Chapter Thirty Seven
Original Author Notes - A/N: For another dash of perspective from the author's POV, this chapter begins on page 272 of my writing program.
And just to share my absolute elation with this story right now: I am in the middle of writing the climax scene with Voldemort!
Hermione barely slept that night. She feared that if she slept, she might wake to find it all a dream. For hours she lay in bed, quelling a fluttering in her chest that would rise unexpectedly at random moments and dash around her ribcage as uncoordinated as Pig flying about her parents' library. It felt as though it wreaked nearly as much havoc. When it surged through her she clutched her pillow and tried very hard not to squeal like most of the other girls in the room would have under similar circumstances. Hermione Granger did not 'squeal', but for the first time in her life she really, really wanted to.
Harry had kissed her. He'd knelt before her in the firelight, and they'd been talking like they'd done countless times at her parents' house, and then he'd leaned in and kissed her.
She could scarcely keep it right in her head, even when it was as clear as though seen in a pensieve. Her heart came into play, and it clouded the mind she usually relied on unerringly. She was rattled by the way he'dpressed his lips to hers, the way his hands had gone to her waist, the way he'd smiled at her. And the things he'd said. He wanted to be with her.
Harry Potter wanted to be with her, in a relationship.
She closed a fist around the corner of her pillow so tight it left creases when she opened her fingers.
She wasn't stupid. She'd known since third year that she felt things for Harry that weren't strictly friendship-based. She never meant to, and it was disgustingly humiliating to realize she had a crush on her best friend, but she did all the same. But she kept it in perspective. She was good at that, level- headed Hermione.
Because Harry cared for her, she knew that, but more as a sister than a possible girlfriend. And she was grateful to have that much of his affection. All her life she'd had her parents, Grandmum Berti, a few favorite teachers, but among her peers she'd always been alone. Then she came to Hogwarts, and Ron and Harry saved her from a troll in the girls' loo, and things changed forever. For the first time, she knew what it was like to have friends, people her own age to laugh with.
They weren't a prefect trio, not by far. Ron had a nasty tendency to say things without thinking, and half of them hurtful. He wasn't a bad bloke, by any means, but he was impulsive and hotheaded at times. Hermione discovered just how bad she was at relating to other children. She talked like an adult, acted like someone thrice her age, and she realized just how defensive she'd trained herself to be when she was dealing with peers. She used her books as a shield. And Harry… he was so quiet and intense, tentative and unsure. He looked like he was just searching for a place to belong. His upbringing made him shy, but even still he had such a sense of honor, a valor that even Draco Malfoy hadn't been able to erase right from the start when he stole Neville's remembrall and Harry stood up to him.
That was how it started, the three misfits as Hagrid was so fond to call them. But they'd become tried and true friends. Hermione got used to Ron's teasing, because with him he actually didn't mean it. Everyone else in her life had. She stopped playing the stuck-up valedictorian shoo-in, too good for friends, and let herself be a kid around them. In doing so, she realized she could trust other kids as much as she did adults, sometimes more. And Harry opened up, and proved to be the fiercest, most loyal friend one could ever hope to have. There was not a question that Harry would walk into the hands of Voldemort himself for his friends.
Hermione cared for both her friends dearly, the pair who'd put up with herlong enough to look past the rough exterior and bushy hair. Things had been perfect.
And then third year her feelings for Harry changed. The brotherly affection she bore toward him wasn't quite the same as it was toward Ron anymore. Harry, the gentle, valiant, wild-haired boy in glasses. She'd gone and developed a crush on Harry.
But Harry never noticed, and he certainly never showed any indication he might return her feelings. Nor had Hermione expected that to ever happen. She was plain, boring Hermione Granger, and Harry had his own chapter in half the wizard books in publication. He tended to shrug those off and wince a little if he reacted at all, but it didn't change the fact that he was someone, and she was nobody.
So it was his friendship she treasured, and of her stronger feelings she said nothing. It kept things the same between the three of them, and that would serve. Hermione became an expert at pushing away those feelings. She dare not let them jeopardize her friendship with Harry or Ron.
Then last year Harry was mooning over Cho Chang. It stung a little, but by then Hermione had guarded against that inevitability. And it proved her right that Harry could never feel more than friendship toward her. Cho was beautiful, and popular, and a fellow Quidditch player aside. Hermione didn't have jet black shiny hair, she didn't have the school's collective adoration, and she couldn't fly a broom to save her life. And that was obviously Harry's type.
The unexpected part was Ron… he started acting like he might have a thing for Hermione. She'd been taken off guard, and a little awkward about it at first, but she thought maybe Ron would be the best she'd ever do. He cared about her, and she did love him in a way. She admired his almost dog-like devotion to Harry, and he could be a good laugh. He'd tried to hex Draco that one time for calling her a mudblood (even if he'd been the one to end up burping up slugs, it was the thought that counted). She knew she might as well forget about ever being involved with Harry, so there was no point in holding out hope. It seemed like fate in a sense. She could do loads worse than Ron. But it never felt right. She tried to be open to the possibility of dating Ron, but he just made her so angry sometimes. He needled and heckled until she just lost her cool and either yelled or worse, cried. And whether he meant to or not, Harry was always there to cheer her up afterwards. It was its own death stroke. She couldn't fake a love for Ron that wasn't real, not real inthe way Ron wanted it to be.
There was also Viktor Krum who walked into the scene of her social life fourth year, and at first Hermione didn't rightly know what to do with him. She'd never figured on a Bulgarian. She'd had a good time with him at the ball, and he was nice enough, but it never went anywhere. Maybe it was the language barrier; Viktor's English was spotty at best and Hermione was so in love with words (albeit mostly written). Or maybe Hermione was too intent on Harry and his trials during the tournament to really pay another person the proper attention. She would admit that Harry had been her overriding concern the entire year, to the apparent detriment of her social life. Viktor had passed through her world, been her first date and maybe even a fleeting crush for a brief moment, but he'd seemed to have faded back out as effortlessly as he'd arrived. Hermione hated to admit it, but she was just as fine to have him in her past. There wasn't a future with Viktor Krum.
So she accepted the mantle of spinsterhood at the young age of fourteen. And it wasn't so bad. She'd have plenty of time for her studies, and a career, and if she never fell in love she'd never be hurt by it, either. There was something to be said for that. Fortress Hermione Granger, who had friends but not boyfriends, love but not that kind of love.
And then the third task of the Triwizard Tournament put all her carefully constructed walls to ruin, proved her cinder blocks to be made of fine sand. Seeing Harry, bleeding and crying, clutching the body of Cedric Diggory… it scared her to death. How near had that come to being Harry's lifeless body on the ground? How close had she come to losing him?
Too close, too near, and she caved. She went to Harry, intent only on comforting him, but when he'd started kissing her, and touching her… she'd let him. She let herself want him to.
