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Chapter Text

The wizarding world collectively agreed that there was nothing worse than the unforgivable curses, hence their decreed status as unforgivable. But as Harry stared down at Hermione’s unconscious form, he decided that for him, there was something just as horrible, if not worse. Witnessing the consequences of his foolish decisions, motivated by stubborn impulsivity. 

Ginny was cursing her sprained ankle and stubbornly trying to walk off the pain even though she had been instructed and warned against it. Ron had finally regained his sense, but the tentacle swirls of welts all over his arms, torso, and neck from the brains attacking him were all but guaranteed to scar. Luna seemed to be okay but Madam Pomfrey wanted to keep her for observations just in case, and Neville was wracked with silent tears, mourning the loss of his father’s wand. 

As for Hermione… her only saving grace was Dolohov’s curse being weaker when cast non-verbally. She would forever be burdened with a scar as well. Jagged purple lines branching out like lightning on the left side of her body, starting just above her hip and jutting out and across her abdomen and torso, while simultaneously wrapped around her thigh. Almost all of it was obscured from Harry’s view, but he’d witnessed the full extent when Madam Pomfrey cast the Diagnostic spells earlier to check that she was stabilizing. But what was worse than the scarring was the fact that she had yet to open her eyes. The only thing reassuring Harry that she wasn’t truly dead was the steady rising and falling of her chest as she continued to breathe. Harry counted each inhale as though his life depended on it.

Had he been able to focus on anything else at that moment, he probably would have been surprised that the many complicated developments of the night weren’t on his mind at all. That is, until he felt a hand on his shoulder and finally tore his attention away from Hermione to meet the familiar gray eyes and resolute face of his godfather. “Dumbledore told me what happened,” the animagus mentioned softly, his gaze weighed down with an understanding that Harry couldn’t fathom. “Don’t let it turn inward.” 

Harry wasn’t sure just how much Dumbledore had told Sirius, but he felt confident believing that the headmaster had relayed every detail. The vision Voldemort had baited him with, the failed attempt to contact Sirius that Kreature had used to further manipulate him, the chaos in the department of mysteries, Bellatrix luring Harry with the false threat that she had Sirius in her clutches, and intended to end him in retribution, and Fudge finally seeing Voldemort in person. 

“Fudge promised to reopen your case, and will be accepting a copy of my memory two years ago as evidence in your favor,” Harry mentioned, hoping to change the subject. He didn’t want to listen to Sirius tell him that he wasn’t responsible for his friends’ various injuries. 

Sirius simply nodded. “He told me that too. And… I’m grateful that your first thought was for me, Harry. Your mother would be proud of you.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “My mother?” He asked. 

“Absolutely,” Sirius insisted. “Lily Potter always possessed a strong sense of justice and rarely failed to stand her ground over matters that meant a great deal to her,” he explained. 

Harry turned to face Hermione again and sighed. “Hermione is a lot like that too,” he muttered bitterly, hating himself for dragging her into danger that now had her recovering from a curse that ordinarily would have killed her. 

Sirius clapped his free hand on Harry’s other shoulder, drawing his godson’s attention back to him. “She’s gonna make it, pup,” Sirius insisted. “Our Hermione is a strong girl, and Poppy’s got her fully stabilized. You’ll see, Harry. Just give her a little time.” Harry nodded reluctantly. “Go check on your other friends, I’ll keep an eye on Hermione.” 

Harry wanted to argue, but he knew the rest of his friends needed him just as much as Hermione did. He shrugged off Sirius’s hands on his shoulders and took Hermione’s hand in his. “I’ll be right back, Mi. I promise.” Harry savered the kernels of warmth he could feel living in Hermione’s skin and slowly laid her hand back down. 

“Go on Harry,” Sirius encouraged. “Hermione’s in dependable paws,” he joked and shrank down into his admittedly large form as a shaggy black dog. 

Harry couldn’t help smiling at his Godfather as he walked away from Hermione, to talk first with Ron. The tall red-head was in the process of applying what looked to be a paste of some kind to the blisters and welts on his left arm. He looked up as Harry walked towards him and gave a half-hearted smile. “How’s Hermione?” Ron asked. 

Harry shivered. “Madam Pomfrey says she’s stable but she’s still unconscious.” 

Ron nodded and sighed. “Dolohov’s a nasty piece of work,” he commented as he continued to dab the paste-like substance to the last bit of swirling marks left uncovered on his arm. When he met Harry’s eyes again, he grumbled. “Bloody hell, don’t tell me you’re blaming yourself,” Ron pleaded. 

Harry shrugged and slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “Who else am I supposed to blame?” He asked. 

Ron rolled his eyes. “The death eaters, maybe,” He suggested. “We were in a battle, Harry. It doesn’t make sense to blame yourself for every injury sustained in a fight like that,” Ron argued. 

“None of you would have been hurt if I had gone alone,” Harry countered. “Everyone would be celebrating the end of our O.W.L.s if I had just stayed put, if I had just listened to Hermione-” 

“If you had listened to Hermione, Fudge would never have seen You-know-who and all the death eaters that were arrested or killed tonight would still be free to torture and kill anyone they deemed worth the effort,” Ron interrupted. “The whole battle may have been a disaster, but it was a productive disaster, and I stand by my choice to follow you into the ministry.” Harry grumbled in displeasure, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “And Hermione made the same choice, knowing it would be dangerous. And if she ever heard you insinuate that it was all your fault she would curse your head off your shoulders and kick it all over Hogwarts.” 

As disturbing as the image was, Harry was thoroughly amused by the thought of Hermione kicking his detached head around while scolding him for attempting to rob her of her agency. Harry grinned and shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “Fine,” he said. “You win, Ron. So, how are you doing? I can’t imagine it was pleasant being assaulted by brains.” 

Ron shuddered. “Thankfully my memory of it is pretty hazy,” he admitted. “The tentacle marks don’t really hurt much, they mostly just itch.” 

Harry nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Well, I hope it keeps getting better. I’m gonna go check on everyone else,” he added, unsure of what else to say. 

Ron smiled. “Thanks for checking on me, Harry, but can you do one more favor for me?” Harry raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Can you please try to convince Gin to get off her damn ankle?” 

“What makes you think she’ll listen to me?” Harry asked with a chuckle.

Ron rolled his eyes. “She has less of a leg to stand on if she tries to call you an overprotective big brother,” he explained and laid back on his hospital bed. 

Harry shrugged and walked on, coming to a stop beside Neville. “Hey,” he greeted his friend softly. “I’m… I’m sorry your father’s wand ended up broken,” Harry apologized weakly. 

Neville shrugged and sat up, swiping his arm over his eyes to wipe away the shed tears. “Gran will be more upset about it than I am,” he answered through his sniffles. “I don’t really know how to feel about it,” he admitted. 

“Well, what are you feeling?” Harry asked gently. 

Neville met Harry’s eyes and found only compassion and curiosity lying in them. “It hurts… but I feel guilty because it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. If anything… I feel a bit hopeful. I never felt much of a bond with his wand… and the pressure… Maybe now that I can’t use it anymore I can finally get a wand of my own, and I won’t have his shadow hanging over me anymore.” 

Harry nodded and clapped a hand on Neville’s shoulder. “That’s one hell of a silver lining, Nev. I wish you the best… and… thank you for coming with me tonight. You’ve been a better friend to me than I have to you, especially recently.” 

Neville shook his head. “It’s hard to be a top tier friend when you’ve got a lunatic murderer eager to kill you while the ministry is actively smearing you. And everyone knows Umbridge made you her personal punching bag all year too. You should give yourself more credit, and just aim to keep improving as a person.” 

Harry’s eyes widened in shock and he nodded reflexively. “That’s… really enlightened, Neville.” 

Neville brushed off Harry’s awe with a shrug. “Luna’s been helping me build more confidence in myself. Self-reflection and personal growth are apparently just as much her thing as weird creatures with less than confirmed existences are.” 

Harry absorbed Neville’s description of Luna and thought back to a moment earlier in the year when he’d been talking with her alone. He remembered the dreamy feel of her eyes and her relaxed resting smile as she casually mentioned that ‘ If I were you-know-who, I’d want you to feel cut off from the world. Because if it’s just you alone, you’re not as much of a threat .’ The calm, logical rationale paired with her almost meditative calm nearly made Harry shudder. 

“Yeah,” Harry spoke up. “That tracks. It’s a good thing Luna’s on our side. She would make for a terrifying enemy.” 

Neville burst out laughing. “That’s putting it mildly,” he agreed. 

Satisfied that Neville was okay, Harry moved on, coming to a stop as Ginny crashed into him. Her damaged balance due to her slowly healing ankle had caught up with her and Harry was lucky to catch her before she fell to the floor. “Bloody hell, Gin! Do you want your ankle to get better or worse?” He asked, helping her right herself. “You should be resting and letting the potions Madam Pomfrey gave you do their work.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes and braced herself against the stone wall behind her. “I don’t like being on bedrest,” she argued, narrowing her eyes at Harry. 

Harry slid his hands into his pockets and nodded. “We’ve got that in common,” he mentioned. “And speaking from personal experience, it’s easier to grit your teeth and comply than to refuse and fight through the pain.” 

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?” She asked sarcastically. 

Harry nodded, a grin working its way to his face. “Sometimes I forget just how privileged people raised in the wizarding world are,” he commented, knowing Ginny wouldn’t take kindly to the wording he used. 

Ginny’s eyes blazed with rage instantly. “Privileged?” She asked, a challenge written in her tone. “How exactly am I privileged?” 

Harry wasn’t phased by her anger. If anything, he was amused. “Thanks to the potions Madam Pomfrey already forced down your throat, the worst you can do to yourself is delay the effects of your magical treatment, and the inevitable healing process. But that injury that you’re trying to walk off as if it’s nothing has the potential to permanently cripple someone in the muggle world if they did what you’re doing right now.” Ginny’s expression softened slowly as Harry spoke. “Without magic, a sprained ankle can take between one or two months to heal fully.” Harry was pleased to hear Ginny actually gasp. “Hindering the healing process doesn’t make you strong. Respecting your limits and allowing yourself the chance to recover is a hell of a lot stronger and smarter. So, what are you going to do?” He asked and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Ginny sighed and climbed back into her hospital bed, grumbling her displeasure the entire time, but accepting that Harry was right. “Is Ron okay?” She asked softly. 

Harry nodded and helped her prop up her ankle on a folded pillow. “He’s fine, just stuck looking like he lost a fight with the giant squid for the rest of his life.” 

Checking on Luna didn’t take much time. She was sleeping peacefully with no more than a few minor scrapes and bruises. All in all, Harry was relieved that so few of his friends had been injured severely. But his heart turned heavy again as he made his way back to Hermione. 

As much as Harry wanted to blame himself for what happened to Hermione, he knew Ron was right. Hermione chose to go with him, she chose to fight, and the only person who could be blamed for her current state was the death eater that cursed her. But as he sat down beside her, taking hold of her hand, he was guilt ridden for an entirely different reason. 

“I took you for granted, Hermione,” he whispered. “You’ve always been there for me. You’ve stood by me through everything, done what you thought was best for me, even when you knew it would start a fight. And I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve bailed on you because it was more convenient than showing you the same loyalty you’ve offered me.” 

Harry barely noticed the tears rolling down from his eyes. Sirius on the other hand, did notice Harry’s pain, and sympathized heavily. He padded over to his godson, still in his dog shape, and sat down beside him. In an effort to comfort the teenager, Sirius leaned against Harry’s leg and rested his head on Harry’s knee. 

Although Harry did appreciate the gesture, he didn’t feel any better. “I feel selfish asking for anything more from you, Mione. But I’m asking anyway. I have to.” Harry took a breath, gripping Hermione’s hand tightly in his own. “Live, Mione,” Harry pleaded. “I want to be better, to be the friend you deserve, and I can’t give you that unless you open your eyes and come back to us. Please keep living, Hermione. That’s all I’m asking for.” 

Finally, Harry surrendered to his pain. His shoulders shuddered with every sob that escaped his lips. Yet despite his devastation, he held out hope that tomorrow would be kinder than today had been.

Chapter Text

Harry’s faith was rewarded when Hermione woke the next day. She was far more gracious about Madam Pomfrey tending to her than Harry would have been, but looked to be on the verge of arguing when told that she would be confined to the hospital wing for the foreseeable future. It was only a sudden sharp pain shooting along Hermione’s ribcage and down her waist to her thigh that convinced her to simply accept the bed rest she was saddled with, along with the ten potions she had to take until Madam Pomfrey decided that her physical recovery process was over. 

“Voldemort is back! Who’d have guessed?!” She declared upon reading the headline of the Daily Prophet. 

Harry shrugged dismissively. “Better late than never, I suppose,” He answered, solidifying his dismissive attitude in regards to the irritating reality that the Ministry and the Prophet were playing the part of ultimate supporters now that Harry was finally proven to have been telling the truth. “I’m too relieved that Sirius is finally exonerated to stay angry at Fudge. He’s an idiot and a failure, and I got the only two things I wanted out of him. I’m willing to leave it at that.” 

Ron laughed from behind his own copy of The Prophet. The rustling paper he clutched in his hands seemed to punctuate his amusement. “After the year we’ve had? You’re a lot more forgiving than I am, Harry,” he commented. 

But while Ron seemed to be more amused by Harry’s changed attitude toward Fudge and his ineptitude, Hermione was quietly curious. 

Hermione hadn’t seen Harry so calm and lacking in outright cynical pessimism since… Merlin, since the Quidditch World Cup before the death eaters showed up. She was expecting after their experience at the Ministry that Harry would be full of rage, lashing out at everyone the same way he had been all year long. Was he only calm and collected right now because they were in the hospital wing? 

“Mister Potter,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded and Harry stood to greet her. “The headmaster wishes to speak to you.” Harry felt himself go numb as he took the note that the medi-witch handed him. 

Considering their last discussion, Harry didn’t really want to talk to Dumbledore again, especially so soon. From the admission Kreature had made, the reasons why Dumbledore had distanced himself, and the Prophecy… Harry hadn’t relayed the prophecy to Ron and Hermione yet. He wanted to wait until they were out of the hospital wing at least. But needless to say, Harry wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. 

Unfortunately though, what Harry did or didn’t want wasn’t important in this instance, so he told Ron and Hermione that he would be back as soon as possible and reluctantly left the hospital wing to meet Dumbledore. 

Harry wasn’t sure what he was expecting to be waiting for him, but it certainly wasn’t Sirius arguing with Dumbledore. “It isn’t your decision, Albus! I’m Harry’s Godfather, and I’m not a wanted man anymore. He’ll be living with me when he isn’t in school, and that’s final.” 

Dumbledore seemed as though he was going to respond to Sirius, but he caught sight of Harry and addressed him instead. “Please come in, Harry. Thank you for responding to my summons so expeditiously. Your Godfather and I are in the process of discussing your living arrangements this summer.” 

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow. “What’s there to discuss? I don’t want to go back to the Dursleys, and Sirius doesn’t have to hide anymore.” 

Sirius chuckled and wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders, grateful for the solidarity and confirmation that he did indeed know what Harry would want better than Albus Dumbledore did. “That’s the exact point I’ve been trying to make, pup.” 

Dumbledore, calm as ever, ignored Sirius and spoke directly to Harry. “Have you already forgotten the part of our previous discussion regarding the protections that house provides?” He asked simply. 

“Not at all, I just don’t believe them to be infallible. Despite those protections, my cousin and I were attacked by two dementors,” Harry was quick to answer. “Voldemort and his lot are not the only threat against me, and Sirius’ house is under the fidelius charm.” 

Dumbledore frowned, though he maintained his even tone. “As was the Potter cottage in Godric’s Hollow,” he countered. “Harry, I’m not saying you need to stay there for the entire summer.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Then how long are you asking for?” He asked. 

“Two weeks,” Dumbledore answered without hesitation. “I’m asking you to stay with your muggle relatives for two weeks for the sake of the protections living in the blood you share with your mother’s sister. After that time has passed I will happily support your decision to live with your Godfather. Is that acceptable?” He asked softly. 

As much as Harry wanted to deny it, he knew Dumbledore’s request wasn’t unreasonable. He did feel a strong urge to refuse anyway, to insist that he would rather throw himself off the astronomy tower than spend even one more minute with the Dursleys. But Harry didn’t do that. Instead of arguing further, Harry simply balled up his fists and reluctantly answered with a reluctant, “I can accept that.” 

But while Harry was willing to compromise, Sirius hadn’t yet reached that point. “Well I’m certainly not on board with this as it is! Harry’s right about Voldemort not being the only threat against him, and after that hearing last year, I don’t want him alone and unprotected outside of Hogwarts!” He argued. 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and nodded once. “Harry did indeed raise a valid point, and with that in mind, I actually have an idea.” 

Sirius scoffed. “What kind of idea?” He asked, unconvinced that Dumbledore was taking them seriously. 

Harry was sure he could feel Dumbledore staring straight through him as he answered Sirius. “I’d like to think it’s brilliant in its simplicity. Harry doesn’t have to go alone. And who would be better to stay with him than you, Sirius?” Dumbledore asked. 

Harry’s eyes widened. “But my uncle hates magic!” He insisted. “He would never agree to it!” 

Dumbledore’s eyes resumed their twinkling. “I can be exceedingly persuasive when necessary,” he mentioned, his tone still calm and controlled. “I will explain that you will require extra protection during your brief stay, and that Sirius poses no threat to anyone within the house as long as cooler heads prevail. Do we have an agreement?” Dumbledore asked, the twinkling in his eyes lifting Harry’s spirits significantly higher. 

Sirius took almost a solid minute to think it over, but the smile on his face was genuine. “We have an agreement,” he answered. 

“Splendid,” Dumbledore announced, and turned his attention back to Harry. “Well, I do believe I’ve taken up enough of your time, Harry. And after spending so much time assisting Madam Pomfrey look after your friends, I’m sure a walk within the grounds of Hogwarts will do you a great deal of good. Please, enjoy yourself, and I hope when you do return to the hospital wing, you’ll deliver my well-wishes to miss Granger and Mister Weasley.” 

Harry had no issue with the clear dismissal and excused himself after giving Sirius a quick hug. The only issue he had was with Dumbledore’s suggestion on what he should do next with his day. Why would he go for a walk? He promised Ron and Hermione that he would be back as soon as possible. And what good would wandering aimlessly through Hogwarts do for anyone? 

“Hello, Harry,” a familiar voice rang in his ear and the sensation of his heart attempting to leap out of his chest nearly knocked Harry off his feet. 

“Luna!” He screeched, his hand landing on his chest, as if to double check that her sudden appearance hadn’t sent his heart truly flying through his ribcage. 

Luna looked Harry up and down, concern and curiosity shimmering in her dreamy gaze. “Did I scare you?” She asked softly. 

Harry couldn’t help grumbling at the question. “Of course not, I always imitate a banshee when greeting people,” he snapped at her, and immediately regretted his snap reaction as she narrowed her eyes on him. “I’m sorry, Luna,” he murmured. “Yes, you startled me.” 

Luna nodded slowly, her frown fading quickly. “I forgive you, and I’m sorry too. So, what are you doing?” She asked simply. 

Harry shrugged. “I had a quick meeting with Dumbledore. I was about to head back to the hospital wing.” 

“Already?” She asked. “You’ve hardly left the hospital wing since we got back from the ministry. You could really use some fresh air, Harry.” 

