dad...”

“This way I won't have to take it off,” Anna finished. “I know. I don't want to.” Giving
it one last long look before dropping it beneath her shirt, she said, “Thank you, Ron.”

“Yes,” said Ron, at a loss for words suddenly. He lie back, and Anna followed, using his chest
as a pillow. He looped his one good arm around her waist, squinting up at the private garden's
magical sun. “So...”

“So...”

“Not for a couple of years,” said Ron, quickly answering the question she hadn't even have
to ask. “Or a few. Which is it, if I mean three? If we're still fighting Voldemort when you
graduate, I don't want to waste any time.”

“Neither do I,” said Anna. Then she sat up quickly, brow furrowed. “You aren't trying to
talk your way out of proposing then, are you?”

Ron pretended to be offended. “I'll have another ring then and get down on one knee and
everything. Promise.”

Satisfied, Anna lie back down next to him. “Are things really going to get that bad?” she asked,
not sure if she wanted to know. She felt Ron nod. “But you won't do anything too dangerous,
right?”

“I love you,” said Ron in lieu of a response.

“I love you, too,” Anna replied. She wanted to sigh but thought better of it, and she oddly felt
more worried than she had before. After all, hadn't she had at least part of this exchange with
Ron once before? Anna could hear the talisman in his chest shake some as he breathed. Hadn't it
made this one all the more necessary?

* * *

Draco grimaced as he put weight on his leg. From where Hermione was kneeling at the base of the
chair he had just vacated, she grimaced too. She dropped her hands to her knees and sat back on her
heels. Flashing Draco a small smile, she went to place a hand on his good leg but thought better of
it. Hermione sighed.

“*Still* no better?” she wanted to know.

“Nooooo,” said Draco, drawing the word out far longer than Hermione thought possible. He offered
her a hand up, which she took reluctantly. Her heart went out to the Slytherin as he grimaced in
even more pain than before. “It *is* better than it was, and giving you a hand-up won't
kill me, Granger—though you're about to tell me that continuing to call you that might,
*Hermione*.”

Hermione started to make a face, but when she realized she was wrinkling up her nose, she
stopped. She rather thought it made her look like Pansy Parkinson, which she didn't want given
how much Draco had just complained about the girl.

“Because that won't get old,” said Hermione, ignoring Draco's smirk. “And,” she pointed
out, “You've called me Hermione before.”

This time, when Draco took a seat, he hopped up on of the tables. They had met in the Potions
classroom about half an hour before, and the majority of their time had been spent so far talking
about his leg injury and the progress he had been making in spite of it, and Hermione had of course
chided him for coming to her instead of going to Madam Pomfrey. His excuse had been that he did not
want to catch up with Harry in the hospital wing, which Hermione thought both ridiculous and
childish, and had let him know it. Reluctantly, she took a seat beside him, smoothing her skirt
beneath her. She looked away as she tucked a curl behind her ear. There was a long pause.

“Thanks,” said Draco at last. “You know, for my leg. And sorry, though the way Dumbledore tells
it, you'll get what I'm thinking back if you just learn to listen for it.”

“Does that mean you had to learn to listen for *my* thoughts?” Hermione asked.

Draco shrugged. “Usually they just come to me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I hope I give you a headache someday.” She gave a small laugh, mostly
to herself considering she wouldn't even meet Draco's eye. “Well, then... *harrumph*.
If it's the way Dumbledore tells it, it could be quite off.”

“Potter still bitter and unresponsive?” said Draco, actually allowing real sympathy into his
voice.

“Ugh!” Hermione's response was immediate. “He's been so *distant* since he talked
to Dumbledore! He won't hardly say two words to me—`Did you have a good day?' `How were
O.W.L.s?' `Oh, my leg, it's fine.' It's not *fine*, it's maddening!”

Hermione, who had let her voice rise with each word until she was shaking a little with anger,
suddenly realized she had not said two words to *Draco* about Harry's cold behavior at any
point over the last several days. She piped down at once. It was still a little disconcerting to
have a conversation with someone who knew what she was thinking practically before she did.

“What do I need to do,” Hermione asked weakly, “to learn to listen for your thoughts?”

“Dumbledore can have someone work with us if it's something we decide we're okay with,”
said Draco idly, twiddling his thumbs and being equally elusive when it came to making eye contact.
“Or else you can try over the summer to read me like I do you, since it would make you feel better,
and when term starts in the fall, he'll probably have figured out how to sever the
connection.”

Admittedly, the mind link Draco had with Hermione made her uncomfortable, but it had also saved
her life, as well as Harry's and Ron's. She didn't say anything, but she did think that
having Draco in her thoughts was something that she could live with. It would make her vulnerable,
she knew, but at the same time, she trusted Draco completely. She couldn't explain it, even
though she already knew that in the coming weeks and months she would have to, as Harry and Ron at
least were sure to question. Beginning that evening in the prefect bathroom and coming around full
circle the day he had come to her rescue from Marks at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, however,
she had found in herself putting faith in the Slytherin and was yet to falter.

For the second time that afternoon, there was a long pause, at the end of which Draco cocked his
head slightly and said, “Thanks.” Hermione knew he had to be referring to her trusting him so
completely, although the look on his face said she had him as confused as to why as she was.

It was Thursday, three days to the end of term, three days to the conclusion of what had been an
exhausting year. It had also been three days *since* Harry had talked to the headmaster, and
for as nonchalant as Hermione had been at the time about getting answers, she had since grown quite
impatient and was wondering why he was keeping her not only out of the look but also at a
distance—since Monday, she had spent more time with Ron than Harry, and more time with Draco than
both of them combined. Needless to say, the cosmic balance of the universe had begun to seem quite
disproportionate to Hermione when her one-time nemesis from Slytherin seemed to enjoy her company
more than her two best friends from Gryffindor.

