Disclaimer: JK Rowling invented; I merely borrow.
Author's Notes: More and more thanks for all these fabulous reviews! I'm seriously very touched. Oh, and a special shout out to the amazing people who created the Harry Potter online Lexicon, to which I have been going frequently, for the details in this story.
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An Organ of Fire
by Kristen Elizabeth
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"Okay, look...I have a boot-leg copy of 'Harry Potter'. There's a VCR and a keg in my room, all right?" -Will Ferrel as Osama bin Laden, attempting to placate his army in the wake of the Northern Alliance successes. SNL 12/01/01
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Albus Dumbledore did not preside over the Sorting Ceremony, as he had for so many years. In his place, Professor McGonagall sat and greeted the new students with the usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest and Hogsmeade.
Professor Snape took her role and placed the Sorting Hat on each first year student. Harry watched from his place at the head table; his own Sorting Ceremony played back in his head as once more he pondered the question...what would have happened if the Hat *had* chosen to place him in Slytherin? What different path might his life have taken? He was deep in thought when he heard Snape call out a familiar name.
"William Weasley, Jr." A young boy with flaming red hair stepped forward and sat on the stool. Harry looked at Hermione.
Without taking her eyes off the boy, she answered his unspoken question. "Bill's first son. I had forgotten he was to be starting this year. I suppose he'll be sorted into..."
The Hat called out. "GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry smiled. All of the Weasley's were placed into Gryffindor; it was tradition.
****
Much later that night, long after the feast and the introduction to the House, during which a great wave of awe and enthusiasm had passed through the Gryffindor common room when it was announced that Harry Potter was to be jointly in charge, Harry sat by the window in his bedroom, staring out at the lake. He spent the few minutes alone in the dark, remembering. If he closed his eyes, he could recall everything about his graduation from Hogwarts ten years earlier.
And, as Hermione had put it, the most incredible night of his life.
He supposed it had all begun with the pocket watch. The thoughtfulness of the gift, coupled with the subtle reminder from his scholastic-minded best friend to try harder to be on time, had propelled him to do something he had wanted to do for years.
He kissed her.
The details of what followed weren't a blur to him. Rather, they were the sweetest memories he carried with him. She had trusted him, completely and unwavingly. More precious than the watch or the necklace he had given her, they gave each other their innocence that night. But as he lay in his four poster bed with the velvet drapes drawn, holding her in his arms as they caught their breath, a thought more terrifying than any other occurred to him. What if something were to happen to Hermione?
He argued with himself as she fell asleep against his chest. True, they had beaten Voldemort in the final battle and it appeared as though he could not possibly come back....but what if they were all wrong? What if he rose again and came after them? Voldemort would know Harry's weakness...the woman curled up against him. He would kill her first, just to delight in seeing Harry watch her die. Like he had watched his mother die.
It was right then that Hermione gave a little sigh in her sleep, a content, sated sigh. And it was right then that Harry decided to leave. Before anyone or anything could harm her to get to him.
He couldn't remember disentangling himself from her, only that it was hard. And he couldn't remember writing the note, only that it was painful. But he could remember kissing her forehead and then her lips and hoping, despite the choices he was making, that it wouldn't be the last time he would be allowed to do so.
"I love you," he had said before slipping away into the night. But she hadn't heard him. Perhaps, he had thought at the time, it was better that way.
Harry shook himself out of his reverie. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was nearly three in the morning. Another sleepless night. Did she have any idea, as she rested just down the hall, how much she was on his mind and had been for most of his life?
"Of course she doesn't, you idiot," Harry chastised himself out loud. "You've never told her to her face."
But all of that was going to change. He crawled into bed and closed his eyes. It was all going to change.
****
Just down the hall, Hermione Weasley was completely awake, looking out at the lake with the same air of reflection as Harry. After all, the lake was where she had first realized she was in love with him. On the day of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, when Harry, with no thought towards his time limit or winning, had tried to save Ron *and* her from their enchanted sleep with the merpeople.
Viktor Krum might have ultimately have been the one who pulled her from the lake, but to Hermione, Harry had been her hero that day. She regained consciousness on the cold shore, knowing her heart would never be the same. But she had only been fourteen. It took her another few years to really and truly fall in love with Harry Potter.