Harry raised a confused brow. “But I promised Ron and Hermione I would be right back,” he explained. 

Luna shrugged. “To do what? Watch them sleep and pass out potions?” She asked softly, her tone completely at odds with her words as far as Harry was concerned. 

It took Harry a moment to process the question, not understanding how Luna of all people could say something that rude so calmly. “Well if that’s how you view keeping them company and assisting with their recovery process, then yes. Is there something wrong with that?” 

“Not at all,” Luna answered honestly. “It shows your devotion to your friends and that’s admirable. But neglecting yourself for their sake isn’t going to do anyone any good.” 

Harry shook his head. “What makes you think I’m neglecting myself?” He challenged her, not liking the idea that she would insinuate he wasn’t fit to help his friends. 

Luna caught the challenge and narrowed her eyes. “When was the last time you did something that wasn’t for someone else?” She asked. “And the ministry fight doesn’t count, even then you were running to save Sirius, not because you wanted to go.” The silence between them as Harry tried and failed to answer his friend was all the blonde needed. “That’s what makes me think you’re neglecting yourself, Harry. Go for a walk, stretch your legs and get some fresh air. Hermione and Ron can wait, and I have no doubts they’ll be happier to see you feeling more refreshed.” 

Harry sighed as Luna ran her fingers over his shoulder in passing as she walked away. He was struck again by Neville’s description of Luna, and could only agree that she truly was focused on self reflection and personal growth. 

With that in mind, Harry decided to take her advice. He took a deep breath and started walking, no destination in mind, just allowing himself to wander. 

At first, Harry felt ridiculous. He’d already seen most of the castle throughout his five years at Hogwarts, knew pretty much every secret held within the walls. But as he continued to simply lift one foot in front of the other, a familiar feeling blossomed in his chest, a sensation he’d lost touch with for months. 

Hogwarts had always felt like home, until Umbridge showed up. During this wretched year, his home hadn’t felt like the sanctuary that it had always been in the past. But now… he ran his fingers against the stone wall and smiled, stopping for only a moment to rest his head against the cold stone. “Thank you,” he murmured to himself, and it felt as though all the pain and anger he’d been harboring during the year simply melted away, leaving him more unburdened than he’d felt in so long… He was free, finally free, and he was eager to share this relief with his best friends. But, before he returned… he wasn’t quite ready to give up this aimless journey though his school. 

Harry had just descended the last marble step into the entrance hall when Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle emerged from a door on the right that Harry knew led down to the Slytherin Common room. Harry stopped dead, as did Malfoy and his simple-minded cohorts. 

Malfoy was a tensed statue built of rage and stress, but Harry was little more than amused and mildly curious. Malfoy glanced around, clearly checking for signs of their teachers. The moment Malfoy was sure that the coast was clear, he faced Harry with a hateful glare. “You’re dead, Potter.” 

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Funny,” he observed. “You’d think I’d have stopped walking around.” 

The incredulous look on Malfoy’s face amused Harry to no end, and he couldn’t help wondering if this encounter would give him an excuse to slot some last minute dueling practice into his day. “You’re going to pay,” Malfoy spoke up again, trying to come off as intimidating, but falling short. “I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done to my father.” 

Harry shrugged. “Well I’m terrified now,” he commented, the sarcasm in his voice dripping heavily as he barely resisted the urge to grin. “I suppose Voldemort is just a warm-up compared to you three,” he added for good measure. 

“You think you’re such a big deal, don’t you, Potter?” Malfoy taunted, advancing on Harry now, flanked by his goons. “Just you wait. You can’t just land my father in prison-” 

“I thought I just had,” Harry interrupted. 

Malfoy’s hand flew toward his wand, but Harry was too quick. He had drawn his own wand before Malfoy’s fingers even made it to the pocket of his robes. 

“Potter!” 

The voice rang across the entrance hall. Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office. “What are you doing, Potter?” Snape asked, his voice chipped off an iceberg dipped in poison, and it seemed that no matter how free Harry felt from the toxicity of the past year, Harry still hated the greasy dungeon bat. 

“I’m trying to decide what curse to use against Malfoy, sir,” Harry admitted with a smirk. 

Snape was struck for a moment by Harry’s blunt honesty, but easily recovered, his features sliding into his signature sneer. “Put that wand away,” he snarled at Harry. “I have a mind to take ten points from your house, but it just so happens that there aren’t any left,” he remarked and gestured to the giant hourglasses on the walls with a malicious grin. “So in that case, we will simply have to-” 

“Add more?” 

Professor McGonagall’s voice was music to Harry’s ears and he eagerly turned to see that she was indeed standing only a few feet from them carrying a tartan carpet bag in one hand while leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other, but otherwise appeared to be quite well. 

“Professor McGonagall, you’re back from St. Mungos,” Snape commented. 

“Indeed Professor Snape, I am,” she answered as she shrugged off her traveling cloak. “I’m just about as good as new. You two, Crabbe, Goyle,” she beckoned them forward and they lumbered up to her awkwardly. Once she deemed them near enough, she thrust her bag and cloak into each of their chests. “Take these to my office for me.” 

The pair shared an awkward look with each other before turning to stomp their way up the staircase. Snape looked as though he wanted to say something, but McGonagall paid him no mind, examining the hourglass instead. She took a moment to think before she spoke up again. 

“Right then, I think Potter and his friends have earned fifty points apiece for alerting the world to the return of you-know-who,” she decided. “What say you, Professor Snape?” 

The look on Snape’s face made it clear he’d rather gargle broken glass, but he answered with a reserved, “I suppose…” 

“So that’ll be fifty each for Potter, Miss Granger, the two Weasley children, and Longbottom.” A shower of rubies fell down into the bottom bulb of the Gryffindor hourglass as she spoke. “Oh, and fifty for Miss Lovegood too, I can’t go forgetting her,” McGonagall added as a cluster of sapphires fell into the Ravenclaw glass. “And you did say you had a mind to take ten points from Potter, so there we are,” and a few rubies retreated into the upper bulb, leaving a respectable amount below nevertheless. “I’d say that puts everything back in order.” 

Harry didn’t bother hiding his smile. He was overjoyed to have his head of house back in Hogwarts. “It’s amazing to have you back, Professor!” Harry enthused. “Would you like company on the way to your office?” He offered. 

McGonagall gave Harry a bright smile. “Now that would be a treat, thank you for the offer, Potter.” 

Harry fell into step beside McGonagall as they climbed the staircase together. “Ron and Hermione are going to be thrilled to know you’re doing better, Professor. We were all horrified when you were hit with all those stunners at once,” he told McGonagall softly. 

“I do hate to have given you and your friends such a fright, but it’s quite sweet that my recovery matters so much to the three of you,” she answered with a soft smile. “Now don’t tell anyone this, I have a reputation to maintain for not showing any favoritism, but I’ve always been fond of you, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley,” she admitted. 

“Not to worry, Professor. I won’t say a word to anyone,” Harry insisted. “Except Ron and Hermione,” he added, prompting a good-natured laugh from his professor. 

As they reached her office, they almost ran straight into Crabbe and Goyle. “Thank you for your assistance,” McGonagall told them both. “Ten points to Slytherin. Now you should scamper on outside, it would be a crime not to make the most of such lovely weather.” 

Both Slytherin boys shuffled off without further acknowledgement and Harry opened the door for McGonagall. “Thank you, Potter. Do you mind if I borrow you a short while longer?” She asked, to which Harry immediately answered that he didn’t mind one bit.

McGonagall sat down at her desk, joined quickly by Harry. “You’ve had a difficult time this year, Potter,” she mentioned gently. “No fifteen year old boy should be subjected to what you’ve endured within these walls recently. But not only did you endure, you overcame the brutal treatment forced on you, and even if no one else says it, I want you to know that I’m proud of you. You’ve been a shining example of what it means to be a true Gryffindor, even if you could use a little work curbing that temper of yours.” 

Harry could feel tears pricking his eyes, but he successfully blinked them away. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. 

McGonagall smiled and stretched her arm across the desk, gripping Harry’s hand gently. “Then just accept what I’ve said for what it is, and enjoy the rest of your day.” 

She let go of Harry’s hand and the teenage wizard rose from his seat. “Thank you Professor,” Harry said. “Thank you for everything. And please try not to overwork yourself.” 

As Harry reached out to open the door, McGonagall spoke up again. “Oh, and Mr. Potter,” she began and Harry turned back to face her. “I think you’ve earned another twenty points for Gryffindor.” 

Harry felt his eyebrows rise in confusion. “How did I do that, Professor?” He asked. 

Her already encouraging smile brightened further. “By stubbornly demanding justice for an innocent man. And to wipe Severus’s smug grin off his face,” she admitted, making Harry laugh as he waved his farewell and vacated the room. 

Once Minerva was alone in her office, she opened a drawer in her desk, pulling out two envelopes and a roll of parchment. She opened the more weathered envelope and carefully unfolded the paper within, scanning the words for what felt like the thousandth time. 

Dearest Minerva, 

I’ve heard that the Gryffindor Quidditch team has been struggling a bit since I left Hogwarts. But I want to reassure you! Lils and I have a star Quidditch player in the making that we’re eager to send your way in about eleven years! He’s got a lot of practice ahead of him of course, but I’m confident our little Harry will be an adequate replacement for me. Who knows, maybe he’ll even surpass me! Stranger things have happened, haven’t they? Afterall, Lily actually agreed to marry me. So, just be patient, and soon enough, Harry will be leading our house to victory every year!

Your favorite lion,

James F. Potter. 

-Lily says hello, and she misses you.  

Minerva refolded the letter and held it to her heart. “You two would be so proud of him,” she murmured softly. “And I miss you both so much, every day.” 

She slid the parchment back into the old envelope and set it back inside her desk gently before taking up a Quill, pulling the fresh parchment to herself and began to write. 

Harry decided against wandering the grounds. As much as he enjoyed stretching his legs within the castle, lying on the grass outside would be lonesome without Hermione and Ron. So he made his way back to the hospital wing to find Ron asleep and Hermione seemingly lost within the pages of the numerology book he’d gifted her for Christmas earlier in the year. 

But the moment Harry walked in, Hermione looked up from her book to give Harry a bright smile. “You’re back,” she greeted him. “Dumbledore kept you for a while.” 

Harry felt his face warm up in embarrassment. “Actually… it was pretty quick. I just… kinda took some advice and went for a walk. I probably should have stopped by first.” 

Hermione cocked her head ever so slightly. “Harry, I’m glad you took a little time for yourself, please don’t feel bad,” she told him softly, and smiled as he took his seat beside her hospital bed. “Besides, I can’t imagine how boring it probably is being stuck in here when you aren’t even injured,” she added in amusement. 

Harry chuckled. “Well you’ve got a point that the hospital wing isn’t very entertaining, but I’m never bored keeping you company, Hermione.” 

Hermione shut her book and ignored the warmth spreading across her face. “I’m never bored with you either, Harry. So, how was your walk? And what did Dumbledore want?” 

Harry was quick to give Hermione a run-down of everything that happened while he was gone. The two teens were so focused on each other and their conversation that they never noticed Ron had stopped snoring.

Chapter Text

Just one more week, Harry thought to himself as the shouting downstairs grew louder. Vernon had not taken well to Sirius’ presence, and Sirius had no patience for Harry’s uncle. It was a recipe for disaster, and Harry’s throbbing head was paying the price. 

The arguing had begun the moment Sirius showed up at the door with Dumbledore, which was maybe a minute after the Dursleys, with Harry in tow, made it back from the train station. The first words out of Vernon’s mouth had been, “What do you freaks want?!” And from there it just dissolved into hatred filled chaos. 

It took almost an hour to get his aunt and uncle calm enough to actually listen to a single word Dumbledore said, during which Sirius hadn’t spoken at all, only growled. Harry had lost track of how many times the words freak, burden, and inconvenience were used before Dumbledore finally managed to silence his aunt and uncle. 

Once Dumbledore successfully laid down the law and departed, Vernon was quick to threaten Sirius, promising to kick him out if he became too much of a nuisance. To which Sirius countered that he had no qualms about playing the role of an unstable attack dog. And there had yet to be a calm moment since. 

Harry wasn’t sure what they were shouting at each other over this time, nor did he care to pay closer attention to figure it out. Especially because he could see Hedwig flying toward him with an envelope tied to one of her feet. The sight brought a smile to his lips and he eagerly opened his window for the snowy owl. 

The sound of Hedwig’s flapping wings grew steadily louder before she finally soared through the open window, circling overhead once before landing on his desk. “Welcome back, Hedwig,” Harry greeted happily and reached out to untie the letter from her foot. “Did you enjoy your flight?” Hedwig merely hooted as Harry relieved her of the envelope. “Thank you for the letter, you did a great job.” Hedwig nipped Harry’s finger affectionately and glided to her perch in her cage so she could begin preening her feathers. 

Harry eagerly opened the letter, finding Hermione’s familiar penmanship. 

Dear Harry,

I’m sorry to hear that your uncle and godfather are still at odds with each other, but I still have hope that you’ll get at least one peaceful day in that house before you leave. 

I do have news though! I finally got a response from Ron about the lack of letters, and you’ll never believe the reason for it! Apparently Bill has come back to The Burrow, and he’s engaged to none other than Fleur Delacour! Can you believe it?! 

Apparently she’s also staying there and has received a mixed reception to her presence. Ginny is so annoyed she’s taken to calling Fleur 'phlegm,’ and Mrs. Weasley, while not stooping to name calling most of the time, is thoroughly displeased, insisting that Bill is rushing into marriage with what she perceives to be a perfect stranger. 

You know I’ve never personally liked Fleur much, but I’m willing to reserve my judgment for now. 

I’m sure it doesn’t make sense for me to be the one telling you all this, but with how long it took for Ron to respond once, and the fact that most of the gossip was in Ginny’s accompanying note rather than Ron’s actual letter, I have no idea when he will get around to sharing this news with you. And of course, there’s also a strong chance that he’ll send you a twenty page essay over how gorgeous and perfect he perceives her to be rather than actually relay anything informative, so I took up the task myself. 

Moving on to the subject of your last letter, I appreciate your eager support and offered suggestion, but unfortunately I have to object. Perhaps my judgment call is an unfair one, but I don’t trust telling my parents about anything having to do with our misadventure in the Department of Mysteries, or Voldemort. My father is incredibly over protective and my mother is prone to panic. Those two qualities fuel each other too easily and I don’t trust my parents not to try something rash, such as attempting to prevent me from returning to Hogwarts next year. I didn’t disclose the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament for the same reason. I hope you understand and that you don’t judge me for that, but even if you do find fault in my choice, I’m sure you will respect that it’s ultimately my decision to make. 

On a brighter note, the cream that Madam Pomfrey gave me has worked wonders. Most of the far-reaching branches of my scarring have faded almost completely and the bulkiest part isn’t quite as dark as it was when I was first hit. I doubt it’ll fade any further, but I’m grateful for even the most minute change, and it has assisted in numbing the physical pain the curse inflicted. I’m still so touched by your concern, and I hope I’ve successfully soothed your worries. 

As for everything else, I did tell you when we parted at Kings Cross that I’d probably just be reading, working on homework, and playing with Crookshanks this summer. And other than keeping the brewing war in the wizarding world secret from my parents, that is indeed all I’ve really been doing. 

Oh! I can’t believe I almost forgot to mention it, but Crookshanks has taken quite a liking to the catnip mouse that you sent me. You’ve gotten my poor cat addicted to this one toy, and because of it I’ve actually discovered that I can play fetch with Crookshanks, but only if I throw that specific mouse. Have you ever heard of a cat playing fetch? I certainly hadn’t! 

Well, this is definitely getting a bit long, so I’m going to say good bye! As always, I’m looking forward to your next letter! 

-Hermione

P.S. And yes, I absolutely want to come see you on your birthday! Did you expect I would change my mind? I can assure you I haven’t, and I’m not going to! 

Harry read the letter at least three times, convinced that focusing on what she’d written was silencing the racket downstairs. Some of the residual guilt Harry still felt over the curse Hermione was struck with was indeed soothed with the knowledge that her scar had faded at least a bit, and she wasn’t struggling with the residual pain anymore. And he certainly wasn’t about to judge Hermione for choosing to keep her parents in the dark about the war, he just hoped the added stress wouldn’t be too much for her. 

As for her final comment, Harry didn’t even notice his smile was widening. No, he hadn’t expected that she would change her mind, but the initial invitation had been a bit rushed. 

He could remember Hermione turning away to search the crowd for her parents, before suddenly grabbing her hand and mentioning that Sirius had brought up doing something for his birthday this year, asking if she wanted to be there. Hermione had immediately nodded with a bright smile and thrown her arms around him, insisting that she absolutely wanted to be there and was looking forward to it. Only a moment later, she spotted her parents and took off running. So while her answer had been enthusiastic, it had also been a very quick exchange that Harry suspected could be easily forgotten. 

Still… remembering that moment brought back the sensation of her hugging him, and Harry lost himself in memories of Hermione hugging him in the past. He was so invested in his sudden trip down memory lane that he began to realize something that had never really occurred to him before. 

Hermione was the first person he could remember hugging him, and usually the only person who regularly touched him to show affection, other than Mrs. Weasley. And Sirius had recently joined that list, although he was far more limited in comparison to the two women. 

And speaking of the two women, there was a big difference between them. Mrs. Weasley was a welcoming and motherly figure with a comforting aura, there was no doubt about that. But her hugs were often overwhelming and uncomfortable for Harry in a way he couldn’t figure out. Hermione on the other hand… She could launch herself at him, nearly topple him over even, yet all he felt was warmth and a strong desire to hold her just as tightly as she clung to him.

The memory of the previous hugs she’d given him alone were enough to bring back that comforting warmth, and a strange stirring in his chest that he wasn’t entirely familiar with… but wasn’t exactly foreign to him either. But that feeling, it was so all-consuming, he couldn’t even hear the shouting from below him anymore. 

Of course, Harry didn’t realize that the yelling had actually ceased. He was too deep in thought as he lay in bed to notice that the arguing had come to a close, and he felt himself leap out of his skin as Sirius knocked on his door, asking to come in. 

“You look like a ghost,” Sirius commented, taking note of how startled Harry appeared to be. “Usually you hear me coming.” 

Harry shrugged and sat up on his bed. “I think I was a bit lost in thought. So, what were you arguing about?” He asked as his heart rate evened back out. 

Sirius stepped into the room and raised his hands in an almost dismissive gesture. “Oh, the usual,” he began before taking a seat in the chair at Harry's desk. “Your cousin left a room when I walked in, so Vernon assumed I’d threatened him with magic.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Classic Vernon,” he grumbled. “I can’t wait to get out of here.” 

Sirius nodded. “I finally understand why you were so quick to agree to move in with me when we first met. Why didn’t you ever tell me how bad it is here?” He asked. 

Harry shrugged. “What good would it have done?” He asked softly. “Nothing could be done about it until now, and you already felt guilty enough. I didn't want you to feel any worse.” 

“Still, you shouldn’t have grown up in an environment where you’re hated, Harry,” Sirius answered. “And whatever guilt and shame I may feel is not your fault.” Harry sighed and laid back down with his hands behind his head. 

