Chapter 60Chapter TextIt was a dreadful, dreadful evening, filled entirely with fear, tears, and ceaseless trembling, as well as endless running back and forth.
Following the small column returning to the castle with Madam Pomfrey at its head and the floating stretchers bearing an unconscious Ron, Harry felt about halfway there that whatever had been sustaining him was finally letting go – and in that same instant, he realised just how terribly his muscles and ligaments ached.
His turned ankle, which he hadn't even thought about during the last couple of hours in his agitated state, was burning with fire, so he had to grit his teeth with all his might to keep from screaming aloud each time he was forced to put weight on it again and again. He couldn't believe he had run several kilometres on it through the snow – now it was so swollen it barely fit in his trouser leg, and throbbed mercilessly.
Sweat broke out on his forehead and above his lip as he took another step, shuddering with pain.
"Are you all right?" Hermione looked at him with concern, noticing his paleness and the sweat on his face.
"My leg… It hurts like hell," he forced out through his teeth, beginning to tremble even more.
He felt nauseous from fatigue and the sudden drop in adrenaline, but he didn't want to appear weak, so he continued stubbornly forward. He had no right to complain now, when Ron was far worse off than him. Unlike his friend, he was at least conscious.
"You should have said you weren't feeling well," Hermione scolded him, to which he shook his head negatively.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You're about to collapse!"
"Hey, I can walk perfectly well on my own!.." he tried to protest, but Hermione was already unstoppable.
"Professor McGonagall!" she called to the witch who had gone ahead, who immediately stopped, turning towards them. "Professor, Harry's injured his leg! Please, could you examine him?"
"That's not necessary…" he grumbled, but no one was listening to him anymore.
Letting the other members of the group pass, the three of them huddled together under the beginning snowfall.
"You should have mentioned this earlier, Mr Potter," the Head of House said sternly at last, after confirming he had a ligament tear.
"Well, I was a bit busy worrying about my friend's possible dying," he retorted, and immediately ducked his head, meeting her cold gaze.
"Watch your tongue, young man. You and your friends have already done enough to earn detentions until the end of the year. Don't make me assign you any more punishments."
"I'm sorry, Professor."
Taking pity on his suffering, she conjured a second set of stretchers for him and made him sit on them, accepting no objections, so that Harry "floated" under the castle arches as if he were gravely wounded. Fortunately for Harry, it was already quite late, and everyone was long since in their common rooms, otherwise he would have died of embarrassment.
In silence, they moved to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey first attended to Ron's urgent treatment, and only afterwards – to dosing the rest of the "golden trio" with cold potions. Since it was already quite late, it was decided that Harry and Hermione would also be kept overnight in the ward "as a precautionary measure".
"We will discuss your punishment later, when Mr Weasley has recovered and is able to be present," McGonagall concluded, and Harry and Hermione nodded glumly.
"Yes, ma'am…"
"You two will sleep here tonight. Separately," the professor added sternly, causing both her students to blush deeply and lower their gazes to avoid meeting her eyes.
"Jesus… Did she really have to say that?!"
The Hospital Wing was still full of other patients, and Harry wouldn't have dared to lie in the same bed as Hermione in front of everyone, even if they were given a screen again. Who knew who might want to peek behind it in the middle of the night…
Besides, he wasn't capable of anything that evening anyway, because he was simply dropping from weakness and healing potions. Judging by how widely Hermione was yawning and rubbing her eyes, she too was barely on her feet from exhaustion. As tempting as the thought of cuddling up might be, they simply couldn't afford it now.
After wishing each other goodnight, they wandered to different parts of the ward where still empty beds stood, and both fell asleep almost instantly, overcome by physical tiredness and emotional exhaustion.
* * *
"Potter… can't you go a single day without being brought back here again, can you?" a nasty, drawling, like old gum stuck to a desk, voice bored into Harry's ears, pulling him from his morning daze and forcing his eyelids apart.
"Malfoy…" he rasped resignedly, immediately remembering he was still in the bloody Hospital Wing. "And a good morning to you too…"
Of course, he hadn't magically teleported back to the Gryffindor Tower overnight. And, as luck would have it, he'd blindly chosen a bed right next to his sworn enemy yesterday. Just brilliant!
Licking his dry lips with an equally dry tongue, Harry grimaced, tasting the bitterness from the remnants of yesterday's medicine.
"Just tell me," the pestering Slytherin wouldn't let up, "are you really that unlucky, or is it the only way you can get attention?"
"You tell me," Harry snorted internally, rolling his eyes. "As if you aren't doing everything you can right now to get noticed."
Ignoring the jibe from the conceited little shit, he slowly sat up in bed, stretching and cracking his stiff neck. And why the heck were this thin pillows here always so uncomfortable?..
"Are you deaf, Potty? I'm talking to you!"
"Come up with something better than 'Potty'," Harry yawned widely, swinging his legs onto the stone floor – and immediately hissed at its biting cold.
Quickly locating his abandoned boots under the bed, he grabbed his clothes from the nightstand and padded phlegmatically towards the shower at the end of the ward.
"Hey, where are you going?! I'm not done with you!"
"I'm going for a piss, Malfoy!" Harry snapped. "What, do you want to hold my dick for me?! No? Then fuck off!"
Leaving Draco gawking, stunned by his uncharacteristically crude response, Harry finally reached the necessary room and shut the door with a bang.
"Fucking moron."
Actually, he wasn't even that angry with Malfoy – the boy was a pig-headed, foul-mouthed slug and a minor splinter in his arse since practically day one, but mostly, his insults towards Harry lacked imagination and therefore weren't that hurtful.
Harry just hated the Hospital Wing with all his soul. The mere smell of disinfectant and medical spirits that permeated everything was enough to trigger an avalanche of unpleasant memories and something akin to a panic attack in him.
Not wanting to stay a second longer than necessary, he finished his business as quickly as possible and put his school uniform back on. His underwear was stale, but he could manage such a minor inconvenience. At the Dursleys', he'd once gone several weeks without changing it because Vernon decided it was too expensive to waste water on him. He was finally allowed to wash only when he started to stink really bad and Petunia could no longer bear it…
In short, he could endure perfectly well until he got back to his trunk with clothes.
While undressing for the shower, Harry examined his leg with some trepidation, afraid to see the swelling from yesterday, but it had already healed completely and didn't hurt at all, which was excellent news. It meant he could leave as soon as he was sure Ron was alright.
He probably ought to wait for Hermione, too, so they could go to breakfast together…
Since he didn't have a watch, he had no idea how early Malfoy had woken him. At least, it was still dark enough outside the windows, which meant he hadn't missed breakfast…
Coming out of the shower, he immediately headed for the part of the ward where Hermione should be, and found his friend fast asleep. She was lying on her back, sprawled across the narrow mattress, with her hair tossed to one side and her mouth slightly open, through which a quiet snore escaped.
Greatly regretting that he didn't have a camera with him to capture this and show her later, Harry smiled and quietly withdrew to creep towards Ron's cot, hidden behind a separate screen.
"Hey, mate," Harry whispered, approaching closer.
To his immense relief, Ron looked much better than yesterday – he seemed simply asleep, not suffering in agony. His face was calm, which meant the effects of Skele-Gro had most likely worn off. Remembering his own super-unpleasant experience with that potion, Harry shuddered. He would never want to repeat that for anything, and back then he'd only had one damaged arm, not an entire spine…
Someone had already brought and left Quidditch Through the Ages by Ron's bed, so Harry decided to kill the time by re-reading familiar passages. He hadn't yet received a new training schedule from Wood, but only two days had passed. It wouldn't hurt to brush up on the theory before he was let out on the pitch again… Especially when Ron finally gets better and is cheering him on from the stands.
"We haven't flown together in a long time…"
It would be so cool if they were on the same team! Ron flew quite well, though he didn't have the same innate talent as Harry, and he also had sharp eyes and good reflexes. He'd make an excellent Chaser or Keeper… perhaps not on the first team yet, as Fred, George, Oliver, and the others still had several years left before graduating, and each of them was a superb player, but someday…
Lost in his daydreams, Harry flicked through several pages without really reading the content, which he knew almost by heart anyway.
He glanced again at his sleeping friend, this time remembering how terribly frightened he'd been for him yesterday…
"What had even happened then?"
One second Ron and Hermione were arguing as usual, and then there was that flash – and Ron was simply blown away as if he were a bug.