Draco, who had had his own meeting with Professor Dumbledore the day before, had said little
more than Harry about the affair, but unlike the Boy Who Lived, he had not been so mum on the
subject that Hermione was going mad. Over the last half hour, he had at least slipped her bits and
pieces. She knew that his testimony, in combination with Snape's that he had not joined the
Death Eaters, had restored the headmaster's faith in the Slytherin and earned him re-admittance
to Hogwarts. He would be starting his fifth year all over at the beginning of the next term,
something he wasn't happy about but said he could live with if he got into Advanced Potions, at
least.

Hermione had also gathered that he would be spending the summer with an aunt of his, Elena
Ginever, who she assumed was the same as the Elena who had once been Head Girl.

“Oh yeah,” said Draco lazily. “She *was* Head Girl, I'd forgotten about that. Father
stopped talking to her completely—he had to some extent already because she was a Hufflepuff—about
a year or so after that because he himself was not made Head Boy. Married a half-blood, albeit one
with fairly long bloodline, but she lives alone now. Dumbledore says it was a bitter separation,
but they're both in the Order.”

“The illustrious Order,” muttered Hermione.

Draco arched an eyebrow. “The Order of the Phoenix. You know, Dumbledore's group, fought
against Voldemort the first time?”

“I know that,” snapped Hermione. “But what have they been *doing* for the last year since
he rose in that graveyard? And *who* are they? And *why* didn't we—”

“One question at a time!” Draco interrupted. He smirked. “You didn't know anything because
Dumbledore didn't *want* you to know anything. That at least, should make you feel safer.”
He paused, gauging her reactions. “No? Doesn't? Nah, didn't think it would...” he shook his
head, dropping his hands to grip the edge of the table before finally looking over at her. “You can
look at me, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” said Hermione, dropping her hands rather like he had. She looked over at him but
did not look up, choosing instead to swing her legs a few times before realizing it wasn't a
good idea. She had been kneeling earlier, and it all was just more than her recently-healed knee
could take. “Will you *please* tell me what's going on, then? I'm starting to feel as
frustrated as Harry about being kept in the dark.”

Draco hesitated. “For starters, the headmaster wants you kept in the dark. I have no idea why,
Granger—I can't see how it'd be a worry of his now that Krum's dead, but he was really
specific about it. `As you know, Draco, what I am telling you now is in confidence, there are only
a few others that you will be able to discuss these things with. I will have to ask, however, that
you do not share any of this with Miss Granger. I rather think she has enough on her mind without
it.' But...” *But at the same time he's encouraging us to explore our Affinity* *if
we're both comfortable with it, and I'd say above all you'd earned the right to
know.*

Draco had trailed off, but Hermione heard him loud and clear. Her eyes grew wide, her hand flew
to her mouth, and she hopped off the table. Pointing at him, she started, “I—you—it—oh
*goodness*!”

The Slytherin just looked at her appraisingly until Hermione calmed down and, composing herself
further, took a seat across from him this time.

“That was fun,” he said dryly. “Look, after Grindelwald, that dark wizard Dumbledore took down
in the forties—well, the Ministry wasn't happy and encouraged the Board of Governors to expel
him from his professorship, which is why that staff rooster didn't have him teaching for a
number of years—” Draco did pause for a moment, given the opportunity to smirk “—yes, that's
what you were thinking, I know. But, he disappeared for a number of years, and when he came back,
he worked towards creating the Order. That way, if another Dark uprising should begin, he and
others he trusted could put their energy into the fight, not into worrying whether or not their job
and life would be secure when it was over, if they even survived.”

“And it formed when Voldemort started his rise to power the first time?” Hermione wanted to
know.

Draco nodded, but then he frowned. “Well, it formed, but it didn't take off until Voldemort
was already in power—people didn't want to believe he was rising, and it wasn't until
Potter senior and company joined that the Order that it could really hope to make a
difference.”

“Why Draco,” said Hermione when he finished, “I'm so proud of your for getting out Mr.
Potter's name without gagging.”

“Yes, well, Father liked *that* Potter about as much as I like *this* Potter, so
I've got a soft spot for him. Anyone that displeasures Father so,” said the Slytherin. He
sneered somewhat as he mentioned the senior Malfoy, his eyes going deep grey for a moment before
lightening. “Though, Sirius Black! Bloody hell, Granger, I always thought the bastard was fit to
worship, and here he is, innocent? I knew you thought he was, but I could scarcely believe it!”

Hermione's brow furrowed. “Wouldn't your father have known he never did anything but
*defy* the Dark Lord?”

Draco snorted. “Granger, my father only wishes he were in Voldemort's inner circle. He talks
as if he is the Dark Lord's lapdog, but he can only dream of such power. He had no idea that
Pettigrew was involved; never would he have guessed that Black wasn't. Every time I asked him
why Voldemort went that night to kill the Potter's, he told me a different story. He hasn't
the faintest clue why.”

“Oh.”

“I met Voldemort once,” said Draco, thoughtfully but out of the blue.

“Did he have one of his minions rape you?” said Hermione bitterly.

Draco flinched. “Don't,” he said quietly.

“Don't what?” Hermione wanted to know.

“Make light of it,” said Draco, clasping his hands together as he leaned forward. “You want to
dismiss what happened, but if you can't dismiss it, you want other people to think you have. If
it's tearing you up inside—then let it out. And not like that, because you don't have to be
okay with it. No one expects you to be. Feel what you bloody well feel, all right? You've been
strong enough in all this, let someone else be for you for awhile.”

Several minutes later, Hermione felt the silence absolutely scraping at her, and she prompted
gently, “So you met the Dark Lord?”

“Oh yeah,” said Draco, letting out a low whistle. “Over the summer. Father was calling for me
one afternoon, `Boy, get out of your room this instant!' yet I was angry with him for beating
me the day before, and to be perfectly honest, I did not think I could manage the stairs, so I
didn't come down. Eventually, he sent up a house elf, who squeaked something about my having a
visitor, but I ignored him as well. And finally, Voldemort himself came up to my chambers to rouse
me.”