The dismissive nature of Harry’s resolve to grin and bear his lousy childhood in silence didn’t reassure Sirius. He wanted to improve as his godfather, help heal the pain that growing up unloved had clearly inflicted on his best friend’s son. “I had a realization recently,” Sirius spoke up, drawing Harry’s attention. “We haven’t had much of a chance to actually get to know each other. You didn’t even know I existed for twelve years, and we immediately had to say goodbye. Owl correspondence was and still is dangerous, and this past year… I don’t think either of us were in a good place mentally to bond with each other.” 

A smile worked its way to Harry’s face. “Then it’s a good thing we have plenty of time moving forward to make up for that, isn’t it?” He asked. 

The optimistic question prompted a happy grin from Sirius. “You’ve got that right, pup. So, what had you lost in thought earlier?” He asked. 

Harry’s eyes widened and he looked back to the ceiling. “Oh, umm, Hermione sent me a letter is all. I was thinking about what to write back.” 

Sirius noticed the slight blush rising to his godson’s face and he was instantly reminded of James in the early weeks of his crush on Lily. “I probably should have guessed that,” Sirius joked. “You seem to be in almost constant contact with her. How is the delightful bookworm?” He asked softly. 

“She’s fine,” Harry answered and cursed his skin as his face grew ever warmer. “Reading and playing with Crookshanks mostly, nothing out of the ordinary.” 

Sirius nodded, thoroughly amused by how unbothered Harry was attempting to appear, and how miserably he was failing. “Well that’s good to know, but judging by your face I was expecting something more interesting,.” 

Harry shook his head and frantically searched his brain for a proper change of subject. He didn’t quite like the thought that floated to him, but he knew it would do the trick. “Hey Sirius, do you remember when I asked you about that memory of Snape’s that I saw?” He asked, to which Sirius reluctantly nodded. “We didn’t have much time to discuss it when I first asked about it,” Harry prodded, but the older wizard’s only acknowledgement at first was another reluctant nod. “Please, Sirius. I just want to know my father was more than a bully that people remember fondly because he died young.” 

The sigh that escaped Sirius’s lips seemed to carry the weight of his grief. “I stand by my earlier sentiments that James Potter was the greatest friend I ever had and that most people are idiots at fifteen… but you’re right, you deserve the context that one lone memory can’t convey.” 

Sirius seemed to struggle with what to say next, but once his decision was made, the conviction in everything he said was staggering. “James Potter was many things, several of which manifested later in life, and some of them outright contradictory to other traits of his. But if I had to name the core of his being, I’d say that it would be his unrelenting loyalty, terrifyingly protective nature, and his conviction in regards to those he loved. If James Potter decided that he loved someone in any sense, platonic, romantic, familial, he loved them with his entire self.” 

Harry found himself entranced by Sirius’s confident recollection, and had no doubts that he was finally getting the chance to hear an honest, unbiased description of his father. 

“When I first met James, I envied him. I could tell from the way he held himself and the barely restrained excitement in his eyes that he’d been raised with the manners and privileges of any other pureblood child, groomed to carry on his family’s legacy. But the smile was what made me angry at first. I knew from the moment he thrust out his hand to introduce himself that he’d grown up loved, treasured even, with parents that would eagerly throw themselves into a raging inferno if it would save him from some kind of pain. I shook his hand, and spent ten minutes debating whether or not I hated him. Because James was an obvious bright light in the world. The kind of light that you either wanted to hate for daring to shine so brightly in a dark, unwelcoming world, or bask in every minute of every day, soak up like sunlight in stormy seasons. I chose to bask in his light, while Snape decided to spite his shine, most likely because Snape had already found his own source of light, and he was eager to hoard that beacon to himself. By whatever means necessary.” 

“Who was Snape’s beacon?” Harry asked, his brain almost short-circuiting over the idea that Snape would value anyone that much. 

Sirius couldn’t resist the smirk that rose to his lips. “Lily Evans,” he answered. “Your mother.” 

That particular reveal was a bit too much for Harry, who shouted, “WHAT?!” in response. Sirius was thoroughly amused, erupting into almost mad laughter, but unfortunately, Harry had also been heard by his uncle Vernon. 

Before either wizard caught on to the brewing unpleasantness, Vernon burst into the room, his hair-triggered temper ignited and on full display as he stood in the doorway. “Hush up!” He shouted, red-faced with the vein in his temple beginning to pulse. 

“Fuck off,” Sirius told Vernon in response, and Harry immediately reached up to cover his ears before the incoming explosion from his uncle. 

Vernon didn’t disappoint, spit flying as he shouted that he wouldn’t tolerate disrespect. “Especially not from pathetic freaks of nature like you!” He threw in, eager to insult Sirius as a wizard because he knew so little of him as a person. 

Sirius was ready to shout back and unleash his own hatred at the aggressive, downright abusive man, but it was Harry who cried, “ENOUGH!” as several things around him began to float. 

Both adults were silent as Hedwig’s cage, Hermione’s letter, and Harry’s pillow all rose into the air. Hedwig was quick to launch herself out of the cage, perching herself on her human’s window sill instead, trusting that he wouldn’t manage to focus his power well enough to affect the structure of the house. She watched him curiously, concern for her beloved wizard welling in her heart. “Enough screaming,” Harry continued, his voice heavy with the anger he’d been holding onto for several days. 

Harry turned his eyes on Vernon, who paled under his nephew’s glare, grabbing at the door frame and clutching for dear life as terror flooded his veins. “You hate me, and you hate magic, I get it! I’ve known that for years! I’m not going to forget if you go five minutes without reminding me! So shut the fuck up already!” He cried and he felt a violent rush of wind whip through the room, making the legs of his desk shudder and shoving the adults away from him. 

As Vernon cowered in the doorway, still clutching the wood beneath his fingers as his life line, Harry’s gaze fell on Sirius, who’d just been slammed against the desk. “You hate my muggle relatives, and you hate that Dumbledore pushed us into staying here for two weeks. Guess what? I do too! And I don’t need constant reminders of how awful it is here! Grow the fuck up and quit indulging my uncle’s childish tantrums!” 

Sirius nodded and held his hands up in surrender as he successfully maneuvered his way out of being pinned. “You’re right, Harry,” he spoke up as loudly as he dared so he could be heard over the wind that was still raging through the room, swirling around his godson. “The last thing you need after the past two years is more stress, and as your godfather I should be helping, not hindering,” he admitted, and Hedwig’s cage shuddered in the air, the wind seeming to grow weaker. “I’m sorry, Harry. Let me make it up to you. Let me help now, please.” 

As Sirius slowly stepped closer to Harry, the wind calmed further, little more than an agitated breeze. Vernon stared at them both, in awe of the older wizard’s nerve in approaching the boy. Vernon was not so daring, he was too terrified over the fact that his nephew had done all of this… without his wand. How was this happening? 

“It’s okay, Harry,” Sirius spoke softly, reaching out to gently rest his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Everything’s going to be alright, Harry. I’m going to do better, I promise, we’re going to make everything alright together. You believe me, right?” Harry met Sirius’s eyes and slowly nodded. 

The breeze ceased and the floating objects gently glided down where they belonged. “Thank you Harry,” Sirius said soothingly. “Now, take a few deep breaths, focus on calming down for a moment,” he instructed, and Harry reluctantly shut his eyes and began breathing deeply. 

Sirius turned his attention to Vernon and spoke with a calm, resolute tone. “I’m done arguing with you,” he began softly. Vernon merely nodded. “In order to make sure the rest of our time here goes by smoothly, I’m setting down new terms for our last week here, and they’re very simple. We will avoid each other. You will leave Harry and I alone, and we will do the same for you and your family. Agreed?” He asked, hoping it was clear that he’d be accepting no negotiations from Harry’s uncle. 

Vernon promptly nodded his agreement and ran from the room, propelled by the panic still flooding his body. Sirius took note of the quick affirmative nod from the fleeing muggle and turned back to his godson. “You’ve been cooped up in here far too long,” he commented and held his hand out to Harry. “How would you like a break from staring at the same four walls all day?” He asked softly. 

Harry thought back to the last time he’d been advised to take a walk, considered how much it had previously helped, and took Sirius’s outstretched hand. “Please just get me out of here,” Harry whispered and Sirius helped him to his feet. Harry was surprised to find that he actually needed the assistance a bit. Apparently his bout of accidental magic had been more draining than he thought. 

Regardless of the toll the explosion had, both wizards quickly slid shoes on, made their way downstairs, and walked out the door. Harry was comforted by the hand Sirius kept on Harry's shoulder. It was a welcome anchor that kept him grounded and soothed his frayed nerves. 

Their silence was eventually broken by Sirius. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how badly the constant arguing was affecting you,” he told Harry softly. “I should have paid closer attention, and I should have tried to be the bigger person earlier.” 

“You’re already forgiven,” Harry answered, eager to just let it go. He didn’t want to dwell on the situation anymore, he was tired of wallowing. “I’m just relieved you aren’t afraid of me after that,” he admitted as he kicked a stray pebble in his way as he walked. 

No, Sirius wasn’t afraid of Harry. Worried for him, yes, in awe of his accidental magic, a bit, but afraid? “Why would I be?” He asked. 

Harry sighed and kicked another pebble. “I don’t like to talk about it, but my second year at Hogwarts didn’t go well. The Chamber of Secrets was opened, and I was the prime suspect most of the year because I’m a parselmouth. I didn’t even know I could talk to snakes, or that it was considered dark magic until the first dueling club meeting. But the moment everyone knew I could talk to snakes, most of the school turned on me. Ron didn’t outright abandon me, but he was wary for a while. Hermione was the only one that stood by me unflinchingly, despite how worried she was about the entire situation. Not that I can blame her… she’s a muggle born with a muggle born hating monster floating around the school and her best friend starts hearing voices no one else hears… I can’t imagine how terrifying that must have been for her, even before she was petrified.” Harry kicked another pebble as the old bitterness and guilt surfaced for a moment. “I’d rather not talk about it anymore… at least for now, if that’s okay.” 

Sirius nodded and slid his arm around Harry’s shoulders as they walked. “I have no issue with tabling the topic for now. Would you like to hear more about your father, maybe?” He asked. 

“And maybe explain how Snape became friends with my mother?” Harry asked, disgust filling his eyes. 

Sirius couldn’t help chuckling. “Very well,” he agreed. “I wasn’t there when they met, but Lily told me all about it. Snape actually lived very close to her when they were children, and he realized that she was a witch when she was showing her sister her accidental magic. Lily didn’t know what exactly she was doing or what it meant, but Snape did, and he didn’t hesitate letting her know that she was a witch.” 

“So my mum found out she was a witch from Snape?” Harry asked. 

Sirius nodded. “She did,” he confirmed. “And once Snape managed to convince her that he wasn’t insulting her, Lily was eager to learn everything she could about the wizarding world. Snape was even more eager to tell her everything he knew. When Lily told me all of this, she came to the realization that the foundation of their friendship was her eagerness to understand herself, and his desire to cling to her. She was miserable realizing how unhealthy their friendship was, even from the start.” 

Harry nodded. “How long were they friends?” He asked, remembering how Snape had called his mother a mudblood when she tried to help him. 

“Several years,” Sirius answered. “The final straw was during our O.W.L. year. James and I were bullying Snape, arrogant, idiot bastards that we were at the time, and Lily had had quite enough, stepping in to try and defend him. Snape was building his status with the Slytherins that planned to join the death eaters, and it wouldn’t have looked good if a muggleborn spoke up for him, so he-” 

“He called her a mudblood,” Harry interjected. “That’s the memory I saw. That’s what ended their friendship?” He asked. 

Sirius sighed. “Yes and no,” he admitted and ran his free hand through his hair, trying to find the right words to explain. “It was more the final nail in the coffin than anything else. But… James and I witnessed something private that same night. We had been wandering about the castle past curfew to blow off steam, he was still miffed about being rejected earlier, and when we made it back to the portrait, Snape was outside it, pleading with Lily.” 

He grimaced at the memory, at the unshakable force that was Lily Evans in that one moment. “James froze under the cloak. We both knew we couldn’t sneak back in with them standing there, and it was too risky to try and leave without being noticed, so we stood there, listening to Snape desperately trying to apologize and making excuses for himself. Lily… she wasn’t particularly moved. Everyone knew they’d been arguing over his group of friends and obsessive pursuit of the dark arts nearly from the moment they’d stepped through the doors of the Great Hall for the first time. She had been making excuses for his behavior for years, and she just didn’t have it in her to do it anymore, nor did she see any good in him left to pull out of his chosen path. She rejected his apology and walked away. They never spoke again. James blamed himself for it for a long time.” 

Harry was officially confused again. “Why did he blame himself? From the sounds of it, Snape was responsible for wrecking his friendship with my mum, not my dad.” 

“Because he and Snape were always lashing out at each other, and that rivalry, the regular fighting between them, it definitely sped up the split,” Sirius explained. “James never lost the core of who he was, Harry. He’d lost sight of his center for a while, but even after years of being a celebrated quidditch player, getting perfect grades putting in the minimum effort, and developing a bad habit of hexing random people in the corridors for a cheap laugh, he was still the same beacon of light he’d been as a child, and for the first time in years, he was so ashamed of himself he wanted to throw himself off the astronomy tower.” 

To say that Harry was surprised was a dramatic understatement. But Sirius wasn’t done. “That night was the beginning and end of many things, Harry. I’ve never forgotten it. Without even realizing it, Lily had done far more than cut ties with Snape. She laid all James’s sins bare to him, and he couldn’t bear the truth of what he was turning into. Snape gave up, James committed to change.” Harry noticed a single tear slide down Sirius’s face. “And by Gods, Harry. Your father didn’t pull any punches. The following morning, he apologized to Lily for embarrassing her with his poorly timed flirtations and for being an overall arrogant git. He gave her plenty of space during our sixth year and dropped nearly all of his bad habits. The only person he kept hexing was Snape, and eventually it was only in retaliation, or a preventative measure to keep the Slytherin from firing something potentially lethal at him. After spending a year reforming himself, Lily actually approached him to ask if they could go to Hogsmead together. He almost fainted, but after their first date, it was clear that they were both smitten.” 

A smile worked its way to Harry’s face. “So my father really was more than just a bully,” he said softly. 

Sirius nodded. “Much more,” he confirmed. “Your father went through a phase, and he grew out of it, put in a lot of effort to do so even. He turned himself around and fought against the death eater movement, and that was his true nature. Lots of people are idiots at fifteen, Harry. Most people grow out of it. James was among them.” 

That much, Harry no longer doubted. It was a peaceful feeling to finally have confidence in the belief that his father was a good person. “You said two years ago that you watched my Quidditch games,” Harry commented, and Sirius smiled. “You never told me if I really was as good as my dad,” he reminded Sirius. 

Sirius pulled Harry into a tight hug and whispered. “You are, pup,” his voice hooked on what could have been a sob. “He would have been so proud of you.” Harry didn’t hesitate to embrace Sirius in kind, reveling in the reassurance he felt. 

Eventually the pair of wizards walked back to the Dursley house and made their way back to their rooms. Sirius planned on teaching himself solitaire, and Harry had a letter to write to Hermione. 

Hedwig was relieved to see her wizard calmer and happier than he’d been before and she happily accepted the affectionate scritches he gave her before she returned to her perch and resumed her earlier preening. Harry sat down at his desk and reached for his parchment and Quill.

Chapter Text

The prophecy was successfully kept out of Voldemort’s clutches… and that same prophecy declared that in the end Harry must kill or be killed. The ministry announced Voldemort’s return… after a year of smearing Harry and Dumbledore. Sirius was finally found innocent… and Harry still had to go back to the Dursleys for part of his summer. Harry was permitted to being Sirius with him to his relatives’ house… and half the time they spent there was dedicated to arguments between Sirius and Vernon. Now he was finally free of the Dursleys, and once he returned to Hogwarts, he had to look forward to Snape as his new defense professor. Harry was starting to wonder if anything good was going to happen without some kind of draw-back. 

That was decidedly not the attitude Harry wanted to have on his birthday, especially after Sirius had insisted on celebrating. But that was the train of thought Harry found himself struggling to jump off of as he laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong today, that if he enjoyed himself too much, something would happen to punish him for having too much fun. 

A knock at Harry’s bedroom door snapped him out of his head and he sat up in bed before answering with a calm, “come in.” As a softly smiling Hermione was revealed behind the open door, Harry stood up completely with a smile of his own. He intended to simply greet his best friend, but she had already launched herself at him, hugging Harry tightly. “I missed you too,” Harry told her as he wrapped his own arms around the witch. 

Although their written correspondence had become Harry’s strongest safety net since he’d left Hogwarts, no letter could compare to the way it felt to have Hermione in his arms. She seemed to cling to him, hanging on as though several years had passed since they last saw each other. Harry couldn’t get enough, gripping her tightly and barely resisting the urge to lift her off her feet. For one blessed moment, nothing else mattered. How could anything trouble him when Hermione was here? When she was warm and kind and safe in his arms? 

Harry felt something nudge itself against his ankle and he instantly leapt backwards, releasing Hermione with a cry of, “What was that?!” 

Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth as she succumbed to a fit of giggles. Harry’s eyes darted across the floor until he caught sight of Crookshanks. The enormous fluff machine gave him a grumpy ‘Mrow,’ by way of a greeting, and Harry released a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry Harry,” Hermione told him breathlessly, still recovering from her impromptu giggles. “I probably should have mentioned that I brought Crookshanks with me.” 

“I would have been grateful for the fair warning,” Harry quipped, a smile tugging at his lips. “Should I assume Crookshanks wanted to thank me for the mouse toy in person?” He joked. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, it was supposed to be a surprise,” she mentioned and grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I was invited to spend the rest of the summer here,” she admitted, and bit her lip. 

Harry wasn’t sure how he kept his jaw from physically dropping. “You mean it? You’re really staying?” He asked. 

Hermione nodded slowly. “Unless you object of course,” she told him hurriedly. “If you’d rather have more space-” 

Before the rambling could really get going, Harry stepped forward and pulled her back into another hug. “Stay,” he found himself whispering into her hair, and Hermione wrapped her arms back around him, relaxing in his arms. 

Eventually the teens ended up seated together on his bed, letting go of each other reluctantly. “So, how did your parents take the idea to spend the rest of your summer here?” Harry prompted. 

The moment he asked, he wanted to take it back. Hermione seemed to recoil from the question, but regardless of how she felt about it, she didn’t hesitate to answer. “They didn’t argue over it,” she said calmly. “To be honest, I don’t think they really cared that much.” 

Harry sighed and wrapped an arm around Hermione. “I wish I could do something to help.” 

“Tell me why you’ve been hiding in your room,” she told him softly. 

The request caught Harry off guard, and he wasn’t sure why Hermione was curious, but if there was anyone he felt most comfortable confiding in, it was definitely Hermione. “It’s hard to explain, and it’s a bit of a long story,” Harry admitted, before nearly choking on air as Hermione nodded her head and leaned against him, the side of her face resting against his chest. He tightened his hold on her just a bit and she sighed contentedly. “Do you remember the last few days we had at Hogwarts?” He asked her simply. Hermione nodded her head against his chest, and Harry was worried for a moment that his rapidly beating heart would startle her, but she didn’t seem to take any notice whatsoever. “Well, I didn’t say anything, but that walk I took after talking to Dumbledore, it was a bit… strange.” 

“Strange how?” Hermione asked simply. 