But even then, even as he made love to her, she knew it meant something different to her than it did to Harry. He'd been tortured, he'd seen a friend murdered, he'd faced the very demon who killed his parents thirteen years past. He'd needed a touchstone outside the pain, a point of juxtaposition to cast light upon the dark, something to counter the horror. Love and life to face down the shadow of death. And if Hermione could provide that, she would do so gladly, without hesitation. His friendship alone was worth that and more.
If it reawakened feelings for him she'd worked so hard to bury, so be it. She could suppress them again as she had once before, for the love of Harry.
And maybe that was part of what helped see Harry through that night, a lovestronger than even he knew.
And then they were Harry Potter and Hermione Granger again, the same old friends since first year, and if Harry was kinder to her then it was just his sense of gratitude for what she'd done. Because he wasn't the type to thank her with words, he'd show it with his behavior toward her. Harry had always been knightly in actions while common with words. It was one of the quirks about him Hermione found endearing.
But then he'd kissed her. Without the trauma of a near-death experience for an excuse. She could still feel the electricity of his touch on her mouth. He'd kissed her and told her he wanted to be with her. Be with her in the sense she'd long wanted to be with him. It seemed too incredible to be real, but she was going out with Harry Potter.
And then that wild clamoring in her chest that brought her to the brink of squealing like a girl.
She slipped into a fitful doze some time well after midnight, but still she was up before the dawn. For once, it had not been dreams of grasslands, golden yellow stalks parting at the point of her muzzle, or her racing the blazing sun over the savannah that woke her out of breath. It was the memory of Harry kissing her in front of the fire, a memory that would not fade even as she slept, that woke her in time to see the light in the room lift from black to gray-blue.
Crookshanks jumped up on her bed to wake her, as he did every morning before he went and roused Harry so the two might meet for their morning run, and he seemed surprised to find her with her eyes already open.
Hermione gave the cat a quick pet and quickly got out of bed. Crookshanks watched her a moment, perhaps a bit baffled at the change in routine, then turned and padded out of the room, no doubt to similarly jump on to Harry's bed. Would the cat find Harry similarly sleepless? Hermione wondered.
Hermione dressed quickly in her exercise clothes by the early dawn light. She could barely stand waiting to see Harry again. There was a seed of doubt (Merlin, what if she had dreamed it?), and there was also a healthy dose of uncertainty. How was she to act around him now that she was his girlfriend? Should she kiss him when she met him downstairs? No, that sounded a bit… sappy. What about a hug? What would he expect? Would he expect anything? Harry knew as much as she did about relationships, if not less, which was really depressing if one thought about it too long.
Fully dressed and with trainers laced up, Hermione started down the steps tothe common room and hoped the right thing just occurred to her when the moment presented itself.
Harry was downstairs already waiting for her. He was leaning against the back of the couch, Crookshanks beside him and enjoying a scratch.
Hermione paused at the sight of him. No different than he'd looked a hundred mornings in the past, but it stole her breath a moment. He was so relaxed. No one would know to look at him now, as she did, that he'd seen so many dreadful things in his young life. He looked like he had not a care in the world beyond this run. It made him unspeakably handsome in her eyes.
She could admit that now, the taboo was lifted.
Harry looked up just then, his eyes landed on her, and Hermione's brilliant plan of letting the moment provide inspiration failed because she couldn't think of a thing to do. Unless stomach fluttering and heart pounding counted.
At least Harry looked just as lost. They stared at each other across the room a minute, as though trying to gauge from the other what their next move should be.
Then Harry smiled, timid and cautious, but beautiful all the same. It freed Hermione from her spot.
Hermione took the last three steps and walked quickly to him, a smile on her face to match his. Harry stood to meet her. When she stopped in front of him she had to look up to meet his eyes. He'd grown a good deal taller than her in the last year. On the topic, broader and stronger, too. She let herself notice it now.
Harry clearly searched for something to say but came up empty. Hermione chewed on her bottom lip lightly with her front teeth.
In the end, Harry's smile turned into more of a smirk for their ungainly dance, and he reached down and took her hand. Hermione beamed at him and they left for their run side by side.
Harry had had butterflies in his stomach all morning. Even as the jaguar they'd been there. From the moment he woke up, which was well before Crookshanks sniffed at his chin, he'd felt the fluttering in the pit of his gut. But it was giddy, happy fluttering. He didn't often have those.
Hermione had put them there. When he was around her he felt like grinninglike a right idiot. At the thought he glanced over at Hermione, walking at his side on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast. She had a tiny little smile on her face, the kind she wore (though she didn't know she did) when she was reading a happy part in a book. They were holding hands, natural as breathing. Harry relented to his impulse, for a second, and grinned like a Cheshire cat. Was there such a thing as a Cheshire panther?
Admitting to himself that he had feelings for her beyond mere friendship had been one of the more eye-opening experiences of his entire life. Finding out he was a wizard was the only competing revelation for shock factor. The prospect of confessing those feelings to Hermione had been terrifying… almost as scary as it had been to admit them to himself. He wasn't even certain he meant to spill the Bottz beans to her so soon after figuring it all out himself; it had just kind of tumbled out of him when Hermione said she never thought anyone would have her. Anyone would be lucky to, but she didn't see that at all. It made him react, knee-jerk-like. Enter the unplanned unloading of his new understanding about his feelings. It could well have become a prize-winning Harry Potter blunder.
But it hadn't turned out that way. In fact, it became one of his smarter moves.
To discover that Hermione felt the same way about him… He was still dopey with the kiss they'd shared last night. First his naked leap into the air, the taking of the chance with what he felt, then her leap right after him. And it was a sweet, sweet fall.
Now she was his girlfriend. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he should do with her in her new role. He hoped to get more of those toe-curling kisses of course, but outside of that he wasn't sure how he was supposed to treat her. She was still Hermione. In the end, he decided the best option would be to treat her as he always did. She seemed to have found that fanciable enough before. When she wanted something more, or different, he trusted she'd tell him. He'd taken her hand in absence of anything to say when she first came downstairs, and she'd seemed to like that, so he did that again when they started down to breakfast. They would probably stay finger-locked all the way to the Great Hall, which was fine with him. He thought he might try putting his arm around her at breakfast… just for a little while, to see if she liked that, too.
Or maybe not. That was pretty big, and he didn't want to upset her. And in front of the whole school, too… potentially humiliating. Perhaps best try that one out in a setting a bit more private. Maybe he should ask if she'd like that before he went and did it. Not knowing was terribly frustrating. Even thejaguar deep inside him, always confident and decisive, seemed to be pacing with ears back and tail low to the ground.
They were near the Great Hall, they could hear the din of voices from within, and it jarred Harry back to the task they'd set for the morning. 'On second thought,' Harry thought to himself with a sinking sensation taking hold of him, 'best wait on any of that until this business with Ron is finished.' He was not looking forward to this confrontation. Not one bit.
Hermione took her hand out of his before they came around the entrance of the Great Hall. He could see her take a steeling breath and draw back her shoulders. Seemed she was looking forward to the having out no more than he. The butterflies were in his stomach still, but they were of a different kind.