Whose magic it was – Hermione's, Harry's, or both of theirs – was hard to say. Even harder was to guess what had triggered the "explosion", as this time there was no apparent danger. Ron hadn't even attacked either of them, like the time he'd experimentally cast an Incendio curse at Harry…
In his confusion, Harry habitually scratched the scar on his forehead, as he did every time something greatly puzzled him.
He and Hermione definitely needed to talk about this…
If what happened was also a consequence of the Ritual… they were in big trouble.
* * *
Ten chapters and nearly an hour and a half later, when Harry's backside was starting to seriously ache from sitting on the hard surface and his eyes were watering from reading in the dim light, dawn finally broke outside.
Rays of the morning sun crept from behind the screen, falling on Ron's freckled face, making him grimace and stir restlessly in his bed as he woke.
Noticing this, Harry set his book aside and moved closer to offer him a glass of water.
"How are you feeling?" he asked as soon as Ron had drunk his fill and flopped back against the pillows, wiping his mouth with his hand and sighing deeply. Despite the long night's sleep and a whole bunch of healing potions, he still looked tired and even a bit thinner.
"Like crap."
"Remember anything from yesterday?"
"Wouldn't forget it if I tried," Ron snorted, then winced painfully from his bruised ribs. "So, what the hell was that anyway? Was it what you were on about? Like… a shield?"
"Yeah," Harry dropped his gaze to his hands, suddenly very interested in a torn cuticle. "I'm sorry…"
"Well, it's not like it was your fault," he grinned wryly.
"Hermione didn't…"
"I know," Ron interrupted, shaking his head. After a moment's silence, he asked quietly: "So… you two can't control it, can you?"
"Yep."
"Well… shit."
"Yeah… Tell me about it," Harry winced.
A minute later, however, an ecstatic expression appeared on Ron's face:
"But that was actually bloody brilliant! It was like… she just – bam! – blew me away. I couldn't even blink! Can you do that too?" he looked curiously at Harry, who shrugged.
"No idea. Probably… But I haven't tried."
"Hmm…" Ron looked skeptically, but he didn't press further. Instead, he asked hopefully: "D'you think I'll be able to do it too?"
"Er… probably not."
"You don't know that!" he retorted heatedly, even propping himself up slightly in bed with emotion. "The three of us were there. I might have got something too…"
There was logic in his words… if only Harry didn't know by now exactly what the Ritual was designed for. As much as he hated to disappoint his friend, lying to him and giving him false hope would be a hundred times worse.
"I don't think it works that way," he said at last. "Dumbledore said you were something like… er… 'witness', but everything else is tied only to me and Hermione."
He could see clearly as the hope and excitement on Ron's face slowly faded, and something very much like envy appeared in his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about it.
"Right…" Ron drawled. "Oh. Well."
"You're lucky. Believe me," Harry commented grimly, trying to soften his disappointment somehow.
"Huh?"
"Never mind," he waved it off, realising he couldn't explain anything without exposing himself and Hermione. "Just… be glad you weren't affected."
"Technically, I was affected," Ron nodded towards his lower half, hidden by the blanket and still immobile for now. Madam Pomfrey had said he'd need at least several days to fully recover, and would be bedridden for most of that time.
"Oh. Right," Harry mumbled awkwardly.
He mechanically picked at the spine of Quidditch Through the Ages with his fingernail, wrestling with the latent guilt that Ron would have to suffer for a while longer, stuck fast in the Hospital Wing. Although Harry wasn't technically to blame (it wasn't even his elemental magic that had nearly sent Ron into orbit), it wasn't so easy for him to shake the habit of taking responsibility for everything.
But he also didn't want Ron to start blaming Hermione. She, of course, hadn't wanted anything like that to happen either. She'd just gotten really angry, that was all…
"So, what's it like?" Ron's voice broke the silence a few minutes later, with notes of curiosity.
"What 'what' is like?"
"You and Hermione… together."
"Er… yeah?" Harry asked cautiously, trying to buy time, at which his friend rolled his eyes.
"C'mon, don't be dense! You're the first one in our year to get a girlfriend. What's it like? Have you… er… kissed yet?" Ron even leaned forward slightly, so as not to miss a thing.
"We… Yes. We did."
"Wow," his mouth comically fell open as he looked at the blushing Harry with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "And what was it like?" he asked greedily.
"It was… wonderful," Harry replied, though that was quite an understatement.
Kissing Hermione was one of the most delightful and pleasant activities in his life, and he wouldn't trade it for anything! Well, except perhaps for sex with Hermione… but, fortunately, those two things usually followed one another or happened simultaneously, and he never had to choose.
"Wow…"
"Yeah…" his lips stretched into a wide grin on their own as he recalled all those moments when he and Hermione were alone, kissing senseless.
"You know you look like an idiot right now?" Ron snorted with mockery.
"Oh, piss off."
"Seriously, you should see your face right now! She's really got you bad, hasn't she…"
"Yeah… She has," Harry said slowly, not offended at all because it was true. "I love her."
He smiled blissfully again, thinking of Hermione's taste on his tongue, her soft body in his arms, the scent of her skin and hair tickling his face…
"Ugh… You're so soppy," his friend grimaced. "So, are you two going to be all kissy-kissy and huggy-huggy everywhere now?"
"We'll try very hard not to do it in front of you, if that's what's worrying you," Harry replied sarcastically, causing Ron to roll his eyes again.
"Right. Well, thanks, I guess."
Ron's interest in the whole subject was understandable, as they'd never quite managed to have that talk before the holidays, leaving this unsaid matter to fester for weeks… Though, in truth, Harry didn't quite understand why he should have to explain his relationship with Hermione to Ron at all. It's not as if it changed anything in their friendship, right?
"Unless…"
Stung by an unpleasant suspicion that suddenly struck him, Harry fixed his eyes on his best friend's face again, this time studying him more closely in an attempt to find any signs of displeasure or jealousy.
And no, this wasn't about ordinary friendly jealousy over Harry supposedly choosing Hermione over Ron in their friendship… In this case, he was looking for signs of something entirely different, what was commonly called the "green-eyed monster."
"What if… Ron becomes jealous because he's in love with Hermione too?!"
Until now, Harry had never even considered such a possibility, but if one thought about it properly, it wasn't something entirely improbable.
Hermione was a pretty girl, albeit not in a classical sense of the term, and she was the brightest witch of their year, if not in the entire school, and until recently she had spent roughly equal amounts of time with both of them… It would be perfectly natural if Ron had taken an interest in her as well.
"But they're always arguing so much," Harry reminded himself, trying to calm the nervous agitation inside him with logic. "And besides, it doesn't change anything. Even if Ron is interested in Hermione, it doesn't mean she feels the same way about him. And she said she'd already made her choice. She chose me!"
For a moment, he was overcome by a sharp desire to blurt out right in his friend's face that he and Hermione weren't just dating, but married, so he, Ron Weasley, had absolutely no chance in that field… However, that would be not only foolish and selfish, but also an extremely dangerous move, so Harry clenched his jaw tightly to prevent himself from doing something stupid.
Objectively, he had no reason to be jealous at all. Ron had never before shown any desire to be with Hermione, and she, in turn, had never expressed interest in anyone but Harry.
"What am I even thinking? Hermione and Ron? They can't even stand next to each other for five minutes without bickering over something…"
Although it usually upset him to think that his two closest people were always arguing and he had to play the eternal buffer and peacemaker between them, right now Harry felt a sick sort of joy and relief from this fact. Perhaps this indicated that he wasn't a very good person… Well, to hell with that! At least this way he could be certain that Ron definitely wouldn't try to poach his girlfriend.
This was certainly good news, however… it didn't mean that Harry didn't also need to worry about others.
"Damn."
He swallowed hard as an image of some as-yet-abstract competitors pestering Hermione with offers to date appeared before his eyes. Maybe not right now, but in a year or two, when they all finally grew up and stopped being so thick, and saw what Harry already clearly saw…
He suddenly became so worried about this that even his palms grew sweaty.
"You know…" Ron mumbled, pulling Harry out of his anxious downward spiral just in time to prevent him from sliding to the very bottom of melancholy.
"Huh?"
Ron hesitated, then continued:
"I just wanted to say that if this is what you want, then I'm happy for you, mate," he gave Harry an uncertain smile. "And for Hermione. Clearly, she can be rather dull at times…"
"Hey!"
"…but overall she's alright. For a girl, I mean. Though not super-pretty. Take Lavender, for example…"
"What? Hermione is very pretty!" Harry protested, deeply offended by such a suggestion and therefore not noticing that Ron was just teasing him. "She's gorgeous!"
"Right. And shaggy. And toothy…" he continued to tease, delighted by how Harry's face was turning red.
