The Hogwarts Lonely Hearts Club - Th3Alchemist - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: That Day in the Library

Chapter Text

After taking the last few spiral steps of the narrow, tight staircase, Harry Potter puffed out an exhausted breath from his red cheeks. His school satchel was overloaded with books as usual, and his back was curved into a painful arc on account of the weight. As usual. Dropping his bag and rubbing his spine a moment, Harry eventually reached up for the bronze knocker, in the shape of an eagle on the circular door, knocked three times and waited for his question.

Which duly came.

“How long is a piece of string?”

Harry smiled. This was an easy one. “Twice the length from the middle to the end.”

“Very good!”

The circular door swung open and Harry dragged his heavy satchel into his Common Room. He was always glad of how airy this room was, it helped to recover his breath after the long walks up the stairs. There were a few students mulling around the tables and chairs, so Harry crossed the midnight-blue carpet careful, as he always was, to not step on any of the stars depicted in gold there. It was a superstition held by all Ravenclaws since time began.

Finding his favourite spot - a patch of floor near the marble statue in the alcove - empty, Harry sat cross-legged facing away from the other students, as was his way, and took out a few of his books, some fresh parchment, ink, quills and spare nibs, which he arranged just so around him. Then he browsed his homework planner and tried to decide which piece to tackle first.

“Got half the library with you again then, Harry?” Anthony Goldstein teased lightly as he and Michael Corner passed by. They were throwing a fanged frizzbee between each other, but Harry barely looked up as they came his way.

“You know, we have bookcases in here, Harry,” Michael reminded him. “Most of the core textbooks can be found in them, you know. You needn't break you back lugging that lot up here every evening.”

Michael nodded at the tottering piles of books surrounding Harry like heavy paper satellites, and grimaced slightly at the thought of how hard it would be to carry them all at once.

“Using just the core texts isn’t what has made Harry the best student in the year,” Lisa Turpin interjected as she hopped up onto the sill of the graceful, arched window next to the statue and started kicking her heels against the stonework. “So, what are you working on tonight, Harry?”

Harry huffed to himself ... he just wanted to be left alone to work. It’s all he’d wanted for the past three years, but people insisted on wanting to talk to him all the time. And his Godfather had spent the entire Summer telling him about the importance of good manners. Harry had solemnly accepted the lectures, after all he’d nearly killed his Godfather when they first met three months ago and that wasn’t the most auspicious way to introduce himself.

So he took a steadying breath and looked up at Lisa on the windowsill. “Charms, probably. It’s the biggest essay we have so best to get that out of the way first.”

“Spoken like a true Ravenclaw,” Anthony nodded approvingly, before tossing the frizzbee back to Michael. “Get the worst one out of the way and the rest wont seem so bad.”

“Exactly,” Harry muttered, then turned back to his work.

But Lisa wasn’t done with him quite yet. “You do have an awful lot of books there, Harry. Why have you checked out so many?”

Harry closed his eyes and took another lungful of air to keep his cool. When his little voice spoke to reply, he didn’t look up. He really hated talking with people. “I had to. Didn’t have much of a choice. Hermione Granger was in the library again. I mean, she’s always there, but she checks out the best books if she can, so I had to get to them first.”

“Was she bothering you again?” Lisa asked, crossly.

“A bit,” Harry replied. “She always wants to borrow a quill or some ink, which usually means I’m left about half a pot down because I let her pour some of mine into her empty jar. If it’s not that she always wants the book I’m using, so I either have to share with her or just let her have it. I usually just give up and leave her to it.”

“Do you want me to have a word with her? Tell her to back off?”

“No. Thanks for the offer, but, I should take care of it myself. Don’t want the Slytherins getting wind of me having to have girls fight my battles for me.”

“Why not? Have youseenthe Slytherin girls? They’ve got more testosterone than most of the boys in the castle combined! If any House knows aboutgirl powerthen it’s that lot!”

Harry smiled weakly. “Still, best not to get involved. I like you Lise, but Hermione could probably hex you a new bumhole. She’s very clever, you know.”

“Well, if you ever change your mind, the offer stands,” Lisa replied sniffily. Then she pulled herself from the windowsill and headed for the girls' dormitory. Anthony called over to her as she passed.

“Off to write to your new pen-pal are you?” he teased. “You can always just tell me your secrets if you like! I promise not to laugh if you’ve got a hairy chest or something!”

“Shut up, Goldstein,” Lisa fumed, then marched away up the staircase.

“No sense of humour, that one,” Anthony observed to Harry.

“What did you mean …pen-pal?” Harry asked, curiously.

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Anthony said. “With all this magical co-operation going on with the Triwizard, some saddo has decided to promote inter-house unity by starting an anonymous pen-pal scheme here at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, imagine that,” Michael added, coming over. “Sad acts with no friends writing to someone they don’t even know. Pretty pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” Harry agreed quickly. “How come I haven’t heard about this?”

“Dunno. It’s been all over the noticeboards all week,” Anthony replied. “Why … not thinking of signing up to theHogwarts Lonely Hearts Clubyourself, are you Harry?”

“What? No, of course not,” Harry volleyed back. “Bunch of saddoes aren’t they?”

But that night, when he was quite sure everyone was sound asleep, Harry crept back down to the Common Room noticeboard, quill in his quivering hand, and signed his name onto the anonymous pen-pal request form. His signature sank into the parchment and Harry rubbed his fingers over it just to make sure it was gone, then he made his way quietly back to bed.

A couple of days later and Harry was sat in the library on his own, looking upDittanyinOne Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi. It was a Saturday and most people were outside enjoying the last of the October sun, or else visiting Hogsmeade as it was a designated weekend. So the library was silent and empty, apart from Harry and the occasional scratch of his quill as he made the most detailed notes that he could.

This was how he liked things best. Just him and his brain and something for them both to work on. He enjoyed flying, but he was good at it and had a top-of-the-range broom, so people tended to want to watch him, which was one of the things he hated the most. It had always stopped him trying out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, because that would simply put him even further on display.

And Harry was happiest with his solitude, comfortable in his own skin. People had pointed and stared and gossiped since he first boarded the Hogwarts Express three years ago. Ronald Weasley had encapsulated the mood of the Magical World towards him, wanting to know all the details of how he had defeated the Dark Lord, Voldemort. But Harry had been just a baby at the time, had no memory of the night at all, so quickly got annoyed at the constant quizzing.

Besides, it was also the night that his parents had been murdered, and Harry never liked to think about that if he could help it.

So, after a quick snap at hapless Ron revealed to all that Harry Potter had quite the quick temper, people tended to give him a wide berth, and contented themselves by merely talkingabouthim, rather than to him.

Harry found that he could tolerate the situation quite cheerfully. He could get his head down and pass through the days with as little fuss as possible. The library was his favourite place, rivalled only by a little copse he’d found at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where he could sit out of sight, sometimes alone and sometimes with Hedwig. His owl was better than any human company anyway, nipping him affectionately for owl treats as she sat on his shoulder and looked down at Harry’s school work, barking every time she spotted a spelling mistake or something.

But just lately Harry has been plagued by a new annoyance, one with the name of Hermione Granger. She was an academic rival at the top end of the grade scale, but they’d never really spoken about that. Not that they spoke much at all. Or at least they hadn’t, until just recently, when Hermione had suddenly started trying to make idle chit-chat with him during all the time that they shared the library together.

And Harry hadn’t been lying when he told Lisa that Hermione was taking all of his stationery. If they’d been friends, he would have considered buying her a year’s supply of quill nibs, for all the times she seemed to ask him for a spare one. Then there was the book sharing, where she insisted on sitting next to him, invading his personal space so they could read the same book. And if Harry changed subject, she did too, and always seemed to pick the same one as him.

It really was quite annoying how she kept doing that.

So Harry was very pleased that today would be a Hermione-free day. She’d have gone with her friends to Hogsmeade and would be far away, which was how Harry thought he might like her best. After all, it was how he liked everyone else best. So the groan that was born in his throat, as the door to the library suddenly opened, can perhaps be well imagined.

It was a groan that didn’t diminish, as the familiar tone of voice broke the silence of the air.

“Hello, Harry. I didn’t expect you to be here today.”

Harry huffed and closed his eyes, but he knew it was only polite to look up and reply.

“Hello, Hermione. Why aren’t you up at Hogsmeade with everyone else?”

“Oh, you know, the village doesn’t hold much charm for me,” Hermione explained in a sniffy voice. “Once you’ve seen one sweetshop you’ve seen them all, if you ask me. And I don’t really think they should allow kids into the pub without an adult, do you? It’s really quite irresponsible, I’d say. I also have some work I need to do today, and it’s easier to get it done in the quiet.”

“Oh, if you need quiet, I can go,” Harry replied, then began packing away his things.

“No, please stay,” Hermione mumbled, placing her hand on Harry’s parchment to stop him moving it. “Actually, now that you're here, I was wondering if I could talk to you a second.”

“About what?” Harry asked, suspiciously.

“Well, it’s just that … I noticed that you signed up for the Pen-pal Club,” Hermione blurted out rather quickly.

“What!” Harry thundered. “How do you ... that’s supposed to beprivate!”

“Oh it is, it is,” Hermione reassured him in that quick voice. “But I sort of have to know who’s signed up … as I'm the founder member and I need to know who I’m pairing people up with. Not much good if I put two Slytherins together or something, is it? What use would that be to inter-school harmony?”

Harry looked up, startled but no longer cross. “Youstarted the Hogwarts Lonely Hearts Club?”

“Please don’t call it that, Harry,” Hermione replied meekly. “It’s sort of like rubbing it in, don’t you think?”

“Oh … yeah. I didn’t think of it like that. Sorry.”

Hermione smiled sweetly. “It’s alright. You didn’t make up that nickname, did you? It’s probably come from the Slytherins or something.”

“I heard that Ron Weasley made it up,” Harry corrected. “He probably didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, I bet he doesn’t know what it’s like to be lone- … I mean, by yourself… not with all his brothers around all the time, does he?”

“No, I don’t imagine that he does,” Hermione agreed.

“But I still don’t understand,” Harry went on. “Why wouldyou start a project like this? I see you talking to people all the time. You have lots of friends, you don’t need to be part of something like this, do you?”

Hermione sighed sadly. “I talk a lot, but you might not have noticed how very rare it is for someone to talkback. I have a lot to say, but people don’t always want to listen, or maybeI don’t know how to listen properly to them. I don’t know. I’ve always been more comfortable with books. It’s a one-way street like that, isn’t it? They tell you things, and it’s almost like they are talking to you. I’m not used to that where people are concerned.

“So you see, Harry, I don’t have lots of friends at all. In fact, I don’t haveany.”

Harry felt an unexpected surge of pity for Hermione Granger in that moment. He had never thought of her as lonely or friendless, she just didn’t seem the type. And he felt suddenly guilty, too, for all the times he’d shunned her. He thought it polite to tell her so.

“I’m sorry, Hermione, I never guessed that about you. And all those times you tried to talk to me ... you were just being nice and trying to make conversation, and I just brushed you off. That was rude of me and I’m sorry for it.”

“It’s alright. I’m used to it,” Hermione replied, bracingly.

“That doesn’t make it alright, not at all,” Harry disagreed with a shake of his head. He felt very uncomfortable with himself.

“You can make it up to me … if you want,” Hermione offered in a hopeful tone.

“How?”

“Well, like I said, I saw you’d signed up for the Lonely Hearts … I mean,The Penpal Club … Merlin! Even I’m calling it that now! Wait till I see Ronald Weasley later! ... ooh, he’s going to get such a telling off! … anyway, it’s supposed to be an anonymous thing. You write the letters on special paper, which encodes your words so only the other person can read it. Then you use a Penny Black, a special stamp which will be delivered discreetly for you to use, which sends the letter right to the recipient’s pigeon hole on their bed. It’s up to them then to get the letters in private. It’s quite a clever spell, I think.”

“Wait a minute!” Harry hushed, his eyes widening in shocked understanding. “Did you inventall this? By yourself?”

“Well, yes, I did actually,” Hermione confirmed, blushing slightly at Harry’s impressed tone.

“Wow. That’sseriouslyadvanced magic! Why aren’t you in Ravenclaw?”

“The Sorting Hat actually considered me for Ravenclaw,” Hermione mused aloud. “But I had my heart set on Gryffindor. I’d read it was the best one, you see, so I think I sort of asked to be put there, and The Hat chose it for me.”

“You sound like you regret it,” Harry observed.

“No, it’s great, really,” Hermione replied unconvincingly. “I wouldn’t have made any more friends in another house than I have in Gryffindor.”

“You don’t know that for sure. You’d have been with more of your own type of people. You might have been more comfortable and come out of your shell.”

“Has that worked out for you?” Hermione asked, quietly. “You did sign up for my Club, after all.”

Harry toed the carpet a moment. “It’s easier for me to not have friends. They always want to talk about …stuff… and I’d rather just forget all about it. Besides, trouble follows me around like a bad smell. Remember that troll in First Year? I just happened to be in the same part of the castle as it. What are the chances?”

“It was lucky for me that you were,” Hermione reminded him. “If you hadn’t seen me go into that bathroom, no-one would have known that I was there ... and that troll would have probably smashed me to bits. Lucky, really, that you were sensible enough to get a teacher and not try and tackle the thing yourself.”

“Well … I’m no hero,” Harry muttered lowly. “Despite how much everyone wants me to be one.”

“Look, Harry, I’m not trying to embarrass you by asking you to explain why you signed up to be a penpal,” Hermione went on gently. “Your reasons are probably the same as everyone else’s. You want to talk, but find it easier to write things down than to say them in person. That’s not so unusual, you know.

“That’s why the project is anonymous … you can say something in a letter, safe in the knowledge that if the person you write to says about it to anyone else, they run the risk of their own secrets getting blabbed about, too. Not that anyone would know it was about you in the first place. I was going to put in a little jinx, that made that a punishment for spilling secrets, but I decided that was a bit too cruel, so I left it out.

“Though I think that most people who have signed up are genuine. They just want to connect with someone and be comfortable talking about private things with a sympathetic ear, even if they don’t know whose head that ear is attached to!”

Harry grinned a little at that. “It’s a really good idea, I think. But how does any of this help me make up for being rude to you?”

Hermione bit her lip a moment. “I started this project, but my name isn’t down on the list. But when I saw yours there, I was surprised, and I thought I might actually like to have a penpal of my own. Alright, what I mean to say is … I’d like to haveyou as a pen-pal. It’d be different to everyone else, because we’d know who our penpal was. But I also know that your secrets are different to everyone else’s … far more delicate.

“But I can promise you that I’d be even more discreet as a result. You could tell me anything you felt you needed to, in complete confidence, and I promise to keep your secrets, Harry. But only if you want to, of course. You might be happier talking about You-Know-Who if you thought you might be talking to a Slytherin!”

“Yeah,” Harry scoffed. “As if I’d be pleased feeding Draco Malfoy more ammunition to tease me with.”

“He wouldn’t do that … would he?” Hermione fretted.

“You clearly don’t know Malfoy,” Harry retorted. "Nor Slytherin House in general."

“They cant all be bad, can they? There must be some noble traits there somewhere.”

“Okay, Hermione.”

“Okay? Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll be your penpal,” Harry smiled weakly. “Sounds like you need a little educating about our Slytherin schoolmates, if nothing else! That can be my first letter to you.”

“Oh … oh, okay. That’s great!” Hermione beamed, her cheeks reddening again. “Um, alright then. I have to finish off Charming the special paper and stamps, but then they’ll just randomly turn up in your pigeon hole, along with a more detailed explanation of how this all works. But I’ll make sure a sign goes up on the noticeboards once it’s all set to go, too.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” Harry promised.

“Alright, great,” Hermione repeated breezily. “I’m going to go now. Alright then, so … I suppose I’llwrite you later!”

“I look forward to it,” Harry replied genuinely, before Hermione turned on her heel and hurried away from the library.

Harry chuckled to himself. What an odd start to the day this had been.

Chapter 2: Little Miss Cross

Chapter Text

It wasn’t an unusual sight in the Gryffindor Common Room to find Hermione Granger sat on her own at the table under the window, just to the left of the fireplace. It was one of the bigger tables in the room, in better condition than most, but the bossy, snooty cow tended to regularly commandeer it for her own use. Then she’d sit with her back facing the room to work, turning only to snap at moderately loud talking, to chastise people for running around nearby, or else tell everyone off for having unnecessary fun.

It led to the belief that this was the tightest-wound Gryffindor in the history of the House. Either that or she had somehow managed to get a particularly awkward branch of the Whomping Willow stuck up her bum.

But that weekend yielded something of a watershed moment in this pattern of behaviour. For whilst Hermione was still to be found sat at her table, she didn’t do her usual 180 degree head-spin (for many students were convinced that she had this ability) to shout at a single person. Nor did the gobby witch huff and complain about over-exuberant revelry. And even the Prefects agreed that it was the first weekend in living memory where Hermione didn’t lecture them on how to do their jobs properly.

Her dorm mates, the ones who knew her best, even though this wasn’t saying much, discussed the matter amongst themselves and wondered openly if Hermione might be ill. Indeed, Lavender Brown even swore that she heard Hermionehumming to herself as she worked, which the others dismissed immediately, as Hermione didn’t approve of unnecessary noises of contentment and they simply refused to believe that she was doing it. That was a fact well known by the girls who were around her the most.

But they all agreed that something had definitely happened to change Hermione, even if none of them could guess what it might be.

Now, if Hermione had been able to have an out-of-body experience and look back at herself, she’d have likely noticed this new behaviour too, though she might have had a better insight into what had caused it. She wouldn’t have wanted to think that it was all because of Harry Potter, that her renewed vigour in Charming her special paper and stamps had anything to do withhim, but she’d have shyly thought about it just the same.

For that was pretty much all she had done all weekend - think about Harry Potter. She hadn’t meant to blurt out that she’d quite like to have him as a penpal, and her unexpected brazenness had rattled her. But what had rattled her even more was that Harry Potter had actually agreed to the scheme. That had not been on the cards at all and Hermione was honestly a little unsure about what to do with the development.

One thing she did know was that she found the possibilities a little bit intoxicating. Ever since that first blink of surprise, as Harry’s name materialised at the bottom of her Master Penpal Sign-Up sheet, Hermione found herself unexpectedly entertaining the idea of what it would be like to get to know him a bit better. She’d never dwelled on the prospect of getting to know anyone intimately before, but Harry Potter wasn’t your usualanyone, and she blamed that for this sudden change in her attitudes.

For a start, Harry was the biggest enigma at Hogwarts. Famous … albeit for something he knew more about from textbooks than his own memory … but guarded, some even said sullen and moody. But Hermione had never gotten that sense about him. Painfully shy, keen to avoid the glare of attention … these descriptions of him satisfied Hermione the best, along with a fierce reluctance to discuss the events that had made his name. And, given the horrific nature of what he had suffered, who could blame him for shutting down all attempts to wheedle information from his wounded heart?

Though it seemed now that he was willing to talk about it, or at least to talk aboutsomething. He’d signed up to an anonymous buddy scheme just for that purpose, but had agreed to go ahead with it even though he now knew who he’d been telling his private things to. Hermione was deeply curious about that, keen to understand why he was still pliable to opening up, even though he would eventually have to look his secret-keeper in the face.

And also why it was that he was seemingly content for that secret-keeper to be her.

Hermione reasoned that it was because they were perfect strangers, and this was a sort of anonymity in itself. They knew each other by name and sight, but Hermione doubted that they’d spoken more than a dozen times over the past three-and-a-bit years, and she couldn’t recall a single instance of talking to Harry anywhere outside of the Hogwarts library. That wasn’t so unusual, and was the inspiration behind her promoting inter-house unity by founding the Penpal Club in the first place.

Though the library was now a location that stirred an odd nervousness in Hermione. A venue she usually haunted worse than one of the House ghosts, Hermione now found the idea of going there and running into Harry, following their agreement to be pen-pals, one that made her come over all silly and fluttery. She had to shake that off, it wasn’t like her at all and was so illogical as to be a source of chagrin to Hermione’s neat and orderly mind.

But the library also hadanothersource of chagrin for her, and it came in the form of that brutish Quidditch player who was competing for Durmstrang in the Triwizard Tournament. Viktor Krum was regularly to be found stalking the shelves, a gaggle of vapid girls (or autograph hunters, usually led by Ron Weasley) shadowing him like a dæmon. Several times Hermione had caught him scowling at her through gaps in the books and wondered what on Earth he could want. She had to admit that, as he was a much older boy, the leering attention made her more than a little uncomfortable.

But for her own part, Hermione’s attention had been solely focused on speeding up the prep work for her new project, unacknowledgingly spurred on by the fascination of what Harry Potter might say to her in their first letter exchange. She also had to decide on what she was going to say to him to start the whole thing off, feeling it was probably best that she got the ball rolling on that score.

Then, as she was mulling over all this in her quiet corner, the topic of another type of ball piqued her attention from nearby.

It was started by Parvati Patil, who was sat on the battered couch near the fire, drying her hair with her wand. Lavender Brown was with her, carefully applying scarlet polish to the nails of her left foot. She had just finished her little toe when she suddenly snapped her head up as she abruptly remembered something.

“Ooh, have you heard?” Lavender squeaked excitedly. “The rumour all around Hufflepuff is that Diggory has solved the clue inside his Golden Egg. They aren’t saying much, but the guess is that the Second Task is going to have something to do with the Lake, because Diggory worked out that the clue was in the language of the Mer-people.”

“That’s interesting,” Parvati replied. “Maybe they’ll have to wrestle a Loch Lizard or something. But I heard an even more interesting rumour this afternoon.”

“And you’re only just telling me now!” Lavender shrieked in pretend affrontedness. “What sort of best gossip friend are you!”

“It’ll be worth the wait, I promise,” Parvati grinned. “My sister, Padma, heard it from Mandy Brocklehurst, who was told by Hannah Abbott, who overheard McGonagall and Pomfrey talking about it when she was in the Hospital Wing getting a potion for period cramps, that Professor Dumbledore is right now in the final stages of talks with the manager of The Weird Sisters! That must mean they are going to do a concert here!”

“Ooh! I bet they’re going to put on a big party at Christmas, maybe like a Yule Ball or something, a party much grander than usual as a show for all the people from the other schools. And they want to book the most popular magical band in Europe to play it!”

“That will impress everyone,” Parvati crooned. “I loveThe Weird Sisters!”

“Everyone loves them,” Lavender agreed. “I love their singer, Maria Edge. I love her boobs, they’re just the perfect shape. I wish mine were like that.”

Then she started poking and prodding her chest, as she tried to coax her breasts into the shape she wanted them to be.

Just then, Seamus Finnigan co*cked his head up from the floor in front of the fire. “I wish you had boobs like Maria too, Lav. But yours are pretty nice. If we do have a Yule Ball, do you want to go with me?”

“I’ll think about it,” Lavender frowned. “Just in case I get an offer from someone less crass.”

“Suit yourself,” Seamus shrugged, then went back to playing Exploding Snap with Dean Thomas.

“Ooh, Lav!” Parvati giggled in a low whisper. “If there was to be a Ball, who do you think Hermione would go with?”

“Ooh, I don’t know! Let’s think … who would make the perfect date for Little Miss Cross?!”

“I can hear you, you know,” Hermione called over without looking up from her work. “I’m only three feet away, not three miles.”

“Well perhaps you shouldn’t be eavesdropping,” Lavender returned.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be talking about me!” Hermione snapped shrilly.

“We’re only having a discussion,” Parvati sniffed. “You can join in if you like.”

“Yeah,” Lavender nodded keenly. “So … who would you like to go with, Hermione?”

“No-one,” Hermione said bluntly. “All that dancing and being silly? No thank you, very much.”

“But what if they made it compulsory?” Lavender argued. “What if a notice went up tomorrow that all Hogwarts students have to go and represent the school? What then? I think we’d have to pick someone for you.”

Hermione huffed, put down her quill firmly and turned her head, rolling her eyes as they fell onto Lavender’s annoying smirk.

“Go on then, tell me who you’d pick,” Hermione drawled in a bored sort of voice. “Who would you inflict the ignominy on of taking me out for a date? Which poor boy would you torture withthatpunishment? Come on, I’m waiting.”

Lavender looked taken aback a moment by Hermione’s curt, cutting tone. She looked to Parvati for support.

“We aren’t saying that at all, Hermione,” Parvati tried to argue.

But Hermione swiftly cut her off, her eyes sparkling with rage. “Yes you are. Obviously you think that the idea of me being on a date at all is utterly hilarious, and you must have a scale of who would make the most comical partner for me. So go on then, now you’ve started it, tell me who would make you laugh the most to be seen with me? Who would make your night, if you end up getting stuck with a boy like Seamus, whose eyes don’t make it above your tissue-stuffed bras, and you need to look to me for your entertainment?”

“Hey, that isn’t fair!” Seamus protested. Then he looked over at the girls on the couch. “Wait a minute …tissues?”

Lavender seemed to shrink into herself a little, her arms crossing her chest on defensive reflex. Hermione just smirked smugly at her.

“You know, I don’t know if it would be funny, be it’d certainly be interesting,” Fay Dunbar interjected as she flopped down next to Lavender on the couch. “If you were to go with Harry Potter.”

Hermione’s eyes went round at the out-of-nowhere suggestion and her breath hitched on the inhale she’d been making. Now why had it done that?

“Ooh, yes, thatwouldbe interesting!” Parvati squealed, hitching her knees into her chest. “But Harry’s so quiet, isn’t he? Imagine either of them trying to make conversation with the other.”

“He’s quiet, but he seems intense in an alluring type of way,” Fay agreed. “I bet he has loads to say, if someone could just get him to say it.”

“Are you talking about Harry Potter?” Katie Bell asked eagerly, perching herself on the armrest of the couch. “He’s so dishy, that one. The strong, silent type. I know lots of the girls go for Diggory for that sort of thing, but Harry would give him a run for his money … or hecould,if he made a bit more of an effort with his hair.”

“Mmm,” Fay swooned. “Make it all long and wavy like Cedric’s. He’d be yummy like that.”

“He’s pretty yummy as it is,” Lavender pointed out, to which they all nodded in agreement. “I’d think about asking him to a Ball, but I probably wouldn’t get two words from his mouth all night.”

“Hey, if his lips don’t want to talk, I’m sure you could find other things to do with them!” Katie teased, nudging Fay’s shoulder as Lavender and Parvati fell about in hysterical giggles. Hermione simply frowned at them for being so childish. “Seriously, girls, Harry’s a bit younger than me, but I don’t know why you aren’t all over him like a rash.”

“He never lets anyone get close, does he?” Parvati replied. “My sister says he hardly ever speaks to anyone in Ravenclaw. He certainly never starts conversations anyway, so she says. Maybe that’s what he and our Hermione could talk about on their date … the best ways to ignore people and be silent! What do you think, Haitch?”

Hermione huffed and narrowed her eyes. “I think, after all this nonsense, the one thing I can definitely promise you is that I willnevergo on a date with Harry bloody Potter! You’d be teasing me about it from now till my N.E.W.Ts!”

But that night, as Hermione lay in bed thinking about her day, the notion, however outlandish, refused to shift from her brain. Imagine what that would be like, turning up to a glamorous Ball with someone like Harry Potter on her arm? Not as a bet or a dare or anything, but if he actually wanted to be there with her. That might be quite something. It would certainly wipe the smug looks from the faces of the other girls, but it would just be insanely nice without any of that pettiness lingering over it.

And just like that, Hermione was hit with a sensation she’d never felt before … alonging …a longing to simply be liked by someone, liked enough for them to want to spend time with her, and just her alone. And not just by any someone, but by the elusive Harry Potter no less. It struck her so hard and so fast that it caused her to ache in her chest a moment. She tried to command her logical brain to quell this nonsense, but it was powerless against whatever this was that was suddenly flowing through her.

Hermione looked up at the canopy of her bed and wondered where this sudden desire for the impossible had come from. She didn’t even know Harry all that well, certainly not enough to expect him to notice her, as unassuming and socially invisible as she was. How could she genuinely be entertaining this ludicrous idea?

But there it was, lodged on the inside of her forehead, just out of sight of the world. It wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard she tried. But what was she supposed to do about it? Then it struck her … she now had a private conduit to Harry, one that no-one else did! And more than that,hehad volunteered to create it with her! Her daft and surprised heart wanted to believe all sorts of silliness aboutthat now, and it would invent all manner of insane reasons for why Harry had done it, if Hermione wasn’t careful and reined it in.

Despite all this, a core truth remained. Harry and Hermione had entered into a covenant together, agreed to share things between each other that they might not have ever told anyone else before. That might not mean much right away, but surely they would soon develop a bond of trust and respect for one another, and that would be the start ofsomething.

Hermione thrilled a little at the idea, at the mere concept of being close to someone for a change. Why had she never thought about this prior to tonight? She didn’t really understand that, but the idea had simply never entered into her thinking before. But it was here now and boy had it arrived with a splash!

Hermione suspected that it was because she didn’t know Harry very much, so she could make him into whatever she wanted him to be. Her manic brain could create scenarios, fabricate instances, dream away with no limits. Harry could be the perfect gentleman, the funniest storyteller, have limitless patience to listen to her when she began rabbiting away about her passions, which she was certain he would be the sort of person to indulge.

All of this might have been mere fantasy of course. Hermione was still sensible enough to realise that. Though at the same time it was therealityof the possibilities that excited her the most, that made her imagine that some of this might actually come true. The idea of having a studypartnerfor the library rather than beavering away alone, of having someone to visit Hogsmeade with who might be willing to explore the historical sites as well as the sweetshop. These were the things that caused Hermione to grip onto her duvet so tightly that she left creases there when she let go.

And hovering over all of this, that image of going to the Ball with a willing partner. It was a fairy tale idea, one never before conceived in the world of Hermione Granger. But there it was, lingering and persistent and waiting to be sated. Hermione accepted it into her being, snuggled down into her covers and willed herself to sleep.

After all, she had an important letter to write in the morning.

Chapter 3: Penny For Your Thoughts

Chapter Text

About six months earlier, Harry had developed a keen interest in a girl in his House, one that might have threatened his aloof lifestyle if he hadn’t handed out a threat of his own to stop gossiping tongues wagging.

This wasn’t a romantic interest, mind you, but it would have been almost impossible to make that claim stick in a school where the rumour mill was as famous as it’s most illustrious alumni. It seemed almost as if boys and girls weren’t allowed to be friends with each other, not without at least one ulterior motive flying around with the raging hormones.

And this would have been the case with Harry, if he hadn’t snapped the head off the rumour before it started.

It all began at the end of the previous school year, on the very last night before the students were due to return home. Harry, for the first time, was genuinely excited by this prospect. Mere days before, following a bizarre sequence of events and the clearing up of some very severe cases of mistaken identity, Harry had been reunited with his Godfather, Sirius Black, who had been wrongly accused of aiding in his parents’ murder. Much emotion had flowed and the net result was that Harry agreed to live with his exonerated legal guardian, meaning he’d never have to endure the iron rule of his Dursley relatives ever again.

So on that last night of term, Harry actually joined in with the celebrations. That was to say he sat with the others and smiled a bit, rather than his usual tack of confining himself to the shadowiest corner and frowning at anyone who dared to speak to him. Harry was borderline enjoying himself, but that was until he spotted the girl over near the Common Room Noticeboard.

She was in the year below him and Harry didn’t know her at all, though she was considered well-known amongst the students of the House, albeit for less than complimentary reasons. She was generally thought to be quirky and unusual, and for some reason this meant that other students regularly made fun of her. Harry didn’t like this at all, but as he was gossiped about enough himself he had never found the courage to stand up for her.

That was until that night, when he learned just how far the ‘teasing’ went.

His attention was drawn to it by a conversation he overheard between Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe, two girls from the year above who were sitting on chairs just to his right. They were giggling and pointing over at the girl by the noticeboard, whispering lowly so that almost nobody could hear them.

“Up goes this year’slost propertylist!” Marietta was chortling, as the girl carefully tacked a colourful sign to the noticeboard. “That reminds me … I’ve still got that charm bracelet in my bedside drawer. It’ll be a shame to give it back.”

“So, what have you lost this year,Loony?” Cho called over in false sweetness.

The girl turned her silvery, protuberant eyes to Cho. “Just these things.”

Then she gestured to the sign that she’d just pinned up. Anger stirring, and under the pretence of refilling his goblet of pumpkin juice, Harry got up and moved to the noticeboard. He was stunned by what he saw on the multi-coloured poster.

“Have you really lost all these things?” Harry asked, gesturing at the list of more than a dozen items that were missing … clothes, books, personal affects, each written in a different, sparkly colour … and feeling a spike of pity as he read the heartfelt plea for their return written in swirly, silver ink at the bottom. His rage stirred as he read the words ‘unicorn charm bracelet’about half way down the list, and he growled as Marietta’s words echoed in his skull.

“Oh yes, but it’s not as much as last year,” the girl replied, sweetly.

“Your name’s Luna, isn’t it?” Harry asked. Luna Lovegood nodded back, seeming surprised that Harry Potter knew who she was. But, then again, she always wore a surprised expression, no matter what was going on. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you manage to lose all this stuff? And why are you only trying to find it now? It’s a bit last minute.”

“Oh, well, my things aren’t really lost,” Luna explained. “People take them, you see. They think I’m a bit odd, you know, and so they take my things. I don’t mind sharing, but as it’s the last night I really do need them back so I can pack.”

“People take your things?” Harry hissed, anger roiling in his belly and competing with a wave of pity for the girl.

“Yes. Like I said, they think I’m odd.”

“That’s no excuse to take your stuff,” Harry fumed. “Do you want a hand getting them all back?”

“Oh no, thank you,” Luna beamed. “They’ll turn up eventually. They did last year. I’d really like to find my bracelet, though. It was the last birthday present my Mum got for me before she died.”

Harry felt a part of his heart break at the admission. “Your Mum died? I’m sorry. I never knew.”

“That’s alright. I never told you, so how would you? If you do find it, though … my bracelet … I’d be very grateful if you could get it back to me. It’s very important to me.”

Harry rolled his jaw angrily. “Wait here.”

Then Harry marched over to Cho and Marietta, rage pounding in his temples.

“So, what’s Loony lost this year?” Cho skittered.

“Watch your mouth, Chang!” Harry spat. “And if you call her that one more time I’m going to hex the word ‘Loony’ across your stupid face in the biggest, most pus-filled permanent pimples I can conjure! That goes for the lot of you.”

“Cool it, Harry, we didn’t know she was your girlfriend,” Marietta chuckled.

Harry’s eyes flashed dangerously at her. “And you can just shut your mouth, and all! Luna is not my girlfriend, and anyone else who says that is going to have a nasty run-in with the end of my wand. But you, you nasty hag, can just march right upstairs and bring me that bracelet you were just bragging about storing in your bedside cabinet.

“You’ll do it right now, tonight, in the next five minutes. If you aren’t back by that time, I’m going straight to Flitwick and telling him what a dirty, stinkingthiefyou are. I really don’t think you want him sending you home to your parents with a Howler like that in your pockets, do you?”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Are you testing me? Four minutes thirty and counting.”

Marietta squeaked and jumped up, before practically flying to the girls’ dormitory. She was back less than a minute later, when she bitterly thrust the pretty charm bracelet into Harry’s hand.

“There! Take it,” Marietta sniped. “Just don’t go to Flitwick. My parents would kill me. I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t me you need to apologise to,” Harry scythed. “But I’ll leave it up toLunato decide if she accepts it or not.”

And then Harry presented the bracelet back to a beaming Luna, before skulking back to his usual corner to fume in silence. He later learned that all of Luna’s missing things miraculously turned up on her bed within the hour, though he never did find out if Marietta had apologised to her or not.

But after that Luna was never shy of talking to Harry, and he never told her to go away when she tried, which was something of an anomaly where Harry Potter was concerned. They weren’t friends as such, but common acquaintances was as likely as anyone could hope to get with Harry.

Until all this Penpal Club business hit the horizon, of course.

Harry spent a lot of time over the first few days of the next week mulling it all over in his mind. He was sat in Charms on Monday afternoon, where he was partnered with Sally-Anne Perks from Hufflepuff and was trying not to use the Banishing Charm they were practising to push her stool a bit further away from his, as her perfume was bothering his nostrils. After getting the hang of the Charm quickly, Harry found his mind drifting to the complexity of the Penny Black spell that Hermione Granger had told him she had invented, and he couldn’t help but be impressed.

Fancy inventing your own spell? That was quite an achievement, and Hermione was only his age! Yes, that was very impressive. Harry was actually a bit jealous, and wondered what sort of spell he would invent, if he was ever going to. He felt certain that it wouldn’t be for something so honourable and noble as helping lonely students, though, and he was cross with himself at his own self-centeredness a moment. If that was really an indicator of Hermione’s true character then maybe an arrogant, introverted boy like Harry didn’t deserve to get to know her at all.

But then there was this little thing that pleased his vanity, that someone as nice and clever as that wanted to get to knowhim. That was the strangest thing about all this. People always wanted to know all about him, that was nothing new, and he snapped at people more for that reason than any other. No-one would get to know the boy behind the legend and that was that as far as Harry was concerned.

So why had he agreed to let Hermione Granger have a try at succeeding where everyone else had failed so badly?

He had come to decide that it was because it was so unexpected. The whole little exchange had been. Up till that point on Saturday morning, Harry barely knew Hermione beyond that she was very clever and never seemed to have any spare quill nibs on her. That was about it, and Harry saw no reason to delve any further into the matter. The whole ‘troll thing’ from First Year might have been a connection to explore, but it happened as much by chance as design and didn’t seem the sort of foundation on which to base a friendship.

But then Hermione had pretty much admitted to him that she was lonely and friendless, so much so that she started a Club to help others in the same situation. Harry had found that the admission stung him unexpectedly. He knew a bit of that feeling, even though he had purposefully created it around himself, and he didn’t wish it on anyone, especially if that person was clearly as kind and thoughtful as someone like Hermione was. She’d taken it upon herself to help others who might be suffering as she, and Harry was moved by that.

And he realised then that he’d judged Hermione without even bothering to learn anything about her personality at all. He might have suspected and invented all manner of things about her, but this action showed him just how wrong he might have been about all that. Being brainy and bookish didn’t necessarily mean that a person was cold and unempathetic, though until he’d seen the opposite for himself, Harry had to admit that he might have thought such things about Hermione Granger.

In that moment, Harry caught a reflection of his own life in his mind’s eye. People judged him without knowing the truth of who he was, and he hotly chided them for it. But here he was, doing the exact same thing to Hermione Granger. Until that moment, he’d never truly known himself.

So the possibility of making up this shameful disrespect to her, through the simple act of being her penpal, was one that Harry found unexpectedly pleasing. The idea of talking to her, about things he’d not spoken about with anyone else, was sort of liberating. Harry was almost too eager, and knew that his first letters were in danger of being rambling confessions, if he wasn’t careful to start things slow. He didn’t want to scare her off after all.

Though Harry found that he was also curious to know about her. Where had her sharp intellect come from? Where was she from? He knew she was Muggleborn, so what did her parents think about having a witch for a daughter? There were lots of things he was suddenly keen to learn about her, and he found himself impatiently checking his pigeon hole and the noticeboards for developments in the Penpal Club scheme.

On Wednesday morning, all became clear, even though it started off suspiciously. At breakfast, Luna seemed to be loitering around at Harry’s end of the Ravenclaw table looking sheepish and restless. Lisa and Mandy, who were on a constant and futile quest to make Harry more sociable, had given up for the day and gone off to get ready for their first lesson. Luna sat down nearby as soon as they were gone.

“Is something the matter?” Harry asked after a good minute of silence, which wasn’t like Luna at all. “Has someone being giving you a hard time? Do you need me to have a word with them?”

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that,” Luna mumbled. It was clear that she was definitely fretting about something though.

“Then what is it?” Harry pushed.

“I need to have a word with you,” Luna confessed. “I’ve done something and I hope you wont be cross with me for it.”

Harry tensed on instinct but tried to stay calm. “What is it? What have you done?”

“Well, I was up at the Owlery last night,” Luna began. “I’ve signed up to the Penpal Club, you see, as I think it’ll be quite nice to have someone to talk to.”

Harry felt that usual surge of pity and awkwardness that Luna’s forthright style of talking always generated in him, and then she continued.

“Anyway, I decided not to use my pigeon hole to get letters. The girls in my dorm will probably think it’s funny to break in and steal them if I do, so I use a post hole at the owlery instead. I did a Charm on my pigeon hole so that it whistles me a little tune when I get a letter. And it whistled last night, which is why I was in the owlery.”

Harry frowned at that. “Wait a minute … are you already getting letters then? I … I thought it hadn’t started yet.”

“It only started on Sunday,” Luna confessed. “Why, Harry? Do you know anyone else who has signed up? No-one wants to admit that they have, but I’ve seen lots of people reading in private over the last few days, so they must be part of it.”

Harry quirked a look at her. It seemed inconceivable to Luna that Harry might have signed up for this himself, and he saw no need to correct her.

“No, I don’t know anyone,” Harry replied evasively. “But why would you think I’d be cross with you for signing up? I think it’s a good idea, you know.”

“So do I!” Luna beamed. “And my penpal seems ever so nice, whoever they are. We’ve exchanged three letters already. But it’s not for signing up that I think you might be cross with me.”

“What is it then?”

“Well, when I was up in the owlery, I bumped into that Hermione Granger girl from Gryffindor.”

Harry didn’t know why, but the mere mention of Hermione’s name caused him to sit up straight and focus his attention.

“Okay. And what happened?”

“It seemed like she was waiting for someone from Ravenclaw to come in,” Luna went on. “She was trying to call an owl to her … to tell the truth,your owl. But she didn’t know her name, so she wouldn’t come. And so she asked me, and I told her. Then I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to tell her or not, but I already had, so the owl went to her and she gave her a letter and she flew away with it. Then Hermione Granger went away too, and I’ve been worried that I did the wrong thing and that you’ll be cross with me for it.”

Harry smiled as Luna drew breath. His heart was thrumming gently under his robes and he couldn’t say why. But it filled him with a warm, cozy feeling as his porridge went down nicely.

“It’s fine, Luna, I don’t mind that you told her,” Harry soothed her. Luna’s shoulders visibly sagged with the relief. “Hedwig is a good judge of character, so if she went to Hermione she must like her, which means I’ll probably end up liking her too. So you can stop worrying.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Luna beamed. “That means I can finally go and read my letter. I was so worried I haven’t even opened it yet! Bye, Harry!”

Then she jumped up and scurried away like a mouse who’d just stolen a block of cheese. Harry grinned to himself as he watched her go. Then his eyes fell on the far side of the room, over the crowded Hufflepuff table, right to the Gryffindor benches against the far wall. He searched along them until he found the head of Hermione Granger, wondering what on Earth she could have wanted with his owl.

She was sat by herself, which Harry found oddly annoyed him, and a book was propped open against her large milk jug. There was a little crinkle of concentration between her eyebrows as she read, that Harry guessed was a regular resident there. She seemed utterly oblivious to the world around her, and blissfully unaware that Harry Potter was staring so blatantly at her from across the room.

It was weird, to catch himself doing that, but he found it hard to stop without serious effort. Luckily, there was a great whooshing sound just then as the morning post owls flew in. Harry wasn’t expecting anything; Sirius had sent him sweets just the day before, and if the Dursleys ever volunteered to send him post it would have been one of the signs of the apocalypse in Harry’s book.

So it was something of a surprise to spot Hedwig at the head of the flock. She soared around and gracefully landed on Harry’s shoulder, standing proudly as the other owls missed their targets and knocked over bowls of fruit and pitchers of lemon juice. She had a letter tied neatly to her foot, and Harry took it off in deep curiosity.

The envelope contained only his name, written in delicate calligraphy. But there, carefully stuck to the top right-hand corner, was a little stamp … a Penny Black. The sight of it caused something to coil and uncoil in Harry’s belly. It was a very excited thing, whatever it was, though Harry wished it wouldn’t wriggle about so much.

Harry’s eyes snapped up once again and this time, to his immense surprise, he found Hermione Granger looking directly athim. Harry caught her eye and she smiled shyly, before flicking her gaze away as if he’d caught her in the act. He had no idea if she had been looking at him before, but she seemed to know exactly where he was sat as the owls delivered their cargoes.

Then Harry suddenly understood …thiswas why Hermione had been looking for Hedwig! This is why he’d yet to receive any special stamps or letter paper from her! She’d started their penpal relationship by asking his owl to be her courier … and Hedwig had agreed. That said enough for Harry to be very pleased about Hermione doing it.

It was odd, but the very personal nature of this made Harry very covetous of it.

The bell sounded then, indicating fifteen minutes before lessons started. There was a cacophony, as students wolfed down final slices of toast and slurped on lukewarm tea, and a mass exodus filed up to leave the Great Hall. Without meaning to, Harry and Hermione reached the door at the same time, but from opposite directions. Harry stopped for her to go first, so Hermione ducked her head, hugged her book to her chest and scurried past without a word, though she was blushed red right up to her sparkling eyes and smiling to herself.

Harry watched a moment as Hermione made her way down to the dungeons, then he headed off to the Arithmancy Classrooms on the Fifth Floor, not noticing that she’d looked over her shoulder at him just before he disappeared out of sight. Both of their thoughts were fixed on the little copse at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione didn’t know that’s what she was thinking about, but it was the only place on Harry’s mind.

After all, it was where, during the morning break, Harry intended to retreat to read his first letter from her, and the anticipation for them both would guarantee that the time till then couldn’t pass quickly enough.

Chapter 4: The Thirty-Three Sisters

Chapter Text

On the West side of the Forbidden Forest, flanking one of the fast-flowing tributaries that fed the Great Lake, stood a cluster of trees that were quite separate from the density of the main Forest. It sat on a bend of the waterway that was out of sight of the castle, a short distance from Hagrid’s Hut, but hidden from view from that also, and so was a perfectly private and solitary spot.

Harry had once counted the trees and found that there were a pleasingly neat thirty-three of them. He called them the Thirty-Three Sisters, and they provided his preferred spot in the whole of Hogwarts and her grounds. Isolated and away from the hustle of the school, Harry would spend hours sat in the circular clearing at the heart of the copse, doing his homework or simply spending time with Hedwig if she was awake, and his own thoughts if she wasn’t.

So it wasn’t lost on him that this was something of a watershed moment, as he brought an outsider into his most private place for the first time. Hermione Granger wasn’t with him in person, of course, but her thoughts and presence were burning a hole in Harry’s school satchel in the form of the letter she had written him. Deeply curious as to what she might have to say, Harry quickly took the letter out as soon as he was comfortably sat down, before resting back against the trunk of one of the Sisters and settling down to read.

The first thing he noticed was that Hermione Granger had very neat handwriting. He found that this fact didn’t surprise him, which was an odd realisation, and he nodded approvingly as he glanced over the lines of tight calligraphy. There was something to be said for good handwriting in Harry’s book, and he felt that this had started well as he appreciated Hermione’s fine hand.

Then he found himself smiling before he’d even finished the opening paragraph.

Hello Harry.

I didn’t really know how to start this letter, so I thought I’d start it by saying that I didn’t know how to start it, which has actually turned out to be a really good way to start it, as now I’ve started it!

I hope that hasn’t made me seem a bit dopey, as I promise you that I’m not, but if it has please persevere and don’t hold my dottiness against me! So, where to go from here? I’ve decided to make this a bit like a stream of consciousness thing, as I’m not used to writing letters like this, so apologies if I make no sense and go off at wild tangents. I’m just really pleased that you agreed to this at all and I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, so I hope I don’t put you off!

So, a little bit about me I suppose. My full name is Hermione Jane Granger … Jane was my grandmother’s name from my father’s side … and I just turned fifteen back on September the Nineteenth, which is my birthday. OBVIOUSLY, you must be screaming! My Mum chose my name from a Shakespeare play, ‘The Winter’s Tale’, and I’ve always liked it. It’s different and unusual and I like that it isn’t easy to contract. Ronald Weasley, a boy in my House that you know about, tries to call me ‘Mione’ and I hate that, which makes him call it me even more. I’d like to turn him into a statue every time he does it, like what happened to Hermione in the play. If you know the spell for that, feel free to let me know. Or maybe I’ll just see if I can invent it if there isn’t one!

What else? Well, I’m five-foot-three and one-quarter, and the one-quarter is very important thank you very much! I have brown hair, which you know, and also brown eyes, which you probably don’t, and they turn a sort of hazel shade in the sun, which I don’t think anyone knows. But now you do, so that makes one person besides me. Even though my hair is quite dark, my skin is fair, so I tan quite easily and I have to be careful not to burn in the sun. My Dad’s brother suffered skin cancer from severe sunburn, so I wear sun screen pretty much every day. It was drilled into me to be ultra cautious when outdoors. So if you’ve ever smelt coconut oil when around me in the library, now you know where it came from!

I grew up in a town called Abingdon, which is a short way from Oxford, and that’s where my Mum and Dad’s dental practice is. They are both dentists, you know, so I knew my molars from my incisors at a very early age! It’s ironic, really, that I have such big, ugly teeth with two dentists for parents! I suppose I might have had braces if I’d stayed as a Muggle, but can you imagine the teasing I’d have here if I turned up one term with a mouth full of metal? The anti-Muggle sentiment is already pretty bad with many students, and the ‘anti-me’ sentiment even more prevalent. So I don’t think braces would do much for my quality of life here, do you! Not that I mean that as fishing for sympathy, mind you. If there’s anyone that I don’t need to explain ignoring gossip to, it’s you.

Life away from Hogwarts seems a good place to go next. At home, we live right on the banks of a canal and my Dad has a small narrowboat that we take trips to the city on during breaks between terms. Have you ever been to Oxford? It’s a very grand and beautiful place with all the ancient colleges there. Until I received my Hogwarts letter I always hoped that I’d end up in one of them, but I doubt that will ever happen now. I understand that there is a secret pathway from Hogwarts to Muggle University though, so maybe I will, who knows?

Did you ever think about things like that, your future? How did you react when you got your Hogwarts letter? It must have been ever such a surprise for you, just like it was for me. Look at us! We’re finding things in common already. Oh, that makes me happy! I bet your Muggle relatives must have been shocked too. How did they take it? Were they distressed to lose you to the Magical World? They must have been.

Oh … that may be too personal to share. You don’t have to tell me about that if you’d rather not. I just know that my parents tried to keep me as a Muggle at first, but they came around eventually when I put my foot down! I can be quite stubborn when I want to be, you know! I imagine that your guardians must have been the same. It was probably difficult for them to adjust. They are your Aunt and Uncle aren’t they? Or is that rumour wrong? I often wonder how much that we ‘know’ about you is right and how much is made up.

That’s really what I should talk about next. You’ve probably been wondering why I said I’d like to have you as a penpal. I know I would be, in your place, and I’ve certainly been wondering about why I just blurted it out like that. It must have sounded so awful, like I was just another of your obsessed fans trying to get some gossip, but I really didn’t mean it like that. I hope you can believe me about that.

With that said, I still owe you an explanation. I wont pretend not to be fascinated by you and your story. Please don’t hold that against me, it’s just such an interesting topic with all the mystery surrounding it. It stirs the natural academic in me. I wont push you for any details that you don’t want to share, though, and I promise again that anything you do tell me will be kept in the strictest confidence. I have already privacy-charmed a little chest under my bed where I will keep your letters. I’m pretty confident that even Professor Dumbledore would have a hard time breaking through those enchantments! So you can rest assured of my secrecy.

But that isn’t the real reason that I wanted to get to know you. I suppose it’s more the fact that you don’t seem to be anything like I might have expected for someone with your backstory. You don’t milk the limelight, you don’t trade on your fame, and that both pleases and fascinates me. I’ve often wondered what goes through your mind when all the groupies surround you and people whisper and gossip. You seem to handle it so well, but I imagine it’s a really heavy burden to carry. It can’t be an easy life at all and I understand why you prefer to keep to yourself most of the time. I’d just like to know the person behind the story, and I hope you’ll give me a chance to do that, as far as you are comfortable of course.

Look at me, I’ve rabbited on for four sheets of parchment already! Well done for getting this far! I don’t know if I’ve made much sense, but I hope I haven’t put you off replying. Again, don’t feel under any pressure to tell me anything you don’t want to. Stick to broad topics if you like. I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on the Triwizard Tournament so far. Did you watch the First Task? Those dragons were pretty scary, weren’t they? I think Cedric did well, but the French girl was lucky not to get her head taken off by that flailing tail when it was her go. I don’t think I’d have liked to compete in the Tournament if those are the risks to be expected!

What’s it like sharing a table with the Beauxbatons girls? I bet it’s fascinating finding out about their school and things. I’m really quite jealous. Maybe I’ll have to ask that Viktor Krum about Durmstrang. He’s always in the library, isn’t he? Does that annoy you as much as it does me? I bet it does. How are we supposed to study with his fanclub twittering around all the time? Honestly!

What’s it like being in Ravenclaw? I sometimes wonder how much different the school experience is for the other Houses. What’s your Common Room like? Ours is quite homely, I suppose you’d call it. We have a big fireplace and several couches that surround it, but they are all pretty old and rickety. That adds to the charm of the place, but it does give the room a musty sort of smell. I like our tapestries best, though. They go from floor to ceiling and are intricately woven in gold and scarlet. They are really very pretty. Do you have tapestries and hangings too? What are they like?

Well, I think I’ve babbled on for long enough! Wow, I really didn’t intend for the first letter to be this long! Sorry about that. Please don’t think that you have to write equally as much … though I’d be delighted if you do. I’ll be ever so excited to hear back from you, so the more the better! I’ve really enjoyed writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it and want to write back. It’s fun, I promise, so I hope you give it a go.

I look forward to hearing from you. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m thinking of using your owl to deliver this to you. She’s ever so pretty, but I don’t know her name. With a bit of luck I’ll find someone who does.

Yours Sincerely

Hermione. J. Granger

Harry sat back a moment to consider what he’d just read. He felt he knew Hermione Granger ten times better already, and this only half came from the things she’d said. There was something about her style, her manner of expression, that spoke a lot about the kind of person she was.

She wasn’t a confident girl, that much was clear, and Harry found himself surprised by the fact. He had always thought of Hermione as intelligent, heard her being chatty and talkative around the school, and assumed that she was self-assured. But she obviously wasn’t. She hoped for a lot of things, seemed to err on the side of expecting the worst, and didn’t appear to have much faith in herself. Her repeated pleas for Harry to not judge her, and the thinly-veiled expectancy that he wouldn’t write back certainly suggested that.

And Harry found that this better understanding of her character bothered him. She had always seemed pleasant enough, if a little bit overbearing at times, and the idea that she carried around this sort of resignation for the worst didn’t sit well with him. She seemed nice enough to not warrant such negativity in her life … and Harry wondered if he should tell her that when he replied.

For he definitely intended to reply. There was a sort of eager energy about Hermione’s letter, about her style of writing, and Harry knew already that he’d be reading it again shortly. He had enjoyed the experience first time around, and had a feeling it would be just as fun on a second perusal. Then he would turn his attention to what to say back.

And therein lay his conundrum … whatshouldhe say? Hermione had asked a lot of questions, so that was a starting point. Then she gave some information about herself, which Harry could do, too. But then there were the facts about her home life, which Harry felt a sort of fond jealousy reading about. He certainly couldn’t tell her about his own, it was far too dark a path to tread this early in proceedings. He hadn’t even told Sirius everything yet, fearing that he might blow up the entire of Privet Drive if he knew how badly Harry had been treated by his Aunt and Uncle.

So family stuff was largely out. But what about his own personal mythology? Hermione had seemed interested in that, but Harry couldn’t help but grin at the image of the look of surprise Hermione would wear when he disclosed how little he knew about all of it. As soon as she knew that he was dull and boring and not the epic hero of the textbooks, she might regret ever wanting to be his penpal at all.

And Harry found that he disliked that idea. There was a sort of cosiness in the secrecy of his new connection to the Gryffindor brain box, and even though it was in its infancy Harry was already feeling covetous of it. he certainly didn’t want to do anything to lose it. Hewanted Hermione to want to get to know him, and he was keen to get to know her, too. These new bits of information about her that he now knew, even though they seemed largely whimsical, had simply whetted his appetite to know more, and to tell her some things about himself.

He didn’t know quite what he was going to say, was sure it wouldn’t be coherent, but Harry reached into his satchel anyway for a quill, inkpot and a roll of parchment. He just hoped there would be enough.

Chapter 5: A Shield of Parchment

Chapter Text

It hadn’t been a good day for Hermione Granger, and she only had herself to blame.

At least, this is what she told herself as she stomped into the Great Hall for dinner that night. She hadn’t known what she had been expecting, really, but now she saw how silly her best hopes had been. For to anticipate an immediate reply from Harry Potter seemed to Hermione like the stuff of nonsense, now that she thought about it. People didn’t have much time for her in person so why would it be any different via letters?

It reminded Hermione of the fraught nature of ‘friendships’ and ‘being liked’, which is why she normally left such things to other people most of the time.

But she had got it into her head that Harry Potter would like her, that her first letter - which she had enjoyed writing very much - would prompt him to pen an instant reply. Indeed, she half-expected to have a letter in her hand by the end of the morning break period, or by lunch time at least. She was that keen for Harry to talk back to her that she convinced herself that this was his sentiment too.

So her mood at being letter-less by the end of the day’s classes was quite a sour one. And sour would soon become grumpy, which would give way to feeling sorry for herself, as she considered all the circ*mstances in what she hoped was a rational manner, but was probably done in a bitterness of spirit, through no fault of Harry’s own.

At first, Hermione told herself that Harry might not have had time to read the letter yet, or maybe that he hadn’t been able to finish it. She’d written quite a bit more than she’d intended, after all. But as the day wore on, this sensible idea was replaced by the scathing notion that he didn’twantto read it. That maybe he’d been offended by her use of his owl, or some other equally preposterous reason, and had changed his mind about being her penpal entirely.

Which is what made Hermione’s mood a grumpy one for the middle of the day. She snapped at Lavender Brown for going on about that stupid Ball that might not even be happening during Herbology, then tried to confiscate a pack of Exploding Snap cards from a couple of Second-Years because they were exploding too loudly, before topping it off by nearly getting maimed in Care of Magical Creatures, as she was too distracted to have the patience to bow properly to a hippogriff, who then proceeded to try and stomp on her head.

And the icing on the cake was that she’d only earned ten House points all day, which was a record low for her and the stupidity of the reason rankled with her sensibilities. It wasn’t helped when she saw a significant jump in the increase of gems in the Ravenclaw Hourglass, accompanied by a whisper that Harry Potter had been outstanding in a Defence Against the Dark Arts class, by conjuring a fully-corporeal Patronus, which not only accounted for the leap in Ravenclaw points but made Hermione cross and jealous, as that was a spell she couldn’t do yet.

Harry Potter was being all sorts of irritating to Hermione today, whether he knew it or intended it or not.

When she caught herself thinking that, Hermione felt immediately guilty and chastised herself for being so silly. This was her fault, for suddenly expecting a sea-change in how someone might view her, without any real reason for the polar shift. And Harry couldn’t be blamed, either. He was quiet, reserved, if he was going to reply to her letter he’d likely make it something more considered and cogent, unlike her multi-page ramble. To expect him to reply so quickly was dumb … to expect him to reply at all wasn’t much more sensible.

And so it was that Hermione slunk into dinner feeling very sorry for herself. After all her fanciful build-up, the reality was very much a let down, and Hermione rather thought that she should have expected that. She slid quietly into a seat on the Gryffindor bench and looked around the room. The other schools were dining with them this evening, and Hermione noticed the sullen face of Viktor Krum angled in her direction. She wished he wouldn’t look at her, but he did tend to do that a lot.

Then Hermione found her target … the source of her profound disquiet. But Harry Potter wasn’t facing in her direction. The Beauxbatons lot had taken up a vast swathe of the middle of the Ravenclaw table and Harry was pushed almost to the far edge of the bench, which Hermione found annoyed her for the rudeness of it. Who were they to push him out?

So she couldn’t see his face, to gauge whether or not any letter reading had been done by him or not, which had been a greater reason for Hermione going to dinner than actually eating. Accepting that she would take no pleasure from the rest of the evening, Hermione resigned herself to picking at food she didn’t want, glancing up occasionally to watch Harry talking with that blonde girl, who had told Hermione the name of Harry’s owl, and wondering what they might be chatting about.

She couldn’t have guessed that she would soon find out that it was all abouther.

For almost as soon as Hermione got up to leave, the little blonde witch followed suit. Hermione was almost at the top of the Main Staircase when a puffed-out voice called up to her from the landing below. Hermione ignored it at first, stopping only when the voice grew louder and borderline frantic.

“Miss Hermione Granger! Wait! Please stop!”

Hermione halted at the sound of her own name and turned to see the shock of blonde hair bound up the stairs to her. The curiously expressive eyes of this young witch were flushed from vigorous exercise, and she needed a second to catch her breath as she reached Hermione’s level.

“You walk very fast, did you know?” the witch panted. “I almost didn’t catch you.”

“Why were you trying to catch me?” Hermione asked. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, but it’s what I can do for you. My name is Luna and I’m Harry Potter’s friend. He asked me to give youthis.”

And with that Luna thrust her hand forward to offer Hermione a thick envelope, that was heavy with the weight of what seemed to be an entire roll of parchment at least. Her own name was emblazoned on the envelope, with a small note in the top right corner that read, “attach PB here”.Hermione smiled fondly at it, her heart alive with excitement, as she realised that she hadn’t sent Harry any stamps yet, so he must have had to improvise.

But she was too fevered to be bothered about that right now … for Harry Potter really had written back the same day, confirming all Hermione’s wildest hopes, and he’d said quite as much as she by the looks of things.

Hermione took the envelope in slightly trembling hands. Then she looked at Luna. “Thank you. Did Harry tell you what this is all about?”

“No, but I can guess,” Luna replied quietly. “We all need a friend sometimes, don’t we, Miss? Even if we pretend that we don’t. I hope you and Harry will be friends, he deserves one, and you do too, probably. And don’t worry, I wont tell anyone.”

Then Luna did something very unexpected. She gave Hermione a swift hug around the middle, before scuttling off back down the staircase. Hermione dwelt on the strangeness of that for all of thirty seconds, before rushing the rest of the way to the Gryffindor Common Room with the letter clamped tightly in her hands.

The first decision she had to make was where to read it. The Common Room was sparsely populated right now, but that wouldn’t last as people starting returning from dinner. Then they’d be engaging in all their usual silliness and rowdiness and Hermione would get no peace at all. On top of that, she might draw suspicion from reading such a long letter in public, and as it wasn’t encoded anyone could snoop over her shoulder and that simply wouldn’t do at all.

Then Hermione thought about going straight to her bed and pulling the hangings shut for privacy, but that would likely draw attention too. Lavender and Parvati would be lewd about it, but Fay - who Hermione got on with the best - might think she was ill or upset and show genuine concern for her well-being. Hermione didn’t want to snap at the closest thing she had to an ally when she was just being attentive.

So no sooner had she entered the Common Room than Hermione was turning around and leaving it again. The Astronomy Tower would have been a nice, secluded reading spot, but the First-Years used that for star-gazing on Wednesday nights. The only other option was a parapet at the top of the tower where Professor McGonagall lived. It was usually deserted and if the Professor decided to take a night-time stroll, and found Hermione lurking there alone, she’d have some awkward explaining to do.

But it was a risk she was willing to take. So, pulling her cloak tight around her chilly shoulders, Hermione set off through the interchanging patches of dark shadows and silvery moonlight and hurried towards the parapet, before her eagerness to read the letter caused her head to explode.

Hermione found the parapet empty as usual and parked herself right on the far edge of it, out of sight of the doors to McGonagall’s chambers. Then she carefully unpicked the seal on the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was, indeed, a whole roll of parchment, carefully folded flat in order to be squeezed into the envelope, which Harry seemed to have made himself from another sheet of parchment. Hermione admired his skill at doing that a moment, then hungrily dove into his first words.

Hello Hermione.

First of all, let me say thanks for writing me such a long letter! I enjoyed reading it, and I’ll get to that in a minute, but for a while there I thought you’d changed your mind about writing to me at all, especially after Luna - who you met at the owlery last night - told me that she’d been writing to a penpal since Sunday! I thought you’d decided that this wasn’t such a good idea after all, so I was pleased when Hedwig turned up at breakfast this morning with your letter for me.

Poor Luna had been fretting all night. She thought she’d done something wrong by telling you Hedwig’s name, but I didn’t twig as to why you might want to know it until your letter was literally in my hand! Yes, I am that much of a dunderhead! I’m sorry, but that’s just something you’re going to have to get used to if you insist on getting to know me better! But at least you are forewarned.

Luna signed up for the Penpal Club, you know, and she’s the only person that’s admitted it to me, but I’m sure lots of other people have too. You wont be able to tell me that, of course, but I’ve never seen so much covert letter-reading in all my time here, so you’ve definitely started a trend.

I feel bad that Luna has decided to search for companionship in this way, not that I mean that to sound like a value judgement against your project, mind you. I just know that she gets bullied a lot, and I try to look out for her when it happens with members of my own House, but there’s not much I can do about the rest of the school. I have thought about telling Professor Flitwick, who is my Head of House, about it, but I don’t think it would help much. Luna isn’t a complainer, and there will always be gossip and whispering, and they haven’t stopped it for me so I cant see it being any different for anyone else. So I do what I can, even if it isn’t really very much. She's a nice girl and doesn’t deserve the hard time she gets.

But Luna was telling me a bit about her new penpal, and how much she’s enjoyed their letter exchanges so far. The whole thing has made her bright and happy, and it’s good to see that in her for a change. So in case you were ever in doubt, this is a very good thing that you’ve done, Hermione Granger, and you should be proud of yourself for it, you really should. You are bringing happiness to people, offsetting a bit of loneliness, even if the people who benefit from it don’t know to whom they are truly indebted.

But can I confess that I like that I DO know? I like that I know that you have this kindness in you, which is something that I bet most people don’t know about you. Merlin, even I didn’t know it until just recently, and I probably wouldn’t have guessed it about you from afar, but the surprise that you do only makes me feel worse for the ways I was so rude to you before. You’ll have to forgive my ignorance about that, or is it arrogance?

Either way, I feel a bit privileged to know this secret about you, and as I suppose you have no intention of revealing your role in the Penpal Club any time soon, it might just fall to me to show you all the thanks and appreciation for everyone that you are helping, as they aren’t able to. I cant guarantee that I’ll be up to the job, but I’ll do my best. You certainly deserve that much for being so selfless.

So you might be wondering why I signed up for the Club in the first place. I remember you saying that you were surprised to see my name down on the sign-up form, so I think I’ll start the letter properly from there. The truth is, I don’t really know why I did it! I’ve never been one to volunteer information about myself before, and that includes to people I know a bit. I think the reason is that they all want to talk about the same thing … my ‘story’ … and I have very little to tell them about it that they don’t already know.

Before we go any further, are you okay with me using the moniker Voldemort, or do you get all squeamish like everyone else and would prefer me to stick to all this You-Know-Who nonsense? You seem too logical and clever to be as stupid as everyone else about this, but if it makes you uncomfortable tell me so now and I wont use it in the future.

And that brings me to my next point. Several times in your letter you seemed to expect me not to want to write back to you, even though I said that I would. I am nothing if not a boy of my word, and if I promise something, I see it through. So you can stop worrying that I wont reply to you in the future, unless you turn out to be cruel and malicious, which might be such an unexpected turn that I’d still want to know more about you regardless of that just to find out how you hide it so well!

So, back to why I signed up, and the other part that you might be curious about, too … about why I still agreed to it even though I knew who I’d be writing to.

I see now how that might have come across as weird for you, and I’m sorry if that’s how you took it. I wasn’t trying to be a creep or anything, not like that Krum bloke, who seems to have an unhealthy interest in you that you might want to be careful of. He stares at you a lot, if you haven’t noticed. He seems brutish to me, but who am I to advise a virtual stranger? The duck-footed, sullen look might be your type! Still, you might want to invest in some sturdy repelling spells just in case it isn’t!

But why did I sign up to penpal with you specifically? I still don’t really know, that’s the truth and I’m a big stickler for honesty, so sorry if you find that a bit brusque. I hadn’t thought about having a penpal of any sort until I heard about the Club, and it was only when I did that I thought I wouldn’t mind it. I suppose I sort of thought that I could practice communicating this way and, if the person didn’t guess who I was, I wouldn’t get annoyed by them asking if I remembered what Voldemort looked like, or how much the Killing Curse hurt to get hit by, and all the other ridiculous things that people expect me to know from when I was a one-year-old.

Though you did ask about it, and I actually don’t mind telling you, which is kind of why I agreed to penpal with you, even though I’d know who you were. I know you and me are the top students in the year, but I act much more on instinct and try not to over-think things, whereas I get the feeling that you are more naturally clever than me. I get good marks in class because I work really hard and study a lot, but it’s much more a 'feeling' sort of thing for me. Like with Potions … sometimes I ignore the text book and do what feels right, like dicing an ingredient instead of cutting it into even strips or something. The fact that it works most of the time is instinct, or luck … if you believe Prof. Snape’s opinion on it!

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that, when you offered to be my penpal, I considered it for about three seconds, it felt okay and so I went with it. I don’t really know why, but I’ve come to think that I have good instincts that are nearly always right. And my instinct about you is that you’d be the right sort of penpal for me, even though we barely know each other, and your first letter only reinforced that.

So let’s get my ‘legend’ out of the way first. I genuinely don’t know any more about it than you might have read in the textbook passages about me, sorry to be a bore. People tend not to believe me about that, no matter how hard I try and tell them. It was only last year that I learned that my parents were betrayed by one of their friends, for example. That's how little I truly know.

He sold them out to Voldemort, who turned up at our house in Godric’s Hollow on Halloween and killed my Mum and Dad. Then he tried to kill me - I still don’t know why - but the curse bounced back and killed him, but I don’t know why that happened either, really. Dumbledore gave me a partial explanation for it, but it’s full of holes and I’m sure there must be more to it.

The only thing I do remember is a flash of green light, which I sometimes dreamt about when I was little. And that’s not something that I’ve ever told anyone. But you told me that interesting thing about your eyes changing colour, which I wouldn’t mind seeing happen one day if you don’t mind showing me, and so this is a secret for you about me. It’s not much of one, but I tried telling you that I’m not as interesting as you might be expecting!

I didn’t know what the green light was, for the longest time. I was told that my parents were killed in a car crash that I somehow managed to survive, but I could never work out where the green light came from. It was only later that I learned the truth, when I found out how they’d really died.

You probably know, but just in case you don’t, the Killing Curse produces an acid green spell tail. That’s what I was seeing when I had nightmares as a kid … I saw the flash of the spell that killed my Mum. She was there in the room, trying to protect me till the very end. Voldemort cut her down without a second thought.

But this is in danger of getting very gloomy! Unfortunately, I cant make it better by telling you anything about my early life. It’s not a story known at all, and I’m not going to tell you about it just yet. Please try not to take that personally, but let’s just say it’s very different from what people might expect it to be … and not in a good way … and leave it at that for now.

But no … that will just eat away at you as it’s so cryptic. Without going too deep, I’ll just say that my Aunt and Uncle took me in under great duress, and never wanted me around at all. As soon as my Godfather was exonerated last Summer, I jumped at the chance to live with him, even though I’d spent much of last year thinking he was trying to kill me. That might give you just enough of an insight into how desperate I was to get away from my other relatives, such as they can be called.

But enough of that. Your home life sounds nice. I’ve never been to Oxford, or even on a boat, besides a pedalo once at a lake we visited on primary school trip, and the ones we used after getting off the train in our first-year, but I have always liked the water. Oxford sounds very impressive. Is it weird that I can easily imagine you as a ten-year-old planning your life to the minutiae! I saw your homework planner in the library once, and it was so much more detailed than mine that I went right back to my Common Room and totally redesigned my own to match!

So you being a planner isn’t a surprise. But it must have shocked your parents to find out that you were a witch. I hope you didn’t get the letter while they were performing a root canal on someone or something! That might not have been good for the poor bugger! I had a few fillings when I was younger, but I didn’t mind dentist visits as I often got a sticker badge and a lolly from the hygienist for being brave … and that helped me to be brave at home.