Hermione shuddered. “I'd cry if he appeared in *my* bedroom.”

“Well, *I* scrambled to my feet and dropped to my knees and kissed the hem of his robes,
forgetting about my broken ribs entirely,” said Draco nonchalantly, though Hermione caught that he
was not proud to admit he had reacted so favorably to the Dark Lord. “He laughed and hissed at me
to get up already. He said my father aside, he'd heard great things about me from
Severus—that's Professor Snape—and... why are you smirking, *I'm* the one that's
supposed to smirk!”

“Because I *know* who Severus is!” said Hermione, giggling now. After a moment Draco
laughed too.

“So I'm over-explaining myself,” said Draco. “At least I'm talking. He's my
godfather, Snape, you probably *didn't* know that. I've always thought a lot more of
him than my own father, though I hardly knew him before coming here. Voldemort has a lot higher
opinion of him as well—something he was sure to tell me. Apparently the Dark Lord was quite excited
for my acceptance into his ranks, and wanted to personally tell me he thought my father's
blood-teachings were nonsense and a waste of his time. Great thing about Voldemort, doesn't
care if you're fifteen or fifty, so long as he sees you as advantageous to his cause...

“So I went back to Hogwarts, and I was a little caught up in all of it, so I thought I was
helping when I doused you in Forveret Bursen, but I was only harming—*you*. I was expelled,
and Father was so disgusted with me that he thought the only way I could redeem myself was by
serving his master. You know how the story goes from there.”

Hermione nodded, waiting expectantly for Draco to look up. He finally did.

“Father wouldn't admit it, you know,” said Draco.

“What?”

“That he had killed my mum and it had caused me to flee. He made itout to Voldemort like he was
punishing me for my actions and it would be quite awhile before he could in good conscious hand me
to him for service. And... well, it's all going to help when I infiltrate the Death Eaters,”
Draco finished lamely.

“You're going to *what*?” said Hermione with a start. “Draco, that's
dangerous!”

“So? I'm in the perfect position to do it—Voldemort hasn't any idea I've changed
sides, he's been about to pounce on Father all year for keeping me locked away in Malfoy
Manner. Snape's a double agent, as I'm sure you've gathered, and he *is* in the
inner circle, so he can get me up in rank faster than anyone else the Order's training at the
moment. Not all the Death Eaters know the other Death Eaters, but even if my father does realize
I've joined, he'd never admit his failure to keep track of me for over nine months.”

“What if he *does*?” Hermione demanded.

Draco's thin lips were set in a firm line. “Nothing you can say is going to change my mind
about it, Granger, don't bother. I care about you, but that doesn't mean you're in any
position to have influence over me.”

Hermione looked at him coolly. “Then why tell me all that?”

“Missed the underlying theme?” Draco said, his voice as cold as her look had been. “It's for
the *Order*, which we were asking about. I didn't tell you all that stuff in hopes
you'd talk me out of it. I told you it all in spite of the fact I'm not supposed to.
Because no one else has so far.”

“Harry and I are talking later, around five, when he's released from the hospital wing,”
said Hermione as snidely as she could manage. “I'm sure he will too.”

“Or he'll be trying to protect you, and won't,” said Draco, equally rude.

Hermione glared daggers at him, but only for a moment. She wanted to protest, she wanted to
frustrate him as he did her, but she had not the words to. Before she knew it, she had started to
cry.

“This year is... stupid and... awful... and I... *hate* it,” she said, hiccupping out words
betweens sobs.

Draco awkwardly scotched off the desk, avoided putting weight on his still-injured leg, and
hugged her tightly, allowing her to cry into his shoulder as he had in the hospital wing more than
a week before. “I know it is,” he said gently. *Do you want me to tell me more about the
Order?*

Hermione nodded into his shoulder, wondering how hard he'd had to concentrate on that
thought to get her to receive it.

“So hard it's giving me a bleeding headache, Granger,” muttered Draco. She smiled slightly,
catching the reference as she could tell he hoped she would. “I don't know a lot. Not much more
than what I told you. There's a meeting tonight, it's at the Shrieking Shack—so yes, if
Potter sneaks off tonight, or the Weasel, it's a possibility that they've been invited to
join as well.”

“Don't call Ron that,” said Hermione, her voice muffled somewhat. Draco patted her back
before releasing her. She wondered if he knew she would have screamed had it been anyone but him or
Harry that gathered her up like so. Even Ron, who she was defending, would have startled her quite
tremendously, she had to admit reluctantly.

“You don't know why you trust me,” said Draco quietly, “but yes, I know. And I swear,
Hermione, that I would *never* do *anything* to hurt you. And *nothing* like that to
*anyone*.”

“What else do you know about the Order?” prompted Hermione.

“Not much. They have people in the Ministry just like they do Death Eaters—Dumbledore can't
rely on it at all with Barker at the head,” said Draco, kindly *not* noting how swiftly she
changed the subject. “And they've done loads this year, just nothing visible. Some of the
things Voldemort's been doing are... gruesome. My stomach turned when the headmaster described
them. I'm sparing you, no matter how much you complain.”

Hermione chose not to, and about that time, noticed that Draco was clutching the table behind
him for support. Before she could even glare him into taking a seat, he was perched on the old
double desk once more. Obviously, he had caught the drift.

“You could,” she chided, “go to Madam Pomfrey about it. The pain shouldn't be so prolonged,
Draco, and she could certainly do a better job with relieving it than I. You can't keep coming
to me—in three days you won't be able to, and I can't tell you whether or not your aunt
even has knowledge of the charms I've used, they aren't Hogwarts curriculum.”

“I'm not going to Madam Pomfrey,” Draco grumbled, though Hermione wondered if she was
wearing him down. She knew he saw her point—each of the last four days he had come to her when
walking became unbearable, and he had already admitted that her aid had been all that kept him
going.

“Snape?” suggested Hermione coolly.