"Well, thank you very much for such a high assessment, Ronald," a third voice intervened, startling them both with its sudden appearance.
"Shit," Ron cringed awkwardly and turned bright red, only now noticing Hermione standing in the doorway of the screen with her arms crossed. "I… er… I didn't mean…" he stammered, trying to salvage the situation. "I mean… you look fine, Hermione…"
"Leave it," she waved off, approaching closer and conjuring herself a second chair beside Harry's. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. My legs are still a bit numb, though. You really laid me out yesterday," Ron chuckled, pleased that he was forgiven so quickly.
"I'm sorry…"
"It's alright!" he replied lightly. "I know you didn't mean it."
"I'm really, truly sorry, Ron," Hermione repeated sincerely. "When you fell and lost consciousness, I thought… I thought that you were already…" her voice trembled, and to the horror of both boys, two large tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Hey, everything's fine now! It was just an accident! Come on…"
Harry barely had time to open his arms when Hermione threw herself at his neck, crying loudly and choking on tears, as he automatically stroked her head and shoulders, exchanging worried glances with Ron over her back. Both were surprised by such a violent display of emotion from their usually steadfast friend, not quite knowing how to behave in such an unusual situation.
"There, there… Ron's okay…" Harry tried to soothe her, holding her waist and rocking her gently while she continued to soak his shirt collar with tears.
"He… he almost… almost d-died… because of me… I almost ki… almost killed him…"
"But you didn't. You weren't controlling it…"
"B-but he…"
"It's not your fault," Harry stroked her hair again, caressing the nape of her neck through her curls, and softly kissed her temple. "You're not to blame for anything, you hear me? Everything's fine now…"
He noticed Ron staring at them even more wide-eyed at the sight of the kiss, making Harry blush slightly, but he didn't stop hugging Hermione, who was clinging to him so tightly in those moments as if her life depended on it.
She had never before allowed herself to lose control so openly, especially in front of several witnesses, and so Harry was initially at a loss, but soon understood that he didn't need to do anything special except simply be there for her, allowing her to hold on to him and cry to her heart's content.
In the end, her flow of tears couldn't last forever and gradually subsided. Taking a few deep breaths, she gently pulled away first.
"Sorry…" she muttered embarrassedly, sniffling and clearing her throat. "I don't know what came over me…"
"It's alright," Harry gently brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away the remaining salty moisture. "We both understand."
"Yeah," Ron nodded slowly, obviously feeling wildly awkward about the whole situation and his role as the "third wheel", but trying not to show it. "I mean, no one blames you, Hermione."
At these words, she of course immediately burst into tears again. Pushing Harry aside, she rushed to Ron to hug him this time:
"Thank you! Thank you so much!.."
"Er… You're welcome," he woodenly patted her back, staring wide-eyed at Harry with a silent "Help me!" scream.
This was starting to get out of control.
Suppressing a flash of foolish jealousy, Harry hurried to help his friend before he lost consciousness from the pain of Hermione squeezing him too tightly.
"Come here," Harry whispered in her ear, unclasping her hands, which were clamped on Ron's ribs like a vise, and transferring her back to his own neck. "Or you'll suffocate him…"
"Sorry… hic! I didn't… hic!.. mean to…"
"Of course not."
Harry had to borrow the water jug from the bedside table and then make Hermione slowly drink a full glass in small sips until she felt better and her hiccups stopped.
"There now… that's it…"
"Blimey. I'm a complete mess," Hermione sighed loudly and straightened up, finally wiping her face with her palm in annoyance.
"Whoa. What am I hearing?" Ron comically gaped at her. "Did you just swear?"
Hermione just shrugged and took another sip from the glass. Her nose was red and enormous, and her eyelids were swollen, but otherwise she had calmed down sufficiently and, it seemed, had no intention of crying again in the next few minutes.
At least, the boys hoped so.
* * *
"So, what's the plan now?" Ron asked after a while, trying to break the tension.
"Hm?"
"Aren't you two going to do something with this new power?"
When they exchanged bewildered looks, he exclaimed impatiently:
"Just think about it! If someone decides to attack Hermione now, she'll just smear them across the wall. As far as I'm concerned, that's bloody awesome! Malfoy will definitely think twice before messing with her now," he sneered.
"You still think he's behind it all?" Harry scratched the back of his head, uncertain about Ron's favourite theory.
"Who else? All he ever does is go on about 'the greatness of pure-bloods' and how he hates all Mudbloods… no offence, Hermione," Ron said quickly, and she nodded, understanding that he didn't mean to insult her personally. "So… who else could be this Heir, if not Malfoy?"
"I don't know… Someone else from Slytherin?"
"Like who? Goyle? He has the brain of a troll. And Crabbe too."
"What about that guy… Zabini, I think?"
"Could be..." Ron frowned, trying to recall something. "Actually, I heard his mother sent a whole bunch of husbands to their graves. She's a proper dark witch."
"Speaking of witches…" Hermione cut in. "Why did we decide the Heir is a boy?"
"You're saying the Heir's a girl?" Ron snorted. "Yeah, right."
"What? You don't think a girl could be the Heir?" Hermione retorted immediately.
"Well, obviously."
"But that's chauvinistic! For your information, women in magical history…"
"Oh, just don't start lecturing us!.."
"Guys! Guys, stop!" Harry waved his hands in panic. "Have you already forgotten what happened yesterday?"
"Oops…"
They exchanged glances and laughed awkwardly at the same time.
"And by the way, Hermione's right," Harry added.
"Ugh. Now that she's your girlfriend, you're always agreeing with her," Ron grumbled.
"No, just listen! We really didn't consider that possibility. What if the Heir really is a female? Or an older student?"
"In that case, it could be anyone from Slytherin…"
"…or from any other house," Harry finished, but Ron just laughed.
"What? You think the Heir of Slytherin would be in Gryffindor?" he scoffed. "Or go on, say it, Hufflepuff?"
"Um…"
"Harry's right," Hermione interrupted excitedly. "In fact, it's rather brilliant! No one would ever suspect a Hufflepuff…"
They tried to keep their voices down, mindful that the screen wasn't charmed to be soundproof. However, in the heat of discussion they often got carried away, and then someone (usually Hermione) would have to shush the other two, reminding them to keep things discreet.
Building theory after theory, they became so engrossed in their chatter that they completely lost track of time and only came to when Madam Pomfrey began her rounds.
"Why are you two still here?" she asked irritably, meaning Harry and Hermione. "Off you go to breakfast! Your friend needs absolute rest if he's to recover."
"We'll drop by later after lessons," said Harry in farewell to Ron, casting a sympathetic glance as he struggled to swallow the medicinal potions.
"Mm…"
"I'll make you a separate copy of all the lectures and homework and bring your textbooks so you don't fall behind," Hermione promised, to which Ron managed a rather unconvincing smile, full of equally feigned enthusiasm.
"Well, we'd better be off then…"
* * *
Draco's heart was hammering against his ribs with excitement as he suddenly recoiled and tiptoed away from the screen behind which he had been hiding for the past hour, carefully eavesdropping on Potter and his friends. Reaching the bed assigned to him as quickly as possible, he slipped under the covers and pretended to be asleep just as Madam Pomfrey appeared at the ward entrance with her trolley of potions.
It was still quite early, so it was unlikely anyone had seen or heard him… whereas he, on the contrary, had heard everything.
"I knew it! Those three are up to something again!" he thought triumphantly, fighting the urge to rub his hands together and snigger nastily into the empty air.
It was exactly like that time in first year, when Potter had helped that oaf from the forest, Hagrid, whom he still inexplicably associated with, smuggle a contraband dragon… But no one had believed Draco back then, which had been deeply unfair. McCat had even had the nerve to scold and punish him, as though he had been the rule-breaker and not her precious "golden trio"! And he had only wanted justice to prevail…
But this time would be different! This time, they would all see what he was capable of! They would regret not taking his side sooner!
Draco didn't yet know exactly what Potter, Weasley, and Granger were planning, but it was clearly something illegal, otherwise they wouldn't have been whispering about it at night.
Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to catch everything they'd said, since they really had tried to keep their voices down, but he had definitely heard something about a "new power", "danger", and "experiments"… Whatever it was, it sounded suspicious enough to catch his interest and keep him crouched behind the fabric for long minutes, ignoring the drowsiness and ache in his cramped legs.
"That's it, Potter! This time you're definitely going to get caught. I'll find out your secret and tell everyone, and then you'll be sent back to your stupid Muggles, where you should have been long ago!"