Which is why my letter arriving was one of the best days of my life. I didn’t get it at first … my Uncle wouldn’t allow it and vowed to squash the magic out of me! I genuinely think he was serious about trying, too! But eventually, with Hagrid’s help, I got my letter. I thought it was a mistake at first, or some big joke. I might have thought that my Aunt and Uncle had set it up for one of those prank TV shows or something, if I wasn’t already convinced that they lacked the imagination for anything like that!

So, yeah, I got my letter and literally ticked off the days till I went to Hogwarts. But it wasn’t quite as liberating as I’d hoped, because everyone knew this big story about me and I knew none of it. I wasn’t expecting gossip and rumours from Day One, and I’ve never liked being on display. When I went to primary school I usually had to wear horrible cast offs of my cousin’s - and he is about four times fatter than me. I learned to keep my head down so that I couldn’t hear all the name-calling. It wasn’t as bad as that when I got here, but I have just been conditioned to not like attention, so I prefer to keep to myself and avoid crowds.

I’m sorry, Hermione, I must sound like such a hard luck case! I don’t mean to unload on you like this, and this is what I was afraid of happening. You probably want to hear juicy details about what being a hero is like, but all I know about is being a nobody away from Hogwarts. You don’t need to hear my whingeing about that though, so that’s the last I’ll say about any of it.

Just looking through your letter again and I have to admit to laughing about your special ‘one-quarter’! I wonder if you find it so important because it’s at the top where your brain is, or whether you’ve secretly got an extra knee on each leg or something! I’ve got very knobbly knees myself, so if you do have an additional one I’ll be happy to trade, or maybe I’ll swap you for some quill nibs as you never seem to have any spares of your own!

I don’t actually know how tall I am. I’ve never properly measured it to be honest. But I’m a good head taller than you, so I’m sure I could guess at it. I have very green eyes, though, that I’ve been told are just like my mother’s. I’m not sure if I find that creepy or not, you know. Like there could be times when someone is looking at me and seeing her or things like that. That might be weird. My hair I get from my Dad, apparently. As you might have guessed, I am NOT happy about that! He could have used a comb or something, just once … but noooo!

What’s this you say about your teeth? I’ve never noticed that they are unusually big or anything. Far be it from me to advise you about any body issues, but if you aren’t happy with them couldn’t you just use magic to alter them? Like I said, I’ve never noticed that they are overly large, but you know you better than me, so I’ll have to assume you are right about this. Your face always seems in proportion to me, if you’re interested to know. But if you think your teeth are big, you might see that as an insult, which I don’t mean, so please don’t take it like that!

The Triwizard Tournament has been great so far! The dragon task was really exciting, but I was surprised that Krum didn’t think of using his broom to try and get the egg, considering he’s an international Seeker. I think that’s what I would have done, if it was me.

Do you like flying? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on a broom. I love it, it’s one of my favourite things to do. The feeling of wind rushing past my face, the freedom of flight, it’s just so liberating. If you like flying, maybe we can have a race one day. You can even use my broom, which is better than the school ones, and I’ll see if I can catch you!

Don’t ask me about the French girls. They get on my flippin’ nerves! They wear so much perfume that I feel like I’m choking half the time. And Lisa Turpin, a girl in my House, had a row with one the other day about the right use of nouns. She was asking for an egg custard and tried to do it in French, but she said ‘le creme d’oueff’ and one of the Beauxbatons lot snickered at her and said it was ‘la creme d’oueff’ and not ‘le creme d’oueff’ because it was feminine. Fair play to Lisa, she was having none of it. Told the girl that it was an egg custard, and that she wanted to eat it, not date it, so what did she care what gender it was. We all had a good laugh about that!

Being in Ravenclaw is pretty good for me. I think you Griffins would think us a stuffy lot because we study all the time, but it allows me to get peace and quiet more often than not, which I like. Hell, we even have to answer riddles or test questions just to get into our Common Room! I bet you have to arm wrestle a Grindylow or something to prove your doughty bravery to get into yours, don’t you!? How does that Neville Longbottom ever even reach his dorm with that? He seems a very nervous type to me. The Hinkypunks must eat him for breakfast!

Our Common Room is massive, easily the biggest room I’ve been in besides the Great Hall. It’s all done out in gold and blue and we have a great carpet in the middle that has stars on it that you absolutely must not stand on. Nobody remembers why, but the suspicion is that it causes a supernova somewhere in the galaxy if you do … and nobody wants to be the stupid Claw who sends our own Sun into meltdown and fries Planet Earth! So we are all very careful when crossing the room!

Right, I have almost no parchment left so I’m going to leave it there. I hope I haven’t scared you off by telling you some of my woes. That wasn’t my intention at all. I really enjoyed reading your letter - I’ve gone over it three times already - and I’d really like to read another one, if you’re still happy to keep this going. You were right, this was fun and I’m more certain than ever that having you as a penpal will be a good thing for me.

So, I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry. J. Potter (oh look, we have the same middle initial - the J stands for James, which was my Dad's name - and first one, too, come to think of it! Look us us! Finding MORE things in common already!)

PS. I liked that you used Hedwig to send me your letter. She’s a barometer of good people that I’ve come to rely on. So it’s a good sign that she agreed to this.

PPS. I have a challenge for you. How about we don’t use your Penny Black scheme, but instead find elaborate ways to get our letters to each other? It’ll be a test of your inventiveness, to see if you really would have made a good Ravenclaw after all! I’m sort of convinced that only being Gryffindor’s Brainiest Witch might not be all it’s cracked up to be! Let me know what you think.

Bye.

Hermione put down the letter and found that her hands were trembling for some reason, and she couldn’t work out why. This is not what she had been expecting at all and her heart was drumming in her neck as she considered everything. That Harry Potter had endured a wretched beginning to life was well known, but to find out that this had lasted until he reached Hogwarts was something that caught Hermione totally off-guard. Her heart bled for him as she read over again the things he had only hinted about having to endure at home.

“He wasn’twanted?” Hermione muttered in distress. “How can that be? But no wonder he doesn’t want friends … he probably doesn’t even know what one looks like if this is true! Poor Harry!”

And then she went back to the very beginning of the letter and started again. She found herself choked up at Harry’s commendation of her for starting the Penpal Club and the good it was doing. ‘You should be proud of yourself’,she read over and over again. The smile that etched onto her face almost hurt. That was unexpected, too. She hadn’t imagined Harry to be this open, or this generous with his praise, this early in their new connection.

He really wasn’t all the horrible things that people said about him, after all! They just didn’t know him a single bit.

And something cosy hatched in Hermione’s chest as she thought about that, as she realised that she already now knew him better than most people could boast. And she knew immediately what Harry had meant about liking having a secret like that to himself. Hermione knew she would be happy being the only person in the world who knew just how deep Harry Potter really went. No-one else need know at all. Well, that Luna girl seemed to know, but she was like a little sister to Harry and Hermione could easily live with that.

But she had to know more, she had to make Harry feel comfortable enough to tell her all the things that he seemed determined to keep to himself. That would require delicacy, or maybe she should just break into his heart and make him see that his secrets were safe with her … that he was safe with her. Fay was right … Harry did have a lot to say, but Hermione was resolved that she would be the only one he told it all to. It would certainly take some thinking on how she’d manage it, but Hermione had to make him see that it was okay tofeel, even if that wasn’t always easy or pleasant.

Though Harry did seem to feel a lot already, and one of these things was feeling comfortable with Hermione on mere instinct, which did weird things to Hermione’s breathing and pulse as the knowledge settled on her. She’d never had that impact on someone so far as she knew, and she wasn’t sure what to do with the realisation now that she had it. People shunned and distanced themselves from her, never saw her as a source of comfort or confidence.

But Harry Potter had pretty much just told her that he did … and it was easily the best thing that anyone had ever said to Hermione Granger.

So she slowly made her way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, smiling gently to herself and warmed somehow against the brisk night air. She felt impervious to the world right now … Ron could call her ‘Mione all he liked, Lavender and Parvati could tease her till the cows came home … she could even arm wrestle those pesky Grindylows if she had to! Nothing would faze her tonight.

For she had a shield against them all now, a shield of ink and parchment, empowered with the validation of one Harry Potter, which was a defence that none of them would be able to penetrate.

Chapter 6: Desperately Seeking Harry

Chapter Text

There seemed to be a storm raging through the halls of Hogwarts, a swirling vortex of fierce energy that originated on the far side of the castle and had travelled all the way to the ground floor. It was restless, angry and getting worse by the minute. It was making a very strange sound, too, for a storm … it was a single word, being repeated over and over again.

“No.”

“Harry, please! We need you!”

“I said no!” Harry snapped again. “How many times do I have tell you? Just go away.”

“I wont, not until you agree to do this.”

Harry stopped at the final turn of the Main Staircase and glowered at the small crowd of students hurrying behind in his wake. “Lisa … sod off. I’m not doing it and that’s final. Just leave me alone.”

“Harry, come on,” Mandy Brocklehurst cajoled as Harry moved off along the First-Floor corridor. “It’s just one time. After that you can go back to the peace and quiet.”

“Yeah, because we wont give you any until you agree,” Lisa Turpin added eagerly.

“I said no!” Harry yelled, his voice rising significantly this time. “What’s wrong with you lot? Which part of ‘no’ don’t you bloody understand? Why cant you get it into your thick skulls that I’m not interested?”

“Because we don’t believe you,” Lisa persevered courageously. “The glory of Ravenclaw is at stake and I know how much you love the House. Please, Harry, we need you … Ravenclaw needs you.”

“Tough luck,” Harry sniped. “I’m not doing it and that’s the end of it. Now leave me the hell alone.”

And with that Harry darted behind a statue that hid a secret passage, slammed the heavy door behind him and finally escaped his pursuers.

The first Hermione heard of the commotion was when it reached the corridor outside of the library. Thinking it was Viktor Krum and his entourage causing all the racket, Hermione got up from her desk and marched outside to tell them off for disturbing her. She’d never done this for interrupting her work before, but this time they’d gone too far.

After all, Hermione was busy penning her reply to Harry’s letter and nothing was allowed to get in the way of this most important task.

But as Hermione pulled open the library door, she heard the last of Harry’s tirade and was just in time to see him vanish behind the statue. Clearly Harry Potter had more secrets than Hermione had ever expected.

“Don’t worry, Mand, we’ll get him back at the Common Room,” Lisa Turpin was saying in a huff. “This isn’t over yet, not by far. Come on.”

Then they scuttled off as the crowd dispersed, leaving behind Luna Lovegood, who was curiously examining Harry’s escape route with her wand. Hermione ambled over to her.

“Hello, Luna,” Hermione began brightly. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, hello Hermione,” Luna replied in deep surprise. She hadn’t expected anyone to voluntarily talk to her today, unless it was Harry Potter. She looked up at Hermione. “Do you mean allthat?Well, that was all about Harry.”

Hermione felt herself tauten and realised how odd a reaction that was. But she couldn’t help it.

“Is he okay?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Oh, yes,” Luna smiled, brightly. “He’s just in one of his bad moods. It’ll pass. They usually do.”

“Usually?” Hermione queried.

“Yes, usually,” Luna parroted. “Sometimes they last for days, but then they go away. He probably wont talk to anyone or see anyone till it does, just in case he says something that he doesn’t really mean. He does that sometimes. Not to me, though. He always manages to stay nice to me.”

Hermione smiled fondly at that. “So, what’s he in a mood about?”

“Oh, don’t you know? It’s been quite the gossip around the school,” Luna went on chirpily. “Cho Chang has come down with a serious case of Dragon Pox. Her face is full of angry spots, you know, and she wont come out of her room.”

“How did she get Dragon Pox?”

“Well, the most obvious way is from when she’s been kissing Cedric Diggory,” said Luna, thoughtfully. “People have been seeing them together in shadowy alcoves and broom cupboards and empty classrooms all over the school. That’s probably how she got it.”

“Does Cedric have the Pox too, then?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m not in his House, am I?” Luna replied.

“No, but I’m not seeing the connection here.”

“Well, it’s like this,” Luna began patiently. “During the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, Cedric Diggory had to steal his Golden Egg from under a dragon, didn’t he? And his dragon was sat on the egg most of the time, so it was in contact with the dragon’s private bits, wasn’t it? Then, when Cedric got it, he kissed it a lot when he was celebrating. Then he went and kissed Cho a lot. And that’s how he passed on the Dragon Pox.”

Hermione giggled at that. “Yes. I can see how that might happen. Poor Cho. Is she hiding away then?”

“Yes, she’s always very concerned about how she looks, so this is the worst sort of thing for her,” Luna explained, sadly. “Maybe I’ll bring her some cake or something.”

“That would be nice. But I still don’t understand, Luna … why has Cho having Dragon Pox put Harry in a bad mood? She’s … she’s not hisgirlfriend, is she?”

There was something Hermione heard in her own voice then that threw her for a loop. It was a sort of distress, coupled with a nervous hope that what she’d asked really wasn’t the case. That unsettled her greatly as she shivered with the echo of her own words.

But Luna didn’t seem to have realised Hermione’s disquiet. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. Harry doesn’t have a girlfriend, unless it’s someone from outside Hogwarts that no-one knows about.”

Relief. That wasnotthe emotion Hermione had expected to feel at the declaration. But there it was, and it served only to ramp up her unsettled fidgeting. She didn’t like this new sensation one little bit, but she had to stay on point.

“So what’s got Harry all upset then?” Hermione pressed.

“Oh, well it’s the Quidditch team, you see,” Luna elaborated. “Cho is our Seeker and we have a match against Gryffindor this weekend, but now she wont be able to play. And everyone in our House knows how good a flier Harry is, so they are trying to persuade him to take her place, but he’s having none of it.”

“Because he doesn’t like to be on display,” Hermione nodded, knowingly. “I see. So he’s getting angry at everyone for pestering him?”

“Yes, but also at himself a bit too, I think,” Luna mused.

“Why would that be? Why would he be angry at himself?”

“Because I think he secretly wants to play,” Luna replied. “He is a brilliant flier and he loves Quidditch. Sometimes, when I used to go to the Quidditch pitch to search for things people had taken from me, I’d see Harry flying around on his own in the twilight. He’d chase the Snitch round and round for ages, and he never once failed to catch it.

“But playing in front of people is different. Like you say, he doesn’t like people looking at him and things, so it stops him doing something he enjoys.”

“Though you do think he actually wants to play?” Hermione asked, to which Luna nodded back. Then Hermione frowned. “Wait a minute … did you say people steal your things?”

“Yes,” Luna confirmed.

“But that’s awful! That’s terrible! They shouldn’t do that,” Hermione cried, vehemently.

“I know, but my things always turn up in the end,” Luna replied, brightly. “And Harry stops people in Ravenclaw doing it. He’s so good, you know.”

“I’m starting to see it,” Hermione smiled. “It is a shame that he wont let himself play Quidditch though. Is there any way to change his mind, do you think?”

Luna crinkled her brow as she considered it. “I don’t know Harry all that well, but I think he stays away from attention because it only adds to his legend, and he hates all of that. I think it might be different if he was playing Quidditch just to play Quidditch, without all of that other stuff on top. But I don’t know how that might be done.”

Hermione tended to agree, but then a thought crept into her mind. She grinned at Luna as it took root.

“I think I might have a way. Thank you, Luna, for telling me this. I have to go now, I have some work to finish.”

“Alright,” Luna smiled. “Miss Hermione … would it be okay if I talk to you sometimes? I think I’d like that if I was allowed.”

“Of course you’re allowed!” Hermione beamed. “You can speak to me anytime you like … but only on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You stop calling me ‘miss’! Just Hermione will do.”

“Alright, I can do that. Bye then.”

And Luna turned and skipped away, leaving Hermione to hurry back to her private booth in the library. Her half-written letter was still in her satchel and she pulled it out quickly, dipping her quill into her ink pot and then promptly snapping the nib in her eagerness to write. She frowned as she looked down at it.

“Oh, bother! And I don’t have any spares on me … as usual! Where’s Harry when I need him?”

In fact, that was a question that most of Ravenclaw House was also asking. They wanted to continue badgering him to change his mind about Quidditch, but his knowledge of the secret passages was second to none. Even Filch didn’t know them as well as he. Harry had explored the castle extensively in his solitary existence at Hogwarts, and soon he had a virtual map in his mind of the labyrinth of underground passages and secret chambers beneath the school. He now used this knowledge extensively to escape crowds and the attention of others.

Plus there was that time in his Second Year when he’d accidentally found the mythical Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk who lived there, but that was another story.

Today he’d used them to escape the persistence of Lisa Turpin and Mandy Brocklehurst. They meant well, but they couldn’t half be annoying when they went on so much. It was enough to make the ears bleed. But even that wasn’t the main reason that Harry wanted to put distance between them today.

No, that honour fell to the fact that Harry would have loved nothing more than to don the Royal Blue team robes of Ravenclaw House and soar around the Quidditch pitch in search of the Snitch, bringing glory to the House by helping them win the game. It was a temptation so fierce that he might even have given in in the end. But that would lead to toasts and parades and people slapping his back, and Harry was deeply against being fawned over.

And physical contact was an absolute no-no in his world, and the risk of celebratory hugs was enough to make him nauseous.

So Harry used his escape route to get away from the school, only to find himself emerging in the store room of the Quidditch equipment bunker. He pushed his way past the mass of spare brooms and musty old kit and broke out into the fresh air of the pitch itself. From there he hurried up to the stands, deciding that one of the VIP viewing booths was as good a hiding place as any.

Harry looked out at the pitch as soon as he was settled. Gryffindor House were training in the sky at the moment. Harry watched them wistfully awhile, staring at the twin orange heads of the Weasley Beaters, the athletic frames of trio of witches who made up their Chaser division, and the dark-haired witch who they were training as their new Seeker. Her name was Demelza, or something like that, and she wasn’t very good. She seemed more suited to Chasing, and couldn’t see the Snitch at all by the looks of things.

But Harry could see it, even from inside the viewing booth. It was really close by, its wings flapping rhythmically as it drew nearer and nearer. Harry co*cked his head at it. For a Snitch, it was moving very slowly and methodically, not darting around at random to avoid capture, as Snitches were want to do. And it was big, far bigger than it ought to be.

Then Harry realised … it wasn’t a Snitch at all … but aletter!One that had sprouted wings and was flying around outside. In fact, it was flying in his direction, right towards him.

Harry watched in a sort of stunned shock as the letter fluttered into the viewing booth and landed deftly in his lap, with the wings disappearing as soon as it had touched down. He recognised Hermione Granger’s handwriting straight away as he read his own name on the envelope. His bad mood dissipated immediately. He’d been waiting two whole days for this and was eager to see what had taken so long.

Hello Harry.

Sorry this has taken so long … I had a mountain of homework to do that I needed to finish. Did Professor Moody set your class that essay on the uses of Gillyweed to investigate underwater species, too? That took a lot of research. There was no mention of it at all in our set texts, so in the end I had to look it up in Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean and Magical Water Plants of the Highland Lochs to find out all about its properties. Sorry if you’ve been looking for those books, I think I checked out the only copies!

I also have to confess that I have made a considered effort not to write back straight away, even though it was so very hard not to. I thought I enjoyed writing my letter a bit too much, but getting one back so soon was more exciting than I could have possible imagined, so thank you. It was like getting an extra birthday present or something. I wonder if everyone else gets as fervoured when their pigeon holes glow? I hope so, that would really make me feel happy if I’ve made people feel like that.

Sorry, I was determined to take your advice and not doubt myself so much. Your words were so kind, I cant tell you how nice those things were to read. I’ve pretty much memorised them at this point! I will try very hard to be a bit more confident in myself in the future. So yes, I’m sure everyone else is as eager to receive their next letter as I am. That said, I don’t want you to feel under pressure to reply to me so speedily. That isn’t fair and I don’t want you to feel any obligation to massage my vanity!

Your letter was surprising, in so many ways, and even though you are understandably guarded about what you are comfortable revealing, I feel honoured that you shared so much of your private life with me so soon. I wasn’t expecting that and I am touched that you felt you could be so open with me. I will, of course, never dream of pushing you to elaborate on anything, but just know that I am deeply affected by your revelations, and please, please remember that my ear will always be open for anything else you wish to get off your chest.

I’ve tried hard over the last couple of days not to think about what you might have been through as a younger child, but just know that you don’t have to suffer alone anymore. You need only tell me, and though that may not be much, this will always be sympathetic and safe space. You wont scare me off or overwhelm me I promise. But maybe later, when we know each other a lot better, you’ll be more comfortable talking about these things. I’m more than prepared to wait.

I think it is so good how you look after that poor girl, Luna. She is lucky to have someone watching out for her. I’m slightly jealous. Gryffindor House is sadly lacking in the chivalry department just now, so potential champions for me amongst this lot are thin on the ground! I don’t get THAT hard a time to be honest, but I know I don’t help my cause by being so bossy. I just cant help it … that’s simply who I am. I’m pretty good at telling people off, though, so I can assure you that if I hear any bad things being said about Luna, the person doing it will get the sharp end of my tongue!

You’ve got my interest in you all wrong, by the way. Your story, though fascinating, is only the tip of the Harry Potter-shaped iceberg as far as I am concerned. Of course you don’t remember Voldemort … ooh, that felt weird to write, even though I didn’t really think about it. I was one of the stupid people who only ever used You-Know-Who, sorry, but mostly because of how squeamish the name makes other people. Ronald Weasley practically faints whenever he hears it. Hey, maybe I’ll say it to him more often! Every time he calls me Mione, I’ll call him Voldemort. That should shut him up.

But, if you think about it, fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself, which is totally illogical. So no, I’ll use Voldemort from now on. Look, I did it there! And I only crossed it out twice, and the second time was without squeaking. That’s progress. I’ll be calling him ‘Voldykins’ before we know it!

So no, your legend isn’t my main focus. It’s always going to be there, isn’t it, always part of you? But in no way will it define you. Only you will do that, and there is where my interest lies. And after your first letter, I feel I know you loads better already. Some of it is a bit disturbing, as I said earlier, but if that’s part of you too, then I’m not afraid of it, or afraid to know more.

And if what you said is true - that you feel comfortable with me by pure instinct - then you should know that you can safely confide in me whenever you want.

By the way … that was the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me.

But back to serious business … I cannot BELIEVE that you ignore the instructions in textbooks! I’m genuinely scandalised! Do you write in the margins too, if you come up with something better? I bet you do ... and the idea of defacing textbooks chills me, I wont lie. You know how some people get second-hand embarrassment by hearing racy stories, I’ve got second-hand shock at this. I’d never dream of doing that, I follow things to the letter. But maybe that’s a failing of mine? Perhaps I need to relax a bit and push the envelope … see if I can be as good using your way. I feel another challenge coming on.

For I DEFINITELY accept your suggestion of using alternate ways to get our letters to each other. That’s really quite ingenious and I look forward to showing you just how creative I can get. You might live to regret this, Harry. Who knows what you might have awoken by stoking my hidden Ravenclaw side.

That business with your parents is so heartbreaking, Harry. You must allow me to say that. What a betrayal! At least you got to the truth and cleared your Godfather’s name in the end. I don’t know how you got through last year, thinking he was trying to kill you. It must have been so frightening for you. Of course, it was pretty hairy for us in Gryffindor, too, because he was trying to get in to reach the real traitor. He was Ron Weasley’s rat the whole time!

It’s quite funny, really, because my cat was always trying to eat him. The rat, I mean, not Ron! I think he must have sensed that there was something wicked about him. I mean, I know all cats chase mice and rats, but Crookshanks was always unusually eager to get to Scabbers. He just wanted to be a hero I think.

Oh, did I tell you I have a cat? Well, he’s half-kneazle actually, and his name is Crookshanks, like I said. No-one wanted him when I went to the Magical Menagerie on Diagon Alley to buy a pet, so I had to have him just for that reason. It seemed like we were kindred spirits in that way. How long have you had Hedwig for? She’s such a beautiful owl, far more graceful than any I’ve ever seen. You’re very lucky to have her.

You have a homework planner! Oh my Merlin … I cant tell you how much that makes me grin. I sort of thought I was the only one who did that, but I bet all you Claws have them, don’t you? Do you colour-code yours? I have a different colour for each of my classes, so it’d be interesting to compare with yours if you do that. I always put Potions in green, Charms in red, Transfiguration in blue, that sort of thing. I’m curious to see how similar our colours would be. Imagine if they were the same? That would be … unusual.

Oh, by the way, if you need any dental work doing in the future, I’ll get my parents to do it free of charge. It was very charitable of you to pretend not to have noticed my big front teeth, but we both know they are there. I would get them altered by Madame Pomfrey, but it’s for reasons so cosmetic that I’d be embarrassed to ask for it. Besides that, Mum and Dad wouldn’t approve. They’ve always tried to make me be happy with myself as I am, and they’d be disappointed in me for indulging my vanity. If I tried to explain that I’d be doing it for my own self-esteem, I’m not sure they’d believe me. They’d probably think I was doing it to impress some boy or other, and that wouldn’t go down well at all. My Mum taught me better than that.

Hold on … there’s a big commotion going on outside the library, which is where I am while writing this. I’ll be right back … it’s probably that bloody Krum fellow and his autograph hunters, who I will most certainly be keeping my wits about me with. Does he really stare at me a lot? I’ve noticed him looking a bit, but staring? That’s creepy. What the hell can he want? Be right back …

You’ll never guess what, Harry … I’ve broken my quill nib again! I’m going to have to scratch the end of this letter in with the spine of the quill, so forgive my writing for going so illegible. You probably think I’ve had a stroke or something!

But here’s my secret for this letter … I actually do like flying. A lot. I’m pretty good too, but I’m afraid I cant race you, Harry. You see, I only race Quidditch players, especially the really good ones. I have to know they are worthy of my mettle, you know? It needs to be a challenge or I’m just not motivated. Pleasure fliers, as you seem to be, just wouldn’t be worth my revealing my secret to the world. It’s a shame, as I’d quite like to see if you’re as good as you say. No-one’s ever tried to catch me before, as they know how pointless it would be, but I’d have been willing to give you a chance.

Pity.

That’s about as much as this rubbish quill can manage I’m afraid, so I’ll have to stop now. Again, don’t feel like you have to respond at silly speed. Take your time. I’m sure it will be worth the wait.

Take care.

Yours Sincerely,

Hermione. J. Granger.

Harry folded the letter, huffing with an almost humorousindignation. He put the letter carefully into his bag, stood up, then marched from the Quidditch stands with real purpose. He didn’t stop until he reached the Ravenclaw Common Room, where he was greeted by a fresh wave of pleas for him to change his mind about replacing Cho as Seeker. He held his hand up to silence everyone, turning to the one person who hadn’t bothered trying to persuade him, certain that it was a lost cause.

“Roger,” Harry called over to the Quidditch Captain, Roger Davies, who turned his head cautiously. “About Saturday … I’m in. Let’s show thosepleasure fliersof Gryffindor what a real Quidditch team looks like!”

Chapter 7: Quidditch and Quill Nibs

Chapter Text

The news that Harry Potter was going to be playing Seeker for the upcoming Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw Quidditch match caused both surprise and excited interest to run along the corridors of Hogwarts over the next few days. Rumours and questions spread like wildfire, igniting a feverish attention that few Quidditch matches in the history of the school could have scarce boasted before.

The net upshot of this was that Harry hardly set foot outside of the Ravenclaw Common Room for the rest of the week, leaving only for lessons - which he was escorted to and from by a brigade of eager Ravenclaws keen to protect him from the extra attention - and even having meals brought up to him from the Great Hall. This was all at the behest of the rejuvenated Roger Davies, who wanted to keep his secret weapon as keen and sharp-willed as possible, just in case he suddenly changed his mind about playing at all.

The only place this new excitement wasn’t felt was across the castle in Gryffindor Tower. The uncertainty surrounding Harry Potter and his hitherto unknown Quidditch skills greatly unsettled the members of that House. They speculated, they debated, they plotted ways to injure Harry before the day of the match, such was the level of disquiet caused by this enigmatic persona suddenly emerging from his own imperious shadow to range himself against them.

Indeed, Oliver Wood, the Quidditch Captain, was busy trying to find a loophole that would stop Harry from playing in the first place, on the grounds of not being registered as part of the squad. He didn’t want to take the risk that Ravenclaw House was in possession of a hidden Quidditch superstar that it was about to unleash upon the unsuspecting Gryffindors. It was only when George Weasley pointed out that no member, of any House squad, was formally registered to play that finally led Wood to concede and go back to his restless pacing.

The only person who was cheered by this curious development was one Hermione Granger. She could be found idling around Gryffindor Tower with a blatant smile on her face more often than not, which was a sight as unsettling to the Gryffindors as the one of Harry Potter lining up against them on the Quidditch pitch would be in a few days time. For a happy Hermione Granger was something they weren’t quite sure what to do with, an anomaly that they didn’t how to act around … like a chirpy Professor Snape dressed in a fluffy pink cardigan with a matching bonnet or something.

It was simply that weird.

But Hermione was happy alright, almost to the point of being fit to burst with it. For this was all her doing, and she knew that down to the marrow of her bones. It didn’t even matter that Gryffindor might suffer a sporting defeat on account of her actions, she’d just have to make up any lost points through her academic performance, if only to appease her House-proud conscience.

No, the only thing that mattered was that Harry Potter was going to play Quidditch, in front of the whole school … and the only reason forthatwas because he wanted just one person to see him do it.

“This is all for me … he wantsmeto watch him play,” Hermione had muttered to herself in something like amazement, when the news was first splashed around a horrified Gryffindor Common Room. “Maybe I’ve irritated him, which I hope I haven’t, or maybe I’ve spurred him on … but this is all for my benefit, he’s doing this all for me. He’s going to go out there and try to impressme!”

And, for the first time in her life, Hermione Granger knew what it was to feel that somebody actuallylikedher … that someone felt she was worthy of such an act as this. Harry Potter wanted her good opinion, he wanted Hermione to think well of him … and the sensation filled her to the brim with something hot and joyous … and she knew she could easily get addicted to it if she wasn’t careful.

So while everyone else around her was antsy and concerned, Hermione found herself unseasonally chipper, though she had to try very hard to hide it, lest she antagonise everyone by being happy for the very same reason that all the others were feeling so morose.

“Is Potter even any good though?” Fred Weasley was asking on Friday evening, as the final confabulation took place in the Gryffindor Common Room on the eve of the big match. “The Claws say he’s good, but has anyone actually seen him fly?”

“Does it matter? The rumour is he has aFirebolt!” Ron Weasley whined next to him, the envy clear in his saggy tone. “That would make even an average flier ten times better.”

“And it’s Harry Potter we’re talking about ... he doesn’t seem to make a habit of being bad at anything,” Dean Thomas mused ruefully.

“He is the perfect build for Seeker, too, have to give him that,” Alicia Spinnet added. “Lithe, nimble … he’ll be like a whippet in the sky.”

“Maybe we should try and call the game off,” Katie Bell suggested. “We can all pretend to have come down with Dragon Pox, too, just till Chang gets over having the real thing. We can all say that Diggory has been snogging us while his girlfriend is sick. That’s not too much of a stretch to believe, is it?”

“Wouldn’t be fair on Potter, though,” Fay Dunbar cut in. “If he’s looking forward to playing, it would be quite cruel to make up a lie just to stop him flying against us.”

“But wearetrying to stop him flying against us,” Fred pointed out.

“Yeah, whose side are you on anyway, Fay?” Angelina Johnson scowled.

“Gryffindor’s, of course,” Fay shot back. “I’m just saying … we’re supposed to be the ‘brave’ House, but it looks like we’re so terrified of letting Harry Potter play one Quidditch game against us that we’re being reduced to dirty tricks to try and stop him. How very Slytherin of us. I say let’s see what he’s got and try to beat him fair and square.”

With her head still turned away from the conversation, Hermione grinned to herself and felt a strange surge of affection for Fay just then. Her emotions were behaving rather rebelliously at the moment. They were being very naughty and not obeying Hermione’s usually strict controls over them. How very odd that was.

“Why does Potter suddenly want to play at all though? That’s what I want to know,” George Weasley went on. “One minute he’s quieter than a house-elf, the next thing he wants to be a match winner at Quidditch. What makes a bloke just up and change like that?”

“That’s easy, my dumber, uglier twin,” Fred smirked. “Either lots of gold, or the promise of victory kisses from a pretty girl. Are there any greater inducements to be had?”

Sat alone at her table nearby, Hermione couldn’t help but splutter out a choke at Fred’s suggestion. Her pulse thrummed loud in her ears as silence fell over the little group behind her.

“You okay, Mione?” asked Ron.

“Yeah fine,” Hermione replied, too thrown to even grimace at the use of her contracted name. She needed to invent an excuse and fast. “Just a Bertie Bott’s Bean that went down the wrong way, that’s all.”

“Ooh, chuck us one while you’ve got them out, then,” Ron urged.

“Sorry … last one,” Hermione invented, surprised at how easily she was able to fib.

“Shame. Save me one next time, yeah? Back to Potter though, I think he just wants to show off, that’s why he’s playing on Saturday,” Ron confidently told his audience. “Flashy broom, chance to get his name in lights … he seems the type. Even by doing nothing I think he knows he’s drawing attention to himself. I bet he loves it, really. I would, if it were me.”

Hermione felt her blood pressure tighten in her veins as something powerful rose in her chest … something distinctly protective. It was so fierce and involuntary that Hermione was powerless against it as it surged through her. She span in her chair and glowered at Ron … she couldn’t help it.

“Harry does not seem the type at all!” Hermione shrieked. “What a nonsense thing to say! He’s quiet, keeps himself to himself … and who could blame him after what he’s been through in life? It’s the kind of trauma we should all count ourselves lucky that we’ve never had to suffer. Shame on you, Ron.”

“Easy, Hermione, calm down,” Seamus cut in. “No-one’s saying that Potter hasn’t had a rough go of it.”

“A rough go! Having your parents murdered in front of you by a Dark Lord is a lot more than arough go,Seamus,” Hermione hissed, waspishly. “How can you possibly suggest that Harry would revel in the attention of something like that?”

“I’m not. All I’m saying is that Ron’s got a point,” Seamus ploughed on defiantly. “You have to admit that Potter does seem to be a bit of a showman on times.”

“Oh does he really?” Hermione scythed, glaring dangerously at Seamus now. “When? I’ll admit to it if you can give me one instance of Harry doing it.”

“That thing with his Patronus the other day,” Seamus cried in triumph. “That’s Sixth Year level magic, that is. There cant have been a need for it in your average Defence class at our age. So he must have been playing up to his audience.”

“See what I mean?” Ron agreed eagerly. “He’s a closet show-off, I’m telling you.Ooh, look at me, I’m Harry Potter, I defeated a Dark Lord and now I can do a fully-corporeal Patronus Charm, too! Wanna see?Pfft … what a know-it-all.”

“I cant believe I’m hearing this!” Hermione cried in a high-pitch.

“That’s not how I heard it happened, anyway,” Neville Longbottom suddenly chimed in, his voice quiet and nervous. “I’m friends with Daphne Greengrass from Slytherin and she was there. She told me how it was.”

Hermione was immediately alert in her seat. “What did you hear, Neville?”

“Well, Moody was doing the same Unforgivable Curse class with DADA Form B as he did with us in Form A,” Neville began. “Only he was using the Imperius to show how easily he could influence the human mind. He had Michael Corner do a tap-dance show, he made Crabbe and Goyle think they were sisters, and coaxed Pansy Parkinson to climb up onto a window ledge as if she was going to throw herself out.

“Then, when it came to Potter, he wanted to show how he could cripple an enemy by making them think they were seeing their worst fear. But apparently he had heard that Potter could do a Patronus and he wanted to see it for himself. So instead of breaking into his mind, he released an actual Boggart from his desk.”

“And what did the Boggart turn into?” Ron asked.

“A Dementor, obviously, otherwise why would there be a need to cast a Patronus?” Neville replied with a dismissive frown and a little shiver. “Potter is terrified of them, apparently. Remember when the horde of them came to that Quidditch match last year? Well, rumour has it that Potter was so overwhelmed by their effects that he actually blacked out and collapsed. The Claws hushed it up … said he’d lost his footing and hit his head while they were celebrating scoring in the match, but they hurried him away from the stands pretty quick before anyone could start gossiping. Or so I heard.”

Hermione felt her heart pump hard in her chest, which was rising and falling rapidly now. Poor Harry! She’d never known that about him and her mind was a little frantic with this new knowledge. This protective thing inside her was growing in strength, almost fighting to burst out.

All it would take was one more thoughtless comment …

“Who faints after seeing a Dementor?” Cormac McLaggen suddenly scoffed from an armchair close by. “What a wet wipe Potter must be. I mean, none of us are fond of Dementors, butfainting?What a big girl’s blouse!”

“None of you had your parents murdered by Voldemort in front of your very eyes, did you!” Hermione cried shrilly.

Everyone suddenly fell deathly silent and turned to watch. No-one had ever said the ‘V-Word’in here and the effect caused mass muteness … and the fact that it wasHermione Grangerwho had shouted it so passionately only served to ratchet up the tension that much more … a tension which now saturated the air of the Gryffindor Common Room like a viscous cloud.

“It’s like some big joke to you all, isn’t it?” Hermione shrieked on. “Harry had his motherbutcheredin cold blood right next to him when he was just a year old … he might even hear her screams when a Dementor gets close to him for all we know! And yet you all sit there and mock him like a bunch of heartless cretins.

“Well you know what? I hope Harry Potter beats you all tomorrow. No … I hope hehammersyou out on that Quidditch pitch! I hope he catches the Snitch in record time and makes fools out of every last one of you. It will serve you all right for treating his horrors with such contempt and ridicule. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. You’re a collective disgrace to this House and I’m mortified to be considered as one of you right now.”

And with that, Hermione angrily snatched up her things and marched across the stunned, silent Common Room, as hot furious tears sprang from her eyes.

It was a good hour before someone was courageous enough to check on Hermione, to see if she had calmed down yet. It was Fay Dunbar who braved the gauntlet of Hermione’s ire, as the latter witch knew it would be. She had been busy pulling a brush angrily through her tangled hair as she prepared for bed, pulling so hard in fact that clumps were being ripped painfully from her scalp. It was only when Crookshanks hissed fiercely at her to stop that Hermione finally put down her instrument of self-torture.

“Hey, are you alright?” Fay asked cautiously from the doorway. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Hermione huffed back bluntly. “Everyone having a good natter about me downstairs, are they?”

“Well, you cant blame them,” Fay confirmed. “It was a pretty good way to make yourself the topic of conversation. Anything on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“I might believe that, if the definition of ‘nothing’ had suddenly been changed tosomething,” Fay smirked, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“How about explaining your outburst earlier, then?”

“That was fairly self-explanatory, I think.”

“Maybe,” Fay agreed. “Apart from all this business of you suddenly calling Harry Potter by his first name and screeching at the entire Common Room over a dispute about him. I didn’t think anyone in the school knew him well enough to call him ‘Harry’, certainly not well enough for him toallowsomeone to do that. But you seem comfortable enough to. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Hermione muttered evasively. “I just thought it was terrible the way people were talking about him, that’s all. It got me upset, alright? That’s all it was.”

“Your problem, Hermione, is that you are too decent a witch for your own good sometimes … it means you are rubbish when you try to lie,” Fay quirked lowly.

“I’m not lying,” Hermione protested weakly. “I just don’t like the discord. We should be nicer to each other, especially to people from other Houses.”

“You may be right, but perhaps you should just sign up to the Hogwarts Lonely Hearts Club and give the yelling at people a miss!” Fay teased. “You don’t want everyone to think you’ve gone mental.”

Hermione allowed herself a shy grin at that. “I was pretty bad, wasn’t I?”

“Pretty bad. But McLaggen deserved it. He’s such an oaf!”

“Thanks, Fay, for coming to check on me,” Hermione muttered. “I appreciate it. Really.”

“That’s alright. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am, so thanks.”

“Alright, I’m going to go back down then, see what gossip about you I’ve missed,” Fay smirked. She stood up and moved to the door, turning back just before she left. “You know, it was good to see some proper emotion from you for a change, Hermione. Sometimes we wonder if you’ve got any at all, but now we know that you do. And you know what else? It suited you.

“So do me a favour … tell Harry Potter thank you, for waking that up in you, when you next see him. I think I’m going to prefer this version of you. Night, hun.”

And then she went away, leaving Hermione open mouthed and beyond rattled at the things Fay had suggested.

And it was the prospect of seeing Harry Potter that drew the entire school - as well as all the visiting students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons - to the Quidditch stadium early on Saturday afternoon, where the atmosphere of excited anticipation was soon swelling from every seat and terrace. The novelty value was just that high and Hermione wondered, as she saw the sullen boy take a seat nearby in the stand, whether the participation of the famous Viktor Krum himself would have been enough to generate such interest.

Hermione found the whole thing terribly amusing. The paranoia from within the Gryffindor ranks was reaching fever pitch by the time of the game and she tried not to laugh at the comments raining all around her, as she took her seat at the back of the nominally Gryffindor-biased stand.

“They say Potter took Dark Magic from You-Know-Who and can fly at a hundred miles an hour!”

“I heard he’s half-spider, and the Snitch will stick to his palms!”

“Did you see him looking at the House Point Hourglass this morning? I bet he was just working out how many points he needs to let the Claws get before he sends us to oblivion!”

And all this for a boy who none of them had seen play. Hermione hoped for Harry’s sake that he was as good as Luna claimed, otherwise this could go very sour for him.

Speaking of Luna …

“Hello, Hermione. Do you mind if I sit with you today? Everywhere else is full.”

Hermione looked over, and her eyes shot into her eyebrows in surprise … for Luna was wearing a hat donned with a life-sized stuffed eagle on top for good measure. Its wings were spread wide and it was a good job that no-one was sat behind them or they’d have had no chance of seeing the action. Hermione simply grinned broadly as she looked at it.

“Of course you can. Hop up,” Hermione invited, scooting aside to make room and patting the bench next to her. “Nice hat, by the way.”

“Oh thanks! I made it myself,” Luna beamed in reply. “If I’d have known ahead of time, I could have made you one, too.”

“Maybe next time,” Hermione grinned.

Just then the teams began to walk out onto the pitch, accompanied by Madam Hooch. Hermione felt a nervous little tingle in her throat … she’d left Harry a good luck card on his hook in the changing room and she wondered if he’d gotten it or not. It was too far away to see his expression from this distance, but something else was more clearly on display.

“Oh no … it’s true then!” Ron Weasley was moaning from a few rows in front. “Potter has got a Firebolt.”

There were collective groans from the Gryffindors around him as they noticed this, too.

“Just look at it … it’s beautiful,” Ron whined on. “The torque, the grip, the balance … you can see it from here! Potter is barely even touching it and it isn’t moving an inch.”

“And that’s more of a touch on a Firebolt than you’ll ever get, Weasel-king,” Draco Malfoy drawled. “I’m surprised you even recognise one, you know.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the Slytherin pit with all the other snakes, Malfoy?” Lavender Brown hissed.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded back, but he couldn’t resist the bait. “But what are you surprised at? I know my brooms as well as anyone.”

“No, it’s not that,” Malfoy replied, silkily. “I’m just surprised that you know how to read, Weasley … because that’s the only way you could know anything about a broom like the Firebolt. That requiresmoney, you know, something that your family seems to be allergic to by all accounts.”

Ron flushed red right up into his ginger roots. “I don’t know what you’re so smug about, Malfoy. I notice that Daddy Lucy hasn’t bought you a Firebolt yet. What’s the matter … is he still mad that forking out for seven Nimbus’ to buy you onto the Slytherin team still hasn’t yielded a Quidditch Cup win yet? What a disappointment you must be.”

“He’d buy me one if I asked for it,” Malfoy returned, coolly. “Which is more thanyourfather could say. The Firebolt tail-twigs alone would easily fetch more than your whole house, not to mention being far more structurally secure.”

“Will you two shut up!” Hermione snapped from behind them. “The game is about to start and we don’t want you bickering all the way through it!”

Several people applauded around them, and Lavender Brown leaned in to Parvati Patil to whisper with her. “Since when is Hermione interested in Quidditch? Have you even seen her at a game before?”; “No, I think this is her first time …”; “She’s behaving very peculiar, you know. Maybe we should have a word with Pomfrey …”

And then the game lifted off to a raucous ovation. There were fourteen players plus one referee, but all eyes were fixed on the same individual … and the crowd were not disappointed with what they soon saw.

For it quickly became apparent that Harry Potter did fly well … in fact, he flewbrilliantly.He rose with grace and elegance on his Firebolt, turning and twisting it with expertly controlled movements. He circled above the game like a hawk, orbiting the stadium as the game progressed beneath him. Demelza, the Gryffindor Seeker, had decided the best bet was to follow him, just in case he led her to the Snitch.

But Harry noticed this at once and decided to have some fun with it. Angling himself flat against his broom, he shot off like a dart, drawing admiring whoops as he gunned past the stands like a royal blue blur, lapping the stadium and almost catching up to poor Demelza from behind as he did so.

“He’s showing me how fast he can go, so I’ll know what I’ll be up against if we race,” Hermione thought to herself, as she watched Harry speed past. “I’ll never be able to escape him if he wants to catch me.”

And then, for the first time, Hermione thought it might not be such a bad thing to be caught … not if Harry Potter was the one in pursuit of her. That made her cheeks flush and she hoped nobody would notice.

She was in luck on that front, for everyone still only had eyes for Harry in the game. Hardly anyone even knew what the score was, and the appreciation for Harry’s broomsmanship was even drawing applause from the Gryffindors now.

“Wow! Did you see that?” Ron Weasley cried in amazement. “That was some move! Poor Demelza has got no chance up there.”

For Harry had just shot straight through a crowd of Chasers at high speed, narrowly missing each one but utterly in control of what he was doing. He was like an eagle hunting prey, one who had pre-planned his flight path through a clutch of obstacles and was simply too skilled to be in any danger of colliding with a single one of them.

Which couldn’t be said for hapless Demelza, who tried to copy Harry’s action but instead smashed right into Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet, sending them spiralling away and allowing Roger Davies to grab the Quaffle and score again.

Harry then decided that enough was enough. As though he’d known where the Snitch was the whole time, he flattened himself to his broom and took off at hyper velocity, rising high at first and then shooting into a sharp dive as the crowd got to their feet to watch and cheer. At almost ground level, Harry straightened his broom as he caught up to the Snitch, before casually reaching out as the golden ball was at his hip and closing his fingers tightly around it. The act was so nonchalant that it almost looked as though Harry had simply slipped the Snitch into his pocket and not caught it at all.

But then he flew up to Madam Hooch and calmly presented the subdued Snitch as proof of victory. The referee blew her whistle, Lee Jordan glumly announced the end of the match, and the Ravenclaws erupted from all over the stadium. They were soon joined by almost every other student as Harry flew high, high into the sky and seemed to just sit very still above the noise, which most surely had risen even to his level.

For a moment, Hermione watched and, like most everyone in the stadium, thought Harry would explode in some grand gesture of victory. But he didn’t. He just hovered there, quite still, as the raucous Ravenclaw team, circled around him, above and below him. They fist-pumped and cheered and slapped each other on the back, while at the same time giving Harry a respectful distance and making up for his modesty by upping the level of their own exuberance.

It was almost as if they were doing his celebrating for him.

And that’s when a realisation hit Hermione hard. “Harry doesn’t like to be touched … he doesn’t want anyone to, even his team-mates. Even at a moment like this!” She breathed hard to herself, her chest heaving as she did so. “That’s how I’ll know, then … that’s how I’ll know for sure …”

And with that, her heart still cartwheeling in her chest, Hermione rose slowly and demurely, before filing away from the stadium to ‘mourn’ the humbling defeat with the other members of Gryffindor House.

That night, in the dark of the Ravenclaw Common Room, long after the last stragglers of the vibrant victory party had gone to bed, Harry sat alone and quiet in a shadowy corner and reached into the pocket of his robes. He’d been allowed to keep the Golden Snitch, as a memento of a début victory catch, though it wouldn’t remain in his possession for very long.

After all, it wasn’t for himself that he’d caught the damned thing.

Now, the golden casing of all Snitches were etched with the words‘I Open At The Close,’which usually referred to the end of the career of the Seeker who first caught it. Inside, there was special ruby which powered the Snitch, the secret of which was closely guarded by the alchemists who manufactured them. When the Seeker retired from competitive play, the first Snitch they caught would open and the ruby would be turned into a commemorative ring, using the casing as a gold band. The ring was then presented to the Seeker as a memorial of their success.

So for Harry, who had made it clear that he had no intention of making his Quidditch participation a regular thing, his competitive career was effectively over after just one game. So he took out the Snitch, held it in his palm, and waited for the inevitable.

Which duly came, as the casing snapped open and the ruby presented itself from inside.

But Harry didn’t take the stone out. Instead, he reached down onto the desk in front of him and picked up a tiny letter, one he had resized to fit snugly inside the golden ball. He placed this carefully inside, along with a whimsical extra gift, then closed the casing up once again. The wings slowly began to beat, as though surprised they were still able to, but Harry wasn’t quite finished.

Taking his wand, he touched it to the Snitch, looked down at the Homing Charm instruction, that he was reading by the moonlight from one of the long windows, and muttered the incantation. The Snitch glowed scarlet a moment against it’s gold, which was enough for Harry to believe that the thing would at least know where it was going. Then it just sat there waiting to be released.

“But how will she know how to open it?” Harry pondered quietly. Then an idea came to him and he grinned widely. “Yes, that’ll work.”

So he lifted his wand again, and began to slowly re-transfigure the etching on the case. Chuckling at the alteration, Harry moved to the window, opened it slightly, then flung the Snitch into the darkness, watching until it vanished around the turrets of Ravenclaw Tower.

Hermione was roused from a light sleep not long later. She awoke to a mouthful of puss*-hair, and spluttered as she tried to get up and push her way to clean air.

“Crookshanks! What are you doing!” she whispered in a hiss. “I’m trying to … what’s that you’ve got there? Give it to me. Drop!”

Hoping that it wasn’t another dead mouse-gift, and buoyed by the fact that she couldn’t smell any blood, Hermione lit her wand in the safety of her curtain-drawn bed and reached out for the object that Crookshanks was carrying in his mouth. One wing of the capture was flapping away futilely, but it fell still as soon as Hermione’s fingertips touched it.

“What in the world? It’s a Snitch!” Hermione hushed to herself. “Why would I …oh…Harry!”

Hermione sat up fully in bed and pulled her blankets up to her chin, completely awake now with eager excitement. This must have been Harry’s reply to her letter, but how to open it?

As if obeying her unvoiced request, the pliant Snitch rotated in Hermione’s palm so that the etching was facing her. She angled the light beam of her wand so that she could read it.

“I Open At Your Nose,” Hermione read curiously. “What does that mean? Hmm … I wonder …”

Feeling distinctly foolish, but driven by her keenness, Hermione lifted the Snitch to her nose and curiously sniffed at it. Immediately, the casing snapped open and the letter popped out, resizing to a readable shape as it fell into her lap. Hermione burst out a shocked laugh as it did, causing one of the other girls to shush her from across the room.

Ignoring the complainer completely, Hermione picked open the envelope and swiftly unfolded the letter to read by wand-light.

Hi Hermione

So … how did I do? Am I worthy of your consideration then? Am I allowed to chase you now?

I know what you did there, by the way … I’m not totally oblivious. But I was too impressed by your subtle manipulation that I went along with it anyway. You are more tricksy than I imagined, but I’m sort of delighted that you are. It makes this so much more fun!

I really enjoyed the match, so thank you for prompting me to do it. I could pretend to be reticent about the hammering we handed out to your sorry excuse for a Quidditch team though, but I’m really not and I don’t want you to think of me as a dishonest sort! I’m just teasing, by the way. You’re probably upset by the loss and it’s a pity that I had to resort to such schemes to prove my worthiness of you … of your challenge, I mean. If there had been a better way to do it, without devastating you and your House I’d have taken it, but you laid down the gauntlet and have only yourself to blame, Miss Granger!

Now we just have to plan this race you promised me.

I spoke to Luna at lunch yesterday and she told me how kind you’d been, when she mentioned to you that people steal her belongings. It really irritates the hell out of me, and I’ve had more than one row about it with people in my House. Can I ask you a favour? If you hear of anyone in Gryffindor coming into possession of any of Luna’s things, could you please let me know? I don’t want you to get directly involved, but if you just slip me a name I can take care of punishing the culprit myself. That would really mean a lot to me, thanks.

I meant what I said about trusting my instincts where you are concerned, and each letter I’ve gotten from you has only reinforced that conviction. You are nicer and kinder than I would ever have imagined. I know that sounds horrible on my part, for judging you so badly in the first place, but I feel sort of gutted that it’s taken me this long to learn the truth about who you really are. I’m just extremely glad that I know now, and lucky for it, too.

Just don’t tell many other people … I kind of like being the only one who knows.

As for my past, try not to get too upset about it. Like I said, it isn’t a pretty picture, but being angry about it wont change that. I’m away from my Aunt and Uncle now and looking forward to a normal life with my Godfather, if you can have a normal life in a Magical society living with a convicted mass-murderer whose family was heavily into Dark Magic.

Honestly, you should see the house we live in … gloomy isn’t the word. Do you like decapitated troll’s legs for umbrella stands, mounted elf heads and paintings that scream abuse at you when you walk past? If you do, I have plenty spare at home and you’re welcome to any or all of them. My project over the Christmas holidays will be to brighten up the place … committing arson on the whole blasted interior is my working plan. Fire is bright and shiny, after all! It’ll do nicely for a start.

I will make you a promise, though, if you insist on knowing about my childhood … when we know each other well enough, I’ll tell you some things about it if you want, but only in person. It isn’t the kind of thing I want to write to you about, but I will talk to you about it if we reach that stage of our friendship. Can I call you a friend yet? Do you mind? I know it’s been only just over a week since this started, but I’m going to think of you as one from now on, if that’s alright with you. And not just a pen friend, but a real one too. That’s if you’re okay with that.

It’s sort of odd, isn’t it, that since we started writing to each other we haven’t spoken once? I was thinking about that earlier and realised how peculiar that was. I blame Krum. He ruins the ambiance of the library so I haven’t been going there as much. Not that there are any books left, if you’ve checked out all the good ones.

On a side note, I knew about Gillyweed. I read the Water Plants books the night the essay was set. You have to get up early to beat me, Hermione! I wrote down some personal observations in the margins, I hope you didn’t rub them out. Are you combusting with the horror yet? Have I touched a nerve? Gillyweed works better if you can press it directly to a nerve, you know? Causes the gills to form more quickly. That’s just a freebie, just in case you furiously un-defaced my careful defacing of the textbook!

You and those quill nibs! You’re a menace to stationery, I swear. Either that or you are the best customer in the history of Flourish and Blotts. Do you know what I realised when I read that you’d broken another quill? I realised that I subconsciously got into the habit of packing spare nibs whenever I went to study in the library, because I just knew you’d ask for one at some point if you were there. I should start my own supply line, make a bit of gold on the side, you know? Even if you were my only customer it would prove a lucrative venture.

Talking about gold on the side, I’m sending you this letter in the Snitch I caught today. They let me keep it, but I don’t really know what I’d do with it to be honest. I caught it for you … or to prove to you that I could fly a bit … so it’s yours, really, if you want it. You’ve obviously managed to open it, as you’re reading the letter, and if you look inside you’ll see I’ve enclosed my last quill nib, just in case you need one to pen your reply. I’ll have to stock up when I next go to Hogsmeade.

Oh, and you can keep the ruby, too, if you like. I’ve not got a great history with enchanted red stones have I, so I sort of think I should steer well clear of them, don’t you?!

Well, as you ended your last letter by telling me a secret, I should probably do that, too. Perhaps that could be a trend … we each tell each other one secret, or one thing that other people don’t know about us, in every letter? As soon as we run out, we’ll know each other so well that when the time comes for us to meet in person, it will be like we’ve known each other forever.

So here’s mine for this letter … and it’s a risky one. This is actually a bit of test, to see just how truthful your offer to ‘know me’ really is. Ready? Here goes.

I’m a Parselmouth. I can speak to snakes. I learned that I could do it on a trip to the zoo when I was eleven. Then, during our Second Year, I made a pet out of a Basilisk I met in the Chamber of Secrets under Hogwarts. Oh, that’s actually two secrets, isn’t it? I also know where the Chamber of Secrets is and how to get inside. Or is it three, as I told you that I have a pet Basilisk that lives under the school?

Scared off yet?

If you don’t reply, I’ll know what it means.

Goodnight Hermione.

Enjoying this story? Check out some of the others in my portfolio and don't forget my crossovers! They're worth a go, honest! Thanks for reading, and stay safe in these wacky times!

Chapter 8: Duck Soup

Chapter Text

On Monday morning Harry went down to breakfast doing more swerves, ducks, dips, dives and dodges than he’d done in the entire of the Quidditch match on the weekend, such were the numbers of well-wishers and admirers who wanted to accost him and congratulate him on a game well played that he had to avoid, not to mention the string of requests to have a go on his Firebolt, if he was pliant to such plans.

Which, of course, he wasn’t.

As such, he was grateful - as well as slightly miffed - by the time he reached the relative safety of the Ravenclaw benches and went to sit down. At first, he was going to plump for his usual spot facing towards the Slytherins on the next table, but then he changed his mind, stepping around to the other side so that he could look at the wider hall. This meant he would now be able to see the Hufflepuffs next door and the Gryffindors over at the far end.

His ulterior motive for this was to see if he could spot Hermione Granger anywhere, to try and get a look at her face. He’d been anxious over the way he’d ended his last letter to her and, as she hadn’t sent a reply yet, he hoped he hadn’t brought a premature end to their budding friendship before it had even really got started. It was a risk he had to take, because he was in grave danger of getting heavily invested into this relationship already. He had to know if all this opening himself up would ultimately be worth it.

Harry found Hermione sitting about half way along the Gryffindor bench, facing out into the Great Hall, which was handy for some subtle observation of her. She was chatting with the dark-haired girl … who was called Ffion, or Fiona, or Febreze, or whatever her name was … and Harry was warmed to see that Hermione wasn’t on her own for a change. He watched her bright and cheery expressions for several moments, but she didn’t look in his direction, so he soon stopped staring as it felt as though he were doing something illicit.

Which meant that Harry missed it when Hermione flicked her eyes to his face, at almost the exact same second that he looked away.

Harry’s attention had been drawn by Luna, who was sat in his usual place on the bench and who he hadn’t noticed earlier, such was his single-mindedness to secure the best spot for spying on unsuspecting Gryffindor witches. But he saw her now and noticed that she had prepared for his arrival.

“Morning Harry,” Luna chirped. “I picked you out the biggest egg for breakfast and sliced you some toast soldiers to go with it. That’s what you usually have, isn’t it?”

“Er, yeah. Thanks,” Harry replied cautiously as he sat down and looked at the neatly cut strips of crunchy toast next to the single brown egg, which did seem rather large. “I could have done that myself, you know.”

“I know, but I thought it’d be a nice surprise for you.”

“Well … thanks,” Harry muttered. “What are you having today?”

“Muesli,” Luna replied, pointing at her bowl. “I thought it might be fun this week to have a different breakfast each day, one whose first letter is the same as the day. So, as it’s ‘M’ for Monday, I’m having ‘M’ for Muesli. Tomorrow I’ll have Toast, then Weetabix on Wednesday, then Fruit on Friday. Oh … I missed Thursday. What can I have on Thursday, Harry?”

“Toad in the Hole?” Harry suggested with a grin.

“Can you have Toad in the Hole for breakfast? I do like a bit of Toad in the Hole, actually.”

“Luna, we are in a school where we can brew fame and bottle glory … I’m pretty sure we can stretch to sausages and Yorkshire pudding for breakfast!”

“But I was going to have sausages on Saturday,” Luna mused. “Maybe I’ll just have to have scrambled egg instead.”

“And what about Sunday?” Harry grinned.

“I think on Sunday I’ll have to go on a diet before all that rich food makes me big and fat,” Luna giggled.

“Well, thank you for my egg anyway,” Harry said, his mood a lot better as he picked up a spoon and cracked it against the hard shell in front of him … which promptly exploded with a little bang.

“What the hell!?”

The eruption, as well as Harry’s shocked exclamation, drew attention from several people nearby. He watched in cross curiosity as the top of the egg burst open and something flew out, as though it had been fired from a cannon. Harry reached up, snatched it out of the air, then shot his gaze back to the Gryffindor table.

For he was now holding Hermione’s latest letter to him in his hand and he wanted to look at the culprit.

He found her face again and pinned his eyes to it, but Hermione wasn’t looking back. In fact, her eyes were closed and her face was half-hidden behind her hand, her shoulders rocking up and down as she fought against furious giggles that were dying to escape her. Eventually, her eyes re-opened and she met Harry’s gaze. Her shining, playful expression melted Harry’s momentary annoyance at the exploding egg and subsequent attention it had brought him, and he soon began to see the funny side.

Then Hermione dropped her hand, looked swiftly around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, then mouthed the word ‘sorry’ to him, though Harry could tell she didn’t really mean it. But his mood was already lifted and he didn’t care. He grinned back at her, inclined his head in an acknowledgement of a surprise well executed … then he and Hermione did something they’d never done together before.

They laughed … at the same time and about the same thing. They weren’t together to share the moment, but both revelled in the mirth and somehow felt that their connection had deepened slightly through the experience.

Feeling unusually cheery, and not caring who might be watching anymore, Harry opened Hermione’s carefully sealed envelope and starting reading right there at the breakfast table.

Hi Harry

Not reply to you! Don’t be so absurd! You’ve just become ten times more interesting to me, and you were already the most interesting person I’ve ever met as it was. Although the idea of you wandering around alone beneath the school concerns me, I wont lie about that, the fact that you discovered the Chamber of Secrets and a basilisk is utterly fascinating and I’d love to know more about it. You really are full of intriguing surprises and I wonder what I’ll find about you next. You are much more than I ever imagined and I’m so happy that I took the chance of asking you to be my penpal.

It may be the best risk that I’ve ever taken.

Oh, and you needn’t worry about me judging you for your ability to speak to snakes, which I actually ‘wowed’ about out loud when I first read it. I know there’s a stigma attached to Parselmouths in the Magical World, with many seeing the talent as a Dark Art, but I don’t see it that way, and not just because I’m Muggleborn and not indoctrinated like the others. Speaking to animals is a significant gift and snakes are given a hard time I think. In more ancient belief systems, snakes were revered for their wisdom … but a brainy Claw like you probably already knows that! So we should focus on that aspect, and expect great wisdom from you, Harry!

Harry scoffed at that with a little guffaw. The idea that he’d ever become an enlightened philosopher amused him. But then he got a shot of wisdom from somewhere and looked up at Luna.

“Hey Lu … did you help set up that egg trick with Hermione Granger?” Harry asked.

Luna blushed and flicked her eyes up innocently. “Oh no, that was all her idea.”

“But she did force you to help her?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. I offered. My job was to make sure that you sat exactly where you are. I had to stop anyone else sitting there, too. I think Hermione wanted to be able to see when you opened your egg. Your face was very funny when you did. You should have seen it.”

“I can imagine.”

“Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m not mad,” Harry said, to ease Luna’s anxiety.

“Are you mad with her?” Luna asked.

“A little … because now I have to think of something better to get her back with!” Harry smirked.

“So … Hermione Granger is your penpal?” Luna questioned cautiously. Harry nodded that she was. “Wow. I didn’t think either of you would sign up to the Club. You don’t seem the types to have lonely hearts.”

Harry felt a denseness press on his chest as Luna said that, though he wasn’t sure if the sensation was on account of the possibility of his own lonely heart … or if it was reacting to the possibility that Hermione might have one. He found that he didn’t like the latter idea one little bit. It made him unreasonably cross.

“It isn’t about lonely hearts, and you shouldn’t let other people’s silliness influence you like that,” Harry frowned. “Hermione and I just sort of … happened. It’s a long story.”

“What’s it like, though, knowing who you are writing to?” Luna asked. “Is it scary?”

Harry considered that a moment. “Yeah … yeah, a little. You feel vulnerable at first, knowing who knows your secrets, but then you know theirs, too, and that makes it alright and it stops being scary. It’s funny how quickly you can get to bond with someone like that. I feel like I already know Hermione loads better than I did. I just wish I’d known her like this for longer. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Luna replied. “I just feel like I know my own penpal really well, too, but I don’t know who they are. And I think I’d like to. But I’m scared to suggest it, just in case they’ll stop writing to me once they know who I am. You know how people generally think of me, Harry. And I don’t want to lose my new friend.”

“If they are that flaky, it would betheirloss to stop being friends with you,” Harry declared loyally, causing Luna’s flush to deepen. “But I know what you mean. It’s going to be very odd when Hermione and I next speak, after all we’ve said to each other in our letters … I get the feeling it will be awkward.”

“Maybe you need something to distract you, to stop it being awkward,” Luna suggested. “Like maybe you could go to the Yule Ball together, that would give you something else to talk about, wouldn’t it?”

“The what?”

“The Yule Ball,” Luna repeated. “Haven’t you heard? The school is putting on a grand Ball in December, as part of the Triwizard festivities.The Weird Sistersare going to be playing here that night. It’s why we aren’t having a Halloween Ball tonight, just a bigger feast than usual. I’m thinking of asking my penpal to go with me to the Ball. Maybe you could ask Hermione Granger to go with you.”

Harry’s reactionary first instinct was, ‘no, not in a million years am I going to a Ball,’ … but then he thought about going to a Ball with Hermione and, for just a single second, the idea was appealing. It might be alright if he was going with her, it might not be such an ordeal, as it was sure to be if he went with anyone else. Then the horrendous idea of going to a Ball in any fashion took over again and dominated his thoughts.

But that solitary second had made it’s mark … and Harry found the idea a stubborn one to shift.

He thought about it all through Charms that morning, and wasn’t helped by the fact that they were practising Joining Charms, which several of the Hufflepuff girls found very giggly, as they speculated about who they could join with on the night of the Ball, which seemed to be the only topic of conversation from the Fourth Year students up.

Transfiguration after morning break didn’t help, as they were supposed to be transforming two objects into one, which led to yet more lewd comments from many corners of the class. Indeed, Anthony Goldstein transforming his objects into ones that would ‘fit’ inside each other in a crude sort of fashion, rather than fuse as one, was enough to earn him a detention that night from Professor McGonagall.

So as it was, Harry was happy to find a quiet corner of the library for lunch, having lost his appetite with all these concerning thoughts floating around inside his head. In any case, he had to finish Hermione’s letter and didn’t want to be disturbed while he did so. Luckily, the library was largely empty, so Harry picked his favourite private booth and sat down to continue reading.

You may be wondering at my sudden use of ‘we’. Well, it is in response to what you said in your letter … I ABSOLUTELY want to consider you as a friend now, Harry! And I’m beyond touched that you suggested this so soon. I had heard so much about you, about how you were a closed book and so hard to get to know, but that’s obviously a load of rubbish. People have clearly been trying in the wrong way, and I’m thrilled that I’ve had more luck than them in getting to know you. I don’t know how I did it, but I’m proud of myself for achieving it. I’m also thankful for you letting me in, even if it is nothing more than a toenail over the threshold so far. If I can get my whole foot in the door by Christmas, I’ll consider my year’s work done!

By the way, do you have a name for your basilisk? I’m guessing that Mr Tickles, or Snowy, or Fido just don’t fit! I’d be delighted to know how you came up with a name, if you have one.

Just a brief word on the Quidditch … well played, but I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about in terms of me manipulating you to play. I’ll have you know I’m a very honourable witch and would never dream of coercing someone to play a game that they totally love, on the occasion of their House team desperately needing them, especially as my own House suffered for it. Can you imagine the abuse I’d get if such a slanderous rumour ever got out? I’d never hear the end of it!

By the way, you were utterly brilliant and I’m glad you won. I shouldn’t have taunted you in the first place, but I earned a beautiful jewel out of it and I’m a little speechless that you gave it to me, if I’m honest. I’m going to have it sent away to be set into a pretty necklace, and I doubt I’ll ever take it off once I get it back. So thank you, Harry. That barely seems enough, but your generosity leaves me a little in awe and lost for words.

Which is why I’m a little bit guilty about the secret I’m going to share this time. I’m actually NOT that great a flier. I’m not a fan of heights, you see, and I don’t really have the dexterity for advanced broom flight. It’s one of those areas where theory doesn’t help so much. Not that I haven’t tried. In First Year I read ‘Quidditch Through The Ages’ that many times that people thought I was going to try out for the House team!

Truth is I was just trying to find words to cling on to … anything that might help me cling onto my broom in the flying classes later. So, sorry, I’m not going to be much of a match for you in a race. I’d be happy to fly with you, though … so long as you stay low and take things slow. I’m okay like that on a broom. I know you must think I’m terrible for deceiving you, but I just really wanted to see you fly and play … and you were electrifying up there. I’ve never really enjoyed Quidditch that much before, but I might watch more games if you were playing in them. You were just that good.

I was thinking about what you were saying, about us not talking since we started writing, and I have to agree … it is so strange that we’ve managed to avoid each other for the last fortnight. That’s so odd. I didn’t realise how much I actually saw you during an average week until I clicked that it’s been ages since I last did.

And is it alright that I say that I miss it? And not just because I’ve run out of quill nibs! I think I spoke to you more regularly than anyone else in the school, even though I was annoying the hell out of you most of the time. Sorry about that … sometimes I just don’t know when to keep my big gob shut!

But I hope it would be alright to talk to you properly when we next run into each other in the library. If that doesn’t happen, I’ve heard a rumour about an event that’s coming up that might give us an opportunity for a better chat. If you’re there, and I’m there, it would be nice to catch up over a mince pie or something. But I’ll wait for confirmation until I get more into that.

Anyway, I’d better go. I have a tricky little spell that I need to do to get this letter to you. I think you’ll agree when you get it that it was an ‘egg-cellent’ bit of magic!

Hope to hear from you soon.

Hermione.

Harry shook his head at the truly awful egg pun, even though it had brought a smile to his face. Then he heard something that wiped his grin clean off.

For it was the voice of Viktor Krum … and he was talking to the owner of the very voice that Harry still had in his head.

“Hello … you are called Hermy-Own-Ninny, yes?”

Harry peered out through the gap in his private booth and saw Hermione sat at the big table in the middle of the reading area. She looked up crossly as the duck-footed Bulgarian disturbed her.

“I’m calledHermione, if that’s what you mean.”

“That is what I said … Hermy-Own-Ninny. It is a very pretty name. The prettiest I’ve heard.”

Hermione went to complain about the mispronunciation, but the unexpected compliment took her by surprise and she hesitated.

“Well … thank you. No-one has ever said that they like my name before,” Hermione muttered.

“Well they should have,” said Krum. “If it is good enough for Shakespeare, it should be good enough for anyone.”

“You … you know the origin of my name,” Hermione hushed. “You’re the only person who ever has.”

“An honour I am glad to hold,” Krum swooned. “But I hope to be more fortunate than Leonides and not have you turn to stone before me!”

Krum laughed, and Hermione did, too. Harry found himself frowning and he didn’t know why. He was glad earlier when Hermione looked happy, but he didn’t like it now, not when Krum was the cause of it. He scowled through the gap in the booth.

“Tell me, Miss Hermy-Own-Ninny,” Krum went on. “Will you be going to the Halloween feast this evening?”

“I imagine so, yes,” Hermione confirmed. “The whole school will be there.”

“Yes, and I understand that the traditional House benches will be replaced by communal tables,” Krum continued. “If you would do me the honour, could I claim half an hour of your time at some point? I wish to learn more about Hogwarts, and you seem to be the brightest person here. I rarely see you outside of this library. You will be the perfect person to educate me on the history of this place.”

Flattered and surprised, Hermione answered on reflex. “Yes, alright, I can give you what you want.”

“That is exactly what I wanted to hear,” Krum replied, smoothly. “Well, I shall leave you to study. Do you expect your friend, Mr Harry Potter, will be happy sharing you with me this evening?”

“Sharing me?” Hermione hushed in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, only that I see you with him often. I do not wish to antagonise him, by taking you away from him on such an occasion. I do not wish to make an enemy out of a Dark Lord slayer.”

“Oh, um … well … that shouldn’t be a problem,” Hermione replied in a flustered sort of way. “Harry and I are only friends. We wont be going together or anything.”