Harry sighed, trying to put words to his thoughts. “I’m not entirely sure, it just… I guess it felt… while I was walking, it was almost like all my anger during the past year just melted away. It was as if I’d been carrying a stack of bricks on my shoulders, and every step knocked them off of me, one by one.” 

A smile tugged at Hermione’s lips. “That would explain your brighter mood,” she commented and relaxed completely against his chest. He was a shockingly comfortable pillow. 

“And there’s my confirmation that you noticed,” Harry joked. “Needless to say, it felt amazing to finally drop all that anger. But… ever since we left Hogwarts… it feels like every good thing that happens has to have some kind of catch.” 

Hermione nodded and slid her arms around Harry’s waist. “Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way,” she suggested. “Every cloud has a silver lining, right? Switch the order. The good thing is simply the silver lining encasing the storm cloud.” 

“Snape is the Defense Professor,” Harry dead-panned. “I don’t see a silver lining there, Mione.” 

Hermione reflexively tensed at the news, her grip on Harry tightening ever so slightly. No doubt she was just as dismayed over their new reality as Harry was. But she relaxed again rather quickly. “I’ve spotted one,” she told him simply. “We only have to put up with him for one more year.” 

It took less than a minute for Hermione’s observation to click in Harry’s mind, and once it did, he shot to his feet and pumped his fist in the air triumphantly. “You’re right! The job is clearly jinxed, no one’s ever lasted a year, Quirrell even died!” 

Harry didn’t notice as he dissolved into celebratory laughter that his sudden leap onto his feet had nearly knocked Hermione off the bed. Hermione had just managed to settle back in place when Harry admitted gleefully that he was hoping for another death. “Harry!” she cried. “That’s awful!” 

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’d be just as glad to see him keel over, admit it,” he taunted her in his challenging tone. 

“I’ll admit no such thing,” she answered, and raised her hand to show Harry her crossed index and middle fingers. Her sly smile triggered another laughing fit from Harry, which Hermione quickly lost herself in as well. 

It was a relief for Hermione. She could barely remember the last time she laughed before today, and leaning against Harry for support as she surrendered to her amusement felt almost triumphant. Needless to say, she wanted more moments like this moving forward. 

"As relieved as I am to see my godson in a good mood on his birthday," Sirius chimed in from the doorway. "I vaguely remember that our plan was to lead Harry downstairs for the party, not to make hiding in his bedroom more appealing." The animagus stood with his arms crossed over his chest, and the same expression he seemed to have every time Hermione was brought up in conversation. The smirk that seemed to say, I know something you don't. Harry was quickly growing to resent that smirk. 

Harry shook his head disapprovingly as mischief shimmered in his emerald eyes. "Dragging my innocent best friend into your devious plots. I'm so disappointed." 

Sirius chuckled and yanked Harry into a warm hug. "It's good to see you smiling again, pup," he whispered softly. "I was getting worried." 

Harry held onto Sirius tightly, eager to reassure his godfather that he needn't worry any longer. "I'm okay," he whispered back. "Please trust me, I'm alright." 

They let go of each other and Sirius shifted his focus to Hermione. "You already told him you're staying, didn't you?" He asked with a grin. 

Hermione shrugged, and Harry smiled at the shimmer in her eyes. "Crookshanks decided to say hello, and naturally Harry was curious. Was I supposed to lie?" She asked as a smirk worked its way onto her face. 

Sirius planned to simply roll his eyes at her cheek, but he found himself nearly doubled over by his full-bellied laughter. “What I’d give to see you meet Lily and James. They’d love you.” 

As Hermione smiled at the compliment, Sirius began ushering the two teens downstairs. The first thing Harry heard as they descended was a familiar squeaky voice conversing with Remus Lupin. Harry was still in the process of placing the voice when he reached the final step and was greeted by his favorite excitable elf squeaking, “Harry Potter!” 

Before Harry had a chance to respond, Dobby had already launched himself at the teenager, hugging his legs, and prompting boisterous laughter from Harry as he gripped the handrail to stay upright. “It’s good to see you too, Dobby!” He greeted the excited house elf. “How have you been? And how’s Winky?” 

“Dobby is very well, Harry Potter! So kind of you to ask! And Winky has been much better!” 

Harry listened intently as Dobby explained how Winky found closure after Crouch jr. died, and chose to take a full position at Hogwarts. Although she refused payment, opting instead to bond to the castle, she had become Dobby’s most passionate defender among the other house elves, shaming them if they so much as muttered about him or dared to turn their nose up at him. 

As Harry expressed his happiness that Dobby and Winky were living well, the group heard the fireplace roar to life in the other room. Remus checked from the doorway and announced that the Weasleys had arrived. Dobby immediately released Harry and took off running to finish the cake, which he was apparently very proud of and still in the process of frosting. Hermione stuck by Harry’s side, monitoring as he righted himself properly before taking the final step down the stairs while several voices, all of which they knew to belong to the Weasleys seemed to argue amongst themselves. 

“Did you hear the latest news?” Hermione whispered as Ginny’s indignant tone rose above the unintelligible chatter, though what she said was no easier to distinguish. 

“Other than Bill and Fleur? Did you forget that you told me all about it?” He joked. 

Hermione shook her head as Ginny stepped into the room and gave them both a reserved smile. “Happy birthday, Harry,” she greeted him briefly and shifted her gaze to Hermione. “Can we disappear for a couple minutes? I’m desperate,” she insisted. 

Harry watched in confusion as Hermione nodded and walked back up the stairs with Ginny. Before he could process the exchange or think of any questions to ask, Ron walked in, flanked by the twins, his parents, and Bill with Fleur on his arm taking up the back. Mrs. Weasley rushed forward to cup his face in her hands and kiss his forehead. “Happy Birthday, Harry dear!” 

Harry hoped his smile was convincing, but he was too wrapped up in the moment between Ginny and Hermione to really enjoy the greetings he was receiving from everyone. He half listened to Fred and George fill him in on their flourishing business, Arthur mentioning how Fudge was being ousted from the ministry and replaced with Scrimgeour, and Bill announcing his engagement to Fleur, who looked as though she couldn’t be happier, regardless of the narrow, judgmental gaze that Mrs. Weasley kept trained on the blonde quarter-veela the entire time. 

By the time Remus finally announced that dinner was ready, Harry felt rather overwhelmed. “Wait,” Ron spoke up as everyone began to make their way to the table. “Where’s Ginny?” He asked. 

“With Hermione,” Harry answered. “I’ll go get them,” he volunteered, stepping away to retreat temporarily and regain his bearings. 

_____

Hermione had patiently waited out Ginny’s long winded, repetitive tirade, and resisted the urge to chuckle as the redhead continued to mutter her frustrations under her breath. “Are you feeling any better?” She asked, unable to disguise the amusement in her voice or smile. 

“No,” Ginny grumbled spitefully. “I still want to throttle him.” 

It was a miracle that Hermione successfully stifled the chuckle she could feel taunting her with it’s impending arrival. “Gin, you might be overreacting, just a touch.” 

Ginny met Hermione’s amusement with an incredulous gaze “Don’t tell me you’re on Ron’s side!” She cried. 

“Definitely not,” Hermione was quick to insist. “I agree wholeheartedly that he should back off your private life, but it’s also natural for him to be protective of you. You’re his little sister, I’d be shocked if he didn’t try to act as a buffer between you and Dean.” 

Ginny flung her hands above her head as noise filled with exasperation escaped her lips. “But he’s watching me like a hawk! And apparently he’s sent Dean two letters telling him to back off!” She argued. 

“And that’s going too far,” Hermione confirmed and placed a comforting hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “But throttling him may be going a bit too far. Maybe try talking to him first,” she suggested, only to be reminded that Ginny had in fact spoken to him. “Talking calmly, Ginny, not shouting until his eardrums bleed.” 

The idea of calm communication was already an unwelcome, foreign concept to Ginny. But making that attempt when she was almost too angry to breathe? “Do you think you could talk to him? He might be more inclined to listen to you instead of me,” Ginny mentioned. 

Hermione shrugged. “Why not? I’ll ask Harry to back me up, too.” 

“No, no, no!” Ginny immediately piped up. “He’ll go over protective big brother mode too!” She insisted. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You should give him more credit, Gin. Harry isn’t like that.” 

Ginny considered arguing, but chose to change the subject instead. “I suppose you’ve got a point,” she conceded with a grin. “I’ve only really seen Harry get that protective over you, and it’s definitely not brotherly.” 

The wizard in question was actually about to knock on the door, but he paused with his fist poised to tap against the wood when he heard his name. 

Hermione groaned in frustration. “Ginny,” she grumbled. “Haven’t I already told you that I don’t want to hear anymore about your baseless theory?” 

“It’s not baseless, you’re just in denial,” Ginny countered, enjoying having regained the upper hand in their conversation. 

Hermione on the other hand, was growing more frustrated as she took in the image of Ginny’s grin. The redhead had an annoying theory that maybe Harry had feelings for Hermione that weren’t entirely platonic. Hermione wasn’t convinced, believing Ginny’s perception to be considerably flawed. 

But regardless of whether Ginny was on to something or not, Hermione had no intention of entertaining the possibility of something beyond friendship developing between her and Harry. It was a potentially dangerous notion in Hermione’s eyes. The risk to their friendship, whether there was something more there or not… no, Hermione wasn’t about to take that chance. It was more important to hold on to what they had now. The trust, dependability, that’s what mattered most. 

“Denial is comfortable and dependable,” Hermione decided aloud, finally responding to Ginny’s supposed observation. “So, let me have my simpler existence in peace or so help me I’ll jinx your mouth shut.” 

Ginny grumbled her displeasure. “You’re no fun,” she accused half-heartedly. 

Hermione’s triumphant smirk lit up her entire face. “And don’t go forgetting it,” she taunted the younger girl. 

It looked as though Ginny was going to respond, but she was interrupted by a knock at their door. “Come in,” Hermione offered, nearly jumping out of her skin as Harry opened the door. “Harry!” She chirped. 

“Hey,” Harry answered softly. “Everything alright?” He asked, hoping to ease any discomfort with his sudden appearance. 

“Yeah,” Ginny answered casually. “Are we needed downstairs?” She asked. 

Harry shrugged. “The food is ready,” he offered as an answer. As they walked past, Harry whispered to Hermione, “You’re wrong by the way.” 

“About what?” She whispered back. 

“You’re heaps of fun,” he quipped and bumped her shoulder casually. “Afterall, I always have fun when I’m with you.” 

Despite the worry that flooded her at the thought of Harry potentially having heard more than that, she felt warm from the considerate sentiment. “Thank you, Harry,” She told him softly. “And happy birthday.”

Chapter Text

Harry hadn’t been subjected to such a tense, uncomfortable meal since the incident with his Aunt Marge. The furious, judgmental glares passing between Ron and Ginny seemed to draw everyone at the table to the edge of their seats, seemingly prepared to jump between the two siblings at the first sign of trouble. Although he was personally in the dark regarding the problem, Harry definitely understood Ginny’s earlier desire to hide with Hermione.

The moment Ginny finally finished her meal, she didn’t hesitate to turn to her mother and ask to return home. Shockingly enough, Mrs. Weasley had no argument against it and Ginny quickly stood from the table, pausing briefly to give Harry a hug and a final birthday wish on her way out of the room to the fireplace. Bill and Fleur were quick to follow her, excusing themselves and offering a kind goodbye to Harry on their way out.

Even though Ginny’s departure managed to calm the tension throughout the entire room, the rage radiating off of Ron made it impossible to ignore her absence. Every following interaction felt awkwardly forced until the trio of friends managed to retreat upstairs to Harry’s room, thanks to a distracting and ‘foul’ joke from Sirius which served as the perfect distraction.

“Bill had better keep a close eye on Gin,” Ron grumbled as he took a seat at Harry’s desk, while Harry and Hermione both sat down on his bed.

Hermino shook her head, her narrowed eyes screaming out her exasperation, along with her tone as she spoke up in her friend’s defense. “You’re not treating your sister with the respect and decency that she deserves, Ronald,” she argued, crossing her arms over her chest. “If she wants to pursue a relationship with Dean, she should have that chance without you forcing your way between them. Repeatedly.”

The incredulous look on Ron’s face took Harry by surprise, but no more so than the revelation of what had apparently caused the thick tension they’d barely escaped from. “I’m her big brother,” Ron insisted, certain in the validity of his justification. “It’s my job to protect her!”

“Reading her letters and shaming her for what she writes to her boyfriend is not protecting her! Nor is writing to Dean and threatening him if he doesn’t break up with her!” Hermione hurled right back, making it clear she had no intention of backing down.

Ron, sensing his impending doom, turned to Harry for support. “Harry, help me out here, I’m just looking out for my little sister. I’d be a terrible older brother if I didn’t,” he insisted, confident that Harry would either back him up or claim neutrality, as his friend often did whenever he and Hermione were caught up in an argument. But that wasn’t the case this time.

“Even if Dean were an abusive monster, and I doubt he is, you still shouldn’t be messing with her letters,” Harry argued, balling up his fists at his side, just thinking of the summer Dobby stole all his incoming letters from his friends, and also of his last summer before starting at Hogwarts, watching his aunt and uncle disposing of his letters in various ways every time a new one was delivered. “Mail is supposed to be private, Ron, and that includes outgoing correspondence. And what makes you think Ginny needs you protecting her from anyone or anything? If she can hold her own against a cluster of death eaters, she can handle Dean of all people just fine!”

Harry’s argument on Ginny’s behalf was instantly met with Ron dropping his jaw as Hermione smirked triumphantly, her tense posture relaxing considerably. “But you’re supposed to be on my side, Harry!” Ron insisted, still desperately grasping at straws.

“Why am I supposed to side with you, Ron?” He asks simply, loosening his balled-up fists as he raises his eyebrow. “It’s not like Ginny is MY sister, and even if she were, I’d still probably back off and stay out of her private life. Dean’s our friend, and he’s definitely not an idiot. He knows he’s got at least three pairs of eyes watching his every move, and he witnessed most of what Ginny’s capable of himself, he knows Ginny’s more dangerous than most of her brothers,” he explained further as a smile lit up his face. “What motivation do I have to support your interference in her relationship? I’m just relieved she finally dropped her fixation on me.”

This time, Ron scoffed at Harry and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, good for you, but I’m not as relieved. I could at least trust you,” he grumbles, making Harry laugh and shake his head.

“Trust me? Tell me you’re joking,” he pleaded through his chuckles. “Sure, I wouldn’t be abusive, but I’m not exactly lacking a libido either,” he taunted, making Ron gag and clap his hands over his ears as his face drained of color, already overwhelmed with the mere insinuation.

Hermione, on the other hand, turned away as her face flushed with warmth, unable to block out Harry’s causal admission nor the reflexive jolt through her chest paired with a mental image of him proving it… with her specifically of course. As she tried to shake off the image and the unwelcome warmth, she instantly blamed Ginny for the intrusive fantasy. Clearly it was all that damned redhead’s fault for coming up with that ridiculous theory about Harry harboring feelings for her.

Despite Hermione’s obvious blush, Harry’s bold comment finally broke the tension, and Ron reluctantly conceded on the issue. The next hours were spent simply catching up with each other more effectively than through letters.

Harry discussed his time at the Dursleys, the awful way it began, the increasingly frustrating arguments, and how much better it got after his explosive bout of accidental magic. From there, Hermione expertly dodged questions about her parents and pivoted to her excitement over spending the rest of the summer holiday at Grimmauld. Ron mostly recounted his experience of Fleur living in The Burrow, and unlike his mother and sister, he believed she’d only served to improve the environment with her mere existence.

All too soon, a knock came at the door, and as it opened, Sirius popped his head into the room. “Ron? Your family is ready to head back home,” he mentioned and turned to Harry. “And you should come down and say goodbye.”

As grateful as Harry felt to everyone coming over to wish him well, he was also plenty ready to wave them off and relax for the rest of the night. And that prospect became only more appealing as he caught sight of Crookshanks being quickly gathered into Hermione’s arms as she moved to follow the boys out of the room. The visual reminder that she wasn't leaving with everyone else had his heart beating just a bit faster, and he was almost worried it was loud enough for the departing guests to hear as they exchanged farewells.

Chapter Text

There was a palpable sense of anxiety in the air as Hermione paced back and forth through the dining room, her favorite book, Hogwarts, A History, clutched tightly in her hands. “Granger,” Sirius called from the doorway, amusement dancing in his eyes as he grinned. “You’ll wear a hole through my floor if you keep that up.”

Hermione came to a sudden stop, her eyes raking over the room as embarrassment colored her face a soft pink. “Oh, umm… I’m sorry,” she muttered softly, prompting a laugh from Harry as he lounged in his seat at the table, patiently awaiting breakfast. He didn't notice Hermione’s eyes narrowing at him as he turned to Sirius, just as amused as his animagus godfather.

“This is actually incredibly tame for Hermione. You wouldn’t believe the panic attacks Ron and I have witnessed over the- Ouch!”

The whack of the book against Harry’s head knocks his glasses onto the table while nearly drowning out his indignant cry, and immediately had Sirius nearly in stitches as he laughed. “It’s not funny, Harry! You know how worried I get over test scores, and this year’s are particularly important! All I can think about are my runes translations and-”

Whatever else Hermione’s troubled mind was preoccupied with, she didn’t share, as for a moment she was simply too distracted by Harry’s arms suddenly encasing her to continue rambling. “You’re the best in our year, Hermione,” Harry whispered softly, his voice dripping with praise and encouragement as he huged her tighter. “You know you are. And when the owls arrive, I’m certain your scores will at least surpass my own.”

Slowly, Hermione nodded her head and breathed in deeply, slowly calming as she inhaled the scent of wood polish and birch, her own grip on Harry tightening before she finally let go and sat down at the table.

Neither Harry, nor Sirius hesitated to join her, the latter flicking his wand to summon a freshly made meal, which floated over to each of them. “I’m sure our favorite werewolf will be joining us shortly,” he mentioned softly before raising his voice to call, “Isn’t that right, Moony?”

As an answer to Sirius’ question, Remus walked into the dining room to take his seat beside the animagus. “Always the favorite ‘werewolf.’ Am I anyone’s favorite professor?” He asked, his tone light as his eyes shone with amusement.

To Harry’s eyes, the smile alone seemed to take years off Moony’s weathered stature. The full moon had passed easily enough and Lupin’s recovery had been going remarkably well. “You’re my favorite professor,” Harry chirped between bites of his breakfast, offering a warm smile before resuming his meal. Lupin looked over with his own pleased smile, his gratitude for the gesture clearly on display as he lifted his cup to sip at his tea.

Although the three men at the table were perfectly relaxed as they enjoyed their morning meal, Hermione was anything but. Her eyes keep straying to the window, and Harry finally caught her wandering gaze as she sighed deeply in disappointment at the still empty skyline. “Mione,” Harry called softly, easily breaking her dismal focus. “Come on, eating will help calm your nerves a bit,” he insisted, gesturing to her partially picked at plate.

Despite the obvious reluctance of her rigid posture, Hermione nodded her agreement and resumed picking at her food with another small sigh. Obviously, no distraction would take her mind off the wait for her O.W.L. results for long, but Harry was determined to keep trying regardless.

The rest of breakfast passed calmly enough, though as Sirius began to gather the empty plates, Hermione nearly shrieked, catching sight of the pair of owls finally flying toward their window. In her rush to the window, her chair toppled over onto the floor. Harry wasn’t at all surprised by Hermione’s tunnel vision, completely unphased by the loud clattering of the chair legs against the hardwood floor in her haste to open the window and welcome in the approaching owls.

