Chapter Thirty Five
Harry was starting to feel decidedly leery. In fact, the feeling was very much akin to one he'd experienced often in Potions class when he knew he'd added in the ingredients incorrectly and was just waiting for the cauldron to explode.
He, Ron, and Hermione had been in Dumbledore's office learning the basic premises behind wandless magic for well over an hour, and the headmaster had yet to breathe a single word about his and Hermione's little escapade in Hogsmeade yesterday. He hardly believed the headmaster was going to ignore it, not when he'd made it such a clear command on Friday that he was to stay well within sight of the professors. A command he and Hermione had flagrantly and knowingly disregarded.
If Hermione was troubled by the white elephant in the room, she didn't show it. She was sitting next to Harry on the bench that Dumbledore had conjured for the three of them when they first arrived, and she had her notebook open on her lap. Her quill was scribbling furiously over the pages. Every time Harry glanced over at her he couldn't stop a smile from tugging at his mouth. It was so very Hermione of her, right down to the crinkle in her brow and the way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she took down nearly every word Dumbledore said. If there were any misgivings there, she had them firmly buried beneath the mantle of model pupil.
As he watched her take down all the details of Dumbledore's lesson, itoccurred to Harry that he'd need to borrow them from her after they left. He'd become so expectant of the scolding they would receive that he'd not been paying the utmost of attention to the headmaster.
Though from what he had heard, he doubted pouring over Hermione's meticulous notes would do much good. Wandless magic was perhaps the most wily, unpredictable, uncooperative magical ability he'd ever heard of. For all intents and purposes, it sounded like Hermione had been right (though that was far from shocking). Wandless magic seemed to be purely innate.
Even Harry, paying only sporadic attention, heard Dumbledore several times comment on the fact that it could not be learned. If one had the raw potential it could be honed and refined, but if the capability wasn't already there one might as well hope to spontaneously turn into a minotaur (and from the sound of things, the latter seemed more likely to happen).
Ron, on Harry's right, was concentrating so intently on Dumbledore that his face was screwed and Harry would lay odds that the redhead would have a headache by day's end. Harry just might too if this business of not speaking a word to Hogsmeade yesterday kept up.
"Headmaster," Hermione asked as she raised her hand, though it hardly seemed necessary since it was only the three of them. Ron rubbed at his forehead and tugged on his bangs.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked in a completely normal voice, no hint of disappointment or anger. It was going to drive Harry stark raving mad.
Hermione lowered her hand and sat up straight, her expression intense and focused on her question. "I have a question about magical emissions in very young witches and wizards. Like the things that happened when I was little that clued my parents in on the fact I wasn't a normal muggle. I know they're common in most witches and wizards up to the age of four, which would suggest that at some point we're all able to do wandless magic, but I've never understood precisely why most of us seem to lose that ability as we get older."
Dumbledore nodded and sat down across from them in a cushioned armchair. "Ah, yes… does present quite the puzzle, doesn't it? Let me see if I can find a proper way to put this." Dumbledore tapped his fingertips together in front of his chin and rolled his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other as though the problem was taffy. Once he hit upon a tactic he fancied he lowered his hands to fold them over his stomach. "Since you're muggle-born and your parents are doctors in their own rights, perhaps this will best elucidate matters for you.
"Am I not correct in saying that when a human child is born, and shortly thereafter, he or she never has more active brain cells throughout the rest of their life than they do at that tender age?"
"Right. From infancy onward unused brain pathways atrophy while frequently used pathways become all the stronger."
"Wandless magic is quite nearly the same for witches and wizards. We are never more capable or predisposed to unaided magical use than in early childhood. But those abilities, for most individuals, fade. Ironically, taking up a wand greatly hastens that process."
"Like the neural pathways that strengthen as opposed to the ones that are rarely used?"
"Precisely. In a sense, you might say that the wand becomes a crutch and quickly the witch or wizard in question is completely dependent upon it for magical functioning. There was a time, albeit a long time ago, when wands were unknown and all magic in existence was wandless. There were, of course, far fewer practicing witches and wizards in those days, and Potions was more widely studied.
"When those with magical inclinations discovered a tool could be made that amplified that buried magical potential within them, and directed it… you could say it was a magic renaissance; it led to an explosion in magical culture, even if it marked the last days of prominent wandless magic."
"But it's not all gone," Ron piped in, his hair a fright from his tugging and worrying, "I mean, you can do wandless magic."
Dumbledore made a 'hmmm' sound in the back of his throat. "Not all gone, but exceedingly rare. And at present beyond our powers to coerce. I fear there is precious little that I can truly tell you about the mechanics of wandless magic."
Harry glanced at Hermione's pages of notes so far and bit his tongue from openly contradicting the headmaster.
"I should think that will do for now," Dumbledore said and moved to stand. Hermione opened her mouth, eager to let fly another question, but at the last second she locked her lips closed. The effort she was exerting to leave her queries unasked was almost visibly painful to watch, but Harry wasn't interested in spending all day with the headmaster.
"I trust, Miss Granger, that your diligent notes will serve to fill in any holes in Mister Weasley and Mister Potter's notes?"
Neither Harry nor Ron had jotted down a single word, and the headmaster knew that. Maybe next time he should at least bring a parchment and quill and scribble a few recurring themes down. Although Harry could see that page of notes now; 'put down wand, stare at quill, try and make it dance… patience… patience… head-ache potion… more patience… your wand won't save you now… damn quill won't move… don't go spare… patience… I hate you, quill… the centaurs will eat me… I think Trelawney has the right of things'. He could think of Potions assignments he'd rather do, but Hermione would no doubt run herd on him and Ron to at least give it an honest try.