Graduation night. When he had given her the most beautiful necklace of rose quartz, a blush had colored his cheeks, as though he thought the gift wasn't good enough. As she continued to stare out the window, her fingers found the necklace underneath the neckline of her nightgown. She rolled it lovingly between her fingers.
What had prompted him to kiss her that night? Whatever it had been, she hadn't ever wanted it to stop. And it hadn't. He had wrapped her up in his arms, wrapped her up in what she had hoped was his love, and taken her away from the entire world for a few precious moments. He had been so gentle with her, but with an underlying passion that she had never felt again...not even with Ron.
She closed her eyes before tears could come once again. It hurt her to admit it, but as wonderful as being with Ron had always been, he had never been able to come close to duplicating what she had felt during that one night with Harry.
"I'm sorry, Ron," she whispered just as she had countless times after he had fallen asleep and she lay awake, thinking of Harry. "You deserved better than me."
Hermione let the rose quartz fall back between her breasts. Ron had loved her and loved Harry like one of his brothers; she had loved Harry and grown to love Ron. But who did Harry love?
When she finally forced herself into bed, she pulled the covers over her head as if she could shut the entire world out. They were all steering for rough waters and Hermione wasn't sure if she was strong enough to survive the trip.
****
His mouth was dry. His body was frozen. A strange chill originated in the pit of his stomach and radiated out to the very tips of his fingers. He could barely breathe, the fear and sheer panic had taken such a hold on him. In front of Harry Potter, seated in neat rows, was the scariest thing he had faced since his last encounter with Voldemort: twenty bright-eyed, unblemished, innocent eleven year-old faces, all turned up at him with shining expectation.
His first class. The first year students of Gryffindor and Slytherin.
Harry swallowed, hoping that the children couldn't actually hear his throat sticking. "Good morning. Welcome to your first lesson in the Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm Professor Potter and..." He spread his hands. "I'll be your teacher."
In the back row, a hand shot up. Harry nodded at its owner, a roundish Slytherin boy with brown hair. "Are you the*real* Harry Potter?" the child asked, suspiciously.
Before Harry could reply, another boy with brown hair, a Gryffindor, shot back in a tone that indicated he thought his classmate was a real moron, "Of course he's the real Harry Potter!! Can't you see his scar?"
A blond Slytherin girl came to the first boy's defense. "*I* certainly can't." Her nose scrunched up disdainfully. "His hair is too messy." No sooner had the words left her mouth than several Gryffindors stood up, preparing to defend the Head of their House.
Harry held up his hands. "All right...settle down." One hand unconsciously lingered above his head to pat down his hair. "Yes, I am Harry Potter. But my being so is of absolutely no relevance to this class."
William Weasley, Jr raised his hand. "I'm not sure I'd say that, Professor Potter. My father says that out of all the people in the entire world, you're the best Defense teacher Hogwarts could ask for...because of who you are."
"It's true," a Gryffindor girl with glasses echoed Bill Jr. "According to 'The Rise and Fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', Harry Potter is one of the only wizards able to deflect the Imperius Curse and *the* only wizard *ever* to have survived the Killing Curse not once, but twice." Harry blinked. The girl was a miniature Hermione.
Another Slytherin boy snorted. "Yes, but what on earth can he teach us? I hear that he's been living in the Muggle world for the past ten years."
"Do you have a problem with Muggles?" a tall Gryffindor boy wanted to know.
"Not particularly," the other boy replied, nonchalantly. "They can't help being born inferior. It's just the Mudbloods who are the problem."
Before the Gryffindor boy could attack, Harry jumped into the fray. "Hey! The number one rule in my classroom that if broken will result in double detention and fifty points being taken from the offender's House is this: that word is *never* to be used. Do you understand?" There were a few mumbled "yes sir's". "Good. Now take out your books and turn to page five." He lifted his voice to be heard over the sounds of pages turning. "The first thing you need to know about the Dark Arts is..." A small hand in the second row lifted. Wearily, Harry nodded at the tiny Gryffindor girl.
"Professor Potter," she began. "My mum wants to know why we must take this class at all."