Draco smirked. “Told me to bother you for a change.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Lovely,” she muttered. “You could go back to using a crutch.”

“Nah,” drawled Draco. “When is it that you're talking to Potter?”

“Five,” Hermione reminded him. “Or at five, he's at least being released from Madam
Pomfrey's—”

“—care,” Draco finished for her. “I remember now. You were sitting on his lap yesterday,
snogging him senseless and praying the mediwitch wouldn't catch you and have you expelled from
both the hospital wing and your healing studies next term. And you were trying to keep things from
going too far when he pulled back panting, and told you that if he didn't get out of there
soon, he was going to go mad, so you put in a good word for him and Pomfrey finally caved. So
he's going to go back to Gryffindor tomorrow, but you told him that in exchange for your help
getting him out, the two of you were going to talk before he even set foot in the tower.”

Hermione was almost overcome by the desire to punch the Slytherin, who was smirking so
completely she rather thought his face would be consumed by it and, she hoped, stuck that way for a
long time. If he dare ask her about kissing the Boy Who Lived, she'd be sure to send him such
painful thoughts that he toppled off from his perch backwards.

“Will keep it in mind,” said Draco easily. “So don't misinterpret what I'm about to say,
let me get it all out—you're snogging Potter senseless, but you keep bemoaning the fact that
he's kept his distance. Hate to break it to you, Granger, but if that's distant to
you—*nice* sneer, by the way.”

“Sod off, Draco,” said Hermione. “He won't talk to me though, and save yesterday afternoon,
he'd pull back if he found himself even touching my shoulder or holding my hand or
something.”

“Snogging has to be a step in the right direction, then,” said Draco, who got off being slugged
on the fact that he was being quite sincere. Hermione could only hope he was right. She waited for
him to say something else, sure he had another snide comment up his sleeve somewhere because
he'd been entirely too nice that afternoon, far less biting and sarcastic than he had earlier
in the week.

They talked about things that had fewer consequences, about the mess that had been made of
Quidditch that year, about house points (Hufflepuff, wonder of wonders, was leading), how her
O.W.L.s went, and what it would take for him to achieve placement in the Advanced Potions class.
Hermione even found herself admitting that even with a year less experience, Draco could probably
still match her skill in the subject. Still, just as she was all-too-aware of the distance that had
grown between her and Harry, she found Draco trying just as hard to withdrawal himself from their
conversation.

At ten to five, Hermione also became aware of the time and shot Draco an apologetic smile.
“Madam Pomfrey's probably releasing Harry at this very moment,” she said, fully expecting Draco
to smirk and make yet that crude remark about her relationship with the Boy Who Lived, but none
came.

Draco did something surprising instead. He hopped off the table he was sitting on, and without
much of a grimace, even, said, “I'll walk you back to the hospital wing.”

“You don't have to,” said Hermione suspiciously. The Slytherin just shrugged as he held open
the door of the Potions classroom for her. “Aren't people going to think it odd when they see
you and me walking together?”

“No,” said Draco, who was actually a few strides ahead of her. “Since Dumbledore is trying to
keep my return as quiet as possible, he cast a glamour on me to take effect when I'm in the
corridors or the Great Hall. I look like an ugly Hufflepuff, and you'll walk with those,
right?”

He turned so she could see him, and, sure enough, the lining of his robes had changed from green
to yellow. Although his hair was still as pale as ever, his face lacked its usual points and
angles. Hermione had to admit that if she passed him in the halls, she wouldn't give him a
second look, but she rolled her eyes instead of saying anything. He had to know she was expressing
disapproval for his “ugly Hufflepuff” remark, seeing as he continued to take long strides that kept
her several paces behind him.

Right before they reached the door of the hospital wing, Hermione managed to catch up with
Draco, and ducking around him, she managed to cut him off at the door. She blocked his entrance as
she fished her borrowed wand from her pocket, temporarily dissolving the glamour.

“Hey!” Draco started, but he stopped, and Hermione had to grin as he realized she had only
undone the glamour for her benefit and people who passed by would still see his nondescript
persona. “Wench,” he muttered.

“Don't call me that,” said Hermione briskly, folding her arms across her chest. “Look,
Draco, I should have just cut to it down there. We should be friends, and I won't have you
saying there's no way we can after the Forveret Bursen because I've forgiven you and that
should be a good enough reason for you to forgive yourself. We're fighting on the same side
now, and we'll probably be fighting alongside one another. So I want you to go, and I want you
to have a good summer, and I want you not to worry about being in my head because I really just
feel sorry for you for having to sort through the mess. And you're going to be as careful as
you possibly can playing both sides for the Order, and you're going to write me when you can.
Okay?—” she did not let him respond “—Okay.”

Draco just looked at her, mouth slightly agape. “I wasn't—” he stammered, “—I--”

And Hermione laughed to find the quick-tongued Slytherin lacking in words. “Look, I knew what
you were going to tell me: that no matter what the circumstances, it just didn't make any sense
for us to try to be friends. But you've proved again and again that it *does* make sense,
Draco. In the forest, you comforted me; in the chamber, you comforted me; in the hospital wing, you
comforted me, and today, guess what? You comforted me. You come to me when you think I can help,
and also when you think you can be of some help. I care about you, and you admit you care about me.
We can go back and forth, and it just makes sense. I know you're not used to having *real*
friends, but... here I am.”

“Huh,” said Draco, clearly still searching for words. “I guess there you are.”

“Please,” said Hermione quietly, “will you promise to be careful this summer?”

Draco nodded. “And you'll take care of yourself? Seriously, won't cut yourself off or
bottle yourself up—you'll start dealing with some of it?”

This time, Hermione nodded, and then she was overcome with a thought so wicked she couldn't
help herself. She caught Draco in a tight hug, more than a little satisfied to find him reacting
rather like Ron used to, squirming awkwardly to get away without giving the impression of doing so,
and patting her head with an equal amount of bemusement. And suddenly he pushed her away, giving
her a look of death equal only to the ones Snape was so infamous for.