Honestly, the idea of wandless magic was infinitely more alluring than the exercises it took to actually learn it (if one even could learn it).
"Yes, sir," Hermione answered as she packed away her notes.
"Good, then. For a first lesson, I should think that was satisfactory."
'Our definitions of satisfactory differ,' Harry thought, but he wasn't looking to get into trouble for being contrary with the elder wizard. He had the sense he was treading lightly as it was.
The three of them stood and began to move toward the office door.
"Mister Potter, Miss Granger, if you would stay behind a moment; I'd like to speak with you privately."
And there it was.
Ron cast them a sympathetic look but left the room with haste. Friendship only went so far in the face of an unhappy Albus Dumbledore.
When Harry and Hermione turned back to Dumbledore the headmaster was regarding them closely. One would think they'd just claimed to be from a different dimension for all the scrutiny he was sending their way. He'd gone unbearably still and contemplative in those scant seconds since he'd dismissed their lesson. Harry fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. The headmaster had an insanely penetrating look when he aimed to, and once leveled it seemed as though Dumbledore could look straight to the truth of matters. For a horrifying, maddening moment Harry felt like the headmaster was peering right into him and could see the jaguar curled inside him. And for an instant, he could almost swear the jaguar inside him sensed the challenge and was crouched to spring, fangs bared and roaring. It was with a quick grab for control over the beast that Harry quieted the animalisticforce in him. This threat was beyond him in any form. There was no way to stand against Dumbledore's magic. And it seemed, with that flash of reasoning, the jaguar noted the greater fighter and turned to flee, spitting and glowering over its shoulder as it faded back into that deep place inside him, tucked away and secure.
Dumbledore blinked and said heavily, "I trust I don't need to tell you why I've kept you."
Harry couldn't help an involuntary glance at Hermione on his left. She was rigid, her expression schooled… it was Hermione Granger willing to take her licks. "No, sir," she answered for the pair of them. Harry looked back to the headmaster and Dumbledore cut a quick and sharp gaze on Harry.
"I must say that I was most disappointed in the both of you when Professor McGonagall told me what you two did."
Surprisingly, despite his ire and indignant annoyance, that remark from the wise old headmaster still managed to sock Harry in the gut. He'd anticipated anger, in the back of his mind he remembered the kind of fits of rage Vernon Dursley would go into when Harry really screwed up, but this was completely different. There wasn't anger so much as there was sadness. Wounded feelings, shaken trust. It settled sickly in Harry's stomach. He'd not been braced for that.
"Have you any excuse for yourselves?" Dumbledore asked.
Just then, Harry wished they had. At least something other than the truth, which they mustn't tell him. But he wished they had an answer that would take the disappointment out of Dumbledore's voice. Harry dropped his eyes to the floor and pinched his lips tightly together. This hurt was really unexpected.
"We… Harry and I…" Hermione faltered, whether on the lie or perhaps plagued by the same crush of guilt as Harry he couldn't say. "We just… we wanted to be alone… together."
Dumbledore didn't speak for a time, and Harry couldn't bring himself to look up from the rug. When the headmaster did speak, it was still in that damnable tone of having been let down. "Honestly, I expected more from you both."
Hermione made a few noises, false starts of perhaps appeals to Dumbledore's kindness, but they never quite made it into words. Harry knew he would have done no better.
"Do not mistake me; I am not reprimanding your courtship unto itself. I have been headmaster of Hogwarts for a long time and have watched countless friendships blossom into relationships within this school's walls…"
Harry looked up at that. He found Dumbledore perched on the edge of his desk looking back and forth between him and Hermione.
"I even try to be understanding of the fact that you two, especially Harry, have faced trials and life-changing challenges beyond your years.
"But even that does not excuse your behavior. You knew how important it was, for your safety, that you stay within sight of the teachers sent to protect you.
"Have you any concept of the panic you caused when you two up and disappeared for hours for the ignoble purpose of 'making out'? Poor Professor McGonagall was certain you had both been kidnapped by Voldemort right out from under our noses. Consequent concern for all the other students' safety was sufficient to give poor Professor Flitwick a case of the black-out hiccups."
That cinched it. Harry now actually sort of regretted kipping off for a jaunt in the woods.
"No, sir," Hermione said in a thin voice, "we didn't… we… we didn't think of that."
"I should hope not. I'd hate to believe that either of you would be capable of understanding the repercussions and carrying on anyway." Dumbledore sighed and looked toward the paintings on his wall. If the past headmasters had any advice they weren't in the mood for sharing, for not a one of them spoke.
"But perhaps some of this is my doing," Dumbledore finally said. "Perhaps I should have told you of our plans for Hogsmeade weekend before-hand. I could see how adolescent, impetuous anger so recently ignited might cause two young students to behave irrationally, to act out against the feeling that they are being used."
'It was my idea," Harry volunteered suddenly. Hermione shot a look at him, but he pressed onward. "I talked her into sneaking off with me."
"I'd had little doubt about that," Dumbledore replied with the ghost of a smile. Harry could see Hermione's jaw drop. His own eyes widened. Whatexactly did that mean?
The headmaster chuckled. "You forget that I have seen this dance play out thousands of times before. With your own parents, in fact, Harry. Lily and James were a couple apt to 'vanish' mysteriously only to resurface some time later quite disheveled for their absence. And it's usually the boy's idea."
Hermione snorted.
"And it's noble of you to accept blame, but sadly it won't stand the test of reason in this instance. I do not for a moment think you could 'talk' Miss Granger into anything she didn't consent to from the start."
Harry had to crack a smile. Dumbledore had that right.