Harry considered her question for a long minute. "All right. Close up your books." Slams resounded throughout the room. Harry sat on the edge of his desk. "Let me ask you something. How many of you have been to Diagon Alley?" All of the children raised their hands; several of the Slytherins rolled their eyes. "Now...how many of you have been down Knockturn Alley?" Most of the hands dropped immediately. The few that remained up, Harry was sad to note, were Slytherins. But even those children slowly lowered their arms upon receiving horrified looks from their classmates. "Why haven't most of you been there?" Harry asked.
A Gryffindor girl raised her hand. "My Mum and Dad told me not to. They said if I went down there, my ears would fall off."
Harry had to smile. "So, most of your parents haven't let you, correct?" The children nodded. "They've been protecting you, wouldn't you say?" More nods. "Well...where are your parents right now?" There was silence. Harry stood up.
"You're growing up and on your own now at a great school of magic, learning all sorts of new and exciting things. In seven years here, you will learn everything from flying to transfiguration...everything you need to know to be a successful wizard or witch. But from now on, your choices are yours. Your parents aren't here and there are things you're going to face without them. The Dark Arts is the biggest one. And while your ears certainly won't fall off if you go down Knockturn Alley, there could be other severe consequences for making that choice." Harry paused for a breath. "The magical world is wonderful, but it can also be quite dangerous. My job and the purpose of this class is to prepare you for anything you might face in the real world. Are there any questions?"
No hands raised.
"Very well then," Harry continued. "Open your books again to page five. Recognizing the tools of the Dark Arts..."
****
Hermione glanced at her watch. 2:15 PM. At 2 PM exactly, she was to be teaching the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor sixth years. She looked out at her classroom. Half the seats were empty; the other half were only filled with the boys of that year and those houses.
Clearing her throat, she addressed one Hufflepuff. "Albert, where are your classmates? It's the third week of classes; everyone should know their schedules."
She could have almost sworn a faint scowl appeared on the boy's face. "I don't know, Professor. But I expect they should be along soon."
"If you don't know where they are, Albert, how can you presume to know that they'll be here soon?"
Another boy, Phillip Pynecrest, spoke up. "We have Defense Against the Dark Arts right before this, Professor Weasley."
Hermione blinked. "And...this is relevant how exactly?"
This time, she was positive that Albert Batwood scowled. "Professor Potter teaches it."
"I'm well aware of that," Hermione replied, dryly. "Again, I ask, where are all your..."
Just then, the missing Hufflepuff and Gryffindor girls burst into the classroom, flushed and out of breath, but giggling madly.
Hermione crossed her arms. "Did you get lost, girls? Or did you assume I would hold class until you were ready to show up?"
"We're sorry, Professor," Lily Waterman managed to apologize in between trills of laughter. "We...stayed after in Defense to..." She stopped; evidently her cheeks were too red to go on.
Carry Carthwaight continued for her. "We were talking to Professor Potter, Professor Weasley. We can go back and get a note if you'd like." All the girl's faces lit up at the idea.
"That's quite all right." Hermione sighed. "Just...take your seats." Still giggling, the girls managed to situate themselves in the empty seats around the room. Hermione walked to the chalkboard. "Now, we left off last lesson talking about the history of elf enslavement, which as I'm sure you know, is still one of the more barbaric acts in common practice throughout the..." Loud whispers from one corner of the room drew Hermione's attention. She turned around to see Lily and Carry in a deep, whispered conversation. "Ahem!" The girls sat up straight. "Is there something you two would like to say about elf enslavement?"
"No ma'am," the girls replied.
Hermione turned back to the board and started writing. "There are over a hundred house-elves at Hogwarts, but I'm pleased to say we are one of now three magic schools that provide wages and basic worker's rights to..." Another few whispers reached her ears. She spun around in time to catch sight of Miles Goldener passing something to Harmony Feld. "Miss Feld." Hermione walked over to the girl and held out her hand, expectantly. Harmony shot a mournful look to Lily and Carry before handing Hermione the folded piece of parchment.