Despite Harry’s earlier attempts at calming Hermione, he felt his own nerves spike at the sight of the two tawny owls landing on the table and promptly outstretching their right legs, offering the large square envelopes carrying the future of their educational endeavors. Harry’s fingers were a fumbling mess as he untied his letter from the owl’s leg, though Hermine was hardly faring any better. She was shaking so excessively her own owl was trembling.

Once he’d finally freed his letter, Harry read over the parchment repeatedly, his breathing calming with each reading.

Words couldn’t express Harry’s relief at the sight of his exam results. The only two failing grades were Divination and History of Magic, and neither were a surprise or a heavy loss to him. Thankfully, Astronomy was his lowest passing grade and apart form an Outstanding he received in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which had his pride absolutely soaring, everything else was a satisfying ‘exceeds expectations.’

“Nicely done, Harry,” Sirius barked with a proud chuckle as he clapped his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You did great, and I’m very proud of you.”

Harry nodded as his gratitude flooded through him and looked up to Sirius as he smiled. “Thanks Padfoot,” he offered before his smile faded ever so slightly through a frustrated sigh. “I almost wish I hadn’t done as well in Defense though…” he admitted, sighing once more as he remembered that he’d unfortunately be stuck with Snape of all people in his favorite subject.

Sirius quickly wrapped his arm more fully around Harry’s shoulders, giving him a quick reassuring squeeze. “It’s gonna be alright, pup. I promise. And if that greasy bat gives you too much hell, just send me a letter. I’m not a fugitive anymore, it’s a lot less dangerous.”

Harry considered a moment before nodding and turning his attention to Hermione “How did you do?” He asked as he slipped out of Sirius’ arm and came up behind her. For a moment, it seemed as though she hasn’t heard him, but before Harry could speak up again, she answered with a shaky, “fine.”

Harry read the parchment in her grip from over ger shoulder and grinned at her phenomenal scores. It's good to be right. “You did amazingly, Hermione!” he insisted as he slowly wrapped his arms around her in a loose hug.

Hermione can’t seem to tear her gaze away from the parchment as she sighed and shook her head. “Defense though… I really hoped the D.A. would be enough and I still-”

“Defense is your only non-outstanding, and it’s still the second-best passing grade,” Harry was quick to mention. “Give yourself more credit, Hermione. You’re brilliant, and all those ‘O’s prove it.”

The praise instantly had Hermione’s face turning pink, and she slowly nodded turning in Harry's arms to hug him tightly. “Thank you, Harry. You’re… you’re amazing!”

Dearest Ginny,

I was relieved to hear that Ron finally backed off at least a little. While I do agree not going through your mail is the very least that he could do, I would honestly just take the win. The O.W.L. results came today! I was a nervous wreck as usual, though Harry was unbelievably supportive, even if he couldn’t resist making a joke about my previous panic attacks to Sirius. I know he only intended to try and lighten things up a bit, he’s been doing that much more lately and it’s a pleasant change that I’m overjoyed to see.

Harry was certain my scores would surpass his, and I suppose I have to concede that he was right, not that he did poorly, or anything like that, I’m actually rather impressed with how well he did, particularly in Defense Against the Dark Arts, though of course, I already knew how talented he was with that subject. I just wish he hadn’t snagged the top spot in defense, and I blame the awful toad woman for my less than perfect Defense score. If she had actually been teaching us from the beginning… regardless though, I’m pleased with the scores I earned, and, believe it or not, Harry’s actually made it easier to be proud of myself. Anyway, if you want to borrow my notes for your own upcoming exams, please don’t hesitate to ask!

Oh, Sirius will be sending a letter of his own off, inviting you and Ron to spend the end of the summer holiday here, just in time to shop for our supplies together! I certainly hope to see you both soon, and I know Harry feels the same!

-Hermione

As Ginny set the letter back down on her desk, she couldn’t help grinning. It felt oh so good to be right, and Hermione’s rampant praise of Harry’s attentive support only made Ginny’s theory that Harry fancied Hermione all the more believable. She couldn’t wait to go back to Grimmauld Place and watch the two oblivious lovebirds stumble over each other!

Chapter Text

The few days between the arrival of their O.W.L. scores and the trip to Diagon Alley passed in a blur of relaxing contentment. The pair of teens spent hours within the family library in Grimmauld, and while Hermione devoured nearly every book she could get her hands on, Harry focused primarily on anything and everything having to do with defensive magic, writing out a number of spells to practice once they made it back to Hogwarts. 

“Do you think we should continue the D.A. meetings at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked during a relaxed lull in their studies. 

Harry was actually resting his eyes with Hermione's legs stretched out across his lap when her question broke the comfortable silence. “I didn't think it would be necessary with Umbridge gone and the Prophet no longer denying Voldemort's return,” Harry answered softly, not bothering to open his eyes just yet. “Is there a reason to keep it going?” 

He heard Hermione sigh, as well as the slight creak of the stiff book spine, giving away that she shut her book. “You’re a better teacher than Snape?” She suggested, triggering a warmth in Harry’s chest and face. “I mean it, Harry. Obviously you don’t have experience teaching in an official capacity, but every member learned so much from you, even Neville was excelling!” She insisted, and Harry finally looked over at her to find that she was already staring him down. 

“But Snape isn’t going to pull an Umbridge and force purely theoretical lessons on us,” he mentioned softly as a reminder that the lack of practical instruction was what made Dumbledore’s Army necessary. 

Judging by the intensity in Hermione’s gaze, his argument wasn’t a strong deterrent. “If his defense lessons are anything like potions class for the last several years, we won’t truly learn anything from him. Practice will be ineffective at best, and an excuse to bully us at worst,” she countered simply. 

That much Harry absolutely couldn’t dispute. Five years of potions classes with Snape was enough evidence to back up Hermione’s prediction. “And do you think anyone will actually want to continue now that Her Toadiness is gone?” He asked, a joking taunt in his question and a bright smile shining on his face. 

At first, Hermione simply shrugged, pretending that she had doubts about future attendance. “Well, I suppose I don’t know for sure, though I’m confident that Neville, Ginny, and Luna would all come back,” she finally answered as she opened her book back up, her smile twisting into an amused smirk. “Perhaps Cho would too,” she teased, but Harry immediately shuddered at the idea. 

“I’d rather she didn’t.” The admission came tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop himself and took Hermione completely by surprise. 

The sudden shutdown and tension setting in Harry’s posture startled Hermione. She was so sure Harry would jump at the opportunity to rekindle his romance with Cho. Sure, she recalled Harry mentioning a few unpleasant moments, but even then he seemed genuinely enamored. Why did he have such a visceral response to the possibility? “Why?” She asked after a moment of thought. “What happened between the two of you?” 

Harry had yet to actually discuss how his ‘relationship’ with Cho came to an end, mostly because he didn’t like to think about it, or her. But he knew that look on Hermione’s face, recognized the instinct to comfort tied to her insatiable curiosity. She wasn’t going to let the subject go. 

“We got into an argument after Umbridge caught us,” he began explaining, regardless of his reluctance. “She was defending her back-stabbing friend, even after she sold us out… and then we were arguing over the jinx you put on the list…” He sighed as his gaze fell to the floor. “We didn’t really speak after that, I didn’t want to try. I still don’t want to. I’d rather pretend she doesn’t exist.” 

After almost a full minute of startlingly uncomfortable silence, Harry finally raised his eyes and looked at Hermione. Her disapproving scowl sent a chill down his spine. “I can’t believe the same amazing person who leapt onto a troll’s shoulders to save a stranger would ever do something so cowardly as avoid an unpleasant confrontation with his ex,” she remarked simply, shaking her head with a sigh as she opened her book once more. 

Harry had no intention of letting the subject die after that critique. “Cowardly? What’s left to discuss with her? It’s been months, obviously we’re broken up, and I don’t want a friend who’d defend a backstabbing sneak, and criticize my best friend’s brilliant spellwork.” 

“And I didn’t suggest that you should get back together or try to be her friend.” Hermione’s tone was firm, though thankfully didn’t seem to hold too much judgement. “But avoiding her to spare yourself discomfort is a cowardly choice and I know you’re better than that,” she insisted.

For a moment, Harry was tempted to shut down, take offense to the criticism, but his rationale won out as he slowly nodded with a small sigh, clearly resigned to her judgement call, accepting that she did have a point. “Then what are you suggesting?” He asked softly, slowly meeting her eyes again, and Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see the vulnerability in his pleading gaze. 

The silent wait for an answer from his best friend felt so much longer to Harry than it probably was and it took all his restraint not to cheer in relief when she finally did speak up again. “If the opportunity to talk to her springs up, take it,” she suggested, her firm tone softening, along with her eyes. “And, I’d also suggest keeping the discussion calm, simple, and honest. Just, tell her you want a chance to exchange apologies and move on.” 

As reluctant as Harry was to even look at Cho again, Hermione’s suggestion at least had merit, and much as he’d prefer to just dodge and avoid, like with a bludger, if there was a way to kill the awkward pang in his chest every time he made eye contact with Cho, he couldn’t really muster much of an argument against it. 

“Alright, I’m not going out of my way to chat with her, but I’ll give that a try if the opportunity presents itself,” Harry decided simply, meeting Hermione’s gaze with a small, nervous twitch in his smile. “Fair enough?” 

Her best friend’s rigid posture and tentative smile had Hermione smiling instantly, and she nodded her agreement without hesitation. “Fair enough.” 

If there was anything left to say before the pair resumed their reading, it was interrupted by Sirius clearing his throat in the doorway with two large envelopes in his hand. The previous discussion was all but forgotten by Hermione, as she nearly tripped over her feet in her haste to retrieve her letter from Sirius. Of course, Harry found Hermione’s eagerness incredibly amusing and oddly… adorable… but he successfully resisted the urge to laugh as he stood up to accept his own letter and booklist for the upcoming year. 

But, Harry’s letter held quite the surprise, in the form of a gold badge, declaring him the new Quidditch Captain. 

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione cried the moment she caught sight of the badge. “This is wonderful! You have equal status with prefects now!” She declared excitedly, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. She appeared to be correct, as the password for the prefects’ bathroom was written down in the letter as well. 

For a split second, the memory of his one visit to the bathroom popped into his head, though Hermione actively hugging him seemed to alter the memory into more of a sudden daydream with her featured at the forefront, sharing that massive bath… 

Thankfully, Hermione released him quickly enough for him to mentally shove away the barely formed daydream. “And Molly wrote back. She’s bringing Ron and Ginny tomorrow so we can all go to Diagon Alley together, and she’s agreed to let them stay until you all go back to Hogwarts,” Sirius mentioned, his beaming smile almost as bright as Hermione’s. 

Harry simply nodded as a smile settled across his features. “I’ve got a letter to send off,” Hermione mentioned, then surprisingly lunged to kiss Harry’s cheek before rushing out of the room. 

The quick kiss didn't escape Sirius’ attention, nor did the rapidly reddening face of his godson once Hermione left the room. “Well, that’s new. Did I miss something?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Harry immediately shook his head. “Of course not!” He instantly cried, though his tomato red face and defensive attitude was more than enough fuel for his godfather. 

“Well that’s a shame,” Sirius commented as he shrugged dismissively. “Seems to me that you’d like things to change. Maybe.” Sirius hadn’t insinuated anything like that since they were still in the Dursley house, and Harry had been quick to shift to a different topic, clearly desperate to avoid the subject of his obvious interest in Hermione and deny any craving for anything more than her friendship. 

“I don’t.” It was a lie, and it felt like acid on Harry’s tongue, but he was sticking to it. “We’re friends. Just friends. Best friends, nothing more,” Harry insisted, adopting the same firm tone he’d heard from Hermione maybe ten minutes earlier. 

Seeing Sirius’ obvious amusement gave away just how unconvincing Harry’s dismissal was, and that just irritated him further. “Sure,” was the only response Sirius offered to the discussion, along with a quick, “Congratulations on your captaincy,” as he turned and left the room. 

Harry didn’t bother following Sirius out of the room, or trying to continue the conversation. Instead, he merely grumbled to himself, collapsing on the couch again and grabbing the book he was reading earlier, ignoring the fact that the words blurred together as he repeatedly tried and failed to focus. 

  We’re just friends, and I don’t want anything more than that.

Harry was convinced he’d believe it if he kept to that mantra, but the frustrating stirring below his belt was quite the lie detector and sometime soon, he wouldn’t be able to deny his attraction to Hermione, nor his genuine desire for more than just her friendship. 

As Harry continued trying and failing to take his mind off his best friend, the persistent subject of his thoughts was indeed upstairs writing a letter for her penpal of the last year, Krum. But… Harry wasn’t the only one struggling mentally. Hermione couldn’t stop thinking about how Harry responded to the possibility of running into Cho Chang. With his admitted lack of interest in her or even Ginny, Hermione was starting to worry that Ginny may have been right that he might be harboring feelings for… 

“No,” Hermione grumbled to herself, balling up the parchment she’d been writing on, the ink from her quill having bled all the way through the material, thanks to her wandering mind. “No, Ginny is delusional. Harry doesn’t like me that way.” 

She was hoping that voicing her convictions would strengthen them, but it made no difference. It wasn’t as if Hermione didn’t find Harry appealing, because she did. Probably too appealing if she was being honest with herself. But there were other factors in play that she deemed too important to overlook. 

They were friends for one thing, best friends, and she didn’t want to risk losing such a treasured connection if pursuing more went wrong. She’d rather surrender her personal library back home in her room than lose Harry’s friendship, and she’d threatened to hack off hands when people tried snatching even one book from her in the past. 

Then of course, there was Ron to consider. He’d been horribly jealous when she was involved with Viktor, and to this day he still shot a glare her way if she mentioned aloud that she was sending off a letter to her ex-turned-penpal. And while Ron may not have pursued her in the year since then, nor done any worse than scowl over her enduring friendship with the Quidditch player, she was hesitant to potentially trigger that jealousy by getting involved with Harry. 

Perhaps it was as cowardly as Harry avoiding Cho, and maybe she was a bit of a hypocrite, but after five years, Hermione was just tired of being on the receiving end of Ron’s temper, and was more concerned with avoiding explosions of emotion than opening up a can of worms she quietly hoped was sealed up nice and tight. And the very last thing she wanted to do was drag Harry into such a volatile mess. 

But try as she might, even reminding herself of Ron’s jealousy issues and apoplectic temper, or her reluctance to jeopardize her friendship with Harry did nothing to silence that little voice in her head asking one annoying little question. 

But what if it did work out?

Chapter Text

The trip to Diagon Alley couldn’t come soon enough if you asked Hermione. While she had no issue hiding away with a good book or five for days on end, she could see how suffocated Harry was starting to feel, spending all his time inside. Sirius was in a similar state, though it was thankfully far less extreme compared to last year. 

Needless to say, despite the dismal state Diagon Alley had fallen into, Hermione was still relieved to arrive with the Weasleys, Sirius, and Harry. And that relief only grew stronger when it turned out that their security detail turned out to be Hagrid, rather than an assigned group of aurors. 

Unfortunately, those good feelings didn’t last too long. Madam Malkins was their first stop. Since Hagrid couldn’t follow them into the shop, Sirius accompanied them inside, and any hope for a peaceful trip died when Harry caught sight of Draco Malfoy being fitted by the shop owner with his mother apparently watching on, unseen. 

“If you’re wondering what that stench is, Mother, a mudblood just walked in.” That was all the confirmation Hermione needed that Draco had also noticed her, Harry, Ron, and Sirius. 

Sirius quickly wrapped a defensive arm around Hermione, temporarily distracting her, and she didn’t notice that Harry and Ron had drawn their wands until Madam Malkin reprimanded Draco for his language, followed by a shriek of, “And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop either!” 

Harry was closest to her, and Hermione didn’t hesitate to grab his arm, drawing his attention back to her. “Harry, please, it’s not worth it,” she insisted softly, and though he still looked hesitant, he reluctantly nodded and stowed his wand once more. 

Unfortunately, that fueled Draco further. “Obviously saint Potter isn’t going to use magic outside school. Again.” 

“Of course not,” Harry quickly agreed, his hands sliding into his pockets as he smirked back at the sneering blond. “Unlike you, I don’t rely solely on magic.” 

The reminder of the Quidditch Pitch brawl seemed to anger Draco further, but before he could respond further, Narcissa finally stepped forward, resting a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Cissy,” Sirius spoke up suddenly, his tone seemingly jovial as he greeted her. 

The tone seemed to startle Narcissa, clearly she hadn’t anticipated such a seemingly pleasant greeting, but she easily fell back into her cold, dismissive demeanor. “Cousin,” she acknowledged stiffly before looking to Ron, the only one of the four with his wand still drawn. “Put that away. Now,” she commanded simply before shifting her gaze back to Harry. “And you. If you attack my son again, I will ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.” 

“Is that so?” Harry asked, taking a step forward and gazing into her smooth, arrogant face, which so resembled her sister, Bellatrix. Hermione felt frozen in place, unable to speak up to diffuse the situation despite her eagerness to avoid any unnecessary conflict while they were out and about today. “Are you going to do me in yourself, or enlist a few death eater pals to do your dirty work instead?” 

Madam Malkin, previously cowering against a rack, nearly collapsed as she clutched at her heart, muttering about how dangerous an accusation Harry’s was, how unnecessary all this was, how much she just wanted everyone to calm down, and Sirius was quick to release Hermione to try and calm the shopkeeper while Narcissa smiled unpleasantly at Harry. 

“Well. It seems being Dumbledore’s favorite has given you a false sense of security, Potter. You would do well to remember that Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.” 

Narcissa’s clear threat sent chills down Hermione’s spine, but Harry was completely unphased, dramatically looking all over the shop as if searching for something before speaking up to mock her. “Wow… would you look at that… he’s not here now!” He observed, his hands thankfully still in his pocket but his arm twitching as though eager to draw his wand again at the first sign of trouble. “What’s stopping you? I’ll bet you miss your husband. Maybe there’s a double cell available for you to share with him in Azkaban!” 

Draco immediately strained against his mother’s hand on his shoulder, clearly offended on her behalf, but she merely gripped him tighter to keep him still and silent. “Now, now, Draco. There’s no need to lower yourself,” she chided softly. “I’m sure young mister Potter will be reunited with his dear parents before my own reunion with Lucius.” 

“Narcissa,” Sirius spoke up again, his eyes blazing and his wrathful tone an unmistakable warning. “Watch your tongue when you’re discussing my godson in my presence,” he demanded simply, and for a moment Hermione could actually believe that he was raised by privileged pureblood elitists, she could see the resemblance between Sirius and Narcissa, not just the physical features they shared, but in the way they held themselves. 

The woman simply turned to Sirius with a cruel smirk. “Oh, I mean nothing by it, darling cousin,” she taunted. “But to assuage your discomfort, I’m more than happy to keep my wishful thoughts to myself for now.” 

It took almost a full minute before Madam Malkin seemed to come to the conclusion that the previous aggression had calmed down to uncomfortable tension, and quickly resumed fitting Draco’s robes, but as she reached for his left sleeve, he flinched. “Incompetent woman!” He snarled with a shake of his head. “Watch where you’re sticking those pins!” In a fit of frustration, he yanked the robes off over his head and tossed them at the witch. “On second thought, Mother, I’ll take you up on your earlier suggestion. Let’s go somewhere else for my robes.” 