"This once, I think I could appease myself with the rationale that you two were not thinking clearly, because one's first boyfriend or girlfriend does tend to addle the brain, and that is why you acted so disgracefully at Hogsmeade. I might even feel generous enough to forget the whole fiasco ever happened, as it would conveniently allow me to also put out of my mind the mistakes I made in dealing with you two. Provided that nothing of this nature ever happens again."
Harry could hardly believe his ears, and he had to steal a look at Hermione to make sure he'd read between the lines correctly. Her cautious expression of hope confirmed everything Harry had thought he'd heard. They were going to get off without being punished, as long as they swore to never be so disobedient again. To avoid that sick feeling of disappointing Dumbledore, he'd swear it anyway.
"We promise," Hermione said, and Harry met Dumbledore's eyes and nodded earnest agreement.
"Very well, then. Forgiven and forgotten.
"I suspect Mister Weasley is wearing a groove in the floor just outside my office door. You two had best join him before he digs me a most ill-placed ditch."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look of disbelief and made a quick exit. As predicted, Ron was waiting impatiently for them just outside the headmaster's room. When he saw them emerge he pounced. "Oiy, how bad was it? Detention for a week? With Snape even, I suppose. Oh, Harry, tell me he didn't ban you from next week's Quidditch match, the Gryffindors haven't a chance to beat Ravenclaw without you!"
"Relax, Ron," Harry said with a relieved smile. "We're not in trouble." "Huh? Why not? Uh, I mean, that's great! But…"
Hermione started down the hall and both boys, just like the old days, took up flanking positions on either side of her without a second thought. "Oh, it doesn't really matter, I'm just glad it's done with. I'd worried it would be a lot more difficult than that, I was sure he'd start asking questions…" Hermione slowed to a halt. When Harry came abreast with her and likewise stopped he could see a look of deep thought on her face. Ron did, too, and looked to Harry in question. He could offer only a shake of his head and shrug. He still didn't have any notion as to the inner-workings of Hermione's mind.
Hermione suddenly looked up at Harry."Harry… Dumbledore didn't even askif we were together, he just assumed we were."
Harry thought back to Dumbledore's chiding words. "You're right…" Ron harrumphed. "Told you."
They both looked toward their friend.
Ron offered a crooked smile and awkward shrug, then headed off down the hall ahead of them. Harry thought the whole exchange rather odd, but that seemed to be the course for the day. He was still wrapping his head around the idea that Dumbledore had fallen prey to the same rumors the rest of Hogwarts had. If anyone would see clear to the truth, surely Dumbledore would have. But apparently not. It was another surprise to add to the day's list.
Hermione watched after Ron a moment, expression taut with furiously racing thoughts, then she reached out, grabbed Harry's arm, and started after Ron. Harry, with a smirk, took up right at her side as they trailed after Ron.
Nearly four weeks passed, and things were the closest to normal they had been for a long time for the three friends. In fact, better in some ways than they'd ever been. Harry and Hermione were getting on well with Ron again, once they'd out and shared their animagus secret with him. In hindsight, it made Harry wish they'd told Ron from the start. He couldn't figure why they hadn't. Once that burden of deception had been lifted, it seemed as though a giant had physically carried off the huge weight of their troubles with them.
Even Ron and Hermione were getting on better than ever. Ron was more mindful not to hurt Hermione's feelings, and when she stopped expecting barbs and japes at every turn, she relaxed more around Ron. More than once, Harry had come upon the two of them laughing about something or other. He couldn't remember ever doing that before; more likely he'd come across them fighting and have to play monkey in the middle as they tried to win him to their side of the argument. It was amazing to just sit down with them and join in the laughter instead.
Snow had begun falling with thickening regularity at Hogwarts until Harry and Hermione were bounding through drifts of snow on their morning runs.
Hermione had started performing a heat charm on their way back to melt away their paw prints. It meant they had to be more careful where once they'd run with unfettered alacrity, but in Harry's estimations it was a small price to pay for the hour of going wild with her.
Ron had come around well and good to his two best friends being animagi, too. At first he'd been a little hesitant, almost borderline shy. He'd sneak in off-hand questions when no one was near, like 'what's it feel like' and 'have you ever eaten a squirrel?' When his inquiries weren't rebuffed, instead answered readily, Ron grew bolder. By now, he was quite the eager beaver to know the ins and outs of his friends the jaguar and the lioness. He'd actually approached Hermione once and asked what he'd need to do if he wanted to become an animagus, too… he listened to only half of the complex, complicated process before he threw up his hands in surrender and contented himself with being the good friend of animagi instead.
The wandless magic hadn't been going so well. In fact, it was almost exactly as Harry had anticipated it would be. Most of the time they sat in front of a parchment or quill and stared at it, willing it to move while they refrained from using their wands. Sometimes it was under Dumbledore's supervision, sometimes Hermione had them practicing it in the common room (which earned them no end of queer looks from their fellow Gryffindors for sitting and staring at their quills). It seemed to make no difference, because the bloody parchments and quills never moved. Once Ron was convinced he'd done it, the feather end of his quill ruffled, but it turned out Seamus had just opened the window and let in a breeze. Harry was beginning to think the ruddy quills would never move. It didn't stop Hermione's persistence that they attend the sessions with Dumbledore and practice in some of their free time. Harry tried, because she was so set on them succeeding and he didn't care to see her disheartened should he give up, but he wasn't holding out high hopes of ever wielding the power of wandless magic. As he'd predicted from the start. Only wizards like Dumbledore could do things that impressive, so on the whole Harry wasn't let down by his inability to move a
simple parchment. He'd never expected he'd master the ability anyway.
