Chapter 17Chapter Text"What the hell?! Look! Did someone put a spell on that bloody thing?!" Ron exclaimed loudly, pointing at something in the air with bulging eyes, which attracted the attention of those sitting next to him.
Hermione was about to open her mouth to, out of habit, reprimand her red-haired friend for using swear words when her own gaze followed the line where his finger was pointing and she was speechless.
Harry's tiny figure, almost hidden from them by the snowfall and the distance, darted across the sky in a desperate attempt to break away from the speeding Bludger that was persistently pursuing the boy across the entire field. Other Gryffindor players and even some Slytherins tried to fly closer to him to help, but they couldn't really get close for fear of getting hit themselves by the crazed sports equipment, which actually acted as if it was cursed.
For a terrible six minutes, everyone in the stadium watched with a frozen heart as Harry threw himself here and there, making increasingly complex and dangerous figures in an attempt to break away from the ball, but it continued to move at an impossible speed and clearly had no intention of falling behind. In addition, it soon became obvious that the Bludger had not only hit Harry in the side, but at a minimum had broken his right arm, which was now dangling along the body like a rag. It was amazing that Harry had managed to stay on his broom at all and had even successfully dodged attacks with his only working arm, but this couldn't last forever. The longer the chase lasted, the more constrained the movements of the Gryffindor Seeker became, who leaned more and more to the right.
He was rapidly running out of time, and Harry knew this very well, because the next moment he made another desperate attempt to throw off the projectile pursuing him.
"He's going to crush himself!!!" A panicked cry stuck in Hermione's throat when the boy soared to the sky like a rocket, and then, just as quickly, flew towards the ground in a steep dive, accelerating more and more.
Later, she could not really remember what happened next. The memories of this episode mixed in her panicking mind into some kind of meaningless lump, consisting of scattered spots of color and pure horror, not allowing her to breathe normally. Completely paralyzed with fear, like everyone else in the stadium, Hermione could only watch as her friend plummeted towards the ground...
And then everything suddenly started moving again.
The crowd roared and jumped up from the benches, completely blocking Hermione's view, and she could not see what had happened to Harry.
"Did he... did he fall? Did he…"
Hermione's legs shook and buckled like boiled spaghetti, but she still hurried with all her might along with the others down to the center of the field where Harry had presumably collapsed.
"H-Harry... Harry..." her teeth were tap-dancing as she continued to repeat the boy's name without stopping, like a spell. Half of her concentration was spent trying not to stumble and collapse from rapidly growing weakness.
She and Ron elbowed their way roughly, ignoring the dissatisfied cries of other students, until they eventually reached Harry. Around him there were already a ring of professors, headed by Dambledore, who quickly wielded his magic wand, continuously muttering something in an unfamiliar melodious language. It was completely unclear whether the Headmaster's spells were helping or Harry had already faded away, and the old wizard simply could not come to terms with the inevitable.
"Harry!" Hermione thought she was screaming out loud, but in reality, all she managed to squeeze out was a hoarse, broken whisper.
Unconscious and disheveled, with strangely twisted limbs, the boy lay on a stretcher conjured by someone and, at first glance, showed absolutely no signs of life. It was unclear whether he was breathing at all – from the outside, his chest seemed completely motionless. There were several fresh abrasions on the boy's face, but it was unclear how many injuries were still hidden under the sports uniform.
Hermione's attention was drawn to the bright red blood stain on his forehead, contrasting with the deathly pallor of the rest of Harry's face. Thick ruby streams continued to flow slowly from somewhere under his tangled bangs, so that the snow around the boy's head had already turned a frightening crimson color.
"Blood... So much blood... But... but why is it still...?"
"Blood!" Inspired by insane hope, with her heart pounding, Hermione rushed forward and landed awkwardly next to the stretcher.
She didn't care if everyone was staring at her! Right now, Hermione didn't give a damn what anyone else thought. Ignoring the whispers around her, she grabbed Harry's uninjured left hand and squeezed it tightly. The wrist under her fingers were as cold as the snow around them, and yet somewhere there Hermione managed to feel the faint thread of a pulse.
"You are alive! Harry! Oh my God... You're alive!"
Biting the inside of her cheek, Hermione fought against the heavy sobs that threatened to burst from her chest and completely break her. Harry's face blurred before her eyes as tears welled up and she was unable to hold it back. Before this, Hermione had never imagined that relief could be so overwhelming and painful.
"Hey, he'll be fine," Ron was there in time and somewhat awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders, allowing her to bury her face in his chest. "You'll see, he'll be fine! It's Harry, he always gets through..."
Allowing the girl to grab onto herself like a life preserver, Ron continued to look over her shoulder at the motionless Harry and could hardly restrain himself from crying. His fingers, with which he stroked Hermione's tangled hair, were shaking with delayed fear and adrenaline. He still couldn't really understand what happened and why the hell one of the three of them was hurt again. First Hermione, and now Harry... As if... as if someone had jinxed them!
"Out of the way! Let us pass! MOVE!" Hagrid's thunderous voice and massive figure caused the crowd to quickly disperse, allowing him and Madam Pomfrey, hurrying behind, to pass.
The procession was completed by a gloomy Snape with a suitcase full of healing potions. He was the first to think of placing a protective dome over Harry's stretcher to keep out the snow and frost.
While the new arrivals were busy helping Professor Dumbledore stabilize the injured student, McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick quickly dispersed the crowd of onlookers into the common rooms. An exception was made for Ron and Hermione, who flatly refused to leave their friend even under the threat of force.
Clutching each other for support, the Gryffindors watched with wide eyes as the adults performed the most complex magic around Harry that the second year students had ever seen in their life. The professors and the medi-witch took turns casting diagnostic and healing spells, stopping internal bleeding and temporarily patching up the most urgent and serious wounds to prepare Harry for transfer to the hospital wing.
In the pauses between this, Snape poured various concoctions into the boy with the absolutely detached air of a professional healer, occupied exclusively with helping his patient. He seemed to have decided to put aside his hatred of Harry Potter and his late father for the time being and focus entirely on the task at hand. The boy who was so annoying to him in normal times was now just another hurt child in need of urgent help, and for that Hermione was secretly grateful to their stern, sarcastic Potions professor.
"We'll have to tell Harry that he was cured by the Horror of the Dungeons himself! Just imagine his face!" Ron whispered barely audibly in Hermione's ear, and she, despite the situation, could not resist laughing nervously.
"Yeah... Harry definitely won't believe that Professor Snape didn't try to poison him in the process," she smiled weakly, but then an alarming shadow came over her face again. "Lord, if only he woke up soon..."
She and Ron grew increasingly pale as Madam Pomfrey continued to dryly and methodically dictate to her Quick-Quotes Quill a list of Harry's recent injuries, which included ruptured internal organs and multiple skeletal injuries, including four broken ribs, a dislocated hip, and a fractured skull, accompanied by severe concussion with a high risk of hemorrhage. Against this background, the open fracture of the right forearm did not look so terrible.
Looking at what that bloody Bludger had done to Harry, Hermione couldn't stop the small shiver in her own spine. She had previously been afraid of flying due to a deep, innate fear of heights, but now this phobia had reached a whole new level for her. By now, Hermione could say with absolute certainty that she hated Quidditch, broomsticks, and everything that went with it. What kind of idiot even thought of inventing such a dangerous and cruel game in which each participant was constantly at risk of being seriously injured or even killed?! And this is what crazy magicians called fun?! Letting kids risk their lives to catch some stupid ball?!
If it had been up to Hermione, Harry would never have gone within a mile of any magical broom again, but she knew that the boy himself would vehemently disagree with her and would protest as soon as he regained consciousness.
"Boys will be boys," she thought bitterly.
What to Hermione was a stupid, dangerous and simply pointless activity, people like Harry and Ron perceived as something fun. Just as they thought it was fun to run through Hogwarts at night, or arrange a duel at midnight, or try to smuggle a baby dragon out of the castle…
"Looks who's talking, Granger! Didn't you recently brew an illegal potion, marry Harry and sleep with him? Pot, meet kettle! You don't even know, maybe you're already pregnant with Harry's baby!" For some reason, Hermione's own conscience now sounded like McGonagall's voice with Snape's intonations, which in itself was creepy enough.
Hermione mentally grimaced, forced to admit her hypocrisy. Unlike her, Harry at least didn't try to take risks on purpose, he was just unlucky once again. It was as if someone had painted a target on his back, attracting random misfortunes... The way this Bludger first aimed at him, and then just as strangely disappeared under the cover of the ensuing commotion, literally screamed of someone's evil intent.