“Wench,” Draco said again.

“Have a good summer,” Hermione said firmly, and with a sickeningly sweet smile, she ducked into
the hospital wing. It was only for a moment, however, that she could maintain her glee. Talking to
the Slytherin had been a surreal experience, something out of someone else's life, a friendship
she should have only had by a different choice of the Sorting Hat.

*It's a nice way to sum up the year,* thought Hermione bitterly, *where virtually
everything that's happened has felt so wrong I can't hardly stand it.* She could deal
with Draco's friendship, actually enjoy it, even, but what about all the other things? The
Order, which Harry undoubtedly had to be involved in if Draco was, and the Slytherin was right
about her having to sort through what Krum had done one of these days.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione released the door handle and her breath, which she had been
holding. She forced a smile on her face and resolved to take things slowly, starting with Harry. On
the far side of the hospital wing, he was quarrelling with Madam Pomfrey, and at least the mere
sight of him could still turn her forced smile real.

* * *

Harry wasn't paying attention to a word Madam Pomfrey was saying.

Granted, the mediwitch had long since ceased to present him with anything new, and he could be
almost guaranteed she would repeat it all a dozen more times in each of his check-in visits before
end-of-term on Sunday, so it wasn't like he had to. The problem was where, exactly, his mind
had wandered.

Hermione. For several minutes now he had been replaying the afternoon before in his head. He
wanted to be angry; after days of carefully keeping his distance, his resolve had been completely
broken. But he couldn't be, not when it came to her, especially not when it came to her in his
arms, kissing him as she had.

He could recall their benign conversation about her O.W.L.s, which at the time she had just
completed, and how the entire time he hadn't given a damn about Arithmancy or Potions or the
fact that if he didn't distance himself from her and something happened, it would be her blood
on his hands. And in an order of events Harry *couldn't* recall, she had ended up on his
lap with her lips pressed firmly to his. He had needed her at the moment like he usually did
oxygen.

“You're to stay off that leg as much as possible this summer,” said Madam Pomfrey, for the
umpteenth time, “especially the next few days. You overdid it Sunday and again Monday, and I'll
have you know that I won't tolerate that sort of behavior again. I want you to stay off it
entirely until you leave Sunday morning, and then, only when necessary—”

The sound of the hospital door opening cut through Madam Pomfrey's instructions like music
to Harry's ears, even though he knew it had to be Hermione coming to walk him back to
Gryffindor tower.

The boy wizard took a risk. He interrupted the school nurse. “Madam Pomfrey? I *know* this
stuff. I have it *all* down. You've sent a letter by Muggle post to my aunt and uncle
about it. You've sent an owl to the Grangers and fire-called Mrs. Weasley. Hermione can rattle
this stuff off twice as well as I can, and you're going to see me *at least* three more
times before I go on Sunday. I'd really like to get settle back into Gryffindor while it's
still quiet.”

Hermione had made it across the ward and to his side. Harry held his breath.

Surprisingly, Madam Pomfrey's expression softened. Marginally. She sighed. “Oh, oh,” she
muttered as she located a quill. With a little more harrumphing, she signed Harry's release
forms (as so much magic had been used to restore him that the school couldn't get away with
sidestepping the Ministry) with a flourish and held them up for him to inspect. “You're free to
go,” she said grouchily.

“Thank you,” said Harry, breathing a sigh of relief. “For everything, really. I'll see you
tonight?”

Madam Pomfrey just gave him a stern look and craned her neck. “Hermione? Get him settled into
his room and get out. Have him back here after dinner for a check-up.”

“I'll see you later, Madam,” said Hermione firmly, coming to his rescue much like she had
the day before on the matter of releasing him. She squeezed Harry's hand.

“Harrumph,” said the school nurse.

Harry wasted no time turning on his crutches. In fact, he was so afraid of the mediwitch
changing her mind that Hermione found herself following him out of the hospital wing. Pulling the
door shut behind her, she gave him the largest smile he'd seen from her in a long time. She
promptly squealed and dashed towards him, catching him off guard with the force by which she
launched herself into his arms.

*Maybe we're okay. Maybe she won't make me talk. There's too much to tell her
right now—the Order, the Gates, everything that's happened.* Hermione finally released him,
her eyes twinkling. If he told someone he could get lost in those eyes, he wouldn't be
exaggerating. *Maybe it's not to late to take Dumbledore up on his offer to disappear. Maybe
I don't have to drive a wedge between the two of us. Maybe...*

Hermione had leaned in close again. “We should head back to Gryffindor already if we want a
moment to talk before everyone returns,” she said softly.

No such luck.

They walked in silence from the infirmary, tentatively holding hands, moving slowly because
Harry was using a crutch. More than once this year, there had been things unresolved between them.
More than once, they had somehow resolved them. For some reason, this felt different.

Each step closer to Gryffindor tower brought the tension up a notch; their palms were sweating.
Harry hoped Hermione would, for the first time in her life, decide to let something go. He
wasn't ready for this conversation. He hadn't been able to figure out what to do with her
yet.

His conversation with Dumbledore had been running through his head like a demented broken
record. Did the Headmaster want him to leave Hermione? Keep her at arm's length? Not let the
relationship progress? Push her away? Marry her and a have a dozen Potter heirs to protect the
thrice-damned Forgotten Gates Dumbledore had conveniently forgotten to tell him about, warn him
about or even bloody well hint at?

His stomach burned; he tasted acid in the back of his throat. Every movement, every twitch,
every breath Hermione made caused his guts to knot tighter and tighter. The clear choice, at one
point, had been to get her away from at all costs. But hadn't Lupin tried to tell him it was
too late for that? It wasn't like he would soon forget how incredible he felt to just be in her
presence.

*What am I supposed to do? Lie to the woman I love or break my word to the man who put both of
us in danger* *yet* *may very well be the only one who can keep us both alive?*

Just outside the Fat Lady's earshot (if paintings could be said to possess earshot) Hermione
stopped.