The failure at wandless magic was truthfully the only sour spot in life at Hogwarts as of late. Even under the cloud of Voldemort's return, a blackness on the brightest of days, life seemed to fit in ways it hadn't before.
Harry was even more forgiving in his opinion of Divination, the class he and Ron were currently sitting.
"Today," the bespectacled woman crooned in her dreamy, oscillating voice,
"you will have the pleasure to sample the Draught of the Foreknowing."
Harry was half-listening. His good graces toward the Divination teacher might have been improved, but he wasn't near to the point of hanging on every word or, Merlin forbid, taking notes.
But what the professor had said obviously meant something to Parvati, because from her bean bag seat a few tables over she gasped.
"Yes, dear," Trelawney nodded, "I knew you would know of it."
"But, Professor!" Parvati said in an awed tone, "The Draught of theForeknowing is very powerful…" her voice dropped to an almost conspiratorialwhisper, "it is allowed for us to have it?"
"Yes, powerful indeed, and for those of you who have already demonstrated possession of the gift of inner sight it may be overwhelming. But don't fear, the headmaster has granted special permission for it to be distributed to the class just once, and Madam Pomfrey knows she may expect some charges from this lesson."
Parvati looked astounded, equal parts anticipation and fear.
Harry cast Ron a look that meant to communicate just what he thought of Trelawney's hype, but the redhead was half-asleep and didn't take notice of Harry's attempt.
"What's Draught of the Foreknowing?" Neville asked.
"Oh, I knew you'd ask, dear boy. The Draught of the Foreknowing is a very potent potion used in divination. Scores of witches and wizards, longing to have the power to know the future but sadly not endowed with the gift, created instead a powerful concoction to allow them to peer into the mists of time. With this," she turned to gesture to the jug on her table, next to her murky crystal ball, "the most ordinary witch or wizard may chance to seetheir own future. But beware!" she swung back to face the class, obviously going for dramatic effect, but her turn was so sharp that her long bead necklaces whipped about and coiled around her upraised hand. As she disentangled herself (and while some students in the back snickered), she pressed on, "But beware, for the future may be filled with dark shadows and omens of ill fortune. Or you may not even be there at all."
Parvati squeaked. The high-pitched noise jerked Ron awake and he looked around, for a moment uncertain where he was.
"If this Draught's so great, how come loads of people aren't using it?" asked Draco snottily.
Harry hated it when he had to concede that the Malfoy had asked a good question.
Trelawney wrung her hands like it was a dire thing to have to say to children. "Because it has its limitations, boy, oh truly, it has a cruel specialty. Unsettling to some, how narrow its focus.
"You see, the Draught permits someone to see only their own future. That can be the most terrifying sight of all and too much for many who taste the Draught." Trelawney paused then added in a slightly caustic tone, "And some would say such a tiny view of the future is next to useless, but don't be fooled! It's fear talking."
Trelawney turned back to her table and poured a serving of the pink and purple potion in the jar into a cup. "But let us not linger on those frightened few and their opinions. To the potion. What you will have to do is drink the potion and turn your eyes to your balls."
Seamus snorted.
Trelawney misheard it for a whimper. "No, no, fear not, for I will be here to watch over your journey to your unlived days, your coming years. The visions you see may be terrifying, but I will be at hand to pull you back to the here and now. Do not be afraid of being lost to time.
"Who wishes to go first? Harry," she shuffled across the room toward Harry and Ron's table.
Harry sat back as though being accosted by a beggar. "Uh, no, really… I…"
Trelawney pressed the cup into his hand, ignoring his protests."Now don't be scared. Take it."
Harry scowled as he took the cup from Trelawney. His opinion of Divination was slipping perilously again.
The whole class was watching him.
Ron was smirking too much for Harry's liking, but cuffing him on the ear with the professor only a foot away wasn't one of his better ideas.
Instead, he peered down into the cup. The pink and purple liquid was swirling of its own accord. Harry frowned. He wasn't sure how keen he was on drinking anything that Trelawney had cooked up. He'd sooner drink a potion from Snape… the man may be a colossal git, but he knew his potions. Harry wasn't sure Trelawney knew her left hand from her right most days.
"Now drink the potion, drink all of it, and gaze into the crystal ball," Trelawney gestured expansively at the ball in the center of his and Ron's little round table.
Harry winced, braced, and brought the cup to his lips. With a cringe, he tipped it back.
To his amazement, it didn't taste as horrid as he'd expected. Kind of fruity, with a zing that tap-danced on his tongue and somersaulted wildly down his throat. He swallowed again and the tingles hit his stomach. From there, his chest, then his limbs, until he was feeling quite bubbly from the inside out.
He wondered what was in the potion, and if perhaps Trelawney wasn't set on getting the whole class piss drunk. He felt tipsy enough to call it drunk.
He drained the last of the dregs from the cup and put it down. Or maybe dropped it, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that the cup disappeared when he no longer had need of it. The room was shifting, tilting just a little to the right, and Trelawney was floating strangely in front of his eyes like a fun house mirror's wavering image."Your baaaaalll, Haaaaarrryyyy," she said in a smoky voice, a voice that started on her lips but ended in the rafters, and with a monumental effort Harry looked down. The smooth surface of the sphere shone gold from the reflected candlelight and white from the snow- filled classroom window. Maybe if he got a bit closer he could make out the snowflakes.
Harry sank closer, stared hard at the surface. Within the globe, amber mist swirled lazily. Pretty, really. He pressed closer, so close he was sure he'd bump his nose against the curved surface. That'd be a good laugh. Such pretty swirling browns. Swirling nearly as much as his thoughts… but then his mind was slipping. Falling away. He lost focus, lost purpose… 'oh…' hethought. He knew this. It was the meditative state, that calm place in his head where he'd gone a hundred times before on his journey toward becoming an animagus. Nature talked to him there. Things were so quiet when he was in that state, when he wasn't thinking, only being. Things became clear and simple. Like how simply pretty those swirling brown wisps of smoke were.