He knew this thing with Ron could go badly. He'd been in a tizzy about Harry and Hermione's non-existent relationship half the time since they'd come back from summer holiday. He wasn't sure how the redhead would take the news that it had finally happened, perhaps fair to say his worst nightmare (though Harry would hope Voldemort and an acromantula would nudge in at the top of the list before him and Hermione snogging). Ron had feelings for Hermione, that much Harry knew.'But that's too bad, she's with me,' Harry thought resolutely, bristling at the insinuation that Ron would fashion himself competition. And Harry knew he would if their fellow Gryffindor had half a say in it. Ron fancied Hermione. He had for some time. And Harry really believed that he'd never liked that much.
It rankled Harry's nerves that he felt cause to get edgy about telling Ron in the first place. For that even the jaguar could stop its fretful pacing long enough to snarl. Ron had no right to begrudge them being together. Ron and Hermione had never been an item; Harry didn't steal anything from Ron, much less someone as strong-willed and opinionated as Hermione.
When they entered the Great Hall Harry saw Ron tucking into his breakfast with customary gusto. He looked to be in a good mood, or as good as his mood got in the morning. Harry hoped it worked to their favor.
Hermione cast a quick look at him and gave a small smile. "Well, best get on with it."
Harry nodded and they headed toward their friend.
Ron looked up when they reached the table. "Mor'ing," he said around a biscuit. Harry and Hermione sat down across from him, customarily side by side. Harry unaccountably found himself watching Ron critically, sizing himup like he might a rival come into his territory. If it came down to a choice between his friendship with Ron and staying with Hermione, he would pick Hermione. That settled cold and unyielding in his chest, and it sobered him well and fully.
It was Hermione who took the plunge."Ron… could Harry and I talk to you for a minute? It's important."
Ron swallowed and paled a little at Hermione's serious tone. "It's not You Know Who, is it?"
"No, nothing like that."
Ron was visibly relieved. "Well," he took a drink of pumpkin juice, "anything short of that can't be so bad, right? What is it, then?" He bit into a piece of sausage.
Hermione frowned faintly at him. "Could you stop eating a second, please?"
Ron looked up at that. Apparently that was enough to warrant attention to the seriousness of what they had to say to him.
Hermione paused and glanced around at the other Gryffindors at the table. Harry could sense her reluctance to have this conversation in public. Ron could have right tantrums sometimes, and even he couldn't say for certain what Ron would do when he found out.
"Maybe we should go someplace a bit more private," she finally suggested. Ron now looked wary. "What's going on?"
Hermione looked toward Harry. He looked in turn at Ron. The redhead was watching the pair of them with a suspicious expression on his face. One could practically see the cogs turning in his brain. Then Ron looked over at Harry and his eyes stayed there. Harry looked back at his friend, gaze unwavering. It seemed a show-down of sorts.
Ron would have to deal with this, because Harry wouldn't give Hermione up. Could Ron know that?
Finally Ron set his fork down and turned his eyes back to Hermione. "Is this about you and Harry?"
Hermione tensed. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather take this somewhere else?"
Ron went quiet for a moment. "No. If that's what this is about, might as well out with it."
Hermione didn't seem to like that, but she honored Ron's wishes. "All right then. You're right, it's about me and Harry." She looked again at him and he offered an encouraging nod. He was with her, whatever happened when Ron learned the truth. Hermione took from his support and turned back to Ron. "We've decided to be together… and we wanted you to have it from us up front."
Harry watched Ron closely in the aftermath. At first he just sat there still as stone, as though he'd not heard it. Then he gave a slow nod. He slid his hands off the table and into his lap. He stared down at his half-full plate without uttering a sound.
Hermione ducked her head to try and see his face. "Ron? Are you terribly angry?"
"No," he said, then he looked up at them again. "I'm not angry. I've had my fill of being angry about you two together already."
"But it wasn't true then," Hermione insisted, "we weren't together before last night, just like we told you."
"Yeah, I know. Like you told me." There was an odd undertone to Ron's last words.
Hermione sat back a little."What does that mean?"
To Harry's amazement, Ron sort of smiled. "Actually, Ginny explained it to me." He brought up a hand and rubbed the back of his head, "Gave me a wallop for being dumb about it, if you want the truth of it. She's a real dragoness, that one."
"What exactly did she explain?" Hermione asked warily. Harry had to confess his own curiosity toward the answer to that question. What could Ginny Weasley have said that made such an impression on her thick-headed brother?
Ron dropped his hand again, his hair the messier for his visual demonstration. "That you and Harry have been together for a while now. For as long as I've accused you two of being together, if not longer."
"But—" Hermione began.
"But you two were the last ones to figure it out," Ron finished. A small, and slightly heartsick, smirk flitted momentarily across his lips. When Hermione had no come-back to that remark, Ron sighed and said, "I really thought about why I was angry at you two. I mean, certain things aside. Short of it is, I thought you were lying to me. But you weren't. You couldn't. You didn't know."
It sounded ludicrous, 'preposterous' as Hermione would be apt to say, but Harry wondered. Could that be true? His feelings for Hermione didn't just appear last night, even he knew enough to know it didn't work that way, so it reasoned that they must have been there for a while. How long had he loved her and not known it? A year? Two? Since first year? Maybe he'd been so cross with Ron earlier in the term because some part of him had known. Put that way, it made a strange sense of its own. Ron had thought to pursue Hermione, but Harry had already sought her affections and hadn't been about to let Ron move in. It was strange to consider, even if it did explain a few things.
Hermione's silence suggested she was just as perplexed by Ron's reply.
"Ginny told you this?" she finally asked.
Ron nodded. "Yeah. She's not the only one who knows it, though. Blimey, even Dumbledore knows it."
Hermione's jaw dropped. Harry almost chuckled when the absurdity of that logic, in the sense that it fit so well, struck him. There was definitely something to that; Dumbledore had spoken of budding relationships from friend-forged beginnings when they'd been dressed down for their vanishing act at Hogsmeade. He'd spoken of it like it was foregone fact. That should have been a clue to them. Dumbledore was not often wrong about things.
"But I'm glad you told me once you two came around to the truth of it," Ron said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "It says a lot, you know?"
Hermione shook her head and put aside the strange revelations that had bizarrely enough begun with Ginny Weasley. "You're okay with Harry and me together?" she asked tentatively.
Ron gave a shrug. "Well, I'm not thrilled about it. Now. Maybe someday I will be, because you two ought to be happy, and I really think you can be happy together, you know, without going on like some sodding girl about it. Everybody thinks so. I'll get used to it."
"So… we're all still friends?"
Ron snorted. "Or have another row like before? Not likely. You're bloody right we're still friends."
And Harry relaxed from a tense posture he hadn't known he'd adopted. Hermione sighed in relief and looked at him with a smile. Ron returned to his breakfast as if the business was done with. Hermione and Harry joined him in the meal.
Harry marveled at the morning. He'd not expected Ron to take the news so well. It seemed the last stumbling block to him and Hermione as a couple had turned out to be nothing more than a stepping stone. Behind them now.
