Disclaimer: JK Rowling invented; I only borrow from her. 'Cause she's got the best toys to play with.
Author's Notes: Thank you for your continued support. I hope this chapter is all right. For some reason, I labored over it more than most. Have a happy and safe Thanksgiving, Americans. Everyone else...um...just be happy;)
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An Organ of Fire
by Kristen Elizabeth
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Me: What do you mean I'm most compatible with Harry?! He's, like, twelve! It's illegal!!
My friend: Livejournal quizzes never lie. Mrs. Robinson.
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She had never been good at lying. Keeping secrets didn't appeal to her, but she could do it for the right reasons. But lying...she had just never learned how to do it. Even lying by omission was hard for her; she just knew that whatever it was she was trying the hardest not to say would always be blatantly obvious through her guilty face and nervous gestures.
Which was why, only hours after it was confirmed that she was carrying Harry Potter's child yet again, Hermione ducked into the first doorway she could a split second after spying him at the end of a long, torch-lit Hogwarts corridor. Fortunately, he didn't notice. He was reading something she couldn't identify from a distance as he walked, and he passed by the door behind which she had hidden herself without even looking up. When Hermione could no longer hear his footsteps, she breathed a little sigh of relief.
"Just what are you doing?"
The voice from the shadows of what she had thought was empty classroom made her jump. She spun around putting an instinctive hand on her lower belly. "Who's there?"
A lone figure came into the light. The school's potion master held a small bottle of dried spiders in one hand; he looked at her as though he had caught her dancing naked in the Great Hall. "Hiding from someone, Hermione?"
It was more than disconcerting to hear Snape, her least favorite professor through all her Hogwarts years, calling her by her first name, even after almost two years of working with him. She dropped her hand from her stomach and straightened her shoulders. "Actually, I...um...I was just looking for...for my...I mean, for the..."
"Forget I asked." Snape cut her off abruptly, clearly not interested any longer. He moved towards her, but stopped when she failed to step out of his way. "Do you mind? These need to be added to a potion within five minutes or I'll lose two weeks work."
Hermione quickly moved to one side and allowed the older man by. After he was gone, she stumbled towards the first dusty desk she saw and sank into it. Tears welled up and it didn't take long for them to turn into full-fledged sobs. Burying her face in her arms, Hermione let herself cry.
They were different tears than the ones she had shed when the Muggle doctor her parents had insisted she go see after days of exhaustion and nausea told her she was pregnant. Up until then, she had been able to blame her symptoms on being abandoned by the man she loved with all her young heart. Finding out he had left her with child had prompted many hours of tears. Tears that Ron had done his best to dry.
She shook her head against the full sleeve of her crimson robe. These new tears weren't born from sorrow or shock. Now she cried at the cruel tricks her life seemed bent upon playing on her. What was it about her and Harry? It was as though all she had to do was look at him wrong and she would become pregnant. Where as with Ron...they had tried so hard for so long to have a child with nothing to show for it.
It had to be some sort of magical curse, Hermione decided. There had been nothing wrong with Ron as both Muggle and magical doctors had told him. A spell or curse was the only explanation for why Harry seemed destined to be the only father of her children.
The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if perhaps it was a spell she had woven upon herself without even realizing it.
Hermione wiped her eyes and stood up. It was no use to dwell on that. The only thing she could do was to tell the father of her child as soon as possible. He had said more than once that he would have been around for little Harry had he known about him. And now he would get his chance to prove it.
****
"Please tell me this is some sort of joke." Harry slapped the current issue of The Daily Prophet, which had just arrived by anonymous owl, onto Albus Dumbledore's writing stand. The aged wizard looked up from the stack of parchment in front of him and adjusted his glasses. "This can't be happening...can it?"
The worry he saw in Harry's emerald eyes was deep; Dumbledore set down his quill, pushed aside his memoirs (he was stuck on Chapter Five, his first year at Hogwarts, anyway) and picked up the newspaper to see what was bothering his former student.
A bold headline announced, "Governors Put Hogwarts Professors Under Scrutiny," and a smaller, but equally disturbing line read, "Muggle-born Instructors: Are they qualified to teach your child?"
"Professor," Harry began after giving the wizard ample time to read the article. "Something must be done to stop him. He can't do this. It can't be allowed!"
Dumbledore lowered the newspaper. "It has often plagued my nightmares, this day." He took off his glasses with a tired sigh. "There has always been talk, Harry, regarding the qualifications for a Hogwarts professor. I've feared it would amount to something someday."