The amber churned lazily, like a fog slow to lift, as slow and intransigent against moving as his thoughts.
The amber roiled to gold. Then back to amber. Then brown. It pressed close to him and swallowed him in gossamer-soft jaws. Swept up and over him like an ocean wave, only without the wet. It wrapped around his neck and slipped past his cheeks in a tingly kiss.
Then it stilled. Like an immobulus spell had been cast, everything just stopped. The brown smoke held suspended all around him, and he paused with it. Waiting. For what, who knew? But everything waited for it.
Slowly, the smoke moved. It began to thin. Then Harry heard something. A voice. Not speaking, yet still… far away, a sound. Humming. A woman.
She was humming, and it was sending away the clouds.
The mist thinned and Harry could just make out the shape of a human form behind the veil of whispering brown. The sound of her voice drew him nearer. 'Believe I'm yours, and that you're mine, Give our magic time'. She didn't sing the words, but he heard them anyway. He knew that song, had heard it maybe at the Yule Ball, or maybe on Kimmy's wizard radio. He didn't remember any words until he heard them now. He knew the notes, though he need only follow the woman's humming. The mist, it seemed, sang for her.
But even the words faded as the last tendrils of fog slipped away to the edges of his vision. Harry turned his gaze toward the woman, the siren of the smoke. Slowly, slowly, she came into focus.
She was standing in a room. The lights were dim. It looked like a living room; there was a couch, and a rug in front of a stone fireplace. Beyond that shadows claimed the rest, but even still it felt homey. Comfy.
The woman was standing with her back to him. No… not standing, swaying. Swaying to her unvoiced song, dancing slowly to her own music. Brown hair fell past her shoulders, swayed at the ends with her body as she rocked on her feet, to and fro, as unhurried and untroubled as time itself.
After a lifetime she came around, turned as her tune led her, gentle as a lover, and Harry felt recognition snare him. Oh, he knew her. It was Hermione. She looked different. Older. Peaceful. There was no book in sight, no fevered hunt for knowledge etched in the lines of her face, no pressure or stress tightening the muscles in her back. She was purely at ease. Swaying. And humming.
And she was not as alone in the darkened room as he'd first thought. Once she'd turned, Harry saw, cradled tenderly against her shoulder, a newborn baby. Hermione rocked it gently, hummed to it in a honeyed voice, her head cant to rest her cheek against the infant's wispy black hair. And for a moment, Harry saw her smile, serene and sweet, a beacon in the night.
Then he was reeling, the vision was gone, and Trelawney was in his face, her thick glass lenses magnifying her eyes almost three-fold. All a matter of inches from Harry's face.
"Ah!" Harry jerked back from the old bat, hands flailing out and grabbing for some purchase as his mind cart-wheeled. From the yelp to his left he figured he'd hit Ron. A very Draco-like guffaw proved it for him. He heard a dull thump that was mostly likely his book being knocked to the floor by his other hand. But Harry was too busy trying to get his bearings to care about his book (or, sadly, even his friend).
"What the hell was that?!" were his first not-so-elegant words, slurred over a thick tongue that still tickled from the potion.
Draco cackled.
Trelawney pressed closer. "What did you see, my boy? Your future, what did you see?"
Harry blinked at the professor, bewildered. His mind was chanting, like a broken record, 'Hermione, Hermione, Hermione' but he gathered his wits quick enough not to say that in front of the entire class, in front of the bloody Slytherins. "Um… uh… Death Eaters. Loads of them."
Trelawney whimpered, took his hand, and patted it."Oh! I knew that's what you would see. Dreadful, dreadful that you must know your coming days will be so grim. Oh," a tear escaped her, made the size of a beetle by her enormous glasses as it crawled down her cheek, "that's the curse of foresight, Harry. You see now why many fear to experience it. It's so awful, such a dear, doomed boy," she moved away sniffling.
Ron leaned in toward him, "What happened, mate? You were really checked out there for a bit."
Harry shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs. "Not sure. Don't drink that stuff she gives you, I think it must be spiked."
"If you ask me this class could use a good spiking," Ron whispered then hastily straightened before Trelawney could turn back to them and decide Ron would be her next victim.
Harry stared down at the stupid crystal ball on their table. He'd cursed it a thousand times before for being less than worthless, wouldn't even make a decent doorstop. It looked innocuous enough, but Harry couldn't shake the image that had risen from the mist. His future? Could the old nut job know what she was talking about? What if she did? What if what he'd seen…
Harry could not have recalled a single word of the rest of the Divination class if given veritaserum and beset by the Cruciatus curse at the same time. He would not have known it if Snape had traipsed in, thrown himself at Trelawney's feet, and proposed to her in front of the entire class. He was lost in the memory of what he'd seen, and the most terrifying part of all… what did it mean?
Chapter Thirty Six
Original Author Notes -A/N: Here it is, the moment so long awaited by so many of you. I hope it was worth the wait; I had this scene planned from the earliest chapters of this story, and I was uncompromising on how I wanted it to unfold. I hope it meets everyone's expectations. I had more I wanted to write in the A/N, but I've decided to save it for the next chapter so you can get right to reading Chapter Thirty-Six.
It was very nearly bedtime before Harry, Hermione, and Ron returned to the Gryffindor common room from their latest attempt at practicing wandless magic. It had been as unproductive a lesson as those that came before it, but Harry had hardly been focusing on the quill. Not with Hermione right beside him.