“Of course,” Narcissa responded simply and placed her hand on her son’s shoulder once more as they walked out together. 

“I’m very sorry,” Sirius offered softly as he assisted Madam Malkin in cleaning up the mess Draco had made with his tantrum. “I applaud your patience in dealing with them at all though. I grew up with Narcissa, she was always a bit of an entitled brat, and she no doubt molded her child to imitate her.” 

Sirius’s praise and assistance seemed to calm her quickly, and it didn’t take long for each of the three teens to be fitted with robes, which Sirius immediately paid for, accepting no arguments whatsoever and insisting that he wanted to put his inheritance toward expenses that would anger his dearly departed relatives. “Now, why don’t we make our way to the Twin’s shop?” Sirius asked, reminding them of Arthur’s suggestion to meet up there once they’d finished carting Ginny around to grab everyone’s books and class supplies. “With how dismayed Molly is, it’s probably a prankster’s paradise. 

To call Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes eye-catching would be a gross understatement. Hermione’s eyes may very well have been burning in their sockets from how vibrant the surrounding colors were. She wasn’t sure how she got separated from Ron, but she didn’t mind being on her own in the shop for a short while, especially with the reassurance that Harry was safe with the twins, being shown ‘exclusive merchandise.’ 

She was still carrying her apparently free Daydream Charm as she made her way toward the love potion display. While she had no interest in actually using the potions, she was admittedly curious, if only to know exactly how they worked so she could recognize them when they inevitably showed up at school this year. As a prefect, she’d undoubtedly have to confiscate any she found. And thankfully, with Ginny distracted by the Pygmy Puffs, Hermione was free to peruse without judgement or potential assumptions… Or so she thought…

“You’re far too pretty to need one of these,” an unfamiliar voice remarked from behind her, and she turned around to face him so quickly, she almost knocked over the display. “Careful there,” he said, and grabbed her waist to ‘help’ steady her. “Granger, right?” 

Hermione finally looked up to observe his face, and vaguely recognized who she saw. She’d never actually interacted with Cormac McLaggen before, but she was mildly familiar with most of her house members. “You can remove your hands now,” she told him simply, ignoring his question, and he took his sweet time dropping his hands, even lingering on her hips before finally letting go of her. 

“I was hoping for a ‘thank you,’” he mentioned, a smirk playing across his face as he peered down at her. 

Hermione merely rolled her eyes. “For startling me? I don’t thank aspiring stalkers,” she snapped back irritably. 

If she’d had any hopes that he might be shamed by her accusation, they were quickly dashed. “Well, no one ever sees you without Potter or… Weasley, right? The twins’ younger brother?” 

That arrogant stance and smug tone reminded Hermione of Malfoy, and she wanted to smack his smirk off his face. “You say that as if my friends are a problem.” 

“Oh, not a problem at all,” he insisted. “Bit of an obstacle, though. Makes it nearly impossible to have a private chat with you when you’re stuck between them.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes again before shaking her head and turning back around to view the display once more, hoping that he’d take the hint that she didn’t want to talk to him, but he simply laughed and stepped closer, sending a shudder up her spine. “I’m not feeling particularly social at the moment,” she told him firmly, and he reached for the potions, holding one in his hand as he chuckled. 

“That’s a shame. But, if you’re in a social mood some other time soon…” he slipped the vial into her hand and leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “I wouldn’t take offense to being dosed once or twice.” 

Hermione immediately turned around, nearly dropping the vial in her haste to try and grab her wand, but he was already gone by the time she’d turned to face him again. She wasn’t sure at first if she was more disappointed to lose a shot at hexing him, or relieved that he’d finally left. But, as she looked down at the vial in her hand and nearly gagged, relief won out and she hastily returned the potion to the display. I hope I never run into that lout again!

Once Hermione did catch up with Ron and Harry again, she decided against mentioning the uncomfortable moment. She didn’t want to think about McLaggen, she’d rather laugh at Ron’s irritation over his brothers’ denying him a family discount. Really, his pout was priceless, and Hermione couldn’t stop herself from laughing if she tried. 

Of course, one other thing was starting to bother her, and that was the distracted look on Harry’s face that Hermione knew meant trouble. It was his ‘conspiracy theory’ look, and that guilty flash in his eyes told her all she needed to know about what had provoked his new line of thinking. He’d slipped away and done something dangerous, and now his mind was racing. 

_________

Harry hadn’t planned to sneak away to spy on Malfoy, and he’d truly intended just to get some air outside the twins’ shop. But when he saw Malfoy sneaking down toward Knocturn Alley… 

Well, habits are hard to break, and he just couldn’t resist throwing on his cloak and following the suspicious snake in the hopes of discovering what he was up to. Unfortunately, now he had far more questions than answers. 

As dinner back in Grimmauld came to an end, Harry finally reached his limit keeping the information to himself, and he all but dragged Ron and Hermione into Sirius’ study after begging his godfather for a few minutes away to talk. The instant the door shut behind them, he recounted every detail of what he’d seen and heard, which unfortunately, just wasn’t enough information to formulate a conclusion from. 

“So,” Sirius began as he paced the floor in front of the trio of teens. “Malfoy went to a notoriously sketchy shop, demanded to have something you didn’t see mended, purchased something else, which you didn’t see and he didn’t leave with, and seemed to show Borgin something that scared him into submission, but that you again, did not see,” he summarized, growing more tense with every word. “And you only know this much because you snuck off on your own to follow him…” 

“I know I shouldn’t have snuck away, but-” 

“You’ve got that right!” Sirius quickly interrupted, eager to silence the upcoming excuse. “And we will discuss that much later. For now…” he sighed as he rubbed his temples irritably. “There really isn’t much to go on. Your view was obscured, and neither of them gave away any details to make sense of.” 

Harry looked to Hermione momentarily, hoping she would give him some sign that he was onto something worth looking into. To his relief, she took his hand for a moment and calmly offered her perspective. “I have my doubts about Malfoy’s effectiveness as a threat, but I don’t think we should ignore what Harry saw either. Draco’s father is an imprisoned death eater, and he’s been spouting blood purist ideals since our first year in school.” 

Ron quickly followed Hermione’s example, eager to contribute his own thoughts. “Harry and I actually suspected he was behind the attacks on muggle borns in our second year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Obviously we were wrong, but he still admitted that he wanted to know who was behind it so he could join in on the attacks.” 

Being reminded of that awful conversation in the Slytherin common room sent a chill down Harry’s spine. It’s only a matter of time before a mudblood dies this time. I hope it’s Granger. The words bounced around in Harry’s head and he desperately wanted to go back in time and break every bone in Draco Malfoy’s body. 

“As disturbing as that is-” 

“It was the dark mark!” Harry suddenly announced, cutting off whatever Sirius was about to say. “That’s what Malfoy showed Borgin!” 

Hermione shook her head and grabbed Harry’s arm to try and calm him down. “Harry, you just said you didn’t see-” 

“And I didn’t, but it makes perfect sense!” Harry’s insistence momentarily silenced the room and he plunged on before he could be interrupted. “Whatever Malfoy showed him was small enough to be quickly and easily concealed, and jarring enough to startle Borgin into submission. What else could inspire that kind of reaction? And you all saw how dramatically he flinched when Madam Malkin reached for his left arm! He’s been branded and given a mission from Voldemort!” 

While Ron had been quick to bring up Malfoy’s past history as a budding monster, he didn’t look convinced of Harry’s theory. Hermione didn’t seem to be swayed either way. Sirius though… for a moment, he seemed to have aged ten years in the span of a minute. “I’ll mention the possibility to Dumbledore,” he offered softly after a silent moment. “Ron, Hermione, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a few minutes alone with my godson.” 

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand a final time before dragging Ron out of the room with her. Harry’s heart sank, as he was sure he was about to be scolded for sneaking off, and his theory was likely to be dismissed. 

Sirius sighed softly as he walked up to Harry. “I really am sorry I snuck away,” Harry spoke up quickly, hoping it would calm Sirius, but the older man said nothing before pulling Harry into a tight hug. “Padfoot?” 

“Harry, I don’t want to keep things from you, I’d rather keep you informed in general as we continue fighting against Voldemort,” Sirius stated simply. “But I am begging you… please don’t go looking for trouble this year.” He slowly pulled back from hugging Harry, gripping his shoulders as he met his godson’s eyes. “I want you to have some semblance of a childhood, or at least an opportunity to enjoy some parts of being a teenager. Do you understand me?” 

The intensity of Sirius’s plea was enough to break through Harry’s stubbornness, and he slowly nodded. “I’ll try not to get into trouble this year, Sirius.” 

For a moment, Harry was sure Sirius wouldn't accept that and demand a better promise, but he didn’t. He simply released Harry’s shoulders with another sigh. “You’re probably right about Malfoy being branded. As for him being given a mission, that much I’m less sure about. But either way, I’d prefer that you leave this to me, at least for now,” He requested softly. “Keep an eye out, share any updates with me through the mirror I gave you, but keep your distance.” 

Despite Harry’s temptation to argue that he wanted to help more, that he didn’t want to run from a potential fight, he held his tongue and slowly nodded again. “Alright,” he reluctantly agreed. “I won’t argue. For you.” 

That seemed to be enough for Sirius, and he pulled Harry into another quick hug. “You should probably go catch up with your friends before they start worrying.” 

Harry quickly nodded his agreement, but he hesitated to actually leave the room. “Do you really believe it’s possible that Malfoy’s received the dark mark? I assumed you wouldn’t take my theory seriously.” 

“It’s not yet confirmed,” Sirius reminded him firmly before sighing and shaking his head. “But, if you end up proven right, he wouldn’t be the first Hogwarts student to have been branded.” 

“You mean… in the last war-” 

“Not tonight, Harry,” Sirius suddenly snapped. “I can’t… I don’t want to discuss that right now… but I promise to explain before you get on the train. Can you accept that?” 

Harry answered with a silent nod before reaching out to hug Sirius once more. Clearly this was a painful subject for Sirius, and with his promise to discuss it another time soon, Harry was further inclined to try and comfort his ‘uncle.’ Sadly, as Harry walked out of the room, he caught a final glimpse of Sirius, the older man’s eyes growing misty as he reached for a flask that Harry knew was filled with Firewhiskey.

Chapter Text

Harry found Hermione in the library, though she wasn’t reading as she waited for him. “Ron and Ginny are getting set up in our rooms,” she mentions before Harry can ask where everyone else is. 

His previous discussion with Sirius is instantly shoved aside in his mind as he takes note of her stiff limbs and rigid posture, her discomfort on full display despite the forced smile she projects that doesn’t reach her eyes. “What’s wrong?” He instinctively asked as he sat down next to her. 

“Nothing, really.” It was an instinctive response, but the way Harry was looking at her, as if he could see past her skin and was trying to fish the cause of her distress from her brain, broke through her facade of indifference. “Just another minor disagreement. Ron was talking about how eager he is to get back to Hogwarts to play Quidditch this year, and I reminded him that he’s not guaranteed a spot on the team just because you’re captain now,” she shrugs dismissively as she sighs. “He stormed off before I could say anything else.” 

“And what would you have said if he stuck around long enough to hear it?” Harry was genuinely curious, and suspected that Ron likely assumed the worst and that Hermione probably hadn’t meant any harm. 

Hermione was hesitant to answer, but she was speaking up before she could think twice. “That he was an excellent keeper last year once he got over his confidence issue, but you’ll likely face scrutiny if you show any favoritism,” she admits softly. “I don’t doubt in his skill and I’m confident he’ll earn his spot back without too much difficulty, but I don’t want him to assume he’s guaranteed a spot, he may be less inclined to put his best foot forward during try-outs and if that were the case it would damage his chances.” 

Harry hadn’t even considered the ramifications of just welcoming Ron back onto the team, but Hermione had a strong point. But what was even more important to Harry was how upset Hermione clearly was, despite her indifferent attitude. “I’ll talk to him later,” Harry quickly offered with a warm smile. “And for what it’s worth, I agree with you.” 

Apparently, it was worth a great deal to Hermione, as she immediately lunged to hug him, wrapping her arms around him tight and practically burying her face against his neck. Surprisingly, Harry didn’t even hesitate to hold her against him, and he didn’t pull away, not even as several tears splashed against his neck. 

Hermione wasn’t sure what came over her in that moment, but Harry’s immediate acceptance of her sudden clinging was reassuring enough to yank the last of her control over her emotional response from her grip, and she completely broke down in his arms. 

Ron’s harsh attitude really hadn’t been that bad, but she knew it wasn’t just his tantrum tonight that had her sobbing as she clung to Harry. She couldn’t remember the last time she sought support during or after an argument with Ron, and Harry suddenly taking her side without any hesitation whatsoever just completely shattered her emotional armor and she couldn’t have held back her tears if she tried. 

They stayed that way for a few minutes, and even once she finally stopped crying, neither of them could bring themselves to move at first. Hermione thought to herself that Harry was a surprisingly comfortable pillow, and Harry… he was thinking of the foulest things his mind’s eye could conjure in order to keep from revealing just how amazing it felt to have Hermione snuggled against him once the tears ceased. 

Harry was finally granted a reprieve from his herculean efforts to stamp down his arousal as Ginny stepped into the room, calling for Hermione. “It’s getting late, we should probably-” She actually stumbled upon catching sight of the snuggling pair, and Hermione wasted no time leaping to her feet, not wanting to risk Ginny making more assumptions, but it was already far too late for that. 

“Good night, Harry,” Hermione chirps before rushing at Ginny, grabbing the younger girl’s hand and dragging her out of the room before she can blurt out any of her bonkers assumptions. 

Harry was too relieved to be spared the humiliation of her discovering his reaction to her close contact to try and make sense of her hasty retreat. Instead, he followed their example and made his way back to his own room, finding Ron already dressed to sleep and lounging across the spare bed Sirius conjured. The sour expression on Ron’s face brought Hermione’s breakdown back to the forefront of Harry’s mind, and it took all his restraint to not slam the door shut. “You owe Hermione an apology,” he suddenly barked in Ron’s direction. It hadn’t been his intention to be so blunt, but Harry’s neck was still damp from Hermione’s weeping, and he couldn’t resist the impulse to tell Ron off. 

“What for?!” Ron asked, sliding off the bed as his ears started to turn red. 

“For lashing out at her instead of actually listening to her advice,” Harry snapped right back, unafraid of his friend’s temper. “You wanna know what she planned on saying? That she has no doubt you’ll earn your way back onto the team, as long as you actually put in the effort at try-outs, instead of assuming the spot you want is just reserved for you.” 

Harry knew he was being harsh, and he would undoubtedly scold himself for it once he eventually calmed down, but at the moment, all he could think about was Hermione sobbing in his arms, and all the times he’d either sided with Ron or tried to stay neutral during their past arguments. 

Thankfully, it seemed Harry’s outburst was getting through to Ron. The vibrant red of his ears seemed to be less from anger and more from shame when coupled with how his gaze fell to the floor. “I… I didn’t mean-” 

“Don’t want to hear it,” Harry cut in firmly, yanking his own pyjamas from a drawer and changing his clothes. “I’m not the one you should apologize to, save it for the person you hurt. Good night.” 

And with that, Harry climbed into his bed and yanked the sheet over his head as an end of the discussion. Thankfully, Ron did not argue any further with Harry, and they both managed to fall asleep. 

“Ginny, really, it wasn’t what you’re thinking it was.” Hermione spent the last ten minutes subjected to Ginny’s smug grin, and she just couldn’t ignore it anymore. 

The younger redhead simply rolled her eyes at her friend’s persistent denial while they got ready to sleep. “Whatever you say.” The obviously taunting tone got further under Hermione’s skin, and Ginny was sure that nothing could be more satisfying at the moment. 

“We were just sitting together! I was crying! I’d hardly consider that romantic!” Hermione knew she was rambling, knew her indignant tone wasn’t doing her any favors, but it didn’t matter, that look on Ginny’s face was sending her into a rage. 

Ginny wasn’t remotely convinced by the rambly argument, or phased by Hermione’s anger. “Of course, just sitting together,” She repeats with a shrug. “You were practically sprawled across his lap, and he didn’t seem to have any objection to that, but silly me, I must have forgotten that that’s commonplace between good friends. Clearly there’s NOTHING to read into there.” Ginny didn’t even bother trying to dodge the pillow Hermione launched at her head. “Oh yes, violence is even more convincing. Well done, Hermione.” 

The irritated groan coming from the other side of the room was well worth taking the hit from the airborne pillow. “Your brother was being a prat and Harry just… asked me what was wrong… he’s not interested in me, he was just trying to be a good friend!” 

Yet again, Ginny found herself rolling her eyes as she climbed into bed with a dismissive sigh. “Believe what you want. But when he finally cracks and begs you to date him, you’ll have a very loud, ‘I told you so,’ waiting.” 

Regardless of how tempted Hermione was to take another stab at convincing Ginny that she was misreading the situation, she didn’t bother. Hermione slid into her own bed, offering Crookshanks a warm smile as he jumped up to snuggle with her. “Doesn’t count if you talk him into it,” she says instead, and Ginny’s defeated grumbling is well worth forgoing further arguing.

Chapter Text

The peace in Grimmauld Place was restored in record time, and Harry was relieved that the household was spared the intolerable tension and endless bickering that always followed every argument between his two best friends. Although, Harry felt the strangest pang in his chest as he watched Hermione accept Ron’s apology with a hug. Even stranger was the brief, intrusive thought that he may prefer to see them arguing instead, but he was quick to mentally scold himself and shove the thought away. Thankfully, apart from the odd mental gymnastics Harry was occasionally dealing with, their last week at Grimmauld was peaceful and relaxing, and it was starting to grate on Harry’s nerves. 

He’d done his best to pretend what he witnessed in Knockturn Alley wasn’t on his mind, but he was desperate for answers, he needed information more than air, and it already felt impossible to do as Sirius requested and avoid Malfoy. And thanks to his near constant distraction, he barely managed to get packed up in time. 

So, when September first finally arrived, it felt a little bittersweet. Harry had no doubt that Hogwarts would feel like home again, that he had a great deal to look forward to… but he wasn’t escaping the Dursleys. He was saying goodbye to his godfather. And despite how dismal and dreary Grimmauld Place appeared to be on the surface, Sirius’ and Remus’ presence alone was enough to brighten up the house. And having Hermione there with him for so much of the summer… 

She had already taken on her prefect duties upon arriving on the platform, and already promised that she and Ron, who she’d had to practically drag along with her, would catch up once they were free again. The immediate reminder of outside demands on their time was startlingly frustrating. He’d gotten used to their lazy days where all they did was talk and read as they lounged together. 

Thankfully, Harry didn’t have long to lament the loss before Sirius distracted him, pulling Harry into a tight hug that he was quick to reciprocate. “I’m gonna miss you, Pup,” Sirius said softly and Harry instinctively hugged him tighter. 

“I’ll miss you too, Padfoot,” he answered through the mental struggle to let go of his uncle. 

It took almost a minute for Sirius to finally let go of Harry, only to rest his hands on the teenager’s shoulders. “Remember, we’ve got promises to keep going into this year, right?” 

Harry didn’t hesitate to nod. “Try not to go looking for trouble,” he recites diligently, prompting a bright smile from Sirius. 