But who tried to harm Harry again and why? Last year it was Quirrell, possessed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and now...
Hermione's active mind was already speculating about what could have caused the attack on Harry and who could be behind it. She was almost one hundred percent sure that it was an attack, and not just an accident. Too many things clearly pointed to someone's intervention in an attempt to maim or kill Harry Potter of all people.
Fear and anger rose in equal measure in Hermione's soul at the thought that somewhere out there was hiding a person who hated Harry to such an extent that they were not afraid to attack the boy and try to kill him in front of the entire stadium, in the presence of Dumbledore himself, who was considered the greatest light wizard of their time.
Who could be so desperate, arrogant and, importantly, magically gifted, to pull off such a thing and almost succeed? As far as Hermione knew, all Quidditch equipment was traditionally subject to a whole bunch of spells against the evil eye and cheating – Harry and Ron had been buzzing her ears about it all the time. Therefore, it was unlikely to be one of the students, unless some new Dark Lord was hiding among them.
A year ago, Hermione would have seriously considered Snape. He was suitable, at a minimum, because he was a recognized dark warlock and one of the most powerful wizards in the school right after the Headmaster, and also because he was... well, unkind and gloomy and frankly hated Harry, which he made clear to everyone around him. However, Hermione knew better now and refused to make the same logical mistake twice. Over the previous year, the Potions professor had already had any number of opportunities to harm Harry and get away with it. For example, he could simply quietly poison the boy or cast a curse on him on the sly while no one is looking. In addition, the way Snape tried to help Harry now looked like a completely sincere act, although this man, openly, fiercely hated Harry...
No... it was someone else. Someone, no one would even think of. Someone, who...
Frowning, Hermione continued to peer into the calm, motionless face of Harry, who was still subject to numerous charms and potions – so many wounds, fractures and bruises needed to be stabilized.
* * *
At the very end, right before Harry was sent to the hospital wing, an incident occurred that again almost put the boy's life in danger. It also almost cost Hermione deducted points, or even worse, but at the moment, detention or even expulsion from school was the last thing she was worried about. And all because Lockhart, who for some reason was still hanging around nearby, decided to give his two knuts and "cure" Harry's broken arm.
Before anyone could blink an eye, he pulled out his wand from his sleeve, twisted an incomprehensible pretzel in the air and loudly commanded, directing the spell towards Harry:
"Os Fractum Libere!"
Cheerful flickering sparks first enveloped Harry's arm, and after just a moment it suddenly sagged terribly from shoulder to fingertips, like a piece of melted rubber.
"Gilderoy!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed indignantly, trying to stop the hapless Defense Professor, but it was too late.
"Brainless cretin! You removed all the bones in his arm!" Snape, in the other hand, was not so restrained in his reaction. He hissed angrily and contemptuously at Lockhart in the best traditions of the Greasy-Haired Evil Bastard, which absolutely shocked everyone present, not expecting such harsh public words from him towards another professor.
"But... how can that be... I just wanted to help..."
"Thank Merlin you didn't try to cure his head! Move away from the boy!"
"Severus! That's enough," Dumbledore shook his head, nodding suggestively towards a pair of children who at that moment were looking at their Potions master in amazement as if he had suddenly grown a second head. "Gilderoy, harsh language aside, Severus is right. Since you are not a qualified healer, I would ask you not to interfere in the treatment of students in the future," the Headmaster's voice was stern and immediately stopped any possible objections, so Lockhart simply shut his mouth and nodded, hiding his eyes in humiliation.
After that, everyone again anxiously surrounded Harry to check his vital signs, which, fortunately, were still within the acceptable range. None of the adult wizards paid attention to Ron, who at these very moments tensed his muscles, forcibly restraining Hermione from frantically trying to pull out her wand and curse Lockhart with the most vile evil eye she knew (and she knew a lot of them).
"Stop! Ugh... Come on, Hermione! Think about it! If you attack the professor, you will be expelled!" He desperately whispered, with the last of his strength trying to appeal to the voice of reason of his usually rational friend, who, with the threat to Harry's life, instantly turned into a real fury.
"I don't care! Let me go!"
"Merlin... uh... Hermione, I didn't know you are so... uh... strong..."
Absolutely unaware of the serious danger hanging over him, Lockhart continued to shyly bat his stupid blue eyes and colorfully apologize right and left, flashing his white-toothed patented smile and complaining that, out of nervousness, he mixed up a couple of very similar spells and – ah, what a misfortune! – accidentally almost killed the Boy Who Lived.
"This bloody idiot! What could I even find in him?! Smart and beautiful?! Ugh... God, I'm about to throw up on myself!"
Hermione couldn't believe that she had ever found Gilderoy Lockhart attractive or interesting. The rose-colored glasses of falling in love with this man finally fell off and broke into small fragments a minute ago, when this moron couldn't find a better moment to show off than to curse an already wounded student. Now all Hermione could see in him was the stupid, empty face of a smug star. The sleek buffoon sincerely thought he was helping, although he had no idea what he was doing. He almost killed Harry with the help of some crookedly cast spell and was not even able to properly worry about it! All he was thinking about now was just himself! Disgusting!
And, to be honest, his lessons were also a real nightmare from the very beginning, because as a teacher, Lockhart was incredibly incompetent. Just think that he couldn't even cope with the Cornish pixies and ran away, leaving the students to deal with the consequences of his failure! Since then, he no longer tried to conduct practical classes. He only did what he signed autographs instead of teaching them anything.
"Oh my God, he's really dumb! And all his books are probably just fiction too... How could I be so blind as to fall in love with him?!" The insight for a moment completely unsettled Hermione, making her wonder what else she could be so fundamentally wrong about.
If the Lockhart she had idealized for so many months turned out to be a complete fool, then she could just as easily have missed other big things like the identity of the Heir of Slytherin... or the mysterious enemy targeting Harry.
"From now on, I will be more careful and not make hasty conclusions without having all the facts in hand," Hermione solemnly promised herself. "And I will definitely try to find out who is behind the attack on Harry... and when I do that, they will pay."
Ending her inner vow on this vengeful note, she mentally nodded to herself. Hermione wasn't yet sure exactly what she would do with the person or persons that had brought Harry to the brink of life and death. At a minimum, she will hand them over to the professors, and if that doesn't work, then she will try to stop them herself by any means necessary...
What she was really convinced of was that she would not allow anyone to take Harry away or harm him again if she only had something to say about it.
* * *
Amid further bickering among the professors and loud whispering of Harry Potter's friends, the stretcher with the wounded boy finally left for the hospital wing. After that, the Quidditch field was completely empty, although the lights in the stands continued to burn, casting long shadows on the trampled snow.
The weather was getting worse, and snowflakes were falling from the sky in a stormy stream, quickly covering up all traces of the recent drama that almost turned into a tragedy.
Few people in Hogwarts were looking out of their windows at that moment, and so no one noticed the tiny house-spirit that suddenly appeared out of thin air in the middle of the field. Judging by the shapeless gray rags on his shoulders, which did not at all resemble the neat uniform of the Hogwarts house-elves, he was a stranger. Undisguised suffering was written on his skinny, big-nosed face, and his huge, glowing, bulging eyes were full of tears that he didn't even try to wipe away.
"Bad Dobby! Bad, bad Dobby! Dobby hurt the great Harry Potter! Dobby failed! Harry Potter is still at Hogwarts! Harry Potter is still in danger! Bad, bad Dobby! Stupid! Worthless! Dobby must punish himself!!" Having blurted this out quickly, the strange house-elf disappeared with a loud bang, as if he had never been there.
The snowstorm over Hogwarts continued to rage in earnest, promising to completely cover all approaches to the castle by morning.
Chapter 18Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextBy the end of the day, Hermione realized that she had a strong disgust for the smell of antiseptic and medicinal potions that literally permeated every inch of the hospital wing. If she had a choice, she would prefer to never set foot in this place again, which, however, was completely unrealistic when your friend is Harry Potter, the Boy Who Always Gets Into Trouble.
The amount of multi-colored, slimy, pungent-smelling substances poured both over and into Harry's body was truly enormous, and the number and variety of spells cast on his many wounds was truly amazing, but even this was not enough. As a result of Lockhart's "good intentions", Harry was to regrow all thirty bones in his right hand with the help of the Skele-Gro. Judging by the sympathetic look that Madam Pomfrey cast towards the still unconscious boy, this was clearly going to be a very painful experience for him that he would not soon forget.