“Nowthatis something I am glad to hear,” Krum simpered. “Till this evening, then, Miss Hermy-Own-Ninny.”

Then Krum bowed low, before sauntering away like a limp duck.

Chapter 9: An Extra Pair of Eyes

Chapter Text

“Um, Fay … can I borrow some make-up, please?”

To say that Fay Dunbar was surprised by the request would have been the understatement of the century. Even Lavender and Parvati, who were busy adding orange and purple twists to their already twisty hair stopped and looked over with open mouths.

For Hermione Granger never wore make-up. Not ever.

“Er, of course, Hermione,” Fay replied in shock. “What would you like?”

“Oh, I don’t really know,” Hermione frowned. “A little shading for my eyes, perhaps? Maybe just a hint of blush to my cheeks? I do look rather pale. What would you suggest?”

“Well … who are you looking to impress?” Fay asked in a gentle tease.

“Nobody. This is all for me,” Hermione insisted.

“Rubbish!” Parvati cried. “No girl gets made up just for the sake of it. It’s too much effort. Who are you looking to look good for, Haitch?”

“Nobody. Honest,” Hermione tried in vain.

“I’d do her up in blue, if I were you, Fay,” Lavender called over playfully. “Ravenclaw blue, if you know what I mean!”

Parvati hooted out a laugh. “Oh, yes! Royal blue … maybe a little lightening-shaped scar just to complete the look!”

Hermione blushed more scarlet than the hangings of her four-poster. “I’m sure I’ve got no idea what you are talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Lavender cried. “On the one hand we have a witch who barely spoke if it wasn’t to tell someone off, on the other we have a witch who tells off her entire House then actually makes an effort to look pretty at the next school social! Only a special wizard could cause such a sea-change in a witch. We’re not idiots, Hermione.”

“You’re doing a good impression of ones,” Hermione scowled. “You know what, Fay? Forget it. Forget I asked.”

“No, I wont,” Fay countered. “You wanted make-up, so I’m going to give you some. Ignore these two bundles of jealousy over here. Actually, I’ve always been a little envious of your complexion, Hermione. You don’t have a single blemish or pimple, you lucky enchantress. This is quite the canvas to work with.”

“Oh, well … thank you,” Hermione blushed.

“So, what do you want?” Fay asked.

“Nothing elaborate,” Hermione replied. “But I’m not an expert when it comes to make-up. I just want to look a bit … nicer.”

“I think Harry Potter likes you as you are,” Fay whispered in semi-tease, so that the other girls couldn’t hear. “He was staring at you so much at breakfast today. Will you ever tell me what’s going on?”

“If you do my make-up nicely, maybe I will,” Hermione grinned in response. “Just don’t go over the top.”

“Just a bit on the eyes and cheeks then,” Fay announced, picking up her palette. “So, girls … any ideas on dates for the Yule Ball?”

“There’s a guy from Durmstrang I’m going to ask,” Lavender revealed. “I’ve had my eye on him since the First Task. But if he turns me down, I’ve got Ron Weasley on back up. Iknow… don’t look at me like that, Pav … but at least I’ll get a snog out of it. That wouldn’t be so bad. Who are you going with?”

“Ernie MacMillan,” Parvati announced. “Or Terry Boot. They are both quite fit. Fay?”

“I was already asked … by one of the Beauxbatons girls.”

All heads snapped in her direction. Parvati spoke up first. “What, you … you likewitches?”

“I’ve never really thought about it before, but she is very pretty,” Fay replied simply. “And the French accent really does it for me. So I said yes and I’ll just see how it goes.”

“Wow,” Lavender replied. “Well, good luck to you. But if it all goes … well,tit* up… don’t come looking to me for a bit of commiseration tongue. My bread is buttered distinctly wizard-side up!”

“Oh, I wont. Anyway, I prefer blondes,” Fay grinned.

“What about you, Hermione?” Parvati asked. “Have you got your eye on anyone? And don’t give us all nightmares by saying the Giant Squid!”

“Don’t be silly, Pav!” Lavender exclaimed. “We all know there’s only one wizard for our Hermione. And no, we don’t mean the walking enigma that is Harry Potter.”

Hermione flipped her eyes to Lavender, drawing a hiss from Fay, who had been trying to shade her left eyelid. “What on Earth are you talking about now?”

Lavender looked over, totally nonplussed. “Did you, or did you not, accept an invitation from that creep Viktor Krum to have a date session at the Feast tonight?”

Hermione gasped aloud. “Where did you hear that? Besides, it isn't a date. He just wants to talk.”

“Don’t you worry about where I heard it. It's true, then?”

“It’s really none of your business,” Hermione replied in a lofty voice.

“Oh itis,” Lavender insisted. “Especially if a boy of nearly eighteen is showing an interest in a girl that, for all he knows, is only fourteen. A girl who is a friend and dorm-mate of ours. Then it most definitelyisour business.”

“Since when are we friends?” Hermione fired back, shifting awkwardly at the shocked look this drew from Lavender and Parvati. “Don’t look at me like that … all you ever do is tease me. You don’t even like me.”

“Of course we do,” Parvati corrected. “You just make it really hard. Trying to be friends with you is like trying to be friends with a brick wall … almost impossible to get through to.”

“And it isn’t like we haven’t tried,” Lavender added. “You just shut us down all the time.”

“I do not,” Hermione protested. “We are just different people … we like different things.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends,” Lavender fired back. “You just close yourself off. But we wont let you do that now … not with a brute like Krum hovering around you.”

“Yeah,” Parvati nodded, vehemently. “I heard he was trying to cosy up to that Sally-Anne Perks from Hufflepuff. But she fancies Harry Potter, and she warned Krum that she’d have a word with Harry, make him get Krum to back off. Then he did.”

“Yeah, no-one wants to mess with Potter,” Lavender nodded keenly. “I mean, we’ve all heard about his temper and he did kill You-Know-Who. So, if this thing with you and Krum is true, I’m going to tell Harry, myself, make him get Krum to leave you alone.”

“That really isn’t necessary,” Hermione replied, blushing with her flusteredness. “Krum just wants to talk about Hogwarts.”

“I bet,” Fay scoffed. “Probably wants to find the shadiest alcoves to drag you to. I’m with the others, Hermione. You are solitary and vulnerable … we wont let Krum flatter you and convince you to do things that you aren’t comfortable with.”

“He won’t do that … will he?” Hermione asked in a little voice.

“He might,” Parvati warned. “That’s how predators work. They flatter their way into your confidence … and the next thing you know is that you’re pulling up your knickers behind one of the hydrangea bushes while they run off to crow their victory to their friends.”

“Which is why, if I even see Krumlookat you tonight, I’m going to send Harry Potter to sort him out,” Lavender added seriously. “You can thank me later.”

Hermione flushed deeper. “What makes you think Harry would even do that?”

“The fact that you are both about as subtle as a nuclear detonation!” Fay laughed. “You may think that no-one has noticed that something is going on with the pair of you, but that’s because you are too inexperienced … you don’t know how to hide it very well.”

“Precisely,” Parvati took over. “Everyone in Gryffindor saw how you only watched Harry during the recent Quidditch match, and we are sure that he only flew past our stand seven times so that a certain Gryffindor witch could see him.”

“I … well …” Hermione puffed out in weak protest.

“And we’ve all taken it in turns to time how long Harry looks at you during meal times lately,” Lavender continued. “Whose go is it to skip breakfast next to watch?”

“That would be me,” Fay grinned to Hermione, as she added some sparkles to Hermione’s dense hair.

“Exactly,” said Lavender. “So, you may not want to tell us, Hermione, but we know something is going on with you and Potter. And that’s actually a good thing right now, as he can protect you from that Bulgarian brute, Krum.”

“I can look after myself,” Hermione protested.

“Perhaps. But what girl doesn’t want a knight in shining armour to come to her rescue?” Parvati asked. Fay coughed pointedly, and Parvati frowned at her. “Yeah, well, apart for the new lezzers in the dorm. No offence.”

“None taken, this is new to me too,” Fay replied. “But thanks for breaking me in with regards to the bigotry I can expect.”

“It was a term of endearment,” Parvati smirked. “You lez away, tell us what it’s like. Gossip is gossip, after all!”

Fay laughed at that. “Alright, I’ll give you all the gory details. I’ll tell you whatFrench Kissingis really like, if I get that far!”

The four of them erupted in laughter. Hermione actually enjoyed the experience. She hadn’t really laughed with the other girls of her dorm before. They generally seemed to be laughing at her or about her, if she was involved at all. This actually made a pleasant change to things. She decided to take advantage of it.

“So … do you really think Krum is a threat to me?” Hermione asked.

“Absolutely,” Lavender replied. “We don’t mean it as a dig … as though the idea that someone like Krum might be interested in you for honourable reasons is a ridiculous one … but honestly? Eww! He’s older and creepier … he knows what he’s doing … he’s preying on younger girls.”

“Yeah, he gives me the shivers … and not in a good way,” Parvati added. “You stick to Potter, Haitch … he’ll look after you.”

“He will, especially after this job I’ve done with your make-up,” Fay nodded. “I have to say this … you look very pretty, Hermione.”

“Steady on, Fay … you’re barking up the wrong tree there. Hermione prefers wizards. Especially ones with scars over their eyes!” Lavender teased.

“Oh, be quiet, you!” Hermione cried, though she laughed as she did so.

Even so, Hermione couldn’t help but be on her guard as she attended the Feast that night. Though almost as soon as she entered the Great Hall she felt her annoyance rise, and it wasn’t an auspicious way to start the evening. For a start, the four House tables had been replaced by numerous little circular ones for communal socialising. Now, ever since the first day of term - when the representatives of the other schools had arrived for the Tournament - Hermione had felt that the Hall felt uncomfortably full, but at least it retained a sense of familiar order.

But this new layout was simply chaos … and it afflicted Hermione’s orderly mind.

Not quite knowing where to go, Hermione wandered aimlessly around for a bit, gravitating towards the buffet tables laid out where the teacher’s table usually sat. She helped herself to some pumpkin pasties, skeleton-embossed sandwiches and mummy marshmallow treats then looked for somewhere to sit down. Spotting a lone witch nearby, with bright red radishes for earrings, Hermione hurried over to join her.

“Hi, Luna. Mind if I join you?” Hermione asked.

“Not at all,” Luna beamed. “Have a seat.”

“I like your dress,” Hermione commented. “It’s very nice. But bits are coming off at the back, do you know?”

“I’m supposed to be a zombie,” Luna explained. “So I have to look a bit ragged. In the Muggle world, kids dress up in scary costumes on Halloween. That’s what I’m doing now.”

“Oh, do you mean when they go trick or treating?”

“Yes, that’s right. I never went, obviously, but it sounds like ever so much fun.”

“Oh, it was,” Hermione told her happily. “My Mum and Dad took it in turns to go around with me when I was little. Imagine if I went now? The tricks would be so much better, that’s for sure.”

“Like the exploding egg with Harry?” Luna grinned. “That was a good one. He really liked that.”

“Did he? I’m glad,” Hermione beamed. Then she looked around with a frown. “I don’t see Harry here tonight. Is he not coming? I was hoping I might get to chat with him.”

“Oh, no, Harry wont be here tonight,” Luna replied sadly.

“Why not?” Hermione demanded. She felt a bit cross that she had gotten all made up for nothing, accepting now that Harry had been the sole reason for it and that he wouldn’t be here to appreciate her efforts.

Then Luna made her feel like a slug for thinking that. “Why do you think Harry isn’t here? You know what happened on this night to him. Wouldyouwant to celebrate it?”

Hermione felt so ashamed of herself that she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her, or for it to open all the way to the Chamber of Secrets where Harry’s basilisk could eat her alive. She felt she deserved such a fate for her self-centeredness.

“Oh my … I didn’t think … his parents’ murder?” Hermione mumbled. “Poor Harry. Is he okay?”

“No, he isn’t … this night always really upsets him,” Luna replied bluntly, which cut to Hermione’s heart like a knife. “The entire of Ravenclaw knows to ignore Harry tonight … even people like me and Lisa and Mandy wont go near him if we see him. He is more likely to lose his temper with you tonight than any other. He goes off somewhere private, none of us know where, to be on his own. I think he holds a sort of vigil for his Mum and Dad … but he does it way out of sight where no-one can see … where no-one can see him cry. But we know he does … his eyes are always really puffy when he comes back. It’s the saddest thing.”

Hermione was sure her heart broke as she listened on. She became a slave to her imagination, focusing on that part of the school that Harry might be at that moment. She didn’t know where it was … it could even be in the Chamber of Secrets for all she knew … but she sent all the positive thoughts she could in that direction, wherever it was. She just hoped Harry could get them.

And then, an unwelcome interruption.

“Excuse me, Miss Hermy-Own-Ninny? May I borrow you now?”

“No, you may not!” Hermione snapped, flicking her head to face Viktor Krum who had arrived at her shoulder and was looming over her. “I’m sorry, Mr Krum, but now isn’t a good time. I’ve just heard some distressing news about my friend, Harry Potter, and I don’t feel like talking to anyone but him at the moment.”

“Maybe later then,” Krum suggested, backing away. “When you are feeling better. I hope that time will be soon.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Hermione seethed as Krum moved away with another courteous bow. “Oh, Luna … I feel so awful.”

“Why?” Luna asked. “Because you snapped at that Krum person?”

“Oh, no, this is nothing to do withhim,” Hermione riled. “He can go boil his stupid head for all I care. No, I just didn’t think about what this time of year meant to Harry. And I played a silly joke on him this morning, too. Of all days! I couldn’t have been more insensitive if I’d tried!”

“Do you want to know what I think?” Luna asked. Hermione nodded enthusiastically that she did. “You cheered Harry up. This is a difficult day for him, but you brought a smile to his face. That’s more powerful than any sort of magic you might have learned in any classes this week, I can guarantee you that. Keep casting that sort of spell on him and Harry will be a happier wizard for it, I think.

“Do you know that he hasn’t shouted at a single person this week? Well, apart from telling someone off for calling me ‘Loony’ again. And that must be because of how your letters are making him feel. He’s too good to me. I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do,” Hermione cried vehemently. “Harry thinks you do … and so do I for that matter.”

“Thank you. I like you a lot too, Hermione Granger,” Luna smiled brightly. “But my point is that I’ve noticed a change in Harry this last fortnight. He’s not happy, as such, but he’s certainly a lot less cross and angry than usual. And believe me, I speak on behalf of every Ravenclaw when I say that’s an improvement. And we have you to thank for it.”

“Is he that bad normally then?” Hermione pressed in her concern

Luna nodded sadly. “Harry’s default position is angry with the world. And who can blame him? But this last week he has laughed and smiled a lot more than I’m used to. He has made jokes and told funny stories and been far more friendly than I’ve known him to be. He’s been protective before, but not exactly friendly with me. This change has been quite lovely, actually. And I have to think that it’s your fault, Hermione. He wasn’t this calm and at ease before he started writing to you.

“So, whatever you are doing, please keep doing it. Harry is better for having you in his life already. I think you make him a better boy.”

Hermione had no idea what she was supposed to say to that. But it warmed her heart nonetheless. She felt a real confusing sense of angst just then, frustrated that Harry wasn’t here with her tonight, but also frustrated that she couldn’t be with him wherever he was. The sensible part of her brain knew that it was ludicrous to expect Harry to invite her to share in such a personal night as this, after such a limited new intimacy, but she couldn’t help but feel that he might have liked her to be there with him.

After all, it was the only place in the world she wanted to be tonight. And they had found so much in common already, why wouldn’t this be another of those.

So, as it was, Hermione found she would get no pleasure from the rest of the Halloween Feast and left after barely an hour, despite Fay protesting that all her hard work doing Hermione's make-up would go down the drain once she had taken a shower, with barely anyone seeing how good a job Fay had done.

But Hermione didn’t care. She made her way solemnly up the silent staircases towards Gryffindor Tower, entered the empty Common Room and crossed to the equally unpopulated girls’ dormitory. Unpopulated … except for her cat, who was sat on her pillow with a letter attached to his collar.

“What’s that you’ve got there!” Hermione cried, crossing the room in three strides and taking the letter when Crookshanks angled his head for better access. Hermione tore it open at once.

Evening Hermione.

Sorry, this isn’t as elaborate a way to deliver a letter as yours was this morning. But I promise I’ll better that in the future, you just wait.

I’m only writing tonight because your friend, Fay, told me about Viktor Krum’s interest in you and she was concerned. But I told her you agreed to meet him by consent and that you know what you’re doing. I overheard you talking to him in the library earlier (I wasn’t eavesdropping, honest) and I could tell how keen you were to meet him tonight. You’re getting your wish of inter-schools collaboration after all, so I hope you enjoyed it and that it went well!

Just be careful with him in the future, please … the girls in your dorm are worried about Krum and that makes me nervous too. I don’t like him, I wont pretend any different, but it isn’t my place to dictate to you. Just keep your wits about you … please? I don’t want to wake up to any horror stories about this night.

Anyway, this isn’t a proper letter. I just couldn’t leave without writing to you after what Fay told me. I’ve been given permission to go home for a couple of days, you see. It’s the first anniversary of my parents’ death that I get to spend with my Godfather, so we’re going to do something special to commemorate it. If you know any spells to honour the dead, feel free to cast them. I’m sure Mum and Dad will hear them.

I’d rather not go, if I’m honest. I’d rather go to this feast just to keep a look-out for you … or for Krum, you know what I mean. I’ve asked Hedwig to hang around on your dorm windowsill until you get in. I know it’s silly, but when you find this can you please just send a brief note with her, just so that I know you’re okay? I’ll be worrying until I hear from you.

Oh, and I’ve also asked Marici to keep an eye on you while I’m gone. Not a literal eye, obviously … as if she stares at you she’ll probably kill you … but if you hear a slithering and sliding through the pipework don’t worry, it’s just my pet basilisk watching over you. She has strict instructions to Petrify Viktor Krum if he oversteps the mark, so if he bothers you just give her a shout and she’ll do the rest.

I didn’t actually name her, she told me that her name was Marici when I found her. She’d been living in that Chamber all alone for fifty years, poor thing. I think she was as glad to finally have a friend as I was. She told me someone else was trying to control her that year, but she recognised me as a superior master and simply ignored them. I never did find out who that was, or what Marici means, but I think it’s an old Buddhist name. Maybe you can find out for me, tell me about it in your next letter.

I have to go, my Godfather is waiting in Professor Snape’s office, as it’s the only one connected to the Floo Network … and they do NOT get on. I’ll have to find out why. Then again, who does get on with Snape?

Oh, and by the way, we will definitely be having that flight! I had a feeling you were fibbing to me about being good on a broom, but I forgive you for it. You can use my Firebolt when we go out, it’s so superior to the battered school brooms, it’s like a Rolls Royce versus a Ford Anglia. The Firebolt practically flies itself, so you’ll have no problems on it. And if you fall off, I’ll do my best to try and catch you … if I can stop laughing long enough, of course!

Anyway, I have to go. I hope you had a good night, and I’ll write you a proper letter next time, I promise.

From Harry.

Hermione just looked at the brief letter for the longest time, her heart swelling as she did so. Harry was so concerned about her … he needn’t have been, but the sentiment touched Hermione somewhere very deep inside. No-one had ever been this interested in her, this invested in her well-being … and she could barely believe that Harry was now. Two weeks ago, she had barely known him …

But now he wouldn’t sleep until he knew she was okay.

Hermione had never swooned before, but she did then. Her heart and her head almost lost coherency at the very same time. How had this happened? And in such a ridiculously short space of time? Yes, they had grown closer, butthisclose? Hermione could scarce believe it. This was fairy-tale stuff.

Then she allowed that it wasn’t just the letters. It was the waiting time between them, too. Hermione realised that she spent almost all of her time thinking about Harry’s letters, analysing to death every word that he had written so far, speculating on what he might write the next time. And for her own scribblings, too. How had Harry responded to what she had told him? How might he respond in the future, and how much more did she still have to say?

But had Harry done the same? Had he pored over her words, absorbed them in, thought extensively about the girl who had written them.

By Merlin, Hermione thought that he might have.

And that was an insanely sweet thought. A saccharine one, one that might rot the teeth if not kept in check. It might lead Hermione to think something very silly … that Harry Potter might have actually started tocarefor her. That after only two weeks of letter-writing Hermione Granger now had value in Harry Potter’s world. And that was something that even Hermione’s insanely powerful brain found difficult to process.

So she pushed it aside, she had to keep things simple. Hermione looked up then, and was startled to see the wide, amber eyes of Harry’s owl, Hedwig, staring pointedly at her through the window. Her heart soaring again at the reason for that, Hermione grabbed a quill from her bag, scribbled a quick, barely legible note on a scrap of parchment, then tied it to a pouch around Hedwig’s leg. The snowy owl barked a thanks, gave Hermione a gentle, affectionate nip on her fingers, then took off into the dark of the night.

Hermione fell back down onto her pillows, made fists into her blankets and curled her toes, as more of those silly thoughts about Harry began chasing each other through her mind. But how silly were they, really? How could she deny the validity of them? Her rational brain wouldn’t allow her to cast the truth away so easily. And there was a truth there, one so fundamentally earth-shattering that Hermione doubted her buoyancy would drop long enough to sleep tonight.

After all, she knew one truth for absolute sure … wherever Harry Potter was tonight, whatever he was doing, Hermione knew this one thing … that he was thinking abouther.

Chapter 10: Real Rivals

Chapter Text

Harry returned to Hogwarts after three days, slipping in late on Wednesday night after the school-wide curfew had already been enforced. He said goodbye to Sirius in the Entrance Hall, picked up a note from Professor Flitwick that gave him permission to be out of bed after-hours, then solemnly made his way up the Main Staircase.

But he had no intention of returning to the Ravenclaw Common Room and his bed. At least not until he had attended to another matter that demanded his attention. So, instead of following the path all the way to the Fifth Floor, and the turn-off that led to Ravenclaw Tower, Harry left the staircase on the Third Floor, hurrying along the once-locked corridor and stopping at the trapdoor in the floor about half way down.

Then, after checking that he was alone, he pulled open the heavy trapdoor, took a look into the darkness, then jumped in … falling down, down, down, until he landed on the Devil’s Snare that lived there. A quick jet of emerald green flames from his wand and Harry was free, leaping clear before setting off along the maze of dark tunnels that would eventually lead him to the Chamber of Secrets.

Now Harry knew very well that there was a surface entrance in one of the girl’s toilets, but he had never fancied sticking his face where however many naked girly private bits had been just so he could access the Chamber from there. He was more than comfortable in the dark and dank of these underground spaces. Besides, it was a far more sanitary route in his opinion.

And it was a route he literally knew in the dark. So soon enough he found himself emerging from the draughty passageway and facing the large, ornate, circular doorway to the Chamber of Secrets, whispering the ‘open’ command in Parseltongue to the seven carved serpents depicted there, watching them move and slither as the door slowly opened.

Then Harry hurried inside. Marici, Harry’s pet basilisk, raised her great head to him as soon as she heard his footsteps. She knew not to invoke her Language of The Eyes when she looked at him, so he was quite safe. One of the misconceptions Harry had soon learned about basilisks was that the stare killed arbitrarily, but that was a mistake.

For ‘The Stare’ was a language, capable of healing as well as harming and completely under the great serpent’s control. In conjunction with tail flicks, patterns made by Marici’s tongue and blinking sequences to denote inflection and meaning, Harry very quickly understood that to speak Parseltongue as a Master was far more than simply making hissing sounds and hoping for the best.

But by now he was adept at the language, mimicking the speech patterns as best he could by making angular twists with his tongue and using his fingers to gesticulate in the absence of a tail. He combined all these techniques to speak to his pet in some urgency now.

“How is Hermione? Have you been watching her?” Harry asked.

Marici nodded her head. “Yes.”

“And?” Harry demanded, impatiently.

“The duck-boy pays her lots of attention,” Marici replied. “Some she knows about, some she does not.”

“What does that mean?”

“In the library, she sees him. At meal times, she knows where he is. But when she walks the grounds alone, or moves between classrooms, she does not know that he watches, sometimes follows.”

“KrumfollowsHermione?” Harry hissed angrily. “You saw this?”

“Yes, and I follow his scent also,” the basilisk confirmed. “He keeps a distance mostly, but not always. He has spoken with her on three occasions since you went away, Harry. Once at the feast, and twice more in the library for much longer times. They spoke at length about a golden egg, mer-people and the Great Lake. Duck-boy wanted your friend to give him a tour around the lake, but they were interrupted by other girls who took your friend away.”

“Well, at least that’s something,” Harry huffed. “As long as Hermione is alright … sheisalright, isn’t she?”

“She is unharmed,” Marici confirmed.

“Good. Thank you, Chi, for watching over her for me. I appreciate it.”

“There is something, Harry, that you might want to know,” the basilisk went on. “Hedwig came to me yesterday, said she had seen Duck-Boy in the cabin of his ship. He was laying out all his garments, putting ones aside that had scarlet and gold on them.”

“So? Why are you telling me that?”

“Hedwig says these were smart garments, dress-robes,” Marici explained. “Scarlet and gold are the colours of your friend’s House, are they not? He may have been wanted to match outfits with her, should they go to a party together. Hedwig thought this was important.”

Harry snatched in a hissed breath … the Yule Ball! Krum was thinking of inviting Hermione to the Yule Ball! Perhaps he already had. Harry felt a sharp stab in his chest at the possibility. He massaged his sternum at the very real pain that had struck him there.

Saying goodnight to Marici, Harry hurried away, taking the underground route that intersected the secret passage to Honeydukes, before eventually emerging back into the shadowy corridors of Hogwarts. He was in bed a short while later, but he knew that he had little chance of sleep. He was just too restless.

And the reason was simple … he didn’t want Hermione to go to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. But more than that, Harry thought he might actually like her to go withhim.

It was a truth as complete as it was surprising. The idea had taken root in Harry’s mind when Luna casually suggested it, and it had been growing there ever since. Harry thought how nice it would be to spend a whole evening with Hermione. They didn’t have to dance or do any of that kind of silliness, but they could have a long, amiable chat and simply enjoy each other’s company, discussing their letters in person and laugh about how they’d barely known each other only a few short weeks ago.

But now Viktor Krum was going to put a spanner in the works. Harry wasn’t insensible to the nature of the Bulgarian’s interest in Hermione … he wasn’t naive on that score. But Harry saw it as an insult, an arrogant presumption that a witch like Hermione would be interested in him, when they hadn’t even spoken two words to each other. She wouldn’t have wanted to know him at all.

Though then, Harry remembered, he’d have said the same thing about himself and Hermione before they started writing to each other.

And maybe Hermione was attracted by Krum’s fame. She didn’t seem the type, but Harry couldn’t claim to know her well enough to be sure of that. There was so much he hadn’t known about her until her letters gave Harry a glimpse of her true character. And after all, Hermione had been interested inhisfame, albeit not as much as the standard member of the Magical World, so maybe she was interested in Krum in the same way.

For there were similarities between himself and Krum, Harry accepted. Both famous, both relatively young, both known for their sullen broodiness. It seemed quite possible to Harry that Hermione might have had a genuine interest in Krum, as she’d had in him, so naturally she’d be curious and keen to get to know him, especially as it provided a chance to mingle with someone from a different magical culture.

In such a circ*mstance she’d be likely to accept any offer he made to her … and Harry found that the idea bothered him greatly.

Though it had no reason to. He didn’t like Krum, that was for certain, but if Hermione liked him then it was nothing to do with Harry. He barely knew the girl, and he had no right to be angry if she spent time with someone just because Harry didn’t like him. Yes, her friends were concerned about the situation, too, but they could look out for her and make sure she was alright.

Harry was just her penpal. That’s all it was … was all Harry ever wanted it to be, and that was how it was going to stay. There would be none of this meeting up in person nonsense, Harry was resolved to that now.

And it was a resolve that lasted until Friday lunchtime, when Harry ran into Viktor Krum in the library.

It wasn’t actually so much running into Krum as it was the Bulgarian limping over to Harry in his flat-footed way and hovering about awkwardly, until Harry had no choice but to acknowledge him. He’d been delaying as long as possible, finding his very presence a source of serious annoyance.

“Can I help you?” Harry eventually asked in a curt tone.

Krum seemed taken aback by Harry’s bullishness. “I was wondering, can I sit here a moment?”

“There are no rules against that in this school,” Harry returned coolly. “If the chair is free, it’s yours to use.”

“No, what I meant was, can I sit here and talk to you a moment?”

Harry couldn’t help but be surprised by that, but he recovered his sullen side quickly enough. “If you want, though I can’t imagine what you’d have to talk to me about.”

“It is about Hermy-Own-Ninny.”

“About what?” Harry asked, confused. “What is that? Bulgarian stew or something?”

“I do not understand.”

“Neither do I.”

“I wish to discuss the matter of Hermy-Own-Ninny, your friend from Gryffindor,” Krum explained in a broken sort of way.

“Oh … do you meanHermione?”Harry exclaimed.

“This is what I said … Hermy-Own-Ninny.”

“That’s not how you … nevermind. What do want to talk to me about her for?”

“I want to know … what is there between you?” Krum demanded frankly.

Now Harry was definitely taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“Hermy-Own-Ninny talks about you very often,” Krum went on. “I try to make conversation with her, but all the time it is, ‘Harry Potter, Harry Potter’. So I ask again … what is there between you?”

“Sorry, mate, but that’s none of your business,” Harry returned firmly. “I don’t know you at all and I have no intention of discussing my relationships with you.”

“Ah, so you are in a relationship with Hermy-Own-Ninny?”

“Like I said … I’m not going to discuss things that don’t concern you.”

“Oh, but it does concern me,” Krum replied in a low voice. “For I intend to ask Hermy-Own-Ninny to the Ball to be thrown at Hogwarts. If that is going to be a problem to you, I need to know.”

Harry was totally thrown by that. The whole notion of he and Hermione appearing to be in a relationship was wild enough, but the idea that Viktor Krum, older boy and International Quidditch hero and all that, was here challenging him, treating him as a real rival, made Harry feel as if he had grown several inches in stature.

And that very notion drove Harry to decide toactlike a rival.

For the one key piece of information that Harry had gleaned from this was that Krum hadn’t asked Hermione to the Ball yet. He was obviously going to, and Hermione might prefer to accept his offer, but as of now that event hadn’t happened. Harry still had a chance.

“Well yes, actually, Krum, that will be a problem,” Harry replied sternly. “For you see, I have a problem with Hermione spending any time with someone who cant even say her name properly. It’s insulting that you cant even get that right, and you don’t deserve to be within three feet of her if you refuse to try.”

“My accent makes this difficult,” Krum scowled back. “Your comment is racially motivated.”

“Nonsense, you’re just too dumb to pronounce the word properly,” Harry volleyed back. “Hermy-Own-Ninny …it’s not even close! You disrespect her by being so wildly off. I wont let her be around someone who might dumb her down.”

“That is not your choice to make,” Krum fumed. “I will let her make the decision.”

“Go ahead and try, but expect to be disappointed,” Harry replied smugly. “For you’re too late, Krum … Hermione is already going with someone.”

Krum tensed at the news. “She is? Who?”

“That’s none of your -”

“Who!” Krum thundered, disturbing several other students nearby. Harry was angered by the extra attention drawn to them. He rounded on Krum with a firm look.

“Hermione is going withme.”

Krum slumped back in his chair. “I suspected as much, but Hermy-Own-Ninny was very cagey about it when I asked. No matter, I will ask her anyway.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Harry hissed. “Hermione is already going with me. Why would you ask her knowing that?”

“To give her an option,” Krum replied simply. “She may have said yes to you, but that was before she knew of my interest. As soon as she does, I am confident she will change her mind. Sorry to disappoint you, Harry Potter.”

“Not as sorry as you’ll be when Hermione tells you to sod off,” Harry scythed. “And I really hope I’m there to see it.”

“The only thing you will see is Hermy-Own-Ninny and I in matching dress robes, when I escort her to the Ball as my date. Then you will see that I have won.”

“Hermione is not a prize in some stupid contest, you creepy oaf!” Harry cried. “And the very fact that you think she is shows precisely why she’ll reject your advances. I got you to leave Sally-Anne Perks alone and I don’t even likeher … don’t test me when it comes to Hermione, Krum … for I really do like that witch.”

“If you boys cannot keep your voices down I will have to insist that you leave immediately,” Madam Pince, the Librarian, told them off firmly as she came over. “This is a quiet space and if you cannot observe that quiet then you will have to go.”

“I was just leaving anyway,” Harry said as he stood up. “I don’t like the smell in here. Stinks like a duck’s arse.”

Then Harry glowered once more at Viktor Krum, before snatching up his things and storming out of the library. Krum sat there looking confused and bewildered a moment, as though that meeting hadn’t gone at all like he had expected. After a few minutes, he too stood up and left.

It was at that point that Hermione Granger, who had been watching the whole exchange from a hidden spot behind a nearby bookshelf, let out the stunned breath that she’d been holding for the entire time and allowed her heart to start beating again, which it did in earnest.

Emerging from her hiding spot, and feeling dazed by the contents of the conversation she’d just overheard, Hermione sat in the seat that Harry had just vacated. It was still warm, which Hermione found comforting and, oddly, made her feel a little racy, on account of the part of Harry’s body that had generated it. That caused her own heat to steal across her cheeks in a crimson blush, which she fanned away with her shaking hands.

She couldn’t believe what had just happened. Harry Potter and Viktor Krum had just been rowing about which one of them was going to take her to the Yule Ball! How had things come to this? She was Hermione Granger, bookworm, wall-flower, bossy know-it-all, nobody’s idea of attractive … but two of the most illustrious boys at Hogwarts were just fighting over her and who was going to take her on a date! How bizarre was that?

Hermione allowed her vanity to be flattered a moment by the mere notion. Imagine if the other girls of her dorm had seen that? What things they would say to her then! The teasing would be relentless, but it would be much more complimentary than that which was usually doled out to her. Harry and Krum, fighting over her! Hermione couldn’t keep the notion steady in her mind.

But she knew that she had a decision to make, not that there was any doubt in her mind about what she was going to do. This was just all so strange. Krum didn’t know her at all, but wanted to ask her out … Harry hardly knew her that much better, in truth, but had told Krum that he wasalreadygoing to the Ball with her, which wasn’t true at all.

Now why had he done that? This was Hermione’s biggest conundrum.

There were a multitude of reasons, of course. Harry had confessed to disliking Krum and could have said what he did to get him to back off from Hermione. That made perfect sense, but it would also mean that Harry would eventually have to ask Hermione to the Ball, which she somehow didn’t think he’d find the courage to do. He wasn’t a Gryffindor, after all, and his shyness might prevent him asking the question.

But that explanation didn’t satisfy Hermione … and she knew perfectly well why. She didn’t want Harry to take her to the Ball out of any sort of obligation, or a sense of chivalry, just to protect her from an older boy that he didn’t trust. If she was going to go with him, it had to be for the right reasons. He had to want to be there with her and for that reason alone. Nothing else would do.

And Hermione had to find out if that was a possibility. So she dove into her school satchel and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and some ink, then sat down to write.

It would be the shortest letter yet.

Harry - we need to talk … urgently.

Please meet me tonight at 9pm, on top of the Astronomy Tower. I’ll explain everything then. Please be there. I’ll be waiting.

From Hermione.

Then she folded the letter carefully and left the library, heading straight for the Owlery. She just hoped Hedwig would be willing to play courier after being disturbed from her sleep.

Chapter 11: Up on the Astronomy Tower

Chapter Text

The walk up the winding spiral staircase that evening was a very fraught one for Harry. He was a mix of weird, jittery nerves, at the prospect of meeting Hermione face-to-face in such an out of the way location, and concerned anxiety over what might have prompted her to demand this sudden conference with him. ‘Urgent’ could mean many things, but Harry was a natural worrier, predisposed to think that whatever the reason was behind this, it must be necessarily bad.

His disquiet was such that he barely ate anything at dinner, didn’t really notice any food that he did force down, and in the end gave up trying and headed up to the Astronomy Tower in a very agitated state, arriving on the moonlit parapet ten minutes before Hermione was due to get there.

The thing was, she was just as restless as Harry and had been waiting for him for five minutes already.

“There’s a lot to be said for punctuality in my book,” Hermione whispered from near the wall at the back of the parapet. “So I’m glad to see you share that view. For some reason, it doesn’t surprise me.”

Harry jumped sharply and sucked in a breath at the shock. “Hermione! You startled me! Why are you lurking in the dark for?”

“I am not lurking,” Hermione protested. “Just waiting quietly out of sight.”

“Also known as lurking,” Harry replied with a light smirk. “Have you been here long? I hope not.”

“Only a couple of minutes,” Hermione replied, conservatively.

They were awkwardly silent for a few seconds, then Harry suddenly remembered why they were there.

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt are you?Hehasn’t hurt you, has he?”

“Who?”

“Viktor Krum.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “No, of course not. Why would you think he’d hurt me?”

“Well, your note said that you wanted to see me urgently,” Harry explained. “And that was my first thought about it. What else could be so urgent?”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the burst of protectiveness coming from Harry. It was so unexpected, but also very sweet. She didn’t really know what to say to it. So she decided to put his clearly anxious mind at ease.

“No, I’m not hurt, by Viktor Krum or anyone else,” Hermione reassured Harry, taking a brave step forward. “I’m fine. But thank you for being so concerned about me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck in his awkwardness. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to take gratitude from Hermione. Normally, he’d brush it off from anyone else, thinking they were just trying to ingratiate themselves to him, and he would be irritated by it. But this was different … he found that he actuallywelcomedthe sentiment coming from Hermione. That was an entirely new sensation for him. “So, what did you want to see me about if not Krum?”

“Well,” Hermione began cautiously. “It is actually to do with Krum, just not like you think.”

“How then?”

Hermione took a big gulp of air. “Don’t be angry at me - I wasn’t listening on purpose or anything - but I overheard you talking with him in the library this afternoon.”

Harry tensed as he heard the words. “Oh.”

“I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you think,” Hermione replied quickly, sensing Harry’s reactionary tautness. He visibly relaxed at her words, which was strange. “I was just surprised, that’s all, and I thought we ought to talk about it.”

“Are you miffed that I told him to back off?” Harry asked gruffly. “He’s still going to ask you out, if that’s what the problem is.”

“Yes, I heard,” Hermione mumbled. “But I have no intention of accepting his invitation. He’s been very polite, in truth, but I was raised a Muggle … I still see things in Muggle terms. If we were inthatworld, I’d be a high school girl with a couple of years to go and he’d be in college or work. You went to Muggle schools, yourself, so I don’t need to tell you how dubious that would look.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed, his eyes shining at Hermione’s declaration of intent, which didn’t go unnoticed by her. “It’s creepy and weird. Not that anyone admiring you would be astonishing … that’s not what I mean at all, so please don’t think that. It’s just the age difference, you know?”

“I know,” Hermione said in a warm voice, stepping half a toe closer again. She was smiling widely, inside and out. “But thank you for saying that, too. You’re very kind.”

“No, I think we’ve established that you are the kind one. That’s why a brute like Krum needs to keep his distance from you.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?” Hermione queried. “I was surprised by how angry you were at his mispronouncing my name. It is just his accent, after all.”

“That’s the very point, Hermione … that isn’t what it is, at all,” Harry corrected her in a dark tenor that made Hermione shiver icily a second.

“What do you mean?”

Harry took a weighty breath. “I’d rather not say … I did say that I wouldn’t. But I suppose I can trust you to be discreet.”

“Is this about that other girl? Sally-Anne Perks?” Hermione asked lowly. “The girls in my dorm told me that you’d spoken to Viktor Krum about her, too … warned him off her, they said.”

Harry’s expression darkened even in the shadows. “Yeah … I’ve had a couple of dealings with Krum this year, none of them amiable. That’s why I’m so concerned about you … I just want you to be careful, okay?”

“I can handle Viktor Krum,” Hermione told him soothingly. This protective side of Harry was stirring that bothersome ache that he often generated in Hermione’s belly. She had to battle to hold herself still. “But please … tell me about Sally-Anne. It sounds like something I ought to know.”

“His accent is a tool,” Harry began, sitting back against the stone handrail of the parapet. “He speaks English perfectly well, except when it comes to girls in his cross-hairs. It happened with Sally … he called her ‘Sal-Lee-Annie’when he was targeting her, and before that - she told me - he did the same with Daphne Greengrass. He called her ‘Dap-huh-ney’.

“It’s cutesy, see? Makes him seem a bit simple, in need of gentle educating. But he’s far from simple. He’s very clever, he knows what he’s doing . It’s a trick to get close to girls … and you’ve seen that he knows how to simper and flatter for yourself. Add to the attraction of being an international Quidditch star and he’s got quite the appeal.”

“And he certainly seems to have been prolific with the girls here,” Hermione frowned.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Harry muttered lowly.

“Then tell me.”

Harry sighed angrily. “A group of the Durmstrang boys - including Krum - have set up their own sort oftournament, in parallel to the Triwizard … they call it the ‘Four House Competition’. The rules are simple … points are awarded for various ‘acts’performed with girls from Hogwarts, all on a sort of sliding scale. Prizes will be awarded for engaging in these with girls from multiple houses and years. They even have miniature versions of the House Point hourglass that we have in the Entrance Hall to record their conquests. It’s all very disgusting.”

“That’s awful!” Hermione cried, scandalised. “How do you know this?”

“Sally-Anne told me,” Harry explained. “She was spellbound by Krum and who he was from the start. She was easy prey to his intentions and allowed some lighter stuff to go on. But then he invited her to his room on the Durmstrang ship and she saw all of this stuff. They record all of their ‘victories’ on a sort of golf scorecard, if you’ve ever seen one of those.

“She was outraged and pushed him off when he tried to get a bit ‘handsy’ with her. Then, when she threatened to go to Karkaroff or Dumbledore, Krum’s friends vowed to say that Sally had never been there, and if she did say anything they’d … what’s the phrase …slu*t-shameher all around Hogwarts. So she kept quiet, even when Krum tried to blackmail her to do more things with him. He’d lost face with his peers when Sally rejected him, I think.”

“That’s terrible! I can’t believe they’d do that!” Hermione yelped. “Is she alright?”

“She was very upset by it,” Harry confessed. “Broke down in one of our Charms classes. I was sat with her and had to calm her down. That’s when she told me all about what was going on. So I went to Krum that same night and had a very frank discussion with him. He didn’t bother Sally again after that.”

“Why? What did you say to him?”

“That’ll have to remain between me and Krum, I’m afraid,” Harry replied, evasively. “It’s not the kind of thing a decent witch should have to hear.”

“Wow. Sally is lucky to have you as a friend.”

“She’s not my friend,” Harry retorted. “That doesn’t mean she should have to put up with stuff like that, or that I’d let it happen once I knew. And I just hope you never have to … that would be a hundred times worse.”

Hermione drew in a shaky breath before saying what she did next, the one thing she’d really come up here for tonight.

“So … is that why you told Krum that we were going to the Yule Ball together?” she mumbled. “Was it just to get him to leave me alone?”

“Partly,” Harry replied, nervously, looking at his shoes. “But I also thought … I mean, well … I was thinking ...”

Harry’s tongue had tied itself in knots. The words he wanted to say were stuck in there somewhere. He coughed to try and undo the twist, but it only served to tighten it further. Hermione watched him struggle with a little smile, before she could stand it no longer.

“I was thinking that, too,” Hermione whispered softly. “And I will, you know … if you really would like to.”

Harry looked up in surprise. “Oh, well … you would?”

“Uh-huh,” Hermione nodded. “If we’re talking about the same thing and you truly would like to.”

“Yeah, I do … but it’s sort of ruined now,” Harry frowned.

“Ruined? How?” Hermione asked in a sort of desperation. She hadn’t meant to ruin anything and was keen to make amends.

“Well, aren’t I supposed to conjure a red rose and get down on one knee or something?” Harry asked. “That’s what girls like, isn’t it? You can tell I’m not good at this.”

Hermione felt a warmth swirl in her chest. “That sort of thing only happens in books, I think. It’s very melodramatic, isn’t it? But nothing’s ruined … you can still do that, if you want to.”

Harry grinned at the challenge and drew his wand, twirling it expertly and conjured a single, deep-red rose. He thought getting down on a knee was a bit much, so he simply offered it to Hermione, noticing that his hands were wobbling slightly. He did his best to look Hermione in the eyes when he spoke next.

“So … will you go to the Yule Ball with me, Hermione?”

Hermione almost broke her face, such was the intensity of her smile, and she was sure she snatched the rose a little too eagerly. But Harry didn’t seem to mind.

“Yes, I’d love to, Harry!”

“Great … that’s great,” Harry smiled back. “If you’d prefer to go with Krum, you can. I’m not going to say I don’t mind - because I do - but you can choose to go with him, if you’d prefer.”

“I don’t prefer, not in the teensiest bit,” Hermione insisted. “I was hoping you’d ask me. I’ve been hoping it all day, to be honest, ever since I heard you in the library.”

“You have? Well, I’m glad I said it then,” Harry replied. “Sorry that I said we were going before we wereactuallygoing … I just sort of blurted it out on the spot. But now we are going, so it doesn’t matter so much, does it?”

“Have you been thinking about it then? Asking me, I mean?”

“A bit,” Harry confessed. “I wasn’t going to go at all, but then Luna said about us going together and it sounded nice. It will be nice, I think. The letters have been great, but it’ll be nice to talk to you in person. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“So will I!” Hermione agreed vehemently. “So, just to confirm … we are going to the Yule Ball together. That’s what we are saying?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Great! Well … it’s a date, then,” Hermione sang. “I mean, it’s not anactualdate, but … you know what I mean.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Well, it is sort of an actual date. We’re going as partners, and everyone else will call their partners ‘dates’, so that’s what we are. Or do you not agree?”

“No, no, it’s just that … I didn’t think you would … oh,shut up,Hermione! … yes, okay, it’s a date. A proper one. I’m going on a date with Harry Potter. Wow … I never thought I’d say anything like that in my life!”

“I didn’t think I’d ever hear something like that, or like it when I did,” Harry mumbled shyly.

Hermione blinked in surprise. “And you do? You do like it?”

“Yeah … because you’re saying it. I don’t mind that.”

“Oh …” Hermione began, but words failed her completely just then.

“Can I ask one favour though?” Harry went on in the silence. “Can we keep this to ourselves, just till the night? It’s not because I don’t want people to know that I’m going with you, or anything stupid like that, but I’m worried about the gossip. I get talked about all the time, and most of it isn’t pleasant. I just don’t want you to have to experience anything like that. After the fact, you’ll have no choice, but I’d like to protect you from it till it’s unavoidable.”

“Alright, I can do that,” Hermione agreed. “It’s sweet of you to think of me like that. Besides, it might be quite fun to see the surprise on people’s faces when we turn up together! It’ll be hilarious. And anyway, we can talk to each other about it till then, can’t we? It’ll be just another secret between us. But can I at least say that I do have a date if anyone asks, even if I cant say who it’s with?”

“Of course you can,” Harry nodded. “I’m not telling you what you can and cant do … but just trust me that it’ll be easier this way. You’ll understand after the Yule Ball, when you’ll get so much attention you’ll wish you never agreed to go with me at all!”

“No, Harry, I don’t think that will happen,” Hermione disagreed. “I may get a lot of questions and gossip, but that wont be enough to make me regret going with you. I’m going to be looking forward to it so much. It’ll be a lot of fun, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, yeah it will,” Harry nodded. “Right, well, I think I’m going to go now. They’ll be calling curfew soon and it’s a long way back to Ravenclaw Tower.”

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Hermione offered.

Harry considered it a moment. “Yes, but I’m not going to let you. You’ll be caught out of bed by the time you get back. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am. But thanks.”

Harry smiled gently then took a few steps down from the parapet. Then he turned back to Hermione.

“Oh, and by the way, it’s still your turn on the letters. Don’t think that little note counts!”

Hermione laughed at that. “Don’t worry, I wont forget. I’ll have so much to write I’ll run out of ink before I finish, I’m sure.”

“I’ll send Hedwig over with a fresh supply, if you like,” Harry joked. “You really are rubbish with your stationery supplies!”

“Why do I need supplies when I can just steal yours?” Hermione funned. “Ravenclaws are always prepared, so I don’t need to be! I’m not the brightest witch in Gryffindor for nothing, you know.”

“True, true,” Harry chuckled back. “But I think you’re officially trailing me in theBest Studentstakes now. I wrote my entire last Ancient Runes essay in the Elder Furthank … got 112% for it, too. Beat that, Miss Granger!”

“Oh, I will! Challenge accepted!” Hermione hooted. “You don’t know me at all, do you?”

“No, not really, but I’m enjoying putting that right,” Harry grinned. “So, I’m going to go now and let you fill in yet more blanks in my knowledge. So, goodnight …date.”

Hermione couldn’t help but swoon in her throat at that. She just hoped Harry didn’t hear it, but accepted with a jolt of shame that he probably had.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry turned to go, but stopped again and faced Hermione once more. “Just one more thing … you look really nice by the moonlight. It suits you. Just thought I should tell you that. Bye.”

Then he hurried away quickly, as if it had taken all the courage he had just to say the words and didn’t want to stick around for the impact. And boy had they had impact! Hermione stood frozen by them for almost a full minute before her brain suddenly kicked back to life.

“Go after him! Give him a goodnight kiss. Just a peck on the cheek. Don’t let it end like that!”

But it took another thirty seconds for Hermione to build up the spirit to go sprinting after Harry, and by that time he was long gone. Hermione fumed good-naturedly at Harry’s tricksy little ways of escaping … at herdate’stricksy ways! She couldn’t think the words often enough! It began to send her a little dizzy after a while.

Though she had other words to say, lots of them, so she darted back to Gryffindor Tower, grabbed her writing things from her dorm, kicked a couple of First-Years from her table in the Common Room, then settled down to write.

It was going to be a long night.

“Mike! Mike! Come here. You too, Tony. Come over here a second.”

The Ravenclaw Common Room had a strange atmosphere that night, as Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein returned from a Gobstones Club meeting. They could feel it as soon as they’d answered the riddle and the door opened for them. There was a curious sort oflightnessin the air and they didn’t know what to make of it at all. So they hurried over to Lisa Turpin, as she summoned them on sight, hoping she could explain this bizarre phenomenon.

“What is it?” Michael asked. “What’s up?”

“Well, there’s something wrong with Harry,” Lisa replied. “We think he should go to Madam Pomfrey at once.”

“Potter?” Anthony enquired.

“Are there any other ‘Harrys’ in Ravenclaw?” Mandy Brocklehurst, who was sat with Lisa, asked. “Yes, Harry Potter!”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Michael, looking over at Harry, who was in the centre of the room with Luna Lovegood. “He looks alright to me.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem,” Lisa hissed. “He’salright.”

“I don’t follow.”

“He’s beenchatty,” Mandy exclaimed under her breath. “And on purpose, I mean. He asked me how my dinner was, told Lisa he was impressed with her Summoning Charm when we practised earlier, things like that. He’s not right.”

“That does seem weird,” Anthony quirked. “Potter beingchirpy… I don’t believe it.”

“Go and see for yourself,” Lisa prompted.

Anthony shrugged his shoulders and crossed the room. “Evening, Harry. What are you up to?”

Harry looked up with a pleasant expression, which unsettled Anthony at once. “Hello, Anthony. I’m just proofreading Luna’s essay for her, then she’s going to show me some of the big articles in this month’sQuibbler. How about you?”

Anthony just blinked at Harry’s unusual breeziness. “Oh, well, Mike and I just came back from Gobstones Club, you know.”

“And how did you get on?”

“We won a few games, got some extra House points for Ravenclaw,” Anthony nodded as he replied.

“Good for you, all extra points are welcome so good work,” Harry returned. “Never been much of a player, myself. I tend to have tantrums and throw the Stones around when I miss a shot! It’s best for everyone’s health that I don’t play.”

“Harry … my Potions essay?” Luna cut in gently.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Harry apologised, before turning his eyes back to the parchment scroll in his hands without another word.

Anthony backed away slowly until he reached the others. “Okay … that wasweird. I don’t think I like it.”

“See what we mean!” Lisa squeaked. “He doesn’t seem right, does he? He seems … almost …happy.”

Michael hushed in a sharp breath. “What the hell do we do with a happy Harry Potter? Is there a spell for it? A potion? Has hetakena potion? I might ask for a sip myself if he has.”

“I dunno, but we’d better keep an eye on him, just in case,” Mandy hushed. “We don’t know what caused it, or how soon it will wear off. The fallout could be catastrophic when it does.”

And so on. But Harry heard none of this silliness. Even so, he was well aware that his mood was unusually good. This was the kind of exhilaration he only usually associated with flying … the way his stomach dropped on steep dives, the way the breeze made him feel so airy, the way his pulse sped as he gunned his broom faster and faster through the sky. This was the closest thing he could equate that to.

And it was all because Hermione Granger had agreed to be his date for the Yule Ball. He hadn’t expected that to feel so good. But there it was, filling him up with just the nicest sensations. He wasn’t used to them, they felt distinctly alien, as though he’d borrowed them from someone else. But he was eager to keep them for as long as possible.

So he chatted and joked and did all the things that regular people did … and found that he oddly enjoyed them for a change. That was weird. Harry couldn’t remembering it ever happening before. He might have talked with Luna, or replied automatically to prompts from Lisa and Mandy, but they were arbitrary, reactionary. He’d never treated them as anything more.

But here he was, asking Anthony Goldstein how his Gobstones games had gone, not that he genuinely cared. Though that wasn’t strictly true … he did care. Anthony had won Ravenclaw points, and Harry was rabidly fierce about his House proudness. He was desperate to one day see Ravenclaw triumph over Gryffindor and Slytherin to lift the House Cup.

Constantly finishing third was seriously annoying, considering Ravenclaw was the best House, really.

So Anthony doing his bit to help Ravenclaw’s points tally softened Harry towards him today. He was usually a bit of an annoyance, too, but Harry let that slide in his good mood. He helped Luna with her homework, let her read stories to him about Nargles and Crumple-Horned Something-or-anothers fromThe Quibbler,and then went up to bed, content but not really sleepy.

That was when he saw the pigeon hole on the end of his bed glowing royal blue.

Curious, Harry opened it up to find a very thick letter inside. On the envelope was a single Penny Black stamp. Harry quickly tore open the seal and began to read.

Sorry, I know it’s late but I just had to send this before bed. I hope you don’t mind. Besides, I finally get to show you how the Penpal Club works for other members! Did I ever tell you that over a quarter of the school have signed up so far, and more join every week?

But what I am saying? I don’t want to talk to you about mundane things like that! Not tonight, anyway.

Oh, Harry, I’m just so excited to be going to the Ball with you … I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep! Thank you, thank you for asking me. Can I confess that I’ve been hoping you might, ever since I first heard rumours about it going ahead? Well, I just have, so you don’t really have a say in the matter! But I hope you don’t think that’s too weird. It is a bit weird, isn’t it, considering we’ve barely known each other for five minutes? But then again, you said you’d been thinking about it, too, so maybe we can be weird together.

It’s yet another thing we have in common. I’m losing track of how many things there are at this point. I’ll need to make a chart.

Actually, scrap that idea. It makes me think of what Krum and his buddies are doing and that makes me throw up a little in my mouth. How despicable! And to think I was next on his list! Eww. And he was so polite too, but maybe I should have seen through that. Too smooth and artful by half. He may have a genuine interest in me, but he’ll get over it soon enough … just as soon as I turn down his advances with dignified firmness.

As if he’d think I’d go with him over you … and as if you’d think that I might prefer to, too! I’m not doing a very good job of showing you who I am, clearly. Don’t worry, I’ll try harder. By the time we reach the Yule Ball, you’ll be in no doubt. Or should that be ‘Yule be in no doubt’!

Look at me! I’m in such a silly mood. This isn’t like me at all. It’s all your fault, you know. I blame you. But thank you for it … I sort of like me this way. Maybe it’s the start of a new era for Hermione Granger.

It was really nice to actually TALK to you tonight, and it wasn’t as awkward as I expected our first big meeting to be. Maybe because you came across as all concerned for me, which was just the sweet nicest thing. I think that’s what I’m really looking forward to at the Ball - being able to talk to you all night. It was nice to be able to look at you and hear your voice. It somehow felt more real than the letters, you know?

You can relax, though, I can look after myself in regards to Krum or anyone else. And the girls in my dorm are also keeping an eye on me, which is nice, though a little peculiar. They’ve never shown that much concern before, but it makes a change. I’m actually having conversations with Lavender Brown these days, and seeing that there’s more to her than just gossip and make-up. I doubt we’ll ever be proper friends, but it’s better than being teased all the time.

Though they wont be teasing me once they realise that I have a date for the Ball before them. I don’t mean that to sound like a contest, but they made it into one and half-expect me not to even play, let alone beat them at it. They’ll be so surprised when they finally learn that I have a date, which they are persistent enough to annoy out of me in the end. But I promise not so say that I’m going with you, even if the words will be burning all parts of my tongue!

I just cant stop thinking those words ... I have a date for the Ball! And it’s you! It’s going to be so much fun. I’m already deciding about what I’m going to wear. I was thinking that maybe we could show inter-house unity in our colour choices. I saw a cute, periwinkle blue dress in one of Fay’s catalogues earlier and I was thinking I could get that, and maybe you could go in something red? Or should we match colours, do you think?

Sorry, this is probably way too fast and silly for you. Please don’t call off the date because I’m getting carried away! I’m just so excited that I’m having trouble reining myself in. I will, though. Probably …. in a few days … perhaps.

Just thank you again for asking me, Harry. This must be as odd for you as it is for me, moreso even, considering how adverse you are to company usually. I’m just not very good at it, rather than dislike it. I hope that doesn’t put you off. Ooh, why did I leave my Tip-Ex at home this term!? I really need to erase that.

Anyway, I know that going to a Ball with a partner is a pretty big thing for you, and I’m surprised and flattered, as well as a little bit humbled, that you’re prepared to go with me. I’ll do my best to shield you from prying eyes as much as I can on the night, shout at anyone who gossips about us. Like I said before, I’m good at telling people off!

I suppose I should try and do some homework before bed, but I doubt my mind is in any state to think straight right now. This isn’t normal, is it? We’re only going to a party together. I really need to get a grip on myself. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow, though!

Okay, I’m going to leave it there. Crookshanks has brought me a dead mouse that I have to dispose of. What a lovely job! Shall I save it for your basilisk? I really hope you’ll take me to meet her one day. I need to say thanks for watching out for me this week.

Speaking of thanks … what you said about me in the moonlight … just … just … yeah. I cant describe it well enough. You say the nicest things to me. I’m sure I don’t deserve them.

Anyway, sleep well. Hope to hear from you soon.

Yours,

Hermione x

Harry stared a while at the end of the letter, his brow creased in wild concentration. He hadn’t noticed how hard his heart was thumping, he was only focused on one thing …

An ‘x’ … didn’t that mean … a kiss?

Chapter 12: So Many Questions

Chapter Text

The last lesson on Friday afternoon for the Gryffindors was Charms. They took this particular class with the Hufflepuffs, which always caused a little bit of consternation, because all any of them wanted to talk about was Super Cedric Diggory, giving a blow-by-blow account of his performance in the Triwizard Tournament so far, forgetting that the rest of the school had all seen his display in the First Task for themselves.

But their exuberance could be forgiven. After all, Hufflepuff House rarely had anything to toast in terms of sporting success, so they were rightly proud that a student from their House had been chosen as the Hogwarts Champion. Though they didn’t half bleat on about it. This wasn’t such a bad thing if you were sat with Hannah Abbott, who was a bit shy and didn’t talk much, but if you were saddled with Ernie MacMillan you could expect an hour of tales about Cedric the Dragon Conqueror, Cedric and the Golden Egg, and Cedric the Champion of the Meek, and so on.

So Hermione was understandably in a hurry to reach the Charms classroom early, in order to grab a desk and hope that Fay or at least one of the other Gryffindors would join her. Her mood wasn’t helped by the boisterous behaviour that tended to infect the student populous, as the week’s classes came to an end. They were racing along the corridors, shouting, misbehaving and generally getting on Hermione’s nerves.

And her nerves were pretty frayed as it was. She hadn’t heard from Harry for a couple of days, had barely even seen him in fact. She thought he would be as fevered as she’d been to share his thoughts about their Yule Ball agreement … Hermione still felt shy about calling it a ‘date’ … and had expected a letter from him the very next day.

But it had been a couple of days now and Harry still hadn’t replied. If Hermione hadn’t known better, she’d have thought that Harry was teasing her, increasing her anticipation for his next words through suspense. But that made her think of the ways that courtship often took place in her favourite Jane Austen novels, a thought that caused her mind to flutter in such silly ways that she had to sit down before she fell down.

So by that afternoon Hermione was in a very agitated state. She’d been late down to breakfast and hadn’t seen Harry anywhere in the Hall, which disappointed her. She was reluctant to think just how much she was rating the quality of her days now by how often she saw Harry, as that was a perilous path to tread, but she firmly accepted this new metric for her life when she found him facing in her direction at lunch, and he gave her a little smile as their eyes met.

Because the fleeting look seemed to make the bottom of Hermione’s stomach fall out.

But then she was forced to sit with her back towards the Ravenclaw table, and more importantly towards the only member of that House that Hermione had any interest in at all, which frustrated her greatly. She lost her appetite with the disappointment and simply nursed a cup of Earl Grey and ate almost nothing, until it was time to attend her last class of the day.

And so by the time she was stomping along the Charms corridor, Hermione was in a pretty foul mood. And it was all Harry Potter’s fault. He was doing this to her. What did it matter that Hermione had seen him only briefly during lunch? That shouldn’t be a marker of how good or bad her day was. This wasn’t the sort of thing that Hermione Granger would ever think to include on her ‘to do list’ for an average twenty-four hours.

The usual sorts of things she’d already done. She’d earned good House points for the Arithmancy essay she’d gotten back that morning, for combining quadratic equations with magical numerology to better predict weather cycles, and Professor McGonagall had given her twenty points for turning a thimble into an almost exact replica of the Goblet of Fire in Transfiguration.

This would usually make Hermione feel that her day had been profitable and productive. But those things could all go and burn in the Goblet of Fire for all she cared, because she’d only seen Harry for five seconds or less, and that counted as a waste of a day in her book. It was barely worth getting out of bed for.

Which made Hermione feel unreasonably cross with Harry, as though it was his fault that she hadn’t seen him and he was keeping his distance on purpose. The rational, sane explanations - that they didn’t share any classes so weren’t likely to run into each unless by sheer chance - were evicted from Hermione’s world. Harry was doing this on purpose and that was that.

In this semi-obsessive state, Hermione snapped at a lot of people (because they weren’t Harry), she stomped loudly against the stairs (because Harry wasn’t on them with her) and she cursed lowly about the length of the corridors (because Harry wasn’t going to be at the end of them). These weren’t the reasons she said out loud, of course, but in her harried brain she knew this was the truth.

So when a couple of Fourth Years sprinted by, duelling like swordsmen with two of the Weasley Twins’ fake wands, and crashed right into Hermione, spilling the contents of her school satchel all over the floor, her temper erupted from where it had been bubbling quite close to the surface of her skin.

“Will you all justbehave!”Hermione shrieked in a shrill tenor that carried the length of the corridor. “Look what you’ve done! You’d better start picking those books up, you pair of buffoons!”

“Here … I’ll get them.”

Hermione span on the spot and choked a little, as her heart jumped unexpectedly into her throat … for Harry was standing right behind her. He smirked a little at Hermione’s startled expression, then bent down to start collecting her scattered school things from where they were rolling around on the floor.

“Oh … hi, Harry,” Hermione said, breathlessly. “I can do that, you know.”

“I know,” Harry smiled up. “But let me.”

“Alright. Thank you,” Hermione replied, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears.

She watched as Harry carefully and deliberately piled her books to one side, then recovered her stray quills, inkpots and - to his amazement - a new pack of spare quill nibs! He grinned as he held them up to her, an act that sent a heat stealing across Hermione’s cheeks.

Once everything was recovered, Harry placed them all neatly inside Hermione’s school satchel, which had a great tear along the underside. Frowning at the damage, Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the rip.

“Sacculum Reparo,”Harry muttered. There was a flash of light, and the bag was repaired, good as new.

“I’ll have to remember that one,” Hermione mumbled shyly, as she took her bag back. “I’m always breaking my satchel.”

“Perhaps you should try leaving some books in the library for the rest of us,” Harry teased, gently. “It’ll be your spine you break next, not your bag, if you carry on lugging that lot around.”

“I’ll think about it,” Hermione grinned. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harry nodded. “Bye, Hermione.”

“Bye.”

Hermione watched Harry go with an awkward knot forming between her ribs. She wished her pulse would stop racing so … she could hear the rushing of it in her very ears.

Just then, Fay came up on Hermione’s shoulder with a very shrewd look on her face. Hermione frowned as she clocked her expression.

“What?”

“Now youhaveto tell me what’s going on with you and Potter,” Fay whispered with a smirk.

“Nothing’s going on,” Hermione protested. “Some boys broke my bag and Harry helped gather my things and fixed it for me.”

“Is that what you think happened?” Fay twittered. “Hermione … that was a blatant act of flirting. How can you not see that?”

Hermione hooted out a laugh. “Flirting? What are you talking about? How is picking up a few books and sealing a tear any sort of flirting?”

“Because,” Fay said. “Harry was the one whobrokeyour bag in the first place! I saw it all. Those boys barely touched you, but I could see Potter behind you with his wand up his robe sleeve. He must have cast a Slicing Hex or something, becausethat’swhat broke your bag.”

“Now why would he want to do that?”

“I don’t know ... you tell me! Potter shouldn’t even be anywhere near here. The Claws have Potions with the Slytherins this afternoon, so he has no reason to be in this part of the castle … unless that reason is you.”

“Don’t be daft,” Hermione replied, flushing deeply at the notion.

“I’m not, but you’re getting very secretive lately,” Fay observed in a calculated way. “If there’s something going on with you and Potter, you can tell me. I’m not like Lav and Parvati, I wont tell anyone.”

“There isn’t anything going on,” Hermione lied impressively. “I don’t know why you think he’d break my bag on purpose only to fix it again. He’d have no reason to …”

But then Hermione’s voice tailed off and, almost instinctively, she thought she could have guessed what might have happened. She grinned to herself and her mind fixated on her bag, as though something in there was burning a hole in it. She hurried into the Charms classroom and yanked open the clasps on the satchel to quickly look inside.

And sure enough there, tucked neatly between her textbooks, was a thick parchment envelope with Harry’s latest letter waiting patiently within.

“You sly little mage, Harry!” Hermione thought to herself. “You did that on purpose, giving me your letter like that, knowing I’d have to wait a full hour-and-a-half of this poxy lesson before I get to read it! Ooh, you are such a torment. I truly hate you a little bit!”

But she thought this last part in complete jest. She far from hated Harry. In fact, if she wasn’t careful, she was a fair way to liking him very, very much. Though that wasn’t a thought she wanted to have, for it felt like flirting with the forbidden.

Needless to say, the Charms lesson was anything but charming. Hermione could barely focus on anything, except for the slow, meandering passage of time. She was sure the clocks had slowed down just to prolong her teasing, as though they were in cahoots with Harry and his fiendish little plan. She didn’t even notice Ernie McMillan telling her about how he was sure that Cedric Diggory would take a mermaid to the Yule Ball, now that he had learned how to understand their language.

Eventually the lesson ended and Hermione bolted from the classroom before most of the other students had even finished packing up. She caught the end of Lavender telling Parvati that there was ‘definitely something up with her’, but she paid it little mind. She raced through the castle, not stopping until she reached her dorm, where she kicked off her shoes and jumped onto her bed, pulling the hangings tight shut for privacy.

Harry’s letter was in her hand faster than if she’d used a Summoning Charm on it, and open barely a moment later. Tucking her knees into her chest and pulling her blankets over them, she eagerly unfolded the parchment sheet and began to read.

Hi,

I know it’s been a few days since what happened up on the Astronomy Tower, so I hope you haven’t been calling me too many rude names for not replying sooner, but I can understand if you have been. I’ve just been trying to process everything, get it all straight in my head. To tell the truth, I’ve just been enjoying it, really. I don’t smile much, I’m not known for it, but I’ve caught myself doing that a lot more lately. That must definitely be your fault, and the people in my House think I’m ill or something, I’m sure they do.

I find that hilarious, but also a bit concerning that they all think I’m such a grumpy old goat!

But that’s why I’ve taken a few days to take stock before writing a reply to your letter. I just want to make sure that I’m saying the right things. People have always been interested in me … or my ‘legend’ … but this is different. No-one has ever made me feel that they LIKE me, like you do, and I’m not used to it. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do or say, and I really don’t want to get it wrong and drive you away.

Though the most important thing I have to say is the easiest … and it’s that I’m just as excited as you are to be going to the Yule Ball as your partner. I’ll be honest and say I’m really surprised to say that, all parts of it. I’m stunned that I’m excited to be going in the first place, but also that I’ll be going with you. I don’t mean that in a bad way, like ‘I can’t believe I ended up going with you’, but I actually CAN’T believe that I’m going with you. Last month I didn’t know you much, and the idea of going to a Ball with you was in the same bracket as me flying to the Moon on a broomstick with no tail-twigs.

But now, especially because I know you so much better, I’m not only looking forward to going with you, but if you went with someone else, I don’t think I’d like it.

So that’s what I’m trying to say, in my ineloquent way … that if you are thankful for me asking you to go, I’m doubly thankful for you accepting the offer. I feel ashamed that I didn’t try and get to know you better earlier, and I feel like I’m playing catch up now. A whole night with you sounds just the best way to correct a lot of that, so thank you so much for agreeing to go with me.

I’m also totally on board with us being weird together! I had no intention of going to the Yule Ball when it was announced, and if you hadn’t agreed to it I probably wouldn’t be going now. So it’s going to be weird for me to be there at all, so you’ll have to be a bit weird too, just so we blend together! I look forward to seeing what that looks like!

PS, your terrible puns might be enough to get Krum to change his mind when he asks you to be his date. Has he asked you yet? I’m curious to know how he took it. I get the feeling he isn’t the type to accept rejection easily.

I agree with what you said about being able to talk to each other. I’d almost forgotten what your voice sounded like. Was it always that soft? I never really noticed before, but it put me at ease when we met up. I think that made the Big Meeting go a bit better. I’m sorry if I came off as overbearing, I didn’t mean to if I did. I just really didn’t want you to go with Krum to the Ball, for the reasons I told you and what I just said above. I think the second reason was my primary motivator, to tell the truth.

I hadn’t really thought about outfits, to be honest. It sort of makes sense now why the letters we were sent at the start of the year said we had to bring dress robes. I did wonder, but obviously not hard enough. My Godfather got me some quite smart ones, but the hems on the neck and sleeves are in blue, for Ravenclaw obviously. I could change them to red if we decided to do what you suggested, but I’m happy to follow your lead either way. I don’t know how these things work, so if you have a better idea, or can find out, I’m happy to do what you suggest.

I appreciate your offer to ‘shield me’ at the Ball, but I’m confident that those roles will be reversed on the night. We will be the subject of serious gossip, there’s no point in pretending otherwise, and I apologise in advance for the attention you’re going to get. If that’s enough to make you change your mind about going with me, I’ll understand.

If you do, there is another option that might interest you. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s an annual Christmas Market that gets held in Hogsmeade village in December and the school are creating an extra designated weekend to visit the market if anyone wants to. That’s pretty much tat, but it does happen to be the same date as the Winter Solstice and there is something else worth seeing.

I don’t know if you’ve been yet - maybe you have and this is old news - but have you visited the Cairngorm Grange Passage? It’s a neolithic tomb complex on the far side of the village. There are concentric standing stones that create a sort of spiral path to the middle, but on the Solstices the sun rises and illuminates a direct path to the altar at the centre. There are all sorts of precious stones set into it, and when the sun hits them they sparkle and shine in a sort of sequence, as if done on purpose by the ancient builders. I often wonder if it’s a message they are trying to tell us, but it’s worth seeing it even if it’s only for the light show.

Apart from the altar, there are also some really cool acoustic features of the site. The ways the stones are aligned means that there are places of complete silence, because the soundwaves bounce off the stones but don’t penetrate the central space. I think it’s supposed to be for meditation and reflection, but it’s really something to see it in action.