Toward the end of breakfast, when students were beginning to leave to prepare for their first class of the day, Harry remembered his earlier notion of putting his arm around Hermione. It would be ridiculously easy, she was sitting right next to him, insanely close were he not her proper boyfriend. It would just be a matter of slipping his arm behind her back and he wouldn't even really need to lean over or anything. But he refrained. The kicker of it was that he realized if he and Hermione hadn't chosen to escalate their relationship into something more, if it was a week ago, he wouldn't have thought anything of just out and touching her. It was just their habit, and he'd known Hermione wouldn't object. Now, when he was her boyfriend, he stopped to think on whether it would be okay.
As the three of them were leaving the Great Hall, Harry snagged Hermione's arm. She stopped and turned to him, as did Ron. Harry looked toward Ron. "Uh… we'll catch you up in a bit."
Ron glanced between them, maybe grimaced just barely, then nodded and walked away.
Hermione looked to Harry curiously for dismissing Ron. Not reproachful, just curious. "What is it?"
"Can I touch you?" he blurted out. Then he wanted to smack himself in the forehead. Real smooth. About as foot-in-mouth as his admission last night that he'd more or less marry her, though that had turned out well enough.
Hermione smiled. "You're touching me now."
Harry looked down at his hand on her arm. He blushed… but he didn't let go. "Ah… what I meant was… well, earlier… I kind of thought about… maybe… putting my arm around you."
Hermione smiled brighter and a touch of pink crept into her cheeks. Harry took courage from it.
"And I wasn't sure you'd want me to. I don't want to make you mad at me, so I thought, well, better ask…"
Hermione very nearly giggled and moved a half-step closer to him. "Harry, I'm your girlfriend.
You don't need to ask."
"I don't?"
Hermione shook her head and her eyes flickered, for a second downright flirtatious.
The jaguar liked that. It stopped its nervous pacing right quick. Harry felt brazen and suddenly quite playful. "Well, what if I wanted to do more than put my arm around you?"
"You could do that, too."
"What if there were people around?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Even if there were people around. Within reason, of course."
Harry smirked. "What's within reason?"
Hermione thought on it a moment. "Well, nothing where any clothes come off."
Merlin, did she really say that? It suggested other times without people around when clothes would come off. Heat rushed up Harry's neck and dipped below his beltline.
"Oh… well, what if I wanted to kiss you, then?"
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes dark and alluring, a sultry smile just barely tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You can definitely do that."
So he did. In the middle of the hall as students were heading toward their dorms to fetch their books or scuttling off to class, Harry bent down and kissed her. He thought to make it just his lips against hers, but almost at once her tongue raked over the part between his lips and he was really powerless to stop from opening for her. It was almost like a reflex, the same way his hand snatched out so readily at glints of gold. She tasted ofpumpkin juice and lemon muffins. He thought he might have a new favorite breakfast treat.
They were target of a few whistles, a few cat-calls from students who were moving around them, but it was the deep-throated "ahem" that broke them apart all too soon. Really, they could only have been kissing for about five seconds. They turned to find Dumbledore in the doorway to the Great Hall looking down at them.
"Seems there is something to be said for the 'hiding away in an alley' approach… tends to be out of the way of traffic," the headmaster said with a twinkle in his eye.
"Sorry, headmaster," Hermione said, her face flush, though whether from embarrassment or their kiss Harry didn't know. He'd like to think it was the kiss. That was certainly why he was feeling so damn cocky, even in the face of Dumbledore. If they didn't high-tail it soon, he might actually grin at the old wizard and his gentle chiding.
Hermione took his hand and hurried them off toward Gryffindor tower, thankfully before Harry smiled right at Dumbledore like the metaphorical cat that ate the canary.
It looked to be a very fine day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Chapter Thirty Eight
The heart of winter settled around the magical school white and brisk. It hung from the outdoor archways in jeweled icicles and tugged at cloaks as students hurried between the many buildings of the school. After classes were done for the day, many students found their way outside to have snowball fights, which for witches and wizards were rather spectacular as engorgioed, wingardium leviosaed, ninja-like stalking snowballs were the order of the day. Clusters of girls could often be found dancing with animated snowmen, the most of which were better dancers than last year's Yule Ball left-footed band of bumbling boys. The massive Christmas trees
began to go up in the Great Hall, and many of the stairwells had giant python- like strings of garland wrapped around the handrails… until the garland decided to relocate itself for a spell. Every so often a length of garland would find itself a statue or pillar to coil around, and a teacher would have to pry it down and put it back in a more suitable place. It was winter at Hogwarts inside and out.
The joys of the impending holiday were stained, however, by the inevitability of midterm exams. As it came down to crunch-time, fewer students would be out in the yard playing and instead could be found inside studying. The tests weighed heavily on everyone's mind.
It was a time when Hermione Granger was the shining star of the school, and a time when Harry was immeasurably glad that he ended up with such a wonderful girlfriend. She had them in the library or at the common roomtable studying every evening working on a different subject. She was rather stern about sticking to a schedule when Harry might otherwise have wandered outside with Ron for a spot of snowball flinging. Just to be able to fill in the gaps in his notes by taking from hers was a huge help. Under her tutelage, he might actually have a chance of getting high marks on his tests.
Ron became far more amenable to Harry and Hermione's relationship when it came to him desperately needing Hermione's help in cramming for the upcoming tests. Perhaps because Ron's acceptance meant a great deal to both Harry and Hermione, Hermione was only too willing to help Ron out, what with him coming around so well to her and Harry's couple status and all. She even kept her scolding at his pithy notes to a minimum. Ron commented on Harry having a good effect on her.
Ron had even gone so far as to use Harry and Hermione's relationship to his advantage. On more than one occasion, when Hermione was studying Arithmancy when Ron desperately needed Hermione's help in another subject and had brushed off his entreaties, Ron would appeal to Harry for help. It hadn't happened too many times, because usually Hermione was willing of her own volition, but she did have her own classes to worry about. That's when Ron turned to Harry. Because it was such a positive validation of being Hermione's boyfriend, Harry typically relented. He would go over to Hermione, maybe slip his arm around her or kiss her on the temple, ask very nicely if she would help him and Ron out for a bit, and it never failed.
Hermione would put aside her Arithmancy for a time and turn to helping Ron and Harry with their subjects.
Ron's appreciation of Hermione was less than glowing that particular Monday morning, however. Hermione had had both him and Harry ensconced in the library all weekend working on History of Magic and Potions, the two subjects Ron hated most. That morning alone she'd rushed the both of them through breakfast so they could get in a bit more studying before Potions first period. Ron wasn't daft enough to lay into Hermione for that too much, because he still needed her help, but he did a fair amount of grumbling and mumbling about almost forgetting what their other classmates looked like. Hermione invited him to leave any time he liked, but Ron took piss-poor notes and he knew it. He'd scowl and fidget but bend down to pour over their collective notes, that is to say, Hermione's notes.