“Proper family,” The animagus added with a nod of his own and Harry smiled in return. “Now, you’d best get going before I drag you back to be homeschooled instead.” 

The ‘threat’ only prompted more laughter and Harry was grateful for the emotional cushion. While this certainly wasn’t the first time he’d ever gotten on the train, he'd never really said goodbye to someone he’d actually miss all year beforehand. It felt strange and bittersweet, and his confusion was enough of a distraction from the rest of the world… until he actually made it onto the train, and couldn’t ignore the feeling of dozens of eyes on him at once.

He impulsively looked about, expecting that someone was waiting to attack him, and quickly decided that an attempt on his life would be preferable to the reality. A countless number of girls were all staring at him at once, and their paralyzing gazes were as uncomfortable as swimming in shark infested waters. 

“Hi Harry!” 

Neville’s voice instantly flooded Harry with relief and he quickly turned to face his approaching friend with a smile. “Neville! Good to see you!” He happily wrapped an arm around Neville’s shoulders before catching sight of Luna, just behind him. “And Luna! How are you?”

“I’m very well, Harry, thank you for asking,” she answered with that perpetual dreamy expression on her face, while she held a familiar magazine held to her chest. 

Harry’s smile brightened at the sight. Despite his doubts regarding most of what The Quibbler published, he had an odd fondness for the chaotic magazine. “Sales going well?” He asked, gesturing to the magazine. 

“Oh yes, circulation is well up.” 

The trio began searching for an empty compartment. While Harry felt more confident with Neville and Luna, the horde of surrounding classmates and unrelenting stares were no less uncomfortable. Thankfully, they managed to find an available compartment and Harry ran for it, dragging his friends along so they wouldn’t get stuck in the crowd. 

“That was so weird!” Neville immediately remarked once they were safely hidden away from the massive crowd. “They were even staring at us! Just because we were with you!” 

Even though Harry had a feeling Neville was right, he shook his head, while shoving his trunk in the overhead bin. “Nah, it was because you were both at the Ministry with me last year,” he quickly insisted while collapsing onto the seat. “Our little adventure was all over The Prophet , wasn’t it?” 

While Neville flushed bright red and stammered weak protests, Luna merely smiled to herself with a knowing twinkle in her eyes as she carefully plucked a pair of psychedelic-esque glasses from her copy of The Quibbler . 

“Oh, are we continuing Dumbledore’s Army this year, Harry?” Neville suddenly asked, and Harry couldn’t help smiling as he thought back to the last time he’d been asked that question. 

Harry did still feel as though the need for their defense group had significantly diminished with Umbridge’s departure, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t more interested in keeping it going. “I didn’t really see a reason to. But… if most of us want to keep meeting…” 

“I liked the D.A. It was like having friends.” 

Luna’s sudden, casual remark startled Harry, along with her apparent lack of recognition that she does have friends. “I hope I’m a better friend than teacher.” 

The blonde’s fingers slipped as she flipped though the magazine, and the soft hitch of her breath tugged at Harry. “You’re a wonderful friend, Harry,” she answered softly as she resumed her reading, bringing the topic to a temporary end. 

Harry took advantage of the lull in the conversation to consider the possibility on his own. Apparently Hermione had a stronger point than he realized. Even if the need had lessened, maybe simply wanting to continue with the D.A. was enough reason. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long after Ron and Hermione found their compartment that Harry and Neville were ‘summoned’ for lunch with Slughorn, and while Neville came back and lamented how uncomfortable it was, Harry didn’t come back to the compartment, and Hermione’s nerves grew more frayed the longer his absence prevailed. 

It wasn’t until the sorting had ended that Harry finally came trudging into the Great Hall with a wad of bloody tissue against his nose and Snape at his back. Judging by the tension in Harry’s posture, the Slytherin Head of House had been taunting him during the entire trip. Hermione’s steady stream of anxiety was instantly diverted into relief for half a second, only to flood with thunderous fury. Hermione’s instincts shrieked at her to grab her best friend and shake some sense into him, scold him for whatever reckless thing he’d gone and done, leaving her to thrash about helplessly in her worry. But, Harry’s dejected expression and rigid posture was enough to soothe her impulses, even as she trembled from the effort of restraining herself. “Where were you?” She finally asked as he collapsed beside her at the table. 

It was instinct for Harry to flinch, not only at her clipped tone, but his own guilt. “Can we talk about it later? Please?” He asked through the bloody wad against his nose, and sagged in relief when she reluctantly nodded. That relief strengthened further as he pulled away the wad of bloody tissues and found that he’d successfully soaked up most of the residual mess from his temporarily smashed nose. 

Most of the welcoming feast passed by in a blur, apart from the dread Harry noticed taking hold of Neville after hearing the news of Snape’s change in position. Just like that, Harry’s private debate over continuing the D.A. came to an end. He wasn’t going to let Snape of all people destroy Neville’s confidence after all the hard work his housemate put in last year. 

“Hey Nev,” Harry spoke up quickly, drawing this fellow Gryffindor’s attention. “Think you could help me run the D.A? Quidditch is probably going to take up a lot of my attention and I’ll need someone to back me up.” Neville’s eyebrows all but vanished into his hairline. “I hope you’re up to it. I need someone with your resilience and determination.” 

The instant change in Neville’s demeanor was well worth the extra, self-inflicted work load as far as Harry was concerned. “You can count on me!” 

Hermione watched on proudly as Neville shook Harry’s hand and started rambling about how excited he was for the first meeting of the year. It didn’t take a genius to see why Harry invited Neville to help him lead the D.A. this year, and Hermione couldn’t be more thrilled.

Chapter Text

It felt oddly surreal to Harry, readying himself for his classes when a war was brewing just beyond the gates of Hogwarts. Even more so because he suspected that one of his classmates was aiming to unleash the war from within. But… he knew he would only get in his own way if he kept searching for trouble. He learned nothing from spying on Malfoy, and he already felt guilty for disregarding the promise he made to Sirius. Shoving his concerns aside took a herculean effort, but he somehow managed it with the resolve to stay focused on his friends and studies. 

Of course, dedicated as Harry now was to hold to his promise to not go looking for or stumbling into trouble again, his resolve took another hard hit during Snape’s class. The overgrown bat’s inflated ego took center stage as he lectured them, only to mock Hermione for quoting the text book as she answered his questions, and insult Harry’s classmates rather than redirect their focus. Sure, some of what he said held value, but Harry felt as though Moody’s impostor two years ago got across the same message with two simple words. ‘Constant Vigilance.’ 

“You will now split off into pairs,” Snape instructed simply, having apparently decided that the rest of the class would be dedicated to practicing non-verbal casting. And, just as Hermione theorized over the summer, Snape offered no advice or suggestions to smooth out the transition from verbal to nonverbal casting. Harry couldn’t help feeling like a buffoon, standing around and waiting for a jinx from Ron that clearly wasn’t coming any time soon. 

Just glancing over at Hermione successfully jinxing her partner was enough to put a smile on his face, though. If anyone could succeed at a new task without guidance, it was definitely Hermione. Unfortunately, he was a bit preoccupied silently celebrating Hermione’s success when Snape suddenly shoved Ron aside, and the sight of Snape aiming a wand his way launched Harry’s instincts into action. Nonverbal practice was forgotten instantly as he bellowed, “Protego!” 

Harry’s shield charm was strong enough to knock Snape off his feet and shove him back against a desk. Everyone ceased their own attempts at ‘practice’ to watch Snape right himself as he fixed Harry with one of his unnerving glares. 

“Do you remember me telling you that we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes, sir .” 

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir’, Professor.” 

The words came tumbling out of his mouth before he even knew what he was saying, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to feel any regret, even as several people gasped, including Hermione. 

“Detention. Saturday night. My office.” Snape spoke quietly, but each clipped word held a lifetime’s worth of hate. “I don’t take cheek from anyone, Potter.” 

Harry was the first one out of the room as class came to a close, but both of his best friends caught up with him quickly. “That was brilliant!” Ron insisted gleefully before Hermione whacked him over the head with her text book to scold him. 

“What were you thinking, Harry?!” She asked, her shrill voice resembling a banshee’s shriek as Ron rubbed at the back of his head and glared daggers in her direction. “That was so foolish!” 

“He tried to jinx me, in case you hadn’t noticed!” Much as Harry didn’t like lashing out at Hermione, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was still fuming. “I had enough of him attacking me last year! And what’s Dumbledore playing at, letting him teach defense anyway?! He talks about the Dark Arts like-” 

“I actually thought he sounded a bit like you,” Hermione interrupted before he could get going on a long winded rant. 

“Like me ?” He asked, his eyes wide as he struggled to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. 

“Yes, when you were telling us what it's like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorizing a bunch of spells. You said it was just you, your brains, and your guts. Well, wasn’t that what Snape was trying to say too? That it really comes down to bravery and quick thinking?’ 

Harry was so disarmed that she’d deemed his words as well worth memorizing as The Standard Book of Spells , he didn’t even argue. He also absolutely refused to acknowledge that he suddenly felt incredibly warm. Thankfully that warmth faded quickly as someone else appeared with a message from Dumbledore. 

It seemed Snape would have to wait to torture him in detention. Dumbledore and his lessons took priority, and that smug thought kept Harry grinning all through his free periods, even as he worked on the excessively complex homework that Snape had assigned. 

The only thing that could counter his glee turned out to be the realization that as a consequence of his distraction over the last week back home, he’d forgotten to pack his potions book, and that happened to be his next class. He grudgingly made his way down to the dungeons, already dreading coming face to face with Slughorn again. He didn’t care what polite things Dumbledore had to say about him, Harry didn’t like the man one bit. 

As Harry, Hermione, and Ron filed into the classroom with the rest of the surprisingly diminished class, they found that the dungeon was already filled with vapors and odd smells from already brewed potions. The trio chose a table nearest a gold colored cauldron that was emitting the most enthralling fragrances he’d ever encountered in his life. It seemed to be an odd combination of vanilla, fresh parchment, and something musty and oddly sweet that was definitely familiar, but he couldn’t place. 

Both Ron and Hermione seemed to find the nearby scent just as intoxicating, Ron’s eyes were glazed and unfocused, his features easing into a day dreamy expression that reminded Harry of Luna. Hermione appeared at least a bit more composed, though Harry recognized the far-off concentration, the subconscious way she tilted her head that gave away her confusion. It was rare and usually didn’t last long, as no mystery could outlast Hermione’s dedicated puzzling, but it was oddly pleasant to see for reasons Harry couldn’t put into words. 

After Slughorn instructed the class to retrieve their books and potion kits, and passed Harry a battered copy to borrow until he could have his own mailed to him, the new potions professor returned to the front of the class. It took no time at all for Hermione to show off her intellectual prowess, easily identifying veritaserum, and polyjuice potion, the second of which prompting a grin from Harry. Despite the mostly amusing memories he had of their experience in second year with that particular brew, he resisted the mental trip down memory lane as she raised her hand to name the potion currently giving off the remarkably enticing scents that were still taunting Harry. 

“It’s Amortentia, sir,” she answered, and Slughorn appeared just as delighted as when he’d caught his first glimpse of Harry. “Amortentia is considered the most powerful love potion in existence.” 

“Quite right!” Slughorn said, looking incredibly impressed. “You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?” 

Hermione immediately nodded, clearly enthusiastic to be appreciated in potions class for once. “And it’s supposed to smell differently to each person, according to what attracts them.” 

For a moment, it looked as though Hermione was going to say more, and Harry was mildly embarrassed to realize that he wanted to know what she could smell from the potion. But, she simply blushed, and the next person to speak turned out to be Slughorn, asking her name. “Hermione Granger, sir.” 

“Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?” 

“I don’t think so, sir. I’m muggleborn,” she answered simply. 

Harry caught sight of Malfoy whispering to another Slytherin, likely something derogatory about Hermione, judging by the sniggers that followed, and Harry flexed his fingers in an effort to temper his urge to lunge across the room and punch him. 

Slughorn didn’t notice, and wasn’t the slightest bit put out. He practically beamed as he looked from Hermione to Harry, seated next to her and still smiling from his pride in his best friend. “Oho, ‘one of my best friends is muggleborn and she’s the best in our year!’ I’m assuming this is the very friend you spoke so highly of, Harry?” 

“Yes sir,” He quickly answered with a nod. 

“Well, well, take twenty well earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger.” 

The moment Slughorn walked off from their table, Hermione turned to Harry with an absolutely radiant smile and whispered, “Oh, Harry! Did you really tell him I’m the best in our year?!” 

Yet again, he immediately nodded, her joyful gushing instantly brightening his smile. But before he could answer aloud, Ron cut in with a sharp whisper of his own. “Well, what’s so impressive about that? You are the best in our year. I’d’ve told him the same if he asked me!” 

It took every bit of willpower Harry had not to scoff or mention that he hadn’t actually been asked at all. 

Hermione paid Ron no mind as she tried to focus on what Slughorn was saying. She’d never struggled to focus her attention in class before, but at the moment, she felt as though she were floating on a cloud. She just couldn’t help it, hearing about Harry singing her praises to a new teacher touched her heart, and she was struggling not to hug him. It just wasn’t appropriate during class, and she didn’t want to risk making him uncomfortable. 

Unfortunately, that blissful, floaty feeling faded quickly once they began brewing. One minute, Harry was an undeniable source of joy and confidence, the next, he was following alternate instructions and unfairly outdoing her own rigorous efforts. 

Hermione found herself torn between the impulse to scream or cry as Slughorn handed him the vial of Felix Felicis. While Harry seemed smug at first, she watched him visibly wilt once he met her eyes. Some rational part of her mind insisted that he likely hadn’t meant any harm, but she wasn’t too eager to listen to that tiny voice at the moment. 

“I s’pose you think I cheated?” Harry finally asked that night during dinner. 

“Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?” She countered defensively. 

His flinch immediately tugged at her heart, and she wanted to just apologize and ask if they could talk about it more later when it was more likely that cooler heads would prevail, but Ron simply had to butt in first. He was only taking Harry’s side because he was jealous and wished he’d gotten that book instead, and Hermione simply had no tolerance for his misplaced support and unnecessary rudeness. She was on her feet and all but running to Gryffindor Tower in an instant. 

Despite the mountain of homework she had waiting to be handled, Hermione turned her back on her bag and opted instead for a rather long shower. She ended up spending half of it sobbing, but did feel significantly calmer after, and resolved to try and approach Harry about his potions book some time later. She wasn’t calm enough to discuss it rationally, and the last thing Hermione wanted was to make her best friend recoil from her again. 

A cursory glance at her dormitory reassured her that she was alone as she sat down on her bed and grabbed her vanilla scented lotion. She’d always felt soothed by the subtle fragrance. 

“Hermione?” 

Ginny’s voice pierced the silence just as Hermione finished changing into her pyjamas. “Hi Ginny,” she answered with a soft sigh before practically collapsing onto her bed. 

Ginny walked up to the bed with a folded bit of parchment in her hand. “This is for you,” she said, holding her hand out to Hermione with a small, almost nervous smile. “And ummm.. Lavender and Pavarti want to know if it’s safe to come up…” 

“Of course it’s safe!” She instantly snapped before taking a deep breath and carefully plucking the parchment from Ginny’s fingers. The younger redhead quickly scurried out of the room as Hermione unfolded the note. 

You're the best in our year, Hermione. Please don’t start doubting that. 

-Harry 

That same floaty warmth blossomed within her again, and she sighed softly as she laid down in bed, shoving the note under her pillow. With her eyes shut, she could almost trick her senses and pretend she was back in potions class, enjoying the scents Amortentia projected for her. Freshly cut grass. New parchment. She shivers for a moment as tears prick at her eyes yet again, as if mocking her for the final scent that cruelly haunted her. Birch.

Chapter Text

The issue of Harry’s potions book, which had apparently been previously claimed by a mysterious, ‘Half-Blood Prince,’ still wasn’t settled even a couple weeks later. Perhaps it was little more than stubbornness on her end, but Hermione couldn’t let go of her frustration over Harry suddenly outclassing her in a subject he’d previously always fallen a bit short in. She also wasn’t sure if she was more angered or touched that he was willing to share the previous owner’s notes with her. The persistent stalemate weighed heavily on Hermione, and finally drove her to seek out an outsider’s perspective, which she received the morning of Gryffindor’s Quidditch try-outs. 

Dearest Hermione, 

Please accept my sincerest sympathies in regard to the recent strain you’ve experienced in your friendship with Harry. It is so difficult for me to even imagine the two of you at odds with one another, and I am grateful for the opportunity to share my thoughts in the hopes of easing the awful tension you’ve described. 

I’m sure you recall my admiration for your near perfect memorization of text, and your passionate defense of the written word and what you describe as ‘official material.’ But, with that in mind, I find myself compelled to point out a staggering flaw in your otherwise impeccable approach to your intellectual endeavors.

There is not a single branch of magic that cannot be improved upon when approached with fresh eyes.  

It seems to me that your good friend has stumbled upon the notes of a brilliant visionary who improved upon instructions that are clearly lacking if even you are left with anything less than perfect results. I am certain this is a seemingly impossible notion to consider, but official instructions are not some magical gospel, and treating them as such has put you at a clear and obvious disadvantage. 

And of course, though I am loath to admit it, I must disagree with your insistence that Harry is ‘cheating,’ on his assignments. While I have no intention of arguing the motivation behind Ronald’s arguments, as you know him better than I, I will say that there is value in what you recount him saying. Harry did indeed take a chance that could have resulted in a catastrophe, but ended up paying off. And Harry’s eagerness to at least try and share this resource proves to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he has no malicious intent. 

Please, forgive me for my boldness, but I must say that if I were in your place, I would apologize for my part in this unpleasantness, explain the reasoning behind my own hurt, and accept my friend’s generous offer to share this unique and valuable resource. 

And of course, in my bold opinion, I must admit that I personally believe you’ve only taken offense because his success feels as though it is at your expense. Never before now have you seemed to take issue with Harry following his instincts. At least not as far as you’ve shared with me. Quite to the contrary, I’ve found it’s often an attribute of his that you praise rather incessantly. 

As always, I wish you the very best and truly hope that my view of this troubling time for you proves to be helpful. 

Warmest Regards, Viktor Krum.  

Hermione couldn’t possibly have been more relieved that her two best friends were late to breakfast that morning. Viktor had given her a great deal to think on and she couldn’t stomach the possible self consciousness she would feel if either of them read any of the letter with an inquisitive glance over her shoulder, which Ron in particular was rather prone to do. 

She was still mulling over what Viktor had to say on the matter when Harry and Ron finally arrived and took seats on either side of her. “Morning,” Harry muttered before yawning and reaching out to pile his plate with food. 

“Good morning,” She offered softly in return, even smiling as Harry briefly turned to her. 

It was a relief to be greeted with a smile from Hermione. While Harry was determined to keep using the Prince’s book, he absolutely hated fighting with Hermione. He’d been reluctant to come down for breakfast at all. “You’re still coming to try-outs, right?” He asked a bit tentatively. 

“Of course, Harry. I wouldn’t miss it.” 

His rigid posture instantly eased. “Mind you, it’ll likely take all morning, the number of people who’ve applied.” His nerves flared, just thinking of the massive list of names. This first hurdle of his captaincy felt incredibly intimidating. “I dunno why the team’s suddenly this popular.” 