The common room was already empty when they straggled in, all the other students in their dorms if not already in their beds as well. The lights had been lowered but a fire burned steady and warm in the hearth for any wayward Gryffindors.
Crookshanks was curled on the rug in front of the flames, half-asleep and purring under his breath. It seemed the chill of the night had been enough to dissuade the cat from a midnight walk-about of the grounds when there was a warm fire to be had.
Ron yawned. "Well… another evening wasted."
Hermione looked sharply at Ron."You're not thinking of going to bed; you have homework that needs to be done. I'll bet you haven't even started on your assignment for McGonagall."
Ron scowled, which was telling as to the state of his Transfiguration homework. "Oh, later, I'm knackered. You coming with, Harry?"
And have Hermione's wrath turned on him? He had more sense than that. "No, I'll try and get some work done before turning in." He questioned how much sleep he'd manage if he went up to bed, anyway.
"Suit yourself. I'd rather do with a good sleep, personally. Good night."
With that, Ron trudged up the stairs and left Harry and Hermione alone in the common room. A day ago that would not have been discomfiting, but tonight Harry felt tense.
Hermione turned away from Ron's exit with a roll of her eyes. "I know he's thinking he'll copy off me in the morning, but I won't do it this time," her expression changed, as though the irritant which was Ron's procrastination was put out of mind. "Come on, Harry. Let's get started. We may even be able to finish in only an hour if we work hard at it."
Harry nodded mutely and followed Hermione toward the fire. She dropped her bag to the floor and lowered herself to the rug beside Crookshanks. The cat opened his eyes fractionally at the new company. Hermione petted her familiar a moment while Harry sat down on the couch a short distance away.
He was staring at her, he knew he was. He couldn't seem to help it. He'd thought far too long on what had happened in Divination. The more he thought, the deeper he seemed to fall into a sinking well. And he feared, he knew, he wouldn't escape it without facing the demons in the dark waters.
The same ones he'd eluded numerous times in the past. They would find him tonight.
Hermione pulled her book from her bag and opened it on her lap. She took out next parchment and quill, ink bottle and wand for scourgify spells in place of muggle correction liquid. She laid them out before her, just so, then turned to her text. She was so focused, so single-minded and intent, that she was mindless to the fact that Harry had yet to move to mimic her studious actions.
Rather, he was watching her.
Harry had watched her do the same thing a thousand times. It wasHermione, through and through. The crinkle of concentration upon her brow, the slight pinching of her lips, the flick of her eyes as they raced over written words. It was how Harry was accustomed to seeing her, on a mission, with a purpose, set to a task.
But he'd also seen her smile, gentle and untroubled, with a babe in her arms. Harry's heart was fluttering in his chest, and he feared to think why.
The vision. It had plagued him all day. What did it mean? He'd thought on it long and hard. Trelawney's meaning had been clear, if the old witch could be taken at her word. And this time, he found himself inexplicably drawn to believe that she had known an elusive truth. He was compelled to believe in the thing he'd seen in the crystal ball. According to Trelawney, if he'd seen Hermione in his vision, she was in his future. That really wasn't too surprising. They were best friends; he'd expect her to be there. He'd be worried if she wasn't.
But the baby… why was there a baby?
Harry didn't own up to his own screaming suspicions until lunch hour, and by then it had been enough to kill his appetite. It was terrifyingly simple, so obvious that Harry had been too scared to acknowledge it glaring him in the face. If Hermione was there, in his future, and if she had a baby with her, then it would suggest, were it possible that perhaps he…
'That it was mine,' Harry had concluded with gut-clenching shock. The black- haired infant on Hermione's shoulder had been his. That enormity of that revelation tore at him through Defense Against the Dark Arts and rendered him deaf to Moody's words.
And now he was here, in the quiet of the common room with Hermione, and he couldn't pretend anymore. He couldn't run.
Hermione was reading and Harry watched, his thoughts running it seemed a mile a minute.
He'd faced the facts of his vision, such as they had presented themselves. Hermione was in his future, and… and they had a baby. All that he'd seen, he could not deny that he'd seen it. So there it was, plain and simple.
But beyond that he was flummoxed. A baby… that didn't happen between friends. How did best friends end in babies? Married people had babies, husbands and wives made mothers and fathers…
Harry suddenly stopped breathing. For a second, time seemed to go completely still. Husbands and wives. It couldn't be, but… could the baby, Hermione… could it mean he would marry her? It was almost too mind- boggling to comprehend. Marry Hermione? Hermione his wife?
Sitting a few feet away, she turned the page of her book and mindlessly tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Harry stared while his thoughts exploded into overdrive.
But people who got married loved each other. Like his parents had loved each other, like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia loved each other though they could spare none for him. It was part of being married, and Harry didn't love Hermione.
'Do I?' he thought.
He studied her in the firelight as she read her textbook, completely in her element. Even amid the furious concentration it brought a peace to her because she was where she felt most comfortable. The fire painted dancing orange highlights over her face and left the rest to flicker in shifting shadow. Her hair was touched with russet amber as it fell over her shoulder and down her back.
'She's pretty,' Harry had to confess. But he'd known that for a long time, despite what others might say. And what was on the outside was only half of her loveliness. Where she truly shined was in her heart. So kind and brave and steadfast. And her mind. So quick and sharp and discerning. That was just as much a part of how pretty she was as the curls of her hair or the shape of her mouth or the shade of her eyes. That atop her physical looks more than made her pretty.
'No,' Harry amended, 'she's not pretty. She's beautiful.'
Hermione made a face, a quirky scrunch of her nose, and scratched the bridge of her nose with one finger. Then she brushed away the errant hair that had tickled her.