“Harry.”

She made his name a question, a statement and a command all at once. It was a rather impressive
feat of nuance and expression, really, but couldn't she let things go, just this once?

“Yeah.” He sighed, hanging his head. The Boy Who Lived, defeater of Voldemort and hereditary
guardian of the Forgotten Gates, knew fear.

In the next few minutes, he could lose her, lose what they had. It was inevitable and he knew
it. His father had surrendered to love, and both he and his wife had died. Dumbledore had made this
much plain: Harry was bound to the Gates, and now that the knowledge was his, so was the
responsibility.

But he wasn't ready. It was too soon and they were both hurting too much. He would let the
wounds heal some before cutting themselves deeper.

*She has her family; her friends. She has* *Malfoy, and he knows her innermost
thoughts.* They had hardly exchanged two words on the subject of the Slytherin, because when
Hermione would bring him up, Harry had the tendency to make a fist and inadvertently pound on
something.

He wasn't a fool. He knew Hermione and Malfoy would become friends, and he knew she had
forgiven him. But she wouldn't be alone.

He wasn't ready to be alone.

“So?” She tugged him closer to her, but he resisted. He refused to meet her eyes. If he met her
eyes, he might lose his resolve.

*Words. I need words. Words are good.*

“Hermione... you know, you remember, when there were things you weren't ready to talk
about?”

Biting her lower lip, she nodded. “Very clearly, I promise you.” She tried tugging him closer, a
little more forcefully than she had a moment before. He took a tiny step forward, closing his
eyes.

“I'm not ready to talk about what Dumbledore told me yet. I haven't had time to think it
all through yet.”

Hermione felt her eyes sting with tears. “Your magic...”

Reflexively, Harry's head shot up, his eyes meeting hers. He closed the distance between
them, holding her against him for a long moment.

“No, not that.” He thought about it for a minute before admitting—not without some chagrin—that
he hadn't even asked Dumbledore about it. “There are other things he needed to say...”

This time, she pulled away, albeit reluctantly. “Things you can't tell me about? I've
been worrying all day about this, and I still don't know what's going on. The transfer of
magic between us, it affects us both, Harry. How could you not ask him? What was that
important?”

She left unspoken that if it were that important, then it was something they both needed to
know.

“Yes, Hermione, things I can't tell you about. I don't how, I don't understand them,
and I just can't! Not yet! Bloody hell, I'm not saying I won't tell you or that you
don't deserve to know, I just want a little patience, and maybe a little space to think. I have
all the questions I can deal with without you throwing more at me!”

She flinched as he snapped at her, but she stilled her own anger. She knew he had spent all year
playing nursemaid to her, taking care of her, being there when she needed him, even accepting there
were times she needed to sit and feel sorry for herself. He had defended her, defied Dumbledore and
even died for her.

The least she could give him was a little patience.

Harry nearly fell over when she answered him.

“Okay. Okay, I can do that. I can give you space and time. But...I'm around if you need
me.”

Harry felt her hand leave his with a rush of cool air drying their mingled sweat on his palm,
and before he could say another word, she was down the hall and inside Gryffindor tower.

* * *

The journey from Hogwarts to King's Cross Station on Sunday was a somber one for the trio
and Anna. Their compartment remained silent while those surrounding it buzzed with the talk and
laughter of hundreds of young witches and wizards excited about summer vacations. They found it
easy to be in good spirits, seeing as not even the seventh years from the Order had any idea how
bad it would get.

Harry and Ron knew. Hermione, who had been told little aside from what she had gotten out of
Draco, wasn't considered the brightest witch in their year for nothing: she knew that she
wasn't being kept in the dark for a joyous conclusion. And Anna, well, she was fairly
intelligent herself.

After two nearly silent games of wizard chess, Harry began to feel the exhaustion of being up
longer without rest than he had all week. The scarlet steam engine wasn't more than a quarter
of an hour outside of London when he woke up again.

Harry blinked a few times before reaching to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
The compartment was still quiet, and now it was strangely empty as well. Neither Ron nor Anna was
anywhere to be found, and Hermione...

Harry couldn't help but smile when he realized that she, too, had opted to sleep through
their time on the Hogwarts Express. Her head had slipped down during her slumber and was now
resting almost familiarly on Harry's shoulder. Having inadvertently slipped an arm around her
while she slept, he watched her for nearly a minute. She deserved this, at least at moment of peace
to make up for the hell of the last few months.

Rather reluctantly, Harry shifted and shook her shoulder gently. Hermione came around at once,
blinking rapidly just as he had. She squinted at him for a moment and seemed to realize she had
been lying all over him.

“Oh Harry!” said Hermione. “I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to fall—”

Harry just shrugged, shooting her a lopsided grin. “It's okay,” he said. He wanted to say
more, but his mind betrayed his heart. “Have you seen Ron?”

“Mmm,” muttered Hermione. Was that hurt in her eyes? “You dozed off almost as soon as the two of
you finished your second game of chess. The last I remember, he and Anna had wandered off to talk
some more.”

Harry nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. Hermione hadn't really even watched the chess
games in question. She'd gazed off in the distance, her eyes glued to the passing countryside.
It seemed like such a long time since he'd really talked to her, given just how badly their
talk outside the Gryffindor tower had gone. He felt his stomach tighten. Had his reservations
really affected them that much? Their friendship—five years of trust and thousands of
memories—couldn't be that fragile.

But for three days he *had* avoided her, and he hadn't been subtle about it. Harry and
even brushed her off when she tried to walk with him to his check-in visits with Madam Pomfrey.

Harry took a deep breath, meaning to put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and just hope
he'd have something to say by the time she turned around. But his courage was shattered when
the door to the compartment swung open quickly. Ron's smile disappeared when he saw his two
best friends. He cleared his throat, and Harry had to wonder if his friend was aware of just how
poorly he had been treating Hermione. The train was slowing.