He would never admit it, but deep down he still couldn't let go of the anger and resentment over how rudely Potter had rejected his sincere offer of friendship a year ago. No one had ever refused him before. No one! He was a Malfoy, the sole direct heir to one of the most respected, ancient, and wealthy magical families in Europe – and it was not for some half-blood to reject him, even if he was the Boy Who Lived.
So it was entirely Potter's fault for choosing to make Draco his enemy. Worse still, as if in mockery, he kept choosing the friendship of all sorts of freaks – a blood traitor, a Mudblood, a near-Squib, a half-giant… It seemed there was no one who couldn't become Harry's friend… except Slytherins like Draco.
Such snobbery was unforgivable, and Potter most certainly deserved to be taught a lesson.
"I'll expose you yet – you'll see, Potter! You'll dance to my tune! You'll regret!" he vowed silently, curling his lip in scorn at his pitiful arch-enemy, whom he fully intended to crush along with his hangers-on.
Just imagine, those three Gryffindor idiots had been so narrow-minded as to seriously consider Draco's involvement in the attacks!
Well, yes, he did rather enjoy casting shadows and scaring foolish Mudbloods just to knock them down a peg. After all, how dared they walk about with their noses in the air in his presence?! And he certainly wouldn't have objected if there were a few fewer of them in his school… However, much to his great disappointment, he was not the Heir of Slytherin.
Over the thousand-year history of his family, the Malfoys had crossed paths with the Slytherins several times, and later with their descendants, the Gaunts, yet none of those unions had ever produced any offspring – anyone even vaguely familiar with the history and genealogy of Britain's magical families knew that.
Not to mention that whoever was behind the attacks at Hogwarts clearly wielded magic far beyond the abilities of any second-year student.
It was all so obvious to anyone capable of thought that Draco couldn't help but laugh every time some gullible fool flinched away from him in the corridor, hurrying to give way to the "Heir".
All the more amusing, then, to see Granger – whom some biased teachers actually held up as an example – seriously trying to find evidence against him. She and that moron Weasley, clinging to Potter like a leech since the train… Both of them were just unworthy of his friendship, which they wouldn't even have been able to appreciate properly. It was a pity Potter didn't see that, preferring to waste his time on their nonsense.
"Such sheep-like stupidity! Clearly the mark of a dim Muggle and an uneducated pauper…"
Potter himself, however, didn't seem quite so certain of Draco's guilt or that of the other Slytherins, which was… unexpected, to be honest. Usually he was first in line to pin any wrongdoing on the serpent house.
Even so, Draco had no intention of abandoning his cunning plan to "uncover all of Potter's filthy little secrets and crush him with them, making him regret everything".
He would simply have to find another opportunity to follow the Gryffindors without being seen. Perhaps if he could learn where they usually discussed their schemes and sneak in unnoticed…
"Good morning, Mr Malfoy," said the school matron, appearing beside his bed and interrupting his thoughts. "I know you've been awake for quite some time, young man, so you may open your eyes. As far as I can tell, you're fully recovered. Here… drink these potions, and you may be on your way."
Still deep in thought, Draco downed the offered draughts in one go and immediately headed for the common room so he could shower and change before breakfast. He knew Potter and the Mudblood would be there too, which meant he could begin his surveillance at once.
As he made his way towards the dungeons, he kept running through possible approaches in his head, but everything came back to the same problem: as a Slytherin, he would never be able to get close to them unnoticed.
"First I need a reliable plan," he finally concluded somewhere halfway to the Great Hall.
If only he could involve someone else in devising it…
Glancing sideways at Crabbe and Goyle, who trailed along on either side of him like loyal hounds, Draco sighed heavily, already knowing it wouldn't be easy. The two of them were dependable muscle, ready to do anything to protect him, but nothing more. Much as he disliked admitting it, when it came to magic and intellectual matters, they were even more hopeless than that pitiful buffoon Lockhart.
There were, of course, Pansy, Millicent, and the other girls, but Draco knew from experience that they would simply start endlessly discussing Granger, comparing her looks to their own, and clucking about what Potter could possibly see in her… Not that Draco entirely disagreed, but it wasn't what he needed right now.
As for his other two classmates – Nott and Zabini – he wasn't close enough to either of them to share something like this, let alone older students or first-year brats… So, by all appearances, he was completely on his own this time.
"Fine. I'll work it out myself. Then all the credit for catching Potter will be mine as well!"
With that decided, he fixed a look of disdain upon his face and lifted his chin, stepping beneath the vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall as befitted a pure-blood heir.
Striding proudly to the Slytherin table, he nudged aside the first-years who shrank back from his path and took a seat with the best possible view of the Gryffindor section, fixing his gaze on the "golden boy" and his girlfriend.
If Potter had decided to embark on something dangerous and rule-breaking that might get him expelled, Draco would be the first to know about it – mark his words!
Chapter 61Chapter TextThe unpleasant churning in her stomach and the sudden wave of nausea was what woke her in the middle of the night, causing her to leap from the mattress in a half-asleep state and bolt from the shared bedroom, hurrying towards the lavatories.
She barely made it to the toilet in time before she was violently sick, bringing up the remains of everything she'd eaten for dinner the previous evening. And just as the first spasm subsided, a second, even more unpleasant and prolonged one began…
This continued for at least five minutes, until there was absolutely nothing left in her stomach, not even bile, and Hermione sank to the floor, resting her forehead against the toilet rim, letting out a weary sigh and closing her eyes. Unshed tears burned beneath her eyelids, but right now she didn't even have the strength to cry. She also couldn't care less how many germs she might collect with her face – she was too exhausted and distracted to worry about that as well.
For the eighth night in a row, she had to jump up like this, in the dead of night, and rush somewhere to completely empty the contents of her stomach. To some extent, she had even begun to get used to this new routine… if one could get used to such a thing at all.
When it first happened to her, she panicked, not understanding anything in her sleepy state, and was sick all over the bed and part of the floor. The only thing that saved her from breaking down in hysterics right there was the fear of waking her roommates, who would certainly ask what was happening to her, but Hermione had nothing to answer to that. She simply had no choice but to pull herself together and clean up the mess before anyone noticed.
"Morning sickness," she realised this almost immediately, although she had never experienced anything like it before. It would have been easy to confuse it with a stomach flu or food poisoning, if only she didn't know for certain that the reason was something else…
It wasn't surprising. Almost a month had passed since she and Harry had "succeeded", so to speak, and morning sickness in the fourth week was quite normal, albeit disgustingly unpleasant.
It seemed every day for her now was doomed to begin like this – with a visit to the "porcelain throne", after which she immediately went to the shower and soaked there for about forty minutes, simultaneously brushing her teeth three times to get rid of the foul taste in her mouth. Only when her skin was completely wrinkled and literally squeaking with cleanliness did she emerge from the cubicle and dry herself with a soft towel. Finally, she would sit before the mirror and painstakingly tame her unruly hair, spending a ridiculously long time on this task, because she had nothing else to do – she couldn't get back to sleep anyway, and sitting and reading in the common room every day, waiting for dawn, was too dreary and lonely even for her.
In the end, she would still go downstairs closer to breakfast and spend another hour mindlessly flipping through pages, because her thoughts were wandering somewhere entirely different from usual.
Sometimes she caught herself looking at her fabric-concealed stomach or even touching it, only to immediately pull her hand back, glancing around nervously to check if someone was there who might have noticed her gesture.
A couple of times she ran into Harry, who for some reason also couldn't sleep, and then they would spend time together, embracing by the fireplace, exchanging a little kiss or two, but all within the bounds of decency. In the Gryffindor common room, they couldn't risk being caught doing anything more adult than innocent pecks on the cheek. Things like French kisses had to be left in the past, not to mention anything more…
All this, in addition to her permanent stomach upset, put Hermione in a state of extreme despondency and slowly simmering internal anger, making it increasingly difficult for her to mask her difficult temperament behind politeness and good breeding. But she had her reasons!
She couldn't sleep properly anymore because she felt nauseous. She couldn't eat most of the usual food because it made her feel nauseous. She couldn't concentrate in lessons because she felt bloody nauseous every bloody minute!
Most of the time, she either wanted to curl up in some corner far away, or to smash everything around her, because someone or something had angered her so much that she could barely contain herself.
She missed the quiet of the holidays. And her home. And her mother and father, whom she hadn't written to once since returning to Hogwarts, because she was too afraid of getting a Muggle equivalent of a Howler in reply. She even managed to miss Harry, though she saw him daily.