'So she's beautiful, my beautiful best friend,' Harry thought, 'but that doesn't mean I love her.' But what did? He preferred her company to anyone's, even Ron's, that much was true. He honestly treasured her sense of humor, because Hermione didn't let down her guard often to let show that witty side of her. He felt honored, and lucky, that she trusted him enough to share that side of herself with him. He felt more comfortable around her than he did around anyone else. He could be himself, the good and the bad and the verydark and ugly, and it was okay. He was safe and accepted when he was with her. He could be Harry with her and not be worried she'd shun him for what that truly meant. He never regretted time spent with her. Even hours spent not talking, when he was just studying with her, were not wasted. He trusted her before all others. He'd trust her with his life if it came down to it.
But that was true for a lot of friends. So where did the possibility of love come in?
'And what does it look like?' Harry thought at long delay. He could see none of Vernon and Petunia in himself and Hermione, which he'd generally categorize as a good thing. He and Hermione weren't really anything like Molly and Arthur Weasley, either. He had only pictures of his parents, and that wasn't a lot to go on. Maybe he wasn't able to love. Maybe his parents dying, being raised by the Dursleys… maybe he was broken. And if he was, then Hermione shouldn't be with him. She deserved love from an unbroken man, someone who could love. Who knew how, because he didn't.
But still… he could not shake the idea, outlandish as it was. The idea of maybe loving Hermione. He knew he cared a great deal for her, maybe even loved her as a friend. He might believe he was capable of that.
Hermione sighed, an exhale through her nose, the only concession to being tired she'd permit while she still had homework to do. It was simple and meaningless, but Harry's chest tightened all the same.
There were those things he couldn't place, moments and feelings that would not rest. When he touched her, there was a squirming in his stomach, a speeding of his heart, a tightness in his lungs… that didn't happen with Ron. Her skin was soft; he liked touching it. He liked even more that she let him. And when she touched him back, when she'd curl her arm around his or tangle her fingers with his… for a second Harry couldn't breathe, couldn't really think straight. His whole body stirred when she was with him, like he was more alive than he ever thought he could be. She made life before her touch gray and drab. There were those embarrassing 'physiological responses' he had to her if they were too close, if he glanced upon skin that she usually covered with clothing… that was not fit for friends, but Hermione had explained that. He was a teenage boy, and his body did things. But did that explain the dreams? And did it explain why it felt so good, even when it ached? Did it explain why even the thought was quickening in his blood, wakening in the pit of his stomach and inching perilously lower?
Hermione reached for her parchment and used one side of her book as a desk as she began to write.
She smelled good. He'd always noticed that. Like maple leaves and peaches, soft and comforting as a summer afternoon. And he'd come to really like the way her hair tickled his face when she tucked up against his shoulder. Actually, he really liked when she tucked against his shoulder, tickling hair aside. He always thought of how he'd like to keep her there just a little longer.
Sometimes he thought it would be nice to wrap his arms around her and draw her closer, hold her to him until she melted against him, hopelessly tangled and entwined. And when that impulse snared him, for a just a moment, he'd remember, like an illegal indulgence, the way she tasted. And sometimes, sometimes, he'd want to taste her lips again.
And it hit Harry, like an obliviate curse in reverse, 'maybe that's love'. Harry was floored.
Could it be so simple?
He sat and watched Hermione and let the unvoiced question consume him. If all that he felt around her was really love, then what did it mean? For him and for them. The vision, Hermione, the baby, married, his wife… could he love her like that? Could he take her to be with him, at his side, central in his world, for the rest of his life? Could he love her like a husband would?
Like his father had loved his mother? Merlin, but he thought he could.
Hermione looked up just then, craned her neck to work out the kinks, and then her eyes fell on him. She stopped. "Harry? You okay? You look a bit peaky."
'I think I love you,' he thought in immense wonder, astounded by the realization. What he said was, "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
Harry's mouth felt unaccountably dry. "Have you ever… have you ever wondered if you'd get married someday?"
Hermione blinked. He'd surprised her. He couldn't blame her for not expecting that question. For all the things they'd talked about, somehow husbands, wives, and children had never come up. Maybe they'd unconsciously avoided them, cognizant of the landmines those topics were.
When Hermione collected herself the surprise left her face and somethingelse took its place… something… avoidant.
She looked down and for a moment worried the edge of her page. It seemed with reluctance that she answered after a silence, "No."
"Really?" Somehow, he was sure she had. She was from a normal, adjusted family, and she was so worthy of a love that strong. Why shouldn't she ever think about it?
Hermione shifted uncomfortably and for a second looked away. Her expression was taut, strained… on the verge of wounded. 'What, why?' Harry wondered in dismay.
"Mione?" he asked softly.
Hermione flinched then closed her book. It was that touchy a subject, it would seem. "Well, I suppose technically that's not entirely true. I've thought of it, yes… I guess what I mean is that I know I'll never get married."
Harry frowned, confused. "Why not?"
Hermione ducked her head and Harry could feel her hurting. What was wrong? Had he hurt her? A curse upon him if he had. His heart racing, he slid off the couch to sit on the rug across from her. She noticed him move, pretended she didn't for a time, then she glanced up at him. In her eyes, in those eyes he liked so much… pain.
"I'm not stupid, Harry." When she saw the querulous look on his face she sighed wearily. "I'm bossy, and stubborn, a stuffy know-it-all bookworm. And I know I'm not much to look at. Who'd want to marry that?" Hermione glanced away from his face, as though ashamed. She tried to dismiss it with a half-shrug. "I accepted a long time ago that no one would have me."