“Er,” said Ron, “I thought the two of you would still be asleep—anyway, we're practically to
King's Cross. You'll want to get your things together.”

Their redheaded friend took several long, purposeful strides across the compartment, bending
down to gather his wizard's chess pieces and stuff them in his bag. His presence made the
earlier moments of tension between Harry and Hermione fade, and they, too, began getting their
things in order. Anna popped back in a few seconds later, calming her owl first and getting rather
distracted by Ron as she tried to gather her things.

Although the owls posed no trouble, Crookshanks started clawing at Hermione madly when she
forced him into his carrier. All four friends ended up with several long scratches before the steam
engine had stopped completely. In another basket, Erinel slept peacefully. No one had been as
surprised as Harry to see Hermione tramp onto the train with both animals. She had briskly
explained that she was keeping the Hursle as a favor to Hagrid, but her eyes were shining brightly,
and Harry had grinned at her to show he knew what she was really playing at. Hermione had not
smiled back.

The Hogwarts Express had stopped now, and the platform was chaotic as students tore around,
searching for belongings (“Has anyone seen my trunk? It's got my initials on it!”) and friends
(“I can't believe we're done at Hogwarts! You have to write to me this summer!”) and even
pets (“Trevor! I've lost Trevor again! Gran's going to kill me!”). As always, the students
lingered on the platform even after all such problems had been smoothed over, saying goodbyes and
making summer plans.

Harry had heaved his trunk upon a trolley with a little help from Ron, and he had offered the
same assistance to his friend. They had at some point or another decided that they made up about
one and one half person, what with Harry's bad leg and Ron's injured arm. Hedwig, sleeping
peacefully in her cage, rested on top of Harry's other things. Not being terribly eager to
return to his aunt and uncle's house, Harry stalled as long as he possibly could on the magical
side of platform ten and one half. The Dursleys wanted him even less now than they had in previous
years, and he wasn't much looking forward to yet another summer of their maltreatment and ill
will.

Harry and Ron had hugged, though both pulled back quickly and glanced around nervously just
after. Mrs. Weasley had thrown her arms around Harry within the same window of time. This year, her
promise to Harry was that she and Mr. Weasley would be there in a second if they got word that his
uncle was abusing him.

Harry had spotted the twins next. He'd left Fred and George on the terms of a firm
handshake. It being their last term, they had serious plans to open their joke shop by the end of
the year, but Harry wondered how much they'd have to adjust for their involvement in the
Order.

He'd said his good-byes to Seamus and Dean and Neville and watched Malfoy limp heavily
towards the magical barrier. Harry turned, gritting his teeth when he placed too much weight on his
leg. He knew it wouldn't be much longer before he'd have to dig through his things for his
crutches. When he turned again, having debated whether or not to say something to Malfoy, the
Slytherin had disappeared. Not in a million years would he have ever believed it, but Harry had
actually hoped for a chance to say good-bye.

*But how would that have really gone?* Harry asked himself. *Thanks for saving all of our
lives, but I still think you're pretty rotten for what you did to Hermione in September—stop
bloody* smirking*, we're* not *getting together!*

Maybe it was for the best that Malfoy had gone the other way.

There was only one person left. Harry didn't really want to admit he was looking for her,
and he still didn't know what he would say if he found her. He just knew he needed to make
peace with the feelings he had been fighting for so long now. Harry finally spotted her at the edge
of the platform, only a few paces from the barrier back into the Muggle world.

“Hermione!” called Harry. To his relief and surprise, she broke away from her chatty roommates
and gave him a smile and a wave. He started in her direction, but in the end, she came to him.

“Harry!” said Hermione when he reached her. She was looking at him shyly. “I thought—I thought
you might have already passed through. Avoiding the Dursleys for as long as possible, are you?”

“I am,” said Harry. As always, she'd known just what he was thinking. He offered her his
hand and was most relieved when she took it. He led her to an empty corner of the platform.
“I'm just not looking forward to another summer with them, even if this should be the last
one.”

“Oh Harry,” said Hermione softly. She looked up at him. Her brown eyes had filled with concern,
and she reached a hand up to his cheek. “I know the last days and weeks haven't been easy, but
you do know I'll always be there for you, right? Oh, I do wish you could spend the summer with
me instead of your miserable relatives.”

“It won't be so bad,” said Harry awkwardly, and he took the plunge. “I keep thinking about
Thursday and everything I wanted to say but didn't, needed to say but couldn't. Hermione—if
things weren't what they are now, if we weren't facing this—this *war*, if I
wasn't Voldemort's biggest target, then maybe—maybe things—no, things *would* be
different. I guess what I'm trying to say is—”

Harry stopped, his eyes finding hers. He hadn't even realized he'd grabbed her hands in
the middle of his ramblings. He took another deep breath. “I almost told you then how I felt about
you, but I stopped myself. The thing is, you're everything to me, Hermione. Nothing—nothing
that has happened and nothing that will happen—can change that, but it has changed other things. My
caring for you has already put you in harm's way once, and I'm not about to take that
risk—”

“I'm going to be at risk no matter what, whether or not you want to believe it. There's
not a good witch or wizard that won't be.” To his surprise, Hermione's brown eyes were more
open to him than they had ever been, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him
tightly. Then, she pulled back, stood on her tiptoes, and did something that really surprised
Harry.

She kissed him. It wasn't one of the innocent pecks on the cheek that they had shared all
year, and it wasn't even of the variety that they had shared in his room and the prefect common
room or even the Quidditch locker room. It had all the need and fury that had been present the
Wednesday before, when he was still in the infirmary. Harry's head was swimming when they broke
apart, and he kept his arms securely around her. Harry drew Hermione back to him, and she rested
her head easily on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, until only a handful of
their classmates remained on the platform.

“We'd better get going,” said Harry, a tinge of sadness entering his voice. He forced it
away.