Classes and homework, which at first had been like a breath of fresh air for her because, at the very least, they allowed distraction from constant thoughts about pregnancy, also began to strain her. They took too much time, and in addition, Harry had resumed his Quidditch training, where he now disappeared three to five evenings a week. Sometimes they would meet, if at all, during lessons or shared meals, and Hermione desperately missed him.
She had never even suspected that she would miss the opportunity to touch another person or simply spend time alone with them so much, without the presence of dozens of other people.
She didn't know that she loved cuddling and kissing so much…
More than once or twice, Hermione caught herself unable to concentrate even on such mundane things as reading a textbook, because instead she was constantly thinking how wonderful it would be to be in Harry's arms again, or to go on another picnic together, or simply to spend a little time alone, even in silence, but just the two of them, without anyone else around…
Why, just why were the rules at Hogwarts so strict?! Why couldn't two people in love just hug each other openly? It didn't necessarily mean they were doing anything else…
"Especially since we're not doing anything like that anyway," Hermione thought gloomily, pressing the flush and watching as her vomit disappeared into the bowels of the drainage system.
Taking off her pyjamas, she turned on the shower and stood under its streams, immediately making the water warmer.
Waiting until her hair was completely wet, she took the shampoo tube and squeezed out a little, then began to slowly rub it into the roots of her hair, massaging her scalp.
She suddenly felt so small and lonely…
Tears began to roll from her eyes on their own, and Hermione didn't fight them, knowing from experience that it wouldn't help anyway. She allowed herself to cry silently amidst the hot water and steam for some time, until it passed as suddenly as it had begun.
This was happening to her quite often now. Any little thing was enough to make her sob, or feel touched, or get angry, and so on. In one moment she could think about the argument with her parents and fall into despondency, then think about Harry's parents, who were dead, feel sharp pity for him and cry, and a moment later remember that Harry, at least, had her and Ron, who always knew how to make them both laugh – and there she was, laughing at some joke he'd told a couple of days ago… And all this in the span of about three to four minutes.
Rationally, she realised that she must look like a mental person from the outside, but she still couldn't do anything about it. Frequent mood swings as a consequence of hormonal changes were another thing she would obviously have to come to terms with now. All she could do was hold herself back with all her might not to curse some next unfortunate fool, whose only "fault" was that he or she happened to be in the way of her hot temper.
These days, Malfoy with his gorillas particularly tested her nerves. The slick Slytherin seemed to have made it his life's mission to pursue her, Harry, and Ron everywhere they went, making caustic comments about Harry's orphanhood, Ron's parents' poverty, and her, Hermione's "hideous", "pathetic", "offensive-to-the-senses", and so on appearance.
And, strangely enough, if before such childish insults didn't particularly bother her (what else could you expect from a dim-witted idiot?), now she would start to cry literally every damn time Malfoy opened his mouth.
It infuriated her.
She was not so upset that she should be crying, with snot running down her face! So why the hell couldn't she stop it?!
In her anger and frustration, Hermione turned the tap too sharply – and immediately hissed, eflexively jerking aside when boiling water poured onto her.
"Damn Malfoy," she muttered, readjusting the water flow to an acceptable temperature.
Although, in reality, the problem was, of course, not Malfoy, but her damn hormones, which she was unable to control. She was just constantly on edge now, which resembled her state immediately after the Ritual, but not quite. Because then she simply constantly wanted sex… Now she wanted to kill someone. And sex, probably too. Somewhere between destroying a tub of ice cream and crying to "Gone with the Wind".
In short, Hermione realised that she just hated being pregnant. This child hadn't even developed properly yet, but was already so strongly influencing her mood, behaviour, and life in general!
Her palm moved below her navel and pressed there.
"You're a little shit, you know that?" she whispered, still half-angry but more just tired of these constant mood swings, to which she seemed to have no connection. It was as if someone had climbed into her brain and started controlling her body and reactions regardless of her own personality and character.
Wanting to relax a bit and knowing one sure way to do so, Hermione moved her fingers lower, bypassing the sparse growth on her pubic mound and parted the folds of her vagina to rub her clit. Spreading her legs wider, she closed her eyes and leaned her left hand against the wall, while with her right she began to slowly stroke herself lower down, remembering the last time she and Harry had had sex.
It seemed so long ago…
Since Ron had nearly died accidentally because of her, neither she nor Harry were in the mood to seek further adventures, and so they spent most of their time after lessons in the common room, which means no more nocturnal wanderings around the school and the seventh floor, of course.
Sighing, Hermione tried to concentrate on Harry's face, on his sweet lips and skillful tongue… She licked her lips, tasting the water and imagining it was Harry's saliva that had gotten into her mouth during a kiss…
She quickened the movement of her hand as soon as warm lubrication began to gather between her legs, and then slowly inserted one finger into herself, thinking of Harry's cock…
"Ah-h…" she whimpered quietly, then silently breathed out his name, his imaginary double to fuck her harder.
She thought about how he held her tightly by the waist, not letting her move, and confidently took her from behind, then slapped her arse…
"O-oh!" Hermione immediately bit her lip, trying to hold back further moans, but didn't stop masturbating. On the contrary, she added another finger and thrust harder, lifting her leg to provide better access.
She desperately missed being able to stimulate her clit simultaneously, but she simply couldn't use her second hand due to the risk of slipping and cracking her head on the tiles. All she could do was hope for her fantasy and memories of how Harry had fucked her in similar circumstances in the Room of Requirement…
In the end, unable to bear it any longer, she removed her palm from the wall and ran her fingers over her nipples, immediately groaning dully again at how sensitive they were. They were swollen and almost painful, standing out like peaks… Hermione imagined Harry taking them one by one into his mouth… how he licked, bit, and sucked them…
Her right hand worked at triple speed, rapidly bringing her to orgasm, while the sound of the water drowned out her increasingly uninhibited moans.
"Oh, Harry… oh, god… just like that… please… please, Harry… oh, HARRY!" shoving her fingers into herself as deep as she could, Hermione cried out and trembled violently, coming.
Her hips thrust forward on their own, impaling her more tightly as she experienced wave after wave for several sweet seconds.
"Harry…"
She slowly slid down the wall, letting the warm water wash away her sweat and juices, while her cunt continued to pulse around her fingers in residual pleasure…
"Ugh," Hermione winced at the brief flash of pain when she finally removed her hand.
Her breathing was still heavy, and her face was red and pulsing, and now that she had reached her peak, she felt empty and hollow inside. However pleasant masturbation might be, it was still nothing like being with Harry.
This made her want to cry again, but it was so silly – weeping in the shower twice in a row like some melodramatic type, that this thought alone was enough to make her restrain herself this time. Instead, she carefully washed between her legs, removing the remnants of her fluids, and then applied conditioner to her hair, after which she stood like that for a while longer, letting the firm jets of water lash her body until it was red, and she felt she'd had enough.
Still sufficiently relaxed and satisfied, she completed her morning routine as usual and quietly crept back into the bedroom.
The sun outside was already quite high, but her roommates were still sleeping peacefully, happy in their ignorance and carefreeness. Looking at their calm faces, Hermione couldn't shake the oppressive feeling of dull envy and even involuntary irritation. From the vantage point of her current experience, all their so-called "problems", including first love, emerging spots, and ill-fitting uniforms, now seemed so childish and shallow…
Sometimes – very rarely – she really wished she had close female friends with whom she could share her female problems. However close she and Harry were now, there were still things she simply couldn't tell him – not because she thought he wouldn't support her… Harry was the most supportive person she knew… but he was still a boy. He simply couldn't understand her sufficiently in the way another girl could.
But how could she tell any of her female classmates about herself anyway? Which of them would even be able to comprehend what she was going through? All these little girls who tried so hard to portray themselves as grown women would simply be shocked and horrified if they learned about her situation. They would probably stare at her as if she were some kind of circus freak, and perhaps even judge her…
The thought of going to her Head of House or to Madam Pomfrey for advice did cross her mind from time to time, but she knew all too well how it would end. The matron would simply examine her again and, finding nothing wrong, advise her to get more rest and spend more time in the fresh air, as if Hermione didn't already know that herself.
As for Professor McGonagall, whom she genuinely respected and even, in some ways, looked up to as a role model, she still found it difficult to imagine opening up to her. Comfort and warm words simply weren't the woman's strong suit – something Hermione had learned the previous year after the troll incident.
"I'm glad to see you're all right, Miss Granger," was all she had received when the professor came to the Hospital Wing later to enquire after her following her near brush with death.