"Malfoy's made it amount to something." Harry picked the inflammatory thing back up. "Going after Muggle-born students wasn't enough for him. Or at least it didn't work out as he'd expected. But this..." The edges of the paper crumpled in his grip. "This just proves how much of a bastard he truly is. He's playing on people's prejudices. And it..."
"Might work," Dumbledore cut in. "There is nothing worse than a crusader with a heart of leprechaun gold."
Harry frowned. "What are we going to do to stop him?"
"I'm not sure there's much we can do from here, Harry. We shape the future at Hogwarts, not the present."
"You've got to give me something more than that!" The younger wizard tore the newspaper directly down the middle, ripping apart a photo of some Governor's Board members entering the Ministry of Magic. "Professor, I can't be objective about this. Hermione's job, her reputation...it's all on the line here. If I can't do anything to protect her..."
Dumbledore stood up; his purple robes, decorated with an exact replication of the constellations, brushed against the floor. "Write to Sirius Black, Harry."
"I have. He just hasn't written back in awhile. I have a feeling it was him who sent the paper today, though."
"Write to him again. Any edict from the Governor's must be unanimous."
Harry nodded. "I'm sure he could sway at least one or two. Most people are still frightened of him."
Dumbledore looked over his shoulder at the young man as he approached Fawkes' stand to give him a mid-day treat. "It might be better simply to ask him not to sign his own name to anything young Draco proposes."
"What?" Harry blinked. "Sirius...is a Governor? He never told me that."
"Imagine what you'll find out tomorrow, Harry." From the pocket of his robes, he pulled out a piece of chocolate, unwrapped it and fed it to his Phoenix. "And don't worry. Hermione is a Hogwarts professor and a powerful witch. She'll always be one of us."
****
"Harry. Harry? Harry!"
The third time his named was called, Harry stopped in his tracks. He had just reached the portrait of Miss Belle, who was, as usual, napping in just enough undergarments as to be decent, when the sweetest voice in the world broke through his cloudy thoughts.
Hermione approached him, out of breath from the jog she had been forced to break into to keep up with him. His mind was obviously elsewhere, but when he smiled at her, all was forgiven. The power of his smile hit her as it always had. Hard, fast and hot. Her hand shot to her burning cheek.
"Harry," she said, breathless, but not from running. "We've got to talk."
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'd really like to." He drew her hand away from her cheek and brought it over to his lips. "It's just that I have something I must get sent off to London immediately."
She bit back disappointment and the smallest bit of hurt. Harry was so smart about everything else in his life; why had he chosen that moment to become dense? "Oh. I see."
"Can it wait until later?"
"I...suppose it can. It's just..." Hermione closed her eyes when he kissed the tip of her index finger. "It can wait."
Harry smiled again, apologetically. "At dinner then?"
She shook her head. "Come to my apartments."
He nodded. After a second's pause, Harry gently drew her towards him by her hand. When she was pressed up against his chest, he leaned in for a sweet kiss. For the duration of the time his lips played over hers, Hermione ceased to think at all. When he finally pulled back, she found that her hand had reached up and tangled in the thick, black locks of hair at the back of his neck.
"I've missed you since we got back from London," he whispered. "Have you been all right?"
Hermione leveled her gaze just past his cheek as she replied, "I've been...fine."
Harry pressed a kiss onto her forehead. "I'll see you tonight, Hermione."
In the confines of her gilded portrait frame, Miss Belle let out an exasperated sigh. "Is this all you two have woken me up for?"
Stepping away from the woman he loved, Harry turned back around. "Marsh marigold." Miss Belle turned up her nose, but the door swung open. Hermione watched Harry enter the wide hallway and before the portrait shut again, he inclined his head at her, an intimate gesture that affected her almost as much as his smile.
"Word of advice, love."
Snapping out of the moment, Hermione folded her arms over her robes. "What?"
Miss Belle sat back down in her chair, making sure ample cleavage peeked out over the lace of her camisole. "The longer you wait, the longer it takes." She giggled behind her hand. "I know your secret, Professor Weasley."
Hermione's eyes flew open. "How on earth could you possibly know that..."
"I heard it from Duchess Lavinia in the next corridor over who heard it from Lady Hawkes in the main stairwell who heard it from Nurse Primula in the Hospital Wing," Miss Belle answered, examining a nail.
"Bloody hell!" Hermione cursed. "Nothing can be kept a secret with all you paintings around!" Without waiting for a reply, she stomped off, feeling quite childish. But it was a better feeling than nausea or the nagging guilt that came with having such an enormous secret. At least she would get it off her chest that night. By the time the sun went down, Harry Potter was going to know that he was to be a father...for a second time.