When Hermione and Ron timidly asked if they could stay longer so that Harry would not have to wake up alone, to their surprise, the nurse nodded yes, although she felt it necessary to warn:
"Now your friend is still on painkillers, so he will sleep for a few hours. However, he will probably wake up as soon as the Skele-Gro starts to take effect. I'm sorry, but this is a painful process, and in Mr. Potter's case it's also a long one," Madam Pomfrey sighed and shook her head disapprovingly, clearly thinking again about Lockhart's irresponsible spell.
Privately, Hermione completely shared her opinion, she was just as incredibly angry at their ridiculous Defense professor. However, in hindsight she was grateful to Ron, who kept her from acting rashly and did not let her curse Lockhart. If Hermione had been expelled from school for attacking one of the teachers, it certainly wouldn't have helped Harry at all. On the contrary, he would probably blame himself, because that's what he always did when it came to his friends, even if it was ridiculous.
With a heavy sigh, Hermione tightened her grip on Harry's left hand, which lay on top of the blanket. From the moment she reached him on the Quidditch pitch, she always clung to him, unless she was forcibly torn away from the boy to carry out another procedure. At times like these, she instinctively tried not to let Harry out of her sight, as if he might disappear if she looked away.
The devoted Ron, who stood shoulder to shoulder with her in those terrible moments, also squeezed her other hand tightly, so that from the outside the three of them must have presented a funny picture: holding hands like toddlers. Hermione didn't care, though. If it weren't for Ron's support, she might actually fall apart and become hysterical, and then Madam Pomfrey would have to take time away from her work to calm her down, which means Harry would be deprived of the help he needs...
Ron was still with his friends, snoring on the next bed, where he had crawled an hour ago, unable to fight sleep any longer. Hermione couldn't blame him for this, because it was already well past midnight, and she herself was just as tired. However, she still couldn't sleep, too excited about what had happened. Instead, she dozed lightly in the chair next to Harry's bed, between reading the Transfiguration textbook and checking on Harry, who had never woken up in all those hours.
Hermione was so used to the silence of the hospital wing that she jumped in surprise when she heard a sudden quiet groan.
"Hurts…"
She immediately rushed to Harry, dropping the half-read book from her lap and not even paying attention to it. All her concentration was aimed at finding out what condition her friend was in.
"Harry! Are you awake? How do you feel?" Questions kept pouring out of her as she feverishly scanned Harry's face, trying to figure out if she had heard it earlier.
"It hurts..." the boy repeated more clearly this time and winced.
His eyes remained tightly closed, and his breathing was shallow and uneven. It seemed he was still not himself, because he continued to lie motionless and did not try to open his eyelids, only his right hand reflexively trembled in response to the excessive stimulation of the nerves.
"The Skele-Gro has probably already begun to take effect,"Hermione guessed, "and Harry feels it all. He's sleeping, but he's still in pain..."
If only she could somehow help him... But Madam Pomfrey said that nothing could be done, and they could only let him endure it.
"It hurts... hurts..."
Harry's pitiful moans and painful grimaces on his face cut Hermione's heart into pieces. Among the quiet whining sounds he made, at some point she heard her own name, but she wasn't sure.
"It's okay, Harry. You're in the hospital wing, the match is already over... Professor Dumbledore canceled it, so Gryffindor didn't lose, don't worry! I know that you are in a lot of pain right now, but Madam Pomfrey said that you need to be patient a little... You will definitely get better!"
These were pathetic, jumbled phrases that probably didn't help at all. Harry must have felt so alone right now... He couldn't even wake up enough to see that both of his friends were actually here, right next to him.
Looking sideways at Ron, who at that moment once again snored loudly in his sleep and rolled over, turning away from them, Hermione made up her mind.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
In response to the movement of her wand, one of the screens next to the far wall flew smoothly across the room and came to stand around Harry's bed. Once Hermione was sure that they were now completely protected from casual glances, she kicked off her shoes and carefully climbed on top of the mattress, laying down next to the boy.
"H… Hermione… It hurts…"
"I know... I know. Everything will be okay, Harry. I'm here, I'm with you..." she sincerely hoped that these words and her presence would at least ease his condition a little. It was all she could do for him right now.
Madam Pomfrey warned that, for all its effectiveness, the Skele-Gro is an extremely radical and painful remedy. With its help, it was possible to literally grow new bones inside the body to replace the missing ones within minutes or hours, but the exact time depended on the extent of the original damage. In Harry's case it could last until the morning or even longer. What was especially unpleasant was that while taking the Skele-Gro, the painkillers had practically no effect, and all that was left was to endure until the pain went away on its own.
Hermione hated seeing how pale and sweaty Harry's face was. His already thin cheeks were completely sunken, and dark circles formed under his eyes. The glands rolled under his skin as he clenched his teeth with all his might to hold back more moans, and invariably failed because the pain was too unbearable. He still didn't fully realize what was happening, because he barely reacted when Hermione pulled him as gently as possible to her and laid his head on her shoulder.
However, he still felt something, because a minute later he found and grabbed Hermione's palm with his intact fingers so tightly that she involuntarily flinched, although she did not pull away. Harry subconsciously clung to another living person next to him, just so as not to be alone in this nightmare, and Hermione was ready to endure as long as necessary, because her friend was now much worse.
With her free hand she felt the boy's forehead, which seemed too hot to her. He must have been very feverish... Hermione bit her lip, unsure if this was a bad sign and if she should call Madam Pomfrey. Unfortunately, she knew nothing about healing at all, which was a clear omission on her part. How often did she and her friends get involved in various incidents where emergency medical care would be needed? Too often, if not constantly... However, the library could wait until the morning. Now Hermione needed to stay here to make sure Harry got better.
"Herm... Hermione..." Harry fidgeted again, either trying to wake up or, on the contrary, to get more comfortable next to her.
"Shh... you don't need to say anything. Go to sleep. Everything is fine... Everything will be okay..."
She gently stroked his hair, and then began to run her fingers through the black strands that were matted with sweat, and after a while Harry calmed down again. Nuzzling his nose into Hermione's neck, he squeezed her hand tightly and sighed contentedly. For some time he continued to quietly sniffle painfully until his breathing became deeper again and sleep overcame him, taking with it some of the suffering.
* * *
Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, non-verbally casting a silencing spell around Potter's screen, and just as quietly retreated back to her post. The restorative and calming potions she had prepared for the boy could wait a little longer. What the poor child needed most now was proper sleep and rest, and it seemed that he could get both of these things without having to swallow additional bitter medicines.
While Poppy might not approve of what was going on between him and Miss Granger, she was wise enough to mind her own business, especially when she couldn't possibly fix it anyway. The last thing these kids needed was to be judged or accused of stupidity by an old harridan like her. If anyone was to blame, it was the school staff, of which Poppy was one. They, the adult witches and wizards, were responsible for the safety of the students at Hogwarts, and yet they had clearly failed in their duties, and the result was two second-year kids getting magically married without the slightest idea what they were doing, and now they had to live with the consequences. None of this had been easy, and Poppy didn't feel the need to add her own sideways glances to the pile of weight that was already weighing them down.
Mr. Potter already had too much to deal with initially, starting with last year and that strange story with the forbidden corridor on the third floor, the details of which no one really knew until now. Since then, problems have been pouring down on the unfortunate boy, as if from a cornucopia. Today's match was no exception, and almost ended in the death of a child, and yet Poppy had warned Albus, Minerva and the rest of the Quidditch-obsessed fools so many times that this game was too dangerous for schoolchildren! But which of them ever listened to her?! Pfft...
The most surprising thing about all of this was Harry's calm reaction - much calmer than one would expect from a teenager his age. This happened after every new accident in which the boy got involved with unnerving frequency. Instead of being scared or hysterical, he seemed... no, not indifferent, but very serious. Like he was not surprised at all. Receiving another injury that was barely compatible with life, he did not even try to find consolation from the school nurse, the Head of his House or his guardians, as if he had long been accustomed to relying solely on himself and generally had come to terms with this state of affairs.
If anyone had asked Poppy's opinion, she would have said that this was a rather alarming signal that required closer attention, however, since her opinion was of little interest to anyone outside the hospital wing, the medi-witch preferred to keep her mouth shut. In her decades of work at Hogwarts, she had seen many children whose physical and mental condition literally screamed of an unhealthy home environment, and in this regard, Mr. Potter, alas, was not much different from other teenagers who, to one degree or another, were subjected to violence.