She was all alone in the vast castle – without her family, without her mother or any other female company she could rely on, and she felt incredibly, terribly lonely.
Swallowing the hard lump that had formed in her throat, Hermione hastily donned her school uniform, grabbed her bag, and ran out of the bedroom, trying to think about something positive rather than what her life had become.
* * *
Despite the brief "lyrical digression" in the shower, Hermione was still amongst the first to descend for breakfast.
Ignoring the fatty bacon, sausages, and cheese-baked mushrooms – things she had, until quite recently, devoured with remarkable greed – and trying not even to glance towards the smoked fish, the mere smell of which now turned her stomach inside out, she instead reached for dry toast, lean porridge, and bananas, which irritated her stomach far less.
If people around her suddenly decided she was on a diet now, so be it. Anything was better than being sick all over the table… Though, after this, she would have to go hungry until lunch or even dinner, and then binge again at night, taking advantage of the fact that her insides would have calmed down a bit by then, but there was nothing more she could do about that either.
A few sharp retorts to Lavender and Parvati were enough to cool their ardour and stop them from commenting on her strange eating habits, although Hermione had no doubt that they now gossiped about her twice as often behind her back…
"Have you heard the news?" Ron plopped down unceremoniously to her right, intruding on her thoughts and nearly knocking over her bowl of porridge with his elbow, whilst Harry sat calmly on her left.
"News?"
"They're opening a Duelling Club!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Isn't that brilliant?!"
Hermione's eyebrows shot up to her hairline: "I haven't heard anything about that."
"Didn't you see the notice in the common room?" Harry asked in surprise, pulling a tray with smoked ham and omelette towards him. Hermione winced and quickly turned away, not wanting to tempt fate.
"I must have left earlier…"
"Couldn't sleep again?" he asked sympathetically in a lowered voice, to which she nodded silently, not going into detail. "Perhaps you should ask Madam Pomfrey for a potion…"
"It's just temporary insomnia. It'll pass soon," Hermione replied curtly, and Harry didn't press the matter. These days, he generally tried not to provoke her over trifles, often somehow miraculously anticipating her mood changes even before she did.
"…so they're going to replace the last two lessons today for it," Ron continued, ignoring their quiet exchange, whilst actively chewing and swallowing, which made his speech somewhat muffled. "I'm going. Are you? They say anyone can take part."
"I'll go," Harry said. "It would be good if we were finally taught to defend ourselves properly."
"Me too," Dean chimed in, and Seamus besides him nodded. "What about you, Neville? Are you going?"
"I… I don't know," he replied quietly, blushing and lowering his eyes. "I mean… isn't it optional?"
"What does it matter if it's optional or not?" the black boy rolled his eyes. "The point is, they'll teach us how to fight! I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm seriously fed up with constantly being afraid of that Heir of Slytherin or whatever he's called."
"And other Slytherins… They're evil," added a first-year quietly, and several people nearby murmured in agreement.
"Oh, come on, no one's afraid of those slimeballs," Ron snorted with his mouth full, causing several bits of food to land in neighbouring plates, making their owners exclaim in disgust.
"In any case, it will be good to learn how to duel," Harry concluded.
"Not that you two really need it," Ron grinned, nodding towards him and Hermione. "You're now…"
He broke off, biting his tongue, as Hermione forcefully stamped on his foot under the table, stopping him from stupidly blurting out their secret to half of Gryffindor.
"I agree with Harry," she declared to draw attention to herself. "Extra defence can never hurt, so I'll go too."
She chose to ignore Harry's concerned glance in her direction, knowing perfectly well what he was thinking at that moment. It immediately infuriated her, making her want to shout at him and say that she was bloody pregnant, not ill!
"Great! So we can all skive off DADA…" Ron grinned broadly, his mouth full of roast chicken.
"…and not even lose anything for it," Harry finished for him, with which Hermione mentally agreed.
Their so-called "professor" Lockhart was an absolute no-talent and no-brain, and she couldn't wait for the end of the year for him to finally be replaced by a proper teacher. Or, at least, she hoped he would be replaced… It was terrifying to think what would happen if he continued to hold this position for all subsequent years. In that case, she would probably have to create a separate self-study programme for Defence Against the Dark Arts for herself and the boys, otherwise they would never pass their OWLs and NEWTs with this level of education.
Smearing the unappetising, gelatinous porridge around her plate, she continued to half-listen to Ron, Harry, and the others' speculations about the Duelling Club, until it was time to get up from the table and go to History of Magic, which was their first lesson of the day.
In addition, their schedule included Charms, double Transfiguration, and double Potions. The latter, by the way, was going quite peacefully these days. Rumour had it that after the last incident, Snape was in such a rage that for the first time ever, he personally punished his Slytherins – so severely that they now really tried to keep a low profile. This, of course, didn't stop bastards like Malfoy from behaving disgustingly in the corridors, but even he tried to restrain his vile habits during lessons.
Moving along with the general stream of Gryffindors from classroom to classroom, Hermione tried to pay no mind to the Slytherin half of the class, which on this day was accompanying them literally everywhere, except for Professor Flitwick's lesson (where she earned a generous twenty points for a perfect answer and his personal enthusiastic praise, which slightly lifted her spirits in contrast to the rotten morning).
"Hey, Potter! I heard there's something interesting happening after lessons today. If you're not afraid, I mean…" Malfoy drawled slyly and suggestively from his side of the classroom, as Potions drew to a close and Snape left the room, leaving them to tidy up on their own.
"If you're talking about the Duelling Club, Malfoy, then he's going to be there!" Ron declared aggressively before Harry could answer for himself. "In fact, we're all going. Unlike you, who'll probably chicken out again, just like last year."
"How dare you!" the Slytherin turned beet-red at his insinuation, which looked rather hilarious with his whitish-blond hair.
"Oh, what's the matter? Are you going to challenge me to a duel now?" Ron pretended to be shocked to the core, placing a hand over his heart and drawing laughter from the Gryffindors. Even Hermione smiled, unable to keep a straight face at the sight of Malfoy's absolutely comical rage. "Or wait, I forgot, you're afraid of duels…"
"I'm not afraid of anything, Weasley! Especially pathetic people like you!"
"Right, right, don't you worry. If it gets too scary, you can always call your daddy to fight for you."
"You'll pay for this!"
"I can't wait…"
Bickering, they made their way to the Great Hall, which was to be temporarily transformed into the Duelling Club's classroom. For this purpose, the tables had been cleared away, and a long stone dais had been set up in the centre.
They were all in a state of great excitement, including Hermione, who felt an acute need to let off steam even more than the others, which is why they let out a collective sigh of disappointment upon seeing none other than Lockhart in the doorway.
"Greetings, my dears! Greetings! Come on inside, and we'll begin shortly! Oh, I'm so excited! So excited indeed! Oh, this is going to be wonderful!" he said all in one breath with a wide movie-star smile, spreading his arms just like Professor Dumbledore at the welcome feast, except in Dumbledore's case it looked majestic, whereas with him it was just a failed parody.
"Bloody hell!" Ron swore under his breath. "If I'd known this windbag was going to be here, I wouldn't have come."
"We can still leave, can't we?" someone asked hopefully, but no one answered.
Despite the initial disappointment, no one was in a hurry to disperse. Lockhart or not, they were all too excited by the idea of the Duelling Club and hoped to see something interesting anyway.
Most of the second-year students from all four houses were present, as for some reasons it had been decided to start the sessions with them. A separate motley group of Lockhart's "fandom" (significantly thinned out since the start of the year but still active) was also here, having come more out of a desire to gaze upon their idol than out of interest in duelling.
Beside himself with enthusiasm, making him very much resemble an overexcited golden retriever, Lockhart nimbly jumped onto the dais, elegantly swirling the hem of his lavender robes as he did so, which drew admiring sighs from some of the girls (and even a couple of boys).
"So, let's begin!" he clapped his hands, smiling brightly again. "But first, allow me to introduce you to…"
As if on command, at these words the doors of the Great Hall flew open with a bang, and in stepped the thin, black-clad figure of Professor Snape.
"You've got to be kidding me…" Ron groaned, as Snape, in his characteristic impetuous manner, flew through the crowd of students, who parted fearfully before him.
Without saying a word and without making more of a show of his entrance than there already was, the Potions Master mounted the dais by the stairs and took up a position opposite his colleague.
"Our dear Professor Snape has kindly agreed to act as my assistant today," Lockhart explained cheerfully, to which "dear Professor Snape" grimaced in pure disgust. "So let's give him a proper welcome, shall we?"