****
Hermione was at the end of her already frayed rope. Three days, a dozen chances to tell him, two close calls...but still Harry was completely in the dark. It couldn't be this impossible for everyone, she reasoned, rinsing out her mouth with tap water. She lifted her head from over the aged tile sink and blinked away hot tears. The morning sickness had faded for a few days, but had just returned with a vengeance.
Other women probably had no problem breaking the news to the fathers of their children. She blotted her lips with a thin, cotton washcloth. Why was it becoming such a massive chore for her? Hermione held herself up over the sink as she thought back.
Harry had come to her apartments later that first night, as promised. The setting had been perfect. All alone, in front of a roaring fire..she could have told him quickly and had it done. But she had hesitated and stumbled and before she could get anything important out, there had been a knock on the door. It had been her nephew, Bill Jr., a great kid whom even Miss Belle trusted with the password to the Professor's wing, but with the world's worst timing. He had wanted to see his cousin and Hermione couldn't refuse. After fetching little Harry, the two boys planted themselves in front of the fire to play Wizard's Chess. And Hermione had resigned herself to telling Harry the next day.
The next day she came to his classroom after the final lesson period. He had seemed puzzled by her insistence that they talk immediately, but had sat down patiently to listen to her. Just as she had begun with her prepared speech, the classroom door had burst open and a group of seventh year girls rushed in, every single of one of them giggling. Harry had only had time to shoot her an apologetic look before he was pulled into a study group. The N.E.W.T.S. were starting in less than a month; he couldn't exactly deny his students the chance to prepare.
Hermione put a hand on her churning stomach. Little Harry hadn't given her this much trouble and she had been even more emotionally distraught back then. It had been far easier to tell Ron...but then, he had caught her reading a book with the incriminating title, "Magical Baby: A Witches Guide to the Hardest Nine Months of Her Life." Even her everlasting quest for knowledge couldn't explain that particular tome finding its way to her nightstand. If Harry had been around back then, would it have been this difficult to tell him?
She pulled herself together enough to leave the bathroom just as two Slytherin third year girls were coming in. They gave her smiles and waves, quite unlike the average Slytherin student. Hermione managed a smile and a nod to each of them, but her sole focus was still on her current problem.
The delicate gold watch around her left wrist, a sixth anniversary present from Ron, told her that it was almost eleven o'clock. Harry's fourth year Ravenclaw and Gryffindor class would be letting out at any moment. If she could just get there and bar the door to prevent any twittering girls from interrupting...she just might be able to do it.
Her sanity depended on it.
****
Few things could shock or startle Harry Potter and hearing the door to his classroom open fifteen minutes after a class had ended was certainly not one of them. Instead of turning around, he spoke as he continued to wipe the day's notes on vampires off of the blackboard. "If you have any questions about the lesson, I'll be in the Hall in a few minutes for lunch."
"We need to talk."
Frowning slightly, Harry set down his eraser and turned. Hermione stood at the back of his classroom, pale and solemn, her hair loose around her shoulders. "Hermione. What's wrong?"
Her chocolate brown eyes were blank as she struggled for her next words. The second speech she had prepared on the way over was forgotten quickly. There was nothing to do about the tremble of her chin; she did her best to ignore it as she closed the door behind her with weak hands. "We need to talk," she repeated.
"Of course, yes. I'm sorry....I know you've had something on your mind for awhile now." Harry pulled on the ties of his school robe, exposing the starched white shirt underneath. Smiling, he started through the center aisle towards her. "We're finally alone."
Hermione nodded a bit too quickly. "Yes. Alone." She drew in a great breath. "Harry, the thing I need to tell you is..."
She didn't even realize how bad her hands were shaking until Harry reached for them. "Hey...'Mione." He trapped her palms between his. "It's all right. I'm here."
"I don't know why I'm having so much trouble..." A tear dripped down the inside of her nose; without her hands, she couldn't wipe it away. "I need to tell you that...you deserve to know about..."
"Harry, are you in..." The door, which Hermione had closed, but forgotten to lock, opened swiftly. Harry had to pull Hermione out of the way before it slammed into her back. Professor McGonagall stuck her head into the room and when she spotted the couple, stepped inside completely. "Thank goodness you're here."
Hermione could feel Harry's hands tighten around hers. "What's happened?"