As soon as she looked at him during the sorting, Pomfrey, with an experienced eye, immediately recognized all the signs of ill-treatment: excessive thinness and pallor; insufficient height, inconsistent with the norm for a boy of his age; almost completely faded bruises on his arms, which Harry, out of habit, tried to cover discreetly with his sleeves. In his first year, he looked, at best, about nine years old, but not eleven, which clearly indicated insufficient or, at least, irregular nutrition.
Having received the boy into her care after his first Quidditch match, where he immediately almost managed to break his neck, Poppy found factual confirmation of her suspicions. A more detailed diagnosis revealed old and long-healed bone fractures, muscle sprains and ligament tears, as if the boy had spent his entire early childhood in the fighting ring, and not in the family. Probably one of the adults, and perhaps other children in his family house, beat him on a regular basis.
And, again, no matter how sad it may sound, there was absolutely nothing new in this, which Poppy had not seen dozens of times among other students (most often, among Slytherins, especially from "dark" families, where it was traditionally considered the norm to raise heirs in strictness and fear of their parents, but she sometimes came across children from dysfunctional half-blood or Muggle families). The Department of Guardianship and Trusteeship at the Ministry of Magic did not take such matters too seriously, because everyone knew that it could always be much worse. As long as the child was not beaten to a pulp and sexually abused by family members, it was believed that there was no reason to take them away from their relatives and place them in an orphanage where they would be even worse off.*
Unable to do anything truly drastic, Pomfrey habitually sighed to herself and silently prescribed as many healing concoctions and restorative tinctures as possible for Mr. Potter, which he was obliged to take until he returned back to Gryffindor Tower. This, of course, could not compensate for years of neglect and malnutrition. This required a special balanced diet, as well as a number of specialized potions that had to be taken for many months, but even this was not the most important thing. First and foremost, Mr. Potter needed a new safe home where he could receive proper nutrition and a healthy attitude all year round...
Sitting at her desk late at night, Poppy continued to think about Harry Potter's dilemma instead of making a list of the potions she would need next month for the traditional cold season. Some thought was spinning on the surface of her consciousness, but Poppy could not grab it by the tail... The situation in which young Mr. Potter and his friend found themselves still could not get out of the woman's head. The marriage of such young students, although not something out of the ordinary in their society, was nevertheless very far from the norm. Nothing like this had happened at Hogwarts since the Middle Ages, and as a result even Albus seemed unsure of how to proceed in this case. The two Gryffindor second years for whom he and the rest of the teaching staff were responsible were now legal spouses with all the ensuing consequences, which included having sex and, as the inevitable result, Miss Granger's pregnancy.
As the only medical professional privy to the secret, it was up to Poppy to deal with any complications that could – and certainly would – arise in this case. When Albus told her about this, Poppy's first reaction was deep shock and a sharp refusal. Of course, she was a qualified nurse with many years of experience in treating severe injuries (Merlin knows, young unrestrained wizards and witches could sometimes do things to each other that not every seasoned Auror could bear!), but that did not make her a midwife! Although she had had the opportunity to deliver a baby during her practice, that was literally years ago, and, moreover, did not include the management of the pregnancy itself, not to mention the fact that the future mother was a thirteen-year-old teenage girl, who had barely entered on the path to puberty herself. At the very least, Poppy needed to update her knowledge of prenatal diagnosis and consult with specialists at St. Mungo's... however, as it turned out, the latter one was out of the question.
"We can't risk revealing Harry's secret to the whole world. He and Miss Granger will be the ones who will suffer the most if the truth comes out too soon," Dumbledore said quite logically, and although Poppy generally agreed with him, she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that Albus wasn't quite being honest with her this time.
"So who will really suffer the most if the truth is revealed? The unreasonable children, who still need guidance and guardians, or the administration of the school where they study?" Pomfrey did not voice these thoughts out loud, although she really wanted to.
Deeply immersed in thought, she continued to absentmindedly tap the tip of her pen on the parchment, on which several large blots had already formed. As a former Gryffindor and a naturally active person, she did not like being left in the role of a passive observer, especially when her patients were in immediate danger.
Mr. Potter and Miss Granger were both her patients (perhaps too often), and Poppy now felt personally responsible for their well-being. Besides, she just felt really sorry for Harry. The boy was an exceptionally polite, kind and quiet child, not at all like most of his peers (he was also not at all like his father, the unstoppable joker and prankster James Potter, which at first surprised Poppy, but later she realized that Harry simply could not grow up to be just like James, all things considered). He always accepted even the slightest hint of care with such constant surprise that it broke Poppy's heart every time...
In the past, many times she had wanted to do something for the unfortunate children who ended up in her infirmary after a terrible summer at home, where they were again poisoned and frightened like restive animals. So what exactly stopped her, other than the certainty that even if she contacted the Department of Guardianship and Trusteeship, nothing would really change?
"But this time everything can change. Mr. Potter's guardians are a real piece of work, apparently, but the boy is now also magically tied to Miss Granger and her family..."
Poppy didn't know the older Grangers personally, but from what Minerva had said, they were a decent, middle-class Muggle couple. It seemed they even worked as something of a healer, which only added points to them in Pomfrey's eyes.
At a minimum, they should have had sufficient knowledge to understand the risks of early pregnancy and childbirth, not to mention the fact that we were talking about their own daughter! They had the right to know what was going on and to take this into their own hands. To hell with secrecy! No matter what Albus claimed, and no matter how right it all sounded, Poppy refused to take on such responsibility and experiment on a very young girl whose body had not even developed enough to carry and give birth to babies! If St. Mungo's and its experienced obstetricians were unavailable, perhaps Muggles had their own ways of dealing with this particular problem.
And if getting Miss Granger's parents on their side ended up indirectly helping to solve Mr. Potter's domestic problem, well... so much the better.
Slowly, a still vague but very persistent idea was forming in Poppy's head about how to kill two dwarves with one curse: to help Miss Granger and Mr. Potter at the same time.
After all, it was the Boy Who Lived, who was also an orphan. During the first war, Poppy's cousin, an Auror, died in service fighting the minions of He-Must-Not-Be-Named. She and thousands of other people on the planet owed everything to Harry Potter, this lonely little boy whose guardians apparently did not care about him at all.
Well, to hell with this all! This time she won't sit idly by!
She would not directly break the secret, since Dumbledore insisted on it, but such a thing would not be necessary. All she needs to do is write a few letters... But first she should talk to Minerva. As the Head of Harry and Hermione's House, she would probably know more about both their families. In addition, Poppy felt that she herself might need additional moral support for the venture she was about to pull off. It's not every day that you decide to secretly resist a direct order from your superiors, even for a good cause.
Chapter 19Chapter Text"Mmm... Hermio-o- ne..." moaning hoarsely, Harry pushed his pelvis forward, entering the girl's tight vagina under him with a flourish, and immediately set a fast pace.
"Harry... oh, Harry... yes... Yes-ah! " Hermione moaned lustfully in response and opened her milky white thighs wider in front of him, moving towards his ramming cock with each new thrust.
"Hermione... god... yes..." Harry panted, hitting deep inside her with every word and feeling the head of his penis hungrily kiss the entrance to her womb.
"Harder, Harry! Faster! " She dug her nails into his shoulders until they bled, but Harry didn't care.
"Oh! Ah!" He began to growl, pounding into her so hard that the narrow bed beneath them shook, sliding with it's legs on the floor.
"Yes! Enter me! Cum inside me! " Hermione's hot whisper in his ear, encouraging Harry, did something incredible to him, forcing him to take her furiously and quickly, so that his balls were now loudly slapping against her crotch.
"Oh, yes... Hermione... Hermione!" He couldn't stop fucking her, screaming her name, even if his life depended on it. She was his life now! His hips slammed hard against hers as he rammed his cock hard into her entrance, getting faster and faster. He felt that the détente was close. He wanted to cum so badly...
"Harry! "
"O-oh... "
"Harry!"
"Mm…"
"HARRY! Wake up!"
"Oh my God! Hermione?!"
Potter's eyes opened in fear when he suddenly realized that he was hearing his friend's voice not in his hot dream, but pretty much in reality.
Just woke up and without glasses, not really seeing anything in front of him except blurry spots of color, Harry reflexively pulled away from the fluffy light spot that was probably Hermione... or tried to pull away until he got entangled in the blanket and collapsed awkwardly on the floor with a loud thud.
"My God! Harry, are you okay?!"
"Ouch…"
His bruised ass may not have been entirely okay, but it was nothing compared to his wounded pride. Confusion mixed with a kind of doomed fatigue overwhelmed Potter when he realized that, in spite of everything, his penis was still standing, as if nothing had happened.