In other places, the stones are harmonically tuned, so that when you make a sound it resonates with the water in your cells and you feel a powerful vibration throughout your entire body. That almost gives you an out-of-body type experience. It’s my favourite place in the village, but everyone else just seems to want to go to Honeydukes.

If you haven’t seen it though, you might want to. It seems the sort of place you might enjoy. If you sign up to go to the market, sneak off and check out the Grange and tell me what you think. Better be quick though, I think the sign-up forms have to be in before the end of the week.

Hermione leapt up with a frantic little ‘oh’, pulled her shoes back on and darted out of the dorm like a witch possessed. She slalomed through the Gryffindors mulling about in the Common Room - not even stopping to apologise when she stepped on Ron Weasley’s toe as she sailed past him - and tumbled through the Portrait Hole when it was opened from the outside.

A zooming sprint later and she was back in the Entrance Hall at the kiosk that she’d seen - but not registered the purpose of in her cross mood over Harry - and reading the sign she found pinned there.

HOGSMEADE CHRISTMAS MARKET WEEKEND!

The annual Christmas Fayre is returning to Hogsmeade village over the weekend of the 19 ^th , 20 ^th and 21 ^st of December. As a festive treat, to allow extra-curricular socialising with our visitors, we have created an extra Village Visit Weekend to enjoy this event. There will be stalls selling festive items, food and drink huts, games and amusem*nts to enjoy with our European guests.

Any student wishing to visit will need to complete a sign-up form (found on the desk below) and post it in the box provided. A member of staff, or one of the Head Students, will then come around to check the validity of your Permission Slip for Village Visits. Entries must be in by Friday of this week, November the Fifth.

Signed, Prof. M. McGonagall,Deputy Headmistress.

Hermione wasted no time. Pulling one of the forms towards her, she quickly filled in her details and popped the sheet into the little box affixed to the desk. Then she sighed and prepared to return to her room, realising she still hadn’t finished Harry’s letter.

Then there was a little cough behind her.

“Hem, hem.You are intending to go to this Market then, Miss Hermy-Own-Ninny?”

Hermione took a heavy breath and closed her eyes. This was the moment then … she knew what was coming. She steeled herself for the inevitable as she turned around to face Viktor Krum. There were other people around, and she’d much rather have dealt with this situation somewhere more private, but it couldn’t be helped.

Annoyed by the mispronunciation of her name, and mindful now of what it meant, Hermione scowled a little as she faced up to the much taller Krum.

“My name isHermione. Try it … Her-my-oh-knee.”

“Her-me-own-ninny,” Krum fumbled.

“No …Her-my-oh-knee. Why are you adding extra bits on at the end?”

“The sounds are hard to make in my accent,” Krum simpered in reply.

“No they aren’t,” Hermione frowned. “Repeat after me … her.”

“Her.”

“My.”

“My.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

“And, finally, knee.”

“Knee.”

“See? You can make all of the sounds perfectly,” Hermione pointed out. “Now put them together … Her-My-Oh-Knee.”

“Her … m-my … oh … k-knee. Hermione! I did it!” Krum cried, happily. “You are a very good teacher. So, are you visiting the Fayre then?”

“I’m thinking about it, though there are more interesting sites that I’ll probably go to instead if we are allowed up to the village,” Hermione replied, sniffily.

“Then perhaps I could accompany you? It would be nice to be shown around by an intelligent guide.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hermione shook her head. “I wouldn’t be comfortable walking around the village with a complete stranger … not without a chaperone.”

“How about something moreinternal, then?” Krum swooned, stepping forwards. “How would you like to be my partner for the forthcoming Yule Ball?”

Hermione swallowed an acrid lump in her throat, but kept her gaze firmly on Krum’s face.

“No, thank you.”

Krum looked like Hermione had slapped him. They stared at each other for a whole minute as a crowd gathered nearby, with word spreading fast about what was happening. “That is it? That is all the response I am to expect?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, simply.

“I might wonder why, with no explanation, I am so harshly rejected.”

“And I might wonder, having rejected you, that you feel that I owe you a reason,” Hermione fired back. “But I’ll give you two, if you insist; one, I don’t want to go with you, and two, I’m already going with someone else. And I’ll add this … if you’d asked me first, and I’d agreed, then this other person had asked me, I’d have ditched you and gone with them. Can I make myself plainer?”

Shocked hushes broke out like violent whispers from the crowd, though it was impossible to tell which statement had caused them. Hermione held firm, totally unmoved.

“And so you really are going with -”

“Don’t you dare!” Hermione hissed. “That isn’t your information to give out and I forbid you from doing so. If there is any sentiment in your invitation to me then you should respect me enough to honour my wishes.”

“There is genuine sentiment,” Krum replied, a little miffed at the suggestion. “I have been coming to the library every day in the hopes of speaking with you, then I wanted you to be my date for this Ball when it was announced. But you will not go with me?”

“No, my feelings forbid it in every way,” Hermione confirmed. “I am sorry to cause hurt to anyone, but I hope it will be short lived. I am going with someone else, I am insanely excited about that, and no other offer would even come close to his. That’s the very last thing I have to say on the subject.”

“Very well. I perfectly understand you feelings and I will bother you no more. Good-day, Miss Hermione,” Krum bowed, then flapped away in his duck-footed manner. Hermione just glowered at the crowd, until they all hurriedly dispersed to spread the gossip around the school. Hermione frowned at that a moment, closing her eyes as she tried not to imagine the reception she’d get back in the Common Room.

And then …

“That was epic. I’m glad I got to see it.”

A blast of hot breath at her ear sent a tingle right down to Hermione’s toes. She snapped her head to the right and found Harry next to her, but now bent low over a Hogsmeade form that he was filling in.

“You’d make a very good stalker, do you know that?” Hermione smirked.

“I’m just used to trying not be be seen,” Harry replied without looking up. “So … any regrets?”

Harry curled his eyes to the Main Door, the retreating form of Krum still silhouetted against the rapidly diminishing sun. Hermione followed his line of sight.

“None whatsoever,” she sniffed. “It was easier than I thought, too.”

“Glad to hear it,” Harry replied, lowly. He completed the form and slipped it into the box on top of Hermione’s.

Then she turned to him, rather sassily Harry thought, with one hand on her hip. She was looking at him very shrewdly.

“So … the Cairngorm Grange,” Hermione whispered, looking around to make sure there was no attention on them. “Sounds fascinating.”

“It really is. I’m glad you agree.”

“And was that your subtle way of offering to take me to see it?” Hermione quirked.

“Thought it might be less conspicuous thanthe other,” Harry muttered back, careful to keep his voice down. “Though I think you’ve done a fine job of drawing attention onto yourself aboutthat,without any help from me.”

“That was Krum’s fault for asking me out so publicly,” Hermione returned, loftily. “He probably thought I was less likely to turn him down if we had an audience.”

“Well, you’ll certainly have an audience at the Ball now, after this little show.”

Hermione stepped close, but made sure she was facing the opposite way to Harry, so that it wouldn’t seem obvious that they were talking. “No, Harry …wewill have an audience. Because I’m still going to go with you. I’m quite determined, you know. So I hope you don’t mind being gossiped about a bit more, because I meant what I said to Krum … everyone else at Hogwarts could line up to ask me to the Ball and I’d tell them all, ‘no, thank you’.

“I only want to go with you.”

Harry looked at her and blinked a lot. He couldn’t get his head around her sincerity. “Alright then. Thanks. We’ll still go if you’re sure.”

“Of course I am,” Hermione told him, brightly. “And when it’s all over, you can take me to the Cairngorm Grange Passage and show me all of the wonders that it has, and we can laugh about the things that people will be saying about us. Then you can buy me a toffee apple at one of the stalls or something, to make up for making me the centre of gossip around Hogwarts!”

Harry chortled out a laugh. “My, my … you are bossy, aren’t you? You weren’t kidding.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hermione grinned.

“I suppose I’d better buy you a toffee apple then. But wait a minute … aren’t your parents dentists? I don’t think they’d approve.”

“What they don’t know wont hurt them,” Hermione replied, playfully. “Besides, I’m getting good at keeping secrets, aren’t I?”

“You are. Very good, actually.”

“Thanks,” Hermione beamed.

“For what?” Harry asked, confused.

“You just said I was very good,” Hermione grinned. “So thanks.”

“Very clever,” Harry tutted with a smirk .

“Well, we both know that,” Hermione replied nonchalantly. “Right, well, better get back and face the music. Oh, and I still haven’t read the end of your letter.”

“Have you not? Well, you really ought to,” Harry advised. “I ask you a really important question at the end and it’ll take a lot of thinking about before you answer.”

Hermione felt her heart stop a moment. “What was it? What was the question?”

“I’m not asking you out here … not in public. You’ll just have to read for yourself. See you later, Hermione.”

Then Harry moved slowly past, moved so close that the back of his palm brushed against the back of Hermione’s. The contact was no heavier than two moths bumping clumsily together, but it caused every inch of Hermione’s skin to erupt in pinpricks of heat. Hermione watched Harry vanish into the shadows of a corridor, and only when he was gone did she feel master of herself enough to move.

Then she sprinted back upstairs towards her letter … for she justhadto know what Harry was asking her.

Chapter 13: The Rumour Mill

Chapter Text

“So … is it true then? Is it true?”

“Yes! Tell us, tell us!”

“They’re saying all over the school that you turned downViktor Krum!!”

Hermione felt as though she had been hit with a volley of sonic arrows the moment she stepped through the Portrait Hole and into the Common Room. She had expected some interest, but this? This was insane! How in the world could the news have travelled so fast? Had she been able to ask Harry, of course, he would have put her straight in an instant.

For he knew better than anyone the speed of the Hogwarts Rumour Mill.

“Come on, Hermione!” Lavender Brown squealed. “We’re all waiting for an answer!”

And she was right. For almostallof Gryffindor House seemed to be there, looking at Hermione, eager for confirmation of this most juiciest piece of gossip. Hermione felt a powerful blast of sympathy for Harry as she stood there, shrunken by the glare of a hundred spotlights focused on her. No wonder he hated this so much … Hermione hated it already, and she’d only been the centre of attention for thirty seconds or so.

Poor Harry! Imagine getting this each and every day? Poor, poor Harry! Hermione had never wanted to hug anyone so much in her whole life! Poor lamb.

But at least she could express her new sense of empathy to him now, when she eventually wrote to him next. It was another thing they had in common if nothing else, even if this was only Hermione’s brief taste of infamy. That reminded her that she still had to finish the end of Harry’s last letter, and she was eager to get back to it and this burning question he’d left for her.

So she had to get this inquisition over with as quickly as possible. So she squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and addressed the room at large.

“Yes, alright, it’s true,” Hermione announced in a lofty voice. “Viktor Krum asked me to the Yule Ball, and I told him to shove it … in a polite way, of course.”

The Common Room seemed to erupt at the news. There were gasps and cat-calls and wolf-whistles, disbelief, shock and confusion as the news was rabidly discussed behind hands and under the breath. Hermione knew she was all shades of scarlet at the attention, semi-embarrassed and semi-cross … for not all the whispered comments she could hear were complementary about her.

Just then, Fay Dunbar stepped forwards and slid an arm around Hermione, before guiding her to a corner of the room for a more thorough de-brief. It could hardly be called a ‘quiet corner’ - as all eyes followed Hermione as she was led across the room - but soon the girls of her dorm closed ranks and made it as private as they could.

“So, come on,” Parvati squeaked. “Tell us everything.”

“Yeah, how did it happen?” Lavender asked feverishly. “I heard he didn’t take it well.”

“What person would take rejection well?” Fay pointed out, reasonably. “He seems a co*ck-sure type, too … his ego probably bruises deeper than any part of him.”

“Good, he’s a creepy so-and-so,” Lavender scowled. “But I want to hear how you did it, Hermione.”

“It wasn’t all that dramatic,” Hermione replied in a sniffy voice. “He cornered me when I was signing up for the Christmas Hogsmeade weekend. He was trying to get me to show him around the village -”

“On yourown!”Parvati hissed, aghast.

Hermione nodded. “But I politely declined that offer. So he made another, about the Ball. But I declined that one, too.”

“Good for you,” said Fay. “And how was Krum when you told him to do one?”

“He was a bit miffed,” Hermione confessed. “Huffy, you know? But then he’s always sullen like that, so it was hard to tell the difference.”

“Well, I hope you really hurt his feelings,” Lavender cut in, nastily. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I heard he was quite aggressive with Sally-Anne Perks. Don’t know all the details, but he’s someone we should all stay away from if it’s true.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over any disappointment quick enough,” Hermione replied. “There will be plenty of girls star-struck enough to want to be his date. He’s an International Seeker … he’ll just have to seek elsewhere for a willing partner.”

“Just make sure that you don’t let him ‘cut in’ when you’re dancing with whoever you go to the Ball with,” Fay advised.

“Ooh, yeah!” Parvati cried. “People said that you told Krum that you already have a date. Is that true?”

“It might be,” Hermione blushed, shyly.

“Who is it?” Parvati demanded.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a secret,” Hermione shrugged.

“You can’t keep a secret like that from us!” Lavender squealed.

“I can … and I will,” Hermione told her, haughtily. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have homework to do.”

“Yes, we do mind!” Parvati crowed. “You have to stay here and tell us all about this.”

“I have no intention of doing anything of the kind,” Hermione insisted as she stood up. “And I beg that you do not importune me any further on the subject.”

And off she went, ignoring the stares and shouted enquires that flew in her direction, with the last thing she heard being Lavender, as she turned to Parvati and asked her what ‘importune’ meant.

Once back in the safety of her four-poster, Hermione sighed in exasperation and cuddled Crookshanks for support. Was this the sort of new life she could expect? She had turned down Viktor Krum, one of the most illustrious personalities currently residing at Hogwarts, and faced a barrage of intrusive interest from her own House, an interest she could likely expect to be repeated by the rest of the school once she emerged to face them. It was quite a horrible, sobering thought.

But in a few weeks, the whole thing would ratchet up by several notches in intensity, once the identity of her Yule Ball date was revealed … and he was a personality no less renowned and notable than the Bulgarian Seeker. How insane would the circus around Hermione get then? Though perhaps the bigger question was how much Hermione thought it was worthwhile … what would people say if they thought she was at the centre of a tug-of-war between Viktor Krum and Harry Potter? Could she put up with the gossip and attention?

Hell, some might even see it as a sort of teen celebritylove triangle! What would that nauseating Rita Skeeter say if she got wind of the situation? The stories would be deliciously scandalous … and sell record copies ofWitch Weeklyas a result!

Hermione gasped as the thought occurred to her. She might end up being painted as a scarlet woman or something! The thought would have been borderline laughable less than a month ago and, indeed, Hermione snorted out a guffaw as the idea crossed her mind. But there was a grain of truth there that she couldn’t deny. Krum wanted to go to the Ball with her, Harry wanted to go to the Ball with her … they were genuinerivalsfor her affection and attention.

Not really, though, because Hermione wanted to go with Harry so much that Krum had about as much chance of winning her hand as the Giant Squid. Or Ron Weasley, who she still hadn’t forgiven for inventing theLonely Hearts Clubmoniker for Hermione’s penpal scheme.

But her gut reaction answered Hermione’s moment of doubt at a stroke. For she realised that she didn’t just want to go with Harry to the Ball … she wasachingto. The night couldn’t come quickly enough for her. She wanted everyone to see her with him (she was terrified of thinkingsee them together, as that felt almost too illicit a thought to have),and she would happily reply to the gossipy questions that would be fired her way then.

The difference being that she would beproudto be seen with Harry, to be there as his partner. The idea excited her even as she sat there smiling to herself about it on her bed. It was something positive, something worth all the surprise it would generate. All she hoped now was that Harry felt the same. He must have, she reasoned, for he wouldn’t have agreed to go with her otherwise.

Though what was this other thing he’d asked her? Hermione snatched up the letter, almost tearing it a little in her eagerness to find out.

The Hogsmeade weekend actually got me thinking, though don’t feel under any pressure to agree to what I’m about to ask you if you’d rather not. But I was trying to think of a secret to end this letter with, in accordance to what we’d agreed, and I realised that I’m running out of ones to tell you. I’ve already said about finding the Chamber of Secrets, and having a pet basilisk, and using the network of secret passages under the school for both.

So what’s left? I think the only way to go is into the more personal stuff. I know I said at the start of this that I wanted to avoid all of that, but maybe I’m changing my mind about it. If you want to know things, private things, I think I’d be comfortable enough to tell you. I trust you now, I think, so I’d not have a problem answering your questions about my legend, my parents, my Godfather, my life at my Aunt and Uncle’s, things like that.

The thing is, I think I’d prefer to do that in person, rather than in letters at first. We could start small, so if you want to run away and not talk to me again you can, before I horrify you too much. I’m not joking about that, by the way, so think carefully before you reply in either way to this. There’s a reason I don’t tell anyone this stuff, and you’ll understand if you ever learn the truth.

So here’s my suggestion. The Yule Ball is three weeks away, and after that you’re going to want to go into hiding, to get out of the glare of attention, trust me on that. Luckily, I’ve made a habit of finding good places to escape to over my years here, and I’d be happy to share them with you if you want.

So what I was thinking is that, if the Ball goes well, we might agree to meet up on a regular basis. Maybe only once a week or something, but I could show you all of my secret places, even introduce you to Marici if you like. We can get away from all the silliness and just spend some time by ourselves, then I can tell you anything you might want to know about me.

That’s why I mentioned the Hogsmeade weekend. It’s only a week after the Yule Ball, so that could be our first in-person meet up, if you still don’t mind being seen with me after the madness we’ll get once we turn up together at the Ball, of course! You don’t have to if you don’t want to, and I’ll totally understand if you don’t, but have a think about it. No pressure or anything, but I think it might be nice to see you more regularly if you’re up for that.

Harry ended his letter rambling something about a long essay that he had to do, but Hermione barely absorbed a word of the last paragraph or two. Her heart was speeding so fast that it was causing her vision to swim. But she was just about cogent enough to pick out the key words from the lines she had managed to read … and the effect was almost overwhelming.

Meet up in person … show you my secret places … be nice to see you more regularly …

Hermione blinked as she tried to process the enormity of what she had just read, trying to bring her pulsing mind under control so that she could truly understand Harry’s meaning, for it seemed too wild to believe, not that she could see it any other way.

For it very much seemed, however incredible it was, that this was Harry’s way of asking Hermione if she wanted todate him!!

“How in the hell should I know?” Harry spat, acridly. He was sick of being asked this question by now.

“It doesn’t matter if you know,” Michael Corner insisted. “This is all about guessing, because no-one knows, really.”

“We don’t even know that it’s true at all,” Lisa Turpin added. “And you can even bet onthat, if you want. I might stick a Galleon on it being a great big fib myself, you know.”

Harry glared at Lisa. “Look, just because I don’t care who Hermione Granger is going to the Yule Ball with doesn’t mean I’m going to disrespect the girl bybettingon it. That’s just crass. It’s unbefitting a House of our class. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“It’s just a bit of fun, Harry.”

“Not to Hermione Granger it’s not,” Harry fired back, angrily. “I mean, look at some of the names on that list … Goyle, Filch, Nearly Headless Nick, one of the centaurs … you’re taking the piddle out of her. It’s degrading that you’re placing bets on her at all, but it’s downright insulting that you’re including people like that as her potential partner. It’s like you think that she cant get a proper date at all.”

“Well, she cant,” Anthony Goldstein scoffed. “Have youmetGranger? She’s mousy and musty, so who would want to go out with that? My money’s on it being a lie … or the Gryffindor ghost as an outside each-way bet!”

Michael hooted out a laugh. Harry scowled at him, but bit his tongue before he replied.

“You do realise that she just turned down Viktor Krum?” Harry asked. “So just ‘cause a heathen like you doesn’t like her doesn’t mean that other people wont.”

“Since when did you become Granger’s personal cheerleader?” Anthony retorted as his cheeks coloured. “Maybe we should put a wager onyoubeing her mystery partner!”

Harry’s anger swirled again, but this protective thing that had been born inside him wasn’t going anywhere. He glowered dangerously at Anthony.

“If I find my name on any of those stupid lists I’ll find the one who did it and curse them into the middle of next week!” Harry hissed lowly. “You all better understand that, because I amnotjoking!”

Harry was given a wide berth by everyone after that, not that it helped his mood at all. For everywhere he went over the next week this topic seemed to be the only thing on people’s lips. Who was Hermione Granger’s mystery date? Was it man, flora or fauna? Living or dead? Who could be good enough to be preferred over Viktor Krum? Curiously, Harry’s name didn’t seem to enter the debate at all, not from anyone.

Harry wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed or amused at this. Annoyed, probably, because he was in no humour for humour. For the horrible things being said about Hermione around the corridors riled Harry so much that he found himself snapping at innocent bystanders, and then having to make up wild and ridiculous reasons rather than own up to the truth.

But there was also a trickle of irritation hidden in there, too … that of all the people whomightbe about to date Hermione Granger, nobody thought Harry was even in the picture. He didn’t recognise the sensation - as it was so alien to his anti-social habits - but if he had, he might have understood that it washurt… Harry was hurt that nobody thought he’d be able to go out with Hermione Granger.

Not that Harry was at all sensible to decoding that dichotomy within himself. He was just content to be angry at the slurs being cast against his new friend, and determined to defend her in stealth if he could.

Things came to a head a full week later, when Harry was sat in Potions class. He was fuming at comments made by Draco Malfoy that he, ‘wouldn’t kiss that Mudblood with another boy’s tongue,’ after it was suggested that he was Hermione’s mystery date. Harry wanted to curse the junior Death Eater for the insult, but had to simply stew in rage over it as the class began.

It meant he was paying no attention to the lesson at all.

“Potter! Why is your hand not up?”

Harry shook the cobwebs from his head as Snape’s voice pierced his ears. He had no idea what he had missed.

“I don’t understand, Professor.”

“I said, ‘why is your hand not up,’?” Snape riled.

“Should it be?” Harry asked in confusion. Michael Corner snickered nearby and Anthony Goldstein gave him a sneaky thumbs-up for his back chat.

“I asked a series of questions,” Snape snarled. “And I’ve not had a single right response yet. However, I assume that youdoknow the answers, as you are a show off, but your hand is not in the air.”

Harry stared hard at Snape. He’d never liked the hook-nosed greaseball, and ever since his Godfather had emerged into his life Harry was no longer afraid of talking back to him.

“Maybe I just wanted to give everyone else a go,” Harry replied, piously. “Then I’ll show off if they cant get it right.”

“Very well, you arrogant child … what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

“A sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death,” Harry answered slickly.

Snape sneered at him. “What is a bezoar?”

“A stone taken from the stomach of a goat that will save you from most poisons.”

“What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“None. They are the same plant, which is also known as aconite,” Harry replied. “Anything else? I’m quite enjoying this game.”

“Being able to recite the textbook does not make you clever,” Snape scythed. “It merely makes you as big a know-it-all as Granger from Gryffindor … our newJezebel.I honestly don’t know which of you irritates me more.”

Malfoy and the Slytherins snickered wildly behind their hands as Snape sneered at Harry. But he had pushed the wrong button this time. Harry felt something wild and powerfully protective rise in his chest. It was like a rampaging hippogriff that hadn’t been bowed to properly. It took Harry’s temper over the edge.

“What?” Harry spat. He couldn’t help it.

The class went silent in a second as Snape narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” Harry riled. “Now explain what you said.”

“I believe I was quite clear,” Snape replied dangerously. “You are a show off and a know-it-all, only rivalled in these departments by Hermione Granger. The arrogance of the pair of you is outstanding.”

“As is our intelligence,” Harry volleyed back. “Is that what it is? Is that what you don’t like? Do clever people threaten you because you’re thick as sh*t yourself?”

Harry knew instantly he had gone too far, as the students around the dungeon gasped in shock. Rowing with a teacher was one thing, but swearing at one took it to a whole new level. But Harry was too far gone to stop now.

“What did you say?” Snape snarled.

“You heard me,” Harry retorted. “You ask questions, we answer them, then you punish us for it. What is your problem? You champion mediocrity, because you are so mediocre yourself, is that it? I know the answers to your questions, so does Hermione, but you don’t punish idiots like Goyle … who wouldn’t know what a bezoar was if you smashed him in the face with one! No wonder the girls from Beauxbatons look down on us with scorn. I bet they don’t have to put up with such clown shoes-for-teachers back at their academy.”

“Enough, Potter!” Snape yelled. “Detention. Every night for a week.”

“Good!” Harry shouted back. “Oh, I cantwaitto tell my Godfather about this … you know, the one who spent thirteen years in Azkaban. I think it’s left him a little unhinged, you know. He will not be happy when he finds out about this, let me tell you. That’s something for you to look forward to, Snape.”

“Hermione! Have you heard the news? Have youheard!”

Hermione sighed and put down the essay that she was proofreading, narrowing her eyes as Lavender and Parvati bounced across the Common Room to her.

“No, I haven’t,” Hermione huffed. “But let me guess … I’m now odds on favourite to take the portrait of Sir Cadogan to the Yule Ball, am I? Or have they stopped taking bets on my date being a giant meatball?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Parvati dismissed with a wave of her hand.

“Yeah, this is all about Harry Potter!” Lavender squeaked. She was so animated that Hermione was on high alert in an instant, but did her best not to show it.

“Harry Potter? What about him?”

“It’s all over the school,” Lavender went on. “He had a blazing row with Professor Snape! Called him an idiot and a clown, or something like that.”

“Yeah, Mandy Brocklehurst told Padma, who told me,” Parvati took over. “Snape gave him detention for a whole week!”

“Wow. That’s pretty bad,” Hermione frowned in concern, though she was for more anxious for Harry than she let her face express. “But why? What was it all about?”

“That’s the thing!” Lavender piped on. “It was all aboutyou!”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, or did a double one, she couldn’t be sure. Swallowing hard, she looked between the gleeful expressions of her dorm mates and tried to stay calm.

“Me? Harry rowed with Snape overme?” Hermione quizzed. “I don’t understand.”

“Apparently he had a go at Potter for answering some questions right,” Parvati explained. “Then Snape said something like ‘Potter was as annoying as you’, for knowing so much, then Potter just exploded at him. I think you might have a secret admirer, Hermione!”

The blush that crossed Hermione’s face wouldn’t have been missed by a blind person, so Lavender and Parvati spotted it right away. They grinned wildly between each other.

“No, I’m sure that’s not right,” Hermione mumbled. “Harry must just have been in a bad mood or something. Snape can rile anyone if he pushes the right buttons.”

“Oh, it’s ‘Harry’,to you, is it?” Lavender teased. “Well, you certainly seem to be one of his buttons, however you refer to him.”

“Has he ever said anything to you?” Parvati pressed. “Ever tried chatting you up or anything?”

“No, Harry and I hardly ever speak,” Hermione replied, trying to keep her expression neutral. “If I’m not asking to borrow a quill, we barely say anything at all.”

“Borrow a quill!” Lavender hooted. “Is that a euphemism there, Haitch?”

Hermione frowned again. “No. I break a lot of quills when I write. Harry is kind enough to lend me one if I happen to break my own in the library.”

“And that’s it? That’s all you talk about?” Parvati asked. She looked disappointed that this wasn’t turning out to be a juicier topic to mine.

“We talk about homework sometimes,” Hermione mused. “He’s not much for conversation, you see.”

“Well, we all knowthat,” Lavender agreed. “So … he isn’t your mystery date, then?”

“I’ve told you a dozen times, I’m not going to confirm or deny anything,” Hermione returned haughtily. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I still think you should have accepted Neville’s offer,” Parvati cut in, thoughtfully. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I told you, as I told Neville … I already have a date.”

“But you wont say who it is?”

“No.”

“And it isn’t Potter?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I don’t think it’s Potter, anyway,” Lavender announced with confidence. “I don’t think he’s got it in him to be pleasant. I reckon You-Know-Who broke him when he cursed him. Makes sense that he would be so cold after that.”

“Yeah, Padma says he’s really unfriendly,” Parvati agreed. “He’s got no friends in Ravenclaw, apart from that weirdo, Lovegood.”

“You leave Luna alone!” Hermione cried. “She’s a nice girl. A bit quirky, but that’s no reason to be so horrible about her.”

“Don't get your knickers in a twist, Haitch,” Parvati replied, raising her palms in a gesture of retreat. “I didn’t know she was a friend of yours.”

“Well, she is,” Hermione huffed. “And even if she wasn’t, that wouldn’t be an excuse to make fun of her.”

“Alright, I’m sorry, okay? I reckon she’ll go to the Ball with Potter, anyway, if he lowers himself to the level of us mere mortals and goes at all. She seems to be the only one who can stand him.”

Hermione was feeling herself getting angrier and angrier. The insults against Harry, the insults against herself … she was on the verge of popping.

“What about Ron Weasley?” Lavender went on. “The boy from Durmstrang agreed to go with me, so Ron is free. He was only my back-up, so why don’t you ask him, Hermione?”

Hermione leapt up in her fury. “How many times, Lavender! I - Have - A - Date! Cant you get that through your thick skull? Try cleaning the wax out of your ears, why don’t you? I have a date, he’s a real person, and I don’t want to go with anyone else in the castle or on that stupid boat floating on the lake. And I certainly don’t want to go with Ron Weasley or any other of your cast-offs! Merlin, you girls are doing my head in!”

And with that she stomped off and darted through the Portrait Hole, with all the stunned eyes of the gathered Gryffindors watching as she went.

Hermione didn’t stop until she was two floors and a number of corridors away. She slumped down against a wall to catch her breath, which was heaving and laboured in her angered frustration. She hadn’t meant to snap so badly at Lavender, and she’d have to apologise for it later, but they didn’t know how much they were hurting her feelings.

They just didn’t seem to want to believe that she’d managed to get a real date, and that cut deep into Hermione’s sore heart. She wasn’t high on self-confidence at the best of times, but the constant insistence that she had made up the story, simply to throw off the advances of Viktor Krum, wounded Hermione greatly. She knew that she was no oil painting, as well as being generally difficult to be around, but did that really mean that she wouldn’t be liked enough to be taken out on a date by anyone?

Of course it doesn’t,Hermione’s heart whispered to her,Harry Potter likes us well enough, doesn’t he? He seems to want to date us, for the Yule Ball and beyond.

Hermione couldn’t stop a grin hitching on to her face at that thought. It had become a new panacea to her. If she was feeling down, she remembered Harry’s words … and a smile came at once. She had delayed writing back to him, as she wasn’t sure how best to express her joy at his suggestion without going too far. He was probably wondering about that, maybe worried about Hermione’s radio silence.

It might even explain his outburst at Snape.

That thought sent Hermione’s mind into a tailspin. Harry had rowed with a teacher, and she had been the cause of it, if the rumours were to be believed. That could mean so many things, but Hermione was content to indulge her silliness and fantasise that it was Harry’s way of coming to her rescue, of defending her honour. That was entirely new … nobody had ever done anything like that for her before. And her heart melted at the very idea.

So, she decided, she’d just have to go and save him right back.

Making up her mind on the spot, Hermione jumped up and quick-marched the length of the castle, pausing only at one of the potions stores before she headed to Snape’s dungeon. She peered cautiously through the door.

One part of the rumour was immediately proven to be true, for Harry was inside and sitting his detention. Hermione listened as Snape outlined his pointless task.

“You will assist me in stock counting my stores,” the Potions Master was saying. “You will count, by hand, every newt’s eye, every bat’s spleen, and every dung beetle bowel that are contained in the jars in front of you. When you are done, I will cross check them. If you are a single item out, you will start again from the beginning. Clear?”

Harry simply shrugged in response and began pouring the first jar of ingredients into a counting dish. Taking a steeling breath, Hermione knocked on the dungeon door.

“Enter,” Snape barked.

Hermione opened the door and crossed the dungeon, giving Harry an encouraging smile as she caught his eye. He looked back at her questioningly.

“Granger? What do you want?” Snape snarled.

“Sir, I was wondering if you’d marked the essay on Amortentia Antidotes yet?” Hermione asked sweetly. “I’m ever so keen to know how I got on.”

“I’m sure you are,” Snape frowned. “Something to bash Potter over the head with if you outscore him, no doubt. But no, I have not marked them.”

“Do you know when you will?”

“When I get round to it, you impudent girl,” Snape hissed. “What does it matter?”

“Oh, well you see, I was hoping to know how well I had done,” Hermione explained. “With the Yule Ball coming up there is bound to be a lot of silliness, isn’t there, with love potions and the like? I was thinking of brewing up some vials of antidotes to help keep the girls safe, just in case they get targeted by unscrupulous wizards.”

“A useful idea, though you’d have no need of these yourself, of course,” Snape taunted, nastily. Hermione’s expression was so crestfallen that Harry crushed a lacewing fly in his fist as he saw it.

“Well, I suppose what I really wanted to know is if this ingredient is right … oops!”

And with that, Hermione stumbled forwards and smashed a large vat that she’d been carrying right onto Snape’s desk. The milky contents splashed everywhere and covered his robes in huge blobs.

“You foolish girl!” Snape roared. “Look what you’ve done? What is this substance?”

“It’s rat’s sem*n, Sir,” Hermione explained. Harry snorted out a laugh, biting his lip to stop himself from outright rocking with laughter. “You need something a bit vile to counteract the false euphoria of Amortentia, don’t you, to balance out the effects? I thought I’d use this.”

Snape fumed at her, his pale face flushed with colour. “That substance can be caustic in concentrated amounts, like the sort we use here. It would be idiotic to use it in such a way.”

“Then you’d better get it off yourself,” Harry suggested from across the dungeon, nodding at Snape’s robe, which was beginning to smoke slightly.

Snape looked down, slightly alarmed. Then he turned back to Hermione. “You will clear up this mess while I change my robes. Potter … get back to your counting.”

Then Snape swept past Hermione and out of the dungeon without another word. Hermione hurried over to Harry.

“Are you alright?”

“Me? Yeah,” Harry grinned. “I might have cracked a rib from trying to not to laugh, but I’ll live with it if I have. It’ll be worth it.”

“Glad you approve!” Hermione laughed. “This is a bit of a dumb task, isn’t it? Do you want a hand?”

“Nah, I don’t want to give Professor Grease the chance to blame you for helping me.”

“Is it true then? Did you really stick up for me to Snape?”

Harry coloured a little in the gloom of the dungeon. “He was being a moron. I called him on it.”

“But itwasabout me?” Hermione pressed, gently.

“A bit, yeah,” Harry replied, rubbing his neck awkwardly and looking down at the desk.

“You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to get into trouble for me.”

“It’s a perfectly fine reason, if you ask me. I can put up with detention … I don’t think I could put up with myself if I hadn’t done what I did.”

Harry and Hermione just looked at each other a moment. She took half a step closer.

“Well … thanks. No-one’s ever stood up for me before. I don’t really know what to say to it.”

“Then write it in a letter,” Harry grinned. “You owe me one, you know.”

“I’m working on it,” Hermione smiled back. “I promise.”

“I believe you. But I’ve had to write another one in the meantime. Perhaps you could deliver it for me, to make up for making me wait!”

“Don’t get sassy, or I’ll make you wait longer!” Hermione teased. “Who is the other letter to? If you’re writing to someone else besides me, I might get a bit cross, you know.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s actually for my Godfather,” Harry explained, reaching into his bag and pulling out an envelope. “I want him to know how much of a pillock Snape is being, but I have the feeling he’s going to keep me here for hours. Even if I manage to count every lunar moth wing perfectly, Snape will say that I’ve got it wrong. Would you mind taking this to Hedwig for me?”

“Of course,” Hermione nodded, taking the letter from Harry. “What have you told your Godfather, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nothing much, only that his old enemy is picking on me and my new friend and I think he should come up here and do something about it,” Harry grinned. “It’s quite something, having an ex-convict as a parental guardian. And if I know Sirius, as soon as he gets that letter, he’ll be right up here before Snape even knows what’s hit him. He’s quite protective of me, you see. I just hope I’m still in detention to see it in action when he arrives.”

Chapter 14: A Stamp of Approval

Chapter Text

To say that Sirius Black was angry after reading Harry’s letter would have been the understatement of the year.

It had taken Hedwig several days to reach him, for Sirius had taken himself off to the sunny climes of Southern Spain, to get some colour into a complexion turned unhealthily pallid from his years of incarceration. So when, after a long transcontinental flight, Harry’s owl finally found Sirius - who was off womanising at some beach bar or other - she was tired and very, very cross.

But her anger was nothing compared to Sirius’ as soon as he finished Harry’s letter.

He stormed back and checked out of his hotel, and within the hour he’d booked himself on an Apparition Route across Europe. It wasn’t a simple thing to cross the continent in any form, and Apparition was no different. The straightest route was the most popular, so required pre-booking, and as such Sirius had to bounce between countries to get home as fast as he could.

So from Seville he hopped to Madrid, then on to Zaragoza, then to Marseille, via the border checks in Andorra. Vaduz came next, where his ex-convict status caused him to be detained by security wizards for a full hour, so it was a het-up Sirius Black who arrived in Luxembourg before bouncing straight to Brussels, then over the English Channel to finally reach London.

He was so annoyed by this point that when he Apparated the last leg to Hogwarts he forgot about the magical protections around the school, bouncing painfully off the barrier as he collided face-first with the enchanted gates in his hurry to get inside. The resoundinggongof the impact was matched in intensity only by the volley of filthy swear words that Sirius threw at the gates, as they rattled tauntingly before him.

If only he’d been able to ask Hermione Granger about it. Should could have reminded him that there was no Apparating within the walls of Hogwarts. It said so inHogwarts, A History, a book she’d read more than any other.

But Hermione and Sirius had never met, so neither recognised the other on that Monday afternoon, as they passed on the staircase leading to Professor Dumbledore’s office. In fact, Sirius was moving so feverishly fast that Hermione didn’t even have the chance to match up his face with his mugshots, which had been plastered all over theDaily Prophetafter his escape from Azkaban last year.

And Sirius had no time for idling young witches, either. He didn’t even stop to apologise as he brusquely swept past Hermione, racing by like a fierce mid-November Scottish gale and causing her to have to flatten herself against the wall, in order to escape being bulldozed by this relentless force of human nature.

And as such Hermione was huffily curious about who this rude stranger was and why he had nearly turned her into Dorothy, and sent her spiralling into her own personal Land of Oz as he flew past her.

Hermione had just been visiting with Professor Dumbledore, presenting him with the plans drawn up by the Student Committee, of which she was a vocal member, for how they were going to assist with decorating the Great Hall for the Yule Ball. Dumbledore had approved the plans and Hermione was on her way back to lunch, but now she loitered on the stairs and decided to eavesdrop on the heated conference taking place in the Headmaster’s office. She’d have to make up an excuse about forgetting to ask something if caught, but she simply couldn’t leave now, not with the raised voices reaching her ears.

For whoever this man was, he wasnothappy with Dumbledore. Hermione crept up the stairs, quiet as a mouse, and turned her ear to listen closely.

And what she heard set her on high alert at a stroke.

“What the hell is this, Dumbledore! What the hell is happening to my Harry?”

Hermione felt her breath hitch at the mere mention of Harry’s name. That tended to happen a lot lately and she knew that she had to do something about it. It was disgustingly shameful how her insides seemed to freeze, then thaw, then utterly erupt more and more violently, as Harry Potter burrowed ever deeper into her world. It had to be stopped before it drove her crazy.

Then she remembered that she hadn’t seen Harry since yesterday and that simply wasn’t acceptable either.

But if she couldn’tseehim, perhaps hearing about him would just have to do. She understood that the human hurricane she’d just encountered must have been Harry’s Godfather, Sirius Black. After all, who else would use the term ‘my Harry’? The playfully dopey chambers of Hermione’s newly-vivacious heart whispered thatshecould, especially if talking about Yule Ball dates, and the notion brought a girlish glow to her cheeks as it crossed her brain.

Though Hermione was still highly annoyed about the Yule Ball, after hearing that Sally-Anne Perks from Hufflepuff had asked Harry to be her date, which made her so cross that she was back to being the snappy, angry Hermione of old for a few hours. She just wanted to throw as many curses as she could at Sally-Anne and her cutesy little button nose. She couldn’t tell anyone why, of course, and the girls of her dorm hoped that her mood was only a relapse, as they were getting quite fond of a Hermione who wasn’t a complete nightmare to breathe the same air as.

Pushing such murderous thoughts aside for now, Hermione pinned her head flat to the wall as Dumbledore finally replied to the angry questions.

“Harry is serving a punishment for swearing at a teacher,” Dumbledore explained, calmly.

“He was provoked!” Sirius cried. “Provoked after performingwellin a class! It is absolutely absurd. Harry told me everything.”

“Provocation or not, respect and restraint must be maintained,” Dumbledore argued. “Harry’s actions warrant punishment.”

“And Snape’s actions do not, is that it?”

“I must support my faculty and the rules of the school,” said Dumbledore.

“Wrong, you must protect your students first and foremost, especially from odious co*ckroaches like Severus Snape!” Sirius yelled. “He was a Death Eater, Albus. Not by coercion or persuasion, but by his own choice. Snakes like that don’t often change their scales. He bullied the weak under the orders of Voldemort, now he’s bullying students and getting paid for it!”

Out on the staircase, Hermione slapped her hand to her mouth to catch the shocked gasp that exploded there. She only hoped that she hadn’t been heard.

“I trust Severus Snape,” Dumbledore replied softy. “And I trust that he is bullying no-one.”

“Then explain why Harry is being punished and Snape is allowed to insult and belittle him?” Sirius demanded. “I swore to Harry when I took him in that I would never tolerate him being abused again, Dumbledore, and I meant every syllable. That’s why I am here, to put an end to this nonsense.”

Hermione, from her eavesdropping position, felt her heart stop a moment. What did that mean … abusedagain? Hermione almost didn’t want to listen on, didn’t think that she could stand the wound she felt certain was coming. She knew she ought to run away … Harry would hate for her to find out about the secrets of his past, especially like this. He might not forgive her for it.

But she was frozen, she couldn’t move … she had to hear this and just deal with the fallout later.

“Abuse, Sirius? Whatever do you mean?” Dumbledore asked, a trace of concern in his voice.

“I think you know,” Sirius growled back. “At Halloween I took Harry to Godric’s Hollow … I took him to see James and Lily.”

Hermione’s heart sank as she remembered her silly anger at Harry’s absence that night. She had been cross with him for not being there and all the time he’d been mourning at his Mum and Dad’s graves. Hermione felt truly rotten about herself as Sirius went on.

“I told Harry how James had always planned a prank for him, to pretend that he was never sent his Hogwarts letter and they were going to send him to Muggle school,” Sirius said. “And do you know what Harry told me? He said that he nearly never did get his letter, that his vicious uncle utterly forbade magic in the house and tried to deny him his heritage.

“Harry said how he remembered that day, clear as if it were yesterday. He was ordered to get the morning post, with his uncle even encouraging his cousin to hit him with a stick if he didn’t obey. So Harry got the post … and was amazed to find a letter addressed to him. The first one he’d received in his life. He described it to me …To Mr H. Potter, The Cupboard Under The Stairs, 4 Privet Drive… The cupboard under the stairs, I asked him, what did that mean?

“And he told me … that’s where they bloodykepthim, Dumbledore! Like some piece of vermin that had infected their house! They kept him in there for ten bloody years!”

No … no that couldn’t be! Hermione shook her head violently, her breath coming in raspy waves. She didn’t want to believe it … she wished she hadn’t heard … oh, poor Harry! No wonder he kept that to himself.

But there was more.

“I guessed something was wrong when he first came to Grimmauld Place this Summer,” Sirius continued. “I know the house is dark and dank, but I did my best with it in the short time I had. To make up for that, I filled the place with cakes and sweets and treats, but Harry didn’t go near them, even though I saw him eyeing up the biscuit bin more than once. When I asked him why he didn’t just help himself, he said that he’d never been allowed to before … and there was more than a hint in his look that suggested he’d have been punished for such an act at the Dursleys … so we can guess that they hit him, too.”

No,Hermione thought desperately,don’t let that be true!

“That explained to me why, when we visited Lily and James, Harry brushed me off when I tried to put a hand on his shoulder, to offer comfort when it all got a bit much for him. I barely touched him, but he shrugged me off as if the mere contact had scorched his skin.

“And youknew, Dumbledore! You must have known, or Minerva must have when she wrote the letter. And you left him there with those people!”

There was a heavy silence that seemed to pass from the office right through the walls to where Hermione was standing. She barely noticed, but her cheeks were wet with tears. And when Dumbledore spoke again, his voice sounded cracked as if he, too, was overcome with emotion.

“I … I did not know … I knew nothing of any of that,” Dumbledore croaked, lowly. “We knew that Harry resided under the stairs, but we had no idea how big or small that space was.”

“And you never thought to check?” Sirius hissed. “You just left him to suffer in the dark and the cold with only spiders for company?”

“Arabella Figg was our eyes and ears, and she never mentioned -”

“Arabella is a batty old squib who favours cats over people!” Sirius thundered. “Harry is too important to be entrusted to such incompetence! Which is why I will challengeyourincompetence if you do not bring that vile slug, Snape, to heel. Why do you even keep him around?”

“If, or when, Lord Voldemort rises again, we will have need of Severus and his unique skill set,” Dumbledore replied, cryptically.

“His spying, you mean?” Sirius scoffed. “And how do you intend to blackmail him this time? Last time it was to make up for his betrayal of Lily … do you intend to use that again? Do you hope that he looks at Harry and sees the similarity of Lily’s eyes, or something? Because if you are relying on a fully grown man to look into the face of a teenage boy, and remember his delusional obsession with the boy’s mother as a reason to help you, then that is sick, Albus … dangerously, dangerously sick.”

Hermione utterly agreed. She scowled at the idea, turning her tears into angry ones.

“Severus is committed to doing all that he can to protect Lily’s son,” Dumbledore argued.

“Then it should be the work of barely a moment for you to use that inducement to get him to cancel these absurd detention punishments,” Sirius replied, smoothly. “I expect it done, Albus, and I expect it today. If you do not, then you will force me to take matters into my own hands.”

“Threats, Sirius?”

“No …promises,” Sirius warned. “I will go political if I have to. I will go to the Governors, even the Department of Education if I must. Snape must be brought to heel … and I’ll give you one chance to do it yourself. No one will harm Harry so long as I have strength and breath to prevent it.

“Which brings me to another point … what do you know about Hermione Granger?”

Out on the staircase, Hermione’s jaw fell open. How couldshebe a topic of conversation?

Dumbledore seemed just as perplexed. “Miss Granger? I will need to know more of your interest in her before I tell you anything. What reason could you possibly have to ask me about her?”

Hermione was scarcely less intrigued to know the answer to this herself.

“Harry has mentioned this Hermione character a couple of times lately,” Sirius explained. “When we were at Godric’s Hollow, when Harry wouldn’t let me console him, he tried to conjure a wreath of red roses to place on Lily’s headstone. But he was far too upset to focus enough to cast the spell. The only thing he was able to say through his sniffles was that he bet Hermione Granger could have done it, as she probably knew the spell.

“Then in his letter to me, he angrily ranted for three whole paragraphs about how Snape had also insulted this girl during the class that led to Harry’s punishment. He was more furious about that than what Snape had said about him. Harry has had to put up with that since he arrived here - gossip and finger pointing and snide remarks - but he has never once flown off the handle like this.”

“No, I agree that this incident was curiously out of character,” Dumbledore mused. “Harry always comes across as shy and quiet, and his professors are all very pleased about his academic performance. You think that comments about Miss Granger tipped him over the edge?”

“I think there are two key points here … the first is that this is yet more evidence of Snape insulting a student and being an absolute bastard, and the second is the nature of Harry’s connection to this girl. The first point I will leave to you to handle, the second comes under my remit.”

“How so?”

“Like I said, I wont allow anyone to hurt Harry ever again. So if this girl is another of the raving fans trying to get close to him, to exploit him for stories to sell to the highest bidder, then I will not stand for it. So, who is Hermione Granger?”

“Give me a solid reason to answer you, and I shall.”

“Very well,” Sirius huffed. “If I didn’t know better, I would say that Harry has developed - or is well on the way to developing - something of a crush on this girl. As someone who doesn’t open up easily, I merely want to make sure that she doesn’t intend to hurt him. That could close him off forever.”

Hermione blinked hard on the stairs as her heart shot up into her mouth. She was so alert to the world she swore each flap of her eyelids was sounding out like a percussion drum.

“Miss Granger is an affable and well-mannered young witch,” Dumbledore was replying. “Certainly not the sort of malicious character you are afraid of. She is deeply intelligent and academically brilliant, with perhaps Harry, himself, being the only student who can match her in such fields.”

“And are she and Harry friends?”

“I have never heard that they are. She also happens to be in Gryffindor, so chances of interaction between them are limited. I have never been made aware of any romantic link between them, either. And you should remember how fast the wheels of the Hogwarts Rumour Mill can spin. You know we keep an eye on all amorous students, to make sure they are conducting their relationships safely. If I recall, the events between yourself and Molly Prewett actually caused this protocol to be introduced.”

“Yes, well, I’d rather not think aboutthat,” Sirius huffed crossly. “Some ghosts need to stay buried. So, there isn’t anything going on with Harry and this girl?”

“I would be amazed to find that there was. They are both so reserved and taciturn that I couldn’t even envisage how a relationship might be formed. But stranger things have happened.”

“If you’re referring to me and Molly again …”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dumbledore replied, piously, though there was something of the light-hearted in his tone. “What I would suggest, if I may be so bold, is that you encourage Harry in his connection to Miss Granger, if one exists. She is not only Harry’s one genuine peer here at Hogwarts, but she also has a lot to give in other ways. There are school projects that she is involved with that I swore an oath of secrecy not to reveal, but let me just say that she has a very big heart, a fact that I fear goes unseen by most. If Harry is able to find that within her, there could be the foundations of a very healthy and mutually satisfying relationship between them.”

Hermione felt her face glowing red hot. Arelationshipwith Harry … now that was something entirely new to consider. It was foolish, of course, because Harry wouldn’t be interested in anything of the kind, and neither was she. They were penpals, they were academic high-fliers, there wasn’t anything more than that to the situation.

But then, Hermione reminded herself, they were also partners for the Yule Ball. And it was going to be a proper date, they’d both agreed to that.

And, for the first time, Hermione felt the impact of that hit her fully … and it threatened to take the floor from beneath her feet. She actually slid a few steps down the spiral staircase as her thoughts washed through her. She and Harry were actually going to go on a date together! Wow. That was huge! In both their lives. And it had all come about so quickly.

But had it, really?

Hermione felt memories flood her brain. All that study time they’d spent together in the library, where Hermione did most of the talking and Harry never once told her to shut up or go away, and he subconsciously began packing spare quill nibs just for her. Little things, but viewed oh so differently in a slightly altered light. No reluctance from him to become penpals, no reluctance from her to defend his only friend, no reluctance from either side to agree to this date next month.

Maybe Dumbledore was right … maybe this foundation for a relationship really was there. Hermione simply shook her head in wonder as she considered it.

But then she heard movement on the stairs above her. Sirius Black was leaving the Headmaster’s office. Hermione froze. What was she going to do? Hide in an alcove, make a run for it and hope for the best? Then something lodged painfully in her chest … she imagined Sirius confronting Harry about her, warning him to stay away. Hermione frowned at the thought … she couldn’t allow that, she had to do something drastic.

So …

“Oh … it’s you from earlier,” Sirius commented as Hermione stepped out and blocked his path as he reached the foot of the staircase. “Can I help you?”

“No, I don’t need any help, thank you. But perhaps I can help you, or at least help your worries about Harry."

"And how could you do that?"

"Because … I’m Hermione Granger.”

Hermione pulled herself up to her full height and thrust out her hand. Sirius co*cked a little smirk as he took it to shake.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Sirius replied, then his eyes narrowed with understanding. “You heard, didn't you? You were outside the office when I spoke to Dumbledore just now?”

Hermione bit her lip nervously. This didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore as Sirius Black stared sternly down at her. She nodded meekly and looked at her shoes.

“Yes, I was. I didn’t mean to be, but I heard raised voices. Please don’t tell the Headmaster on me. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“Oh, my dear girl, if you were hovering outside Dumbledore’s office for that long you can well believe that he knew you were there,” Sirius quirked. “And if he knew and let you stay, he must have thought it was important that you overheard what we were talking about. He’s a bit irritating like that. A right scupper to those of us who enjoy a bit of mischief in private!”

“I do not enjoy mischief!” Hermione protested shrilly.

“Then why were you eavesdropping?”

“I wasn’t … alright, maybe I was. A bit. But you were talking about Harry and I just had to listen.”

Sirius gave her a calculating look, as if he were weighing her up. He seemed to decide something about her as his expression softened. “Well, how about you walk with me to Ravenclaw Tower and tell me all about just why you had to listen? It’s been years since I marauded through these halls and I’d need a map to get around these days.”

“Oh. Okay,” Hermione replied, cautiously. “It’s this way.”

So they began to walk. Sirius turned to her as they ambled along. “So, do you know Harry well?”

Hermione swallowed awkwardly. “That’s … a difficult question to answer. It’s complicated, but …”

Then she stopped abruptly, turning fully to face Sirius, her distress overcoming her.

“Oh, Mr Black! I need you to know that I wouldneverhurt Harry!” Hermione blurted out, passionately. “Never, ever, ever. He’s so kind and generous and caring and … those things you said about him, about his home life before you, I wish I could unhear them! But I can't, and I’m sure a bit of me broke inside when you said them. To think of what those people did to him … is it really true?”

Sirius looked down fondly, his expression the warmest he’d yet worn for Hermione. There was clearly more between them than she was letting on.

“The only part that I know for sure is true is about that god forsaken cupboard,” Sirius replied, his jaw grinding. “The rest I’m just inferring, but I don’t think I’m far wrong. Harry doesn't seem ready to open up about it just yet ... not to me, anyway.”

“Then they really did keep him locked in a cupboard for all those years!” Hermione cried in a wretched voice. “I don’t believe it! I don’t want to. I’m Muggleborn, Mr Black, I know how little a cupboard under the stairs is. That’s cruel! It’s inhumane! Poor Harry.”

“Muggleborn, eh?” Sirius smiled. “Harry’s mother was Muggleborn. Did you know that?”

“No … no I didn’t.”

“And did you know that she was also considered the brightest witch of her class when she was here? Not quite the brightest with of herage,as Dumbledore thinks you are, but very bright all the same.”

Hermione blushed hotly at the compliment and looked sheepishly down. “I didn’t know that, either. And I don’t know that I’m the brightest witch of the age. I just get good marks in class, that’s all.”

“There’s more to claiming that title than mere academics,” Sirius went on. “There needs to be something a little more substantial … and Dumbledore tells me you have that in spades, too.”

“I don’t know about that,” Hermione mumbled, blushing harder than ever.

Sirius just grinned at this shy little witch before him. He liked her, without even knowing her. Perhaps Dumbledore was right aboutthis, at least … maybe this connection should be encouraged.

“So … you know Harry, just not all that well?” Sirius asked.

Hermione nodded as they began scaling the Main Staircase. “I think that can be said about most people, though. Harry doesn’t talk to anyone much.”

“He talked a lot about you,” Sirius told her. “I think he thinks highly of you. I got that much from him, anyway.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile. It even made her eyes crinkle. “Well … I think a lot of him, too. I want you to know that, Mr Black, just as much as Harry. I would never do anything to intentionally hurt or upset him … and I would never sell a story about him to the media. That idea repulses me.”

“I’m glad we think alike on the matter,” Sirius nodded, approvingly. He was silent for a few moments, before eventually sighing contentedly. “Very well, Miss Granger, I’ll permit you to be in Harry’s life. That’s the approbation you accosted me for anyway, isn’t it?”

“Accosted? Well, I wouldn’t say … oh, you’re teasing me, aren’t you?” Hermione huffed. “I can see where Harry gets his sarky sense of humour from. I’m going to have to watch out for you, aren’t I?”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “My, you are the bossy sort, aren’t you? I can see why Harry likes you. Lily, Harry’s mother, was just the same … and if Harry is anything like James … well, let’s just say it explains a lot!”

Hermione blinked at the comparison but was far too embarrassed to know what to say to it. By that time they had reached the door to the Ravenclaw Common Room. Sirius just stared at it a moment.

“We just knock, I suppose?” he mused. Then he reached up for the bronze eagle knocker and rapped it three times against the door.

An ethereal voice answered. “What came first? The chicken or the egg?”

“What? What the devil is this?” Sirius frowned, perplexed. Hermione giggled at him.

“It’s a riddle. You have to answer it to enter the room.”

“Well that’s just nonsense!” Sirius huffed. “How absurd!”

“I think it’s a very good way to test knowledge, actually,” Hermione disagreed. “It’s far more useful than just having a complicated password to remember, like we do at Gryffindor Tower.”

“Maybe,” Sirius replied. Then he grinned down at Hermione. “Then why don’t you demonstrate this legendary intelligence and answer the question for us, Miss Granger!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the challenge. “Well, it’s easy, isn’t it? The egg obviously came first, because the first creature we would identify as a chicken would have to have undergone a genetic and biological mutation from another creature, to emerge from the egg as the form we know today as a chicken.”

“Very good,” said the ethereal voice, then the door swung open.

“Well … alright then,” Sirius smirked.

“Sirius? Hermione? What are you doing here? And why are you here together?”

Both Sirius and Hermione turned to address the voice coming from inside the Common Room. It belonged to Harry and he sounded very confused.

Looking at Harry, after all she’d just learned about him, Hermione’s urge to squeeze him as tight as she could was almost insatiable. Imagining all those horrors befalling him, imagining him suffering such cruelty … Hermione wanted to screech out against the universe and tug him close to her. But she knew that he wouldn’t like that, so she had to find something to occupy her idle hands.

Then Sirius gave her the perfect thing.

“I got your letter,” Sirius announced, entering the Ravenclaw Common Room and crossing to his Godson.

“And I thought this would be the most inventive way yet to give you my latest one,” Hermione piped up from behind him. She quickly reached into her bag, took out a heavy letter and gave it to Sirius. “Mr Black, would you please give this to Harry?”

Sirius looked down at the parchment envelope in shrewd curiosity. “Alright. But what is it?”

“Never you mind,” Harry snapped, snatching the letter from Sirius and stuffing it into his own satchel and out of sight. Then he turned to grin at Hermione. “Well, not exactly aPenny Black, is it, but I suppose it’ll do!”

Hermione giggled at that. “I told you I’d be more creative than you. Though I am highly curious about how creativeyou were, with a certain Hufflepuff that I don’t care to mention. That’s a dismissal I cant wait to read about, so I don’t expect to be kept waiting long.”

“I’ve waited for over a week … so I think two should do for you!”

“Don’t you dare!” Hermione warned, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve never seen me cross, have you? Trust me, you don’t ever want to. It’s not my best side.”

“Is it the side that throws jugs of rat baby-making juice over greasy-haired Professors?” Harry teased.

“You didwhat?” Sirius hooted out with a laugh. Hermione grinned back coyly. “Oh that ispriceless! You know what, Hermione Granger, I think I’m going to like you … I think I’m going to like you a very, very lot. Come on, you two … you can tell me all the details of this tale while we take a stroll down to Hagrid’s.”

“Why do you want to see Hagrid?” Harry asked, gathering up his things as the trio left the Common Room.

“Well, he still has the keys to a motorbike I leant him, oh, about thirteen years ago now. I think it’s high time I got it back!”

Chapter 15: A Change of Luck

Chapter Text

That evening, after Sirius had long gone, Harry broke with tradition in terms of his post-class habits. Normally, he’d sit cross-legged on the floor in one of the draughty and out-of-the way alcoves, he’d turn his back to the room and he’d plough through his homework in determined silence, snapping at anyone who dared disturb him. This was how he’d done things since his first week at Hogwarts, and was as familiar a sight in the Ravenclaw Common Room as the multi-starred blue carpet was.

But not tonight. For though Harry was still distanced away from the rest of the Ravenclaws, he’d decided to help himself to one of the grand chairs for a change. These were huge, almost like blue-padded thrones, and there was at least a foot of space from Harry’s head to the top of the chair, and the cushion was big enough for him to curl his legs beneath him and still have room to spare.

Harry was in a pretty good mood, too, and there were several reasons for it. The first was that when Sirius had gone Harry left him a warning about what he would face when he returned to Spain, for he realised that he’d left Hedwig behind and she would not be amused at having to fly all the way back. Harry would not have liked to be in his Godfather’s shoes and having to face the wrath of as disgruntled a diva as Hedwig.

That made Harry chuckle as he imagined the scene. But even better was the scene that he’d witnessed barely half an hour ago, when Professor Dumbledore himself had come to tell Severus Snape that he had to relieve Harry of his detentions. The Potions Master had been utterly furious, threw Harry a look as if he wanted to throttle him with his bare hands, but Harry simply returned the glare with a piously innocent one of this own. Then he left the two Professors to argue the case, as Harry laughed to himself all the way up from the dungeons.

But the crowning cake topper on his sparkling good mood was the fact that he had another letter from Hermione to occupy his evening. His homework lay in a neat pile at his feet, waiting a turn for Harry’s attention, but it wasn’t on his radar just now. For it had been ten whole days since Harry had sent Hermione his last letter and he was rather keen to know what had taken her so long to reply.

So, after making himself a frothy latte from the coffee station near the back of the room (because he was feeling like being a bit foofy and fancy for a change), Harry curled up into the comfy throne-chair and opened Hermione’s letter.

Hi Harry,

Firstly, sorry this has taken so long! You must be cursing me to Hades and back for it! Why Hades? Well, I’m not sure if you are religious or not, so I didn’t want to assume that you believed in Heaven and Hell and things like that. And I love Greek Mythology. Or any mythology, actually. So you could have been cursing me to Annwn, or Valhalla, or even Mordor, if you like. I think that counts as an underworld, don’t you?

Anyway, enough of my rambling. I didn’t mean to make you wait this long, I swear, but this week has been utter madness for me, and I’m sure you can guess why. It has been insane! And all because I turned down a boy for a date! I really don’t understand the furore. I’m nothing, a nobody, not at all interesting. Alright, so Viktor Krum is all of those things, but seriously? I really didn’t expect my rejection of him to cause such a fuss.

And no, before you think it, I don’t regret my decision. Not even for a second. I’m not used to being talked about, I’ll be honest about that, but I’m learning to brush it off. It still annoys me, and it gets on my nerves that some people still don’t believe that I really have a date with someone else, but I’m getting better. Perhaps you can give me some pointers? You must be an old hand at this by now, so if you have any tips on how not to bite people’s heads off for asking stupid questions, then send them my way!

After all, the last thing I want is to kill a random student, for saying that I don’t really have a date, and then miss our night at the Ball. That would make me very cross.

And I am quite cross at the moment, anyway. I’ve made at least three goes to start this letter this evening, and been disturbed each time. The first was by Ron Weasley, who point blank refuses to accept that I have a date and says that he wont believe it until I reveal your identity, which I wont, so don’t worry. He even said that as soon as I admit that I’m making the whole thing up, he’ll not have a problem taking me to the Ball. He said that he actually realised that I’m a girl and that ‘I’ll do’, after he was rejected by Susan Bones and some girl from the French school.

Apart from being SUCH a flattering and tempting offer, the whole idea made me throw up a little in my mouth! As if! Yuk!

That was quite a nauseating disturbance, and the second one was just embarrassing. The girls in my dorm all decided we’d better practise dancing for our dates, but the boys were terrified of getting involved. So Lavender and Parvati started doing a sort of waltz and Fay dragged me up so she could copy them. She’s going with a girl, you know, so I think she wanted to get used to what it felt like to have one so close.

Needless to say I have two left feet and looked like a complete idiot! It’s a good job that you wont want to dance at the Ball, otherwise I’d make you the laughing stock of Hogwarts. I’m looking forward to us sitting down and judging everyone else instead. I’d like to think I wont be catty and contemptuous, but I sort of get the feeling I will be. I hope you don’t think too badly of me if I do, but I think I’d be the nasty judge if I was ever on ‘Come Dancing’. Did you ever watch that television show? My Mum used to love it, but she did teach ballet when I was a kid so maybe that explains it.

My third disturbance was easily the most annoying, though. Seamus Finnigan had just got back from asking Hannah Abbott to go to the Ball, but you will know better than me how that went (as you must have seen it), because I was only interested in what happened at the same time. Because Seamus broadcast it about that Hannah had been with Sally-Anne Perks when he found her, and that she had just asked YOU to be her date, and you turned her down! Thank you for that, but I can’t tell you how much the news riled me.

That presumptuous little flirt! I sort of had the feeling she was going to ask you. I mean, I bet loads of girls have, but it’s quite well known that Sally fancies you. Oh … I hope you already know that, otherwise this could be so awkward for you. Sorry, if it is. But you turned her down, so that’s all that matters. What did you say to her? I bet you didn’t say that you had a mystery date, too, because that would be too obvious and our secret would be out by now. But you must have had to make up so many excuses for other girls … sorry, I feel like I’ve become a burden for you now. I hope you still think it’s worth it.

So yes, I had to abandon my letter writing for a while, just until my incendiary anger stopped posing a threat to igniting my parchment! I had a few bursts of accidental magic like that when I was younger, you know. Did you ever have any? Most people I’ve asked said they had one or two. Neville Longbottom even bounced down the street when he was accidentally dropped out of a window. Don’t ask … it’s a very peculiar story!

And that’s my excuse for taking so long to reply. For between every wizard and his hippogriff wanting to know why I turned down Krum and asking who my secret date is, and then me trying to plot increasingly ludicrous ways to break Sally-Anne’s pretty little nose and make it look like an accident, I haven’t had two minutes together to write to you. There must have been homework in there somewhere, too, but that isn’t a priority in my spare time at the moment so I cant honestly remember.

But now I have time, and composure, to pen a proper reply. And that’s really important because I want to make sure I get this exactly right. You said you were the same, in trying to take stock after our chat on the Astronomy Tower, so you must know how I’m feeling. Especially after what you asked in your letter! You must be going nuts waiting to see what I think about that, but I just want to make sure I put the words right.

Because I would LOVE to meet up with you regularly after the Yule Ball. Absolutely love it. I don’t know why you’re worried that it might not go well … it’s going to be a great night, I’m sure. We’ll have fun and laughs and then I’ll want to do it all over again. So when you said that you would too, I knew that I had to jump at the chance. Seeing you that night on the Astronomy Tower was great, and it made my anticipation for your next letter go through the roof.

But that was nothing compared to how much I’d like to do it again … see you in person, I mean.

It’s very weird for me, all this. I quite like being around people - so long as they aren’t being too irritating - but they hardly ever return the sentiment. So you are the first person ever to say that they want to spend time with me … and just me. I don’t have the words to tell you how that makes me feel. But they are all good ones, I promise. I’d need a dictionary, and even then I don’t think I could do it justice.

So the best I can do is try to make you see how utterly sincere I am in agreeing to your suggestion. I’m fascinated to see the Cairngorm Grange, and these hiding places you have around here, and maybe you can show me where you met your Godfather in the Shrieking Shack. Oh, and you did promise to buy me a toffee apple in one of the Christmas market stalls, so we can do that too!

I wanted to ask you that, as well. Will it be alright if I write to you over the Christmas Holidays? I’ll definitely want to send you a Christmas card, at least. It’d be nice to keep in touch, if you’re up for that, but maybe you ought to ask Hedwig first, as I’m pretty sure Muggle Post Offices wont deliver to houses full of Dark Magic! Do you really have a severed trolls leg for an umbrella stand? That’s pretty dismal, isn’t it? Maybe it would look better with some tinsel, but I doubt it.

It’s just one of the many things we can discuss, if you really do feel that you are able to now. I could say so many things about how I felt when you said that … honoured, thrilled, humbled … take your pick. Just know that I wont press you for anything. But I am interested in you, not your story … I know I keep saying it, but I need you to believe it. It’s you I like, you I’m looking forward to spending the Yule Ball with, not some fan-made fantasy.

By the way, if I didn’t make it clear with what I said about Sally-Anne above, I’d also be deeply unhappy if you were going with someone else to the Ball now. In fact, I think I’d be dangerous.

I’m still undecided on the outfit front. I’m looking forward to seeing your dress robes, though. I heard Neville and Seamus talking about Ron’s the other day. Apparently, they are the height of fashion … or they were in about the 1850’s! I must confess that I’m looking forward to seeing those, too. They sound hideous!

But as for us, I don’t know yet. I kind of don’t want to be matching at this point. I think being the same doesn’t seem right for us. Being two halves to make one whole seems a better idea, like in alchemy. I think you take that class, don’t you? I have it marked in gold on my homework planner, what is it on yours? Anyway, I think that as I’ve been trying to promote inter-house unity, it would be more fitting that we both represent something different, don’t you?

Besides, I like the idea of opposites joining to make something better. It’ll sound mushy, but I think I’m becoming a better girl since we started writing. I’m not so annoying at the moment. The girls in my dorm all say so, and I see it myself. I have to admit that I feel a lot happier for it too, so that must be a good thing, and I have you to thank for it.

Whatever we end up wearing, I’m sure it will be much discussed. If the level of interest I’ve gotten this week is any indicator, we’ll probably get as much attention as any of the Champions and their partners. I bet they’ll have to open the Ball. Imagine that, having to dance with the whole school watching! I think I’d be mortified, don’t you? I’d end up looking like an otter than had trodden on a piece of Lego!

Excuse me if this sounds disjointed, but I’m adding it on after yet ANOTHER writing disturbance. This one’s about you, as well. You’re dong that a lot lately, Harry Potter! Disturbing my life! But please continue, I’m quite enjoying the interruptions.

But no, I’ve just been disturbed with some new about you. They’re saying all around Gryffindor Tower that you’ve rowed with Professor Snape and landed yourself a weeks’ worth of detentions! That’s very naughty, Harry, and I should tell you off for it … but the rumour is that it’s because Snape had a go at ME! So I’ll let you off!

I don’t really believe that this can be true, and I WONT believe it till I hear it from you … but look at me! I sound like Ron and all the girls who think I’m fibbing about having a date. How strange a comparison is that!! If it turns out that this is what has happened, then thank you. It’s unbearably sweet if it is. Stupid … but sweet nonetheless!

I just hope you aren’t in too much trouble. I would try and break you out, but I’m no mischief maker. I would set Snape on fire for you if I could … I do a good Bluebell Flame Charm that I’ll have to show you one day … but that might make things a bit obvious about our date! Maybe something less violent might work. I’ll have a think.

And besides, part of me is quite enjoying seeing the ridiculous ideas people are coming up with as my potential partner for the Ball. Whoever thought it would generate such creativity in the student populous? At first, it annoyed me greatly that they were betting on me at all, but I think I’m starting to lighten up and see the funny side now.

That’s your fault, too … all this humour and light-heartedness is so unlike me. But I can imagine you chuckling at all these random boys and objects and animals that could take your place at my side, and I start laughing about it too. It’s also very funny that there isn’t any serious money on my date being you. A few people have joked about it, but there are shorter odds on me going with Hagrid’s dog!

Hey, maybe we should place a massive bet on it being you! We’d make a small fortune! Or would that count as insider trading?

Anyway, I think I’ve rabbited on for long enough, so I hope I haven’t bored you. Maybe it will make up for my taking so long to reply in the first place. The problem is I now have to be really creative to get this letter to you. The betting is getting so rabid that if I’m seen within three feet of a boy he becomes the new favourite in the race to be my mystery date! I actually think someone is following me just to try and catch me out.

I just cant wait to see people’s reactions when they see that it was never really a contest at all.

So, as much as I don’t deserve it, I hope to hear from you soon. The Yule Ball date has been officially set for the Fourteenth of December. It had to be put back because THE WEIRD SISTERS are divas and skeptical and wouldn’t play on the original date. Clowns. Anyway, that means it is exactly one month from today … and I cant wait. You’ll have to keep me stocked up in letters till then, so get writing Mr Potter!

Oh, and I’ll do my best to get you out of detention, but no promises.

Write me soon,

From Hermione xx

Harry folded up the parchment sheets, a silly and cosy warmth filling his chest as he considered the contents of Hermione’s letter. And there were so many things that could have generated it, from her agreeing to meet up in person on a regular basis to the fact that she had upgraded to twokisses at the end of her letters. Harry knew that this was probably just a girly thing that most witches their age would do, but still … it was the first time anyone had done it to him and he was violently covetous of it.