They were sitting together in Defense Against the Dark Arts waiting for Moody to arrive. Ron had glommed on to Seamus nearly the moment they arrived, for the simple pleasure of talking to someone who wouldn't quiz him about History of Magic. Hermione was sidled up close to Harry, her textbook open for both of them to read. She was leaning toward him while Harry hadone elbow propped on the table, his head perched atop his palm. Hermione was intent on the page, her face furrowed in concentration, her mouth shut tightly. Harry knew it was to stop herself from letting her lips mouth the really important points she was trying to hammer into her brain.
Personally, he was catching about every fifth word on the page. It was not really worth the effort to study in the scant minutes between classes in his mind, but that didn't mean he was opposed to having Hermione slide her book over for them to share, or her shifting in close to him, or the chance to steal glances at her when she was too focused on her reading to notice.
Harry reached out discreetly with his free hand, pinched her robe, and gave it a small tug, the whole time watching her face. It was a game of sorts, a cause and effect reaction that Harry had discovered in their plethora of study sessions. Hermione's eyes did not slow in their rate of word consumption, but the furrow on her brow vanished for a moment and her tight lips twitched in a smile. Harry smirked and tugged again. Without looking away from her book, Hermione reached down, took his hand, and physically moved it over to his thigh in an unspoken demand to stop pestering her… only once she'd moved his hand she didn't pull hers back.
"Harry, Hermione!" Ron said in an urgent stage-whisper as he turned to them from talking with Seamus. Hermione looked up from her book at that and Harry looked past his girlfriend to notice the expression on Ron's face. Kind of a mix between shocked and worried.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, her tone indicating that she'd noticed the same details of Ron's look.
But before Ron could answer, the classroom door opened and the professor strode in… except it wasn't Moody, it was Snape.
Harry sat up immediately. Hermione jerked her hand from Harry's lap and frowned furiously at the Potions teacher as he marched his way to the front of the classroom. Dead silence had fallen over the students.
Snape turned to the quiet class. Without preamble, he said, "I'm your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher as of now, and will be for an indeterminate amount of time.
"I've no doubt you are sorely lacking in several keys points of Defense Against the Dark Arts. There's hardly time to do anything about your upcoming midterm, but I'll do the part of damage control as best I can. I'm told failing an exam can build character, though were that true most of you would be characters enough from my Potions class. Here's to hoping you'renot as lack-witted in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"Open your books to chapter thirty-six."
The class seemed divided between two reactions. Half did as they were told, as though on autopilot to obey Snape's bark. The others were looking at Snape, still puzzling over his appearance in their Defense class.
Harry was one of the latter. Hermione's hand shot up. Snape sighed in exasperated disgust. "Yes, Miss Granger?" "Professor, where's Professor Moody?"
"That's hardly your concern, now is it? Though I shouldn't be surprised you'd think yourself entitled to an explanation. You're rather meddlesome in that respect, if I recall the whole Remus Lupin incident correctly. If I were you, I'd concentrate on the midterm and keep out of your teachers' business."
Hermione shut her mouth and Harry could see her jaw clenched tightly, angry but wiser than to go toe to toe with Snape over something so trite. Harry didn't feel nearly as acquiescent. He scowled at Snape. The greasy- haired professor glanced at Harry, narrowed his eyes, and without taking his eyes off Harry he picked up a Defense book. Harry leveled an unblinking stare at the teacher, a hunter's stare, riled that Snape would be so rude to Hermione. As far as he was concerned, no one should get away with that.
Snape sneered. "Must I assign you detention from now to the start of Christmas holiday, Mister Potter?"
Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and Harry's fixed stare broke and he looked away. "No, sir."
"Then open your book to chapter thirty-six," with a glance at the book Harry and Hermione had been sharing before the start of class, he added, "your own book."
Hermione quickly pulled her book back into her own spot while Harry withdrew his Defense book from his bag.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was grueling that day, not for the difficulty of the subject matter, but for the intractability of the teacher. A good number of students would leave the lesson with a heightened fear of Snape, as well. Moody knew the Dark Arts so well because he'd been a dark wizard hunter. Snape knew it so well for very different, and very frightening, reasons.
Content-wise, lessons from Moody and Snape were very similar, but the flavor of the approach was much blacker with Snape. Neville was liable to have nightmares that night.
When class was over, before Harry or Ron had finished putting away their books, Hermione was up and in a fervor. "Hurry up, you two."
Ron looked about, puzzled. "What for?"
Hermione huffed. "To catch Dumbledore before lunch; don't you want to know why Moody didn't show up for class?"
Harry did want to know. He stuffed his things in his bag and stood.
"Maybe he's just got a touch of the flu," Ron reasoned.
"Honestly," Hermione replied, "Alastor Moody lost a leg and an eye and it didn't stop him hunting down dark wizards. You think the flu would be enough to stop him from teaching a room full of harmless students?"
Whether Ron agreed with their plan or not, he'd habitually gathered his things and moved to go with them anyway. "Hey, we're not all that harmless, you know."
The three of them were walking briskly through the corridors toward the Great Hall, Hermione in the middle. Hermione cast Ron a dubious look at his remark. "I wouldn't say you're particularly intimidating, Ron."
Ron snorted. "I was talking about Harry."
Harry had only been half-listening to their bickering, but at that he blinked. "Huh? Wait, is someone saying I'm dangerous?" Only once he'd said it did he realize it was a dumb question. There were students who'd pegged him as on the cusp of going dark since second year when he talked to a snake.
"Oh, course not, anyone could have escaped You Know Who… twice," Ron said sarcastically.
Harry felt weary even remembering that night in the graveyard. Ron didn't notice the effect his words were having on his friend, but Hermione did. She stepped in closer to him and took his hand.
"And that whole window-busting thing you did was pretty scary," Ron said with a twinge of discomfiture indicating just how personally he related to that moment.
"Well, people are morons," Hermione said fiercely. Harry squeezed her hand in gratitude.
They caught Dumbledore in the hallway on his way toward the Great Hall. When he saw them coming he tried to muster a smile, but there was something grim in his expression that resisted such a merry gesture.
"Headmaster," Hermione said the moment they were upon the old wizard, not even allowing for any kind of cordial greetings, "Moody wasn't in Defense Against the Dark Arts today."
"Yes, I know," Dumbledore said in a low voice.
"And that gi… I mean, Professor Snape wouldn't tell us where he'd gone," Ron added sourly.
Dumbledore sighed. "Well, I might expect you three to be on the trail of that mystery." He glanced around at the other students in the hallway and made a decision. "Come with me, we'll discuss this in my office."
Harry, Hermione, and Ron followed after the headmaster as he made his way back to his tower office. The press of students thinned as they near the headmaster's keep, and their noises all but faded completely as they ascended the spiraling staircase. Once they'd all filed inside the office and Dumbledore shut the door the headmaster pulled out his wand and conjured a small picnic table laden with sandwiches and drinks. "May as well have a bite of lunch," Dumbledore said as he tucked away his wand. "Do sit down."