Oh, he knew perfectly well what had just happened here... He was still sane and remembered everything, despite the fact that the damn Bludger had almost killed him the day before! After Harry hit the ground, everything became a blur, but it was not difficult to build a logical chain of events.
Clearly, he was so bad that they dragged him to the hospital wing, after which they pumped him full of some vile concoctions that made him either sick or literally twisted into a ram's horn. The icing on the cake was a piercing pain in his right arm, from which he lay in heavy oblivion for most of the night, then briefly resurfacing, then sliding back into a purple-violet haze of endless agony. In moments of lucidity, he realized that he was lying on something soft and warm, which was clearly not a pillow, because it smelled too pleasant and familiar...
The truth appeared before Harry in the most merciless way in the face of a pink-faced Hermione who was still sitting on his bed, staring down at Potter while he successfully imitated a statue on the icy floor.
"Damn it..." with a quiet grumble, the boy rose to his feet to get to the bedside table, on top of which – thank you Jesus! – his glasses were found.
Once the world became clear again, Harry turned to Hermione with a sigh. He was ready to face the inevitable condemnation or even anger (well deserved, from his point of view) and therefore was very surprised when he did not find either one or the other on the girl's face. She still looked at him a little shyly, but seemed to have recovered from her initial shock after waking up a few minutes ago to the feeling of something hard poking insistently at her thigh through several layers of fabric.
"Well... Good morning, I guess," she said hesitantly.
"Good morning," Harry responded dully.
After that, they awkwardly looked at each other and, unable to resist, giggled nervously. Seriously, after everything that had happened to them lately, waking up to Harry's morning erection wasn't the worst thing, or even the most embarrassing thing. They've already done so much worse...
At the thought of the latter one, Harry's dick released a sticky drop and rose a little bit higher, although it seemed impossible. From the outside it looked as if the boy had another magic wand hidden in his pants, currently pointing directly at Hermione. He just couldn't get rid of this damned association, no matter how hard he tried.
"Don't laugh!" Harry had to clench his jaw with all his might to suppress this impulse, but it seemed that something did seep out, because Hermione's expression also wavered, and she snorted quietly again, and then a little louder, and Harry could not resist either.
Doubled over from a fit of wild, uncontrollable guffaw, he buried his forehead in the bed, while his friend was choking from the same loud laughter, hiding her red face in her hands.
"God… a-ha-ha… yours… yours…"
"I know, okay?"
"It's just like a magic wa…"
"A-ha-ha-ha!"
"Hey, why are you two neighing like horses so early in the morning?" Sleepy, rumpled Ron appeared in the opening of the screen and now looked at his hysterical friends with bewilderment and a slight smile. It seemed that everything was completely fine with Harry now, except for the fact that for some reason he was sitting on the floor and shaking with laughter so hard that his eyes began to water.
"Crap!" Harry squeaked in falsetto and flopped back onto the bed, after which he grabbed one of the pillows and threw it on his lap, hastily covering his erection. He sincerely hoped that Ron hadn't noticed, otherwise it would have been a source of jokes at Harry's expense for the next year, and he simply wasn't mentally prepared for something like that.
"What's going on?" Now Weasley looked at them with growing suspicion. "And... uh... why is Hermione sitting in your bed?"
"I... uh... she... we..." there was an absolute vacuum in Harry's head.
But, hey, what do you want from him exactly?! He was just not suited for such situations, okay?! No one had taught him how to behave when your best friend almost caught you eagerly fucking your second best friend's thigh in your sleep! Friends weren't supposed to do that at all, but apparently Harry was so "special", so he just can't help himself. Fate, or the gods, or the devil himself decided to play a joke on him in the most sophisticated way, and now he was forced to suffer every morning because he could not put his penis into Hermione, and all this was literally driving him crazy!
Already feeling his rosy mood being quickly overshadowed by dark clouds again, as had often happened to him in recent days, Potter frowned.
"Harry was very ill at night, so I decided to sit with him for a while, and then, it seems, I dozed off in the morning," meanwhile, Hermione calmly answered Ron's question in an unwavering voice.
"And she didn't even lie," Harry thought. "She was really just trying to help me... in a purely friendly way. But no, I just needed to reduce everything to vulgarity once again! She most likely doesn't even think about me that way... At least she never said that she liked me even a little or whatever..."
It seemed he was still not entirely convinced, judging by the incredulous, narrowed gaze of his blue eyes, which he took turns boring into his friends, however, in the end, he still decided to take Hermione's words on faith, because... well… what else could he do? Indeed, he could not seriously think that Harry and Hermione were doing something indecent and reprehensible here...
"But we could. If only I had stopped being a coward and just asked Hermione directly what she thought of me, or if I had finally admitted that I like her as more than just a friend."
Harry looked again at the girl sitting in a heap of blankets a few centimeters away from him and swallowed. His pajama pants were practically bursting at the seams as he imagined himself grabbing those luscious curls and wrapping them around his fist before pulling Hermione in for a kiss...
"But we've never even kissed before!" It dawned on him at that moment.
Harry didn't know why the hell the thought had never occurred to him before, because it was so strange! They managed to have real sex, but still have never kissed each other. Even on the cheek!
Was he so obsessed with Hermione's crotch that he didn't even think about other things he and she could do together? It is clear that emergency circumstances required the same emergency measures from them, as a result of which they were forced to skip all the previous stages of the relationships and immediately get down to serious business... but this does not mean that they could not catch up, right?
Illuminated and excited by this new vista that washed over him like a tidal wave, Harry froze in place for several long moments with a blank expression on his face that must have looked rather stupid from the outside.
"Maybe... I should ask her to go out with me somewere? Like… like on a date! Yeah. Good idea! So, I'll take her on a date! And I should probably present her something... Mmm… I'll present her something nice! Girls love nice romantic things... right? Yeah. Okay. So... What exactly should I give her?"
Harry feverishly turned over the available options in his head, but his imagination stubbornly refused to go beyond the scope of his meager life experience. For example, he knew that Uncle Vernon traditionally gave Aunt Petunia flowers and chocolate in honor of their wedding anniversary, and once he even took her to a restaurant and to the opera, which Petunia refused to shutting up and loudly told every single neighbor, who agreed to listen to her, literally for months... ugh...
Much to Harry's chagrin, this was by no means an ideal answer to his question. Being at Hogwarts all the time, he couldn't buy tickets to any concert, and even if he could, he and Hermione still wouldn't get there during the school year. The restaurant was not an option for the same reason as any other similar place outside the school. As for sweets, Harry had already brought Hermione eclairs once, so he couldn't play that card twice so soon (and he didn't know what other desserts she liked). So, there were still flowers... But what flowers exactly does Hermione like? Roses? Violets? Daisies? Maybe he should go and look for something suitable in the school greenhouses? Or... What if it turns out that she actually hates flowers? Or that she is allergic? One of Harry's neighbors in Little Whinging, Mr. Chapman, had a severe pollen allergy, so much so that he was once taken away in an ambulance because of it...
"Harry? Hey, why are you stuck, mate?"
"Huh? Oh... I'm okay. Just thinking about... uh... breakfast. Don't know about you, guys, but I'm starving! Maybe if we quietly leave now, no one will notice? Seriously, I feel great! Let's just pop into the tower for a bit, and then..."
"Not so fast, young man!" Madam Pomfrey's appearance stopped Harry's nascent escape plan.
In the hands of the nurse was a tray filled with a whole platoon of bottles with multi-colored potions, each of which, as it was easy to guess, was intended personally for Harry. At the sight of this heap, the boy groaned sadly, but Madam Pomfrey was inexorable. She made him swallow six of them in turn (fortunately, only two tasted absolutely disgusting and resembled dirty, moldy socks, while the others were simply bitter). The remaining three substances turned out to be ointments that needed to be rubbed into the affected areas of the body.
"I'll do it!" Harry exclaimed hastily and grabbed the pillow in his lap tighter, as if someone might try to force it off him. Although his penis had already fallen slightly, the boy was still afraid that it was too visible through the fabric of his pajamas, so that everyone would immediately see his condition if he was forced out of bed.
"Are you sure…"
"Absolutely sure! Really, ma'am, I'd rather do it myself! You don't need to help me!"
"Well…"
Apparently, there was something in Harry's voice and look of pure panic that made the nurse take pity on him. Shaking her head, she handed him the remaining vials with strict instructions to use them within the next hour.
"After this you can have breakfast. Here. And no escapes to Gryffindor Tower until I say that you can actually be discharged, is that clear?" She added indisputably.