In response, a few students from Slytherin clapped listlessly, glancing uncertainly at their dour Head of House, who stood with his arms crossed with an expression as if he had been dragged here by force or through some dirty blackmail. Perhaps some of that was actually true.
"Is it just me, or is someone going to die today?" Seamus whispered ominously, only half-joking, though those around him still giggled, watching as one of their professors, dour and hook-nosed, shot downright murderous glances at the other, unsuspecting, blond blockhead.
After giving them a very short introductory lecture on the history and rules of magical duelling, Lockhart assumed a classic duelling stance, clearly intending to demonstrate everything himself.
Snape remained motionless and didn't even twitch an eyebrow, as if it had nothing to do with him.
"Oh, this should be interesting," Dean snorted, while Neville shifted anxiously from foot to foot, already terrified beyond belief by the mere presence of the Dungeon Horror in the same room as him.
"Well, let's not delay!" Lockhart raised his wand higher. "Professor Snape, if you please…"
"Expelliarmus!" Snape barked without any warning, drawing his own wand from his sleeve and swishing it so quickly and imperceptibly that no one even had time to blink.
The force of his magic was such that it instantly knocked the other man off his feet, slamming him against the hard dais with a sickening thud.
"Did he kill him?!" someone exclaimed loudly, in utter shock.
Hermione's heart beat fast and hard with fear as an image of Ron, flying through the air in exactly the same way and hitting the snow, flashed before her eyes.
Most of those present in the hall gasped, moving closer, while some, on the contrary, recoiled, instinctively trying to stay away from the epicentre of the fight.
"Whoa!" Harry breathed involuntarily.
"Well… that was quick," Ron muttered, equally stunned, as Snape had just gone and smeared Lockhart all over the floor, quite literally.
Snape, meanwhile, calmly strode forward to his vanquished opponent, who was still showing no signs of life. Pointing his wand at him, he casually threw out:
"Enervate!"
"Ughhh-rrrh..." a loud rasping sound escaped Lockhart's chest as he jerked and sat up, prompting another collective sigh of relief (and partly disappointment) from the rest of the audience.
A little battered and quite seriously humiliated, but otherwise whole, the Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts rose to his feet, dusting himself off. He looked dazed and far less confident than at the beginning. Receiving his wand back from the indifferent Snape, he thought it best to step aside and let the students practice themselves.
Clearing his throat, Lockhart said with slightly diminished enthusiasm:
"Now that we've covered the basics, let's welcome our first candidates. Mr Zabini and… Mr Smith, perhaps? To the dais, young men…"
The two boys stood opposite each other and, at the command, bowed to one another, then took up their duelling stances. Zabini, in doing so, managed it much more naturally, as if such a thing was not new to him. The Slytherin looked bored and indifferent, just like his Head of House before, whilst his Hufflepuff opponent nervously gripped his wand.
"Begin!" Lockhart commanded, and the two second-years began taking turns firing all the combat spells they knew at each other.
It was reminiscent of Harry and Ron's joke duel and was, for the most part, harmless. Besides, a magical barrier had been erected around the dais to absorb any attacks, so that curses could not hit the spectators.
Unlike the professors' short but brutal duel, the fight between the second-years was far less tense and spectacular, and it ended when Zabini finally managed to hit Smith with the Leg-Locker Curse, thus sending him to the floor and causing him to drop his wand.
"Very good, Mr Zabini! Five points to Slytherin!" Lockhart exclaimed. "You may return to your friends. Now, Miss Brown and Miss Turpin. To the barrier…"
He called them out by surname one by one, always pairing students from different houses as opponents, which was not very pedagogical, but it did manage to maintain a certain heat and rivalry between the duelists. Most bouts lasted no more than two or three minutes, so they progressed dynamically, and very soon it was Hermione's turn.
As her opponent, she got Millicent Bulstrode – a stout and powerful-build Slytherin with a heavy jaw and a perpetually sullen expression on her pumpkin-round face. Heaving herself onto the dais, she sized Hermione up from under her brows, as if trying to decide which curse would be best to knock her head off… Just in case, Hermione tightened her grip on her wand, preparing for anything.
"Remember the rules of fair play, young ladies," Lockhart coached them with his trademark smirk permanently glued to his face. "Begin on the count of three. One, two… three!"
"Incendio!"
"Aguamenti!"
Hesitating for only a fraction of a second, Hermione nevertheless successfully extinguished the fire shot towards her with her own water spell, and then counter-attacked, using Lumos Maxima and momentarily blinding Bulstrode. However, the latter quickly oriented herself and fired back a Silencio, which Hermione simply dodged.
Moving back and forth and a little left and right, as the width of the platform allowed, she let her less mobile opponent fire beams of magic at her one after another, whilst she herself tried to probe for her weak spot. It seemed that almost no "harmless" magic worked on the Slytherin long enough to allow Hermione to win.
Finally, deciding to use her imagination, she attacked Bulstrode with the Tickling Charm – and it actually worked. Although not technically considered a combat spell, it successfully neutralised the Slytherin, causing her to double over with uncontrollable laughter and thereby opening her up for the final attack.
"Expelliarmus!" Hermione shouted – and the next moment she was holding the other's wand in her hand.
"Very, very good! Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger!" Lockhart praised, as Snape removed the spell from his hysterically laughing student.
"Well done, Hermione!" several of her classmates greeted her, pleased that she hadn't shamed the house.
Ron gave her two thumbs up, and Harry, in a fit of emotion, even gave her a brief hug, ignoring those around them, which caused a flush to appear on Hermione's face and a warm, tingling feeling under her ribs.
"I was worried about you," he admitted in her ear, hugging her tightly and sounding genuinely agitated.
Hermione's arms automatically hugged him back, and her nose buried itself in his collar, inhaling his familiar scent, which she had missed so much.
"You shouldn't have…"
"Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy!" Lockhart shouted at that moment, reminding them of his existence. "Your turn, young men…"
Hermione reluctantly let Harry out of her embrace and gave him a short, encouraging smile.
"Good luck!" she wished, and then, giving in to impulse, gave Harry a quick peck on the lips amidst the gasps and giggles of those around them.
"Thanks," Harry was now just as flustered and red as she was as he made his way to the dais, but he also looked very pleased and full of confidence from her small but so obvious gesture of support.
* * *
Amid scattered laughter and whistles from those around him, which, however, immediately stopped as soon as Snape glared at the merrymakers, Harry climbed the stairs and stood opposite Malfoy, who was already waiting for him there.
"Ah, that's very sweet, Mr Potter, to get support from your lady love before the battle!" Lockhart commented with a sigh and even patted him on the shoulder, as if they were best friends, which caused Harry obvious discomfort and awkwardness. "Well then, let's get started," the man put on an exaggeratedly serious face and turned to both boys: "Remember that we are all expecting a fair fight from you!"
Harry nodded, whilst Malfoy gave a crooked smirk, clearly not inclined towards any kind of fairness in principle. Snape, standing behind the Slytherin, said something to him in conclusion, after which he stepped aside, folding his arms across his chest.
"Aaaaand… begin!" Lockhart waved his hand, imitating a referee in a boxing ring.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry didn't bother with anything clever, sending the disarming spell towards Draco, which the latter dodged with little difficulty.
In response, the Slytherin twirled a spiral in the air, then jabbed the tip of his wand towards Harry and shouted:
"Serpensortia!"
A pale-green flash illuminated the Great Hall and the faces of those gathered – and instantly, out of nowhere, a huge black-green viper, half-woven from light, half-real, appeared in the space between the duelists. Slapping onto the floor in its fully formed, material state, the reptile gaped its mouth wide and hissed loudly at Harry, baring long, clearly venomous fangs.
Several people screamed loudly in fear and disgust, and even Hermione flinched in surprise and reflexively reached for her own wand, tensely watching as the snake glided towards her boyfriend, clearly preparing to attack, whilst he continued to stand like a statue.
"Use Scourgify, Harry!" she desperately wanted to shout, but that would be against the rules.
"Ssssss!" the snake hissed threateningly, coiling into a tight knot, whilst Malfoy, who had conjured it, grinned stupidly, very pleased with himself for having managed to demoralise Harry.
"Well-well, look who's afraid now, Potter!" Draco giggled maliciously, mocking his opponent instead of simply ending the duel with his victory, which was rather foolish and reckless of him.
"Sssssssss!" Harry suddenly hissed too, staring intently into the snake's emerald eyes.
"What the hell is he doing?! It's about to strike!" Hermione thought in a panic, because it seemed to her that he was about to be bitten, but… strangely enough – instead, she suddenly saw the viper freeze in its tracks, as if hypnotised.