Ron didn't have to be asked twice. He was already helping himself to a sandwich when Dumbledore sat down with them. Hermione paid the food no mind. "Sir, what's happened to Professor Moody?"
"I wish I knew," Dumbledore answered. "The ministry contacted me on Saturday regarding a… well, let's call it a preventative action against Voldemort." Ron nearly choked on the name and put the rest of his sandwich down. "They requested Alastor's assistance in the operation. He is still a valuable asset where it concerns battling the dark arts and those who wield it. Don't let his position here as a teacher lead you to believe his Auror skills are at all diminished.
"It wasn't really a question of Professor Moody going. We are all doing whatever we can, all that is asked of us, in this renewed threat from an old foe. We anticipated Professor Moody's return before classes resumed onMonday. Obviously, that did not occur." "What mission was he on?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore hesitated. "It was aimed at one of Voldemort's most influential Death Eaters. The ministry believed they could catch this particular individual in the act of recruiting young wizards from Durmstrang to Voldemort's ranks. If he could have been caught openly aiding the dark wizard, he could have been locked up in Azkaban and his resources no longer at the dark lord's disposal. Right now, with Voldemort staying low to the ground, our most deadly strikes are at those Death Eaters who can work in the open to clear the way for his return to power. A great portion of which is contingent upon him securing a sufficient force of followers to challenge the ministry's might."
"Which Death Eater was it?"
Dumbledore's lips tightened. "I must not say, Harry. There are students here who cannot help who they are related to; they should not be punished for the sins of the father."
"Malfoy," Harry said at once.
"I won't say," Dumbledore said, but Harry was sure.
"Has there been no word from him? Professor Moody?" Hermione asked in genuine concern.
"Alas, no." Dumbledore stroked at his beard. "It's still not clear what happened at Durmstrang. Those who did make it out of the conflagration, and those were few enough, appear to have been obliviated. They're in Saint Mungo's at this moment, but whether anything useful can be recovered from their wiped memories is still unclear. We suspect Moody was taken alive, surely Voldemort would know an Auror could possess useful information."
Harry remembered his nightmare, the Auror he'd seen die at the point of Voldemort's wand.
"And an Auror who had been teaching at Hogwarts only days prior… it would present unique access to… unusual facts."
'Like about me,' Harry thought, his stomach a stone.
Hermione was chewing on her bottom lip in furious thought. "Headmaster…
what if that was the whole point? I mean, taking Moody?"
Dumbledore chuckled a little, but it was dry and thin. "At times I think even I do not give you enough credit for how clever you are, Miss Granger. I've wondered the same thing, in retrospect.
"A few of those who went to apprehend the Death Eater in question were found slain, others were found with no memories, and others, like Moody, were simply missing. Moody, clearly, had been taken. But maybe not all of the ministry officials that disappeared did so against their will. Most Death Eaters take the tattoo, the Dark Mark, but Voldemort is wise enough to know that refraining in some instances would be to his advantage.
"It was believed that all of those who went to Durmstrang were proven loyal to our side, but we can't know that for certain."
"A trap for Moody," Harry mused, ill at the thought.
Dumbledore nodded sadly. "There is no proof of that, but in hindsight I have wondered."
Harry thought of the Auror in his dream, on his knees, hands mangled, arms broken, defiant to the last. "Moody won't tell him anything," he said with sudden certainty. Moody would not be an Auror to break, Harry just knew it.
"No, he won't. They come no stronger than Alastor Moody. But that is both good news and bad news."
"When he realizes Moody won't give him what he wants, Voldemort will kill him," Harry provided heavily.
Dumbledore's somber silence was confirmation enough.
"Is anything being done to try and find him?" Hermione asked, voice tight.
"All that can be done, but unfortunately all that can be done may not be nearly enough to save Alastor. We would have to find Voldemort to find Moody, and that is more easily said than done."
"Is there anything we can do?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore looked sharply at Harry. "I don't want you trying to play the hero in this, Harry, it will only play to Voldemort's hand. Is that understood?"
"But, sir…"
Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. "Listen to me, Harry. There are more people than you know doing everything in their power to protect you. You are a symbol to them that this dark wizard can be defeated, for a child did it once. They need that. I implore you, don't besmirch their efforts by doing something rash and getting yourself killed."
Hermione gasped at the bluntness of the headmaster's words… and at the suggestion of Harry dying.
"But they're in danger for me!" Harry retorted indignantly.
"And you are a fifth year student in a magic school. I believe the muggle term is 'in over your head', is it not?"
Harry was incensed. How could Dumbledore pull that on him, when he'd confronted Voldemort twice in the flesh, even more if one counted Quirrell his first year and Tom Riddle's manifestation in his second?
"You have a gift for combat, Harry, I won't deny that, and I know some day you will be a great force for good in the wizarding world. But that day is not today." Dumbledore suddenly looked his age as he said, "The first time Voldemort terrorized the wizarding world it was eleven years before you stopped him… it may be you will still have to fight him one day. But not now, if I have any strength in me it won't be now."
Harry was struck mute by the passion in Dumbledore's voice. This wasn't Headmaster Dumbledore or even kindly old Albus Dumbledore. This was different. This made Harry's heart constrict and his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. There was a Sirius kind of sound to the headmaster's words.
In a blink it was gone, replaced again by kindly Dumbledore, and he removed his hand from Harry's shoulder and looked forlornly at the sandwiches.
"Well, I daresay this talk of Voldemort has spoiled my appetite. Oh well, could do to miss a few meals anyway, my paragliding harness was getting a bit snug. Delightful muggle hobby. And I believe you three have class in ten minutes."
With silent nods the three students left the headmaster's office, sullen for the visit.
That evening, Harry was on the common room couch making a vain attempt to study. His concentration was thoroughly shattered by the meeting earlier that day with Dumbledore, and nary a word in his textbook was connectingwith his brain. It may as well have been written in Elvish for all he was getting from it. Even still, he went through the motions of studying, almost out of somatic memory. Dumbledore wanted him to go about as if things were business as usual, and even though he went through the motions as though the only pressing matters were his upcoming midterms, Harry couldn't make himself commit to that philosophy. Not while knowing that Moody had been taken on his account. It tasted like cowardice to him to sit and do nothing while people he knew were being tortured because of him. 'But say I did mean to do something about it, what could I do?' he thought in frustration. He didn't have any special insight as to Voldemort's whereabouts any more than Dumbledore or the ministry had. It wasn't quite so easy as ringing up Voldemort and saying 'what say we talk about this? Oh, and while you're at it, mind releasing Alastor Moody? Bad form nicking him like that.'
He didn't like it, but Harry was stuck doing just as Dumbledore wished… nothing.
Currently, he was stretched out lengthwise and taking up half the couch. His shoulders were pressed against the armrest, leaving his torso at a shallow angle, and his book was propped on his stomach. He'd kicked off his trainers and the muggle clothes he wore were loose-fitting and cozy. If one didn't know how to read him well, they might think he was rather relaxed. They would have been gravely mistaken.