"You know my rules about notes," Hermione said as she unfolded the paper. Clearing her throat, she began to read. "'I can't believe how green his eyes are; they're the color of the Quidditch green....that's nothing, can't you just imagine running your fingers through that...'" Laughter filled the room, save for a few of the boys who looked extremely put out. Hermione forced herself to continue with the punishment. "'...that tousled hair....I know he's older, but he can't be anymore than thirty....twenty-eight, I looked up his birthday in my history book....'"
Mortified, Lily and Carry slid down into their seats. Hermione crumpled up the parchment paper and stuffed it into the pocket of her robe. "Well, it's good to know that you've at least opened your history book, Miss Waterman." There was more laughter as Hermione continued, "I trust we've all learned a valuable lesson here," she said, a bit more flustered than she had intended.
"Yeah, never let your girlfriend stay after in Defense class," Albert muttered out loud. The other boys snickered.
Hermione shook her head. "If we could get back to the elves..."
"Professor Weasley?" Harmony Feld raised her hand. "You were there, weren't you? When Professor Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"Didn't I answer this question last year?" The students gave no indication that she had. Hermione gave in. It was obvious they weren't going to spend the lesson talking about elves. "Yes, I was there."
Phillip leaned forward. "He almost died, didn't he? Professor Potter? He overcame the Killing Curse, but it almost got him, right?"
Hermione closed her eyes. An image of Harry's half-broken, bloody body flashed across her mind. She shuddered despite her heavy robes. "The important thing is that Vo...You-Know-Who was defeated. He didn't win and Harry lived."
All the girls in the class beamed.
"But he still has followers, hasn't he?" Albert asked. "Ready to do his work for him?"
"The Darkness will always have a following, Albert," she replied sadly. "But everyone who chooses good..." She swallowed. "And everyone who dies for good makes it all that more strong, until one day, the Darkness won't have anything to hold onto." The students pondered her words for a minute. "Now...back to the elves." Groans filled the classroom.
It wasn't until later, when the students were long gone, that Hermione retrieved the crumpled paper from inside her robe. She spread it flat across her desk.
"Eyes like the Quidditch green," she muttered. "Please...they're far more like emeralds." She blinked all of the sudden, as though she had forgotten herself. Quickly, she tore up the note and tossed the pieces into the fireplace. Gathering her books, she left the classroom. But a single thought plagued her all the way back to her apartment.
She could remember, all too well, exactly what it was like to run her fingers through that tousled hair.
****
"Don't forget...read up on grindylows for next week or it's a unscheduled field trip to the lake for all of you!" Laughter followed Harry's words as the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff third years started filing out of the classroom. Hermione waited until most of the students had gone before slipping in unnoticed. The classroom was warm, unlike the open-air corridor, chilled by the late-October wind.
Hermione hung to the back of the room as two Ravenclaw girls approached Harry's desk. "Professor Potter," one girl, Felicity Foxhall searched for something to say. "Um...what pages are the grindylows on?"
Harry smiled patiently. "Forty-five to forty-seven, Felicity." Over the girls' shoulder, he spotted Hermione. "Is there anything else?"
Felicity and her friend blushed deeply. "No. Thank you, Professor." Hermione hid a smile behind her hand as the girls dashed out of the room, giggling all the way.
"It seems you have quite a fan base," Hermione addressed him, once the girls were gone.
His hair flopped over his forehead as he packed up his things. When he brushed it away, Hermione caught a glimpse of his scar. "I only hope they're all learning something."
"I'm sure they are." She walked towards him. "Harry?"
He glanced up; momentarily shaking her will with the intensity of his eyes. "Yes?"
"I...I wanted..." Scowling, Hermione tightened her jaw before she started sounding like the girls of the school. "Halloween is next week." He nodded. "Harry...little Harry...he and I stay in on Halloween since he can't go to the feast yet and I don't like leaving him alone. I was wondering..."
She was unable to finish her sentence because just then, Bill Jr ran into the classroom as fast as his gangly legs would carry him. "Professor Potter!" He stopped when he saw they weren't alone. "Aunt Herm...I mean, Professor Weasley."
"It's all right, Bill." Hermione ruffled his hair affectionately. "You can still call me that when we're alone." Bill Jr glanced at Harry. "Or when we're around people who don't mind," she corrected herself.