He was just about to begin his usual post-read analysis of every line Hermione had written, when Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein came up to him.

“Wotcher, Harry! I thought you had detention with Snape tonight?” Anthony asked, taking a seat nearby.

“I did,” Harry smirked. “But my Godfather came up and sorted it, so I don’t have to do them now.”

“I suppose it pays to have an ex-convicted mass murderer in the family!” Michael joked.

“It has it’s perks,” Harry nodded back good-humouredly.

“Hey, I forgot to ask,” Anthony went on. “Did you really turn down Sally-Anne Perks for the Yule Ball?”

Harry nodded that he had.

“Why!?” Michael cried. “She’sfit.I’d go with her, if she asked.”

“And you know she’s a goer, after what people said about her and Krum,” Anthony added.

“What people said about her and Krum is Thestral-sh*t,” Harry scowled. “Don’t believe half of it. Sally’s a nice witch, really.”

“Then why did you say no to her?”

Harry had to think fast. The letter in his hand gave him a clever way out.

“Well, I’m sort of … already going with someone.”

Michael and Anthony goggled at him. “You are?”

“Who is she?”

“When did you ask?”

“Tell us, Potter!”

“I cant tell you … because I don’t know,” Harry replied. “I signed up for the Penpal Club, you see … if you call it theLonely Hearts Club, Mike, I’m going to kick you right in the ovaries … and my penpal is going to be my date.”

“And as it’s anonymous, you don’t know who it is?” asked Anthony.

“Exactly,” Harry nodded.

“Wow.”

“Well, Potter, that’s brave of you,” Michael went on, impressed. “I wouldn’t have been so courageous. You’ve had rotten luck in life, son, and it never seems to get better. For all you know, you could turn out to be writing to someone like Hermione Granger. That’d be in keeping with your streak.”

Harry didn’t reply, but he smiled inwardly to himself. For he knew that Michael was right, he had been dealt a tough hand in life … but his luck with Hermione might just be an indicator that his future wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Chapter 16: A Month of Sundays

Chapter Text

Over the next week, Harry and Hermione wrote to each other twice more. Harry was very pliant to Hermione’s demands, making her wait for only three days before he replied to her last letter. He talked mostly about how he dealt with the constant glare of attention - which essentially amounted to him basically ignoring everyone - and how he turned down Sally-Anne, ignoring her, too, after rather brusquely telling her ‘no’ when she cornered him after a class one day.

I think I was quite rude, actually,Harry had written. I didn’t mean to be, but she sort of pounced on me when I didn’t expect it. I was already in a bad mood because I heard someone say that they were going to bet on your date actually still being Krum, that you were a dirty liar and had just staged the whole ‘rejecting him thing’ in a public place just so that you could get some attention. How I didn’t curse the sorry smeghead who said it to smithereens I’ll never know!

Hermione sort of thought she ought to have been cross about that. Harry had been unintentionally nasty to Sally-Anne, then was on the verge of committing violence against another student. But in both cases, he had been defending her honour and their date agreement, and Hermione was so flattered and flustered by the acts that she didn’t have it in her to be mad at Harry.

As she told him when she replied a day later.I’m trying to feel sorry for Sally, I really am, especially after what she went through with Krum. But you are MY date and I don’t like the idea of someone else trying to steal you from me. I’ve never thought of myself as a possessive type of witch, but maybe I’ve just never had something worth being possessive of before. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I think going on a date with you definitely counts.

And Harry certainly did not mind, not even a little bit. He felt very much the same, and was deeply annoyed by what Hermione kept telling him in regards to people trying to set her up with other boys from Gryffindor House.

Parvati thinks I should have accepted Neville’s offer. It was sweet, he just wanted to say thank you for all the times that I’ve been nice to him over the years, so I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was subtly insulting me, by not believing that my mystery date was a real person.

Luckily, he took the rejection well enough … then went and asked that meek little Daphne Greengrass from Slytherin to be his date, which is who he really wanted to go with in the first place. I probably shouldn't tell you this but, she’s his Penpal Club, well … penpal! … and they’d been dancing around asking each other to go in their recent letters.

A bit like us, really!

Harry chuckled at that, but was soon frowning at the next part.

Of course, Ron is asking me to go with him on pretty much a daily basis now. It’s because he’s the only boy in his dorm without a date and he’s getting desperate. Actually, I think he might be the only boy from the Fourth Year up without one. Seamus IS going with Hannah Abbott, then there’s Nev and Daphne, and Dean Thomas is officially dating Ginny Weasley, so is naturally taking her to the Ball.

I don’t mean to sound judgemental, but she doesn’t half get through some wizards, that one. Wasn’t she seeing Michael Corner at the start of the year? She’s had more boys on her arm than her brother has had date rejections at this point! But anyway, Ron is on at me all the time. He seems to think that we are the only two left in Gryffindor without dates, so says it ‘makes sense’ that we go together.

Without tooting my own horn too much, I’m pretty intelligent … and THAT makes only the worst sort of sense to me! It’s getting on my nerves now, though. I’ve tried the ‘softly, softly’ approach, but I think a good hex between the eyes is the only thing he’ll understand, what do you think? What spell would you use?

Actually, don’t answer that. If I end up putting Ron in the Hospital Wing I wont be able to explain why, and the last thing I want is a paper trail leading to you. Pre-meditated Weasley-icide might endanger our date and wouldn’t be worth it, however satisfying it might be in the moment!

Harry actually laughed out loud at that comment, which drew slightly petrified looks from Lisa and Mandy, who were sat close by as Harry was reading. They were both pretty sure that they’d never heard Harry’s laugh before, and weren’t sure if it was a good thing that they had now, or if it was the signal that Harry was going to go on a psychopathic rampage through Ravenclaw Tower.

Harry shook his head and smirked at their slightly pained looks, then went back to the letter, and a very pleasing suggestion that Hermione had made at the end.

I have a confession to make. I’ve been sort of obsessing about the time after the Yule Ball, when we start meeting up on a regular basis, just … because. The Ball will be great, but we’ll be on display and there will be all the silly gossip and we might not get much peace. But the times after that will be quite different, I think. I’m actually looking forward to them more than the Ball itself.

The reason, I think, is that I’m sat here in my Common Room all by myself. I’ve always done it and normally it’s fine … no-one thinks to involve me and I don’t usually want to be disturbed. But now … I don’t know … to think that in the future I could just slip out and meet you for a walk by the lake, or for a chat in that secret copse you mentioned or whatever, has left me feeling a bit, well, lonely I suppose.

So I was thinking, and you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but perhaps we could practise at that in a sort of remote way. What I was thinking is, if you wanted, perhaps we could put aside some spare time, maybe an hour or so after dinner on a Sunday or something, and sit next to our pigeon holes and send little notes to each other using the Penny Blacks. We could be finishing last bits of homework or something, but it’d be like keeping each other company from our different towers while we did it. You don’t have to write a big reply if you do, but just give me a nod if you see me at any point tomorrow and I’ll send the first note at about eight o’clock Sunday night.

But only if you want to.

As it happened Harry very much did want to, and hurried down to breakfast the next morning with only one goal in his head … to nod it as vigorously as he could, without it looking as though he’d developed some neurological disorder that had afflicted his neck muscles to a worrying degree.

Hermione noticed Harry straight away as she entered the Great Hall and saw him nod enthusiastically as their eyes met. She smiled deeply and gave a subtle nod back, which her friend Fay saw, then she looked at Harry, before glancing suspiciously between the two of them for the rest of breakfast. Harry quickly decided to look away before his attention to Hermione became obvious, but Fay seemed to have already noticed that, if the warm grin she gave to Harry was any indicator of her intuition.

So on Sunday night Harry was in a pretty buoyant mood at dinner. He didn’t even care that he’d been squeezed almost to the end of the bench by Fleur Delacour and some of the other French girls. It had been quite a curious experience at first, as Harry had never been this near to the Beauxbatons Champion before, but he noticed that she was very pretty close up.

Then something odd came over him. He had a strange urge to try and get lost in the waves of her golden hair, sure that there must be pots of Galleons and inner peace hidden amidst her rule-straight locks. He was about to tell Fleur that he’d built a special broom designed just for the purpose of flying right into her big blue eyes, when he suddenly felt the urge to look over at the Gryffindor table.

That’s when his eyes fell on Hermione. She looked a bit miffed that he’d been pushed to the end of the bench and rolled her eyes with a little grin, as if to say,‘honestly, what a cheeky bunch they are! We should just kick them out!’. And, just like that, Harry forgot all that nonsense about brooms and hair and turned to Fleur with a frown.

“Excuse me? Any chance you could budge up?” he grumbled. “I’m practically falling off here!”

“Most boys would be happy to make room for me,” Fleur purred, batting her long lashes.

“Yeah? Well I’m not ‘most boys’,” Harry scowled. “Now move up, please.”

Fleur didn’t scowl at him. Instead, she co*cked her head and looked a little confused, as though her charms had never failed her before. She stared at Harry in a new way a moment, almost as if she was suddenly fascinated with him … if he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she looked as though shelikedbeing brushed off. Indeed, she even smiled a bit as she pliantly slinked along the bench, elongating her lithe, appealing figure as she did so.

But Harry noticed that for barely a second. He looked back at Hermione, who nodded her approval at his actions. Then Harry went back to eating in perfect contentment, chatting with Luna opposite him until he was ready to head back up for his first Sunday session with Hermione.

And then a loud alarm began to ring in the Hall, which surprised them all.

“Fire Drill!” Professor McGonagall announced with a magically modified voice. “All Hogwarts students are to make their way to the Main Courtyard and line up in your Houses. Students from our visiting schools will return to your boat and carriage respectively.”

There was a great cufuffle as a thousand students got up at once and tried to scramble into the Courtyard in one go. Harry was caught in the crush, frowning and cursing as people around him asked confused questions.

“What’s this about?”

“We’ve never had a Fire Drill before.”

“How, exactly,doyou drill a fire?”

And other such nonsense. After much jostling and squeezing, all the students made it outside and diligently lined up in their House. Gryffindor House had taken up the right-hand side of the yard, and the Ravenclaws queued up next to them. Quite by chance, Harry and Hermione were very near to each other in their respective lines, and when Fay Dunbar sneezed into her hand - then had to run off to grab a tissue before she started crying at the discharge of phlegm she found herself holding - Hermione took a step forwards so that she and Harry were directly opposite one another.

Hermione didn’t look at Harry, and he didn’t look at her, but he was still able to see her struggling not to glance at him, as well as appearing to be holding in a smile. They both looked resolutely ahead and wondered how curious it was that they were both avoiding turning their heads to the other when they were this close.

Then Professor McGonagall began to speak from a dais at the front of the Courtyard. “Attention everyone! This is our first school Fire Drill. As we are now hosting the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, it has been decided by the Magical Health and Safety Executive that we must upgrade our emergency evacuation procedures, especially as certain social events are on the horizon that will cram more bodies than usual into an enclosed space.”

Many of the girls around Harry began to snicker excitedly. He frowned at them for their silliness, and found Hermione shaking her head at them also. They looked at each other for the first time and swapped rolling-eyed expressions. Then the Deputy Headmistress continued.

“As part of our new procedures we will now conduct monthly fire drills,” Professor McGonagall informed them. "Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students, turn to your left. Ravenclaw and Slytherin students turn right to face them.”

There was a great shuffling as every student moved on the instruction. Harry and Hermione were now facing each other directly. They grinned at one another.

“Hello, Harry,” Hermione said, pleasantly.

“Hello, Hermione,” Harry replied. “Having a good day?”

“So, so. I had plans for this evening that this is really getting in the way of. So that’s annoying.”

“Me too. What are the odds?”

Hermione simply smirked at him. But Professor McGonagall’s voice was carrying over the crowd again.

“The person you are now facing will become your Emergency Partner,” the Deputy Head announced. “In case of fire, explosion or an invasion of Acromantula, all students are to assemble in exactly these lines in this courtyard. The Head Students are now moving between the lines and assigning you a number. In the event of an emergency, it is each of your duties to account for your partner. If they do not line up opposite you, inform a member of the Faculty immediately and we will instigate a search of the castle.”

Harry and Hermione were each assigned the number thirty-three, which they both found pleasantly alliterative. Then Harry frowned playfully at Hermione.

“Does this mean that I’ll have to run in and save you from a burning building?”

Hermione grinned back. “I suppose so. But don’t fret … I’m theonlything you’ll have to save, so it wont be much effort.”

“Still, I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Harry teased in a solemn voice. “I’m actually allergic to fire, you know.”

“Charming!” Hermione laughed. “But don’t worry, I’m a Virgo, a water sign. I’ll put you out if you get too hot.”

“That’s alright then,” Harry smirked.

Next to Hermione, Parvati and Lavender swapped semi-scandalised, semi-delighted looks. They couldn’t wait to get inside and ask what the hell that exchange was all about.

But Harry wasn’t done. “So … I hear you have a date for the Yule Ball.”

Hermione rounded her eyes and pursed her lips in a sort of amused shock. She seemed to be struggling not to playfully tell Harry off. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Congratulations,” Harry offered genuinely.

“Thank you,” Hermione managed to reply, a twitchy grin pulling at the corner of her mouth, which she was trying hard to resist. “I understand that you also have a date. Well done.”

“Who told you that?”

“Oh, well Harry, you should know how fast the Hogwarts Rumour Mill spins,” Hermione told him, sniffily. “I hear that she will be your Penpal Club partner?”

“That’s right,” Harry nodded. “The part about her being the person I write to in the Lonely Hearts Club, I mean. After all, I’m onlyassumingit’s a she …”

Hermione snorted out a guffaw that she pointlessly tried to hide. Harry’s blatant tease, of using the Penpal Club moniker, and his infuriatingly calm demeanour was unexpectedly hilarious to her.

“But you have no idea who she is?”

“None, as it’s an anonymous scheme,” Harry confirmed bracingly. “For all I know she - if it is a she - could be a total nightmare.”

Hermione co*cked her head and bit her lip, her eyes flashing with mirth. Harry was aching with his own efforts to not burst out laughing. They must have made quite the odd sight to anyone who was watching … which almost everyone nearby curiously was.

“Yes, I bet she could,” Hermione replied, narrowing her eyes at Harry. “I suppose you’d just betterbehaveyourself then.”

“Yes, that might be good advice. Thanks,” Harry returned. “You must have been one of the first people to get a date for the Ball, you know. Whoever it was must have been very keen to tie you down.”

“He was actually very presumptuous,” Hermione mused. “Just assumed I’d go with him without even asking.”

“You must like him, though, to have agreed to go with him despite all that.”

“Yes, I actually like him very much. Even though he can be a little toe-rag from time to time, so maybe I need to take a leaf out of your date’s book and be a nightmare to him at the Yule Ball, just to keep him in line. To be honest he’s quite sweet, so I generally forgive him quickly.”

“Good for you … and him, obviously,” Harry nodded, piously. “Has any of the betting gotten close to revealing his identity yet?”

Hermione scowled warmly at Harry’s perpetual funning. She had never seen this side of him before and she found it stirred a cosy heat deep inside her.

“Let’s just say he’s the last person anyone would expect,” Hermione replied.

“Don’t fancy giving me any clues? I could use a few extra Galleons.”

“Sorry, that would just be insider trading.”

“Fair enough,” Harry grinned.

“You know, I’m surprised you are going to the Ball at all,” Hermione considered aloud. “I wouldn’t have thought it would be your sort of thing.”

“Oh, well, I suppose we all want a Cinderella moment, don’t we?”

Hermione snorted out a laugh at that. She couldn’t help it. “I expect to see you in glass slippers, then.”

“Oh yes, and a periwinkle blue ball gown,” Harry agreed. “I’m quite looking forward to seeing that, myself.”

Harry and Hermione just looked at each other for a few seconds, blinking together in unspoken understanding. The urge to burst out laughing was almost unbearable for the both of them. Luckily, it was at that point that Professor McGonagall instructed the classes to all file back into the castle, one House at a time.

“Bye, Hermione,” Harry called, jauntily, as Hermione walked away.

“Bye, Harry,” she returned in equal breeziness. “Maybe I’ll see you at the Ball.”

“Unlikely, but have a good time,” Harry teased back. “Let’s just hope the dancefloor doesn’t catch fire or we might have to becomeemergency partners!”

“Let’s hope not then,” Hermione called in reply. “See you.”

And with that they parted. Hermione was heaving with suppressed giggles all the way to the Common Room. She felt like she wanted to explode, as though she’d swallowed a gallon of Coca Cola and an imperial mint at the same time, and was now suffering the consequences. She just wanted to get to the safety of her four-poster, but she wasn’t allowed to escape so easily.

“Right, Missy, don’t you think you’re going anywhere!” Lavender Brown cried as Hermione made a dash for the dormitory staircase.

Hermione turned around, suspicious and confused. “What? What have I done now?”

“We don’t know, that’s what we’re going to get to the bottom of!” Parvati hooted gleefully, her eyes alight as she blocked the stairway with Lavender. “You aren’t taking a single step up those stairs until you tell us what’s going on with you and Potter.”

Hermione’s heart leapt to life, but she fought to stay composed. “I have no idea what you’re rabbiting on about.”

“Oh, don’t give us that rubbish!” Lavender squeaked. “We both saw you in the yard …flirtingwith Harry Potter for all you were worth!”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to laugh. “Flirt? Don’t be absurd. We were just chatting, that’s all.”

“It was flirting and you know it!” Parvati cried. “Don’t pretend to be all coy.”

“Yeah, nobodychatswith Harry Potter, even if that is what you insist on calling it,” Lavender cut in. “Nobody eventalkswith Potter, let alone what you were doing outside.”

“Teasing, banter, plays on words,” Parvati took over. “I wouldn’t have believed it of either of you if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“Then maybe you need to get them checked, because you’re seeing things that aren’t there,” Hermione replied in her haughtiest tone.

“Just tell us once and for all … is there something going on with you and Potter?” Lavender demanded. “Is he your date?”

Hermione looked Lavender square in the eye and drew in a weighty breath. “I’m not telling you who my date is. I’ve told you that twenty times at least. And I don’t care if you think it’s Harry, the Bloody Baron, or Professor Dumbledore, himself … I. Am. Not. Telling. You. For the umpteenth time.”

“So what is your connection to Potter, then?” Parvati asked. “Why are you so friendly all of a sudden?”

“There’s nothing sudden about it,” Hermione fired back. “Harry and I have always gotten on well. We study together in the library quite a lot … not that either of you knows much about studying or the library. I’m always breaking quill nibs, he always has spares. That’s how our conversations start. Just because everyone else wants to ask him stupid questions about Voldemort doesn’t mean we all do.”

Parvati and Lavender visibly winced at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name.

“Can’t you sayYou-Know-Who?” Lavender begged.

“No, it’s cowardly,” Hermione returned, vehemently. “I got over that a long time ago. Perhaps you all should, too. Maybe then you’ll realise that Harry Potter is a person and not a legend. Goodnight, I’m turning in early.”

And with that Hermione span on her heel and marched her way past Parvati and up the stairs to her dorm. Once there, she hitched a better mood onto her brain and closed the curtains of her bed, before penning a quick note to Harry, which she dropped into her pigeon hole.

You are bloody incorrigible, do you know that?

Harry grinned at the other end as he read the note, scribbling down a rapid reply.

- I saw you trying not to laugh, so don’t get all high and mighty. What took you so long anyway? It’s ten past eight already.

Hermione gasped in faux shock and took up her quill again.I was accosted by the girls of my dorm, if you must know, which annoyed me as I nearly wet myself holding in all that laughter! They saw our little exchange in the courtyard and wanted an explanation.If you wanted to speak to me so badly you could have just walked me back to Gryffindor Tower and made less of a scene!

Harry smirked as he dipped his own quill into an ink pot.That would have given the game away, don’t you think?

It looked like you were trying to do a good enough job of that on your own, Hermione wrote back.What are you doing this evening? Apart from making my life a trial, obviously!

Don’t be such a diva … you’re worse than Hedwig!Harry replied.I’m just finishing an essay on Thestrals.

Thestrals? Hermione queried.I didn’t think you took Care of Magical Creatures.

I don’t, Harry confirmed.This is part of my Charms homework, though it’s more Magical Theory, really, which I’ll probably take for my NEWTs. I’m writing about how the Thestral Invisibility Pheromone works. It isn’t until the human brain has suffered real trauma that a chemical is released that counteracts the T.I.P, allowing you to see them. It’s sort of like a natural Charm, or that’s what I’m arguing, anyway.

Can you see Thestrals, then?Hermione asked.

- Yes.

Really? That’s fascinating. I wish I could.

There was a pause of about a minute, which seemed an age to Hermione considering how fast the other notes had been exchanged. She was getting slightly concerned by the time her pigeon hole finally glowed purple again.

Do you?Harry asked.Do you really?

Then Hermione gasped out loud as understanding struck. Feeling utterly wretched, she scribbled back a hasty reply.

No! No of course I don’t! I’m so sorry … forgive me, Harry. That was a stupid, stupid, horribly insensitive thing to say. Oh, I feel just terrible now!

It wasn’t the best choice of words, but I know what you meant,Harry replied.Don’t beat yourself up over it.

How can you say that! After all you’ve been through! For me to say something like that … I’m a horror of a person, aren’t I?

- Well, you did say you could be a nightmare!

Hermione couldn’t help but grin to herself.You do realise that I’m going to be a nightmare now, don’t you? Just to get back at you for that?

- I’d expect nothing less! Shall we study?

Yes, let’s.

So they did, Harry continuing on with his Charms work and Hermione revising for a History of Magic mock exam that she had in the morning. Occasionally, Hermione would send over a question to Harry, to test him on whether he knew the difference between Emeric the Oddball and Ulfric the Oddbod, which he usually did.

Then Harry would be silly, sending back a question like, “How do you spell Petrificus Totalus?”,to which Hermione would roll her eyes with a chuckle and write, “like that,”and Harry would swiftly reply with, “good, just checking,”or, if he was feeling particularly cheeky, would say,“no, it’s with a low tenor incantation and a wand movement that looks like a wonky key. Get it? How do you SPELL it! Five points from the Gryffin-dummies!”

Hermione would then smirk to herself as she ignored Harry for the next five minutes, until he sent an apology for calling her a ‘Gryffin-dummy’, which he usually did, too. Apart from one occasion when Hermione dubbed him a Raven-loony, which he accepted he deserved and they called a truce on their friendly name-calling for the evening.

And so the pattern for the next few weeks was set. Harry would write to Hermione on a Tuesday or Wednesday, and she’d respond two days later. But the letters became shorter and shorter, because their Sunday night meetings became longer and longer. One hour quickly became three … indeed, the meeting on the second Sunday in December stretched to four, and it was well past midnight when they finally agreed - reluctantly - to go to sleep.

The reason for this, of course, was that this would be the last meeting they would have before the Yule Ball the following week.

It had come around more quickly that either of them could have imagined. They were both overcome with such an excited sort of nervousness that Harry forgot to write to Hermione on that last Tuesday and she forgot that she was supposed to be expecting a letter at all. They simply waited until Sunday night when all the final preparations would be put in place.

I have my dress,Hermione wrote, noticing that even her hand was nervously shaking.It’s really quite cute, I think.

And you went for the periwinkle blue?Harry asked back.

I did.

- Then I’ll do my cuffs in scarlet and gold. It’ll look quite nice when it’s done, so long as I don’t muck it up! Or it will look nice … until I get in it!

Hermione went to write back straight away. She was going to scribble that Harry would look nice in anything, as that was the instinctive response that came to her mind. But the words shocked her for how true she found them, and she blushed at it, and then had to take a moment to write a less explosive answer.

I’m sure you wont muck it up,she wrote, neutrally.You’re a great wizard, you really are. That spell will be a doddle for you.

I’m not great,Harry argued.Books and cleverness, that’s me. There are more important things. And that’s all you.

What do you mean?Hermione asked.

- Well, haven’t you noticed how many people don’t know who their dates are for the Ball? I’ve heard of over two dozen that are going with their penpals. It looks like you’ve fixed a lot of lonely hearts at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger. That’s a magic greater than everything you’ll find in all our spellbooks combined.

Hermione swooned with a soft ‘aww’ as she read the words, a rush of affection for Harry catching her totally off guard a moment. Part of her insides felt as though they had melted. She wondered which bits they were and if the damage was terminal.

But at that second her quill was hovering over her parchment. She was debating with asking Harry if she’d fixedhislonely heart, but she was terrified of saying the words. So she wrote them, twice, each time flinging the parchment into the fire as her courage failed her. In the end she cursed her cowardess and played it safe.

You say the nicest things to me. You’re making me blush over here, you know.

Harry was smiling to himself as he wrote out his reply.I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll match the furniture now. I assume everything over there is red and gold?

Yep,Hermione confirmed.The carpets match the curtains in these rooms … and so do I.

- Um … okay. Little bit more information than I was after … but okay!

Hermione blushed deeper at Harry’s racy inference. Harry Potter! That was so rude. I should be scandalised!

- Hey, you said it, not me!

Yes, but I was NOT referring to THAT! I merely meant that I’ll be the same colour as the curtains, because of my blush, which is ten times deeper now.

- Oh, right. Sorry. Are you really cross with me?

I said I ‘should be’ scandalised, didn’t I, not that I was. You work it out.

There was a pause then, and Hermione felt her heart beating hard. This was as daring as her little flirting moments with Harry had gotten. She’d long accepted that what they were doing at timeswasflirting, because girls like Lavender and Parvati knew far better about such things and Hermione had chosen to defer to their expertise in the area because it suited her.

So she wondered now if Harry was wrestling with a conundrum, just as she had been earlier. This was a bit of a naughty topic that they were discussing, the closest they’d ever come to anything like it. Was Harry as flustered as she was about it, wondering how far he dare push it? Hermione was fluttering with excitement that he might be, her mind a little dizzy that Harry might be thinking about her in such ways.

But if he was, he was as big a coward as she was it would seem.

So you’re not cross with me then? Good. I’ve seen your angry side and I don’t want to get a bucket of baboon pimple pus thrown over me or something!

Hermione sighed and laughed a little, as a feeling that was a bit likedisappointmentflooded through her. That had been a close call for a moment there.

Then their exchanges carried on as normal, the skirting with raciness swiftly forgotten. The topic moved back to how they were going to dress for the Ball, with Hermione telling Harry how she planned to accessorise.

I have a little blue shoulder bag that will go nicely with my dress and shoes,she wrote.I don’t think I’ll bother with a hat, otherwise I might look like Little Bo-Peep, just without a staff!

-oh my Merlin, the images! I think I’ve broken a rib from all this laughing! Should I bring along some inflatable sheep for you?

Don’t you dare!Hermione scribbled with a soft laugh.I swear I will pop them if you do!

Okay, no sheep,Harry replied.What do you need a bag for, though?

Well, I’ll need somewhere to keep my wand,Hermione explained. And my spare make-up.

Harry paused over his reply.You’ll be having make-up done?

Yes, a little,Hermione confirmed.I’ve got some silvery earrings so I think I might get my eyes done in a smoky silver to match. Fay suggested it and I think it’ll look nice. Then I just need to slap a ton of Sleek-Easy on.

- Sleek-Easy?

It’s like a type of gel. It’ll allow me to get my hair under control, keep it tidy. It does tend to have a mind of it’s own.

Can you … not?Harry asked, and Hermione imagined him writing the words in a sheepish tone, which was odd.I mean, if you really wont be comfortable without all that Sleek stuff, then by all means do what you feel you have to. But I have to say I’d quite prefer it if you didn’t. I like your hair as it is, sort of … wild and unrestricted. It reminds me of how you are in a way … or maybe it’s how you’ve made me feel since we started writing to each other, which is something I lack the vocabulary to explain properly. I just don’t want you to change anything for my benefit, if that’s in your thinking at all.

Hermione blinked at the words a moment. It was the first time that Harry had ever admitted to noticing her physically, the first time he’d ever said that he found a feature of her … dare Hermione think it …attractive. It was a monumental statement and Hermione felt a stampede of butterflies take flight in her stomach as she considered it. She wondered if Harry had even the slightest idea of the impact those words had had on her

For someone had actually told Hermione that they found a part of her attractive… for the first time that she was conscious of. Harry liked her hair as it was … and Hermione was already mentally throwing the jar of Sleek-Easy out of the window.

If you’d like me to keep my hair down, of course I will, she wrote back, fumbling with her quill as her fingers trembled.I’ll just give it a good shampoo to get it bouncy and glossy, and then get Fay to stick some sparkles in it or something. That might be nice, you know.

- It sounds like it will be … sounds perfect, actually. I cant wait to see it.

Hermione found that she was breathing very heavily. The very real understanding that she was going on a proper date, with a real boy, crashed into her chest and left her a bit light-headed. And this wasn’t just any boy, it was Harry Potter, a boy she’d barely known only two months ago, but who she could now hardly stop thinking about.

And he was clearly thinking about her, too. Thinking about her in ways she’d never have expected him to think about her in a bazillion years. Harry Potter was excited to see Hermione looking prettierthan usual, but suggesting that he thought at least some part of her was pretty already. And Hermione dearly hoped that Harry thought she was pretty, was keenly anxious to know if he did, not that this was a question she’d ever have the guts to ask.

So she’d have to find out in other ways, coax the information from Harry using schemes and stratagems. She considered saying that she’d have to go to bed soon, to get some beauty sleep, but that seemed a little pathetic and as if she was fishing for a compliment. Which she accepted she probably was, but it was a bit shameful to be so transparent about it.

But Hermione wasn’t very good at being wily on instinct, so she’d have to think about this one and come back at it with a clear plan. How to get Harry to say if he thought she was pretty or not? This was harder than any homework assignment Hermione had ever been set. Truth was, she didn’t even have a clue where to start.

That was a puzzle for another evening though. For now, she had to stay on topic.

So … the next time we’ll have any contact will probably be the night of the Ball, she wrote.

Yeah, that’s likely, Harry replied.How are you feeling? Excited? Nervous?

Both!Hermione confessed.You?

- Same. Don’t know which I feel more, but it’s sometimes one and sometimes the other.

Me too! I don’t know why I’m nervous. You don’t bite, do you?

- Ha ha. Not normally, but then I’ve never been to a Ball before so who knows what might happen! It must be because of the gossip. I feel nervous for you about that.

Don’t be. Let them talk,Hermione jotted out.When we are sat comfortably and judging everyone for their bad dancing, we’ll be the ones having the last laugh!

About that,Harry began.You’ve mentioned that a few times … dancing.

Oh, don’t worry. I don’t expect us to do any dancing.

-I know, that’s what I mean. Why not?

Hermione drew in a breath of surprise.Well … I just know that you’re not keen on people touching you, so I just assumed that you wouldn’t want to dance with me.

- I never said that.

Hermione’s heart set off again, patting away rampantly under her ribcage. She hadn’t expected this, she’d acclimatised to the idea of not dancing at the Ball, but now …

Then … do you?Hermione asked in caution.Do you want to dance with me?

- I was hoping to, if you wanted to.

But what about not being touched?

- Be gentle and we’ll see how we go!Harry teased.I wont want to jump around like a possessed person and make a show of myself, but it is a Ball and it would be all kinds of wrong if I didn’t dance with my date at least once. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but I don’t like being bad at things, and I’d be mortified if you ended the night thinking I was a bad date, and not dancing with you would definitely count. I’d think I’d sold both of us short if I let my silly hang-ups get in the way of us having the best night we can … and if I miss out on dancing with you then I know I’ll regret it later. So I’d like to, if you would.

Hermione could barely believe what she was reading. Harry wanted to dance with her … was willing to overlook his aversion to touch just to be able to be close toher! That was just the most stunning piece of literature that Hermione had ever read. She barely knew how to respond to it.

But respond she had to, and quick.Of course I want to! I just didn’t think you would. Wow I … I just don’t know what to say. This has taken me a bit by surprise.

- I can imagine. It’s a sensible assumption on your part. I wouldn’t hold out much hope for me, though. I have no idea how to dance.

Hermione smiled fondly at Harry’s honesty, so gave some of her own.Don’t worry … neither do I! We’ll just have to muddle along together until we get it right for us. It might be a bit like that television advert for Discos crisps! Did you ever see that?

Is that the one where the guy stands on the girl’s foot and breaks her bones?Harry wrote. I’ll do my best not to do that to you! No promises, though!

I’ll cast a Reinforcement Charm on my shoes just in case!Hermione replied.Oh wow, Harry, I’m looking forward to this even more now! If I get any more excited I might genuinely burst. Are you sure you’ll be comfortable, though? Don’t do this just because you think it’s the right thing to do. I wont be offended, honest.

- But I would be … I’d be offended with myself. These last few weeks have been something else. They’ve changed me … YOU’VE changed me. I trust you like I’ve never trusted anyone. I feel safe with you, and I’ve been looking forward to having a dance as a way of saying thanks and telling you so, as much as anything. I just hope you don’t see it as an empty gesture when you see how hopeless I am on a dancefloor!

Hermione sat there a moment with her jaw hanging open. These things Harry was saying to her … they made her blood speed in her veins. She felt something pressing on her, leaving her breathless and exhilarated and honestly a bit terrified. She had to stop before she completely lost her senses.

You wont be hopeless, or if you are, at least we can be hopeless together!Hermione told him.But it’s getting late. I think we both need to get some sleep. School in the morning and everything.

- Yes, you’re probably right. So … anything last minute that we need to agree on for the Ball?

No, I don’t think so. I think we’ve covered everything, Hermione replied.Outfits, colour co-ordination, meeting time. Seven-thirty in the Entrance Hall, don’t forget.

I wont forget, Harry wrote.Which one of us will be there earliest, do you think?

I think I’ll let you get there first. A girl needs to be fashionably late, you know!

- Just don’t be too late, or I’ll have to go looking for Sally-Anne …

Harry Potter! Be careful or I might just have to cut your sassy little tongue out!

Charming!Harry replied.On that note, I think I’ll head to bed, before I get any more threats out of the amiable Miss Granger!

I was only joking … sort of,Hermione scribbled back.But you’re right, we should get some rest. Night, Harry xx

- Goodnight, Hermione xxx

Hermione looked fondly at the three little ‘x’s’ as she burrowed down into her quilt and pulled it tight around her with a contented swoon. She fantasised about the scene in a few days time … actually dancing with Harry, which she hadn’t expected to happen at all. She looked at the last note again, let the ‘x’s’ dance before her eyes, and her fantasies included another element for the first time … for she wondered if maybe, just maybe, those three little symbolic kisses might actually turn into the real thing, when she finally took Harry Potter on their date to the Ball.

It was the perfect final image as she closed her eyes and drifted into a gentle sleep.

Chapter 17: All Bets Are Settled

Chapter Text

Friday the Fourteenth rolled around quick as a flash. For the entire week, the only things being discussed by the older members of the Hogwarts student body were dresses, make-up, The Weird Sisters, dancing, and whether anyone was going to get a cheeky snog or not. The fact that they had a whole week of classes to end the term before the much anticipated Yule Ball seemed to fall hopelessly by the wayside.

So when the final class bells rang around the school at four p.m that Friday, it can be well imagined that the excitement levels went through the roof. The younger students grumbled that it was deeply unfair that they weren’t allowed to attend the event, and those lucky enough to have been asked by an older pupil lorded it over their peers and crowed gleefully through the thronging corridors, as they raced towards their respective Common Rooms to get ready for the big night.

Harry saw all of that and more, as he left the Potions dungeons and headed back to Ravenclaw Tower with his classmates. The girls immediately flew up to their dorms, leaving the boys to wonder just how complicated their outfits might be, if it was going to take them three whole hours to get dressed. Michael and Anthony, who were going with Lisa and Mandy respectively, simply shook their heads as they rapidly tried to dissect the ins and outs of a female wardrobe.

Harry left them to it and crossed the room, careful, as ever, not to step on the stars of the big blue carpet. He came to a stop at one of the deep viewing alcoves, this being the one that looked out across the castle and towards the Forbidden Forest beyond. But Harry wasn’t admiring the trees. His eyes lingered on the windows of Gryffindor Tower on the opposite corner of the building, wondering which one might belong to the girls’ dormitory and whether Hermione was inside yet and, like the Ravenclaw girls, feverishly arranging her dress and make-up for the evening.

Then he came over with an involuntary shiver, as the idea of ‘Hermione getting changed’peeked into his teenaged, hormonally erratic brain and he was compelled to look at something else, before his conscience made him feel like a Peeping Tom.

But the whole notion of getting prepped up for the Yule Ball had occupied Harry’s thoughts on several occasions that week. The image of Hermione turning up with glossy, sparkly hair was now living rent free in his mind, having taken residence there as they concluded their latest Sunday night note-exchange session. He’d even dreamed about it more than once since. And the whole thing got him to thinking.

In particular, he was now thinking a lot about Hermione’s looks. She had told him explicitly that she was going to wear make-up and was planning to do her hair differently … or at least shewas, until Harry intervened. Which meant that she was going to go to all this extra effort for him. And Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

For one thing, he didn’t feel nearly worthy enough for anyone to change their habits for, let alone a girl like Hermione, who he readily admitted now topped his Favourite Person List. He didn’t know if she wore make-up regularly or not, but he had to think that she wasn’t the sort of witch addicted to beauty products. So he looked at other girls, as he went about his week, for a source of comparison.

And he soon saw that Hermione wasn’t orange, like Pansy Parkinson seemed to be, didn’t have the panda eyes favoured by Marietta Edgecombe, or even the quirky make-up often worn by Luna, which sometimes made her look like a clown at a children’s party. But Harry chuckled that this was probably the look she was going for, even if it wouldn’t top the polls in aWitch Weeklyfashion article.

But then there was the other point that bothered Harry … that Hermione felt theneedto change her appearance for him. He felt a little guilty when thinking about this, as his own Yule Ball preparations merely included a thorough shower and making sure that his newly-altered dress robes had no creases in them. That was pretty much it.

As an unsociable soul, Harry didn’t even own aftershave, only a moderate amount of antiperspirant for hygienic reasons. So he was quite panicked as he thought about the effort he should be making, accepting that barely-scented soap and water probably wouldn’t be acceptable when going on a date. Luna tried to put his mind at ease, when he was asking what sorts of scents were nice, before he sent Sirius on a rescue mission to buy him some.

“Boys tend to go for muskier fragrances, but something cool, with a citrus-hint might be nice,” Luna mused. “Of course, girls most often plump for floral scents, and that goes back to why ladies started carrying flowers at their weddings.”

“Why’s that then?” Harry asked. “I always assumed it was just because flowers are pretty.”

“I suppose thatcouldbe part of it, but it’s not the main reason,” Luna pondered.

“What is then?”

“Well it’s because, back in the older days, people - especially poorer people - hardly ever had baths,” Luna explained. “They might only had ever had one every few months or so. So, after a while, they started to smell a bit, with sweat and body odour and things. So the ladies used to get big bunches of flowers to hide the stink. It’s hardly conducive to romance, to smell like an unwashed farmyard animal on your wedding night, is it?”

Harry smirked at the comment. “No, not really. Which is what I hopeIdon’t smell like at the Yule Ball!”

“You wont,” Luna told him confidently. “You always smell nice to me. But if you want to smell a bit nicer for Hermione Granger, something fresh and fruity would be the way to go.”

Harry didn’t think of himself as either fresh or fruity, but he was happy to defer to Luna’s judgement on this. He was less certain of Sirius’ motives however, when a package turned up from Grimmauld Place a day or so later, with a note that read,“Hope this does the trick … expect a fortnight of teasing when you come home for Christmas though! I want DETAILS!”

Harry decided that the only detail he would be concerned about was the scalding temperature of the cauldron water, when he told Sirius to go and boil his nosy head if he tried prying for information later. Even so, the fragrance Sirius had sent was very nice and even activated enzymes in the pheromones, to essentially personalise the scent. Harry just hoped that this neweau de Potterdidn’t send Hermione running for the nearest sick bowl when she caught a whiff of it.

But that put Harry back onto his musing about all this changing. He’d done something new for Hermione, and she was doing new things for him. And he wondered if it was all worth it. He liked the way Hermione looked as she was, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to look any different. And when he caught himself thinking that, the floor seemed to go from beneath him.

Because it was the first time that Harry realised that he thought Hermione was pretty.

He was copying down a complicated list of alternate names for Philosophical Mercury in his alchemy class when the thought occurred to him. The impact of it was so profound that it made his hairs stand on end, and his quill hovered over his parchment in a quivering hand for a full minute, as he tried to process the enormity of the understanding.

He found Hermione pretty … when had that happened? Or had it always been there and he’d simply never thought it was important before? But if that was true, why was it important now? Or was it important at all? He liked her as a person and her physical traits shouldn’t matter.

Only now, theydida bit. And the reason for that was that they were going on this date, and Hermione wanted to change herself for it, maybe to look prettier still. Harry frowned at that, thinking that maybe Hermione didn’t think that she was pretty as a rule and had to make herself up to achieve it. He ought to have told her that there was no need, that she was pretty as she was.

But that thought made Harry slightly trembly. It shouldn’t have been an issue to tell Hermione that she was pretty, but the idea of doing it honestly terrified Harry a little, and he couldn’t understand why. Maybe it was because the knowledge was so new and raw to him that he didn’t know what to do with it, or maybe it was down to the reflexive instinct that it generated in his mind.

For now he was wondering what Hermione thought abouthislooks.

As a self-deprecator by nature, Harry was naturally inclined to think the worst, that Hermione wouldn’t find him attractive at all. And Harry was rattled by how badly he wanted her to. Where the hell had all this come from? At the start of this school year, Hermione Granger had been a slightly overbearing academic rival that Harry knew next to nothing about. That was it. And now he was losing sleep over whether or not she thought he had nice eyes.

The world might as well have flipped upside down.

So as Harry added the last few touches to his outfit at seven o’clock that night, he just hoped that he looked alright. His robes were nice, and he did like the aroma of his new aftershave, so he supposed he looked decent. He was already convinced that his new look wouldn’t be worthy of Hermione tonight, and he was genuinely a touch worried that he wouldn’t be able to handle it if she turned up looking breathtaking, which he was certain that she would.

Luna made him feel slightly better as he reached the Common Room though, crossing to him as soon as he emerged from the boys’ staircase. She was wearing a pretty, sequinned silver frock and had painted her radish earrings silver to match. Her hair was twisted into an elegant plait that went right the way down her back. All in all, she looked very nice.

“Ooh, you do look pretty, Harry,” Luna chimed as she assessed him. “Those robes are lovely.”

“Thanks,” Harry grinned. “Though I’m not sure ‘pretty’ was the look I was going for. You’ve pulled off pretty very well though.”

“Oh, thank you!” Luna beamed. “Do you like my dress? I made it myself.”

She did a twirl for Harry and ended with a dainty curtsey.

“It’s very nice. You’re very clever, you know.”

“Well, I’m not a Ravenclaw for nothing,” Luna grinned. “The sequins tookages, but I think it was worth it. I look a bit like a witch-sized glitter-ball, which I like.”

“You’ll definitely out-sparkle everyone, that’s for sure,” Harry nodded.

Lisa, Padma and Mandy came over just then. They seemed to be going from boy to boy to assess their outfits, and Harry was next.

“Wow, Harry, you look nice,” Mandy purred.

“Yeah, very dishy,” Padma nodded. “Those dress robes are really fancy.”

“Yeah, much better than Mike’s,” Lisa frowned, looking over at her date. She reached out and took the hem of Harry’s sleeve. “Ooh, feel this girls! That’s so soft.”

“Oh yes, very classy,” Mandy agreed, stroking Harry’s forearm. He glowered at her till she stopped. “Where did you get them?”

“I didn’t, my Godfather got them for me,” Harry explained, straightening his cuff from where Mandy had bent it. “Somewhere called Swifts of Commersh Alley. Never heard of it myself.”

Padma gasped aloud. “You got these fromTailor Swift’s?”

“Yeah. Is that … good?”

“It’s only the most exclusive fashion house in Magical London,” Padma breathed in awe. “These must have cost a fortune!”

“It certainly explains the quality,” Mandy nodded in vigorous agreement.

“Are you sure it isn’t too late for you to ditch this pen-pal date of yours and go with me?” Lisa chanced. “I’m sure Mike will understand.”

“Maybe, but neither me nor my date would,” Harry replied. “Sorry, but I’m sticking with my first choice.”

“Well, it was worth a try,” Lisa smirked. “So, Padma, are you nervous? You’ll finally be finding out who your pen-pal date is very shortly, too.”

“I am nervous, but excited too,” Padma confessed. “I just hope he’s cute!”

Mandy erupted in a fit of shrill giggles and then the trio moved away to assess the next poor wizard in their crosshairs. Once they were gone, something occurred to Harry and he turned to Luna again.

“Lu … how is it that you’re going tonight?” Harry asked. “You’re only a Third Year.”

Luna turned her big eyes back to Harry. “Oh yes, but my date is from the Fourth Year, so I’m able to go.”

“Oh, do you know who it is then?”

“Yes, we agreed to stop being anonymous when he asked me to be his date,” Luna confessed, somewhat timidly. “I thought it was only fair on him to know. I don’t need to tell you how people see me mostly, do I? You’re very sweet about it, but most people think I’m weird … or a loony. I thought it was for the best to tell my date who I was, in case he changed his mind once he did.”

Harry scowled at that. “He’d have been an idiot if he did, and not worth your time.”

“Thanks,” Luna smiled, shyly. “But it wasn’t just for him, it was for me as well. If I’d turned up at the date, met him, then he laughed at me, or ran off, or said something horrible when he knew who I was, I wouldn’t have liked that very much. It would have upset me quite a lot, I think, because I’ve gotten to quite like him through our letters.”

“I think the same can be said of all the pen-pals,” Harry agreed, his mood still see-sawing over how much Luna had to put up with. “That’s why Padma and so many others are going with theirs.”

“Including you and Hermione,” Luna grinned, speaking low so only Harry could hear. “Though it’s not secret between you two.”

“No, which is why I can happily turn anyone else down, safe in the knowledge that I’m going with the only person I want to be going with,” Harry nodded. “So, can I ask who your date is? Just in case I need to hex him if he decides to be mean to you.”

Luna turned her eyes down coyly. “His name is Rolf and he’s from Hufflepuff.”

“Rolf … Rolf,” Harry mused. “Do you mean Rolf Scamander?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Scamander … as in who wroteFantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?”

“Well, Rolf didn’t write it … he’s only fourteen,” Luna giggled. “But his great-grandfather was Newt Scamander, or was it his great- great-grandfather? I cant remember, but he did tell me once. But yes, it’s him.”

“Alright, so now I might have to hex the descendent of a textbook author,” Harry funned. “Hermione willnotbe pleased about that! It’d be like hexing the book itself.”

“I’m sure you wont need to hex anyone,” Luna replied. “Rolf is very nice.”

“But he’s also a year older,” Harry reminded her, seriously. “If he starts gettingover-friendlyjust give me a nod and I’ll burn his hands with my wand.”

Luna smiled shyly, then stepped in and hugged Harry around the middle. It was slightly awkward, but Harry let her do it anyway. Then she moved back, blushing deeply.

“So, it’s going to be quite the event when Hermione Granger’s secret is finally revealed,” Luna pointed out. “Do you want me to stay with you until she arrives?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Harry said, accepting the offer. “You can introduce me to Rolf … and I can put the frighteners on him for if he steps out of line!”

“Oh, Harry, don’t tease!” Luna begged. “You’re enough to frighten anyone.”

“Alright, I’ll be nice,” Harry smirked. “But I’ll need your help for that, as I’m not very good at being nice, and you always are. So you’ve got the walk to the Entrance Hall to educate me!”

“Then let’s go now … and take very small steps!” Luna giggled, before she and Harry crossed the Common Room and began the slow walk downstairs.

Across the castle in Gryffindor Tower, Fay Dunbar was just adding the final touches to Hermione’s look, as she sat pliantly in front of a vanity mirror. Hermione wasn’t entirely comfortable, as she never usually looked at herself for this long, and she was anxious over whether Harry would like her transformation. She hadn’t gone crazy with the make-up, but Fay had given her a volumising conditioner for her hair that had caused it to become very thick and bouncy.

“Stop fussing with it!” Fay snapped, as Hermione poked her dense tresses for the umpteenth time. “It looks lovely. I never realised how lustrous your hair is. You should keep it like this.”

“Do you really think so?” Hermione asked, hopefully. “Does it look okay?”

“It looks gorgeous, and that’s the truth,” Fay nodded in the reflection of the mirror. “I’m very jealous. Look how wiry my hair is. I’d give anything to have luscious locks like yours.”

Hermione smiled shyly. “Well … thanks. For all this, I mean. I owe you.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright … you’ll pay me back soon enough,” Fay smirked.

“I will?” Hermione quizzed in suspicion. “How so?”

“Well, I expect to be a much wealthier witch by the end of the night … when my bet on your date comes in,” Fay grinned. “And that’ll do fine as a payment. I know who it is, you know.”

“Is that right?” Hermione frowned. “Go on then, amaze me with your intuition.”

“I’m not saying, as I know how cross it makes you to keep denying it,” Fay replied. “But I’m not nearly as dopey as Lav and Parvati. That’s why I’ve gotten you a little something to complete your look.”

Then Fay came around to the front of her table and reached into a little drawer at the top. From this she produced a handsome and elegant hair clip, in the shape of a majestic eagle with it’s wings spread wide. Hermione blushed as she saw it, accepting that Fay had guessed right about her date, and merely stayed mute as the clip was carefully placed into her hair at the base of her head. Fay then fluffed Hermione’s tresses so that they fanned out over her shoulders and, as she looked at it, even Hermione had to admit that she looked rather glamorous like this.

“Thank you … you didn’t have to do that,” Hermione mumbled, bashfully. “It looks lovely, though, so thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Fay grinned. “You look really lovely. And I’ll tell you one thing, too … theBoy Who Livedwont know that he’s lived at all until he sees you like this!”

Hermione blushed deeply as she beamed into the mirror at Fay’s hand affectionately squeezing her shoulder.

“Do you really think so?” Hermione asked in a little voice, conceding the futility of denial.

“Definitely,” Fay whispered in triumph.

“Fay … don’t tell anyone, please?” Hermione begged. “They’ll all know soon enough, but I still want it to be a surprise.”

“I wont, I promise.”

“How long have you known?”

“Ages,” Fay confessed. “And I think you’re going to look unbearably cute together tonight. I cant wait to see the look on his face when you come down those stairs … and I hope this wont be the last time I see you together.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, sheepishly.

“Hermione, this last few weeks have been so much better for you,” Fay explained. “You’ve beenhappy… I see it in your face and the way you go about your days. It’s been great, actually. And if Harry Potter is the reason, then I hope you keep doing whatever it is that you’ve been doing together. He’s good for you, and I think you must be good for him, too. Keep it up, girl.”

“I’ll try,” Hermione grinned. “So … are we just about done here?”

“I think so,” Fay nodded, stepping back to assess Hermione as she stood up. She shook her head in wonder. “You do look very beautiful, I have to say.”

“Steady on, Fay,” Hermione teased. “I know you are going with a girl tonight and I don’t want to make her jealous!”

“Hark at you, all confident now!” Fay laughed. “Come on, let’s get you to your date, before you decide that he isn’t celebrity enough for the new you and change your mind about rejecting Viktor Krum!”

Hermione looked seriously at Fay moment. “No, Fay … that will never happen. I wouldn’t trade my date for any other boy in the country, including foreign visitors.”

“I know … and I hope you know just how lucky you are, for him to want to be there with you, too,” Fay smiled. “I’m really happy for you, Hermione, I truly am.”

Hermione blushed deeply at that, at the inference. She just beamed at Fay. “Thanks, and I do know all that and so much more. Come on, let’s get the surprise over with, shall we?”

Fay grinned and they linked arms as they made their way down into the Common Room. The scene that greeted them was pretty similar to the one that Harry was encountering at about the same time across in Ravenclaw Tower. There were couples all ready to go, others excitedly discussing meeting their dates later on. Hermione was quite cross that there were so many Gryffindor-only couples, but she shouldn’t have been surprised, considering how she knew that fewer Gryffindors than any other House had signed up to her Penpal Club.

It seemed that inter-house unity wasn’t a priority for the so-called ‘best House.’

But the big difference between Harry’s entrance and Hermione’s was that she drew more goggled-eyed attention than he did, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. There were more than a few appreciative gasps, as the other Gryffindors saw Hermione in her Ball gown, and she heard her name whispered behind hands again. But she was getting used to that now.

Fay noticed and tugged Hermione closer. “Let them gossip and stare,” she whispered, as she guided Hermione through the other students and across the room to one of the large windows. “The only eyes that matter are emerald green and somewhere in that tower over there. It’s only them seeing you that counts tonight.”

Fay pointed through the window at Ravenclaw Tower, part covered by a low mist now. Hermione felt her insiders flutter again as she grinned at Fay, wondering if Harry was ready yet and how nice he looked, for he was certain to look nice whatever he was wearing.

Lavender and Parvati skipped up to them at that point, eyes wide and astonished as they admired Hermione’s new look.

“My God, Hermione … you look so lovely!” Lavender squeaked.

“Yeah!” Parvati nodded warmly. “Where have you been hidingthisfigure all this time?”

Then Parvati gave her a playful pinch on the hip, causing Hermione to colour again.

“You’ve done such a good job with her, Fay,” Lavender complimented, moving Hermione’s shoulders to get a fuller look at her. “Her mystery man will go nuts when he sees this. So, are you going to tell us who it is yet?”

“Nope,” Hermione grinned. “You’ll all see soon enough.”

“Well, you look stunning,” Parvati beamed. “Your dress is almost as feminine as Ron Weasley’s!”

“What?” Hermione giggled, then she looked over at Ron and saw quite clearlywhat. She bit her lip as she looked at him. “Oh … dear lord! What is he wearing?”

“Best not to ask,” Lavender chortled lowly. “It’s a touchy subject.”

“Yeah, I think poor Demelza is having a change of heart about being his date,” Parvati added. “I think she’d rather give the whole thing a miss with him looking like that.”

“Oh, is that who he’s going with then?” Fay asked, looking over at Ron.

For now they were all staring at Ron, who was dressed in a musty set of hideous maroon dress robes that did, indeed, look more like a dress from the 1850’s. He looked so uncomfortable that even Hermione winced at the look on his face.

“Yeah, someone had to take one for the team,” Parvati explained cattily. “I felt sorry for him, so I did ask my sister, Padma, but she’s going with her Penpal Club friend. So in the end, Ginny had to step in and convince Demelza to go with her brother, as they are best friends. It was the only way she’d get to go tonight, but she looks like she’s regretting it now.”

Hermione had to agree that Demelza looked about as comfortable with her date as she did when she was playing against Harry as a Quidditch Seeker. She was looking on in horror as Ginny tried to burn off the frills on Ron’s sleeve collars with her wand, leaving ragged strands dangling everywhere. Ron looked up at Hermione then and his jaw fell open at the sight of her, but the act made Hermione deeply uncomfortable and she looked away quickly.

“So, is everyone meeting their dates in the Entrance Hall?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, that’s been made an unofficial hooking up spot,” Lavender grinned. “I have to say I’m as interested in finally knowing who Hermione is going with as I am to be having my own date.”

“Oh, so you believe he’s real now, then?” Hermione quirked.

“Seeing you all dolled up like this I think I have to!” Lavender hooted. “Come on … let’s go now before the suspense kills me!”

Down in the Entrance Hall, the clock ticked over to seven-thirty and Harry felt like his heart was hammering at seven hundred and thirty beats per minute, his chest tight with a sort of nervous energy. The anticipation was practically killing him. Luna was bobbing on her heels next to him, scarcely less excited for Hermione’s arrival than Harry was. Rolf Scamander, however, looked borderline terrified to be in the imperious presence of Harry Potter and the protective way he stood at Luna’s shoulder.

This was something that Harry found amused him, so he used it as a distraction from the butterflies misbehaving in his gut. “So, Rolf, what’s it like having such a famous relative?”

“It can be difficult,” Rolf confessed. “Some people tease me about it sometimes. But it cant be anything like it is for you, actuallybeingfamous and everything.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry shrugged. “I only killed one of the most dangerous Dark Lords of all time, not much really. That’s just the sort of thing I do for those I care for when people don’t treat them properly.”

Rolf swallowed hard at the serious look Harry was doing very well to keep on his face. Fighting not to laugh, Harry simply turned to Luna on his other side and gave her a sly wink, making her kick the side of his foot to remind him to behave himself.

“But no, being famous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Harry went on. Then he looked up at a commotion on the Main Staircase … and his eyes went very round at what he saw. “Though sometimes it … it does have its perks.”

Harry’s breath left him in a stunned rush, and his wasn’t the only one. For an astonished silence seemed to have come over the amassed students in the Entrance Hall, as this was the moment most of them were hanging around to witness. For a group of girls were slowly descending the steps, with the one in the middle flanked by her dorm mates the very obvious centre of attention.

They reached the bottom step … Hermione Granger had arrived for her Ball and every eye was watching to see where her date was.

Harry was gobsmacked by what he saw. It was all he could do to keep his jaw from falling off. Hermione looked unspeakably lovely, and it wasn’t just her hair - which looked as lustrous and gorgeous as Harry had imagined in all his dreams combined - but it was the way she was holding herself, too. She was more upright and elegant, or maybe it was just that she wasn’t bent in half carrying most of the library around with her for once. And her dress … it shimmered and sparkled and was so pretty that Harry couldn’t take his eyes off the girl inside it.

Hermione’s eyes, for their part, were scanning the assembled faces before her. She had inclined her head demurely as she descended the stairs, fully aware that everyone was watching in anticipation of the big reveal. She wore a shy little smile as she pretended to look around for her date, clocking Harry at once and letting her head spin at the expression on his face, then pretending not to have spotted him at all for half a minute or so.

Then they locked eyes and the fire in Harry’s gaze caused Hermione’s little smile to become a full face beam of pure joy. She turned to the other girls.

“Well, see you girls. Have a good time, wont you?”

Then Hermione ducked her head, tucked her smile into her neck and glided across the Hall, not glancing up until she reached Harry and looked hungrily into his stunned face. The eruption of fierce whispers that broke out around them was almost deafening.

“It’sPotter?!”

“Potter and Granger? How in the hell?”

“Did anyone bet on Potter? The odds must have been obscene!”

But Hermione ignored every single one of them. She had eyes and ears only for Harry.

“Hey you,” she hushed breathlessly. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was terrible.”

Harry tried to grin at that, but he seemed to have lost control of his faculties a moment. All he could do was blink and try to remember how to speak. Hermione found his struggles unbearably validating for her efforts.

“I … I’m supposed to say something now, aren’t I?” Harry managed to croak out eventually. “I remember that much, at least.”

Hermione giggled girlishly. “Yes, this is the part where you’re supposed to tell me what you think.”

Then Hermione gave a dainty little curtsey to show off her outfit. Harry could only goggle at her.

“You … you look beautiful tonight,” Harry stammered out. Next to them, Luna swooned and grabbed onto Rolf as they swayed on the spot.

Hermione’s face shone brighter than all the stars on the Ravenclaw Common Room carpet combined. “Why thank you. You look really nice, too.”

“Not nearly nice enough,” Harry mumbled, toeing the carpet guiltily. “Not to be walking into this party on your arm. Wow. I’m speechless. I mean, I’m usually speechless, but this time it’s because I can’t talk, not because I don’t want to.”

Hermione laughed prettily and stepped in close. “Hey, listen to me … I think you look really handsome. I was sure before tonight that I’d nabbed the best date, and now I’m even more certain. So come on … shall we make our grand entrance? There are still some people who aren’t gossiping about us yet!”

Harry grinned at that. “Well, we don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?”

Then, after a stuttered first attempt, Harry cautiously extended a crooked arm and waited hopefully. Hermione wasted far less time, swiftly slipping her left hand around Harry’s elbow and tucking in close to his side. Then she looked over at the Gryffindor girls, who were still gawking at her in stunned admiration, and gave them a little wave as they passed. Lavender Brown simply beamed at her and mouthed,“I knew it!” over the shoulder of her own date, while Fay rubbed her fingers together in anticipation of her cash windfall later.

So Harry and Hermione entered the Great Hall together for the first time. What they didn’t know was that the Triwizard Champions were about to arrive and open the Ball just as they got there, so all eyes were on the arched doorway as two of the most talked about people at Hogwarts just then came into view arm-in-arm.

And the impact of that was surely greater than any of the Champions could have generated.

The hushed, wildfire-like whispers from outside followed Harry and Hermione, as they made their way across the Hall in full view of the rest of the school. People craned their necks to get a good look at them, some undoubtedly trying to confirm rumours brought in by students who had seen them together in the Entrance Hall. Hermione smirked at Harry, rolling her eyes, as they both heard their names on the lips of their fellows all around them.

“Still glad you did this?” Harry muttered, as they passed a group of scowling Slytherins led by Draco Malfoy.

“More than ever,” Hermione told him resolutely, holding her head high and guiding Harry with dignified pride through the gossip and chatter. “Harry … we’re finally on our date! After all this waiting, it’s finally here!”

Harry turned to her with a goofy grin. “We are … and how are feeling about it?”

“Terribly excited, I must say,” Hermione confessed coyly. “But … what do we actuallydo, now?”

“I don’t know … I was sort of hoping you might know.”

Hermione guffawed at that. “Why do I have to know everything? Ravenclaw’s best student, eh? Not all it’s cracked up to be, I see.”

“Well Gryffindor’s brainiest witch doesn’t seem to know any better!” Harry teased. “I suppose we’ll just have to work it out as we go along.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Hermione nodded. “We should get some drinks and find a table before they’re all gone.”

“Yeah, not one near the front, though.”

“Oh, Merlin no!” Hermione agreed, vehemently. “I see one just in the middle there. We should be able to see the stage and the dancefloor well enough. Shall I sit down while you grab some Butterbeers?”

“Sounds good,” Harry nodded. “See, we’re making progress already. Wont be long.”

“Okay.”

So Hermione went one way, and Harry headed for a large table at the back of the Hall that was groaning with snacks and drinks of all kinds. He scooped up two bottles of Butterbeer and span the tops off just as Michael and Anthony hurried up to Harry’s side.

“Harry! Granger is your penpal then?” Anthony asked.

“Obviously,” Harry frowned.

“Well, don’t feel too bad, she at least looks pretty tonight,” Michael nodded, totally misreading Harry’s response. “Scrubs up quite well, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, so if you want to swap later -” Anthony started to say, but Harry cut him off sharply.

“Stop … before you finish that sentence with something that will make me hurt you,” Harry growled lowly.

“Whoa, steady on, Harry,” Anthony squeaked, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just saying …”

“Sayingwhat, exactly?”

“I’m just saying … it’s Granger, isn’t it?”

“And …” Harry demanded, his tone dangerous.

“Well … if she isn’t who you expected to meet tonight, she looks nice anyway. That’s all. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Harry stepped in so close he could see Anthony’s pupils vibrating. “I’ll have you know that I think I’m with the best-looking witch in the room. And more than that, Iknewwho I was meeting tonight. I’ve always known, and I know her far better than either of you. So if I hear one more insulting, uninformed slander against Hermione Granger, from either of you, I swear to God I wont be responsible for what happens to the idiot who says it. Understand? One warning, that’s all you’re going to get from me.”

“And that’s all they need, right boys?” Hermione asked. She had crept up behind Harry and swiped a bowl of peanuts from the snack table. Her eyes were glowing with warmth as Harry breathed heavily in his anger. “What? I haven’t eaten all day, just in case I didn’t fit into my dress.”

Harry smirked at that and his rage drifted away like a gentle spring mist. That was very odd.

“Well, you look very nice for your starvation, Hermione,” Michael offered, somewhat apologetically.

“Yes, I heard,” Hermione replied a little waspishly, catching Michael by surprise. Then she slipped her arm back around Harry’s elbow. “Come on, Harry, before someone swipes our table.”

And they moved off, leaving Michael and Anthony feeling very put in their place by this unexpected power couple.

“Sorry about that,” Harry mumbled. “They’re a pair of idiots, but they’re generally harmless.”

“Oh, I don’t care about them,” Hermione chimed brightly. “But … did you mean what you said … about me being the … the best-looking witch in here tonight?”

Harry blushed hard and looked at the floor. “You heard that?”

“Only if you meant it,” Hermione grinned. “If you didn’t, then I’ll just pretend I was hearing things.”

Harry looked up at Hermione, almost pleading for her to see his honesty, which she easily did, as it was written so clearly into the lines of his expression that it left her a little breathless when he finally replied in his littlest voice.

“Yeah … yeah I meant it. Every word.”

“Every word …” Hermione hushed in wonder, almost to herself. “I think I might need all of those, just to tell you how special I feel for you saying that. You do say the nicest things to me, but it’s so different to hear them in person.”

“Is it better than me writing them?” Harry smirked as they sat down.

“Oh yes, I definitely prefer it this way!” Hermione nodded keenly. “Oh, by the way, what do you think of my hair? Do you like it?”

Hermione fluffed her hands through her tresses to give Harry a better view. In fairness, he already looked transfixed by her and she honestly didn’t know what to do with Harry’s blatant admiration. She had not been expecting this at all, and was utterly thrilled by it.

“It looks amazing,” Harry replied. “Can … can I touch it?”

Hermione gasped at the request. “Um … okay.”

“If it’s weird, you can say no.”

“Well, it is a bit weird, but I did say we’d be weird together,” Hermione funned. “It’s just … no-one’s ever asked anything like that of me.”

“Oh … well I wont then,” Harry mumbled, sounding as if he’d been scolded for misbehaving.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Hermione squeaked quickly. “Oh, bother, Hermione! … here, let me.”

And then she reached over and gently took Harry’s hand, before raising it to the lustrous waves flowing over her left shoulder. Harry’s breathing tripped and stumbled as he brushed the back of his knuckles with cloud-softness against Hermione’s dark tresses. Over Harry’s shoulder, Hermione could see Lavender throw her hand up to her chest and Parvati looked like she wanted to cry, as they watched the display with fond affection. Hermione just smiled shyly at them.

“Wow, it’s so smooth and silky,” Harry hushed, then he snapped his hand back as if he’d been electrocuted.

Hermione blinked warmly at Harry's uncertainty. Being rattled was clearly a new thing for him and Hermione found it devastatingly cute. “Is that what you were expecting?”

“Yeah … just not to that degree. It’s really nice.”

“Thanks. Look at this hair clip Fay gave me,” Hermione said, turning her head to show Harry. “It’s an eagle, for Ravenclaw. Inter-house unity all the way for us tonight. I like the red and gold on your robes. It suits you.”

“Well, my mother and father were both Gryffindors, Sirius too,” Harry told her. “Maybe there’s a hidden streak in me somewhere.”

“You should ask for a transfer then!” Hermione teased.

“Not on your life,” Harry smirked. “You can always come to Ravenclaw though, if you like eagles so much.”

“What? And take your place as number one student? I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Ho ho,” Harry replied, narrowing his eyes playfully. “What score did you get on the mock Charms exam on Monday?”

“Ninety-four percent. You?”

“Ninety-six. Maybe next time, Miss Granger.”

“Ooh, you are so on, Harry, so on!” Hermione laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. That was a risk, but Harry hadn’t complained about any physical contact yet so Hermione was feeling daring. It was only then that she realised how closely they were sitting together, close enough to bump shoulders. That made Hermione feel warm and cosy, too.

“Oh, look … here come the Champions,” Harry pointed out. “Cedric and Cho first.”

“Merlin, she looks pleased with herself, doesn’t she?” Hermione frowned. “Like the cat that got the cream and the mouse!”

“She always looks like that,” Harry told her. “I actually cant stand her. She gets on my tit* most of the time.”

Hermione giggled at that. “Proud of yourbaby A’s,are you, Harry?”

“Very proud,” Harry nodded firmly. “Ah, so Fleur went with Roger Davies. He looks like he cant believe his luck! Look at that, Hermione, two Claws as partners for the Champions. Not a Gryffindor in sight.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione replied, haughtily. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Pretty much sums up you Claws, doesn’t it? When did you last win the House Cup?”

“When didyou?” Harry laughed.

“True, maybe we need to gang up on the Slytherins, share the win,” Hermione suggested.

“Oh, so you’ve finally come around the majority view on them, have you?” Harry teased. “I never did educate you on them, did I?”

“Educate me?” Hermione asked, turning to Harry in confusion.

“It was the first thing I promised, when we agreed to be pen-pals,” Harry reminded her, which made her smile at the memory. “And I never got around to it.”

“Well, you can tell me all about it in Hogsmeade next weekend,” Hermione suggested. “I’m really looking forward to my toffee apple.”

Harry just smiled back. It obviously meant that she hadn’t changed her mind about that and it put Harry in a very good mood. He’d only been here for ten minutes but he was afraid that being this close to Hermione in person might easily become an addiction, and he was glad at the prospect of getting a regular fix.

“Oh, there’s Krum,” Harry whispered as the final Champion entered the Hall. “Who did he convince to be a consolation prize for missing out on you in the end?”

Hermione grinned warmly at Harry a moment, then turned to examine Krum’s partner. “I think that’s Mildred Hubble, Slytherin girl from Sixth Year. Apparently, she’s the worst witch in that House …”

“She looks like she doesn’t quite believe she’s with a Champion either,” Harry observed. “She looks more starstruck than Roger.”

“Well, he is with Fleur, and she’s quite pretty, isn’t she?” Hermione said. “I saw you talking with her the other day … what do you think of her?”

“Snooty,” Harry scoffed. “Thinks she’s all that, but I didn’t see anything extraordinary in her.”

That made Hermione smile. “So … her Allure didn’t work on you?”

For some reason, Harry imagined allure with a capital ‘A’. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s part Veela, isn’t she?” Hermione explained. “I read about it in Rita Skeeter’s articles at the beginning of the tournament. She covered the Wand-Weighing Ceremony and Fleur said her wand contains a hair from her grandmother, so she is at least quarter-Veela. That means she can mesmerise people attracted to women, though it isn’t quite known how it works.”

“She didn’t mesmerise me,” Harry argued, conveniently forgetting his spell of part-hypnoses when he was sat next to Fleur that day.

“Good for you,” Hermione nodded.

“I wonder why not,” Harry mused. “I didn’t consciously do anything to resist her.”

“Strong emotional attachment to another person is the best defence against a Veela,” Hermione explained without looking at Harry. “You’d know that if you took Care of Magical Creatures.”

“Sounds more like something we should be taught in Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Harry huffed, which caused Hermione to giggle rhythmically.

Then Harry remembered something about that day, about how he’d come to his senses after looking over at Hermione. A strong emotional connection, she’d said … did that mean -

“Ooh, they’ve started dancing,” Hermione muttered. “Oh my, look at Krum … he dances worse than he walks.”

“Like a limp duck?” Harry offered.

Hermione laughed and clung onto Harry’s arm. “Oh, that’s cruel … but oh so accurate. I’ve never seen a limp duck, but I know exactly what you mean! And it’s just likethat!”

Harry felt shoots of electric energy fly up his arm from where Hermione was touching him. He swallowed hard as they reached up and tickled his throat.

“What shall we call that dance? Duck Lake? Phantom of the Duck?”

Hermione howled with laughter now, drawing some strange looks from nearby tables. Clearly, people were about as used to hearing Hermione laugh as they were Harry, and they weren’t sure how to respond to the sound.

“Oh, you have to stop, Harry!” Hermione breathed, reaching up to dab at her eyes. “I might burst a lung at this rate!”

“Well, a date isn’t a date without at least one ruptured internal organ,” Harry funned. “It’s like when older people get traffic cones while out drinking. It’s just one of those things that has to be done.”

“Shut up, Harry,” Hermione laughed, poking him in the ribs. “If I burst a lung, I’ll burst yours right back!”

“Sounds fair,” Harry smirked.

And so the night progressed, far too quickly for both Harry and Hermione’s liking. Minutes turned into hours in the blink of an eye, and the two of them spent the time almost oblivious to the events and gossip all around them, so absorbed were they in each other. They both agreed that their nerves had been a complete waste of time … this was easy, so natural that they couldn’t understand why they hadn’t always been like this in all that time in the library. It was something to regret, but they’d just have to put that right in the future.

So far, the date was going very well, far better than either could have imagined.