Ron was in the chair situated at a ninety degree angle to the couch. He had a book open in his lap but his efforts to study seemed just as pointless as Harry's. He'd been staring at the same page for about fifteen minutes.
Though it seemed they were the only ones cursed to academic failure that night. A few other Gryffindors had appropriated the common room tables for their own work (which they were actually doing); they'd already been set up when the trio returned from classes for the evening. Hermione had gone to the library to study when she saw them at the tables… to properly study Hermione had to sprawl, and for that only a proper table do. She'd been gone for over an hour.
Harry almost wished he'd gone with her. He wouldn't get any more studying done in the library than he currently was in the common room, but at least Hermione had a reassuring effect on him. She might even have some perspective on this whole Moody business that he'd not considered. He'd learned to turn to her when he was stymied, because she had a knack for seeing things more clearly than he did. She extracted details, hard facts, where he was too balled up in the emotion of the situation. And he'd freely admit that he was pretty emotional about what had happened to Mad-Eye Moody.
"Bollocks," Ron suddenly said. Harry looked over the top of the pages of his book at his friend.
Ron closed his own book and dropped it on the floor in defeat. "I'll not get a lick of that to stick tonight." He ran a hand through his hair and sagged in his chair. He looked as frazzled as Harry felt; Ron just wore it on the outside more than Harry did. Ron turned to Harry and asked, "Well, this night's a bust for studying anyway. What do you say we hit the pitch? A bit of flying might help."
Much as Harry loved to fly, bitter cold weather notwithstanding, a joyride wasn't going to fix this. Though if he was going to waste his time just the same, maybe better he do it on a broom than in front of a book.
He was seconds from agreeing when Hermione joined them, just returned from the library. She stopped at the end of the couch nearest to Harry's feet and pinned Ron with a disapproving, maternal eye. Apparently she'd heard Ron's suggestion about skiving off studying for midterms in favor of flying on broomsticks. Ron noticed Hermione's disposition, too.
But Harry noted that while Hermione looked displeased, she didn't say anything. He had the suspicion she wouldn't, given the circumstances. She'd not breathe a word of reprimand if Ron wanted to go out and fly, nor if Harry chose to join him.
But Ron knew Hermione from a thousand times before when she would have read him the riot act for neglecting his studies, and he acted accordingly. "On second thought, I think I'll just go study in the dorm," he said hastily as he snatched up his book and all but fled the common room. Harry knew Ron would do no such thing as study. He'd be flipping through a Quidditch magazine in record time, or maybe playing exploding snaps with Seamus.
The most use his book would see would be as a potential place to set up his wizard's chess board. His lie about doing homework in the dorm was merely an escape from Hermione riding herd on him.
Hermione looked after Ron's retreating back and once he was gone she sighed and dropped her bag to the floor. It landed with a heavy 'thud', speaking to the collection of massive books inside.
She turned to face Harry, still sacked out on the couch with a prop book in hand, and he could see the fatigue in her features. "Studying didn't go well, I take it?" he asked needlessly. He would not have believed it before now, but he knew concentrating on schoolwork had been just as futile for her as for him.
Hermione frowned, vindication enough of his rhetorical question, then she climbed over the armrest and on to the couch. She crawled on hands and knees toward Harry, squeezed between him and the back of the couch, and lay down on her side. Harry scooted over a couple of inches to make room for her, but the couch was hardly made to fit two across, and Hermione was more lying on top of him than next to him. Which was fine. Her head dropped on to his shoulder and her arm draped across his chest; her legs were hopelessly tangled up in his. They'd be a sight getting up off the couch… whenever they did… perhaps sometime around midnight if Harry had his choice. He put his book on the floor, abandoning any pretense of studying, and brought both arms around her. It felt natural now.
Getting used to displays of physical affection had been something of a roadblock for them at fist, and in hindsight it seemed so ridiculous for that to have ever been an issue for them. But for all the physical contact they'd been prone to before, the kind of touching reserved for that between boyfriend and girlfriend was very different. They were used to touching each other in small ways; holding hands, sitting close together, touching the other on the shoulder, even the infrequent hair touches. They discovered it was quite another thing to just wrap one another up in a hug when there were people around to see it. Harry's bold move in the corridor that day they told Ron aside, they found themselves actually rather bashful about the fawning and holding part of being a couple.
Ironically enough, Harry had a pack of Slytherin girls to thank for their breakthrough into really embracing the meaning of boyfriend/girlfriend public displays of affection.
Harry had been in the Great Hall with Hermione toward the tail end of lunch when she got up to fetch a Danish off the rack that had floated to the far end of the long Gryffindor table. Harry hadn't much paid attention to her departing until he caught the unmistakable sound of taunting. And girl- taunting, no less, the ugliest kind. He just had a feeling it was about them.
Harry touched the jaguar and listened in… the girls could not possibly know he'd heard every word. A cluster of Slytherin girls, who knew full well Hermione only a few feet away could hear them, started twittering and going on about prudish Hermione Granger. How she'd never have a boy's hand up her skirt because she'd beat them to death with a book as soon as they looked at her. How she'd never even want a bloke anywhere near her knickers because it might untwist the knots she'd worked on so hard for years. How she was faking being with Harry to use him as a shield, because most people seemed to think he was something special and wouldn't think toapproach her if they believed Harry would have a problem with it. Because of course miss perfect Hermione Granger would have to pretend to have any interest in boys. They were just beginning to speculate that it might all be a cover so she could secretly have her bookish way with Ginny Weasley when Hermione rejoined him at their table with the Danish that she never touched.
Harry had been furious, but he didn't do anything about it right away. He let it stew inside him, let it fester and build until he was ripe with fury toward those bloody Slytherins. When he acted on his feelings, it was with a flourish worthy of a true Gryffindor. He and Hermione had been on their way to the library one evening to study Potions. The halls were nearly empty, most students already gone to their common rooms, so the sound of the girls' approaching voices carried well. Harry knew them by their twittering tones.
Before the posse turned the corner and came face to face with him and Hermione, Harry grabbed Hermione, pushed her up against the wall, buried his face in her neck, and kissed his way past all his misgivings about public affection. Hermione gasped and clutched at his shoulders. Seconds before the Slytherins came around the corner, Harry pushed his hand up under Hermione's skirt and splayed his fingers over her thigh. Needless to say the foul-mouthed girls got quite an eyeful when they came to the juncture between corridors and saw Harry Potter with Hermione Granger pinned to a wall, his hand up her skirt and his face in the crook of her neck, and Hermione clinging to him and biting his neck… which his bold hand movement seemed to have set off.
They had pulled apart and played the act of two caught unawares in a private moment, and it shut the girls up well and good. They scurried off, no doubt to jabber and tongue-wag a different sort of gossip, and Harry had looked at Hermione warily. She was pink in the face, her eyes dark, her breathing heavy, and she knew exactly what he'd done and why. But she hadn't been mad at him. She'd pulled him into a hug for what he'd done for her and somehow it brought down the wall of uncertainty and shyness that had existed between them. Since that day they'd not been reluctant about being physically affectionate.