Their former teacher had a hand to the brooch at her throat and there was sheer panic on her face. "You must come quickly, Harry. Professor Dumbledore needs to speak with you immediately."
Harry was torn. He looked back and forth between the two women for a moment. The tortured look Hermione gave him was simply too powerful. "Tell him I'll be there as soon as I can," he told Professor McGonagall. After a moment of studying them, she nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.
"Go ahead, Hermione," he gently urged. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."
What seemed like hours passed as her gaze slipped back and forth between his matching emerald irises. She could feel his warmth, breathe in his soap and aftershave scent...if she had wanted to, she could have reached up to touch his scar, his cheek, his full bottom lip. She could have kissed him, slipped her tongue into his wet, hot mouth, claimed it as her own. There were a million things Hermione could have done in that moment.
Except one.
"Harry's birthday," she whispered, hardly believing the words that were coming out of her mouth in place of the ones that should have. "It's....in two weeks. March 18th. I just..." Her throat closed up. "I didn't know if you knew....and you deserve to. That's..." She shook her head. "That's all."
Harry chuckled and pulled her against his solid frame. Her eyes closed, regret and self-disgust hitting her from every side. "I already know what I'm going to get him. I just hope he'll accept it." He pulled away from her and wiped away her tears. "Don't cry, love. I never imagined this would be easy for any of us." Harry shot a look at the door.
She took a numb step back. "You should go see what he wants."
"Are you sure? Because I can..."
Hermione shook her head. "It sounds important."
Harry pulled the door open, but on second thought, turned, slid his hand around the back of her neck and brought his lips down to hers for a lingering kiss. "I'll see you later."
Once he was gone, Hermione let herself sink to the floor, ignoring the cold of the stone surface even through her robes. Her chin dropped to her chest.
The situation had not improved.
****
"It's not true." Harry shook his head. "I won't believe it."
Behind his desk, Dumbledore lowered his head. "What we choose to believe or disbelieve is entirely up to ourselves." He caught Professor McGonagall's eye and continued, "However I must ask you to remember that I rarely fib and almost never lie. Especially when I'm speaking to an adult. Which you are now," he reminded him.
When Harry had no reply, Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Harry, I wouldn't believe it myself if I weren't looking at it in black and white. But here it is."
He refused to even glance at the parchment in her hands. "There's been a mistake and it needs to be corrected before this...gets any further than this room."
"Harry," she tried again.
"No!" Harry slammed his fist onto the Headmaster's desk. "He wouldn't do it!"
Snape stepped out of the shadows of one corner from which he had been watching the entire exchange. "If I may...this is a convicted criminal we're talking about. There's no telling what he would or wouldn't do."
If Harry's eyes could have killed, the Potions master would have been dead. "You've always hated him, so I couldn't give a damn about your opinion on this!"
Dumbledore stood up. "Enough. I won't have my teachers fighting each other. Not now, when we should all be united as one..." He took the letter from McGonagall. "...against this. Now, Harry, no one feels more shock than I that our friend and colleague could do this, but..."
"He's the closest thing to family that I've ever had," Harry cut the wizard off. "He's a good man." His furious glare returned to Snape. "An *innocent* man. And he would never, ever support this trash. I don't care what that letter says."
"There is nothing I would like more than to agree with you." Dumbledore eased back into his chair. "But the fact of the matter is simple. The Governor's have ruled and there is little that I can do about it except stand out as a voice against the hatred that propelled this decision."
"Albus..." the Transfiguration professor said softly.
He sighed, continuing with a heavy heart. "We should tell the affected persons soon. It won't be fair to keep it from them."
Harry watched the older teachers. They were all so accepting and resigned to this outrageous letter. "Stop! All of you!!" When all eyes were on him, he continued, "You can't just shake your heads and go about firing every teacher Draco Malfoy doesn't like!! You're all giving in to him!! What's wrong with you?!"
Snape folded his arms over his black robes. "We're not giving in anymore than your own dear god..."
"Severus," Dumbledore warned. "Harry. He has made his choice. A choice that, right or wrong, was his to make. You can deny it; that is also your right. But you can't ignore his name on this piece of paper." He held it up to the Boy Who Lived. For the first time, Harry forced himself to look at it.
Twelve names. The most infamous and prestigious witches and wizards in England. All unanimous in their decision to weed out certain Hogwarts professors. Specifically those with non-magical families.
Specifically, Harry thought, balling up his fists, the woman he loved.
Twelve names. And halfway down the list, in hasty cursive, one signature stood out from the others.
Sirius Black.
****
To Be Continued