Then the music from The Weird Sisters began to change. The driving, energetic tunes were replaced by something altogether slower and more emotive. Hermione looked up at the dancefloor as the rhythms changed, swallowing hard as this pressing urge she’d been fighting most of the evening made it’s strongest surge through her yet.

Feeling brave as any Gryffindor ever had, Hermione slowly stood up, straightened out her dress and stretched out her hand.

“Dance with me, Harry.”

It was as much a command as a request. Harry gulped and looked at Hermione’s moon-bright skin shining in the soft light of the Hall. Nothing had ever been more tempting to him in his short life.

“Are you sure? I’m telling you I’ll be terrible,” Harry mumbled, looking up at Hermione.

She just smiled down at him. “No, you wont be. We’ll do it right together. So, will you dance with me? You did promise.”

“And I’m a wizard of my word,” Harry grinned goofily, slipping his hand into Hermione’s and letting her guide him to his feet.

Merlin, her skin was soft! He’d never imagined just how much. And cool, too, as though the complete antithesis to his own searing flesh. He wished he wasn’t so clammy, but he couldn’t help it. Every face watched them as they walked down the aisle to the dancefloor, one of the few couples who had braved the glare of the gossiping eyes to do so.

Luna and Rolf were one of the hardy bunch who had, and Luna grinned at Harry and Hermione as they met eyes. Then Harry and Hermione found a spot of dancefloor of their own and turned to face each other, both impossibly nervous. Hermione brushed a mass of hair behind her ear, and Harry ached at how cute the action looked.

“So, how do we start?” Harry asked.

“Well, first of all I’ll put my right hand around your left shoulder, like this,” Hermione stammered, as she sheepishly put her arm in place. “Then you put your left hand on my right hip.”

“Like this?” Harry gulped, following the instruction.

“Maybe alittlehigher, Harry …” Hermione muttered, trying to hold in a giggle as Harry had put his hand in averylow spot.

“Oh, sorry,” Harry squawked, lifting his hand quickly. Hermione let out the giggle she’d been fighting against.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t mind,” Hermione blushed crazily, causing Harry’s inside to churn in all sorts of new ways. “Now, we hold our other hands together and sort of … rock about a bit. There! That’s it.”

“Am I doing okay?” Harry asked, sounding certain that he was getting this all wrong.

“You’re doing great,” Hermione smiled, pulling Harry a little tighter. “See? This isn’t so hard, is it?”

“No, it’s pretty good,” Harry agreed. “But shouldn’t we be moving?”

“Okay, we’ll try shuffling around a little. We’ll go to my left, shall we?”

“Let’s try … and I’m sorry if I trod on your feet!”

So they began to move, their awkward dance getting easier and more relaxed by the second. Encouraged by them, more and more couples made their way to the dancefloor. They passed Parvati and Terry Boot, with the former giving Hermione a big smile and thumbs up, and then swapped partners with Luna and Rolf for a minute, until Sally-Anne Perks tried to cut in from Luna, and Hermione had to tug Harry back with a warning look at the Hufflepuff witch.

Then the song went from being slow to a blatant love song. Maria Edge, the voluptuous lead singer of The Weird Sisters crooned into her microphone.

“This is one for the lovers. So girls, grab your boys and pull them Closer.”

Which, evidently, was the name of the next song Maria sang. At that point, Hermione stopped Harry on their merry circuit of the dancefloor and held him in one spot … withheldbeing the operative word. For, without speaking, she changed their pose, threading both of Harry’s hands around her waist, so that they met at the base of her back, while at the same time snaking her own arms around Harry’s neck, inadvertently tickling the triangle of downy hair that she found there as her wrists crossed over each other.

The electric shock of this made Harry’s knees weak for a moment. But that was nothing compared to the effect of what Hermione did next. For she stepped in slowly and, with painfully shy movements, turned her head and pressed her cheek right into Harry’s chest, nestling her bushy crown into the crook of Harry’s neck and chin.

If Harry could have defined the perfect moment of his night, this would have been it. If he’d been handed a dictionary and looked up the term ‘contentment’ there might have been a picture of this very second along with the definition. Hermione must have felt the same, as - emboldened by her brazenness - she coaxed Harry closer with nervous, almost imperceptible movements. He went without resistance, feeling the very real weight of Hermione’s warm body pressed tight to his. It was firm in places, squashy in others, and Harry fought to control his senses as he enjoyed them all.

Hermione, for her part, had closed her eyes and was grinning wildly to herself. She could hardly believe where she was and had to open to eyes to make sure it was actually real. Harry was cuddling her on the dancefloor! That’s what this was. It wasn’t a dance, it was a cuddle, and an intimate as hell one at that ... in front of everyone … and Harry thought she was the prettiest witch in the room! It was so much better than a simple dance, and everything he’d promised in the note he’d written about it. Hermione simply clung on tighter and tried to imprint the feeling of this moment onto her very soul, hoping the song would never end.

Just then, Hermione glanced up and saw Lavender and Fay dancing close by. They’d both lost their partners it would seem. Lavender made a jokey movement about being sick, by sticking her fingers down her throat with a wink, but Fay simply mouthed, ‘You two look so cute!’as she pointed between Harry and Hermione, making the witch simply snuggle in closer, which Harry didn’t seem to mind at all.

Then the song came to an end. Hermione swore she heard Harry groan at that, but was sure she imagined it a minute later. But they moved apart in the silence, though they were very slow in doing so. For a few seconds they just looked at each other, fire dancing in both of their eyes, then the singer began to speak again.

“Right, enough of that mush for a while, let’s get some energy going!” Maria screeched out. “Let’s ignite it with a bit ofGasoline!”

And another, much higher tempo song started. Hermione sighed sadly and began to move away from the dancefloor, but Harry stayed where he was.

“Aren’t you coming?” Hermione asked.

“I … I thought we might stay for a bit,” Harry replied quietly.

“But this is a jumpy around being a possessed person song,” Hermione pointed out, cautiously. “People will be watching us.”

“I think people have already done that,” Harry quirked, gesturing at the eyes following their every movement. Hermione just grinned as he did. “So … shall we jump around and be silly together?”

“Yes, I’d like that!” Hermione laughed, rushing back to Harry’s side.

Lavender and Fay quickly joined them, as did Michael, Anthony, Lisa and Mandy. Anthony sidled up guiltily to Harry.

“Look, Harry, about earlier … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -”

“Forget it, you dickhe*d!” Harry grinned, budging Anthony with his shoulder. “Just don’t do it again, okay? Oh, and you have to look stupider than me for the next five minutes, then I’ll forgive you. Deal?”

“Deal. I can do that easily!” Anthony crowed, before proving his point by bouncing about like a person who’d forgotten to shake his medicine and was trying to churn it in his belly. Hermione laughed and leant in close to Harry, her hot breath on his ear stealing his mind a moment.

“Harry … don’t be like that, yeah?” she giggled. “There’s possessed, then there’s clinically insane!”

Harry chortled in response. “I think I can safely promise to never be like that! It was good of him to say sorry, though.”

“Not as good as it was for you to stand up for me in the first place,” Hermione told him, turning her eyes down coquettishly. “I wont forget what you said when you did … you made the night perfect as soon as you said those things about me.”

Then she looked back up and blinked prettily. Harry and Hermione locked eyes, blissfully unaware of all that was around them. But they were too overcome by a new emotion to move, and were only jerked back to life when their friends prompted them to join in the dancing, which they did, though both would later rue the moment that had almost happened between them.

Not long after that, the night began to wind down. Harry and Hermione didn’t leave each other’s sides, not even when Viktor Krum came up and disturbed them.

“May I have this dance, Miss Hermione?” he had asked.

“No, you may not,” Harry frowned as he came back from getting a drink. “May he, Hermione?”

“What he said!” Hermione giggled, as she allowed Harry to whisk her away from the leering Bulgarian, leaving him to sulk grumpily in a corner, his own date long discarded.

Then the final song played and those last stragglers who hadn’t left began to file away from the Hall. Hermione agreed to let Harry walk her back to Gryffindor Tower, with Lavender, Parvati and Fay a little way ahead and utterly silent to try and eavesdrop on their conversation. Though in truth, they didn’t speak much until they reached the Portrait of the Fat Lady. The other girls waited near the painting as Harry and Hermione lingered on the final stair of the spiral staircase of the Tower.

“They aren’t going to go in until I join them,” Hermione told Harry, inclining her head at her dorm mates.

“I know,” Harry grinned. “So I wont keep you long. I just want to know … did you have a good night?”

“No,” Hermione returned solemnly, grinning at the momentary crestfallen look on Harry’s face until she could stand it no longer. “I had thebestnight … the very best. It was better than I could have dreamed of.”

Harry sighed in obvious relief. “Good. Me too, I mean. It was great fun. I had a good time, so thank you for that. I’ll remember this for a long time.”

“Me too,” Hermione breathed. Her heart felt like it was beating in her throat.

“Right, well,” Harry breathed out. “I suppose I’d better say goodnight, then.”

“It is late,” Hermione agreed.

“Alright, well, thanks for an amazing night,” Harry nodded solemnly. “I really enjoyed myself.”

“So did I. It was a lot of fun.”

“Right … night then.”

Then Harry did something he’d never done before, and stepped in to place a chaste, but very lingering kiss to Hermione’s cheek. She closed her eyes and felt the kiss tingle all the way down to her toes. She was utterly unable to move from the pure exhilaration of the sensation.

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

“N-night, Harry,” she stammered out.

Harry took three steps down the staircase. Then he turned back.

“Oh, and Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“That dance tonight … best moment of my life … ever. Goodnight.”

And then Harry was gone. Lavender was clutching at her chest as the emotion overcame her, Parvati was teary-eyed again and only Fay had the energy to respond.

“Aren’t you going to go after him!” she cried. “Give him a proper smooch for saying something like that?”

Hermione smiled up at Fay. “No. That was pretty perfect for me as it was. Anything else and I might die!”

“Right, then,” Lavender announced in a shaky voice. “If you aren’t going to go after Potter and snog his brains out, youaregoing to come into our dorm and tell us everything we don’t already know! No excuses!”

Hermione grinned at her and finally gave in. “Alright. But we’ll need a few Butterbeers to cover that story!”

“I’ll sort that!” Parvati cried. “Girls! To the dorm for a midnight feast!”

Hermione laughed at that, allowing Fay to slip an arm around her waist and guide her into the Common Room, sad that a perfect night had ended, but her cheek still tingling from where Harry Potter’s soft lips had just pressed against it. She was sure she’d never wash the spot as long as she lived, not if it would wash away the euphoria of that feeling, a feeling she was almost terrified of giving a name to, but which she thought she could probably guess nonetheless.

She hoped the interrogation wouldn’t last long, as she had a lot of memories to enjoy before she bade goodbye to this, the best of nights.

Chapter 18: The Cairngorm Grange

Chapter Text

When the Gryffindor girls had all settled, wrapping themselves in thick dressing gowns and fluffy socks, Lavender Brown went around and handed them all cups of hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, as Parvati’s wily charms had failed to convince the boys to part with any of the Butterbeer bottles that they had liberated from the Yule Ball.

Fay Dunbar was sat next to Hermione on her bed, with the other girls set to face them on Fay’s bed next to it. Accepting her hot chocolate from Lavender, Fay frowned at her fellow witch’s open dressing gown.

“Lavender … have you not got any knickers on?” Fay quirked. “I can see your pubes through that cotton, you know?”

“So?” Lavender shrugged. “We’ve all got them. Besides, there should be no secrets between girls. And, after all that dancing tonight, my minge is sweaty and needs an airing.”

Parvati snorted out her hot chocolate as Lavender flopped down on Fay’s bed next to her.

“Lav!” Parvati cried, scandalised. “That isvile!”

“What? It does,” Lavender replied, shamelessly. “I’m not the skinniest witch, as you know. And just because I don’t have any knickers on doesn’t mean you can look, Fay!”

Fay smirked as Lavender winking teasingly at her. “I wouldn’t worry about that. My date didn’t exactly go well. Maybe dating witches is something best left to being older, when half the people around you don’t look at you as if you’ve sprouted a second head.”

“You didn’t get on then, you and your Beauxbatons girl?” Parvati asked.

“It wasn’t that, but I don’t think she liked people talking about us,” Fay sighed. “I suppose that sort of thing might happen a bit more at an all-girl school, but we were the only same-sex partners there. She went back to her friends half way through the night and never came back.”

“That’s her loss,” Hermione told her, loyally. “How did you get on with the Durmstrang boy, Lavender?”

“Not much better,” she replied, sadly. “He didn’t want to talk a lot ... he was more interested in getting a bit handsy with me. I didn’t mind so much, but he was a bit brutish about it. Then I got a paper-cut from him.”

“A paper-cut?” asked Fay. “How in the world did that happen?”

“Dimitar was carrying around a piece of card in his back pocket and I caught my knuckles on it,” Lavender explained. “Then I got a little stab from a pencil he had attached to the card. I made a joke about it, something like asking if he was going off to play golf after the Ball, then he got all huffy and stormed away. I didn’t see him again after that.”

Hermione bit the edge of her mug as Lavender told her story. She wondered if she ought to tell them that this sounded exactly like what had happened with Sally-Anne Perks and Viktor Krum, but as Harry hadn’t given her permission to divulge the information she just sipped her hot chocolate and stayed silent.

“What a clown,” Fay spat. “How about you, Pav? Did your date go any better?”

“It was alright,” Parvati replied. “Nothing special. Terry Boot was a bit dull, to be honest. Nice to look at, but not much of a conversationalist. But nevermind that, he’s not the Ravenclaw date we are here to talk about!”

“Yeah,” Lavender nodded, her eyes lighting up. “Come on, Sly Miss Cross over there … clear your throat and tell us all about you and a certain Boy-Who-Lived that you’ve been keeping all these secrets about!”

Parvati and Fay hooted out twin giggles at that, and Hermione buried her head in her mug to hide the deep flush that was spreading over her cheeks. Composing herself a second, she finally looked up at the others.

“I have been keeping lots of secrets about Harry, but some of them are very personal to him, and there is no way on Heaven or Earth that I’d tell youthose,” Hermione began. “So if you try and ask, I’ll just keep ignoring you.”

“Fair enough,” Parvati conceded. “But there must be some stuff that you can tell us.”

“Yeah, especially about how you came to be dates for this evening,” Lavender pressed on keenly. “That’s the juicy part we all want to know.”

“Well, it wasn’t allromantic or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Hermione replied. “It was just that Harry was approached by Viktor Krum, who told him that he was going to ask me to the Ball and wanted to know if Harry had a problem with it, because Krum often saw us studying together in the library. Harry basically had a bit of a row with him about it, told him to back off, then said that he was already going with me, which he wasn’t at the time. I heard the whole thing from behind a bookcase.”

“Aww,” Lavender cooed girlishly. “Excuse me, Hermione, but that isveryromantic. Potter coming to your defence like that.”

“Yeah, I’d love a fit boy like that to come riding to my rescue,” Parvati agreed, bitterly.

“Easy, Pav,” Fay teased. “Keep your comments about Potterneutral. We don’t know what other secrets Hermione hasn’t told us about them yet.”

“Oh, of course!” Lavender crowed gleefully. “Is he your boyfriend now?”

Hermione blinked crazily at the very idea. Had that been what they’d looked like tonight? Hermione shivered pleasantly with the enormity of what it could mean if they had. But she parked such ideas for the night. Her cheek was still tingling from where Harry had kissed it, and she was sure that she wouldn’t be able to handle the thought of him one day kissing her heart, too.

So she had to stay firmly within the bounds of reality. “No, Harry isn’t my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

“That wasn’t how it looked to us,” Fay smirked. “Nor the rest of the school. The way you two were holding each other when you slow-danced … it was ... wow, just wow. It was so intimate even the Slytherins were swooning. Well, maybe! But you know that’s all everyone will be talking about for weeks?”

“Really?” Hermione hushed weakly. “Oh, I hope not. Harry will be so annoyed by that. He hates being gossiped about.”

“I wouldn’t worry, I bet he knows it’s coming,” Fay soothed. “And you couldn’t hope to have anyone better suited to help you deal with all the nonsense.”

“It’s more than that too,” Lavender added. “He can’t have had too much of a problem with being talked about in relation to you … after all, hekissed you! And he did it right in front of your friends. Only a boy who’s totally gone on a girl wouldn’t care about something like that. Giving you a kiss was just that important to him.”

“Yeah,” Parvati nodded in agreement. “You should have gone after him and given him a proper kiss, on the mouth and everything. Most people would have, after that.”

Hermione dropped her jaw in horror. “Oh … is that what I should have done? Do you … do you think that Harry would have been expecting me to? Did I let him down by not doing that?”

“Maybe not expecting, but probably hoping,” Fay smirked. “I mean, we all heard him say how beautiful he thought you looked, and what boy wouldn’t want to be kissed by a girl they think is beautiful?”

Hermione was half-pacified by that. Perhaps it would have been the done thing to go after Harry, but maybe it wasn’t right forthem just then. It might have been a bit much. Even so, Harry had told Hermione she was beautiful … and that was more than enough to bring a warm smile to her face.

“Despite all that, though,” Lavender ploughed on. “You still haven’t said how this all came about in the first place. We’ve never seen you with Harry … you don’t stop and chat at meals, you don’t have any classes with him, nothing. So how did it come to be that he was fighting over you with Viktor Krum?”

That phrase only intensified the warmness in Hermione’s cheeks, spreading it down her neck and throughout her body. It was such a lovely sensation.

“Harry and I decided to become penpals,” Hermione confessed. “We were discussing the Hogwarts Penpal Club in the library a couple of months ago, and that conversation led to us agreeing to be penpals with each other. And then it, sort of, went from there.”

“Wait a minute, let me get this straight,” Lavender frowned. “You were discussing an anonymous penpal scheme, then agreed to start writing to each other, even though you both knew who you’d be writing to?”

“Yes, that’s pretty much it,” Hermione confirmed.

“And did you fancy each other before that, or …” Lavender teased.

“Fancy? What are you talking about?” Hermione protested defensively.

“You became pen-friends with a famous wizard, who barely speaks to anyone, then you exploded at the rest of our House when they were giving him a hard time,” Parvati took over. “And now you know things about him, I’m guessing, that literally no-one else knows, or is even ever likely to know. And he was happy for you to do that. As far as I see it, at least one of you fancies the other one, I’m just trying to work out which one it is, or if it’s both.”

“It’s both,” Fay nodded, solemnly. “I refer back to the slow-dance as evidence!”

“And the kiss, don’t forget the kiss,” Lavender added playfully. “What did that feel like, Hermione?”

“Soft … his lips were maddeningly soft, especially for a boy,” Hermione whispered, still trying to wrap her mind around the things that the girls were suggesting about her and Harry. It seemed too fantastical to be considered at all, but still … there it was. And there seemed to be some root to the concept. Hermione just wondered how deep that root went into herself. She needed to be alone to analyse it.

“So, when are you seeing him next?” Lavender ploughed on, relentlessly. “For there must be a next time, surely?”

“We’ve agreed to go to the Hogsmeade Christmas Market together,” Hermione replied, before adding a little dopily, “He’s going to buy me a toffee apple.”

“A toffee apple?” Fay giggled. “You two are so dorky, it’s adorable, really.”

“The Christmas Market is a whole week away, though,” Parvati funned. “How will you stand to be away from him till then?”

It was a valid question, one that caused a dull ache to be born in Hermione’s chest. The subdued but pressing, half-happy, half-painful sensation - which had been slaked by being near to Harry for the Yule Ball - had returned from it’s slumber and taken residence above her heart again. Hermione didn’t know how to explain it, or what she might do to make it go away. The only antidote seemed to be Harry ... and he was too far away to ask for a soothing massage.

But the idea of Harry massaging Hermione’s chest made her tremble, in a very grown-up-girl sort of way, which just wasn’t appropriate at all.

“We have end of term exams next week, that’s all I’ll be thinking about,” Hermione replied, knowing how the lie was a pathetic one, even in her own mind. Exams dominating her thoughts instead of Harry! What a nonsense notion! She swatted it aside like an annoying fly. “After that, I’ll have a nice day out with him before we go home for Christmas.”

“Well, if you aren’t kissing him properly by the time we board the Express, I think we’ll all be very disappointed in you, Hermione,” Fay quirked. “And that reminds me … I have to go and see the Weasley twins before I go to bed. They owe me a lotof Galleons for winning the Betting Pool, you know!”

Over the weekend the Great Hall was out of use for normal activities, as the space was put back to rights after the Yule Ball. The house-elves could be seen merrily sweeping up piles of confetti and streamers and broken Butterbeer bottles, removing the little round tables to the storage chamber via the door in the far corner, and scrambling over scaffolds to take down the stage erected for The Weird Sisters.Occasionally, one of the elves would push one of his fellows from the scaffold, and belly laugh as he bounced away like an ugly, mis-shapen rubber ball, only for the victim to run back with raucous laughter, hell-bent on exacting a suitable revenge.

Hermione watched all this on Sunday morning, after she had been out for her usual walk through the gardens, that Hagrid tended so diligently even in the Winter. She had been careful to avoid the glare of the castle for all of Saturday, vainly hoping that the gossiping tongues might stop wagging if she hid away for a few days. But she liked to start her day with a brisk stroll, so snuck out while everyone was eating breakfast in their Common Rooms, confident that she wouldn’t meet anyone on the way.

Though she was glad to be proven wrong when she actuallydidrun into someone on her way back to Gryffindor Tower.

For Harry was on his way back up from the shadowy corridor that led towards the kitchens when Hermione spotted him. Heart fluttering wildly at the sight of him, and with all the events of the Yule Ball, as well as the deconstruction of it with her dorm mates and in her own daft mind still fresh in her head, Hermione was rendered a bit inert as Harry approached her.

And if his reaction on seeing her was any indicator, he hadn’t been dwelling on other subject for the last thirty-six hours either.

“Hermione?” he cried in surprise, as though amazed that any human was alive and in front of him, let alone her. Then he simply came to an abrupt halt, a good few feet away from her. There was something about the fire that ignited in his eyes as they fell on her that caused Hermione’s throat to constrict. She could barely get the words out when she finally replied.

“M-morning, Harry,” she muttered. “I didn’t expect to see anyone up this early.”

“I’ve just gone to get Luna some breakfast,” Harry explained, holding up the items he was carrying. “She’s only been eating things that begin with the letter ‘B’ this week … don’t ask, she does quirky things like this from time to time … but everyone ate all the bread before she could get to it. So I’ve gotten her a bacon bagel and a blueberry muffin from the kitchens, because she was quite upset. Plus, I don’t want her to go hungry, obviously.”

“Ahh, the three ‘B’s,” Hermione grinned. “Good choices.”

“I don’t know about the three ‘B’s, but I’m fairly certain she has OCD if no another letters!”

“Don’t we all,” Hermione quirked. “You’re very good to her, you know?”

“Someone needs to be,” Harry mumbled back, scuffing his shoe shyly. He still didn’t know how to accept compliments properly, especially from Hermione. Looking for a change of subject, he finally remembered how his feet worked and walked along the corridor to her, resisting the urge to stand too close, no matter how overpowering it was. “What are you doing?”

“Just watching the elves,” Hermione frowned. “It’s so wrong how they are slave-driven like this. Someone ought to do something about it. I heard they don’t even get paid.”

“That does sound wrong,” Harry scowled in agreement. “But I cant say I know enough about how the situation works. I’d hate to think that it wasslavery, like you said. But there could be another explanation.”

“Such as?”

“The school provides them a safe haven, so that the unscrupulous magical families don’t take them and exploit them?” Harry suggested. “And in return, they cater for the students and staff and do maintenance and stuff. It might be a mutually beneficial set up, and nothing sinister.”

Hermione rolled her lips thoughtfully. Harry’s eyes were drawn to the momentary flash of moist pink as she did this, and his own mouth dried as a blast of shocked air swept through it. Harry shook off the sensation as Hermione began to speak.

“I suppose you could be right,” she mused. “I can’t imagine that Dumbledore would permit them to be so exploited.”

“I’d hope not, but then again, Dumbledore might be a master manipulator of humans and creatures alike!” Harry teased. “He certainly seems the type.”

“How does he?” Hermione laughed. “He’s genial and eccentric, not malicious like that.”

“Maybe it’s all a cover,” Harry replied, wrinkling his nose playfully. “You’d never suspect him, would you? I bet he has a harem of Veela trapped in a cage in his office, that he lets out every night after the students are in bed to have their wicked way with him!”

Hermione hooted out a giggle. “Ooh, can you imagine?”

“I’m actually trying not to,” Harry retorted, seriously. “It’s enough to make you see your breakfast again … and I haven’t even eaten!”

Hermione chuckled again, then frowned in genuine seriousness. “If you haven’t eaten, you should. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so I wont keep you.”

“Is that an order?” Harry grinned, cheekily.

“Yes it is,” Hermione replied stoutly, her eyes flecked with light. “Now go on with you, before Luna’s bagel gets cold.”

“Yes, miss! Merlin, you are so bossy.”

“This is what you signed up for, no turning back now,” Hermione returned, piously.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry grinned. “Alright, I’m going. Do you want to come upstairs with me?”

“Excuse me!” Hermione squeaked out in surprise. Harry just smirked at her.

“I meant, if you’re going back to Gryffindor Tower, shall we walk together to the Fifth Floor, where I can go off to the better tower, you know …myone.”

“Ho ho ho,” Hermione drawled, rolling her eyes amusedly at Harry’s gentle ribbing.

“You’re a bit too early to start being Santa Claus … you’ll only have to wait a couple of weeks, though,” Harry teased as they started walking.

Then for the first couple of floors, they said nothing at all. Harry took up the mantle to break the silence. He cleared his throat and looked over cautiously.

“I had a really good time the other night. Did you?”

Hermione smiled brightly, but was too shy to look Harry in the face as the memories bloomed again in her mind. “You know I did. I told you so.”

“But you might have changed your mind in the meantime,” Harry quirked.

“Hardly! I’m not that fickle!”

“Well, that’s good. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did,” Hermione beamed, finally looking at him. “I very much did.”

“Good. At least I wasn’t an awful date for you,” Harry muttered, bashfully.

“You were not awful … you were the best. Better than I even hoped for,” Hermione replied with a searing blush. “You did all the right things … you certainly saidall the right things. Aboutthem… do you still mean them, here, in the cold light of day?”

Hermione hitched what she foolishly believed was a neutral look onto her face, but her rapid blinking gave away her sense of inner hope.

Harry just smiled warmly at her. “Of course I do. I’m not that fickle.”

Then they both smiled to themselves and looked straight ahead, tongue-tied by the raging emotion passing between them. Looking into the face of the other was simply impossible in such a state.

So they soon found that they reached the Fifth Floor without saying anything else at all. Hermione cursed the magical staircases … she was sure that there were more steps than this usually, and swore bloody revenge against those stairs that had gone walkabout and thus curtailed her time with Harry. She could feel that imperative pressing sensation putting pressure on her chest again as the time came for them to part.

Breathing sadly, Hermione turned to Harry. “So, this is you. I hope Luna likes her bagel and her muffin.”

“I’m sure she will,” Harry quipped. “She’s the sort of girl that will be so shocked that I’ve done something nice for her, that she’d eat a buffalo and a Bludger if I’d brought them back for her breakfast of ‘B’s’!”

“That was certainly a lot of B’s,” Hermione laughed. She wanted to step in, get closer before they said goodbye. But she was bothersomely frozen in place, which annoyed her.

Then Harry rolled his jaw nervously. “So, you know what day it is today?”

“Yes, it’s Sunday,” Hermione replied in a puzzled tone. Then she clicked as to what Harry was getting at. “Oh,right … our Note Night. What about it?”

“Well, shall we not do it this week?” Harry suggested, quietly.

“Why not?” Hermione asked, slightly anxious as to where Harry was going with this. “Don’t you want to?”

“Of course I do,” Harry soothed, taking a brave mini-step closer, causing Hermione’s heart to smash into her ribcage unexpectedly. “But I sort of want to try and be apart for a week … just so I’ll have loads to talk to you about when you take me to Hogsmeade next week.”

Harry's wry grin made Hermione melt a little again. She was running out of organs to disintegrate at this point. But her legs still worked, so she stepped a foot closer to Harry.

“But I don’t know if I want to do that,” she whispered softly. “I don’t know if I could stand it, being all alone in my Tower and not talking to you for a whole week. I might go mental.”

“You managed well enough before,” Harry pointed out with a smirk.

“Yes, well … that wasbefore,” Hermione muttered. “Back when I was a smeghead.”

“You were never a smeghead,” Harry laughed. “Or you hid it well, if you were. I don’t really want to do this either, but I don’t want to look stupid by running out of things to say in Hogsmeade. I barely managed to have enough to say at the Yule Ball.”

“But, like I said, the things you did say were the most important ones,” Hermione replied shyly. “Alright, fine. We’ll do this. But I warn you, if I’m very cross on Saturday, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

“That’s fair,” Harry smirked. “Right … I’m going to go. Good luck with the exams this week, not that you’ll need it.”

“You too. I hope you’re ready to drop into second place behind me, for I’ve been studying very hard!”

“Game on, Miss Granger!” Harry hooted out. “Do you have enough quill nibs for the exams?”

Hermione slapped herself hard on the forehead. “Oh, bother! I meant to order some last week and I forgot. That was probably your fault, you know. Do you …”

“Yes, I have spares, as always,” Harry laughed as he cut in, shaking his head in wonder. “I’ll send you a pack over with Hedwig later on. She always visits me at night before she heads to the owlery.”

“Ok, thank you,” Hermione blushed. “But don’t put any silly hexes on them, or anything. If I end up writing my name as Roonil Wazlib or something I’ll be very cross with you, Harry!”

“I wouldn’t want that!” Harry chortled. Then his laugh died abruptly, as that wriggly, lively thing in his gut responded to the way that itreallyliked Hermione saying his name. It caused an icy shiver to burst over every inch of his tickly skin. “R-right, well … better go … bagels to deliver … and stuff.”

“Yes, I don’t want Luna to think badly of me.”

“Oh she wont, she really likes you,” Harry replied. “She’s got good taste, that one.”

Hermione smiled sweetly at the compliment. “Then you’d better get her breakfast to her. Okay, so, I’ll see you Saturday, I suppose. I already don’t like this, Harry.”

“Me, neither. But you’ll be glad of it on the weekend. Trust me.”

“What time shall we meet? Nine?” Hermione suggested.

“We have to have breakfast first,” Harry reminded her. “How about Ten?”

“Nine-thirty?”

“Deal,” Harry smirked. “We have to save room for a toffee apple, after all.”

“Or maybe even oneeach,” Hermione teased. “Okay, nine-thirty in the Entrance Hall. And you’d better have alotto talk to me about after a week of radio silence!”

The next week was harder than either Harry or Hermione expected, and this had absolutely zero to do with their exams. It started for Hermione on Sunday night as she was revising Arithmancy. She looked at her revision timetable and suddenly remembered that Harry had never told her how he colour coded his own timetables and homework planners. She was halfway to writing him a note to ask about it, when she realised their agreement meant she couldn’t send him anything, and her brain rebelled a bit against their accord.

This was Sunday … it was Note Night, and Hermione was boiling with frustration at not being able to write to Harry … ooh, that boy had a lot to answer for. All thesefeelingswere rattling her and putting her life in turmoil.

“That’s it. I’m never writing to him again!” Hermione cried in bitterness of spirit, throwing her half-scribbled note into the fireplace, which cracked and sparkled as the flames swallowed it.

“Something wrong?” Fay quirked from the next bed. “Has Harry done something to upset you?”

Hermione snapped her head to Fay, seething with unreasonable anger.

“He wont let me ask him what colour he uses to code Arithmancy!” Hermione shrieked in a shrill tone. “Can youbelievethat?”

“Capital offence,” Fay grinned, trying to stay loyal but highly amused by Hermione’s agitated state.

“Exactly. I’m glad you agree,” Hermione fumed, missing the sarcasm completely. “I don’t know why I put up with his antics, I really don’t.”

It wasn’t any easier for Harry, though. Tuesday night came around and his body moved on autopilot to the desk in his dorm. He had taken out a fresh quill and some parchment before he remembered that he wasn’t going to write to Hermione this week. He was so despondent by the realisation that he abandoned his plans for revision, choosing instead to sit cross-legged on his desk to stare over at Gryffindor Tower through the window, and wonder if Hermione was feeling as miserable about this as he was.

Eventually, after what felt like a month to them both, Saturday morning arrived. They ate the quickest breakfast they could get away with, before passing each other with excited grins as they left the Hall to get ready to go out. Within ten minutes Harry was back waiting in the Entrance Hall. Hermione trotted down the stairs five minutes later, Fay and Lavender flanking her like sentries.

“Bye girls,” Hermione twittered, abandoning her guard detail as soon as Harry was in sight, waving to them as they chuckled at her exuberance to get away from them.

“Shall we?” Harry grinned, motioning out of the main doors.

“Yes, let’s,” Hermione nodded. “I want to get to this telling off I owe you as quickly as possible!”

“Telling off? What for?”

“This wholenot writing palaver!” Hermione cried. “I’ve been going nuts with only textbooks to read. I am not going back to that life, Harry. So you have a lot of making up to me to do today!”

Harry smirked at her, then noticed Hermione’s teeth were chattering slightly and her breath was rising as steam in front of her face.

“Are you cold?” Harry asked in concern.

“Well, it is a bit nippy,” Hermione pointed out. "Middle of December in Scotland and all."

“Why aren’t you wearing your scarf?”

“I couldn’t find it, and in my rush to get back downstairs I wasn’t in the mood to look very hard.”

“Well that was silly,” Harry clucked. “Here, have mine.”

Hermione blinked up at the offer. “No, I really cant. You keep it on.”

“I can handle the cold, don’t worry,” Harry reassured her, undoing the artful knot in his scarf and moving to place it around Hermione.

But she stepped back in playful alarm. “No, it’s not that. I cant wear it because it’s your Ravenclaw scarf. I can’t go around wearing that! What will the other Gryffindors think if they see me in this get-up?”

“They’ll think you’ve finally transferred to the House where you always wanted to be,” Harry teased. “You’ve got your blue dress and your eagle hair clip … you take my scarf for your Ravenclaw collection. I know you like it.”

“Well, it does have its attraction … you know, it looks warm and everything,” Hermione blushed prettily, as she quickly fumbled over her words. She gave in to offset any niggly awkwardness. “Oh, alright then. Thank you.”

So Harry closed the gap between them and snaked the scarf around Hermione’s neck, gently lifting her hair to tuck it tight to her skin, but leaving her to tie the knot underneath her heavy coat. Hermione closed her eyes briefly and drew in the scent … it was unmistakably Harry, and Hermione had the feeling that the scarf would live under her pillow from now on, just in case she needed a fix, if only she could persuade Harry to part with it.

“Better?” Harry asked.

“Loads, thanks,” Hermione replied, tugging the scarf ever more snug to her neck. “I’m sure these scarves are better than the Gryffindor ones.”

“Better House, see?” Harry quipped. “Better students, better scarves, better everything. We’re just better!”

“If you say so! All I’m interested in is that you’d bettermake up for not speaking to me for the last week. So go!”

And Harry tried, determined to not run out of things to say for the fifteen minutes it would take to reach the village, where they would have other topics to take their attention. The week of exams provided the richest seam to mine, allowing them to discuss which tests and questions had been the trickiest, comparing answers then funning with each other over which of them had done better.

Then they reached Hogsmeade Village Square, Harry still buoyed by the fact that there hadn’t been any awkward silences between them yet. Luckily, they were some of the first from Hogwarts to reach the village, so only a handful of other students were there to stare and point at them as they passed, no doubt preparing to embellish the stories of about Hermione came to be wearing Harry’s scarf into something far more lurid than the truth.

But that was something to worry about later. Ignoring Honeydukes entirely (my parents would have a joint heart attack if they saw me surrounded by so much sugar, Harry!), Hermione guided them instead into Scrivenshaft’s quill and stationary shop, where she began thumbing through the pages of A New Theory of Numerology, which she picked up from their modest book display.

At the same time, Harry made an over-dramatic fuss of an order form on the counter. He was playfully trying to persuade the shopkeeper that it was perfectly legitimate to subscribe to quill nibs rather than magazines, refuting the suggestion that no-one could possibly need that many new nibs every month, until Hermione came over and marched him out of the shop, with light-hearted admonishments ringing in his ears.

Next they went up to the Shrieking Shack, sitting on the rickety old fence that surrounded it and looking at the boarded up windows and rattling roof rafters.

“What was it like, when Sirius told you who he was in there?” Hermione asked cautiously. This was crossing the line of intimacy and she knew it … or had they already crossed it long ago and she simply hadn’t noticed?

Harry didn’t seem to mind either way, taking a lungful of air to steady himself before speaking in a calm and clear voice. “I didn’t believe him at first. All I knew was that he’d been trying to kill me and I was anxious for the confrontation. I’d overheard Minister Fudge talking about it with a few of the teachers, see, on the only time I’ve visited the Three Broomsticks. They were talking about Sirius, about the misconception that he was involved in my Mum and Dad’s murder. I heard it all and went mad wanting revenge. It was all I could think about. So if I was ever horrendous to you last year, that was the reason why, and I’m sorry if I was.”

“I don’t remember you being like that, so you can stop worrying. So, you went after him when he came here?” Hermione coaxed in a gentle voice.

Harry nodded and looked down ruefully. “I know it was stupid, but my head was filled with such anger … I was as mindless as Sirius was thought to be. But then I heard everyone talking about how Ron Weasley’s rat had vanished, after Sirius managed to get into Gryffindor Tower that one night, and it triggered a memory.

“I was in my secret copse one evening with Hedwig and she suddenly went crazy, sniping out of the trees and going after something. I followed, and saw that she was hunting a rat in the long grasses, but it managed to get away from her and disappeared. She was very cross, as you can imagine. She’s such a diva and doesn’t like missing a target, but she’s also a superb hunter. Shenevermisses. So I knew something wasn’t right … there was something up with that rat.

“I was out visiting Hagrid when I first saw Sirius in his dog form. I’d helped him put a case together that managed to spare one of his hippogriffs from being slaughtered. It was supposed to have injured Malfoy or something, but Hagrid insisted he was putting it on, and I believed him.”

“You helped save the hippogriff,” Hermione hushed in a reverent tone, as she remembered the event. “I was in the class when it happened, and Malfoy definitely milked it, but I didn’t know that you’d helped to save the creature’s life. How did you do it?”

“Malfoy went to his connections, so I tapped up mine,” Harry confessed. “I shared a compartment on the train at the beginning of last year with Susan Bones, and her aunt is a big shot in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I asked Sue to arrange a meeting for me with her aunt … don’t hate me, but sometimes I have to use my fame for some things that would be impossible without it … and I told her what was going on. She intervened and Buckbeak was saved.”

“Buckbeak? I remember the name now,” Hermione nodded. Harry couldn’t look directly at her, for her warm expression was making him very hot all of a sudden, and it was freezing in Hogsmeade today. It was all very peculiar. “That’s … that’s incredible, Harry.”

Harry shrugged, pocketing the compliment to try and deal with it properly later. “I just did what I could.”

“And that was such a noble thing,” Hermione whispered venerably. “Maybe there’s a bit of Gryffindor in you after all!”

“Let’s not go too far!” Harry guffawed. “I find that remark ... insulting! Anyway, I was leaving Hagrid’s when Hedwig swooped overhead, barking angrily. I don’t know why, but I thought she was calling for me to follow. So I did.”

“You and your instincts again?” Hermione quirked, kicking her heels against the fence as Harry told his story. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to properly tell him how much she loved to hear him talking. She wanted to do everything she could to encourage him to carry on all day.

“Something like that,” Harry grinned. “Hedwig was chasing a rat again, and I wondered if it was the same one. So I went after them. Then the oddest thing happened … a giant dog bounded out of the bushes and took up the chase on the ground. Hedwig circled and tried to direct the dog … and she led him right to the Whomping Willow before turning away. Her pretty feathers wanted no part of those angry branches!”

“I can bet!” Hermione chuckled. “But how did the dog and rat get from the Willow to here? The branches go nuts if anything gets within three feet of them. Just ask Ron and his brothers, from that time that they flew their Dad’s enchanted car to school just to make a big entrance.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” Harry replied. “That’ll be legendary, that one. Dumb, but legendary. But as far as the other part goes, there’s a secret passage that leads from the Willow to the Shrieking Shack. It was put here during Professor Lupin’s time as a student ... as a place for him to go when he changed. You must have worked out that he was a werewolf?”

“I did,” Hermione nodded. “But not till Professor Snape took over his class one lesson and set us an essay on how to spot werewolves. It was easy after that.”

“He set you that essay too, did he?” Harry frowned. “What a scumbag. He only did it to expose him. Remus Lupin is a good friend of Sirius, as he was of my Dad, so Snape naturally hates him, too. It was cruel, unfettered malice from Snape, pure and simple. He dressed it up as Lupin being a danger to people, but it’s just good old fashioned hatred masquerading under a banner of stoking social prejudice.”

“Yes, well, let’s not dwell on him,” Hermione frowned. “How did Sirius get past the branches of the Willow?”

“This is where it gets weird,” Harry mumbled, looking purposefully away. “There was a cat that was helping him. He put his paw on a knot in the root and the branches stopped thrashing about. The cat even kept his paw there till I’d gone through, before following me down the tunnel.”

“A cat? That’s amazing,” Hermione breathed in awe. “That must have been one intuitive kitty.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Harry glanced up at Hermione then, and his expression caused her to co*ck her head at him in borderline alarm. That look couldn’t mean what she thought it did, could it?

“What did the cat look like?” Hermione asked in a little voice.

“Bushy orange fur, bandy legs,” Harry replied carefully, as Hermione’s eyes widened. “Yes, Hermione, it was your Crookshanks.”

Hermione gasped deeply. “Crookshanks helped you to unmask Peter Pettigrew and save your Godfather?” Harry nodded to confirm the tale. “But how … and why didn’t you say so before now?”

“I didn’t know when it happened,” Harry explained, his voice lined with a pleading tone that softened Hermione at once. “And I only realised who he was when I came to using him to send you one of our early letters. After that, I knew it would be awkward to tell you about his role without telling you the whole story, which I wasn’t ready to at the time. But I think that's why Hedwig was willing to come to you when you sent your first letter to me ... she and Crookshanks must have bonded over helping Sirius, so she trusted you, too.”

“How unfortunate that you have a perfectly reasonable excuse, and that I’m perfectly reasonable to accept it,” Hermione quirked. “That might have been our first row, Harry!”

“I prefer us without rows,” Harry frowned back.

“I know … so do I, that was just a joke, Harry. Sorry … please go on.”

“It’s alright … I just don’t like rows,” Harry muttered. “Most of the ones I’ve had didn’t end well for me, that’s all.”

Hermione felt her heart stutter at Harry’s admission. He was referring to his home life before Sirius, she knew he was, but she couldn’t let on that she knew more than he’d told her. It was such a delicate subject and she had to tread very carefully around it.

“Then let’s not row,” Hermione suggested in her brightest possible voice. “Just tell me how the story with Sirius ends, and what my cat had to do with it!”

“He actually stopped me killing Sirius,” Harry confessed. “Bit my ankle when I tried to curse him, then Remus Lupin turned up and stood in front of the dog I was trying to kill. Remus has never has told me how he knew that I was there, but Sirius has hinted that he does, and that I’ll find out one day if I’m a ‘good boy’. It’s probably some mischievous spell or another, knowing him.

“But anyway, Lupin arrived, stopped me killing the dog, which then became Sirius, then they turned the rat into Pettigrew. They had all become Animagi at school, which they told me as part of the explanation. You probably know the rest.”

Hermione nodded. “Sirius and Lupin handed over Pettigrew to Dumbledore, who had him arrested and helped clear Sirius’ name. And Crookshanks was involved all this time and never told me!”

“Did you expect him to tell you?” Harry quirked. “Do you speak cat?”

“Oh, well, no … I see what you mean,” Hermione blushed. “But still … I had no idea that he was involved in your story till you just told me.”

“I had no idea he was your cat, I swear,” Harry promised. “Then I asked Hedwig to find out which catwasyours, then to lead me to him if he was out hunting one night or something, so I could use him to get a letter to you. As soon as I saw him, I knew. Sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“It’s alright, you have perfectly good reasons,” Hermione soothed. “Crookshanks has a lot of explaining to do, though! Come on, take me to see this Grange you were so excited about. It’s been a day of wonders and I’m quite keen for another one!”

So off they went. Right at the edge of the village, a path sloped down and away from the houses, to a pretty little spot amongst a ring of trees. There, standing majestically on rising ground, was a mightily impressive stone structure. Made from dozens of bluestone monoliths, which seemed to glow with their own light and gave off a low hum of energy, there were three concentric rings of standing stones topped with many heavy lintels of thick rock, all smoothly carved and fitted together so tightly that not even a single human hair could have been slid between the joins. It was one heck of a sight to see.

Hermione was delighted by it, feeling the buzz of energy radiate through her bones as they got closer. “Wow, Harry! This is amazing! It’s so beautiful.”

“I’m glad you agree,” Harry beamed, stepping closer as Hermione’s eyes shone with the light of the monoliths. “Just wait till you see the centre of it. Come on, while the sun is high.”

So Harry led them inside. Hermione wanted to be playful, hiding behind some of the stones as she raced ahead on the arcing path, only to jump out and scare Harry as he caught up with her. Eventually, they reached the middle of the complex. There was a peacefully silent, subdued spot at the very heart of the stone rings, where a low mist hovered at about ankle level. Pressed into a single standing stone at the centre of the space, a panel of different jewels and gemstones had been set into the rock. They were dull at the moment, but the sun was just rising higher behind where Harry and Hermione were stood.

“This is called the Temple of the Moon,” Harry whispered, as if afraid to disturb the silence. “I’ve never seen it by the moonlight, but it’s very impressive by the sun. Wait for it … wait for it … there!”

Harry breathed out in reverence as the sunlight peeked over the rim of the lintel behind them and fell right onto the panel of gems. Each one shone in a brilliant display of dazzling colours, looking for all the world … as Harry had said … as if they were being lit in sequence. If there was a code there, it was too magnificent for mere mortals to decipher.

But it looked spectacular, as Hermione hushed to Harry. “That’s … that’s so beautiful. Wow, would you look at that! This is just the most awesome thing, Harry. How did I never know this was here before?”

Harry wanted to answer that question, but his mind was more pleasantly occupied. For in her admiration of the Solstice Marker, Hermione had stepped close to Harry, so that the back of her shoulder was now pressed lightly into his chest. Either she hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care, because she showed no inclination to move away from the contact. It would be the easiest thing just then, for Harry to reach out and thread an arm around her, so they could enjoy watching the display a little more intimately.

But even the mere thought of doing that was the most terrifying thing imaginable. Harry reckoned he’d rather duel Voldemort with a feather duster than to put his arm around Hermione without asking, or without having the excuse of being on a dancefloor to justify his actions. So he just stood very still, drank in the lemon-scented fragrance of Hermione’s shampoo and tried not to fidget too much where stray stands of her hair tickled him against his chin and cheek.

After a minute or so, the sunlight moved on and the Solstice Marker returned to shadow. Hermione led the way back out of the complex, swaying slightly as she walked. Harry knew that feeling … he’d been a little overawed by his first experience here, too. It tended to overload the senses if exposed to the powers of the place for too long.

What Hermione needed was a little bit of sugar … and Harry had just the thing.

“Two toffee apples please,” Harry asked the lady on the stall as their turn came. He paid Two Sickles each, and then presented the first toffee-covered Golden Delicious to Hermione, before joining her for a walk through the market once he’d been given his own.

Hermione closed her eyes as she bit into the sweet coating. “Mmmm,” she purred. “That’s yummy.”

“Worth the wait then?” Harry grinned.

“The whole day has been,” Hermione smiled back. “Thank you, Harry. This is the first time that I’ve actually enjoyed a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“You’d be happy to do this again then?” Harry asked, cautiously.

“Absolutely,” Hermione nodded keenly. “I don’t think I’ll be truly happy in life until I’ve seen the Temple of the Moon by the moonlight, though. That’s something we’ll have to see at least once. What do they use the Temple for, do you know?”

“Weddings, blessing of babies, that sort of thing,” Harry replied, looking away evasively. “They mostly get done at night, mostly.”

“Oh …” Hermione blushed. “Imagine that … a moonlit wedding? How romantic would that be! I think I want one.”

“Do you want to get married then?”

Hermione half-choked on the way that Harry had phrased the question. Her soppy heart just laughed deeply at her as she tried to get it’s rampant beating under control.

“I’d not really thought about it,” Hermione confessed. “I’m only fifteen, after all. But I don’t know … I suppose if I ever meet the right wizard, get swept off my feet …”

She let her words drift away into the cool air … and then Harry and Hermione were back to being physically unable to look at each other. It was so peculiar how this kept happening between them all of a sudden. Now it was Hermione’s turn to break the silence.

“What about you? Ever thought about it?”

“Not really,” Harry muttered. “I’ve never had good role models for that sort of stuff … marriage and family and things. Mum and Dad don’t count, as I don’t remember them at all. But like you said … if I meet the right witch, who knows?”

“I never said I wanted to meet the right witch,” Hermione teased. “I cant see that ever being my thing. Girls annoy me too much with their cattiness and drama … imagine actually being in a relationship with one?”

Harry went to make a witty comment, but then a curious idea poked into his mind that nearly cost him his balance. For he was suddenly imagining being in a relationship with a witch ... and it was an entirely new concept for him. But there was more to it than that, and it was this that brought on his sudden bout of vertigo.

Because he was only considering one witch for his relationship fantasy … and she was walking right next to him, chomping noisily on the crisp coating of her toffee apple.

Harry blinked as the hugeness of this transition careered into his mind. He was thinking of being with Hermione in arelationship?Is that what he was saying? He found it hard to deny that he was. And he was rattled to discover just how little resistance he had to the idea, even though it had shattered his world-view in a single second.

Harry noticed then how close together they were walking. Had they always been like this, or had Harry’s loss of gravity simply caused him to physically stumble into Hermione’s personal space? He also saw that each of them had the arm nearest to one another down at their sides, and every few strides the back of Harry’s knuckles would graze with whisper-soft delicacy against the back of Hermione’s palm, and he was left to wonder if they'd subconsciously entered into this state on purpose.

He hadn’t realised this was happening before, but now every slight contact sent jolts of energy shooting up Harry’s arm, with the combined force of all the magic he’d ever cast, fogging his skull when it reached that part of him. It was all he could do to blink as firmly as he could, just so that he was able to keep his eyes cogent and showing him the way ahead.

“So no, if I ever get married, it’ll definitely be a wizard for me,” Hermione went on relentlessly. “I just need to find one that will put up with me!”

That jerked Harry crossly back to his senses. “What’s that supposed to mean? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Hermione let a blush steal across her cheeks. “That’s sweet, but it just proves that you don’t know me nearly well enough yet! I’ll have to redouble my efforts in my letters. Speaking of which, it is still okay that I write to you over Christmas, isn’t it?”

“You’d better,” Harry frowned, still annoyed at how Hermione was so quick to put herself down. “I get the feeling that Sirius will be trying to be all extra festive for our first Christmas together, so I’ll need some sanity to escape all the tinsel and baubles and his terrible Carol singing!”

Hermione giggled merrily at that. “I’m sure it will be lovely. Stop being such a grumbler.”

“I know you’re probably right, but I’m still not used to being fawned over. It’ll be … odd … to genuinely have amerryChristmas for once.”

Hermione looked over at him with a pained sort of fondness in her eyes. Harry wasn’t sure he liked that. Accepting compliments from Hermione was hard enough, but he didn’t think he could stand accepting her pity or sympathy. He just couldn’t get his head around how she suddenly cared for him so much to be this interested in his well-being.

“Well, I think you definitely deserve one,” Hermione told him, genuinely. “And what you also deserve is a nice Christmas Card, so you can expect one from me.”

“You know, I’ve never actually had one of those,” Harry mused in a low voice.

“What?” Hermione asked in strained astonishment.

“A Christmas Card,” Harry repeated. “I’ve never had one.”

Hermione gasped in horror. “How can that be? How is that even possible?”

“Easy, really,” Harry replied, shyly. “I mean, I’ve never had any friends before, and no family to speak of, so there’s never been anyone to send me one. I’ve always liked it that way, as it means I wont have to send one back out of courtesy. I wouldn’t even know what to write in one.”

“Well you’d better learn quick, because you’ll be definitely getting one from me, and I will be fully expecting one in return!” Hermione teased. “Come on, let’s go and have a look around the market. There must be a stall selling cards here somewhere.”

So off they went. They spent the next hour going around the little market, looking at stalls selling pretty wrapping paper and tree decorations, breathing in the heady, complex aromas of mulled wine, mulled mead and warm cider, and wondering what it would be like to be drunk and how they’d know when they were. Harry wondered if the fuzzy sensations would be anything like the one he felt every time he caught a blast of Hermione’s shampoo, or the faint trace of perfume that he could only pick up when he was standing far too close than could be healthy.

Eventually, they found a stall selling Christmas Cards. Hermione bought a box of cards, as she had a lot of relatives to write to, and helped Harry pick out a card for her, which depicted a large Christmas tree, with lights that actually twinkled, and snow that had been enchanted to fall right off the edge of the card before vanishing into the air. It was a very clever piece of magic, they both agreed.

Then they simply strolled around the village and enjoyed each other’s company. Hermione told Harry about previous Christmas breaks her parents had taken her on, to skiing in Andorra and festive resorts in Reykjavik. Harry listened, rapt, to the details of Hermione visiting geysers and hot spring lakes and active volcanoes whilst in Iceland, and trying not to be too jealous that his Christmases, by comparison, were mostly spent trying to avoid the acid-hot tongues of his Dursley overlords, not that he would dream of interrupting Hermione while her passion for nature was in full-flow and running amok within her.

Then they ambled around trying to avoid the crowds of students, which were much larger now, and the pointing and gossiping was becoming more frequent. Harry had expected as much, as it was the first time that he and Hermione had been seen together since the Yule Ball, and this was in another social setting, rather than in the Hogwarts library or something. The rumours were bound to intensify, and Harry felt guilty for not thinking more clearly about things.

“Sorry about this,” Harry mumbled, as they swerved away from a clutch of students huddled near Zonko’s Joke Shop, who found the sight of them more entertaining than anything on sale within the shop. “Being seen up here today probably wont do anything for our anonymity.”

“Oh, hang them!” Hermione cried. “What do we care about them? I think we can count on one hand the amount of other students that we actuallylike, whose opinion actually matters to us. You know what? I think we should go to the Three Broomsticks, show them all just how little we care about their silliness.”

“That’s a big step,” Harry pointed out cautiously, though deeply impressed by Hermione’s bravery.

“Then we should get it out of the way,” Hermione announced fiercely. “Come on, I’ll treat you to a Butterbeer.”

Hermione seemed unmoveable on the idea, so Harry didn’t protest as she marched them up the hill to the pub overlooking the village square. They entered to a blast of warm air, that was a welcome balm against the chilly wind that they’d been used to all day. There was a cordon blocking the right-hand side of the pub, separating the regular patrons and customers from the Hogwarts contingent, who were given their own space to the left.

And as Harry and Hermione entered the pub, all fifty of the Hogwarts heads assembled there turned to gawk at them.

After a brief lull in conversations, the volume shot up again, with a change in topic no doubt the reason for much of this. Hermione assumed a dignified pose, held her head in the air, then took Harry by the crook of the arm and guided them to a spare booth near the window. A young waitress, who looked as if she may have only just left Hogwarts herself, came over and took their order, returning a few moments later with two foaming tankards of Butterbeer.

Harry looked around as he sipped his warming drink. There were a few glances in their direction, a few gossipers chattering rapdily behind raised hands, but all in all it wasn’t as bad as he’d been expecting. He was just about to tell Hermione so when they were abruptly interrupted by Lavender and Parvati.

“Hey kids, mind if we join you? Everywhere else is full,” Lavender chimed brightly, before plonking herself down next to Harry.

From across the table, Hermione shot Harry a pained expression. She knew what an ordeal sitting next to a girl like Lavender would be for him.

“So, what have you two been up to?” Parvati asked. “Had a good day?”

“Yes we have, actually. We’ve just been to the market and done a bit of shopping,” Hermione replied, saving Harry from the need to talk, and showing her bag as evidence. “How about you?”

“Yeah, we’ve had a good time,” Lavender twittered. “I just lost all my money on the coconut shy, though. I’m not very good it at. But I’m parched now. Hey, Haitch, you don’t mind Pav and me sharing your Butterbeer, do you? I’m sure Harry wont mind sharing his with you, will you, Harry?”

Hermione, still looking mortified at Lavender’s brassiness, glanced over at Harry. To her immense surprise, he seemed to be bearing this very well.

“No, I don’t mind,” Harry replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “That’s unless you do …Haitch.”

Hermione's eyes flared at Harry, as a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, in a very clear gesture of, ‘don’t you dare start calling me THAT!’

“That’s great,” Lavender beamed, reaching over to slide Hermione's tankard towards herself.

“Yeah, that’s very generous of you both, thanks,” Parvati agreed. “Hey, tell you what, why don’t we swap seats? You come and sit by me, Lav, and Hermione can sit next to Harry. It’s ever such a long way to stretch over the table to share tankards, you know.”

Harry flicked his eyes at Hermione, who rolled hers in return and tried not to tut in amusem*nt at the not-so-subtle matchmaking efforts that the other girls were making. But Hermione gave not a peep of complaint, and demurely swapped seats with Lavender, scrunching her eyes in a knowing way as her dorm mates grinned teasingly at her.

“There, that’s better!” Lavender crowed gleefully. “Now Pav can help me mark the crossword answers inWitch Weekly. You two can just … carry on like we aren’t here.”

Lavender winked pointedly at Hermione, who had to restrain herself from kicking the little flirt under the table. Instead, Hermione just turned bodily to face Harry, muttering lowly under her breath.

“Sorry for them. I know how much this must be bothering you.”

Harry grinned as he took another swig of Butterbeer, whispering into the tankard, “Don’t worry about it. They aren’t so bad. Besides, I actually prefer the seating arrangement this way around.”

Hermione blushed prettily. “Me, too.”

“It’s all good then,” Harry nodded back.

After that they had a pleasant little afternoon. It turned out that Lavender was about as good at crosswords as she was at coconut shies, so Hermione had to help her with some answers, and even Harry offered some suggestions, too. He also took pains to try and make conversation with Parvati, talking mostly about her sister who, like Harry, was a Ravenclaw. Hermione felt so proud of him for that, but honestly didn’t know what to make of it.

“Is this all forme?” she wondered in her head in something like astonishment. “Is he trying to be polite and sociable to my friends formy benefit? Why would he do that? It’s against everything I know about him ... or have I really brought about this much of a change in him?”

It was a train of thought that made Hermione all sorts of jittery, and she found that she was scooting a little closer to Harry in the booth, almost protectively, every time she moved in to help Lavender. There was something about him being so chatty to Parvati that both pleased and bothered Hermione, as though she wanted to keep that side of Harry all to herself. She wondered if this was how things were going to be, if she would soon come to envy everyone that Harry spoke to that wasn’t her? It was a little worrying that she thought she might.

At around four o’clock, the time allotted to the Hogwarts students in the Three Broomsticks came to an end, and they were all requested to finish their drinks and make their way outside. Harry and Hermione walked with Lavender and Parvati all the way back to the school, chatting companionably until they reached the Entrance Hall and walked up the stairs to the Fifth Floor, where they had to part ways.

“We’ll just wait up here for you, Haitch,” Parvati crooned in semi-tease, as she and Lavender trotted up to the next landing as Harry and Hermione said their goodbyes. Hermione just glowered at the girls in pointed crossness until they were gone. Then she turned shyly to Harry.

“Well, that’s two good days we’ve had together,” Hermione chimed breezily. “More after Christmas?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Harry grinned. “I really enjoyed today, just as much as the Yule Ball, I think. So thanks.”

“Me too, it was such a lot of fun,” Hermione nodded fiercely. Then she reached up to her neck. “Here, you can have you scarf back now. Thanks for the lend.”

“No, you keep it. I’d like you to have it,” Harry said, refusing to take the scarf back and gently pushing Hermione’s hands to her chest when she offered it to him. For a moment too long, Harry’s palm lingered against the back of Hermione’s knuckles. It took a force of nature for him to finally pull away, but the electric shocks of contact were getting rather dangerous to his health, so it was probably for the best that he let go.

“Alright, thank you,” Hermione whispered, accepting the gift without resistance. She slid the scarf back around her neck. “So … I suppose we wont see each other until next year now?”

“No, I don’t think that we will,” Harry agreed, sadly. “Look on the bright side … you have three weeks to think of where we’re going to spend our next day out. I think you should pick.”

“I don’t see that as a bright side, not at all,” Hermione groaned despondently. “But I’ll have a think about it.”

For a moment, they simply stood awkwardly, not really knowing what to say next. Then Harry took a weighty breath, taking on the responsibility of getting their parting started.

“Well, we’d better go and pack,” Harry suggested. “Train goes early in the morning and everything.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Hermione said, sniffily. “Okay then, well, see you next year. Don’t forget my Christmas Card!”

“You send yours first,” Harry grinned. “I don’t even have your address to give to Hedwig.”

“That’s true, but your house has all those enchantments on it, you said,” Hermione quirked. “Regular owl post wont be able to find it.”

“Fair point … it’s Twelve Grimmauld Place, London. So there, now you know. Enchantment lifted!”

“You’re such an arse!” Hermione laughed. “Alright, I’ll write first … as usual.”

“Why change our habits now?” Harry chuckled. “Right then, see you next term.”

“Okay. Bye Harry.”

“Bye.”

Then Harry started walking off towards Ravenclaw Tower. Hermione turned and tried to go upstairs, but Lavender and Parvati blocked her path, refusing to move and mouthing silently for her to go after Harry. Huffing at the blockade, but anxious to give Harry something to go away with, she gave in and hurried down the corridor after him.

“Harry, wait!” she called out.

Surprised, Harry stopped and turned in confusion to greet her. “Did you forget something?”

“Yes … this,” said Hermione, breathlessly. Then she stepped in and drew him into a close and intimate hug. “You have a good Christmas, you hear? Have the best one you can. I’ll be thinking of you. Merry Christmas, Harry.”

Harry’s arms went automatically around her too, squeezing her gently. “Merry Christmas to you.”

The hug lasted for a good minute. There seemed to be loads more to say, but neither of them had the vocabulary to say it. So they just stayed silent, until the time felt right to slowly slip away from each other. Then they said another goodbye, their eyes shining together, until Harry finally resumed his walk to Ravenclaw Tower properly this time.

Lavender and Parvati came up on Hermione’s shoulders then, flanking her on either side … which was a good thing, as she felt dazed and dizzy enough to fall over.

“Well, it wasn’t akiss, but it was still sickeningly romantic just the same!” Lavender whispered.

“Yeah, it was saccharine alright,” Parvati agreed with a grin. “I’m going to be honest now … I’m totally jealous of you, Hermione. I wish I could get a boy to look at me the way that Harry Potter looks at you. It’s just the most adorable thing.”

“Me, too,” Lavender nodded, vigorously. “You know what, next term, first thing I’m doing is getting myself a penpal. Come on, Hermione, you can give us tips on how to nab the perfect wizard with just a quill and a couple of stamps!”

Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she followed the girls back along the corridor and up the stairs. She had to marvel at the situation, at the prospect of her giving other girls advice on relationships. But there it was. And they were right, too … for she had nabbed the perfect wizard, or she shyly hoped that she very soon would be able to say that. He might not have been perfect for everyone, but she was quickly becoming convinced that he was perfect for her.

Now all she had to do was work out how to survive almost a whole month without seeing him. One thing was for sure, Harry’s letters - for she hoped there would be many - would be worth as much as all her Christmas presents combined.

She just hoped she wouldn’t have to wait too long to open them.

Chapter 19: "And I Met a Boy ..."

Chapter Text

“And I met a boy …”

It was this little statement, both innocuous and potentially monumental, that really drew Catrin Granger’s attention that afternoon.

She had been waiting patiently at King’s Cross Station, on the St. Pancras side, with a steaming mug of coffee for company for just over an hour. She was there to collect her witch of a daughter, who was returning from her private school for their Winter break. Catrin chuckled to herself, recalling how she had told a colleague of her plans in those exact terms. The scandalised look she received in return might have been enough for Catrin to expect a visit from the Child Protection Service any day now.

If only the colleague had known the truth of the statement … that would have changed things entirely.

Had Catrin ever found the courage to look that reality in the face, she’d have to be honest with herself and accept that she’d never quite gotten used to it. Her daughter, her beautiful girl, was a witch. And not in the same way that other exasperated parents might describe their errant children in moments of fraught and exhausted fragility, that every parent succumbs to from time to time. Her child wasn’t a monster, wasn’t a little terror, wasn’t a mischievous imp sent to drive Catrin and her husband round the bend. In fact, the girl was well adjusted, exceedingly bright and a joy to be around.

But that didn’t change the fact that Hermione Granger was a witch … a true one, with a magic wand, a pointed hat and books full of complicated spells. She had even added a cat to her stereotypical paraphernalia last year. Thankfully, Crookshanks hadn’t been a sinister black cat, even if he was perhaps the ugliest kitty Catrin had ever seen. Though his bandy-legged, unsure-footedness meant he wasn’t likely to sit on the end of Hermione’s broomstick, guiding her to devious schemes and mischief … not that the girl had ever taken to the genre trope of gliding around on a sweeping brush for fun anyway. She wasn’t interested in flying, or broomsticks, or that strangely-named sport that other Magical folk played on them.

Well, at least, shehadn’tbeen …

But this last few months had changed a lot of things about Hermione Granger, as her mother was about to find out. She noticed a couple of changes as soon as Hermione emerged from the exit at King’s Cross and made her way through the concourse, to the coffee shop where her mother was waiting. Catrin could see that her daughter had grown a little since they’d last seen each other. She had added perhaps an inch in height, and her body looked a little fuller. Catrin had to remind herself that her little girl was quickly growing into a graceful young woman … something that was as equally tough to accept as the fact that she could perform actual, storybook-style magic.

But the first big change Catrin noticed was that Hermione wasn’t alone. This was new, unheard of in all of Hermione’s school years since her education began. She was flanked by two people, and the three of them gave off the vibe of genuine friendship. Indeed, the two either side of Hermione had interlocked their arms with hers. It warmed Catrin’s heart to see, for it looked like her staunchly solitary child had actually, finally, made a friend or two at last.

“Hi Mum,” Hermione beamed as she reached her mother. “Where’s Dad? I was hoping he’d be here too.”

“You father has to work, I’m afraid,” Catrin sighed. “There’s a baggage handlers strike in Munich, so Joon can’t get his flight back from a conference he attended on new false teeth materials and laser plaque removal.”

“Sounds riveting,” Hermione grinned.

“I wasn’t keen to go, either,” Catrin smiled. “But it left the surgery a little under staffed. So your father has a day of root canals and fillings, and I think a veneer or two, while I’m on Daughter Collection Duty. So, are you going to show some manners and introduce us?”

Catrin nodded pointedly at the two girls bobbing expectantly in Hermione’s shadow.

Hermione flushed at the gentle rebuke. “Oh, right. Sorry. This is Fay, and this is Lavender. We’re dorm mates at Hog - er, school.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Granger,” Fay beamed, stretching a hand out to shake.

“We’re also Haitch’sfriends, too, though she still has a hard time admitting it!” Lavender added with a laugh, before accepting Catrin’s handshake when it was offered to her next. Hermione simply made a face at the girl.

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” Catrin smiled back. “I’ve never met any of Hermione’s friends before. So, have you all had a good term?”

“Yes, thank you,” Fay nodded demurely.

“Yeah, some better than others, eh Haitch?” Lavender teased with a suggestive nudge, that knocked Hermione into her heavy Hogwarts trunk. “She hasloadsof stories to tell, does this sly one!”

“Shush you!” Hermione hissed crossly. Lavender and Fay simply giggled together in response.

“Well she’ll have plenty of time to tell me all about them on the journey home,” Catrin replied with an interested smirk. “Speaking of which, we’d better get going, Hermione. Traffic out of London will be a nightmare at this time of day.”

“Yes, we’d better get a move on,” Hermione announced brightly. “Right, well, see you two on January the third.”

“Aren’t we still on for meeting up on Diagon Alley for some late Christmas shopping?” asked Fay. “We all agreed to that on the train home.”

“Did we? Can’t say I remember that,” Hermione frowned. “My mind must have been elsewhere when we were talking about that.”

“I think your mind was in a certain Ravenclaw carriage for most of the journey!” Fay commented with a wink.

“What’s a Ravenclaw?” Catrin asked.

“It’s one of the Hogwarts Houses,” Hermione snapped before the others could respond. “But don’t worry about that. It’s not important right now. Come on, Mum, we’d better hurry if we want to beat the traffic. See you two later.”

“But what about the shopping?” Lavender called, as Hermione urged her mother away.

“We’ll see,” Hermione replied non-committally. “Bye.”

And a moment later they were out of the station, out of earshot, and out of range of any more awkward teasing.

“What was all that about?” Catrin asked, taking Hermione’s trunk and loading into onto a trolley to wheel to the car.

“Oh, nothing. Just my friends being the silly girls they are,” Hermione dismissed with a huff and a wave of her hand.

“So that’s the first thing you can tell me about,” Catrin began, brightly. “You have friends! That’s new, not to mention rather wonderful.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Hermione replied mutinously. “They can be a nightmare sometimes, honestly.”

“What friends aren’t?” Catrin laughed. “But it is so good to see you finally making some. I’m so pleased.”

“Not interested in my grades then?” Hermione scoffed. “Just my expanding social circle?”

“Don’t be skittish,” Catrin warned. “Of course I am interested in your grades. But one swallow does not a Summer make. Having friends and a social life is very healthy and important, as well as doing well academically, and I’m sure you can manage both. Not that you’ve ever had to before. Areyou managing both?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at her mother in a nonplussed way as they reached the car. “My grades are top of the class, as I’m sure you’re glad to hear. And I wouldn’t say I have asocial life… I just get on better with the girls I share a room with, that’s all. They aren’t quite as tiresome as I always thought they were … or maybe I’ve just lightened up a bit. Who could say?”

Catrin chuckled again as they entered the car and clicked on their seatbelts. “Nowthatis a question I must have an answer to! What sort of magic could possibly makeyoulighten up!”

“Mother! Don’t be a prune. I’m not that bad.”

“You pretty much are!” Catrin teased as she pulled out of the car park and into a snaking queue of traffic.

“If you carry on, I won’t talk to you for the rest of the trip home,” Hermione warned. “And Oxford is a long way away.”

“Alright, alright, I can see I’ve touched a nerve,” Catrin returned. “So, have you actually had a good term, as your friends said?”

“Yes, I have,” Hermione smiled. “It’s been brilliant … very brilliant, in fact. Better than normal, and that’s saying something considering where I go to school.”

“Quite,” Catrin agreed. “And what has made this term so special?”

“Well, the school is hosting an international magical tournament, which is really exciting, and we have pupils from schools in France and Bulgaria around the place, who are competing against us in it,” Hermione began rapidly. “So it’s great to see other Magicals from different parts of Europe and learn about them. But I noticed how disparate it made Hogwarts seem, with us all divided into separate Houses and not really mixing and things, so I started a pen-pal scheme to bring us all a bit closer together. And that proved popular, I mean reallypopular. So that was good. And my classes have been really good, so interesting with my new subjects like Numerology and Ancient Runes. So I’m loving all that.

“Oh, and I also met a boy … a boy called Harry Potter.”

Catrin might have crashed the car such was the surprise ofthatstatement. To learn that her non-gregarious, perhaps even lonely only child had made friends was bizarre enough, but to learn that she had met a boy - with all the connotations which could come withthat- Catrin simply had to know more.

“Met a boy, you say?” Catrin asked, trying to keep things breezy.

“Well, so to say I met Harry Potter isn’t quite right,” Hermione mused aloud, as she looked out of the window and missed her mother’s poorly masked inference entirely. “I mean, I knew about Harry Potter, but I didn’tknow aboutHarry Potter, if you see what I mean?”

“Not at all, that makes very little sense, Hermione,” Catrin frowned.