Sometimes, Harry almost wanted to thank those ruddy Slytherin girls. It was their attempts to hurt Hermione that ultimately gave him moments like these, on the couch in the common room with Hermione cuddled against him.
Hermione sighed into his chest, snuggled closer, and it made some of the badness of the day go away. Harry pressed his cheek to the top of her head. He always liked it when they could be like this. Frequently, he delighted in his position as Hermione's boyfriend. It gave him special rights to her that he found he enjoyed very much. Things like this. It was soliberating to be able to hold her like he wanted to without a care to what others might think. It was worlds different from anything he'd ever known before. It was a snitch in his chest. Hermione showed him a Harry he didn't even know he could be. A Harry that hugged and smiled and loved. He wouldn't have believed it possible but for Hermione.
The fire in the hearth crackled and the wind groaned now and then beyond the shuttered windows. Harry could sense that Hermione wanted to talk about Moody, but there were other ears besides his in the room. For a time it left them speechless in each other's arms to have the one burning topic of conversation off limits.
In their idle silence, Hermione absently moved her hand up to the center of Harry's chest and mindlessly traced patterns over his shirt with her fingers. It felt really good, almost tickled. He let her do it a minute before he stilled her hand with his own. It felt too good, and he'd grown adept at knowing when Hermione could put him into an embarrassing condition. Those other ears in the room were attached to other eyes, too. He'd prefer they not see what Hermione could do to him with just the tips of her fingers.
Luckily, Hermione understood and stopped what she was doing. She looked out for him so diligently, so carefully, in all things great and small, from life and death to saving him a ribbing from his classmates.
The knot that was the day began to unwind and fade away. Harry let his eyelids droop.
"Harry," Hermione said softly.
"Yeah?"
She lay motionless at his side, still mindful of her movements, and it was almost with care that she slipped her arm back around his chest to wrap him in a loose, one-armed hug. "I was planning to owl my parents tomorrow and ask if they'll let you come home with me over the Christmas holiday."
Like a reflex, Harry frowned. He must have tensed just a bit, because Hermione lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his eyes."What's wrong?"
"I don't know if you should do that," Harry said awkwardly, "ask your parents to take me in, that is."
"Why not?" Hermione asked, her tone almost affronted that he'd even question her intentions. He knew she only meant well, but it rang wrong likea misshapen tuning fork. If only he could articulate why to her.
"Don't you think I've imposed on them enough already as it is? They're great and all, don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't want to give them a reason to not like me."
"That's nonsense. They were fine with you staying over during the summer holiday." Hermione cocked her head faintly. "You were fine with it then, too, by the way."
"Because I had to go somewhere; Hogwarts isn't open to students during the summer." At once Harry knew it was the wrong thing to say. Hermione looked taken aback… then hurt. She drew back slightly.
Harry wrapped his arms around her tighter to stop her from leaving him. "No, that's not what I meant. I only mean that… I don't want to be a bother to them. Now that you and I are… together… I want them to like me even more than I did before."
Harry loosened his hold on her again, testing the waters of her mood in a sense, but Hermione didn't pull away. She stayed, looking down at him, a truly puzzled and disappointed look on her face.
Harry found he had to look away. He averted his gaze and said lowly, "I may not know a lot about Christmas, but I know it's a family holiday. Why would they want me there?"
He didn't see what Hermione's expression would have done at that comment, since he was staring at the fire, but he didn't have to look at her to feel her fingers thread through his hair. He was surprised to find it actually made the twinge in his chest hurt worse. Hermione's touch usually made the hurt lessen, but not this time.
He was used to being the orphan, the unwanted underfoot nobody interloping on someone else's happy family Christmas. Years ago he'd detached from its meaning, but Hermione made him feel the serrated edge of that lonely role.
"I can't believe you have to ask that, Harry," came Hermione's thick voice. Warily, he looked back at her face. Her eyes were sparkling in the firelight with moisture. Crap, he'd brought her to the brink of tears. He was just trying to make everything easier on everyone.
"Isn't it enough that I want you there?" Hermione asked.
He wanted it to be. He wished it could be more than anything.
"I couldn't bear to have your parents start thinking of me as a nuisance," he replied. "Not them. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are all I can stand of that.
"Just… don't ask them to take me in. Please? I'd rather stay here over Christmas holiday and know I'm not ruining their Christmas by being there when they don't honestly want me around. They can't think ill of me that way."
Hermione scowled. "You're being silly, Harry, they wouldn't think that… but if it's important to you, I won't ask them. But I'm not happy about it, make a mental note of that." She pursed her lips and touched her chin to his shoulder, "I'll owl tomorrow and tell them I'm staying here with you, then."
"No, that's even worse, Hermione."
"Well, what would you have me do if you'll not come back with me?"
Harry was speechless for a moment that she'd make it so clear-cut. She had every intention of being with him for Christmas, wherever that might end up being. Separating was not a factor in her equations. It balled into a lump in his throat. She wanted to spend Christmas with him.
But if Jake and Miranda Granger would be perturbed to have him intrude on their Christmas, they'd be even more displeased if he took their daughter out of their holiday for the second year in a row. "They'll miss you if you stay here, Hermione. It's Christmas and you have a family; you ought to be with them."
"Well, what if I told you that's why I'd planned on staying with you?" she challenged firmly.
Harry's hands closed around air when what he really wanted to do was cling to her. He could bruise with how strongly he wanted to hold on to her just then. Did she really mean what he thought she meant?
"I… you…" Harry couldn't say it, couldn't ask because what if he was mistaken. As much as he feared to have her say it, he was even more scared to hear her tell him she meant something far less… monumental. Something in him was breaking, or maybe healing for the first time in his life. It all felt the same.
Hermione gave a frustrated sigh. "Oh, fine, Harry… I'll go home, withoutyou, if that's what you really want."
Harry cleared his throat. "I want… I want to do this right."
Hermione's expression cleared a little at that. "Is that what this is?" she asked softly.
Harry wished he knew for certain. "I think so. Maybe."
With that, Hermione snuggled back down against his side; her head reclaimed its place on his shoulder and her arm fell across his body once more. Harry let out a pent-up breath of relief when Hermione didn't up and walk off.
"You know you're not alone anymore, don't you, Harry?" she asked in a near- whisper.
Harry could not have spoken if he tried. When words failed him, he reached over them and pulled the blanket that was draped on the back of the couch over the both of them. He tucked it tenderly around Hermione, then settled down more comfortably on the couch. He'd sleep on the ruddy couch with her all night, and the devil with anyone who didn't like it. Filch could raise all the ruckus he liked, McGonagall could wake them with a bitter scowl and toe tapping against the floor, Snape could bloody come in and take points from Gryffindor until he was blue in the face. Harry considered it all pale to the promise of Hermione sleeping at his side.
Against his chest, Hermione smiled. She understood. She always did. And she did not budge so much as an inch to get off the couch and go up to her comfy bed.