"Yes, ma'am! Thank you, ma'am!"
"Very good," Madam Pomfrey suddenly smiled softly at him and went about her business, leaving Harry with mixed feelings. He quickly brushed them off, though, as he looked back at Hermione.
They needed to talk. Alone.
This meant that first Harry had to somehow carefully remove Ron's presence without hurting his feelings... In truth, he felt like complete crap even just thinking about it. Harry knew that he had been involuntarily pushing Ron away from him more and more since that ritual had been performed, but he couldn't help it. As much as Harry tried to treat both of his friends equally as he had previously, he couldn't deny that Hermione was starting to take up a lot more space in his heart. This didn't mean that Harry valued and respected Ron any less, he just... didn't love him to the same degree that he loved Hermione. Or he loved him, but... not just like that.
"This is normal, yes? Treat your friends differently?" Harry asked himself. "It's not that I don't care about Ron anymore... He's my best friend, almost a brother. And Hermione... she..."
Hermione was his wife.
It was more of a formality, of course. Or… well… maybe not quite like that. It was a magical contract... But what really mattered right that Hermione was the girl Harry really liked. He even began to think that he might be in love with her.
He wanted to ask her out and was now painfully thinking of ways to properly send Ron away in such a manner as not to offend him or arouse his suspicions. Harry just needed to be alone with Hermione as soon as possible so that he could finally ask her the important question that had been tormenting him so much!
Perhaps the universe was tired of mocking him, or it was compensation for the fact that yesterday Harry almost kicked the bucket, because pretty soon Ron himself, without any additional incentive from the outside, was getting ready to leave. Unlike Harry, no one was going to serve breakfast to him and Hermione in the hospital wing, and therefore the red-haired boy was in a hurry to replenish the lost supply of calories on his own as soon as possible.
"Are you coming, Hermione?" He called from the doorway.
"Not yet. I need to get some potions from Madam Pomfrey, and then I'd like to change first. I'll be quick, I promise!"
"Alright then... meet you in the Great Hall."
"Why is she still taking potions? She's feeling unwell? But she looks fine..." an alarming thought flashed through Harry's head, which interrupted even his growing excitement about the upcoming conversation with Hermione.
The girl, however, was in no hurry to leave even after Ron's footsteps had died down on the other side of the screen.
"So... Don't you need to go to Pomfrey?" Potter asked a little bit stupidly.
"It can wait. I thought we needed to talk about something... just the two of us."
"Can she read my mind or something?!"
"Oh! I thought the same thing!"
"Really?"
"Yeah..."
"Oh... Well... You go first then?"
"Uh... Okay. So…"
"Stop being a coward, Potter!"
"Hermione..."
"Yes?"
"Pull yourself together, you wimp!"
Harry took a few deep breaths in and out through his nose, trying to calm his nerves, and clenched his sweaty fists to hide the slight tremors running through them. Hermione didn't rush him, continuing to look at him with her beautiful chocolate eyes, but for some reason this made him even more nervous.
"Christ, just say it already! Are you a Gryffindor or what?!"
He cleared his throat.
"Hermione," he began again, "will you go on a date with me?"
Only at the very end did he break into a squeak just a little bit. Harry's heart sank and was afraid to beat for five whole seconds while Hermione considered her answer.
"Yes," she finally said. "Yes, I will go on a date with you, Harry."
A small smile bloomed on her lips, and Harry couldn't help but smile widely in response.
"Yes! She said yes! Yeees!!!"
He wanted to jump up and scream with joy and relief, and then start running around the entire hospital wing, but he successfully curbed this impulse, not wanting to make a complete idiot of himself in front of Hermione.
Right now, Harry felt as if a real mountain the size of Hogwarts had been lifted from his shoulders. He also felt as if he had just single-handedly won the Quidditch Cup and the School Cup combined, only even better! He couldn't stop grinning like bliss and didn't feel an ounce of embarrassment about it.
Hermione had agreed to go on a date with him, so that must have meant that she liked Harry too...!
Only a few minutes later, when the jubilation had subsided a little, he realized that he had not thought through the second part of his plan at all, namely, the date itself... The fact was that he had no idea how exactly it should be done. And when? And where?! And what are they supposed to do there?!
"Oh, God… What have I done?!"
Hermione continued to look at him with a warm expression on her face and pink cheeks, clearly already anticipating that very delightful romantic date that Harry had promised her.
"Oh, damn. Oh, crap. Oh, fuck!" Potter swallowed hard and gave the girl another brittle smile, behind which he tried his best to hide the rapidly rising panic. "I'm so screwed…"
Chapter 20Chapter TextHarry spent the next two days frantically trying to come up with something that could even remotely pass for a tolerable date with the girl, but the only thing he managed to achieve was confidence in his own stupidity and complete lack of imagination.
Each new idea he had was worse than the last, because most of them were unable to develop beyond the standard scenario: give a flower – walk around the castle – reach the secret room on the seventh floor. Then his hormone-fueled adolescent brain would go haywire, and Harry would inevitably slide into the same vulgar scene, in which his and Hermione's clothes mysteriously disappeared, the bed no less mysteriously appeared, and Harry's penis soon found itself buried deep in Hermione's vagina.
It was sweet and – oh! – so desirable, but completely unacceptable, because this time he was determined to go as slowly as possible. They had already had one forced false start, and nothing good had come of it.
He still wanted Hermione madly, so much so that his balls were almost bursting at the seams with sperm, and his dick was ready to explode like a firecracker, but Harry continued to endure, gritting his teeth, and secretly jerking off at every opportunity. The number of masturbations for him now reached a critical eight or nine times a day, and closer to the weekend it approached a dangerous twelve. Every day before breakfast he managed to cum once or twice, and then touched himself almost every break, during lunch, and often instead of dinner. By now, Harry could already call himself a real ace in secret speedy self-satisfaction, but there was little joy in it. This brought only short-term relief, and then everything started all over again... It already seemed to him that he was beginning to understand drug addicts with their all-consuming thirst for a new dose, with the only difference being that Harry's addiction was not to some chemical substance, but to his own member, swollen with desire.
Despite everything, Harry still refused to back down from his previously outlined plan and did not give up on his intention to do the right thing. He was ready to suffer physically and mentally if, in the end, it would lead him to the desired prize – a long, strong and fruitful (in all senses) relationship with the girl who had firmly settled in his head and slowly but surely took up more and more space in his heart.
And now that Hermione had actually agreed to go on a date with him, Potter had no sensible thoughts about it. Just none at all! Nil! Zero!
By Friday morning, in desperation, he was almost ready to ask some of the older boys for advice, who would probably know a few good places for a date at Hogwarts, but most of the older boys were too busy with their end-of-term exams to pay any attention to the problems of the "little ones". The only ones who seemed to be hanging around without any purpose were the Weasley twins, but they were the last ones Harry would ask, even though they knew Hogwarts like the back of their hand. They would probably try to talk him into taking Hermione to some silly or weird place, just to make fun of him.
Surprisingly, the main reason for Harry's own failure turned out to be the rather unexpected... cramped conditions of Hogwarts. Well, of course, the size of the castle itself and the surrounding areas had not changed at all and still included tens of kilometers of magically expanded space... The problem was its numerous inhabitants – students, professors and ghosts scurrying back and forth during the day, as well as hundreds, if not thousands of living armor, gargoyles, mirrors, moving portraits and God knows what else, in abundance inhabiting the corridors and other rooms of the magical school, which had seen more than one generation of witches and wizards within its walls.
Despite its gigantic scale and entire labyrinths of rooms, in reality the ancient magical castle was full as an egg, from the deepest dungeons to the top of the Astronomy Tower, filled with various inhabitants, both animate and inanimate, and all of them, it seemed, were watching your every step, and often even shamelessly commenting on your actions. At least, this is how it began to seem to Potter, when the degree of his despair exceeded all acceptable limits, and paranoia began to gradually displace common sense.
"Christ! Can't a person get a little privacy in this school?!"Harry thought in irritation once again when a noisy group of boys entered the toilet, where he was sitting between classes in search of silence.
He barely had time to pull his hand out of his fly and somehow pack his erect penis, which he had been lazily stroking while thinking, back into his shorts. Although Harry knew that he was definitely not visible through the walls of the cubicle, it would be strange to continue doing what he had just been doing in the presence of other people. The most unpleasant thing was that he still hadn't managed to cum, and it really hurt.
"...ordered a batch of new jokes from Zonko's," was heard from behind the thin partition. "I think I'll buy some more Explosive Burps, if I have any money left."