“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know,” Hermione chastised herself. “Harry is, well, sort of …famous… in the Magical World. Wait, who am I trying to kid? Harry isveryfamous. Every child, and every adult most likely, knows his name.”

Catrin raised her eyebrows in surprise. “This boy is a celebrity, then?”

“No, not at all! It’s nothing like that!” Hermione cried passionately, some might sayprotectively. “He’s not a celebrity … and he wouldn’t thank me for describing him like that. Oh dear, I really have to choose my words more carefully in future.”

Hermione wrung her hands in her anxiety. Catrin noticed and wondered where this was going. Who exactly was this Harry Potter character? And how had he ignited thisthingin the oft emotionally inert Hermione Granger? Her mother was rapt now.

“So … he’s famous, but not a celebrity?” Catrin tried to clarify. “I don’t know that I understand that. Are his parents celebrities?”

“No, his parents are dead,” Hermione explained sadly.

“Oh, the poor lamb,” Catrin sympathised. “Is that … recent?”

“No, they were killed when Harry was just a baby. Only a year old, in fact.”

“Was it an accident? But what kind of accident could kill a witch and a wiz -”

“- they were murdered,” Hermione cut across bluntly.

Catrin actually slowed the car and looked at her daughter. “Murdered?”

“Yes,” Hermione muttered. “By one of the most hated Dark Wizards of all time. He tried to kill baby Harry, too.”

Catrin gasped at the news. “But he clearly failed, this evil wizard? He must have, if the boy is still alive for you to meet him. But how is that possible? How can a baby survive when his parents were murdered?”

“Nobody really knows … or if they do, they aren’t saying,” Hermione explained. “That’s why Harry is famous … he is credited with defeating this Dark Lord, but he has almost no memory of the event and doesn’t know how he managed the deed he is vaunted for. Not that the people who ask ever accept that story … andeveryone asks, Mum. It’s really quite annoying. I wish they'd just all leave him alone.”

Catrin couldn’t see her daughter’s face, as her eyes were on the road and traffic ahead, but she could hear this staunch protectiveness in Hermione’s voice all the same. She had clearly become this Harry Potter’s champion, prepared to defend him from all and sundry. But how in the world had this happened? Catrin had never heard the boy’s name before this car ride. And she had never heard her daughter roused so much in all of her fifteen years.

So just who in the world was Harry Potter?

“You say you knew about him but didn’t know him. I think I understand now … I assume you mean that you had heard his story?” Catrin surmised.

“Yes, he has chapters about him in several books,” Hermione confirmed.

“And if they are in books, you’ve obviously read all of them,” Catrin grinned over.

“I like books, don’t tease,” Hermione plead.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. So how have you suddenly gotten to know this boy?”

“Through my pen-pal scheme,” Hermione explained. “Harry signed up, which I really didn’t expect, and then I signed up and asked to be his pen-pal, which I didn’t expect even more, and then he agreed … which I expected the least of the lot.”

“Why? What was so unexpected about it?” Catrin pressed. “Is he arrogant? Egotistical? Fame gotten to his head? I’m not sure I’d like you associating with someone like that.”

“No, Harry is not that sort of person! Not at all!” Hermione squeaked. “He’s shy and reserved, hates his fame and everything about it. He keeps to himself, so people think he’s a bit aloof, but he did that on purpose so people would leave him alone.”

That pleased Catrin a lot more. “I can imagine how all the attention could be tough for him, especially if he didn't court it. He’d be reminded of his parent’s murder every time someone asked him about how he survived the Dark Lord, wouldn’t he? Poor lamb … what a burden to carry!”

“Exactly!” Hermione agreed hotly, pleased that her mother had understood this so readily. “He made himself unapproachable so people wouldn’t, well, approach him. So hardly anyone knew anything about the real him … just thought he was a moody loner that snapped at anyone who came too close.”

“Ah, and you couldn’t resist the chance to try and wrestle the truth out of him?”

“Something like that,” Hermione admitted in a shy, small voice.

“And have you?” Catrin pushed.

“Yes, I think so … well, lots of it anyway,” Hermione pondered. “And it’s so much different than what everyone else thinks. But I quite like it that way, that I know the proper Harry Potter and no-one else does. It’s like my own secret that I can keep to myself, and lord it over the other ignorants who can boil their heads and think what they like.”

Catrin smiled at that, but kept the expression to herself lest she antagonise her this new ferocity in her little girl. “So, are you friends with him?”

“Best friends, I’d say,” Hermione nodded. “Or, actually, we’d both say.”

“And do you say?” Catrin asked. “Have you done more than write letters to each other then?”

Hermione huffed in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “I know where you are going with this, Mother, and you can drop it right away.”

“That’s still not a proper answer. And I think I’m well within my rights to ask for one, especially if boys are now coming into your life in such a personal manner.”

Hermione hissed in a scandalised sort of way. "Excuse me! But boys are not coming into my life at all! What a thing to say!"

"One seems to be."

"Well ... that's different," Hermione feebly tried to argue.

"I'm not interrogating you, love," Catrin soothed. "I just want to know a little about you and this Harry Potter, that's all. Nothing sordid please, if there is anything, but I'm just interested in how you have gotten to know this boy so well in such a short space of time."

“We went to a Christmas Ball, had a lovely time, and then went to the village just before the end of term, where Harry bought me a toffee apple. That was lovely, too,” Hermione confessed, as colour rose to her cheeks. “We aren’t in the same House as one another, you see, so we don’t have much chance to meet in person.”

That’s a relief, Catrin thought, thankful for small miracles. “Ah, I see. So his was the Ravenclaw carriage your other friends were teasing you about earlier? Are you really that close, then?”

“Like I said, we’re best friends,” Hermione repeated. “In fact, I’m probably Harry’sonly friend. There's a good chance he took the train trip back alone. So yes, I was thinking about how he was getting on with no-one else to chat to. I was concerned for my friend, okay? He doesn’t talk much or enjoy the company of others, and usually prefers to be by himself.”

“Except where you are concerned?”

“Except where I am concerned,” Hermione agreed shyly. “He’s starting to know he’s safe with me, I think. I don’t care about the Dark Lord or all that stuff. We don’t ever talk about it. I’d rather know the more important things ... what sort of person he is ... is he brave? is he selfless? is he kind? ... and what it takes to be his friend and ... and what makes him happy.”

“And what does make him happy?” Catrin asked. "Have you found that out yet?"

“Flying, mostly,” Hermione replied. “He loves broomstick flight and playing Quidditch. I coaxed him into playing one match against my House this year. He did it, and we lost heavily, and my Housemates called me a lot of names or didn’t speak to me at all when they found out what I'd done, but I tolerated it cheerily enough. Harry got to play and win and was happy for once, even if it was only briefly, and that was more than enough for me.”

"And you did all of that ... just for him?"

"Yes."

"You took abuse from your Housemates, went against your closest peers, just to make Harry Potter happy?"

"Yes."

"And you did it gladly?"

"I just told you that I did," Hermione frowned.

“I see. And it was because he was your best friend?” Catrin smirked.

“Oh, I don’t think he was my best friendthen, but it wasn’t long before he was,” Hermione corrected.

"And you'd count him as your best friend now?" Catrin pressed.

"I would," Hermione replied happily. "I'd never wanted a best friend before, not really, but now I can't bear to think of what it would be like without mine, now that I have one."

"You must write to each other often, to have managed to get to know Harry so well and so quickly?"

Hermione thought about it as she drummed her fingers on the armrest of the car door. "It was infrequent at first, then went to once a week, then more than once, then every day or so. We had an embargo leading up to the Yule Ball ... which annoyed me greatly, let me tell you ... but it did give us a lot to talk about on the night, as I got to tell him off a lot as it was his silly idea in the first place. We also set aside Sunday nights to send short notes to each other over our Floo Communication Network, which uses fire and magical powder. It's a bit like your mobile phone text messages, only much dirtier."

"Excuse me, young lady, but you'd better explain yourself this instant!" Catrin demanded.

Hermione giggled sweetly. "Keep your hair on, Mum, I didn't mean it like that! I meant it's grimy, because of the Floo Powder we use. It's like soot, you see, it gets all over the place ... in your hair and under your nails and all over your hands. Takes ages to wash off when you use so much of it."

"And I assume you use a fair bit?"

"Loads," Hermione grinned, sheepishly.

"Hmm, I'll accept that answer ... for now," Catrin smirked back over.

"It's the truth, and it's all very innocent, I promise," Hermione vowed. "We've spent more time studying together after class in the school library than socialising. That should give you an idea of how little we are able to see of each other."

“And do you plan to see each over the Christmas break, now that you have so much spare time?” Catrin asked. "I think I'd quite like to meet your first ever best friend, get the measure of him and everything."

“Oh, what? No, no we haven't discussed anything like that,” Hermione tittered, suddenly flustered. “But I think we are going to keep in contact. I’m going to send him a Christmas Card in a day or two. He’s never had one, you know, can you imagine that? Said he never had anyone to send one to, or to get one back from in return. But now he does … in me …so I can change all that.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture,” Catrin mused. Then she suddenly turned to her daughter. “But wait … if Harry hasn’t ever received a Christmas Card in his life, then there’s a good chance he’s never gotten a Christmas presentbefore either.”

Hermione gasped deeply, the heartbreak audibly coursing through her breathy inhale. She snapped her head to her mother in abject horror.

“Oh no, Mum, don’t say that!” she yelped. “That can’t be true, can it? But it probably is, you know. I’ve never thought about that before … that he’s never had anyone to give him a Christmas present … never had someone to show that they care for him at such a time. Oh ... of all the times of year to be left abandoned … he must have felt so lonely all by himself. Oh, poor Harry … poor, poor Harry!”

Catrin knew three things immediately, as Hermione sank into a silent abyss of wallowing pity in the seat next to her. Her mind was whirring, scheming, plotting ways to put this new aberration to rights as soon as possible. Catrin knew her daughter was singly focused on that task, and it would utterly consume her till it was done. That was the first fact, the second was that Catrin knew she'd better keep the car fuelled and her calender free, as they would most definitely be returning to London for some last-minute Christmas gift hunting now. She didn’t mind that at all, as the Magical shopping district was always at it’s most fairytale-like when dusted with snow anyway.

But the final fact was the one that would keep Catrin Granger’s mind occupied for most of the night, along with the conundrum of how to break the fateful news to her daughter’s doting father. Catrin wasn’t sure how her husband would take the disclosure, or how she would even confess it to him. But she knew one thing for absolute certain, even if her daughter seemed too blinkered to admit the glaring fact to herself yet.

Because this Harry Potter ... whoever he might be ... was obviously far more than Hermione Granger's mere best friend …

Chapter 20: Hermione's Christmas Presence

Chapter Text

Three days later and it was the day before Christmas Eve. Snow had begun to fall heavily on London, bringing much of the Muggle side to a standstill. It simply wasn’t a society equipped to deal with severely adverse weather, so traffic hardly entered the city, people threw snowballs at each other in Piccadilly Circus, and the sprawling festive markets did a roaring trade, as the carpets of snow brought out the romantic in everyone.

Today was also the final chance that Hermione would have to buy Harry’s Christmas present, but she still couldn’t decide on what to get for him. For despite being more accustomed to present buying, this was the first time that she was gifting to a friend, herself. This was an entirely new scenario for the previously friendless witch, and she wanted to get it just right.

But the process was proving more difficult than Hermione had first imagined. None of her ideas seemed to satisfy her, or felt more suited to if she were buying for her own tastes rather than Harry’s. She loved the many commonalities they shared, but a plethora of books, or a myriad of study aids, didn’t strike her as the sort of present which would properly convey her affection. And she wanted that to be clear in whatever she did decide to give to him as his first ever Christmas present.

Though on that score, Hermione was at pains to not be too explicit, lest Harry got scared off and ran a mile from her … for that wouldn’t do at all.

Because despite all the teasing, despite all her denials, Hermione knew for certain now that Harry Potter had claimed as his own some silly corner of her newly stirring heart. It was a part that would never belong to anyone else as long as Hermione lived, no matter what might happen in the future. It made the organ quiver and flutter just to think about it, to remember how her skin shivered when Harry’s warm breath had whisperedMerry Christmasinto her ear, as they hugged after the Hogsmeade visit.

Indeed, she still tingled from the sensation … as sweet as sherbet, as cosy as rain on a cabin roof. She could easily grow addicted to it if she wasn’t careful.

Which was why such care was needed on this present-buying expedition. Hermione had brought her mother along to give her some sage advice, travelling to Didcot railway station - which was as far as the car could safely go in the snow - where they would catch a special train into the Magical side of London.

“Are yousurewe can get a train from here?” Catrin asked as they trudged up the icy stone steps to the platform. “This side of the station looks like it hasn’t been used in years.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, as she was prone to do when challenged. “Of course we can, Mother. This is a special platform, and it only looks abandoned to non-Magical eyes, so that other people wont come snooping about. Just give me a minute.”

Then Hermione looked around. Seeing that they were quite alone in the lightly falling snow, the witch drew her wand and gave it a deft flick in a practiced manner. For a second or two, nothing happened. Undeterred, Hermione tried again with a little more force. This time, a scrawny youth stepped out from a doorway disguised as a disused information board a few steps away. He was bedecked in a uniform of gold and silver, with smart trousers, a blazer and his pock-marked face pink with cold beneath a gold and silver flat hat.

“Alright, alright, keep your hair on. What choo in such an hurry for, eh?”

“We’d like to catch the next train to London, if you ever decide to open the barrier for us, Stan,” Hermione huffed impatiently.

“Oh, it’s you, Hermy. Might have guessed. Choo going to London for?”

“You can guess that too, once we are on the train and far away,” Hermione scythed. “And please don’t call meHermy, I’ve told you before that I don’t like it.”

“Not my fault I can’t say your name prop’ly,” Stan argued. “Should have been called sumfink easier. Like Sarah or Sally or sumfink.”

“I rather like my daughter’s name, thank you very much,” Catrin cut in haughtily, narrowing her eyes.

“Oh, are you her Mam? Didn’t mean no offence, or nuffink. Was just saying, like.”

“And do you have a name?” Catrin asked.

“Stanley Shunpike … the Third. Or is it fourth? Can never remember,” Stan replied, puffing out his chest. “Conductor and Guard forThe Merlin Linein these parts.”

“Merlin Line?” Catrin quirked, raising at eyebrow at Hermione.

“Oh, forgot you don’t know, do you?” Stan crowed. “I remember Herm - your girl - saying she was Muggleborn. Come on through, then, and see the greatest train line in the country!”

Hermione nodded a somewhat forcedthanksas Stan bowed them through the magical barrier, nearly losing his hat in a sudden gust of wind. Catrin followed her daughter, and soon they were standing in an altogether different environment. Gone was the dank, abandoned platform with its weeds and detritus, replaced instead by a bright and active station, complete with a sparkling ticket booth, shiny rails which gleamed as they magically-repelled the snow, and a sprawling waiting room that looked warm and inviting beneath a swaying gold awning.

Hermione hurried her mother across to the ticket booth. “Two for London please. One Magical, one Muggle.”

Catrin looked down with a raised eyebrow. “Why do they need to know that?”

“I know it’s annoying, but it’s just a formality,” Hermione explained. “You won’t get through all the other stations and barriers without the correct ticket. The Magical world is very paranoid when it comes to opening it’s doors to the outside world. Come on, we don’t want to miss the train. Excuse me, but when is the next one?”

The bored-looking witch in the ticket booth glanced up lazily at the tiny moving model of the train network next to her desk. “Service is running a bit behind today, what with all the last-minute shoppers and everything. Next one is due in … ooh,twelve seconds?The Department for Magical Transport apologises for the delay.”

Catrin tried hard to muzzle a snort. Ifthat was what they classed as a delay then maybe there was something to this world of wizards after all. Hermione quickly took out her little purple purse, paid four silver Sickles for the tickets, then guided her mother back to the platform to wait.

“If trains are so frequent, why have a waiting room?” Catrin mused out loud.

“Trainspotters? Artists? Who knows?” Hermione replied. “Ah, here we go.”

And then, quite abruptly, a train was in the station. It didn’t arrive as such, didn’t thunder in as if powered by a spell. It was as if it were suddenly just there, starkly shimmering in gold and silver, as tangible as the brisk air had been just a second before. Catrin just blinked as she tried to take it in.

The train was three carriages long and Hermione ushered her mother aboard the nearest one as the doors opened. It was indistinguishable from standard Underground Tube stock, aside from the shining gold livery on the handrails and a seat moquette featuring a dragon, a unicorn and the house colours of Hogwarts. The classic roundel on the carriage doors was the same, the same lady voiced the tannoy announcements, and these trains were just as crowded as any on the world’s oldest underground transit network.

Squeezing into a corner of the carriage, Hermione whipped out her shopping list and began to make a mental plan of action. Catrin busied herself by looking around, reading one of the overhead maps to track their journey, casting her eye over a poster for the latestWeird Sistersalbum (whoever they might be), and digesting information about an upcoming Celestina Warbeck concert at the Diagon Palladium, all the while trying to ignore the distracting moving signs which constantly warned Londoners toMind The Gap.

Soon the train began to reach the outskirts of the Capital and locations that Catrin could recognise.. A voice came over the tannoy.“The next station is … Knightsbridge. Change here for Harrods Department Store and Paul Daniels Magical Toy Shop. This is a Merlin Line train to Immore Alley.”Catrin watched out of the window as the train hurtled along, leaping past other trains and even shooting through crowded stations without a blip. Nobody seemed to notice them gunning past, but Hermione didn’t seem too concerned, immersed as she now was in a copy ofThe Evening Standard,that had been left by another commuter.

“Er … honey?” Catrin began, cautiously. “How is it that nobody can see us going past, even though we are so close to them and so fast?”

Hermione barely looked up from the newspaper to answer.

“Well, Mum, it’s that Muggles don’t really notice magic unless they look really hard … and even then they will search for any explanation to try and disprove it. If theydospot anything, they dismiss it as a simple trick of the light, or the wind changing direction, or things like that. Some wizards even leave the magical world to become entertainers for the Muggles, just to see how far they can push the limits of Muggle disbelief.”

“Really?” Catrin asked, fascinated now. “Anyone I might have heard of?”

“Oh yes, probably,” Hermione replied, folding down the newspaper and turning to her mother. “There is a famous magician … I can’t remember his name just now … in Las Vegas, and he regularlyfliesduring his performances. He even walkedthroughthe Great Wall of China once. The Muggles all come out of his shows askinghow does he do it? …and they will accept almostanythingbut the truth … which is that he actuallydoesthe things that they see with their own eyes. But they still don’t believe it. Good luck to him, I say. He’s made a fortune from a basic Levitation Charm … and I learnt how to do that in my firstmonthat Hogwarts!”

“Fascinating,” Catrin replied with a nod.

Hermione and Catrin left the Merlin Line at Fizzick Alley station … as Hermione told her mother that Immore Alley was ‘a bit dodgy’ and left it at that … and emerged into the crisp air of late Winter London. Fizzick Alley was a fascinating street, a little bit like a magical sports village. There was a Gobstones Play Centre, little cafés full of angry Wizard’s Chess sets eager to enter into battle, and a huge auditorium right in the middle of it all, that Hermione informed her mother was theFizzick Duelling Arena, where this years’ World Championships would be held just after Christmas.

“Do wizards actually duel then?” Catrin asked in astonishment. “They fight with magic?”

“Yes. Witches, too,” Hermione replied. “The current world champion is a French witch, actually. She has the ability to use two wands, you know, one in each hand … very rare skill, and very useful for casting Shield Charms with one and offensive spells with the other.”

“Is it dangerous?” Catrin queried. “Do people …diein these duels?”

“Athletic Duelling is highly regulated and only specialised sporting combat magic is permitted,” Hermione explained. Then she sighed. “But competitors do get hurt, it’s just the nature of the sport. Deaths are uncommon, but just like in Muggle sports - such as boxing - these things happen from time to time.”

Catrin took a breath and asked the next question delicately. “Your friend, Harry … his parents? Could they duel? Did they know defensive magic?”

Hermione turned her eyes away to answer. “As soldiers in a magical war, I can only assume that they did. But there is no defence against the curse that killed them. It is unblockable … no-one has ever survived it.”

“But wait … yourHarrydid.”

Hermione blushed, though her cheeks were tinged pink already from the cold. “He is notmyHarry, Mum. He’s just Harry.”

“Even so … are you telling me that no-one else, in history, has survived this curseexceptfor Harry Potter?”

“Except for Harry Potter,” Hermione mirrored in confirmation.

“Wow. I think I’m starting to understand why you find him so interesting,” Catrin nodded. “A riddle like that is just begging to be understood …”

Hermione snapped her head up crossly. “There’s more to Harry than some stupid curse, or the scar that it left him with. Much more, I’ll have you know. I actually find that theleast interesting thing about him now. So that’s the last time we’re going to talk about it.”

Catrin accepted the rebuke and stayed silent. She would have to tread carefully where Harry Potter was concerned … she was quickly coming to see that he triggered something in Hermione that it might not be the best idea to stoke.

But then something happened to change Hermione’s mood in an instant. As they turned onto the winding cobbles of Diagon Alley, a figure emerged from the crowd and stole Hermione’s attention completely. She bounded over to him, quite forgetting the poor mother being left behind in her wake.

Catrin looked across the Alley and saw a well-dressed, ruggedly handsome man with wavy dark hair move to greet her excited daughter. If she hadn’t already been in love, Catrin Granger might have found this dashing stranger quite breathtaking. He was brandishing a stylish walking cane, which he raised as a gesture of salute, and Hermione seemed very pleased to see him.

Catrin would quickly find out why.

“Ooh, is he here? Is he with you? I don’t see him …”

Hermione’s rapid little voice was as alight as a Christmas tree as she fired off these questions. Catrin reached her as Hermione looked around the handsome stranger, even standing on tip-toe to try and see over his shoulder and along the Alley behind him.

But she was out of luck.

“I’m afraid not, Miss Granger, you find me all alone today,” came the reply. “I suspect you know how he dislikes crowds … and when he’s with me we attract double the attention. He won’t be seen in public with me unless he has no other choice. Or that special Cloak he inherited from his father. But enough about that … who is this lovely lady behind you?”

Hermione had almost forgotten that her mother was there. She turned now and pulled her close for the introduction. It seemed to be more for support than anything, as the abject disappointment searing through her body was about to cost Hermione her balance.

“This is my Mum, Catrin Granger,” Hermione replied, nudging the woman front and centre. “Mum, this is Mister Sirius Black … he’s Harry’s Godfather and legal Guardian. Harry lives with him now.”

Catrin couldn’t help the look of surprise which crossed her expression. This man, Sirius Black, just didn’t seem -

“- the parental type? I can see what you’re thinking,” Sirius barked out as a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended. I never imagined that I’d ever be a parent either, but I’m trying.”

“Harry is happy to be living with you, I can tell you that much,” Hermione offered, supportively.

“Is he? I’m not so sure about that actually,” Sirius replied, doubtingly. “In fact, I rather think I’m doing a pretty awful job at being a surrogate parent at the moment.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Catrin commented. “Being a parent for the first time is always hard … and I understand you have to deal with some very challenging circ*mstances. I don’t envy you that task.”

“Why do you think you’re doing so badly, if you don’t mind my asking?” Hermione piped up, somewhat brazenly. Her mother hissed to chasten her, but Sirius didn’t seem to mind the question.

“I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he began, snatching up two glasses of hot mead from a street vendor as he passed. Sirius handed one to Catrin, then smirked at Hermione and her affronted, hand-on-hip stance when she didn’t get one. “Alcohol is not for children. This is an adult treat.”

“Quite,” Catrin agreed, clinking her glass against Sirius’ as he gestured to her. “Go on, Mister Black.”

“Please call me Sirius … I’m nowhere near civilised enough to be addressed so formally,” Sirius chuckled. “And as far as Harry goes, well, I just cant seem to get him to come out and socialise. He just sticks to his bedroom, or the tiny attic at the top of the house, mostly. He says he’s doing homework, but he must have finished all of that by now, the amount of time he spends on it. He eats with us, then hurries away as soon as he washes up. And healwayswashes up, I cant get him to leave the chores to me or my house-elf. It’s a hangover from, you know, hisupbringing.”

There was a look of sorrowful understanding exchanged between Hermione and Sirius, one Catrin was shrewd enough to read meantdon’t pry. So she didn’t, even though she was dying to ask a dozen more questions about it. So she tried a different tack, one that might alleviate the dark mood threatening to ruin her daughter’s day.

“Perhaps my Hermione could help with that,” Catrin suggested.

Both Sirius and Hermione looked over at once, before chorusing in union, “How so?”

The three of them chuckled a moment, then Catrin explained her intention.

“Well, I can only infer that Harry living with you is something new Mister … Sirius,” Catrin began. “That’s as much as I need to know for now. It sounds to me as if he might be having trouble adjusting to a new environment.”

“I surmised the same,” Sirius nodded. “But everything I’ve tried to do about it has failed. He doesn’t want to go out, doesn’t want to listen to the Wireless, doesn’t want to play any of my silly games. I’m afraid I’m rather lost at what to try next. He’ll barely even talk to me, and I’m stumped at what to say in the silence.”

“Sounds to me that what you really need is someone who trulyknowsHarry. Someone like that can get him to open up. He might not be comfortable with you just yet … but if he had hisbest friendto talk to … someone he’s been writing to intimately for months … ”

Hermione’s eyes lit up as understanding dawned. Sirius grasped the meaning, too, and looked down warmly at the girl in front of him.

“I’d really appreciate it if you would try,” Sirius began. “You see, he sent me here to buyyourChristmas present, Hermione … but I don’t know you any better than I know Harry, truth be told. Maybe you could go to our house and try to fetch him … then you can tell him what to get you for Christmas, as he didn’t have much of a clue either!”

Hermione laughed deeply at that. “I’d certainly be willing to try. I didn’t think I’d see Harry over the Christmas break, and I’d really like to now the chance has come. Can I, Mum? Can I go and get Harry?”

Hermione was looking up at her so expectantly that Catrin couldn’t have denied the request even if hadn’t been her idea in the first place. In any case, Catrin suspected that Hermione would have ignored her had she refused anyway. ‘No’ simply wasn’t an answer in this case.

“Of course you may go,” Catrin replied. “But on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You must introduce him to me. I simply have to meet this boy of yours, now that I know about him and what he means to you.”

Hermione blushed deeply again. “Mother,again, he is notmine. But alright … though only if Harry is okay with it. If he isn’t, then I wont.”

“Fair enough,” Catrin conceded. “But how will you get there?”

Hermione turned to Sirius. “Is your home on the Floo Network?”

“Yes, it is,” Sirius confirmed. “But you’ll need to know the address. It is -”

“- I know the address,” Hermione cut across bashfully. Sirius co*cked an amused eyebrow at learning that information, but Hermione ploughed on undeterred. “And I promised Harry once that I’d keep all his secrets. I think this one definitely counts, so let’s not say it out loud. I wont be long.”

Then Hermione hurried off towards the nearest Floo fire she could find, set to task on her mission.

Catrin turned to Sirius with a smirk. “Kids, eh?”

“You’re telling me!” Sirius laughed back. “Can I interest you in a cup of coffee, or something stronger if you’d prefer? Seems you can tell me more about this letter-writing business than I’ve been able to wheedle out of my Godson yet!”

“Sounds delightful,” Catrin agreed. “Though in exchange you must explain to me how Tooth Flossing Stringmints work … I’d make a fortune if I could patent that for my Dental Practice!”

Harry looked up in surprise as there was an unexpected knock at the door to the attic room. His look was one of suspicion, too, for Sirius had hardly left and couldn’t possibly have been back so soon. The fact that he was soon turned Harry’s mood sour, as the present he’d sent his Godfather to buy must have been thoughtless, throwaway or some other kind of crass.

But Harry’s demeanour soon changed as a very unexpected voice floated through the door to him.

“Will you open up please, Harry? I know you’re in there.”

Harry leapt up and yanked open the door in genuine surprise. “What areyoudoing here?”

“Charming way to greet your friend, that is!” Hermione laughed. “Try something like ‘nice to see you’next time.”

“Well of course it’s nice to see you, it’s just the last thing I was expecting,” Harry mumbled, as Hermione stepped past him and shed her thick Winter coat.She still had snow in her hair and her cheeks were tinged pink from the cold. Harry was momentarily tempted to pick a snow fleck from Hermione’s curly locks, but he pulled his hand back sharply as though stung by the thought. “Did … did you come straight up here?”

“Yes I did,” Hermione confirmed. “Wow. Sirius said this was asmallattic, but I reckon you could fit a Hippogriff in here …”

Hermione looked around, critically regarding the space, as if looking for somewhere to store an errant Hippogriff should she ever need to. Harry was still confused, though.

“Sirius? As in my Godfather?”

“Do we know any other Siriuses?” Hermione grinned.

“No, thank Merlin,” Harry snorted back. “One is quite enough for this lifetime. When did you see him then?”

“Not long ago. We bumped into him on Diagon Alley,” Hermione explained. “We being my Mum and I. We were about to do some last minute Christmas shopping when we came across Sirius, and he told us you were holing yourself away here and being a right grouch.”

“He did, did he? Git,” Harry scythed.

“Not in so many words, but he did send me to try and cheer you up,” Hermione replied, brightly. “Don’t know what he thought I could do, but …”

Hermione was suddenly overcome with a bothersome sense of shyness. Harry seemed to be struggling with a similar burden, so they couldn’t look at each other for a few pregnant moments. Like a true Gryffindor, Hermione braved the gauntlet of conversation first.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she began, hitching a playful grin onto her face. “I brought you a Christmas tree, as I was sure you didn’t have one up here.”

“You … what?”

Harry had to stifle a laugh as Hermione fished around in her pocket a moment, then took out a pine cone and offered it eagerly to him.

“It needs a bauble or two, maybe a teensy star for the top … but I think it’ll Christmas Tree-up quite nicely!”

“Hermione …”

“Dont worry, Harry, I’ll help you decorate it,” she offered brightly. “Do you have any tinsel up here? Any streamers? Find me a little pot, will you?”

“Hermione …”

“Might be a little small for lights … and even tiny candles would definitely cause a fire hazard …”

“Hermione!Please! Stop being silly.”

Hermione crossed the room to him purposefully, taking each of his forearms in one of her hands. She stood close, so close that Harry could see her pupils dilating. His heart felt like he’d missed a step on the stairs as he watched them watching him.

“I’m just trying to lighten your mood,” Hermione offered gently. She took a fraction of a step closer. “Sirius thinks you are really unhappy here.”

“I’m not unhappy,” Harry argued. His throat was aridly dry. How odd. “I’m fine.”

“Sirius thinks he’s being a bad parent.”

“He doesn’t think that, does he?”

“Sounds like you haven’t given him much encouragement, hiding yourself away like this.”

“I’m not hiding,” Harry protested. “It’s just that … it’s just …”

“I know what it is,” Hermione soothed, her voice gossamer-soft. “This is all new and you don’t know how to be. It’s weird for you to be … wanted. You don’t know what to do with that, or how to act. You’re not sure what being happy at Christmas looks like for you.”

Harry felt a fierce rush of emotion for Hermione in that instant that threatened his balance a moment. What had he done to deserve her unwavering support and understanding? Not just in this, but in everything? He felt so unworthy of her care and affection, but so covetous of it all the same.

Hermione wasn’t done yet, though. “And after all those bad years, even though you wont tell me about them yet, part of you probably thinks that happiness isn't meant for you, and you don’t know how to be now that you have it. And you probably feel guilty for being happy for the first Christmas since … well, the one before … you know, your parents.

“But I’m here to tell you that you areallowedto be happy, Harry Potter. If you need someone to give you permission, I’m giving it to you. If my friendship is worth anything to you, then accept that.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a heaving breath, letting some of his guilt go with the exhale. It wasn’t all of it, but he felt a million times better already. He didn’t think that Hermione could have brought him a better Christmas present than herself and her calming influence.

“How do you know all this stuff?” Harry muttered in something like awe. “There’s no book for that. I’d have known about it by now … because trust me, I’ve looked.”

“I’m not the brightest witch in Gryffindor for nothing,” Hermione smiled back. “There’s more to that title than books and cleverness, you know.”

“Still think it’s overrated,” Harry teased. Hermione laughed softly in reply. It was musical, her laugh. Harry hadn’t noticed that before. But then he frowned as a thought occurred to him. “But, Hermione … why didSirius ask you to come to me? How did he know it wasyouI needed?”

Hermione edged an inch closer and turned her eyes down nervously. Quick as a flash, her tongue darted out and moistened her lips, or had Harry just imagined that? His mouth went even drier at the thought.

“He’s a funny man, your Godfather,” Hermione began in a hushed voice. “But I think he has good paternal instincts. And by that I mean he listened to a wise woman … in this case, my Mother! She suspected you wouldn’t open up to Sirius, but also knew that, ifIcame, you’d let me get close.”

Harry blinked and tried to bring his ragged breathing under control. Hermione slid closer still, as if to illustrate her point. Harry was powerless to stop her, or the rapid tattoo that his heart was beating out beneath his ribcage.

“S-seems she was right,” Harry stuttered. “And what do you intend to do?”

Hermione smiled up, blindingly pretty. “I’m going to show you how to enjoy Christmas … and Christmas begins with family.”

Then she stepped away before she gave into the searing urge to do something reckless. She collected her coat and turned back to Harry, still smiling too much for Harry to be able to look her in the face.

“So let’s go and join ours,” Hermione went on. “My Mum is just dying to meet you, and who knows how much mischief Sirius will get her into if they are left alone too long!”

Then she tentatively held out her hand, which was shaking slightly. Harry stood and slid his digits in between hers, marvelling at how cool and smooth her skin was. It was just like at the Yule Ball … and Harry worried that he’d never tire of the feeling against his own flesh, and would definitely miss the sensation when it was gone.

“Alright. I’ll come. But do you promise to look after me?” Harry asked in semi-tease.

“Always,” Hermione replied calmly, without even an inflection of deceit.

And with that, she led them from the attic room.

Chapter 21: Alchemical Mates

Chapter Text

“I’m not sure that I should let you go off on your own. How would I explain it if something happened to you?”

“I’m an adult, Mr Black, I’m pretty confident that I can navigate my way around a shopping district.”

“But can I navigate my way around your daughter’s sharp tongue?” Sirius quirked. “I’ve only met her briefly, but she strikes me as the sort of girl who I don’t want to get on the wrong side of. Letting you wander off around Magical London seems the sort of thing that might stoke her ire!”

Catrin chuckled. “She has a habit of making that impression! But she does improve, I promise. But I insist on going. I’m actually quite looking forward to being able to explore the place.”

“Well let me at least draw you a map … I’m pretty good at making magical maps, Sirius reminisced fondly.

“I would appreciate that, thank you.”

Sirius jumped to action, grabbing a large napkin from a nearby table of the cafe they were taking tea in.

“The layout is really very simple,” Sirius began. He raised his wand and drew a straight line along the centre of the napkin. “This line represents Diagon Alley, the main High Street of Magical central London, which is where we are now. You can find shops of all kinds down here, as well as a few cosy cafes like this one if you fancy a rest. But, if you want to get a little more specialised, there are other options for you to explore, too.

“If you head to the Central Plaza, about half way down Diagon, you will find several other streets branching off, like the spokes on a bicycle wheel,” Sirius began, indicating the location on his line with a glowing square. Then he began drawing more lines attached to the first. “This one, at the dead centre, is Knockturn Alley, and it’s one you want to avoid without a chaperone. It caters for the darker and dicier side of sorcery and you’ll find nothing but unpleasantness down there. The street next to it is just as unpleasant, in its own ways, as that one is Offish Alley, which is where our Government buildings are and where Magical society is administered from.

“The street on the far left, Klerik Alley, has some grand and ancient buildings, but they are the headquarters of the Trade Guilds and banking and financial services etc. Very dull stuff. Next to that is Immore Alley, which ismypersonal favourite, but it is restricted to over-18’s only, so you can guess what sorts of establishments live downthere.

“So you might want to stick to the right hand side of my little map. Innphorm Alley has some higher class cafes and boutique restaurants, as well as designer clothing outlets and salons, and at the very top you’ll find a curve of quaint arcades that have become the French Quarter, which we call theJoan D’Arc.That leads into Fissick Alley, where our huge sports arenas are located, as well as where most of the recreation options are.

“And that’s pretty much it.The Leaky Cauldron, a pub you probably know, is the main hub of the place and the best link between Muggle and Magical London. I have always told Harry that if we ever get separated here and he gets lost, the best plan is to wait inThe Cauldronand Tom the old Innkeeper will look after him. I’d advise you to do the same, and Harry will bring Hermione to you at some point, assuming she manages to get him out of my stuffy old house.”

“Thanks for the advice!” Catrin chuckled, pocketing the little map as Sirius handed it to her. “Thank you, I think I got all that. I think I’m just going to wander back along the street here, see what charms it has to offer. Thank you for the tea, Mr Black.”

“Could I ever convince you to call me Sirius?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t quite worked you out yet,” Catrin replied with a wry grin. “I’ll let you know when I have. Good-day, Mr Black.”

And with that, Catrin Granger walked off along the street without another word, leaving Sirius chuckling to himself as she went. He hadn’t long sat down again when an excited little squeal disturbed the last sip of his rapidly cooling tea. A young girl, maybe eight or nine years old, had skidded up to her mother in a fit of exuberance.

“Mummy! Mummy! Can I go? Can I?Please?”

Sirius smiled fondly at the cute child’s earnest begging. His grin faltered when he soon learned the cause of it.

“Go? Go where?” the mother asked.

“Jenny heard it from Sandra, who heard it from Cassiopeia, thatHarry Potteris on the Alley today! Can I go and see him, just for a minute. Please?”

Sirius groaned in his throat, but was thankful a moment later that the mother seemed the sensible sort.

“No you may not,” she admonished. “Goggling at the poor thing like some exhibit in a zoo. Shame on you, Amanda. Would you like to be stared at in such a way?”

“No, but then again I didn’t kill You-Know-Who did I?” little Amanda argued. “He must know people are going to stare and he can’t mind it ‘cause he’s out.”

“Harry Potter must have to Christmas shop just like the rest of us,” the mother pointed out. “We should leave him alone to do it, I say.”

“But he’snotalone … he has a girl with him,” Amanda whispered lowly as though sharing a secret. “Do you think he has agirlfriendnow? I don’t like her, if he has.”

Ah … didn’t think of THAT …

Sirius leapt up as the notion crossed his mind. Harry being on show was one thing, being seen with his infamous Godfather was another, but strolling down the main Magical thoroughfare with a girl for company was on another level of potential gossip generation. And in all this romantic snow and lights to boot. Could lead to all sorts of misunderstandings.

So Sirius made a decision … he had to save Harry from this, had to protect him …

… though it soon became clear that Harry had all the protection he could need.

“If you’re going to say something, say it! Otherwise, shoo … you horrid little pest! Before I lose my temper and turn you into a ferret!”

Mental note … don’t cross Hermione Granger where Harry is concerned. Who knows what becoming a ferret would do to my Animagus form!

Sirius chuckled deeply as a sullen girl slunked away from Hermione’s scything threat as she came into view. He looked to Harry at her side, fully expecting him to have turned his eyes in his usual downcast expression. He hated the attention after all. It was with no small degree of surprise that Sirius found Harry’s face cracked into a wide laugh.

Laugh … since when does Harry LAUGH? This girl has some serious magic about her to do THAT!

It was all Sirius could do to marvel at it. A moment later, Harry clocked him and guided Hermione in his direction. Sirius could barely believe the boy he was seeing … he was comfortable, at ease, borderline carefree. He had doubted this side of Harry even existed, but here it was, right in front of him. It warmed Sirius all through to see it, and emotion for Hermione Granger welled inside him as he saw she was the reason for it, standing defensively close as she was.

“You found him then?” Sirius quirked. “How did you manage to get him out?”

“I just asked,” Hermione shrugged nonchalantly. Then she grinned sweetly. “Seems I’m more persuasive than you, Mr Black.”

“Clearly,” Sirius laughed. “And Harry … you seem actuallyhappy to be out. That's new.”

“I think I have found a new favourite game … watching Hermione abuse random members of the public!” Harry teased. “I could watch it for hours. Saves me doing it and it’s eminently entertaining!”

“Hush you,” Hermione falsely scolded in reply, flushing slightly. “Mr Black … where’s my Mother? Is she still with you?”

“I tried to keep her still but she insisted on exploring on her own,” Sirius explained. “Try not to hex me for that. I did make her a map.”

“Oh I wont, that isn’t your fault,” Hermione huffed. “She’s far too free-spirited for that. She’s a nightmare, honestly. I’d better go and find her though. Which way did she go?”

Sirius pointed along Diagon Alley in the direction Catrin had walked. Hermione nodded and turned to Harry.

“Well, we both have a bit of our own shopping to do, so shall we meet up in hour or so, maybe outsideFlourish and Blotts? I can show you what to get me for Christmas in there.”

Harry scrunched his brow in confusion. “And why would I need you to do that? I already know what I’m getting you.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “You … you do?”

“Yeah, I’ve been planning it for a while,” Harry confirmed. “It’s a bit of a time-sensitive thing so I had to think ahead.”

“But Sirius said you had no idea, that you’d sent him here to get something for me.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Harry frowned, turning sharp eyes to his Godfather.

“Ah, well … you see … it was more like …”

“I’m not totally hopeless,” Harry cried, cutting Sirius off at a stroke. “I have your present, Hermione. I only needed my goon of a Godfather to pick it up for me, that’s all.

“Perhaps we can pick it up together?” Hermione asked hopefully.

“Aren’t presents supposed to be surprises?” Harry threw back. “That’s why we wrap them. I read about that inGift Wrapping - a Four-Fold Guide.”

“I’m not sure I like surprises, Hermione replied in a sniffy voice, not sure if Harry’s attempt at a bad joke was a joke at all. The Magical world did seem to have a whimsically-titled book for practically every subject.

“No, me neither. I’ve never had much luck with them,” Harry agreed. “The surprise of learning I was nearly murdered as a baby … learning everyone knew my name and wanted a piece of me … learning my Godfather and guardian was such an arse …”

“Language, Harry,” Sirius admonished, trying to mask a smirk as Hermione giggled nearby.

“But okay, we can collect your gift together,” Harry asked. “It needs your signature anyway. But it isn’t fromFlourish and Blottsas it isn’t a book.”

“Now I’m intrigued,” Hermione mused. “Alright, so I’ll run after my Mum, do my shopping with her, then meet you … where?”

“OutsideThe Forge and Crucible,”Harry told her.

“But that’s the alchemy supply shop,” Hermione pointed out. “What could you have possibly gotten me from there? You know I don’t study alchemy at Hogwarts.”

“Oh it’s much more than that,” Harry replied, brightly. “You’ll see in an hour.”

“I don’t know if I can stand the suspense,” Hermione laughed. “Okay, I’d better go after my Mum. See you in an hour.”

Then she bobbed on her toes, as if she were going to do something, but she seemed to lose her nerve at the last minute as she span away and hurried off down the Alley. Sirius turned to Harry as soon as Hermione was out of sight.

“Well … she’s certainly got you wrapped around her little finger. I’ll need to watch out for that one.”

“Shut up, you mongrel,” Harry shot back. “She’s my friend … andjustmy friend. Don’t go complicating it with your silliness.”

Sirius rather thought Harry might have been talking to himself, but he kept the observation in his own mind only.

“So, what do we do for the next hour?” he asked instead.

“I have one more present to buy for Hermione … well, for her cat, actually,” Harry replied as they started walking.

“You’re buying a gift for hercat?” Sirius quirked, raising an eyebrow and realising, not for the first time, that this friendship was a little more serious than Harry was letting on. “Why?”

“I’ve used him as courier for some of our pen-pal letters,” Harry explained. “But his collar is a bit old and battered and blah. I’m hoping to get one with a Ravenclaw eagle on it, for a laugh, as Hermione’s in Gryffindor.”

“And will she appreciate that? Will she see the funny side?”

“Oh, definitely,” Harry nodded.

“You often tease each other like that, then?”

“Quite often, yeah.”

“I see,” Sirius smirked, knowingly. “TheMagical Menagerieit is then.”

They reached the shop and soon began browsing. The shop owner came over to offer assistance, pointing out the Ravenclaw-branded options when Harry asked to be shown to them. He soon found the sort of collar he wanted.

“This is what I’m after, but do you have it with an orange band?” Harry asked. “He’s a big, fluffy, ginger cat, so I sort of want the collar to match his fur, if you see what I mean.”

“Your Mum and Dad had a cat like that once,” Sirius reminisced, fondly. “When they bought him, he was calledRameses Niblick the Third Kerplunk Kerplunk Whoops Where’s my Thribble?But obviously that was too long, so in the end they just called him Alan.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You can’t call a cat‘Alan’.”

“You can’t call a cat Rameses Niblick the Third either, but someone did.”

“Some people shouldn’t be allowed pets,” Harry frowned, disapprovingly. He paid two Galleons for the new cat collar, then he and Sirius left the shop as a little bell tinkled overhead.

Somewhere further along Diagon Alley, Hermione had found her mother and pulled her to browse at the window display outsideEeylops Owl Emporium. Catrin looked down curiously at her.

“You do know that you don’t have an owl, don’t you?” she asked. “And before you think of getting one, I should warn you that I’m not sure your father would appreciate all that hooting at all hours of the night. Neither would I, come to think of it.”

Hermione gave her a nonplussed sort of look. “Of course I do, stop being silly. This isn’t for my pet … it’s for Hedwig.”

“Hedwig? Who’s that?”

“It’s Harry’s owl,” Hermione replied, simply and without ceremony.

Catrin blinked pointedly. “You’re buying a gift forHarry’sfamiliar?”

“Yes. I used her to deliver at least one of my pen-pal letters to Harry,” Hermione explained. “And she’s ever such a pretty owl, I’m thinking a suitable carrying pouch or something might be nice.”

“Do you often borrow Harry’s things, then?”

“Quite often, yes,” Hermione confirmed. “He’s very generous, with stationary and ink and especially quill nibs. He also let me keep his scarf. He leant it to me when I was cold, see?”

Hermione lifted her coat collar to show her mother the scarf, which she wore everywhere, tucked tight around her neck. Catrin noticed the unfamiliar blue and grey crest woven into the warm fabric.

“That doesn’t look like your other things,” Catrin commented curiously. “All your Gryffindor items are in red and gold.”

“I’ve told you before, Harry isn’tinGryffindor,” Hermione replied in an exasperated tone. “He’s in Ravenclaw House.”

“And is Ravenclaw a rival of Gryffindor would you say?”

“Not as much as with Slytherin, but we are all rivals in a way. I’ve always seen that as a weakness of how Hogwarts is structured. That’s why I startedThe Lonely Hearts Club, to promote greater inter-house unity.”

Catrin quirked an eyebrow at her daughter. “The Lonely Hearts Club?”

“Oh bother!” Hermione snapped, crossly. “That’s a stupid moniker that some people have given to my pen-pal club at school. Even I catch myself using it sometimes.”

Catrin’s chest ached at the idea. She had always known that Hermione was something of a solitary girl, withdrawn and not abundant with friends. But she’d never complained about that, she just seemed to get on with it. But the notion that her little girl was actuallylonelyhad never really crossed Catrin’s mind. She felt guilty, and a little frantic, that she’d never noticed this before.

“Do you think that’s a characteristic of the people who signed up?” Catrin pressed. “Are they mostly lonely?”

Hermione thought about that a moment. “I couldn’t say for sure. I’d have to guess that at least a fifth of the student body have signed up by now, but I don’t know them well enough to say if they were lonely or not. There are probably lots of reasons for people wanting a pen-pal.”

Catrin considered her next question cautiously, conscious now that she was about to tread on delicate, potentially emotional ground.

“Would you say Harry Potter was lonely?”

Hermione sighed heavily and turned her eyes down. She sounded like an old soul. “Yes. I am almost certain that he was. Harry endured a sort of isolation that I don’t think I have the vocabulary to effectively describe. I cant even imagine it. Not that I want to … I don’t like to think of how he must have suffered.”

“Suffered?” Catrin asked in concern.

Hermione still didn’t look up. This was affecting her, that much was obvious. Catrin might even say it washurtingher daughter to think these things about her friend.

“He hasn’t given me the details yet, but it’s clear that Harry had an unhappy childhood,” Hermione mumbled. “After his parents were killed, he lived with his Aunt and Uncle. The experience was very unpleasant, from the little he has told me so far. It left him isolated, and that got worse when he got to Hogwarts and was singled out for his story, which he knew nothing of prior to that. He found it impossible to make friends, let alone trust anyone.

“That’s why I was so surprised that he was interested in joining the pen-pal club, and even more surprised that he was happy for his pen-pal to be me when I suggested it. Amazed, even. But it’s been such a good experience for us both. I feel so lucky that I’ve been able to get to know him so much better than anyone else.”

“So you don’t think he’s lonely anymore, not since you became friends?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. We are both a bit taciturn, I think … and we don’t need many friends in our lives to be fulfilled. No-one else reallygetseither of us, anyway … so being friends with each other is probably enough for us both. We’ve overcome any inter-house rivalry that might have existed, proving the point of my Club.”

“And so, do you wear his House scarf around your friends and peers?”

“Sometimes,” Hermione told her evasively. To say ‘all the time’ sounded a bit much.

“Doesn’t that get you nasty comments? I can imagine people being harsh to you by wearing the colours of another House. They might see it as treacherous or a betrayal.”

“I don’t care,” Hermione retorted sternly. “It was a gift from my friend and I find it … comforting. So I wear it when I want and ignore what anyone says.”

Catrin smiled over fondly. “It sounds like a really good thing that you’ve done, Hermione Granger. I’m very proud of you, you know?”

Hermione beamed up. “Harry said that, too, in his very first letter to me.”

Which seems to carry much more weight than when I said it, Catrin thought to herself. The opinion of a boy meaning so much to her … Catrin wondered if Hermione truly knew how much trouble she was falling into where Harry Potter was concerned. She seemed largely oblivious, or was she simply becoming artful in her adolescence?

“So, we are buying Harry’s pet a gift, but what about the boy himself?” Catrin asked. “Any ideas there?”

Hermione frowned in consternation. “Several … but each seems more inadequate than the last. And today he told me that his present formeis from a most unexpected source. I can’t even guess what it might be. He’s agreed to let me collect it with him later.”

“Presents are supposed to be surprises, Hermione,” Catrin pointed out.

Hermione simply turned her head with a frank expression. “We don’t like surprises, Mother.”

Oh … so it’s “we” now, is it? …

It wasn’t a bell that tinkled as Hermione opened the black door, it was more of a wind chime … a wooden, musical note, or several of them, ricocheting through the rather gloomy interior ofThe Forge and Crucible.It was warm to the point of stifling, almost uncomfortable. It felt like the sort of place that should have been further down Knockturn Alley, not on the last vestiges of that passageway’s respectability, placed as it was on the very junction it made with Diagon Alley.

Harry was already inside, browsing a narrow set of bookshelves off to the left. Hermione sidled quietly up to him to see what he was looking at, expecting to see complicated tomes on metallurgy and chemical distillation. But she didn’t. It was with a great degree of surprise that she found Harry browsingfiction stories, some with famous titles that she knew very well.

“Lord of the Rings … The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe …ooh!The Little White Horse!I loved that book when I was little! But what on Earth are they doing in here?”

Harry looked up. He seemed pleasantly dazed, his eyes unfocused as if waking from a trance. There was a contented smile on his face and Hermione felt oddly guilty, as if she’d disturbed him from a nice dream.

“Oh. Hello, Hermione. I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a few seconds,” she replied. “How long have you been here?”

“A while,” Harry told her vaguely. “I like coming here so I thought I’d come along early to get your present and wait for you.”

Hermione unzipped her heavy coat and fanned herself. “It’s boiling in here. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

“Alchemy is all about working with fire, often in a crucible-type environment,” Harry explained. “I think the shop is supposed to reflect that. But I don’t mind it. It’s not for everyone … so not a lot of people come in here.”

Hermione suddenly understood. Harry had often mentioned his passion for alchemy, it was his favourite class at Hogwarts. Here he could indulge his passion away from watching crowds, scared off by the sultry interior of the shop. Part of Hermione was hit with a deep sadness that Harry was prepared to endure such lengths just to enjoy himself, but another part could tell that Harry was genuinely comfortable here, even if Hermione struggled to understand how, as she struggled for a clean breath.

“Even so, an open window or two would do quite nicely,” Hermione puffed out. “The air is so dense in here.”

“A true alchemist must endure for his art!”Harry chuckled, putting on an exaggerated deep voice. “That’s what Mr. Gofannon would say. He ownsThe Forge,know.”

Hermione looked around, expecting to see a hunched wizard in a deep robe mixing ingredients behind a row of bubbling flasks. But there was no-one there. She and Harry were quite alone in the darkness. A thrill ran through her that made her draw closer to her friend.

“It’s weird in here, it has an odd ambience and I don’t think I like it,” Hermione whispered. She didn’t know why she whispered, it just seemed like the thing to do. “I feel like I’m being watched. Where is the shopkeeper?”

“Just adding a bit of a finishing lustre to your Christmas present,” Harry explained. “He’s been at it a while so I don’t think he’ll be too much longer.”

“Can you tell me what it is now?” Hermione asked with a cheeky smile.

“You’ll see it for yourself in a few minutes,” Harry said in refusal. “In the meantime, help me pick out a new story to read.”

Harry gestured back to the bookshelf. Hermione saw many titles she recognised, from famous Muggle writers such as Ben Johnson, Terry Pratchett and even -

“- Shakespeare! Why would there be works byhimin an alchemical workshop?”

“Because Mr Shakespeare was heavily influenced by the storehouse of alchemical literature and symbolism. But that is something I would expectyouto know … after all,I’dexpect to know it if I was named after a famous Shakespeare character in the way you are … Hermione Granger.”

Hermione spun around to look back across the shop. There, behind the payment counter, was a wizard garbed quite as she’d expected to find on her inspection just a minute ago. How had he gotten there so quickly, so silently … and how did he know her name?”

“There are only questions in this shop, and few answers,” the shopkeeper, Gofannon, cut across before Hermione could even vocalise her thoughts. “Let us just say that you are known to me, and leave it at that.”

“Excuse me, but you are a stranger who knows my name,” Hermione protested. “So I will notleave it at that.”

“She has a point, Mr Gofannon,” Harry added lightly. “How do you know who she is? I’ve never mentioned her.”

Harry and Gofannon were on familiar terms, that much was clear to Hermione from Harry’s easy tone. It settled her nerves somewhat.

“Professor Dumbledore is a good friend of mine,” Gofannon explained. “We still meet up to discuss all things esoteric about every month or so. He has done much work on alchemy during his lifetime.”

“Yes, I’ve read his Chocolate Frog card,” Hermione replied, a little impatiently. “That still doesn’t answer my question about how you know me.”

“Ah, his Frog Card,” Gofannon chuckled. “Albus considers that the completion of hisOpus Alchymicum, you know. His version of immortality. And he may be right. There is no single right answer in The Art.”

Hermione was getting annoyed by this wizard’s evasiveness. “So can I expect none to my query?”

Gofannanlooked up finally. Hermione couldn’t see his features, hidden as they were beneath his deep hood, but she could tell that he had a very sharp, pointed beard. It looked almost unnatural, like something from a story book goblin or something.

“Our Art is a dying one, Miss Granger,” Gofannon sighed with genuine sadness. “The world is changing and old traditions are fading from our sight. Few now have the patience or natural adeptness to carry out The Work of the alchemical opus. Professor Dumbledore often discusses with me the new students who show the most promise and attempt the study of our noble art … so it was a bitter blow to hear that you, one of the brightest students of your generation, dropped out after barely a week.”

Harry snapped his head up in shock. “Youtook the alchemy class? I never saw you there.”

“Perhaps you weren’t looking, because I saw you,” Hermione replied, shyly. “You sat at the very front of the class, whereas I tucked myself away at the back. I remember you answering most of the questions Professor Abraham asked. She seemed to like you right away.”

“Yeah, she’s probably my favourite teacher,” Harry replied dismissively. “But never mind that … why did you drop the subject?”

“It was too flaky for me, all symbols and allegory and abstract concepts,” Hermione explained. “I prefer my magic to be underpinned by logic, something you can break down and put back together in the same way. Alchemy is the opposite of that … you break things down and hope for something different when you reform it. That sounds nonsensical to me.”

“But logic is a key part of the process,” Gofannon argued, now re-hunched over his counter. “Alchemy is, at its most fundamental, a joining of opposites … hot and cool, moist and dry … the impulsiveness of instinct tempered by the rationality of logic. No alchemist ever succeeds in the Opus alone. They need their complimentary other half to complete the circle, to bring what they lack and, therefore, need.”

“Need?” Hermione asked, slightly confused. “How can an alchemist need another person to turn lead into gold?”

Gofannon sighed, put down the tools he was working with and shuffled over to them. He was barely Hermione’s height (she had the advantage of her favourite one-quarter inch) so he looked almost dead in her eyes. And his eyes … they were brilliant white with no irises … just a tiny black dot at each centre. The look startled Hermione and she took another half-step back towards Harry.

“An alchemist who seeks only gold, who yearns only for eternal life, is a fool and a charlatan,” Gofannan hushed in an ethereal voice. “A true alchemist knows that the real transformative process happenshere… within oneself.”

The wizard pressed one hand firmly to his chest, then used his other to gesture at the bookshelf as he continued.

“These stories are all written in the alchemical tradition. The hero goes on a journey of transformation, overcoming obstacles, tricks, illusions, all to gain knowledge and insight that lead to enlightenment. They face darkness, both within and without, but arrive at a new state of understanding. This enlightenment they then share with the world in the hopes of bettering it.Thisis the true Philosopher’s Stone … not some jewel to transform base metal to gold, but to transform a mere mortal into a genuine philosopher who can improve the world around them.

“And young Harry here is, of course, on such a journey himself.”

Harry rolled his eyes in a clear gesture of ‘not this again’,but Hermione was intrigued and couldn’t help but ask further.

“What does he mean?”

“Mr Gofannon has this loony theory that I’m one of his alchemical Red Kings,” Harry began. “Like Aragorn from Lord of the Rings, or Leontes inThe Winter’s Tale.”

Hermione drew a very sharp breath. “Harry … I’m named after Hermione from that play.”

“Oh yeah … I remember you saying …”

“But what is a Red King?”

“One half of a set of alchemical mates,” Harry explained coyly. “The other being a White Queen. It’s all allegorical so most of it doesn’t make sense.”

“So what makes you a Red King?” Hermione pushed. “Would I be one, because we are pretty similar aren’t we?”

“Well, let’s see,” Gofannon interjected, suddenly animated. “Mr Potter has several markers that stand him out as a Red King … the character is typically governed by the Sun and associated with fire.”

“I’m a Leo, so the Sun rules my star-sign,” Harry added in a tone which suggested he didn’t give the association much weight.

“But then you also have his name … Potter. After blacksmiths, potters are another master of fire, able to use the element as a transmuting force. Alchemists are the quintessential masters of fire … breaking down material, purging it of imperfections, them reforming it in a more refined state.”

“Lead becomes copper, becomes silver, becomes gold,” Hermione mused. Then she pondered further. “Or an alchemists learns… lets go of false ideas, outmoded ways of being, and improves as a person.”

“Not so abstract after all, is it?” Gofannon chuckled. “But Harry is marked by the Sun is a much more … ahem … obvious way. Do you know Ancient Runes at all, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, I take the class at Hogwarts,” Hermione replied.

“And could you name all the runes? Draw them?”

“Yes. I learned all the names and symbols by heart over the Summer when I picked up the course textbook,” Hermione told him somewhat smugly.

“So you know the Sowilo rune?”

“Yes.”

“And what does it represent?”

“It can represent many things, but most commonly it is referred to asThe Rune of the Sun.”

“And what does it look like?”

“It resembles a … a … abolt of lightening.”

Hermione’s voice dropped to a whisper as she said the last part. Without even thinking, without asking if it was okay, Hermione reached up and brushed Harry’s messy fringe aside and looked at his famous scar, probably the first time she’d ever studied it so up close. Harry didn’t offer a word of complaint … in fact, if Hermione had been of mind to notice, she might have seen Harry close his eyes at her touch …

“Yes, it is Sowilo, right there on young Harry’s temple,” Gofannon went on, stepping close to inspect the wound himself. “Blessed by the Sun, perhaps even protected by that light for all we know.”

“Couldn’t You-Know-Who have been channelling that force with the curse?” Hermione asked.

“We can always speculate, but a wizard charged with such darkness channelling a force of the Sun? I think it unlikely,” Gofannon replied. “And let us not forget, Harry pulled an actual Philosopher’s Stone from where Professor Dumbledore had hidden it … Albus told me that only a person filled with pure goodness could have done that.”

Hermione looked fondly at Harry, knowing all abut his inherent goodness, but she looked in confusion, too. When had he handled a real Philosopher’s Stone? He’d never told her that. Clearly, the boy still held a lot of secrets from her. She’d have to wheedle the story from him somehow, but she was confident he’d tell her. All she had to do was ask, probably.

“It’s still all coincidence,” Harry cut in. “So yeah I’m born a Leo and I have lightening on my head, but that’s all it is. I don’t see me changing the world for the better.”

“Well actually, Harry, haven’t you … sort of … already done that?” Hermione countered. “The night you got your scar changed the world, didn’t it?”

“But I didn’t do anything, did I? Other than stick my fat baby head in the way of a curse,” Harry chuckled.

Hermione frowned at Harry’s churlishness. “However it happened, it did change the world. And we can agree that a world without You-Know-Who is definitely a better one.”

“But what about changing myself?” Harry challenged. “Show me evidence of that.”

Hermione turned shrewdly to Gofannon. “What would be the typical markers of a White Queen? What are the associations there?”

Gofannon stroked his beard. “Generally, but not exclusively, White Queens are seen as the cool, logical, female accompaniment to the rash, impulsive red males. Ruled by Mercury, linked with the element Earth, White Queens often embody the Mind aspect of the Heart and Mind union that leads to an enlightened soul. Does any of this apply to you?”

“I’m born in September, which makes me a Virgo,” Hermione began, pacing as she did so. “In astrology, Virgo is ruled by Mercury and it’s metal element is mercury and natural element is earth. My initials are alsoHG, which is shorthand for mercury on the periodic table.”

“And your surname … Granger,” Gofannon went on. “A tiller of the earth, like a farmer. So we have a further link there . And your intelligence clearly marks you as Mind. How intriguing.”

Harry shook his head. “Still just coincidence. How has any of that changed anything?”

But Hermione, to Harry’s surprise, seemed more convinced about this connection than he was. She was practically bobbing her heels at this point.

“Ishaschanged something, and it’s a big something,” Hermione insisted. “And that’s evidenced by whatever Mr Gofannon was working on over at his desk. I assume that is my Christmas present?”

Gofannon snapped his head from Harry to Hermione so quickly they could all hear it crack. Undeterred, the alchemist ploughed on.

“Ah, sothisis the friend I have been crafting for!” he cried in glee. “And you say you haven’t noticed the connection? Shame on you, Harry, for being so evasive.”

Hermione co*cked her head curiously at Harry. “What does he mean?”

“Nothing. He’s just grasping again,” Harry tried to argue, but his voice betrayed his concern about the revelation to come.

“Nonsense, Harry knows full well what he has been doing … and now I see why,” Gofannon scoffed.

“Whathaveyou been doing?” Hermione asked, suspiciously.

“He has been spending nights working with his alchemy Professor to refine a very special type of material,” Gofannon answered before Harry had a chance. “The process has to be conducted under the light of the Moon, to imbibe the material with lunar power. For, of course, the Moon symbolisesPhilosophical Mercury, the original White Queen of the alchemical work. And why is that important? Well, your Christmas gift is infused with it.”

Hermione flicked a fond look at Harry, who had turned his own eyes down. That he’d gone to so much effort for her, and kept the whole thing a secret just for the surprise … it pooled a well of heat deep inside her chest. Now she just had to see what he’d been up to.

“So, can I get my presentnow?” she asked eagerly.

“I suppose you’d better, now the story is out,” Harry huffed. “Now, don’t get too excited, and please don’t take it the wrong way.”

“Take what the wrong way?” Hermione asked, perplexed.

“Well,technically, this is a piece of jewellery,” Harry explained, his voice little and shy. “But it’s practical and really useful, it just has to be worn this way.”

Hermione felt colour rush to her cheeks in the gloom. Harry had bought her jewellery? That was unexpected. Feeling slightly giddy, Hermione followed Harry to the counter, where Gofannon unfolded a piece of fine purple cloth in front of them. Upon that he laid one of the most astonishing and beautiful silver bracelets that Hermione had ever seen. It was an intricately and delicately woven Celtic knot, dainty as though it should have belonged to an Elven princess from one of her favourite stories. She baulked to think what it would look like on her skinny wrist, if this really was her present.

“Is … is this really forme?” she hushed reverently. She hoped Harry would confirm that it was, for she had fallen in love with the piece at first sight.

“Yeah … Happy Christmas,” Harry grinned, clearly relived to see how pleased Hermione was with her gift.

She noticed and had to put Harry’s mind at ease. She couldn’t believe he was ever in doubt that she wouldn’t likethis. It wasn’t just the beauty of it, the effort it must have taken was just as important to Hermione.

“This is so beautiful, Harry, thank you,” Hermione crooned. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”

“You haven’t even realised the trouble,” Gofannon quirked. “Look closer, Miss Granger.”

Intrigued, Hermione bent her head closer to the desk and inspected the bracelet in more depth … and she was astonished at what she saw.

“The metal … it’smoving,” she hushed. “It’s almost liquid-like!”

“Precisely,” Gofannon cried, clapping his hands. “That is the special element Harry has been working so hard to produce. It has properties, you may have guessed, of Mercury, imbibed with fine silver. We call itquicksilver. A substitute name for argent vive, or philosophical mercury in the Opus Alchymicum. And Harry has gifted this to you. And it isn’t just the band itself.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, her skin now hotter than the air of the shop.

“The bracelet isn’t the main part of your gift, it’s these little charms I’ve added,” Harry confessed. “I saw something like it in the Muggle world … a bracelet where you can add charms of things that you like or reflect your interests. I think they call them Pandora or something. I thought a magical version would be good, so I made one.

“So, here, I’ve added a little lamp. When you touch it, it’ll resize to a full one and provide you with all the light you need. Handy for studying at night or when you do your Prefect rounds next year, ‘cause I’m sure you’ll be one. And here, there’s a little book. I’ve Charmed it with a really useful copy spell I found. It means that if you touch it to a book, it copies it completely and can store thousands of volumes. It’ll save you dragging all the books from the library once you’ve copied them all, leaving some for the rest of us.

“And lastly, an indestructible quill nib … for all those emergencies when you can’t steal my spares!”

Hermione stared opened mouthed and blinked rapidly.

“And … you’ve done all this for me?”

“Well, the quicksilver does the real work,” Harry explained, bashfully. “It’s a remarkably transmutable substance. Loads of really good uses. So, do you like it?"

Hermione beamed over, slightly incredulous in her look. “Like it? No, Harry, I don’t like it … Iloveit! No-one has ever given me anything like this before, never gone to this much trouble. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it.”

“Just been my friend,” Harry replied, toeing the floor shyly. “That must be much harder than refining a few nuggets of silver.”

“I love it, I really do,” Hermione hushed, stroking her bracelet delicately. “Can I take it now?”

“Let me place it in the box for you to take away,” Gofannon smiled. “As soon as you place the bracelet on, it will align to your energy. From then on, only your touch will activate these charms, and any you might add later. If this takes off, I may patent the idea … with Harry getting a cut of the profits, of course!”

“Deal!” Harry chuckled. “Any good books to recommend while we’re here?”

“Actually yes, just taken a new series in that I think you’ll like,” Gofannon nodded as he wrapped the bracelet. “It’s calledHis Dark Materials.First volume isNorthern Lights, shall I add it to your bill?”

Hermione suddenly gasped in shock. “His Dark Materials is an alchemical story? I love that series.”

Harry quirked his eye at her. “I didn’t know you were into fantasy fiction?”

“What? Thought I only read textbooks, did you?” Hermione laughed. “I like a good story as much as the next girl. And I love these ones. I always wanted to be Lyra, the heroine. If I ever have a daughter, I think that’s what I might name her …”

Then she bit her tongue, as if she’d said too much. Harry just grinned at her.

“Then I’d better get it,” Harry told Gofannon. Then he turned to Hermione. “Maybe we can read it together, if you don’t mind going over it again.”

“Ooh, no, I’dlovethat,” Hermione tittered. “It all starts in Oxford, see, so it always reminds me of home. Hey, maybe we can even guess what our dæmons might be!”

“Dæmons? What are they?” Harry asked as he slipped his heavy money pouch to Gofannon while Hermione was distracted. He didn’t really want her to know how expensive her Christmas present was.

“They are spirit animals, sort of like guides,” Hermione explained. “They reflect some aspect of your personality.”

“Oh, like your Patronus?” Harry asked.

“Maybe … I’d never thought about it like that,” Hermione pondered. She turned to Harry as she opened the door to the shop. “Um, Harry, you’ve never told me … what form does your Patronus take?”

“It’s a stag,” Harry replied, simply. “Don’t tell Gofannon that … ‘cause in alchemy the stag, or sometimes the deer, is one of the alchemical mates.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “And what’s the other half?”

“A unicorn, it’s always a unicorn,” Harry revealed. “They join in a chemical wedding and run off into the forest of life and blah blah blah blah.”

Harry didn’t actually sayblah. In truth, Hermione didn’t hear what he said. All she was focused on was a spell that was racing through her mind, as they stepped out into cool air of Winter London. She knew the spell, she’d read about it, but never tried it. But it was all she could think about trying now, once she was permitted to do magic again.

Expecto Patronum.

She would master that spell, faster than she’d mastered any other …

… and she hoped, with every fibre of her heart, that her Patronus would turn out to be a certain magical horse with a single horn …

Chapter 22: A World Shattered

Chapter Text

Pulling her dressing gown tight across her shoulders, Hermione slowly and deliberately stirred her mug of hot chocolate as she looked out of the kitchen window. She watched as her father's battered old skiff bobbed up and down on the surface of the canal at the bottom of the back garden, tugging at its moorings and rolling on the disturbed water caused by a recently-passed long barge. When she'd been little, Hermione and her Dad had spent many a night planning to buy and paint a glorious narrowboat of their own, and then imagined sailing it all the way to London and on to the Fens of East Anglia beyond. It was how they would spend their weekends and holidays when Hermione was home from school.

But then a shocking letter in heavy parchment shattered all that.

Hermione had never really assessed the impact of that fateful summons, of all that it would change within her life. Mum and Dad weren't so keen on her going at first; the stigma of having a true witch in the family was a tough one to comprehend. But Hermione had made up her mind almost instantly ... and it was a mind that, once set on a course, was nigh on impossible to alter.

For her own part, Hermione didn't see the offer in quite the same way as her parents. It wasn't so much about learning to brew potions and cast spells, as opposed to studying mathematics and geography, that was so intoxicating and appealing ... it was something altogether more profound. She had always known that there was something different about her when compared to other children, and it wasn't just her extreme cleverness. Other kids were clever, too, but Hermione had always felt somehow unique amongst her peers, even if she never could quite put her finger on why.

So that letter from Minerva McGonagall, and the revelation that Hermione was, in fact, a real-life witch, pulled all the pieces together for her in a flash of emerald-green ink.

For Hermione had always known things, and could sense things, that her young fellows couldn't. She had an adept understanding for abstract concepts, and for the more mundane ones, too. It made her an instant high achiever in class but, when she tried to help other pupils, she came across as overbearing and an insufferable show-off. She just wasn't the best at expressing herself properly, and making friends wasn't a skill she could learn from a textbook. Bullying inevitably followed, but Hermione Granger had an answer for that, too.

Once, when a jealous rival in her class tore up a piece of Hermione's homework, she tried to force the ripped pieces back together before she got into trouble with her teacher. Amazingly, itworked ...and Hermione came top of the class that day. Hermione couldn't explain it; she simply assumed that her tears had somehow glued the tiny fragments back together just in time.