"I'd have you," Harry replied before he could think, before he could stop himself. His heart slammed upward, lodged firmly in his throat, and his stomach was doing flips.
Hermione's eyes shot back to him and locked on his, wide and shocked. She stared at him, agape. Harry was sure he'd lose consciousness for how fast his heart was racing. His hands were shaky. Part of him wanted to jump up and run. But he stayed, and he looked at her. He didn't know what to do.
Slowly, Hermione's expression went from shocked to baffled, then wary, then… could it really be hopeful? She took a deep breath, she seemed as nervous as he, then she licked her lips. Harry's eyes were drawn to themomentary glimpse of her peeking tongue. His blood hummed louder in his ears.
"You… you would?" she asked in a small, quiet voice.
Harry tried to answer, he opened his mouth to speak, but the words were stuck somewhere in his chest. He couldn't get them out for the life of him. He tried again but it was no use. He could not speak.
Hermione, sitting so very near to him, watched him struggle. As he opened and closed his mouth, her eyes dropped to his lips.
And Harry lost all reason. He took a leap of faith, a Godric-worthy act of courage. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.
And she didn't pull away. She whimpered in surprise, but she didn't pull away. And she felt so wonderful against his mouth. Soft, and warm, and gentle. Hermione.
When his bravery flagged and he started to draw back she followed him, keeping her lips locked on his. She rose to her knees to stay with him as he moved. Her fingertips traced over his cheek and he shivered. As he sat back Hermione shuffled closer to him, danced her fingers around his throat to the nape of his neck. Somehow, at some point, his hands found their way to her waist. Time was outside their realm.
Tentatively, Harry parted his lips against her mouth. Uncertain but daring to hope, he touched his tongue to her lips. Her mouth opened and her tongue ventured forth to rake against his.
Then they broke apart. Harry was breathing heavily, his thoughts a dizzying whirlwind.
Hermione was nearly straddling him, leaning on her knees into him. His hands were still holding on to her waist. Hermione's hands were wrapped behind his neck. She was looking deeply into his eyes. They were glittering in the firelight, radiant and mysterious. Harry was high on the taste of her, the feel of her, the play of her fingers at the back of his neck, sending goose bumps racing all over his body.
He looked up at her, bathed in her, sat drunk in her presence. He had to clear his throat twice before he could talk. "Did you… did you mean to do that?" he asked lamely.
Hermione smiled. He had his answer then. That smile, that Hermione smile… he knew it for a yes. He'd never soared so high without a broom.
Hermione cocked her head, so painfully sweet and adorable that he physically ached, and she said breathlessly, "I meant to do it… did you?"
Harry smiled in return. "Yeah… yeah, I did."
Hermione bent down, she kissed him first this time, and Harry knew then. His answer so long sought came to him on a kiss. He did love her. This was love. He loved Hermione Granger.
Their lips parted and Hermione slowly sat back. Harry's hand fell away from her hips when she went and her hands about his neck slipped away. The room was colder for the change. Hermione was pink in the face, her eyes unfathomably dark and bright. Harry wanted to reach out again, he wanted to feel her again, but he sensed he should wait. Hermione was thinking. She needed to do that. He'd spent the entire day doing it, after all.
After a time staring at her knees, brow knit in concerted thought, she looked up at him. "Harry, are we… does this mean we're… together now?"
The very notion made his skin tingle, every inch of it. "Yeah, I think so. If you want to be."
That brilliant smile flashed again. "Oh, Harry! I lo—I'd love to!" She leapt up to her feet and Harry followed suit, propelled by her momentum. She was buzzing with energy, Hermione in high gear. She was fit to burst with the desire to pace, he could tell, but she held still to look into his face.
"Merlin, I… I can't believe it. You're my boyfriend!" From the expression that passed over her face, one of staggered awe, it seemed just as monumental to her as it did to him. But he liked the sound of it.
He wanted to touch her again. "Does that mean I can get a hug?" he asked hopefully.
Hermione laughed and threw her arms around him. She squeezed so tight that Harry's ribs ached but he wouldn't dream of telling her to stop. He wrapped his arms around her nearly as tight, and he thought 'I never want this moment to end'. She felt so good in his arms, so right. How had he not understood before? How had he not seen what was right in front of him? It didn't matter now. He knew now, and she was in his arms.
After an eternity embracing but for far too short a time for Harry's liking, Hermione let go and stepped away. She was still flustered, but happily so. She tucked her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat much as he had earlier. "I… this… we ought to… I mean, I think we should probably turn infor the night."
Harry's eyebrows rose slightly.
Hermione blushed and pushed at his chest for his suggestive interpretation… but she didn't draw back as far when she lowered her hand. "Ron will be expecting you to come up to the boys' dorm soon, and… Harry, we shouldn't… we have to tell him first. After all the fighting when it was just a rumor… we owe it to Ron to tell him before he catches us snogging."
As that implied future snogging, Harry would do just about anything she asked. Including coming clean with Ron first thing in the morning. But potential kissing aside, Hermione had the right of it. Ron deserved to hear it from them. "Yeah, you're right. He should know."
Hermione nodded and quickly gathered her things. She stuffed her homework haphazardly back into her bag, unfinished assignment quite forgotten. "We'll tell him together, might make it easier. I'm sure he'll understand…" she paused before heading toward the girls' dorm, turned haltingly back to Harry, then seemed to make a decision as she stepped quickly into him and placed a shy kiss on his cheek. Harry felt it tingle all the way down to his toes.
With a tiny smile she turned and hurried up to the stairs to the girls' dorm.
Harry watched her go then, at a leisurely pace, as though in a daze, gathered up his things and scaled the stairs to his own waiting bed.