Hermione was so absorbed in the scene on the dais that she didn't see how Ron, Dean, Lavender, and many others around her had their mouths wide open in complete shock. Most stuned of all was Malfoy, who had gone so pale that his skin colour almost matched his white hair. The other Slytherins also didn't hide their extreme astonishment, and some – even fear, and Snape looked intrigued too.
"Ssss! Hsssssssss!" Harry repeated, in a slightly different tone, still not taking his eyes off the snake, which… slowly nodded.
And then it simply turned around and crawled back towards Malfoy.
"Hssss! Hsssssssss!" Harry continued doing something that, from the outside, clearly looked like a command, causing the snake to stop once again, tasting the air with its forked tongue.
"H-how are you doing that?" Draco stammered nervously, backing away until he reached the very edge of the dais.
"Ssssssssss!" gaping its mouth wide, the snake hissed aggressively at the Slytherin, but didn't manage to do anything else.
"Scourgify!" Snape commanded loudly, pointing his wand at it and vanishing it without a trace. Turning to the students frozen in bewilderment, he spat out: "The show is over! All of you, to your common rooms! Immediately!"
Conditioned to obey his shouts even in a state of any shock or stupor, the children immediately bustled about, trying to leave the room as quickly as possible, talking loudly and excitedly. Malfoy, in fact, was at the head of the column of those eager to get out of there as soon as possible.
"What is happening?!" Hermione understood nothing and refused to leave without an explanation.
"Potter, with me!" Snape grabbed the bewildered Harry by the shoulder and roughly dragged him down from the platform, pulling him somewhere.
Hermione immediately rushed after them.
"Professor! Professor, wait! Where are you taking him?!" she demanded, out of breath, catching up with him and Harry in the middle of the corridor leading to the stairs.
"To the headmaster's office," Snape answered gruffly and reluctantly, but, seeing her worried face and eyes full of fear, he added: "You may go with him, Miss Granger, if you promise not to cause a scene."
* * *
Flying swiftly through the corridors, they reached the stone gargoyle in record time, using several secret passages along the way that Hermione had no idea existed before, but in the current situation, she was not interested in the least.
"Peach chewing gum!"
Hearing the correct password, the gargoyle leapt aside, allowing them inside.
"Severus, to what do I owe…?"
"Potter spoke Parseltongue during his duel with Mr Malfoy," the man stated without preamble, practically shoving Harry onto the stool opposite Dumbledore's desk. "The entire second year of four houses saw it, so I suppose it's too late to fix anything now."
The elderly wizard frowned, instantly losing all his previous bonhomie and straightening up, immediately becoming much less like a kindly grandfather and far more like the Supreme Mugwump:
"Explain."
Steepling his fingers, he silently listened to Snape's account, who briefly described what had happened, including how Harry had allegedly commanded the snake to attack Malfoy… At this point, Hermione frowned, because Snape made Harry sound like some kind of hooligan, although she had little doubt that his behaviour had another rational explanation. She immediately wanted to say that he wasn't at fault, and that it was Malfoy who had cast the dangerous spell first, and Harry had merely defended himself… but the truth was, she didn't know exactly what had happened either.
In any case, she didn't believe that Harry had seriously intended to set the snake on the other boy. So she would just stand here and let him speak for himself when it was his turn to talk.
As soon as Snape finished his accusatory monologue, Dumbledore sighed deeply, removing his glasses to wipe them thoroughly. Hermione had already noticed this habit of his – giving himself time to think during a difficult conversation… She only wished she knew what exactly he was thinking and whether it would cause problems for Harry and herself, in the end.
Meanwhile, Harry nervously fiddled with the fabric of his trousers, not knowing what exactly he had done wrong and why everyone around him had suddenly become so agitated. Standing against the wall behind him, from her angle Hermione could only see part of his profile, but she could imagine how he must be feeling right now: distress, confusion. She herself still understood nothing and was growing more and more worried.
Harry, it seemed, had somehow managed to chat with a magical snake, but… it couldn't be that bad, could it? After all, this was a magical school, full of spells, potions, ghosts, secret chambers, talking things, and God knows what else! Every day, a hundred much crazier events happened here than talking to animals. So what if one of the students could talk to snakes? Was it worth such a fuss?
"What did he call it? Parseltongue?"
She had to suppress her natural urge to start asking questions right here and now, because she did not want to "make a scene", as Professor Snape would call it. She had no doubt that the headmaster would explain everything himself soon, and she was not wrong.
"Well…" he muttered after a few minutes, settling his glasses once more upon the long, hooked bridge of his nose and fixing Harry with a searching look. "It would seem he possesses a gift of which we were previously unaware."
"Evidently," Snape sniffed. "A rather peculiar gift, if one might put it that way. Indeed, highly suspicious, given the circumstances."
"Severus…" Dumbledore interjected sternly, but at that point Harry cut across them both, unable to bear remaining in the dark while they continued to speak about him as though he were not there.
"Why is it suspicious? What have I done?" he asked anxiously, leaning forward in his seat.
Instead of answering at once, the Headmaster asked:
"Harry, tell me, please, have you ever spoken to snakes before?"
"Well…" he hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Once. It happened before my first year."
"Indeed? And how exactly?"
"We were at the zoo, me and the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went off somewhere and left Dudley and me in the reptile house, and that's where I saw this enormous boa constrictor… It seemed lonely, all by itself in its terrarium," he explained with a shrug. "So I… well… asked it about that. And it answered. Then somehow I made the glass vanish, and Dudley fell into the enclosure, and… well, something like that," he finished awkwardly.
"And what about the claim that you supposedly tried to make a snake attack Mr Malfoy?"
"Er…"
"Is it true?"
"Why is he silent?" Hermione wondered anxiously, biting her lower lip and fidgeting with the hem of her robes.
"Not exactly," Harry admitted at last. "I mean, I didn't ask it to attack him. Just to frighten him a bit."
"So you did not intend to cause Mr Malfoy deliberate harm? Only to scare him?"
"Yes, sir."
"I see…"
Hermione felt a weight lift from her chest. She had believed Harry at once, because she knew him well and could not imagine him truly trying to harm anyone, even Malfoy, who had rather brought it upon himself.
"But why has he never mentioned being able to speak to snakes before? Not to me, nor to Ron…"
Hermione was genuinely surprised that there was still something about Harry she did not know, though it seemed he still kept certain things from her. She doubted, however, that he had done so deliberately. More likely, he simply had not attached much importance to it – it was quite like him to overlook such "trifles" from time to time.
Her suspicions were confirmed when he asked, in sincere bewilderment:
"Professor… forgive me, sir, but I still don't understand, what is so wrong about it? Is being able to speak to snakes a bad thing?"
"Hm… I should not put it that way, no. In itself, it is not."
"But then… what is the problem?"
"The problem is that you are not the only one who can speak to snakes, Potter," Snape answered in Dumbledore's stead, sounding oddly irritated, though Hermione could not fathom his reason for such anger at present. It was not as though Harry had begun speaking to snakes out of spite, was it?
"Oh… Someone else can do it? Who is it?"
"Severus, I believe it's…" Dumbledore began, but the Potions Master had already jabbed a long, pale finger towards Harry's face.
"The one who gave you that scar."
"Voldemort," Harry said quietly, swallowing.
Hermione shuddered, feeling a chill run down her spine.
"Do not speak his name, you foolish boy!" Snape snarled instantly and viciously, clutching sharply at his left wrist – exactly as if suffering a heart attack.
"Severus, that's enough," the Headmaster said firmly, clearly displeased with his younger colleague. "I thank you for bringing Harry here, but now I should like to speak with the boy alone," he added in a tone that was polite yet unmistakably final.
"Professor…" Hermione began, unwilling to leave Harry, and, fortunately, Dumbledore relented at once.
"You, Miss Granger, may of course remain as well. I imagine that whatever concerns Harry now concerns you too," he said with a kindly smile, which immediately set her somewhat at ease.
Once Professor Snape had left the office, the old wizard waved his wand, transforming Harry's stool into a soft, deep armchair, and then conjured another just like it for Hermione.
Summoning three servings of tea with milk and a dish of sweets, he waited until each of them had taken a cup and drunk at least half, after which he set his own aside, steepled his fingers once more, and asked in a gentle yet intent voice, looking directly into Harry's face:
"Now then… Please, my boy, start at the very beginning, and try not to omit anything. I should like to hear your account of events before drawing any conclusions. And I daresay you, in turn, will wish to hear certain explanations."