"Sounds cool! Last time I tried to sneak in a couple of Dungbombs, the bastard Filch busted me! Does he have a nose for contraband or something?"
"Well, you said they were Dungbombs…"
"So you're coming with us this Saturday? We were going to pop over for presents first, and then to the Three Broomsticks."
"I don't know. Mum wrote that she wouldn't give me permission unless I got my Charms grades right this term."
"Damn, bad luck…"
They continued chatting in the same vein (mostly about wizarding jokes and upcoming holidays), unaware that one of the booths was occupied by another student. At this point, Harry couldn't wait to be alone again, but the boys still didn't leave, and he began to involuntarily eavesdrop on their conversation. It soon became clear that they were talking about some Hogsmeade – apparently a real wizarding village with lots of shops, pubs, cafes and the like. Hogsmeade was the only fully magical village on the British Isles, and was also located very close to Hogwarts, so it was considered a favorite place for students to go for walks on weekends.
"Why have I never heard of it before? This is perfect!"
Harry almost ran outside to try and ask the group more about the mysterious Hogsmeade, but before he could do so, one of the boys said something that put an end to all of Harry's plans to have a romantic date with Hermione in the magical village.
"What about your sister? Is she coming too?"
"Sally-Ann? No, she's a second year. Now I'll have to buy presents from her list too, what a drag..."
They began talking enthusiastically about their plans for the coming Christmas, so that Harry soon stopped listening again.
"So only third year or older are allowed into Hogsmeade? Damn it... Although, maybe I could persuade Hermione to go there under the Invisibility Cloak?"
He briefly allowed himself to fall into a fantasy of the two of them sneaking off the school grounds under the cover of his cloak. To do this, they would most likely have to press very close together to keep the material from blowing away and being discovered…
His body responded to this immediately with a heavy pulsation between his legs, but Harry mercilessly suppressed this inappropriate impulse. All his and Hermione's problems had started with breaking the rules! There was no point in adding running away from school to the pile! According to the words of those unknown guys, Hogsmeade was patrolled by professors on weekends, which meant that he and Hermione could easily be found (unless they walked around invisible all the time, which in practice was not nearly as convenient and romantic as it sounded). So Hogsmeade was out of the question… at least for at least another year.
"Damn. No luck here either..."
Harry had to wait for the other students to leave the toilets, and then wait some more time before he could get out himself. This left him galloping to Transfiguration, which was quite a marathon considering the state of his lower half. In the end, he was almost late again, running in after the bell rang, earning reproachful looks from Hermione and several others.
"Where have you been again?" Ron asked him in a hissing whisper as Harry plopped down on the seat next to him, out of breath, and began to hurriedly arrange his writing materials on the desk.
At this, Potter merely shrugged and pointedly opened his textbook, making it clear that he did not wish to answer this question right now. Ron grimaced in irritation, but fell behind, preferring to sulk on his side of the desk. Things had been getting worse and worse between the two of them lately, and it was all because of the secrets surrounding Harry. This time, he couldn't even share his "hard" problem with Ron because: A) he would die of shame; and B) then he would have to tell the rest of the story, including sex and his current extraordinary relationship with Hermione.
McGonagall's arrival had saved Harry from having to make up another lie, but he'd been under the constant glare of his red-haired friend for the entire forty minutes of class, and he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. He knew he'd been a bloody lousy friend lately, but he had no idea how to fix it. There was no way out. He was drowning in his own problems and had no time for anything else. Harry just hoped that something would change for the better before he actually went mad.
* * *
"Hermione! Ah! A-ah! Hermione-a-ah!" Harry screamed hoarsely and squeezed his fist hard on his cock for the last time, after which he came powerfully, already out of habit, pouring his seed into a hastily placed napkin.
As soon as it stopped gushing, the boy threw away the crumpled paper and leaned back tiredly in his chair, closing his eyes. There was already a whole mountain of such napkins lying on the floor next to him. It was Friday evening, which meant that he had been furiously masturbating again in his secret lair on the seventh floor for several hours now, finally surrendering to the mercy of his hypertrophied physical need, which was simply stronger than him.
Harry had lost count of how many times he had come with Hermione's name on his lips in the last twenty-four hours… Was it eight or nine? He really couldn't remember…
He had spent the entire day wandering from classroom to classroom, getting almost nothing out of the lessons because his thoughts were elsewhere, much further south than they should have been. He still had no concrete plans for a date, either, so he simply decided to take a walk with Hermione along the bloody Hogwarts lake, and come what may. She would probably curse him away for a long time after such a dull day, if not forever, but Harry didn't mind. In fact, he was seriously considering avoiding Hermione as much as possible. There was no telling when exactly his abnormal desires would finally get the better of him... Harry had almost no doubt that it would actually happen someday.
Reaching lazily over to the coffee table, he picked up his wand and made all the dirty napkins disappear. There were about twenty minutes left until lights out, but Harry had no desire or energy to go to the boys' dormitory today.
"Nothing bad will happen if I spend the night here, right? The guys won't snitch..."
He was almost certain of this. On the other hand, even if his roommates didn't turn him in to McGonagall, they would probably want to know where Harry had been all this time. His relationship with Ron was already hanging by a thread over the abyss, and the last thing he needed was to fall out with Neville, Dean, and Seamus as well...
"Well done, Potter! Soon you'll be an outcast here too, just like at your old school, only here you'll have a hard time blaming Dudley for your failures," a voice inside him sang sarcastically, and Harry grimaced. He had nothing to say on this.
In the end, it made him reluctantly get up and shuffle towards the exit. Before leaving, Harry had enough common sense to check and tidy up his appearance, which really left much to be desired: a wrinkled shirt, a tie askew, unbuttoned trousers... A little more and he would have walked out of here wagging his naked willy and would have stomped straight to the Gryffindor common room. How fun it would be…
He finally managed to get to the bedroom without incident and ducked under the blankets and canopy without anyone having time to speak to him. The front of his underpants was starting to feel heavy again, and images of Hermione were flickering in his head, each more depraved than the last, but today Harry decided to show willpower and ignore it. Lying on his side, he hugged the pillow tightly with his hands and closed his eyes, ordering himself to sleep. As an additional incentive, he began to mentally list the ingredients for the potions for the first year, among which there were many disgusting things, which could not have come at a better time.
After an hour and a half of such torment, all the time tossing and turning in search of a comfortable position, Harry actually fell into a light doze.
* * *
Streams of wind whipped Harry's hair and the hem of his robes as he raced across the Quidditch pitch on his broomstick, chasing the Golden Snitch.
The wily little ball winked at him with its metal side for the umpteenth time and immediately darted to the side, avoiding his grasp, and then sharply turned downwards. Cursing, Harry sent the broom into a steep dive, rushing after it. Having bent down to the very shaft, he practically spread himself out on top of it and was now falling like a stone towards the ground, focusing his gaze on only one single point in front of him – the shiny winged sphere, which he passionately wanted to take possession of.
The noise of the air around him grew louder and louder. His vision blurred with tears caused by the oncoming wind that threatened to knock him out of the saddle, but Harry refused to give in and only pushed harder.
Just a little more! Just a little more!..
He tore his right hand away from the shaft and extended it forward, preparing to grab the snitch...
"Harry, watch out!" Hermione's frightened cry sounded right next to his ear.
He barely managed to yank his broom to the side, avoiding a deadly blow from a Bludger that appeared out of nowhere. The chase was on again, but this time the target was Potter himself. Weaving back and forth, he tried to shake off the Bludger that was getting closer and closer…
"Harry!" Hermione's voice, distorted by the noise of the surrounding space, sounded for some reason several tones higher and seemed alien. "Harry Potter!"
The wind suddenly increased. The sky was quickly covered with black thunderclouds.
"Harry Potter!"
The first bolt of lightning struck, followed by a second and a third… Harry was desperately darting around the field, trying to avoid them, but it was becoming more and more difficult each time, because the sky finally opened up and heavy rain poured down…
"Harry Potter, sir!"
The streams of water grew stronger, pouring into Harry's glasses, causing him to fly blind. The wind blew furiously into his left ear, its whistle becoming more and more angry and deafening…
"Harry Potter, sir! The great Harry Potter, sir!"
"Why is she calling me like that?" Harry managed to think before the air flow in his left ear became completely unbearable. He shook his head irritably, as if that could shake the persistent wind out of his ear, and...
...woke up in his bed in Gryffindor Tower.
Swallowing through a dry throat, Harry slowly sat up on the mattress and blinked sleepily a couple of times, trying to figure out what exactly had woken him up. Judging by the darkness around him and the peaceful snoring of his roommates, it was still the dead of night.