Another time, a different bully had cut chunks out of Hermione's thick hair before she could realise and stop it. Anxious about what she would say to her mother when she got home, Hermione fretted about it on the long walk back from school. But, somehow, the hair had grown back by the time Hermione got in, so she was spared confessing to her parents that she was suffering so much at the hands of her classmates. Again, she had no easy explanation, but simply accepted that she'd managed to make her hair grow faster because she had needed it to.

Which is why the offer from Hogwarts was such a fundamental relief for her. She wouldn't be going to the local comprehensive with her bullies – and their threats to flush her head down the toilet on the first day – or to go into private education, which might be so much worse, as some of the bullies thought that she was such a posh snob already and despised her for it. Expensive schooling wouldn't have helped her during isolated holidays and weekends off around Abingdon.

No, Hogwarts was the chance of a fresh start away from all that Hermione had endured. And, if she learnt a good spell or two, she could always turn her bullies into warty toads or something if they came after her. That thought cheered Hermione during her first train ride on the Hogwarts Express. She was so excited, so keen to make friends that, looking back, she probably tried too hard on her first day, and alienated anyone who came within three feet of her.

Not that it was completely her fault ... after all, sharing a compartment with a moody boy that didn't want to talk, who shouted at anyone who dared to say his name, wasn't the easiest place to start practicing her social skills.

"I don't want to talk, not to you or to anyone," the angry boy, who was about her age, had told her firmly, as the Express rumbled out of London. "You can talk if you want, but don't expect me to answer. And if you ask me aboutthat,I'll kick you out and make you sit in the corridor for the rest of the trip, and laugh when the Lady with the Trolley runs you over and leaves you covered in Chocolate Frogs."

"Ask aboutwhat?" Hermione had asked, genuinely. "And are there really chocolate frogs?"

"Don't pretend you don't know!" the boy snapped back. "Everyoneknows. But I'm warning you ... you ask, even one time, and you're out. I don't care if everywhere else is full or that no-one wants to share a compartment with you. You've been warned. I don't want to talk about it."

But now, some four-odd years later, the same acidic boy was buying her a Christmas gift more valuable than half of Abingdon.

Hermione marvelled at how so much had changed in that time, and at the value of the gift laid out just so on the kitchen table she was now sat at. For she had done her research and learned from Gringotts just how valuable alchemical Quicksilver truly was. It had taken her breath away, and still left her open-mouthed now as she studied her beautiful gift. She just wished she knew how she was supposed to accept it.

"It really is a stunning piece, but I think you are allowed to actuallyput it on, you know!"

"Mum! You scared me!" Hermione yelped, snapping her head towards the kitchen door. "What are you doing, lurking there like that?"

Hermione smiled inwardly at her own words. Harry had been right, way back on that night up on the Astronomy Tower ... she reallyhadbeen lurking out of sight. Well, at least she knew now where she learned the art from.

"Just came to make a cuppa, as it looks like you aren't going to make me one," Catrin teased.

"You didn't ask," Hermione frowned.

"All that magic is robbing you of natural intuition," Catrin grinned. "And the way you are idolising that bracelet is further proof. Just put it on ... I bet it'll look gorgeous on you."

"That's the thing," Hermione muttered, anxiously. "I'm not sure I agree. I ... I don't know if I'm worthy of it."

Catrin made her tea and joined her daughter at the breakfast table, a look of concern on her face. "Now why would you think such a silly thing as that?"

Hermione bothered the edge of the velvet cloth with her fingers, careful not to move the delicate bracelet atop it. "I don't think it's silly. I barely knew Harry at the start of this year, and now he's given me something like this. It isn't really the cost of it – which is significant, let me tell you – but it's more the thought and effort that he's put in. My gift to him was token, but this ... it's on a whole other level."

"And you don't know what you've done to deserve it?" Catrin smiled, knowingly.

"Something like that," Hermione mumbled. "And I love this so much, Mum! It's gorgeous and thoughtful and it'll be amazingly useful for me. And I really want to put it on, to be worthy of it. But I don't know what I did for Harry to go to so much trouble for me, or what I have to do to keep deserving his thoughtfulness and his care. But I so want to, Mum! I don't mean to get more expensive gifts, I just mean to keep Harry's friendship. No-one outside of the family has ever made me feel that they actuallylike me before, you know? I was never really bothered much about that ... but now that I have it, I'm a little terrified that I'll do something to lose it."

Catrin's smile deepened. "I'm sure that wont happen. But, maybe, if I knew a little more about Harry, I'd be in a position to advise you better."

"I've told you about Harry," Hermione reminded her mother.

"Only briefly," Catrin argued. "I know there must be more detail. You've told me he has a story, but I'm more interested in the boy behind it, and how he has suddenly entrenched himself so deeply into your life."

"I've said all you need to know already," Hermione replied wearily. "Harry is just a friend from school, that's all."

"But you see, that'snot all," Catrin pressed. "You are fifteen years old, sweetheart, and this is the first time in all those years that you've used that phrase. You've never mentioned any friends at Hogwarts before, you only talk about all the magic that you've been learning. And you never talked about friends in Primary School, either. I even distinctly remember having a conversation with the distraught mother of one of your nursery school classmates, who you upset by telling her that she was doing her finger painting all wrong."

"Well ... she was," Hermione huffed, folding her arms defensively across her chest. "It was all random and messy, no structure to it at all. Being five years old is no excuse for slovenliness."

"Be that as it may, my point is that you've never really had friends before. And as friends go, Harry Potter seems to come with a whole host of unusual elements. I'd just like to know more about him, that's all."

Hermione gave in with a heavy sigh. "Alright. Come with me."

So Hermione led her mother upstairs and back into her bedroom, where she shut the door behind them. Placing her rapidly cooling mug of hot chocolate on her bedside dresser, Hermione crossed to her large bookshelf in the corner of the room. She took down her well-thumbed copies ofModern Magical HistoryandGreat Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, flipped to the passages on Harry and placed them in front of her mother.

"He really does have chapters about him in books, then," Catrin mused, somewhat astonished.

"And in many more besides those two," Hermione confirmed. "But you can read those and find out what the general public already knows about him."

So Catrin did, hungrily skim-reading the chapters and throwing out the occasional comment like, "There was a war between wizards? How extraordinary!"; "Ooh, so that's the Dark Lord you mentioned - sounds like something from 'Lord of the Rings'!"; and "Oh, his parents were murdered by this He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as they were trying toprotectHarry ... poor thing! ... but he survived when they didn't! How?"

"That's not something that anyone knows," Hermione replied, sadly. "Or if they do, they are keeping quiet about it. That Dark Wizard, you see, resurrected an ancient spell called Avada Kedavra - the Killing Curse. You could kill with magic, but it wasn't widely known that there was a spell whose sole purpose was to remove life from a victim. As such, there was no counter-curse to defend against it. Until Harry, no-one had ever survived it. But somehow, even though he was just a toddler, hedid."

"He must be a very powerful wizard just by instinct then?" Catrin mused.

Hermione smiled at that, warmed both by the memory of Harry's reason for agreeing to confide in her all those months ago and by the off-handed compliment paid to him by her mother. Hermione found it strange that she liked hearing Harry's talents being so vaunted in front of her. She'd have to think about why that was when she had some alone time later.

"Oh, yes, he's very powerful," Hermione confirmed. "He's very clever, too. He's actually above me in the year in some subjects. He's the one who beat me to Student of the Year last time."

Catrin quirked a grin at her daughter. "And you'refriendswith him despite that?"

Hermione smiled back at the light teasing. "Yes, I am. Though don't worry, I'll get my title back this year!

"This is getting more curious by the minute," Catrin quirked. "So, you aren't good at making friends,heisn't good at making friends, either, and you are academic rivals ... so how on Earth did you become friends with each other?"

"It all started with the inter-schools magical contest that Hogwarts is hosting this year," Hermione began. "The senior teachers were trying to promote Hogwarts House unity, along with greater international magical co-operation with the other schools. They wanted the whole school to get behind whoever was chosen as Hogwarts Champion.

"But I noticed that there was more rivalry than unity at Hogwarts. Students from some Houses said they'd refuse to support a Champion that wasn't one of their own. So I thought what was needed was more connection between the Houses, so I started a pen-pal club, because I realised how separate we all are."

"Ah, and Harry Potter became your pen-pal?" Catrin asked, shrewdly.

"Yes, but it was under wildly different circ*mstances than I'd expected," Hermione confirmed. "You see, I made the scheme anonymous, so that prejudice wouldn't be an issue for anyone who participated. I didn't want that to put people off. Then, one night, when I was going through my list of sign-ups and choosing who to pair together, Harry's name appeared at the bottom of my page.

"I just stared at it for the first few minutes, I was so startled to see it there. Of all the people who might have signed up, I never thought Harry would. He was always so quiet and reclusive that it made him something of an enigma around school. Despite his fame, he was known to shun attention, had a bad reputation that made people steer clear of him, was generally thought of as angry and moody and totally unapproachable.

"But here he was ... reaching out for companionship. I admit that piqued my interest right away. But who could I partner him up with? Who on my list would be sympathetic enough to listen to his thoughts, without constantly going back to his 'story'? Who would be level-headed enough to not blab about what Harry told them, when they eventually worked out who he was, for they were bound to, weren't they?

"Then it struck me ... I was! That perfect person wasme!

"I never intended to have a pen-pal of my own, even though I started the scheme. I didn't like opening myself up any more than Harry did. I was always happier with books and my own company. And it wasthatwhich impacted me the most. I saw that I waslikeHarry in that way, so if he needed someone to tell his private thoughts to, maybe I did too. It was a frightening prospect, but I knew that if anyone would understand the value of being discreet, it was Harry."

"So you asked him to be your pen-pal?" Catrin deduced. "And he agreed?"

Hermione nodded with a smile tugging at her lips. "I totally expected him to tell me to sod off when I asked him, so I was more than a little bit stunned when he agreed to go along with my idea. And then I quickly learned that all the rumours about Harry were utter rubbish. He is nothing like anyone thinks. He is so much better and nicer and kinder than they would ever guess ... and I'm the only one who really knows that. And I sort of like it that way."

"I can tell," Catrin smiled. "And your Christmas present just reinforces Harry's true nature."

Hermione nodded again in agreement. "It does, but now I don't know what I'm supposed to do. My world was so ordered, Mum ... I liked it that way. I thought only about my classes, my homework, what I was going to learn next. These were all things I could control. Friendships and a social life didn't come into it. They were messy and complicated and distracting. I didn't want any of that. My life was stable, and I knew where I was."

"Until Harry Potter came along, shattered everything, andbrought you to life into the bargain," Catrin completed for her, sagely

Hermione found that her mug had halted on the way to her mouth, which had locked open. The words from her mother ... they were a definition she had been searching for in herself for weeks. She hadn't quite found the right combination of words to accurately describe Harry's impact on her life just yet, but her insightful Mum had just done the job for her.

Harry made her feel alive ... and he'd done it byshatteringher.

Not that she was going to admit that out loud so readily.

"What ... what do you mean by that?" Hermione fumbled in a tiny voice.

"Only that I've never seen this side of you before, one that shines with emotion," Catrin began. "Books and learning satisfy you and give you a sense of achievement ... but I've never seen them bring thisglowto your eyes. I've never seen them make you passionate or exhilarated – or scared and anxious, as you say you are. But this is life, my love ... this is what it feels like. Making connections with people, forming friendships ... I think these things are equally as important as scoring well on your exams. I just worried that you might miss out on all that.

"So, if you want your old Mum's opinion, I think Harry Potter bringing this side of you to life is more valuable than any gifts he might be able to buy you, no matter how beautiful or expensive they may be."

Hermione blinked as she tried to process that. Then she frowned. "Have I really been that bad? That much of a nightmare?"

Catrin laughed heartily. "No, of course not," she began, supportively. "But I'm just really glad that someone has finally gotten to see the girl behind the books, that's all. It's a nice change to hear you talk about friends for once; all your magic is abstract and alien to me, but friendships are things I know a thing or two about. It's something we can connect on."

"Do you really think I've changed that much?" Hermione probed, sitting down on her bed.

Her mother nodded. "Yes. And I knew that it was Harry Potter, rather than the girls in your dorm at Hogwarts, that had wrought this change in you."

"How?"

"I knew it as soon as I heard you squeak, when Harry's Christmas card popped through the door on Christmas Eve," Catrin grinned. "Or maybe it was the fact that you didn't put it with the others on the mantelpiece for more than five minutes. If it doesn't have pride of place on your bedside table now, I'll eat my bobble hat."

Hermione gasped out loud. How did sheknow!? That wasexactlywhere Harry's card was stood right now. She wondered if her Mum had latent Seer ability or something, as they both looked at the card and laughed.

"It's alright. Keeping things close by, given to you by a boy you fancy, is perfectly normal," Catrin fired off casually.

Hermione felt a tension rise in her throat. Rolling her eyes, she turned to her mother. "I do not fancy Harry. I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell you that before you believe it. He's my best friend, yes, and he's a boy, and yes I like to keep his things close by. I find them comforting and validating of our friendship."

"And is that how he feels? That you are just friends?"

"Of course," Hermione returned, confidently. "I mean, I'm hisonlyfriend – he doesn't get on with people in his dorm like I do now – so maybe he packages all his emotions into one and gives it to me, so itseemslike there's more to it. But there isn't, and we're both fine with that, as I told you that day when we were together on Diagon Alley."

"Ah yes, when all I saw was Harry's eyes glowing, cheeks shining, and his inability to sit still when talking about the girl who had caused all of the above," Catrin smiled back. "Then he sends you a Christmas card with kisses at the bottom and bought you a gorgeous bracelet that you haven't been able to take your eyes off, even if you are too scared to wear it. He even got a cute new collar for your cat! So, at the very least, he's very attentive to you."

Hermione felt the bedroom get seriously hot all of a sudden. She was just dying to open a window, despite the British Winter looming outside. "Like I said, I'm his only friend. I'm the sole focus of his affection, that's all it is."

"And very lucky you are for it," Catrin replied, warmly. Then she stood up to leave. "If I were you, I'd enjoy it. First loves are exciting, and I'm pretty sure you arehis, even if you insist thatyou don't feel that way. Whatever the truth, I'm sure it will be a deep and fulfilling friendship for you both. So show Harry the respect he deserves ... try on his Christmas present, see how well it suits you, for I'm sure it will."

Then she left, leaving Hermione to shiver as she tried to digest all these new suggestions.

Later that evening, there was a tinny sound to be heard in the Granger living room, one Hermione ignored completely, as it could have nothing to do with her.

She was curled up in her favourite reclining chair at the back of the room. It was away from the glare of the television, facing the faux-log fire, which gave the room an air of comfort and cosiness even if the flames weren't real. Hermione was glad to have the house back to just her and her parents, as their final visitors had left an hour or so ago, and she was making use of the quiet to get her rampaging thoughts in order.

The living room was drowsy and still. The only lights came from the twinkles of the lamps on the tree and the flicker of the fake flames of the fire. Hermione's father was slumbering on the settee, his newspaper askew on his chest and fluttering gently whenever his sleepy out-breaths passed over it. Her mother was sat on the cushions of the half-hexagon bay window on the far side of the room, cradling a warm cup of tea and seemingly counting the snowflakes as they drifted merrily past the dark window.

Hermione, for her part, had her legs tucked under her and her knees pressed tight to her chest, to make a handy book rest. She had the condition of one recovering from a severe bout of flu, going though flashes of hot and cold and occasional bursts of weakness and fragility. When the worst of these hit, she'd tuck into herself every more tightly, and do her best to concentrate on the swimming words of New Theory of Numerologybefore her.

But even this fascinating new tome couldn't hold her attention just now. Hermione wasn't sick, unless her overly harassed brain counted as a sickness, but she was seriously disquieted just the same. Her conversation with her mother that afternoon had left an indelible mark on her. She could think of little else. She had analysed every word, every wild suggestion with the sort of vigour that she only usually reserved for Harry's letters.

Harry. The very thought of him caused Hermione's insides to see-saw now, the squirmy substance in her belly racing around feverishly with less control than the falling snow outside. Her eyes flicked involuntarily to Harry's Christmas Card, which Hermione had restored to the very centre of the shelf above the fire. It contained his wish for a Merry Christmas, his hopes that she'd have a great new year.

And, more importantly, it contained more kisses ... and hislove.

This was something that Hermione had obsessed on since receiving the pretty card by Muggle Mail, for it was the first time that Harry had signed any correspondence between them with 'love from Harry'. Hermione suspected that it was merely in response to the fact that she'd written her own adieu in the same way on her card to him, but this was still the first time that Harry had used the word 'love' to describe his feelings for her. Hermione was sensible that this was simply the love of friends, but she was inordinately warmed by the notion that this may have been the first time that Harry had toldanyonethat he loved them, no matter what type of love it was.

Or, at least, this was how shehadthought about it, until her mother had disturbed her ordered paradigm with her suggestions about what Harry might truly have meant.

And that idea thrilled Hermione as it sped through her body and mind. It left a tingle wherever it touched ... and it touched everywhere, inside and out. Harry loved her, as a friend ... she'd made that much of an impression on his caged life and in so short a time. It would have seemed absurd to Hermione, if she didn't immediately recognise that he'd done the exact same thing to her. Almost out of nowhere, Harry Potter had crept into her life and changed her world.

"Or shattered it," Hermione thought to herself with a warm smile. She was smiling because she never thought she'd be this happy to be broken, but she was in a million pieces, and it felt wonderful.

And then that tinny tinkle sounded in the living room again. For a moment, Hermione didn't recognise it. But as the tone droned on, she woke up and realised that the doorbell was ringing. Ignoring it, as it couldn't be anything to do with her, Hermione snuggled down and went back to her book, scratching Crookshanks under his new collar as he adjusted himself at her feet. Her mother got up and went to answer the door.

When she re-entered the living room from the hall, she wasn't alone.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione gasped, sitting up and alert. "What are you doing here?"

"Hermione!" David Granger admonished as he stirred to cogency. "That is no way to welcome a guest."

But Dumbledore wore a benign smile as he rose a hand to silence any further protests. "Miss Granger is well within her rights to be surprised by my arrival, Mr Granger. Imagine what her response would have been had I Apparated into the room! There is no offence taken."

"Even so, manners are manners," David argued.

"The validity of the question is far more important," Dumbledore disagreed jovially. "WhatamI doing here? And at such a late hour, no less."

"And what's the reason, Headmaster?" Hermione asked, her voice far more timid than her earlier outburst. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, fine, there is nothing dramatic, let me assure you," Dumbledore replied, shedding his cloak. "I would have made my visit earlier, but you have a very busy household."

"I have family up from Wales," Catrin explained. "My sisters like tobreed. I lose count of my nieces and nephews from time to time."

Dumbledore chuckled at that. "I promise not to intrude for a moment longer than I need to, but my reason for visiting is something that I felt I needed to address in person rather than via a letter. It concerns you, Hermione and it is quite a delicate matter."

It was the first time that Hermione could ever remember Dumbledore using her first name. It was this, more than anything else, which suddenly put her on edge. She could only think of one topic that might be described in such a way, she just hoped she was wrong.

"What's this about, Mister Dumbledore?" David asked, concerned now at Dumbledore's grave turn of tone. "What's going on?"

"Perhaps we should discuss this in more pleasant surroundings," Dumbledore suggested, peering over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "I understand, Mr Granger, that you have a fabulous model trainset in your attic, one that you have recently added a miniature version of the Hogwarts Express to. I feel that my life will not be complete until I have seen it, if you will indulge an old man's appetite for whimsy."

"Alright, but not until you give us a clue as to what this is about and how it involves our daughter," David insisted.

Dumbledore nodded. "That seems fair. I will explain in greater detail, but for now let me just say that it concerns the next challenge in a tournament that we are hosting at Hogwarts. The Champions competing have all had to undergo a magical examination, to reveal the aspect of their lives that it would cost them the most to lose. This aspect will then be put in jeopardy, should the Champion fail to recover it during the Task. We, the organisers, expected material things to be focus of this challenge, and took steps to ensure that other people wouldn't be put at risk at all.

"But one Championhasmanaged to nominate a person for this Task. To own the truth, they have nominatedyou,Miss Granger, and I am not sure what is Darker ... the magic needed to circumvent our constraints, or the intentions of the one who cast it. Either way, I am deeply troubled at this development, and determined that we must get to the bottom of it before you return to face this fate, Hermione."

Chapter 23: The Headmaster's Gambit

Chapter Text

Albus Dumbledore was enthralled. His head and pointed hat rose slowly from the gap at the centre of this epic structure, and his eyes twinkled with merriment as he whispered words like 'charming!' and 'marvellous!'. And when one of the model trains came to a halt at a crossing marked by a tiny flashing read light, he actually clapped his hands together in glee.

"This is just splendid!" the old wizard exclaimed. "I may have lived for almost 150 years, but the quaint and the quirky will forever delight me. Look at this detail! The tiny trees, lights in the windows of buildings, the individual train spotters so intricately painted. This is truly great work, Mr Granger!"

Hermione's father beamed and puffed out his chest a little. "Thank you, Professor. I was intending to make a model of Hogwarts itself at the very top of the line, but having never visited the castle I have no idea of its dimensions."

Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "My dear Mr Granger, there are those of us who have been intimately familiar with Hogwarts for many decades, and even the very wisest of us couldn't guess at her dimensions. And even if we could, she'd likely change them just to play games with us. The castle holds many secrets, and I doubt she will ever reveal them all."

"Speaking of games, Mr Dumbledore, I believe we came up here to discuss one," Catrin Granger cut in. "You and my husband can play with his train set later, once you've explained what this is all about."

Hermione tutted from the corner of the great model. "Mum, they aren't games. They aretasks. This is a magical tournament we are talking about."

"Though is there really much difference?" Dumbledore asked, benignly. "They both test skill, both are observed as entertainment for others.Gameis a perfectly reasonable description."

"Perhaps, but what isn't reasonable is how I'm involved," Hermione huffed. "I think I can guess thewhoin this scenario, probably even thewhy. But I'd appreciate it if you filled in thehowfor me, Headmaster."

"Now thatisreasonable," Dumbledore smiled. He stepped out from the centre of the model train set and began t pace the room. "The best place to start is with the Task itself. I am going to give you some private knowledge of the event, information that you would have been given anyway once you return to school ... but that's a surprise that Professor McGonagall has waiting for you, so I shall leave it to her to disclose.

"But, before we go any further, I humbly ask for your guarantee that the things I tell you here will be kept strictly to yourself. I do not want any of the Champions getting wind of what awaits them, or for the student spectators to know what is coming, either."

"I promise I wont ruin the spectacle for anyone else," Hermione returned in an irritated tone, folding her arms across her chest. "Though why Professor McGonagall wants me involved is something that bothers me. What can I have to do with anything?"

"That will be explained to you in due course," Dumbledore replied, dismissively. "But I thank you for your promise, even though I know you only mean 99.9% of it."

"Are you calling me dishonest, Sir?" Hermione asked, honestly a little hurt by the rebuke.

But Dumbledore simply chuckled gently again. "Not at all, Miss Granger. I am merely certain that whatever I tell you, however strict the confidence we enter into, you will most certainly tell Harry Potter about it at some point in the future. Indeed, I fully expect that within five minutes of my leaving here this evening, your quill will be rushing over the nearest piece of parchment that you can find, to relay all the information to Mr Potter."

Hermione blushed in the soft light of the attic room. "How ... how do you know that Harry and I are pen-pals?"

"The rumours and gossip of the Hogwarts corridors is not confined to the students," Dumbledore smiled. "It reaches the ears of us teachers, too."

Hermione crossed her arms again as her frown returned. "There is no gossip. Harry and I are just friends, despite what you may have heard.

"Of course you are," Dumbledore replied, piously.

Hermione felt herself grow cross at what she saw as veiled sarcasm. She turned to her mother and father in turn with an earnest expression. "We're just friends. Honest."

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore continued as if without interruption. "I know you are his confidante, and he is yours. I fully expect you to tell him everything that I tell you."

Hermione had to concede that truth. In any case, it seemed pointless to lie ... there was just a unnamed quality about Dumbledore's eyes that made Hermione feel as if he were x-raying her whenever she spoke.

"Okay, so let's say – for arguments sake – that Iprobablywill do that," Hermione began, defensively. "You can rely on Harry's discretion, Sir. He doesn't really talk to anyone but me, so he wont blab anything around school. And if I ask him to keep a secret for me, I'm totally confident that he'll do it."

"I share your confidence, Miss Granger, which is why I have no issue with Harry having knowledge of this, too," Dumbledore replied. "In fact, with what I am about to suggest, I am actually counting on it."

That comment took Hermione by surprise. It seemed to bring a sense of gravity to the moment. So Hermione sat down on a stool nearby.

"What's this all about then?" she asked, cautiously.

"As I said earlier, the Champions competing in the Triwizard Tournament all recently underwent a magical examination, in preparation for the Second Task," Dumbledore explained. The results of this examination informed how the goal of the Task would look for each competitor."

"An examination?" Hermione's mother asked. "What sort of an examination?"

"The Triwizard Cup – the trophy on offer for the winner of the Tournament – conducted a thorough assessment of each student who applied to represent their school," Dumbledore began. "It considered levels of skill, attitude, physical endurance, and a whole host of other parameters. It then decided who was the most worthy Champion for each school and selected them accordingly."

"I've never liked that," Hermione huffed. "I'm wary of inanimate objects that can think, reason and decide for themselves. I don't trust anything if I can't see where it keeps its brain."

"A logical and sensible approach," Dumbledore smirked. "But rest assured that the Triwizard Cup is quite harmless. And, apart from selecting the Champions, it gave us the information we needed for this next Task."

"Each Champion was going to lose something of value, you said?" Hermione's father repeated from earlier. "What sort of things are we talking about?"

"And how does that involve me?" Hermione added insistently.

"Perhaps some context," Dumbledore replied. "The Task itself will be held in the Great Lake, in the realm of the Mer-People."

"Yes, I remember hearing that Cedric Diggory had decoded the message in his golden egg from the First Task when he discovered that it was in Mermish," Hermione nodded. "Always struck me as a bit odd that he thought to put it under water."

"Mr Diggory is a clever and creative student," Dumbledore offered. "I'm sure he tried many things to decipher the message."

"Still seems a bit suspect to me," Hermione returned haughtily. "He cottoned on to it so soon that it was almost as if someone pointed him in the right direction. Maybe you should look into that."

"I am satisfied that the competition is being held in the best spirit of camaraderie and integrity," Dumbledore smiled. "But back to the point at hand. The concept of the Second Task is to place an object of great value at the centre of the lake, an object unique to each Champion. They then have to overcome obstacles and challenges that will test a range of magical skills in order to reach their prize. Should they fail, they will lose that thing forever.

"In Mr Diggory's case, he has had to give up his broomstick. This is not only a family heirloom, passed down from father to son over several generations, but represents his love of flying. Not only is he an avid and talented Broomsman, but he also has plans to pursue a career as a professional Quidditch player once he leaves Hogwarts.

"However, if he fails in this task, a spell will be cast on him that will inhibit his magical interaction with broomsticks. In short, the magical connection will be blocked ... and he will never be able to fly again."

Hermione's eyes went round in surprise. "But that ... it could ruin all his plans for the future!"

"It could, so the stakes are high. More incentive to succeed," Dumbledore whispered.

"Wow," Hermione hushed. "And what about the French girl?"

"Miss Delecour has given up three strands of her hair, which will be placed in a reliquary at the heart of the Lake," Dumbledore explained. "These represent a special magic that she has. You may or may not be aware that she is part-Veela, and there is a point during every lunar cycle when this side manifests powerfully within her. Shetransforms– much like a werewolf – or she would, if her special magic did not allow her to control it. Without tis control, the transformations – which are quite painful, I understand – would happen and endure for an unknown period of time.

"Miss Deleacour will lose this control, ifshefails to overcome the challenges she will face under the waters of the Lake."

Hermione sat back in shock. "That could change her life ... no, that couldruinher life! There are high stakes, Headmaster, but this is bordering on cruel."

Dumbledore raised a hand to silence the protests. "The Champions all knew there would be serious challenges in this Tournament. They entered into it willingly."

Hermione wasn't sure she could accept that, but she had other things to confront. "That just leaves one Champion ... Viktor Krum."

Dumbledore closed his eyes gravely. When he spoke his words were slow, measured and a little bit angry.

"Yes. Viktor ... Krum. We did not expect a young person competing in this Tournament to name a person for this task. In fact, we put in inhibitory magic to prevent it. But, somehow, Mr Krum has circumvented these controls and nominated a person as the thing that he could not stand to lose."

"And that's our Hermione?" Catrin gasped in horror. "How? Who is this boy?"

"He is something of a Quidditch prodigy," Dumbledore returned. "An international sports star at seventeen –"

"Seventeen?" David Granger hissed angrily. "He is seventeen? What's he taken in interest in our girl for? Most of her peers arefourteen. That she is one of the oldest in her year group is irrelevant."

"I quite agree, which makes this development all the more concerning," Dumbledore nodded. He turned to Hermione with a serious expression. "Miss Granger, you must tell me everything about your interactions and involvement with Mr Krum. I must understand the origins of this."

"You and I both, Professor," David added, coming up on the wizard's shoulder.

But Hermione didn't baulk in this face of this twin-pronged interrogation. She squared her jaw, sat up straight and glowered at the men in front of her in turn.

"There is nothing to tell," she insisted, grittily. "He started taking an interest in me a few months ago, interest I neither welcomed nor courted. I spoke to him a couple of times, at social gatherings connected to the Tournament, but that was it. Then, out of nowhere, he invited me to be his date at the Yule Ball, an invitation I politely declined. That was it. And I've had nothing to do with him since."

Dumbledore stroked his long beard. "Is there any reason you can think of for why Mr Krum would choose you as his goal for this Task?"

Hermione considered the question a moment before offering her response. "It might not be as nefarious as you think. Krum's ego was hurt by my rejecting him. He's famous, and I don't think he's used to being denied anything. I think he likes his fame and the attention it gets him. It probably didn't help when he saw who Ididgo to the Yule Ball with."

"And who was that?" David asked.

"Harry Potter," Hermione and her mother chorused in unison, causing colour to steal over Hermione's cheeks.

"Ah, I think I see," Dumbledore nodded. "So you believe that Mr Potter, as a rival in the public interest stakes, was the worst possible person that Mr Krum could lose your hand to. It deepened the blow for him."

"Professor, please don't put it like that," Hermione winced. "Harry and I are -"

"- just friends, of course," Dumbledore cut across. "Forgive me, I forgot that a moment."

"But what does any of this have to do with you being at the bottom of a Lake as some sort of trophy girl?" David implored. "I don't understand that."

"I think I represent Krum's fame, his adoration," Hermione explained. "He can't live without it. If he reaches me during the Task, he keeps the fame ... and, maybe, I'll be magically enchanted by him as a result."

"A reasonable assumption," Dumbledore agreed, gravely.

"But if he fails, and his fame dies ... what happens to you?" Catrin demanded, suddenly angered.

"I ... I don't know. I haven't really thought that far," Hermione mumbled, shivering with the possibilities.

"Could ... could shedie, Professor Dumbledore?" David whispered at his side.

Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "It would depend on the definition of the Task. If it is only fame that Mr Krum reveres, then Miss Granger should be unharmed if he succeeds. But if his intentions are also on her personally ..."

"Then I'll die if he can't have me," Hermione completed, darkly. "And if it isn't fame, and I'm wrong and itisme that he can't do without, then maybe he will sabotage the task on purpose. He knows I want nothing to do with him, so maybe this is his way of making sure that if he can't have me, no-one can."

Catrin cried out in dismay. "Surely not! No-one's ego is that big, that implacable. He'd have to be a monster to do something like that."

"Infatuation can make a person do the most irrational things," Dumbledore offered, sagely. "Blinded by hurt, he may not thinking in a sensible manner."

Hermione stood and began pacing in front of the window. She was thinking rapidly, breathing hard. She wanted to ask Dumbledore how he intended to stop this, but part of her already knew the answer. The Tournament was a magically-bound contest, and if you became involved, you stayed involved. Dumbledore would only confirm that, to the horror of her parents.

So Hermione tried a different tack. "I believe this is the point, Headmaster, where you tell me that you have a brilliant solution to this predicament.

Dumbledore span on his high-buckled boots and his eyes shimmered with the light of adventure, as if he had met a kindred conspirator.

"Well, I did haveoneidea which might be considered inspired," Dumbledore hushed in muted excitement.

"What is it?" Hermione pushed.

"The rules of the competition clearly state that the Champions will have to overcome challenges during each Task," Dumbledore started. "The Second Task makes this blatant ... if the Champions fail to achieve their goal, they face the consequences. It is impossible to know Mr Krum's motivations from where we are, but I struggle to believe that he would wish to put you in danger. It is much more likely that he will want to reach you during the Task, to win your favour through magical means, as he failed to woo you naturally."

"Woo me?" Hermione scoffed. "I am not a Jane Austen heroine, Headmaster!"

"Quite," Dumbledore smiled. "But I am still confident that I am correct about this."

"You mentioned challenges," Catrin took over. "I'm going to guess that your great idea is to put obstacles in this Viktor Krum's path, ones that will stop him reaching Hermione."

"He will face obstacles enough, but he will likely overcome them. He is quite prodigiously skilled," Dumbledore replied. "No, that plan may not be enough. My suggestion is slightly more direct and to the point. And this, Miss Granger, is where your minor dishonesty to me earlier could prove invaluable."

Hermione blinked in surprise, but didn't really know where this was going. "Go on, Headmaster."

"My idea comes in the definition ofchallenges," Dumbledore went on. "The Champions will face magical creatures who dwell in the Lake, the dangers of the murky depths. They will have to pass all these to reach their targets. What the rules don't restrict is that these challenges could come fromoutsidethe Lake, too. For example, if someone wanted to sabotage a Champion's chances by reaching their target first ... there is nothing in the rules to prevent that."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "He can get to me first and keep me away from Krum! I'm sure he'll do that, Headmaster. I'll tell him all about this, tell him how to find me, and he'll come for me when the time comes."

Dumbledore's expression changed in that moment, and he sighed deeply. "That is my core idea, but it may not be that simple to execute."

"Why not?" Hermione snapped back. "Seems fairly straightforward to me."

"Yet you are forgetting, Miss Granger, that this is a magical Tournament we are discussing, and things have to be considered in those terms," Dumbledore reminded her. "It will not be as simple as giving Mr Potter a roadmap to interfere. He has to be driven, genuinely motivated, to break the magical parameters of the Tournament and make himself an obstacle for Mr Krum."

"I'm not sure I understand that, Professor," Hermione complained.

Dumbledore sighed, patiently. "Try to realise, Miss Granger, that these tasks are designed with rules and regulations which must be adhered to. For example, if a Champion tried to get outside help to complete a Task, they would be immediately disqualified from that Task. Similarly, if someone from outside tried to help a Champion, they would be repelled from the Task arena."

"Ah, I think I see," Hermione nodded. "So if say, during the First Task, one of the Champions called for a dragon-keeper to subdue their dragon, so they could get to the egg, that outside person would not be able to enter the dragon enclosure to help."

"Precisely," Dumbledore confirmed. "That Task is configured to test the Champion's talent, and outside help is not permitted."

"Wait ...dragons?" David Granger asked. He looked very pale. "Real dragons?"

Hermione simply tutted at her father and shook. "So under those terms, I suppose, a person trying to thwart a Champion couldn't enter the Task theatre, either. Magical barriers would throw them back."

"I am so pleased that you have grasped this so quickly," Dumbledore beamed. "Quite easily the cleverest witch of the age."

"Forget about that now," Hermione huffed. "I'm more concerned about this little blip in your plan, Sir ... if Harry can't get past the magical barriers, how is he supposed to save me."

"Ah, now this is where the brilliance of my plan comes in," Dumbledore replied. "A magical barrier is only as effective as the magic which set it. This is simple metaphysics. Strong magic is required to cast barriers of this nature, but if it meets with magic of a more potent and powerful intent, then it can buckle ... and it can be breached."

"I think I am beginning to understand," Catrin smirked from across the room. "These Tasks are protected from outside sabotage, but if someone has power enough to get involved, then they can get past these restrictions. You are counting on Harry Potter being powerful enough to do this."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Logic is clearly strong in this family. Yes, that is the crux of my idea. But magical power may not be enough ... intent and determination may be equally as important."

Hermione nodded as understanding began to settle on her. "So Harry is going to have to want to get to me ... I mean,reallywant to get to me. And for that ... he's going to have to believe that I am in genuine danger. So I'm going to have tobein genuine danger."

"I think that will be the only way," Dumbledore agreed, gravely. "It is a risk, I won't deny it, but from what I hear from Harry's Godfather, I am convinced that you being in peril will be inspiration potent enough for Harry to break through the Triwizard barriers in order to rescue you."

"What have you heard?" Hermione asked, suspiciously.

"I'm afraid that must stay between Sirius Black and I," Dumbledore replied, evasively.

"Just friends, eh?" Catrin asked her daughter in a teasing tone.

Hermione simply scowled at her mother. "Yes. Just friends. But Professor, what if I tell Harry about this plan, he understands that this is just to thwart Krum and not save me, will his resolve be enough to break into the Task?"

"No, I would think not," Dumbledore confirmed. "We may have to be creative in our little ruse, in order to stir Harry's passions."

"I won't lie to him, Professor," Hermione frowned. "Harry is my best friend, and I won't risk the trust we've built between us. He doesn't open up easily and he might not forgive me if I betray that."

"I would not ask you to do that," Dumbledore assured her. "I happen to think that Harry emerging from his shell is a very good thing for him, and I would not wish to be responsible for his retreating into himself again. I am merely suggesting that we keep certain details from him until after this is over. Harry needs to understand the gravity of the Task, to fully appreciate the cost of failure. Then, when he realises that you are the subject of the Task ... that you may be in serious danger ..."

"He will come for me," Hermione hushed, quietly. Her belly twisted into complicated knots as butterflies tried to take flight there.

"And it will take a force of nature to stop him," Dumbledore completed. "I know this is a lot to ask, but I am sure Harry will understand everything when we emerge safely on the other side."

"I'm sure he will," Hermione agreed. "But how will we set this up? What must I do?"

"Leave the details to me," Dumbledore said as he rose from his seat. "I may need to set up a situation where Harry is separated from you for a short time. I believe that by stoking his emotions in a controlled way, he will be even more roused to action when the time comes. Trust me, I will not put Harry in any danger or bring him to harm."

Hermione wasn't sure she liked that, but saw the merit of the plan. "And what about me? What should I say?"

"Write to Harry, tell him about this," Dumbledore advised. "Be excited, say how you are going to be involved in the Task preparation once you are back at Hogwarts and speculate on how. Over the coming weeks, build on the magnitude and severity of failure for the Champions. When the Task comes around, Harrymustknow how serious the situation is. This is vital, Miss Granger ... it may be the difference between a resounding success, and catastrophic failure."

Hermione swallowed hard, shuddering slightly as the weight of the task head nestled heavy around her shoulders. She crossed the room and led Dumbledore from the attic and back to the front door. They exchanged a solemn look as they prepared to part.

"Well, thank you for the visit, Professor," Hermione began, bracingly. "I wish you had better news."

"As do I, but I trust this will all work out well," Dumbledore replied in a similar tone. "And when it does, our attention must be turned to how Mr Krum managed to get you involved in the first place. I may be required to request your assistance again."

"I'll be ready," Hermione assured him. "Now, I have a letter I need to write. Good night, Headmaster ... oh, and Merry Christmas."

Dumbledore inclined his head. He took three steps into the dark night, turned behind a snow-dusted bush on Hermione's lawn, and was suddenly gone. Hermione watched on, as a dozen balls of light rapidly sped back to the previously empty streetlights of the cul-de-sac. Light flooded down into the street, falling on Hermione's sheltered doorway. On a ledge nearby, a pair of large amber eyes turned to look at her.

Hermione couldn't help but smile.

"Got you involved too, did he?" Hermione whispered, scratching the snowy owl on the back of her neck. "Funny man, isn't he, Dumbledore? Well, better get to it. I won't be long, but my letter just might be."

Then Hermione closed her front door and made her way to her bedroom, with almost no idea how she was going to do this. How much she had to tell ... and how much more did she have to conceal.

Chapter 24: Friends Reunited

Chapter Text

The rest of the Christmas holiday period went by pretty quickly after that, flying by with more speed than Santa's sleigh after an injection of jet fuel.

On the one hand, this was something that Harry was pleased about. He had enjoyed spending Christmas with Sirius, albeit only after being coaxed from his self-imposed attic exile by Hermione, but he still viewed Hogwarts as home and felt more comfortable there. He missed it, and he looked forward to going back. Having Sirius as his legal guardian, a home where he was wanted and cared for, and the freedom to spend his time as he chose were still things that Harry was a long way from getting used to.

But it wasn't just the solitude, the hallowed halls of learning and the labyrinthine underworld of Hogwarts that Harry found himself yearning for on this impending return to school. There was another, perhaps even more potent, reason for the excited butterflies now taking flight in his belly, and this made him not only confused, but also a little bit concerned.

For he had never once looked forward to meeting up with a friend again, and the headiness of this prospect overshadowed absolutely everything else combined. Harry just wasn't sure he was equipped for the event.

He brought up these worries with Sirius and Remus Lupin, who had visited several times over the holidays, as he was packing on the eve of his return to Hogwarts. He'd been trying to build up the courage to have the discussion, but knew that he'd likely be teased to death as soon as he brought it up. He just hoped that Remus' more sensible nature would prove to be a drag factor for Sirius' teasing and relentless playfulness.

"What's up, Harry?" Remus asked as he cleaned out Hedwig's cage for the trip. "You look like you're a million miles away this evening."

"Yeah, kiddo, out with it," Sirius added. "It's not odd to see you this quiet, but this seems a different sort of silence tonight. You can't be that sorry to be leaving this splendid décor behind, surely?"

Sirius gestured around the living room, at the Doxy-infested curtains, the mounted elf-heads, and the coffee table that doubled as an actual working Ouija board.

"No, it's not that," Harry muttered.

"Though if you are feeling pangs for thisgrim old place," Sirius went on, with a knowing wink at Remus. "Just break into Snivellus Snape's room at Hogwarts ... it's probably just as warm and homely as anything you'll find around here!"

"Sirius," Remus admonished as Harry chanced a little smirk. "Don't give him ideas." He turned back to Harry. "What is on your mind? This is a safe space, you can tell us."

Harry sat down on the couch, a little frown crossing his face. "It's nothing, really. It's just that Iamsad to be going back to school ... and that's weird in itself. I've spent every holiday time before this literally ticking off the days until I'm back on that train to Scotland. I made wall charts for it and everything. But this has been the first Christmas that I've actually enjoyed. It annoys me a bit that I've missed out on all this for so long."

Sirius sighed and looked over fondly. He crossed the room and squeezed Harry's shoulder.

"It won't do to be angry about the past," Sirius told him, in that gentle tone that he hid until moments like this. "But we've got all the time in the world to make up for it, don't we? You're stuck with me now, kid, and I'm going to do all I can to make your life as good and normal as it can be."

A lump formed in Harry's throat, trapping his words as they tried to get out. He had to swallow hard to speak without cracking.

"I don't think we can ever be normal," Harry managed to squeeze out. "Not that that's a bad thing. Normal is overrated."

"Well said," Remus grinned, folding Harry's spare cloak and packing it away.

"Is that what you're worried about?" Sirius asked. "Things beingnormalfor you?"

Harry looked down again and fiddled with a loose thread on the armrest of the couch. "A bit. I mean, this Christmas was different for me. It's what I always imagined other people doing, but I doubted I ever would. I'm used to being in a world that's not like everyone else's, and I've found a way to get on in that. I'm just wondering if things will carry on going this way and if I'll be able to adapt."

"I'm not really sure what you're getting at," Sirius replied, looking slightly bemused.

Harry sat up straight. "Well, we've all had a skewered time of things, haven't we? I've been with the Dursleys, you were in jail, Remus was being a werewolf. It's hardly the most usual stuff, is it? But now we're together and things are getting better. So, what I'm wondering is, will that go on further still? Like, will you get married and stuff?"

"Not to each other!" Sirius hooted. "We're good friends, but notthatgood!"

"That's not what I meant, dunderhead!" Harry replied, exasperated. "But now we're talking about it ... why didn't either of you ever get married?"

"I think that's quite clear with me," Remus quipped. "My lycanthropy tends to deter witches from responding to myWitchfinderad!"

"Witchfinder?" Harry queried.

"It's a dating service for single Magicals," Sirius grinned. "I had to remove myself from the system, you know, just to give other wizards a chance of finding a date!"

"You're such a goon," Harry frowned, shaking his head as Sirius barked out a deep laugh.

"But to answer your question, I never wanted to restrict myself to just one witch," Sirius went on eventually. "I have so much love to give ... so I want to give it out far and wide!"

"Plus, Sirius fell in love very early ... and no-one will ever replace that first love in his heart," Remus added, very seriously.

"You did?" Harry queried, turning an astonished gaze to his Godfather. "You never told me that! Who was it with?"

"Why ... it was withme!"Sirius crowed out in mirth. Harry simply closed his eyes and tutted lowly. "I'm in love with me. It's quite the vogue thing to be in a relationship with yourself, you know. And when I enjoy intimate time with any witch that I might meet, I don't mind cheating on myself either. It's a perfect situation."

"Do you not believe in that, then?" Harry asked. "Relying on someone else for your own happiness?"

"Reliance is a dangerous term to use," Remus cut in. "It suggests dependence, and that isn't healthy."

"Why not?" Harry frowned. "If being around someone else makes you happy ... and they are happy, too, when you are around them ... what's wrong with that?"

"I didn't suggest that there was anything wrong with it -"

"Yes, you did," Harry disagreed. "Dangerous, you called it."

"All I meant was that if you base your entire sense of self-worth on the opinions of others, or a single someone, then that isn't a healthy way to be," Remus clarified. "You need to happy within your own skin before anything else."

"And what if youarehappy in your own skin, but being with someone else makes you even happier, or even happy in a different sort of way?" Harry pressed on. "People do it all the time. Why is that suddenly a bad thing?"

"Ah, I think I see where this is going," Sirius quirked smoothly. "Are we subtly, in a roundabout sort of way, talking about a certain Muggleborn witch that we all know, but have been largely banned from talking about?"

Harry snapped his eyes to Sirius as his pulse leapt up several notches. "No. I'm talking generally, that's all."

"Talking generally ... about a pleasant young witch that has brought a smile to your face," Remus observed, shrewdly. "One who has made youhappy in a different sort of way?You smiling, by the way, is something that I don't remember seeing at all in the year that I taught you, Harry. There was a point, there, where I wondered if you were capable of the act at all!"

"Okay, say you're right," Harry retorted tartly. "Let's say - for argument's sake - that Hermione makes me smile. Why is that a bad thing? Why is it wrong if I rely on her to bring me smiles? If I'm smiling, I'm happy. How can that be wrong?"

Remus and Sirius exchanged a fond look.

"There's nothing wrong with that, nothing at all," Sirius replied. "In fact, it's something I'd encourage. We can never have enough of that sort of thing in our lives."

"And do you think you do the same to her?" Remus enquired. "Do you think you makehersmile?"

Harry scrunched up his eyes. "I don't know. I've never thought about it before. I hope I do. She has a nice smile ... I'd like to think that I can cause her to use it sometimes. But now I'm worried. I don't want her to rely on me to be happy either, especially as you both seem to think that it's unhealthy. What if I don't know how to do it? What if I'm not up to the job? I'm not the nicest or friendliest person, you know. I wouldn't call myself kind or brave. I'm selfish and savage for the most part ... and I sort of like those things about me. They've served me well for years.

"But I don't know how else to be. I've never had a friend to make happy before, and I don't even know how to properly be a friend to anyone. Maybe I should just stop talking to her, I'm only bound to be a disappointment to her in the end, aren't I?"

"Ah! So this is the normal that you fear," Remus observed, sagely. "Is this what has been bothering you? You're worried about seeing Hermione again ... and beinghappyabout it?"

"Kind of, yeah," Harry mumbled, bothering the loose thread again. "It's what I hear other people talk about on that first day back on the train, but I've never had it before. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it."

"Enjoy it, I'd suggest," Remus offered. "Friendships are some of the most cherished and rewarding things in life. The healthiest ones enrich us so much ... I'd embrace this one, if I were you. You need someone to crack you out of your shell ... and Miss Granger has already gotten close to your heart. That much is obvious."

"It is?" Harry asked, feeling dazed.

"In the best way," Sirius agreed. "You've had so much bad in your life, Harry, but Hermione seems a source of such good. It's no wonder you're so looking forward to seeing her again tomorrow."

"I didn't say that," Harry argued.

"You didn't have to," Remus smiled knowingly. Harry felt a heat rise to his cheeks.

"But we haven't seen each other for nearly three weeks, and only written one letter to each other," Harry went on. "What if that means we aren't friends anymore?"

"Friendships don't work like that, Harry," Sirius smiled, fondly. "And from the little interaction that I've had with Hermione, I think it will take more than a bit of separation to stop her being your friend."

"And think of all you'll have to talk about tomorrow, having spent this time apart," Remus pointed out. "By the time you both tell all of your Christmas stories, you'll be halfway to Hogwarts."

"Oh, we wont be sharing a compartment," Harry told Remus, confidently. "Hermione will want to be with her other friends for the journey back to school."

"Well you can spend your time looking forward to when you take the train ride home in the Summer," Sirius quipped. "You won't recognise the place when you next come through the front door."

"I won't?" Harry asked, slightly suspicious. "Why not?"

"Remus and I have plans," Sirius quirked. "Can't say anymore just now, but you'll see."

"Hmm," Harry frowned. "I'm not sure whether I should be worried or not!"

Sirius barked out a laugh and Remus grinned over, too.

"Don't worry about it, Harry, it won't be anything dangerous!" Remus reassured him. "We're simply going to complete our renovations by then, that's all."

Sirius clicked his tongue. "Moony! I was hoping to let Harry squirm for a bit. You're no fun these days."

"And you're the wrong sort of fun, as always," Remus smirked.

After that, Harry's night was a restless one as he dissected the conversation. On the one hand, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea that Hermione might value herself, in any way, in terms of howhesaw her, as that was all sorts of wrong in Harry's mind. Hermione was all sorts of lovely and good as she was, without any reference to him or anyone else.

But on the other hand, Harry wondered how much of Hermione's happiness mightdependon him, or on their friendship, and of how much of it he could bring to her if he tried his hardest. For he very much wanted her to be happy, she deserved to be, and if Harry could help facilitate that then it was a responsibility he was keen to take ownership of.

Remus Lupin might not have agreed, but Harry cheerily accepted the positive influence that one person could have on another. After all, Harry valued his own days now mostly in terms of how much interaction he had with Hermione, and he felt a better person the more of her time he was blessed with. If that was a bad thing, so be it ... Harry would just have to be bad, and the rest of the world would simply have to deal with it.

As such, it was a very unsettled and impatient Harry Potter that got up the next day. He was a collision of conflicting emotions as he dressed for breakfast. He wanted to see Hermione, he didn't want to see Hermione, he wanted to talk to her again, write to her again, he wanted to run and hide in the Chamber of Secrets and pretend that he'd never met her at all.

It was all so bizarre.

Also bizarre was the fact that Harry was quietly hoping to have someone to share a train compartment with for the first time, too. His trips back to Hogwarts usually consisted of checking and organising his homework pieces, making last minute edits or additions, and generally talking to Hedwig, who was the only living thing permitted to share the space with him.

But this time, Harry would happily concede to company and be more chatty than he'd ever been on the old train, so long as his company was who he wanted, of course. He and Sirius made their way through the billowing blasts of smoke and steam as they strolled along the platform. They stopped at the very final carriage, which was old and battered and the least luxurious, so tended to be ignored by everyone who had a better choice. As such the compartments were empty and Harry was soon stowed away and aboard.

A quick goodbye to Sirius followed and within a few minutes the horn was blasting as the train pulled out of the station.

And Harry was still alone in his compartment.

Trying not to feel too wretched about his dashed hopes and the ache that they had borne in his chest, Harry decided that study was the best distraction. Feeling sorry for yourself for being a no-good, friendless loser would hardly be an excuse to explain away poor exam results. So Harry delved into his trunk, pulled out the first textbook he could find, and flicked to the page that he'd colour coded for his first test. But he'd barely even polished his glasses to read when the door to his compartment suddenly slid open.

"Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one," the newcomer announced in a somewhat bossy voice. Then her tone changed entirely as she saw who she was talking to. "Oh ... hello, Harry!"

Her slightly breathy accent caused Harry's own breathing to stick in his throat. There was also a thing that she did while shyly tucking her hair behind her ear, but that was so unbearably cute and adorable that Harry couldn't deal with it.

"Er ... um ... hi Hermione," Harry stuttered. "Sorry, I haven't seen a toad. I'll keep a look out for it, though, or do you need help finding it."

"No, it's fine, Trevor will turn up," said a round-faced boy who appeared in the doorway. "He's always bouncing off whenever he can, but he'll be back. I just worry that he'll get trodden on in the early excitement of heading back to school."

"The toad's yours?" Harry asked, putting down his book and standing up. The boy nodded that it was. "You're Neville Longbottom, aren't you?"

Neville looked stunned, as if he'd stepped on something sharp. "I am. I didn't think you knew who I was."

"I know," said Harry, quietly. He looked intently at Neville. "I just want to say ... about your parents ... I'm sorry for you for that."

Neville looked as if he didn't know how to be, his face a mix of angry frown and curious expression. "How ... how do you know about that? About them?"

"Please don't be upset," Harry began. "It's only because my Godfather gave me some things that belonged to my parents. There were bunches of letters there, photos too. Our mothers were best friends, did you know that?"

"N-no. I didn't know that," Neville muttered, his voice small.

"They were pregnant at the same time, with us," Harry explained. "Went to all the pre-natal classes and check-ups together. They were literally in adjacent beds when they went into labour in the delivery rooms at St. Mungo's. When you were born first, your Mum waited until mine had given birth to me and was ready to go home before she left, even though it meant extra days in the maternity ward. That's how close they were."

"Wow," Neville hushed. "My Nan never told me any of that, of how everything was so close."

"If things hadn't gone so badly, we could have been very close, you and me," Harry went on, sadly. "We'd probably have grown up together, been friends. Hermione says you're a good person, honourable and brave. I think I'd have liked to be friends with someone like that."

Hermione beamed at him, her eyes moist and shiny. Harry found that he couldn't look directly at her, so he focused on Neville instead.

"What happened to your Mum and Dad ... in many ways, it's worse than what happened to mine," Harry muttered, bitterly. "To have to live with that, to see what happened to them ... I don't think I could stand it, if it were me. You must be as tough as granite, Neville Longbottom."

Neville looked like he wanted to cry, but they would have been proud tears. He seemed to be standing a little taller, a little stouter, and his chest was puffed out and heaving with emotion. He didn't seem capable of speech, but he tried anyway in a croaky voice.

"Did your Godfather ... did he tell you how it happened? My parents, I mean?"

Harry closed his eyes and nodded solemnly.

Neville swallowed hard. "And who did it?"

Harry nodded again.

"Did he tell you why?"

A third nod came from Harry's head, this one very small.

"Well could you tell me? Because that's never been explained to me," Neville asked in hope.

"The truth is pretty horrific," Harry replied, bracingly. "I don't know you well enough to burden you with the whole of it. All you need to know is that we were both victims of the Dark Wizard Voldemort and his twisted ideas, and that both sets of our parents suffered in the resistance against him. They were heroes, your Mum and Dad ... and, like mine, they made the ultimate sacrifice in the course of trying to protect us. My parents were murdered ... but in some ways that's easier than what they did to yours. I have nothing but respect for you and how you cope with it, Neville Longbottom."

Neville's lip quivered. There were tears poking at the corners of his eyes. "You're a good person, Harry Potter. If anyone tries to say otherwise, they'll have me to deal with."

Harry inclined his head in a thankful manner. Flicking a look at Hermione, he saw such a fond and deeply emotional expression flowing back at him that it was impossible to keep his gaze on her. Instead, he turned and sat down, reaching for his book again. He heard Neville move away, no doubt resuming the search for his toad. Hermione didn't leave with him.

"Are you all alone in here?" Hermione asked, gently.

Harry nodded. "People have learned not to ask to share, even if everywhere else is full."

"And what are you doing?" Hermione queried.

"Studying," Harry replied without looking up.

"Already?" Hermione quipped. She sounded impressed. "What are you reading?"

"Alchemy," Harry told her. "Professor Abraham promised us a test on the first week back, so I need to be ready. She is bound to make it difficult. I was reading about toads, funnily enough, before you came in. The toad is a term that usually refers to the prima materia during the fermentation stage. However, a famous poem attributed to the English alchemist George Ripley describes theentireOpus in terms of the experiences of a toad."

"The prima meteria?" Hermione queried, as much to herself as Harry. "The first matter, the subject of the alchemical work? The thing searched for, then worked on, by the Red King and White Queen to be transmuted to perfection and the Philosopher's Stone by their union?"

"I see I'm not the only one who's been doing some reading!" Harry grinned.

"No. I've been reading. Be right back."

And then she was gone. Feeling confused, Harry lifted his book again, but it was back down five minutes later. Hermione had returned, and this time she was dragging her heavy Hogwarts case with her. Crookshanks soon trotted in after her and jumped up onto the seat next to Harry.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Joining you, or joiningwithyou," Hermione quirked. "I am supposed to be yourWhite Queen, after all!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't you start with all that silliness. It's just allegory, I'm not sure I believe much of it."

"Oh, I agree ... sort of," Hermione replied in a semi-playful voice. "But I quite like the idea of being a White Queen. And searching for a toad ... the prima materia ... brought me to a Red King. It brought me to you."

"It's a stretch to look at it like that," Harry argued, though his cheeks were flushing.

"Not really," Hermione disagreed. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Even back on the platform. I wanted to share a compartment with you, but I'd almost given up hope of finding you on board. I didn't think anyone ever came down to this carriage apart, from to use the toilet at the far end. It's a bit smelly in here, don't you think?"

She wrinkled her nose at the aroma floating past the compartment.

"It's quiet in these compartments, and I cast a spell to mask the pungency," Harry explained. "If you close the door, it will soon kick in."

"Let me get my case stowed first, then I will," Hermione replied.

"Do you need a hand with it?"

"I can manage."

"I know ... but would youlikea hand?"

"Yes, please."

Grinning, Harry stood again. Between them, Hermione's case was soon nestled cosily next to Harry's in the rack over their heads. Hedwig barked from her cage. She didn't like to be ignored.

"Don't pay her any mind," Harry told Hermione in an off-handed way. "She's just miffed that I wont let her fly ahead to show the train the way. She won't accept that they know how to get there without help. She's such a diva."

"But such a pretty one," Hermione laughed.

"Don't feed her ego," Harry quipped. "It's bad enough as it is."

Hedwig barked at him crossly. Hermione went to close the compartment door but found the way soon blocked by three newcomers. She narrowed her eyes at them all.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"You're not leaving us with the Weasley clan," Lavender insisted. "They're planning to set off firecrackers every time we cross a county border! It'll be chaos in there."

"They also said that Lee Jordan is bringing a giant tarantula to them later," Parvati added. "No thank you!"

"But isn't Ron terrified of spiders?" Hermione asked with a frown.

"Yeah, but they are looking forward to seeing how scared he will be of the tarantula," Fay explained. "It's really cruel, I think. Hello, Harry."

"Hello," Harry replied, shyly.

"Before you all storm in here, I think you should ask Harry if you can share his compartment," Hermione insisted in her firmest and bossiest tone.

"Did you ask him if you could?" Lavender quirked.

"Well, no, but ..."

"Where you go, we go," Parvati added. "We come as a set, you know."

"So, Harry, how was your Christmas?" Fay asked as they all sat down. Hermione was in a seat next to him, so he found he could tolerate the intrusion of the others quite cheerily, especially as Hermione was sat so close he could feel her thigh against his. He felt oddly protected by her proximity to him.

"It was alright," Harry replied, blithely. "My Godfather didn't try to kill anyone this year, so that was a bonus."

Fay laughed nervously, but Hermione choked out a far more confident guffaw.

"That was good of him," she tinkled. "Christmas is far better without attempted murder, I find."

Harry grinned at her. "I'll be sure to pass on your commendation."

"You do that."

Hermione smiled and started to adjust Hedwig's new letter pouch, where she was perched on her other side. Crookshanks stretched and settled in Harry's lap, purring at the scratches it earned him behind his ears. Lavender looked over at the scene opposite her.

"Um, Hermione ... why has your cat got aRavenclawcollar on?"

"It was a gift from Harry," Hermione explained. "I think it suits him."

"Yes, but it's a Ravenclaw collar."

"And?"

"And... we are Gryffindors," Lavender reminded her. "Or have you forgotten that?"

"So what? We'll just see it as promoting inter-house unity," Hermione twittered back calmly. "Besides, we match now, Crooksie and me ... as I have Harry's Ravenclaw scarf on under my coat. See?"

She then pulled out part of it to illustrate her point. Lavender and Parvati gasped, looked at each other, swooned a bit, then looked warmly at Harry, who stared out at the passing scenery and contemplated opening the window, as it had gotten very hot in here all of a sudden.

"So, are you two planning on seeing each other much this term?" Parvati asked as the train rolled on.

"That's really none of your business," Hermione scythed. Harry grinned to himself at her protectiveness, but he turned politely back to the conversation.

"We'll probably continue writing to each other more than that," Harry replied. "Less ammunition for the gossips that way."

"Whatdoyou write about in those letters, anyway?" Lavender asked, almost indecently keen. "I bet it must be juicy. I think I'd run out of normal things to say, if it were me."

Harry quirked a playful glance at Hermione. "Oh, you know, we profess our undying love for each other, discuss how many babies we are going to have, debate about which method ofbaby-makingwe're going to try next -"

Lavender and Parvati gasped at each other, deliciously scandalised.

"We also make lists of potential places to live, discuss if we are going to be cat or dog people - don't worry, Crooksie, we are definitely cat-people," Hermione took over, taking up the game. "Then we plan our next rendezvous around Hogwarts, where we can have rabid and passionate snog-sessions. You know, that sort of thing."

"Do youreally!" Lavender squeaked.

"And have you really done all thatstuff!?" Parvati hooted in addition.

"No!" Harry and Hermione chorused together with matching laughs.

"Then why did you say that you had?" Parvati demanded with a frown.

"Just to show you how absurd you all are!" Hermione cried. "Absurd for thinking that two people can't simply be friends without any other silliness going on. Some of us still think with our heads, you know, not the contents of our underwear."

"Well said," Harry agreed, but for a millisecond his brain hitched on the notion of the contents, and nature, of Hermione's underwear, and the guilt rendered him mute at a stroke. He found himself unable to add anything more to the conversation, or any subsequent conversation, for at least an hour. So he simply sat in silence as the girls discussed their varied and lively Christmasses between them.

It was seasonally dark by the time they reached Hogsmeade station. Lavender had drifted off to sleep and was jerked away, babbling incoherently, by the screech of the train's brakes as they came to a halt. Hedwig was getting restless after such a long captivity, so Harry released her from her cage as soon as they were into the cool air of the night. Then he turned and began to make his way towards the fleet of carriages waiting to shuttle the students up to the school.

But Hermione reached out and pulled him to a stop. "Harry ... do you fancy walking back to Hogwarts?"

"Walking?" Harry asked, uncertainly. "It's a good half hour stroll from here, you do know that?"

"Yes, and that's why I want to take it," Hermione nodded, her cheeks bright and tinged pink from the cold. She had flakes of snow in her hair, Harry oddly noticed. "I don't feel like we've had a proper chance to talk. When I said I wanted to share a compartment on the train,thatwasn't exactly what I had in mind."

She jerked her head to the left, where her dorm mates were waiting for them, Lavender still yawning widely.

"No, it wasn't how I pictured it either," Harry smirked. "Alright, I don't mind walking if you want to. But we should tell someone that that's what we're doing."

"Wait here," Hermione chimed. "Be right back."

Then she scurried back over to her friends, engaged them in swift but deep conversation, made them giggle suggestively with whatever she told them, then scuttled back to Harry and bounced on her heels in her eagerness for them to go.

"All sorted," Hermione beamed.

"Never you mind!" Hermione teased. "Girl stuff. Come on, let's go."

Then she threaded her arm around Harry's elbow and led him from the station. It was a good few minutes into the walk before Harry realised that Hermione hadn't let go. He looked down at where she was still holding him.

"You can stop guiding me if you want," Harry quirked. "I know the way from here!"

"Do I have to?" Hermione asked, gently. "My hand's nice and warm where it is."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to get cold," Harry replied, sniffily, as they walked on together in a companionable, but not entirely comfortable, silence. After a while, Harry spoke again. "I see you are wearing your Christmas present. I'm glad."

"I haven't taken it off."

"It looks good on you. I hope you find it useful."

"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever owned, the most thoughtful thing that anyone has ever given me. The other girls are so jealous I can't tell you."

"Oh, I hope they don't resent you for having it, or me for giving it."

"Hang them if either is true," Hermione scoffed. "They just wish they had one of their own."

"What? A bracelet?"

"No. Someone who cares enough to give them a gift like this. They wish they had ayou. if theyarejealous of me, it's for that."

Harry blushed in the cold night. "Oh."

They walked on, saying nothing for a few minutes. It was Hermione who broke the strange tension that had risen between them.

"Did you mean what you said in your last letter?" she asked, painfully cautious in here tone.

"Which part?" Harry quizzed.

"When I told you about the nature of the next Task of the Triwizard," Hermione explained. "About what the Champions have to put at risk. You said ... you said that ..."

"What did I say?" Harry asked. "I can't remember."

"You know full well!" Hermione laughed, admonishing Harry for teasing her. She took a gulpful of the freezing Scottish air. Her voice took on a gossamer-soft lilt when she spoke next. "You said that, if you were a Champion, they'd probably takeme... because I'm the best thing in your life."

"Well ... you are," Harry told her simply, as she held his elbow a bit tighter. "I never realised how much I wanted a best friend until I had one. Now I can't imagine my life without one. Without you, specifically. I couldn't have designed a better one for me."

"Me too," Hermione agreed, eagerly. "About you, I mean. It's weird that we never got on before, considering we are so compatible now. I blame myself, for being such a stubborn cow!"

Harry laughed at that. "I was hardly much better with all my bad moods and everything! But I'm happy to blame you too, if you want to take all the responsibility!"

Hermione tutted lightly. "I think we'll share it, shall we? You didn't want to talk, and I wanted to talk too much."

"That's fair," Harry conceded. He looked over carefully. "Is that all you wanted to know, if I meant what I said about the Task? Is that why we are walking up to Hogwarts in the snow? I get the feeling there's more to it, something you aren't telling me."

Hermione glanced up shrewdly, her eyes twinkling. "There is, and I want to talk to you about it, but I'm not brave enough tonight. I just felt like walking, and I wanted your company. So here we are."

"Brave?" Harry asked, confused. "What would you need to be brave to tell me?"

"This!" Hermione cried with a laugh. "You know how you're not ready to tell me about your early childhood? Well, I'm not ready to tell you about this. But I promise, when I work out how, I'll tell you right away."

"Okay, that's cryptic," Harry frowned. "I'm not sure if I should be worried or not."

"Probably," Hermione replied, grimly. "But we'll see when I eventually get round to telling you. It could be a friendship breaker."

"Then I'm definitely worried," Harry grimaced. "Is it really that bad?"

"Good and bad are relative things," Hermione told him, evasively. "Where this fits in, only time will tell."

"And when willyoutell?"

"When the time is right ... and not a second before."

"So you're just going to leave me hanging? I have to guess what this is?"

"Pretty much."

"You're quite evil, really," Harry quirked. "I'd never have guessed."

"I'm a witch, Harry," Hermione shrugged, playfully. "We're all one-part angel and one-part danger. What did you really expect?"

"Notthatas a definition of you!" Harry hooted. "But I think it sort of fits. I like that it sort of fits."

Hermione smiled up. "Good. That's a good sign. And there's another one."

Then she pointed up at the Hogwarts crest that adorned the centre of the high gates that marked the entrance to the school grounds.

"Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus," Harry read as they passed beneath the wrought-iron arch. "Don't tickle a sleeping dragon. It's good advice, but what the hell has that got to do with a school or education?"

"Maybe it's guidance against rebellion," Hermione suggested with a snicker. "The sleeping dragon could mean the dormant intelligence of youth that could overthrow the archaic order of things. Maybe the motto advises against it!"

"Yeah! That would certainly explain why so many of our teachers are completely bloody useless!" Harry chortled. "They don't want to give us the tools to rise up against them!"

"I can see you being a rebellion leader," Hermione mused. "I think you've got it in you to be a rabble-rouser!"

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not!" Harry laughed. "But I'll take it as one!"

"And you can take this too," Hermione cooed as she brought Harry to a stop just before they came under the lights of the Entrance Hall.

Then she stepped in, wrapped her arms around Harry's waist, and drew him close.

"What's this for?" Harry breathed dumbly.

"I promised you I'd give you a cuddle for New Year's," Hermione explained. "And this is my first chance. But it's not a proper cuddle yet."

"Yet? When will it be, then?"

"When you put your arms around me, too."

Compliantly, but with a dozen degrees of uncertainty, Harry snaked his arms up and around Hermione's shoulders until his hands met under the sweep of her hair. Tiny movements brought her closer, so close that the lingering scent of Hermione's shampoo invaded Harry's nostrils, as she turned her head to rest against his neck.

"There. That's better," Hermione crooned. "I've been waiting for this ever since we parted on Diagon Alley, and then again when I found your carriage today. Bloody train ... why couldn't it go faster?"

"And this is ... normal? Between friends, I mean?" Harry asked doubtfully, his voice muffled by Hermione's dense locks. "It's alright that we're doing this?"

"Do you think it's alright?"

"Well ... yeah."

"And so do I. So it is."

"And when will I know when to let go?"

"We'll let go at the same time," Hermione suggested. "On the count of three. One ... two ... three."

But neither of them moved an inch.

"You didn't let go," Harry hushed.

"Neither did you," Hermione pointed out.

"Oh yeah ..."

"Ahem, ahem."

That made Harry and Hermione fly apart. It was the pointed cough of Professor McGonagall.

"And just where do you two think you have been?" McGonagall demanded.

"Please, Professor, it was my fault," Hermione begged, throwing herself at the mercy of her Head of House. "I felt ever so stuffy after all those hours on the train, and I just felt like getting some fresh air. Harry offered to keep me company."

"Is this true, Mr Potter?" McGonagall asked, turning her sparkling eyes on Harry.

"Pretty much," Harry shrugged. "But I wanted some fresh air, too. Hermione was good enough to offer to protect me for the walk back."

Hermione clucked her tongue and slapped Harry's arm in jest. Professor McGonagall grinned at them. At least, Harry thought that the strained grimace was the strict Deputy Headmistress' version of a grin.

"Well, as you are both in one piece there's no harm done," McGonagall went on. "Come on now, with the both of you. Get inside and get some food in you before bed. That is if you are both quite done with ...whateverit was you were just doing."

"I think we're done," Harry grinned, shyly.

"For now," Hermione agreed in near whisper.

"Very well, now hurry along inside before you catch a cold," McGonagall ordered. "Oh, and Miss Granger, once you've eaten please come to see me in my office. I understand the Headmaster has prepped you for this?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Hermione nodded solemnly.

Harry looked over in alarm, hissing lowly as soon as McGonagall re-entered the castle.

"What the hell is that all about?" Harry demanded. "What can they want with you?"

"Don't fret, I'll explain it all," Hermione promised. "The organisers of the Triwizard Tournament need some help with the Second Task, that's all. My contribution to the Yule Ball and other festivities did not go unnoticed, so my assistance has been personally requested for the next stage of the Tournament. It's fine, trust me. It might be even something you can help me with, so we could get to spend more time together."

Harry's mood lightened at the prospect. "Okay, that's not such a bad thing then. When were you going to tell me about this?"

"I didn't get a chance, really," Hermione tried to excuse herself. "But I'll tell you what's happening as soon as I know more. It's okay, honest. Just keep an eye out for my first letter of the term ... it'll be an interesting one!"

Then she gave his arm one last squeeze, and hurried off in the direction of the Gryffindor table.