Harry failed to hide a grin. "What's the matter, Bill?"
The boy dug into his schoolbag and produced a copy of the day's "Daily Prophet". He handed it to Harry. "I found this in the common room and started to read it, when I noticed something rather strange. Do you see it, too, Professor Potter?"
Exchanging a look with Hermione, Harry examined the article. His eyes narrowed immediately.
On the page, in full color and motion, was Draco Malfoy. Ten year hadn't changed him beyond making him older. His eyes still held mocking malice; his slicked-back blond hair was anything but pure. The caption on the photo read, "Hogwarts School Council Faces New Entrance Rules Proposition". In the picture, Draco was in debate with their old Headmaster and friend, Albus Dumbledore.
Harry watched as Hermione's face became quite pale. When he spoke, his tone was grim. "What am I supposed to be looking for, Bill?"
"You don't see it?" Bill pointed to the picture. "At the bottom of Malfoy's robe...if you cross your eyes a bit and turn it upside down....doesn't it look like the Dark Mark? The one we read about last week?"
Hermione licked her lower lip. "What do you think, Harry?"
"I just don't know," Harry mused, turning the paper upside and squinting. "As much as I'd like to sic the Aurors onto Malfoy, I can't imagine that even he would be stupid enough to wear the Mark in public, where anyone could see it."
Bill spoke up. "But the Aurors were already..."
He was interrupted by Hermione. "If Professor Potter doesn't think it's the Mark, Bill, we should take his word for it. He is, after all, the expert." She put a hand on her nephew's shoulder. "May I ask a favor of you, Bill?"
The boy looked up at her with a mixture of disappointment and curiosity. "Of course. What is it?"
"Harry's been a little lonely lately, what with the students here and him being so close and yet so far from being one of them. I just bet he would love a visit from his cousin. Now, I know you're busy with school and your new friends, but..."
Bill Jr smiled broadly. "Sure, Aunt Hermione. I'll come see him tonight." He glanced at the paper again and sighed, dramatically. "Thank you, Professor Potter."
Harry tore his eyes away from the article. "Thank you, Bill. May I keep this?" The boy nodded and scampered out of the room, leaving Hermione and Harry alone again.
"He's a bright boy," Hermione said after a moment. "He may have been wrong this time, but at least now you know you're teaching your students something."
All she got in reply, at first, was a nod. She was about to leave when Harry spoke. "Dumbledore is arriving back tonight." He looked at her. "He sent me an owl. I'm to meet with him tonight." Harry held up the paper. "I'll find out for sure, Hermione."
"What do you mean?"
He hit the page with the backs of his fingers, right over Draco's face. "If Ron's death wasn't an accident...I don't think we have to look very far to find the responsible parties."
She glanced up at the high arched ceiling, blinking back tears. "When are you going to stop? When are you going to accept it?"
"I have, Hermione." He lifted his shoulders. "Ron is gone. I can accept that fact without accepting that he was killed in a scaffolding accident. Him...an Auror, obviously working on something you don't want me to know about." Harry shook his head. "It's too convenient, an accident. And it insults Ron's memory to keep it as such." He leaned in towards her to brush a tear from her eye. The physical contact, so long forgotten from him, surprised her. She had to stifle a small gasp. "I have to know, Hermione. For your sake as much as his memory."
"Harry..." He breathed in the sweetness of his name on her lips. "I just...I don't want you...getting in over your head."
His fingers lingered on her cheek long after the tear was gone. "Will you trust me to know my own limitations?" It took her awhile, but eventually she nodded. He pulled back. "I'll let you know how it goes with Dumbledore." In one quick motion, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and prepared to go. He stopped short and turned back around. "What was it you were going to ask me before, Hermione?"
"I was just..." She took a calming breath. "Would you like to spend Halloween evening with me....and Harry?"
The smile that lit up his face was brighter than she had ever seen...and it did unwelcome things to her heart. "I would love it," he replied. There was an awkward moment before Harry started off again, nearly tripping over the first row of desks as he went. When he reached the door, he turned back around once more. "Trust me, Hermione," he said knowingly. And then, he was gone.
"I trust you, Harry." She closed her eyes. "I always have."
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To Be Continued