Harry absentmindedly rubbed his left ear, which for some reason felt cold, as if a strong wind had just blown into it. The vision from his dream had already managed to become hazy, leaving behind only a vague feeling of anxiety… He was still terribly tired and was about to simply turn over to the other side to finish his allotted hours of sleep, when his short-sighted eyes accidentally stumbled upon some movement at the foot of the bed.
"What the...?"
A shiver of fear crawled up the boy's spine as the movement was repeated.
"There's someone there!"
His heart began to pound, instantly sending adrenaline through his veins and knocking the last of his drowsiness out of Harry. He quickly pulled his knees closer to his chest and tried to feel around near the pillow for his glasses and wand.
"Lumos!"
The magical light dimly illuminated the space under the canopy, casting long shadows, and Harry barely restrained himself from swearing in fear.
EYES.
A pair of huge, bulging orange eyes stared straight at him from a wide, misshapen skull, tightly covered in ash-gray skin. Two pig ears jutting out to the sides, a long, thin nose, a narrow, lipless mouth, and a few sparse hairs were located on a round, cauldron-like head that seemed disproportionately large compared to the rest of the creature's frail body. Yellow-gray rags thrown over the stranger's bony shoulders like a dirty toga only intensified the eerie image that made Potter's skin crawl.
"A space alien!" his still sleepy brain blurted out in horror.
If Harry had still lived in Little Whinging and had never heard of any magic, that's exactly what he would have thought, but now he knew very well that it could be something much worse and more terrifying than a space alien. Unsure of what to do, the boy froze, barely breathing, while the grotesque creature, half hidden in the shadows, with unknown intentions, continued to stare back at him with a strange, contradictory expression on its face, as if it was about to cry and at the same time ready to explode from crazy happiness.
"Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter, sir, are finally awake! Bad Dobby woke Harry Potter, sir! Bad, bad Dobby! Dobby is very sorry! Dobby will punish himself for this later! But now Dobby has something very important to tell Harry Potter, sir!"
Having blurted out this in a rapid, squeaky voice, the creature suddenly jumped straight at Harry, who reflexively recoiled, hitting the back of his head painfully on the wooden headboard of his bed.
"Ouch! Dobby?! Is that you?!"
"What the hell?! How did he manage to find me here too?!"
"Harry Potter, sir, is in pain?! Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
And then, to Harry's even greater amazement, the mad house-elf began to pound his head with his tiny fist, wailing so loudly that Potter's roommates began to toss and turn in their beds, grumbling.
"Be quiet! You're going to wake everyone up!" Potter hissed. Forgetting his recent fear, he grabbed the strange thing by the arms and forcibly stopped the self-torture.
"Dobby is sorry! Dobby didn't mean to wake Harry Potter's roommates! Bad Dobby! Dobby won't do it again!" The creature screamed even louder than before.
"Please, shut up!"
Oddly enough, Dobby immediately shut his mouth and nodded rapidly, staring at Harry with eyes shining with tears.
Feeling his head starting to hurt from all this confusion, and not entirely sure he wasn't still dreaming, Potter closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead vigorously under his famous scar. When he opened his eyes again, his recent "space alien" was still there. He was still sitting on top of Harry's blanket, looking at the boy with his orange pool balls, clearly expecting something from him.
It was clear that he wasn't going to leave on his own, so Harry tried to negotiate:
"Please, be as quiet as possible, okay? No, don't answer out loud!" he added quickly as soon as the creature opened his mouth again. "Just nod if you understand and agree."
Dobby nodded.
"Okay. Let's just go down to the common room then... We won't bother anyone there and we can talk. You wanted to talk to me about something, right?"
Another quick nod.
"Alright..."
A few minutes later, Harry and Dobby were sitting in armchairs in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, which at this late hour was long empty. Or rather, Harry was sitting in the armchair, and the house-elf was standing on the carpet in front of him, his ears down, an expression of sincere remorse on his thin face. He kept muttering apologies for "waking Harry Potter, sir" and trying to beat himself up, until Harry finally got tired of it. The boy spent the next five minutes trying to convince the house-elf that everything was all right. He had already realized that dealing with Dobby was going to be quite difficult, but he had definitely not expected his next confession.
"Hold on… What do you mean, you "bewitched the letters, the cake, the barrier and the Bludger"? So that was you the whole time?! Do you even realize that you nearly got me skinned alive by the Dursleys?! And the Bludger! That bloody thing almost killed me!" Harry leapt to his feet in anger, clenching his fists as the extent of the house-elf's manipulations dawned on him.
"Dobby's so sorry! Dobby's so sorry, Harry Potter, sir!.." Dobby squealed and began to bang his head against the fireplace grate so hard that the Gryffindor had to physically restrain him again, otherwise he would have really blown his brains out.
"Ugh… well... I hope you have some good explanation for this, huh?" Harry grumbled as he half forced and half coaxed Dobby to stop hurting himself and finally take the second chair.
"You are right, Harry Potter, sir!" The house-elf's face lit up, and then took on a very serious expression as he exclaimed in a loud, frightened whisper, somehow managing to bulge his eyes even more, "Dobby became aware that Harry Potter, sir, was in terrible danger at Hogwarts this year! Then Dobby thought that if Harry Potter, sir, was upset with his friends, he would not go to Hogwarts, but he still wanted to go, so Dobby had to enchant the cake so that Harry Potter's, sir, relatives would not let him go to Hogwarts, but then Harry Potter, sir, went to the station anyway, and then Dobby decided to enchant the barrier, and..."
"Wait a second. What kind of "terrible danger" are you talking about all time?" Interrupted Harry, who was trying hard to make sense of this stream of consciousness.
So far, all of this sounded like complete nonsense to him. Why did he have to be in danger at Hogwarts? Or at least in more danger than usual. After all, this is Hogwarts! Half the classes here could seriously be called life-threatening!
In response to his direct question, the house-elf's face distorted as if in pain, and he shook his head from side to side with effort, so that his ears flapped comically against his cheeks.
"Dobby's so sorry, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby can't tell! Dobby really, really wants to tell Harry Potter, sir, but he can't! Dobby's masters have forbidden him to tell anyone what's coming! Dobby mustn't say anything! Bad, bad Dobby!.."
At this point the conversation stalled and began to go in circles: whenever Harry asked anything specific about the danger he was in, Dobby would start screaming and trying to hurt himself. It seemed as if he had either not been entirely honest, or, more likely, had actually made an oath to someone that he could not break. Harry had learned a thing or two about magical obligations himself for some time now, and so was not surprised that Dobby could not tell him everything straight.
In the end, he even forgave the house elf for ruining his summer and trying to kill him with a Bludger, because Dobby had acted with the best of intentions, even if not in the best of ways. This was met with another torrent of tears and lamentations from the house elf, this time praising "the great, kind, magnanimous Harry Potter, sir," and a vow to never again try to "save" Harry from "imminent danger" with such harsh methods.
"Please, could you just call me Harry?" Potter asked, wincing at yet another overly long and pompous nickname.
"Of course, Harry, sir! Dobby is happy to serve Harry, sir! Harry, sir, do you need anything? Dobby will do anything to earn the forgiveness of the great Harry, sir!"
"No, Dobby, I don't need..." he stopped mid-sentence when something suddenly clicked in his head. "Look... how did you end up in my bedroom anyway?"
"Dobby disapparated using house-elf magic, Harry, sir."
"I see... So you can come and go freely from Hogwarts grounds without being noticed?"
"If Harry, sir, wishes it."
"Hmm... So, could you get me something if I give you money?"
"Of course, Harry, sir! Dobby will bring you anything you want! And you don't have to pay Dobby! Dobby will do a favor for the good and great wizard Harry, sir, for free!"
It sounded too good to refuse. Of course, he would still give Dobby the money, at least to pay for the shopping, because Harry's conscience wouldn't allow it otherwise. He might not have the vast wealth of that bloody Malfoy, but he wasn't exactly a pauper either. He didn't need to ask Dobby to steal things for him, especially those Harry was going to use to impress Hermione…
The boy glanced at the mantel clock, which now read 4.16 a.m. Saturday. His date with Hermione was scheduled for Sunday…
Harry ran to his bedroom to get some parchment, ink, and a quill, and then began to hastily write out a shopping list, revising it periodically as his idea developed. He had just over a day left for everything – not that much, but with Dobby's magical support and a bit of luck, he was almost sure that he would be able to meet the deadline and not lose face.