“Maybe we should,” said Hermione. Harry bent his head down and kissed her forehead.

“Have a good summer, `Mione,” said Harry. He swallowed hard. “I'll see you September
first.”

“You'll write me letters whenever you can,” said Hermione. She looked up at him, her eyes
finally sparkling for real again. Merlin, how he'd missed that! “And you will *not* be
seeing me September first. Do you actually think Ron and I would let you stay with the Dursleys all
summer? My parents and the Weasleys? You'll see me in a few weeks, if not days.”

“I guess,” said Harry. He smiled but then cringed. “Uncle Vernon is probably getting
impatient.”

“I don't like that you're staying with those people again,” Hermione repeated. She
frowned, touching his cheek. “I can't bear the thought of him hurting you even once more,
Harry.”

“You have enough to worry about that doesn't concern me,” Harry said heavily. “What's a
few Muggles compared to the worst Dark wizard of all time?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed. He caught her chin and gave her a light kiss.

“Hey,” said Harry quietly, “I've been thinking on this for awhile. There's no use
upsetting Uncle Vernon any more, right? He hates Hedwig. Why don't you take her for the summer?
It'll be easier for you to send letters back and forth with Ron, and the two of us can just use
the Muggle post.”

Hermione looked reluctantly over his shoulder to Hedwig, several feet away atop his trolley.
“I'll do it,” she said uncertainly, “but I'm certain that Hedwig won't hear of it.”

“We can always see,” said Harry.

They broke apart, rather reluctantly, and Hermione headed back for her trolley while Harry stuck
his fingers through the bars of Hedwig's cage. The snowy owl nipped at his fingers. There was
understanding in her amber eyes.

“If you go home with me, Hedwig,” Harry said softly, “you're likely to get it again from
Uncle Vernon. Will you go with Hermione, girl? She'll take good care of you.”

Hedwig seemed to consider this for a moment. She hooted softly, and Harry lifted her cage. He
placed it between a very disgruntled Crookshanks's carrier and a snoring Erinel's basket,
smiling slightly at Hermione. He fished Hedwig's owl treats from his trunk and set them with
Hermione's things.

“Well don't we look every bit the aspiring Magical Creatures teacher?” Harry joked, quickly
squeezing her shoulders. “Wouldn't Hagrid be proud?” Hermione didn't say anything. She
gripped her trolley.

Harry managed to guide his trolley fairly well without putting too much pressure on his injured
leg, and a few seconds later, he followed Hermione back into the Muggle world. The Weasleys were
still standing on the platform, several paces away; Ginny seemed to be looking around frantically
for something or another, and Fred was still trying to say good-bye to Angelina. Neville's
grandmother was prodding the forgetful boy rather forcefully with a cane, and Mr. Granger was
standing with Angelica in his arms not more than a few feet beyond the barrier, already joined by
Hermione.

Uncle Vernon was there, too. He was standing with Dudley, removed from any lingering Hogwarts
students and their families. His thick face had more purple to it then ever, which made Harry
swallow hard. He glanced at Hermione one last time, and he realized she was watching him, too. She
broke away from her father and rushed over to him.

“Would your father kill me if I kissed you in front of him?” whispered Harry, catching her in
another hug. Hermione's eyes were shining as she shook her head.

“I hope not,” Hermione whispered back. Harry gave Mr. Granger one last nervous glance before
tilting his head to let his lips meet hers.

When Harry released her, he knew at once that the gesture had not gone unnoticed. Over his
shoulder, he could see that Ron was grinning almost stupidly at his friends. Mr. Granger had a
slight smile on his face that he quickly turned into a look of disapproval. Dudley was gaping at
Harry, open-mouthed, and looking very much like a fish out of water.

“Thank you, Harry,” said Hermione. “Thank you—thank you for everything.”

Harry waved at her. He turned and took a hesitant step toward his uncle. If Vernon Dursley had
looked upset earlier, he looked simply furious now—outraged that his nephew had the nerve to wear
his Hogwarts uniform in front of him, to associate with people that had owls in cages on their
trolleys, to kiss a witch in the middle of a crowded train station.

“You coming, boy?” said Uncle Vernon angrily. Under his breath he muttered, “*Finally*.” He
gripped Harry's shoulder rather violently and shoved him in the direction of the train station
exit. Dudley snickered, and even though his leg tinged, Harry felt satisfaction in spotting the
jealously that had flashed across his chunky face earlier.

One year before, Hagrid had told Harry that what would come, would come. It had come, and there
was nothing to do but wait once again. It would keep coming, but this time, Harry would be
ready.

*f**ini*

* * *

*Harry Potter and the Eagle's Sapphire*, Year 6:

Failing marks are the least of Harry's worries after arriving at Hogwarts for his sixth
year. Still recovering from his last confrontation with the Dark Lord Voldemort, he can scarcely
handle the intensive defense training he is thrown into just hours after stepping off the Hogwarts
Express. Hermione's unwillingness to deal with the events of the year before has her and
Harry's relationship at a standstill, leaving Harry with time to worry about another that is
progressing much too quickly.

Working with Draco proves more challenging than working against him, and there's a
third-year causing more trouble than even the Weasley twins ever managed. The new Defense Against
the Dark Arts professor just wants to be everyone's friend, and members of one Hogwarts house
seem to draw Harry into uneasy alliance after uneasy alliance. Outside of the castle,
Voldemort's attacks on Muggle towns grow bolder with each passing day, to the point that the
corrupt wizarding government cannot maintain even the slightest sense of order.

Yet the war brewing between Dark and Light is nothing compared to the war Harry is waging
within. By day, Harry struggles to understand the blood burden he bears. By night, he dreams of the
life he was meant to have. It's torment unlike the Boy-Who-Lived has ever known, and it's
torment he's ill-prepared to handle. He can't forget about everything, no matter how much
he wants to.

Because while the fate of the wizarding world might lie in the usual hands, its destruction lies
in those long-forgotten.

- 759 -

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