Harry wasn’t expecting Hermione’s sudden scoff and immediately turned to her. “Oh come on , Harry. You can’t possibly be that oblivious!” 

“What d’ya mean?” He asked. 

“It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and quite frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.” Ron, who’d been too busy easy to contribute to the conversation thus far, suddenly gagged on a large piece of kipper. 

Hermione spared him a quick look of disdain before turning back to Harry. “Think about it. Everyone knows you’ve been telling the truth now, don’t they? The whole wizarding world had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. Surely you can see you’ve suddenly inspired much more intrigue.” 

Despite the cold and rainy ceiling above them, Harry was sure that the Great Hall had been suddenly converted into a sauna. Surely that was the only explanation for how thoroughly he was burning up. 

“And you’ve shouldered all that persecution from the ministry last year, claiming that you were an unstable, attention-seeking liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that awful toad woman made you write with your own blood, but you never wavered-” 

“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the ministry, look!” Ron interrupted, shaking back his sleeves, but Hermione paid him no mind. 

“It also doesn’t hurt that you’ve grown about a foot over the summer either,” she finished with a shrug before resuming her own breakfast as though she hadn’t said a word. 

“I’m tall,” Ron muttered mostly to himself before stabbing at a sausage a bit more aggressively than was necessary. 

The rest of breakfast passed in awkward silence. Harry couldn’t think of anything to say after Hermione’s dissertation about him, while the golden bookworm in question tried valiantly to maintain her dismissive demeanor, as she feared showing how panicked she was that she may have been too obvious for even Harry to miss that she’d all but declared her own interest in him. Ron, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as oblivious as Harry and kept aggressively stabbing at his plate until it was finally time to head to the Quidditch Pitch. 

“Good luck, Ron,” Hermione offered softly before making her way to the stands to watch, but he didn’t acknowledge her. She couldn’t really blame him as she’d purposefully ignored him during breakfast. At first, she focused her attention on Harry, eager to provide the silent support he clearly needed in order to deal with the absolute chaos he was forced to put up with. But, her focus was suddenly drawn away after Ginny was welcomed onto the team.

“‘Course he’d choose another of his friends, and a girl. Least Bell has unquestionable experience on the team. But Weasley?” 

Hermione immediately looked to the arrogant prat badmouthing her friends, and wasn’t surprised that it turned out to be Cormac McLaggen. 

“How much you wanna bet he’s just trying to get closer to her?” The other Gryffindor he’d been speaking to, one of the replacement beaters from last year, asked McLaggen. 

McLaggen chuckled at the question and shrugged. “Doubt he’s that desperate. Could be a convenient excuse though.” 

Hermione shuddered in revulsion at the insane implication. 

“You sure you want to try for Keeper when Potter’s clearly picking favorites?” 

This question was met with a scoff. “He might be able to get away with the younger sister, she’s at least passable. But that twiggy idiot’s about to fall over already. Look at him, he’s green!” The pair’s laughter was just too much.

Finally, Hermione could take no more. Even if Ron did fail today, Hermione wasn’t going to let McLaggen take that spot. Ron could sink or swim on his own, but arrogant louts like McLaggen shouldn’t have a chance at further inflating their already swollen egos! With her wand safely obscured in her sleeve, she mentally shouted, confundus!

Ron’s impeccable performance made it a bit difficult to resist cheering with the surrounding crowd, but Harry managed well enough as he turned to McLaggen to tell him that Ron had clearly beaten him, only to find McLaggen’s scarlet face inches from his own. 

“His sister didn’t really try,” McLaggen accused menacingly as a vein pulsed in his temple, reminding Harry of his uncle Vernon. “She gave him an easy save!” 

Harry immediately shook his head. “Rubbish,” he countered simply, his tone cold as he crossed his arms and stared down his irate housemate. “That’s the one he nearly missed.” 

“Give me another go.” 

“No.” Harry didn’t move an inch, he stood firm, completely unshakable. McLaggen didn’t scare him. “Move along. Now.” 

He was sure for a moment that he was about to be punched, but McLaggen chose to storm off instead, and Harry turned his attention to his newly assembled team, all of whom were beaming at him. 

After that, Harry and Hermione couldn’t seem to get a moment alone together, so as Ron strolled through the doorway to the Great Hall for dinner, Harry gently tugged Hermione back a bit. The moment Ron was out of earshot, Harry turned to Hermione with a knowing grin. “Y’know, it’s rather curious. Those first four saves from McLaggen, bit by the skin of his teeth if you ask me,” Harry whispered, his grin only growing more smug as Hermione nervously averted her eyes. “But that last one. Ron’s not wrong, he did go in entirely the wrong direction.” He had to resist the urge to laugh as she crossed her arms a bit defensively. “Confunded anyone lately?” 

Hermione flushed a rather adorable shade of pink before sighing with a shake of her head. “Oh, alright! I did it!” She whispered back. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny!” And you , she wanted to add, but she resisted the urge. She didn’t want to recount what she’d heard if he ended up curious. ”And he has a nasty temper too! You saw that yourself! Surely you wouldn’t want someone like that on your team.” 

Harry nodded, agreeing that she had a fair point. “I suppose that’s true,” he admitted, his grin widening as she finally looked up again to meet his eyes. “But wasn’t that a bit dishonest? Aren’t you a prefect?” 

The only thing suppressing Hermione’s defensive reflex was his obviously teasing tone. She shrugged dismissively, even as her face flushed a slightly darker pink. “Perhaps. But… I was following my instincts,” she admits softly. “And I don’t regret it.” 

Hermione wished she was a big enough person to not take pleasure in the sight of Harry’s wide eyes as his jaw physically dropped. But, she wasn’t and she barely managed not to laugh at his gobsmacked face. 

“What are you two doing?” Ron asked after suddenly reappearing in the Great Hall entryway, suspicion dancing in his eyes as he regarded them both. 

“Nothing!” They both chirped in response before hurrying along after him, only to be blocked by Slughorn of all people, extending an invitation to Harry and Hermione to join him for dinner, along with a short list of other students he rattled off excitedly, as if the guest list would make the offer more enticing. 

If anything, the list of other attendees only lowered the appeal, especially Cormac McLaggen. If Harry’s excuse to avoid it wasn’t detention with Snape, he’d almost be relieved to be unable to attend. Hermione, on the other hand, was not so fortunate to have a convenient excuse to refuse the invitation. 

“I wish you could come,” she whispered in a panic as she clutched at Harry’s arm. It didn’t take a genius to guess that Hermione would have preferred to avoid McLaggen after confounding him earlier. 

“Least he actually spoke to you two. I might as well have been disillusioned,” Ron muttered irritably as he glared at the professor’s back. 

Hermione shook her head in annoyance as she turned and all but stomped out of the Great Hall. She didn’t have the emotional fortitude to deal with Ron and his impossible fragile ego. She thought she may have heard Harry speak up as she stormed off, but she couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to worry about it. Hopefully, she’d have a chance to talk with him once his detention came to an end. 

It didn’t take long for Hermione to wish she’d just lied to escape the nightmare dinner. She’d gotten separated from Ginny once the actual meal had come to an end, and she was failing to blend in with the furniture, no matter how hard she tried. 

Slughorn’s previous praise of her talents and excellent theoretical knowledge suddenly felt uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t in class, or maybe because the Slytherins in attendance were glaring at her with reproach, she wasn’t entirely sure. But it didn’t really matter why she was uncomfortable, just that she was. 

Hermione suddenly felt an arm around her waist and impulsively squeaked as she all but leapt away and turned to see Cormac McLaggen practically looming over her. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Granger.” 

“Do you just not know how to keep your hands to yourself?!” She wasn’t sure how she managed to keep from shouting and causing a scene, but she almost wished she had, especially as he drew closer, and didn’t stop as she instinctively stepped back from him. 

“I didn’t mean to offend,” he insisted softly as he continued invading her personal space, quickly backing Hermione up to a nearby wall that she was too nervous to take note of. “I assumed we were on the same page,” he added as Hermione’s back hit the wall. 

Just as he started to lean in to try and kiss her, Hermione was yanked away by someone with a familiar laugh. “There you are, Hermione!” For all the space invasion she’d already endured, Hermione was too grateful for the rescue to argue against Ginny’s grabby tactics. “I was looking for you!” 

Ginny perfectly concealed her concern, giving away nothing in her bright smile, but the redhead’s grip on her hand was all Hermione needed to see the worry Ginny held for her. “I’m glad to be found,” she quickly stated, answering her unspoken question, and prompting Ginny to squeeze her hand a bit tighter for a moment. 

“We were talking.” McLaggen’s voice made Hermione shudder, and Ginny finally turned to look at him with a sneer that might actually impress Professor Snape. 

“Strange. I didn’t hear a conversation,” Ginny bit back and the pair walked off without another word.

Chapter Text

I’ve clearly gone mad to agree to this again. 

Every previous member of the D.A. apart from Marietta Edgecombe and the students who’d already left the school returned. Even Seamus, who’d sadly only gotten the chance to attend one meeting, Zacharius Smith, who Harry wasn’t particularly pleased to see, and Cho Chang, though she had fixed her gaze on her shoes. 

The awkwardness of having so many eyes on him felt impossible to ignore, but a gentle nudge from Hermione gave him just enough reassurance to push past it, and he took a deep, calming breath before finally speaking up. “Alright. So I was asked if I wanted to continue our ground this year,” he began, “And I figured we should all be part of the discussion and put it to a proper vote.” 

Zacharius Smith scoffed, only to be smacked upside the head by Ginny. “I think it would be great to keep Dumbledore’s Army going,” She mentioned, looking to Harry with a reassuring smile. 

“We all learned so much last year,” Neville added in, standing tall and practically radiating confidence. 

Dean immediately nodded his agreement. “Too true, Neville. And Snape isn’t much better than Umbridge.” 

Several people in the crowd nodded at that, clearly agreeing with Dean’s opinion on Snape. Harry wasn’t surprised, it’s not like Snape was ever a well-liked teacher. 

“I maintain that learning proper defense is paramount,” Ernie Macmillan added, to general approval. 

Everyone took their turn voicing their opinions, and it finally came down to Cho. She seemed incredibly hesitant as she finally looked up from her shoes. “I’d like to continue meeting…” She spoke so softly it was almost impossible to hear her, but it didn’t matter that much. 

With the whole of the crowd in agreement, Harry cleared his throat to redirect their attention back to him and spare Cho the many sneers aimed her way because of her absent friend. “Okay, it’s agreed. So, I think we should treat this meeting as a refresher. It’s been months since we last met up and I’m sure we’re all at least a bit rusty.” 

They all split up into pairs and began casting at one another without further direction. Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that he easily fell back into his previous routine during past D.A. meetings. It was easy to correct his classmates when necessary, and apart from Smith, who was still a contrarian prat as far as Harry could tell, no one took issue with Harry’s instruction. 

Time passed quickly as the newly re-formed D.A. practiced together, and it almost felt too soon when Harry finally called an end to the meeting two hours later. “Next time, we’ll start looking into more defensive magic to add to our arsenals. Sound good?” 

Harry watched the nods all around as everyone began to shuffle toward the door to leave. He also took notice of Cho, standing on her own and seemingly waiting until she was sure not to run into anyone to try and leave. Despite the awkward pang in his chest, Hermione’s words over the summer echoed in his head and steeled his nerves, and he walked up to her, determined to apologize for how they left things and hopefully gain some kind of closure. 

“D’ya have a minute?” He asked softly. 

Cho looked to him with wide eyes and nipped at her bottom lip as she slowly nodded. “What’s up?” She asked, barely speaking up and higher than before. 

It was so uncomfortable, Harry just wanted to bolt for the door. “I… umm… I’m sorry about how I left things last year.” 

“Y-you are?” 

The sudden hope shimmering in Cho’s eyes lit a panic within Harry and he anxiously cleared his throat before plowing on. “I don’t want to get back together… but I should have… said as much last year…” He wasn’t sure what was worse. The brief flash of hope, or her instant disappointment and bitter scoff. 

“Let me guess, darling Hermione won’t date you til you’ve properly broken up with me. That it?” 

Harry couldn’t hold back his frustrated groan, and he didn’t even bother trying. “You’re impossible, you know that? I actually started to think talking this out with you might be better than trying to permanently avoid you, but clearly I was wrong!” 

“Wait!” She squeaked, reaching out to grab his sleeve before he could storm off. “I’m sorry!” Harry was tempted to just yank his arm out of her grip and leave anyway, but he sighed and stayed put. 

Cho seemed to struggle for words momentarily, but once she did speak up again, Harry didn’t catch any hint of spite in her tone. “I’m sorry for saying that. I just…” She sighed and shook her head. “You said you wanted to talk things out?” 

“Yeah.” He was still hesitant, but at least she didn’t seem like she was going to start crying, or shouting at him. “Look, last year… I get that you were grieving, but I didn’t know how to help you cope, didn’t expect that I’d need to, and I had a lot of other things going on and stressing me out,” he began explaining. “I’d fancied you for a couple years, and then you seemed to like me back… I just wanted one part of my life to not be miserable or stress me out. So, I neglected that you were struggling too. I’m sorry for that.” 

Cho stood there silently for a moment, and just when Harry was sure he’d outright combust, she slowly began to smile. “That was… very sweet, Harry. And I’m sorry too. I really did like you. Still do if I’m being honest… but I suppose I expected you to be someone you weren’t, and that wasn’t fair to you.” 

“Well… apology accepted.” It felt so odd, just waiting to see if she would have anything else to say to him. “I umm, I hope you don’t hate me anymore.” 

She immediately giggled as she shook her head. “Of course I don’t hate you, Harry!” She insisted, and, rather suddenly, kissed his cheek. “And I forgive you too. I hope your next girlfriend appreciates you more than I did. You deserve that much at least.” 

Even after she’d left the room, Harry stood there, utterly dumbstruck, for a good ten minutes, just trying to make sense of how that had gone so well, only to slowly grin as he realized that he was now free of the awkwardness he was so eager to run from. She didn’t hate him, and wasn’t pushing to try again. This was a victory tantamount to escaping the jaws of a raging Hungarian Horntail! 

It was far more difficult than it should have been to keep her eyes open. Most of Hermione’s housemates had already gone up to bed, but she was determined to finish her Runes translation before she followed suit. Unfortunately, McLaggen was also still in the common room, but he seemed to be putting off approaching her for now at least. Didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel his eyes marking her every move. 

But, suddenly the calm and quiet of the common room was completely shattered by Harry, who was shouting the password between joyful, celebratory whooping. The portrait swung open and everyone left in the common room could hear the Fat Lady as she shrieked, “What has gotten into you, you absolute lunatic?!” 

Harry didn’t answer as he burst into the common room, his chest heaving as he gulped down lungfuls of air. “Harry?” Hermione asked a bit nervously, and he instantly turned to her, his emerald eyes burning with excitement. 

“Hermione!” He shouted and ran straight for her, pulling her from her chair and into a tight bear hug that would give her a run for her money before lifting her off her feet with a spin as he laughed delightedly. “You were right!” He shouted and set her back down on her feet. “You were right! You’re brilliant, Hermione, a genius! You were right!” 

As quickly as he snatched her up in his arms, he released her and Hermione stumbled back before tumbling into her chair all over again. “Night Hermione!” He called from halfway up the stairs to his dormitory. “You’re brilliant!” 

Hermione watched as he rushed up the staircase and shook her head with a soft laugh before resuming her translation with far more ease. Perhaps Harry’s enthusiasm was a bit contagious.

Chapter Text

“This better be a joke-”

“Not a joke, Potter.” 

“I already booked the pitch! Cleared it with Professor McGonagall yesterday!” 

“Yes, and Professor Snape recognized how unfair it was to keep granting Gryffindor preferential treatment.” 

Harry didn’t care how much attention their very public argument was drawing from the surrounding students attempting to eat their lunch. “Prefer- Half my team is new! What’s your excuse?!” 

The Slytherin team captain shrugged dismissively, though that smug smirk made it clear that he was taking far too much pleasure in being an intentional nuisance. “Inconsequential,” he answered, keeping that dismissive tone, even as his smirk grew all the more victorious. “We’ll be cleared out by dinner. All yours after if you want,” he taunted as he sauntered off with a distinct spring in his step. 

Harry collapsed back onto his seat at his house table as he ran a hand over his face and tried to calm himself. Attacking Urquhart, whether magically or with his fists, would likely result in some kind of trouble for him, which Harry was trying his damnedest to avoid. Not breaking his promise to Sirius again was certainly motivation enough, but he also just couldn’t risk another detention with all the demands on his time this year. The D.A. and Quidditch for one thing, and his near-constant studying, and the ever present mountain of homework that taunted him with its persistent refusal to stay diminished, no matter how much time he spent working on his assignments. “Someone put me out of my misery.” 

“Something wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked as she sat down beside him. She’d stopped off to return a book to the library on her way to the Great Hall, and missed the argument. 

“Slimy snakes,” He groaned before launching into a quick explanation. “No one will be happy training so late tonight,” he added, and Hermione rarely heard him sound so defeated before. “We’ll have to rush through dinner just to get enough time to make it worth meeting at all.” 

Harry expected Hermione would echo his complaint over how unfair the situation was, but she didn’t. “Harry! This’ll be the third of Slughorn’s dinners that you’ve missed! You said you were coming this time!” 

Had Harry felt more grounded, he might have caught the note of panic in her tone. But in that moment, he was too focused on how impossibly packed his days had become, even with so many open periods to supplement the increased workload. “I’m sorry, Mione,” He insisted. “But it’s not like I could really argue against Snape’s detention, you said yourself that Dumbledore’s lessons are paramount, and the team!” He shook his head. “Ron’s confidence took another nose dive, and it’s almost impossible to split my focus between him and three entirely new players! What am I supposed to do?” 

Hermione instantly threw her arms around him in a tight hug and quickly schooled her features into a soft smile. “It’s okay, Harry,” she insisted. “I don’t mean to make you feel guilty. I was just really excited to have you there this time. I’m sorry.” 

Harry didn’t hesitate to reciprocate the hug and tried to shove down the painful jolt in his chest as he inhaled the sweet, musty fragrance of vanilla and old books. It hadn’t taken long after their potions class for Harry to realize that the Amortentia had emulated Hermione that day. But, not being able to deny his own attraction didn’t mean she returned his affection, and he wasn’t going to risk his friendship with Hermione for anything. She meant too much to him to risk losing her. 

“I’ll be at the next one, Hermione. I promise.” She seemed to squeeze him even tighter for a moment before she finally let go and sat back comfortably. 

“Speaking of Dumbledore’s lessons though,” she mentioned softly in her eagerness to change the subject. “Have you been thinking anymore about the significance of what he’s shown you so far?” She asked. 

Harry shrugged and took a bite of his lunch as he thought over how to properly answer. Once he finished chewing, he said, “I’ve been trying, but I can’t seem to figure out why these memories are so important. Apart from understanding my enemy a bit better, I suppose. But that can’t really be all, can it? Dumbledore insists that the information he’s sharing is essential and could make the difference between survival and…” Hermione shuddered at the unspoken implication and Harry cleared his throat by way saying, ‘death.’ 

“No, I think you’re right about that,” she answered upon recovering from her discomfort at the thought of Harry not surviving the next time he faces Voldemort. “Obviously there’s value in knowing about and understanding his background and early years. But I agree that there has to be more to it.” She sighed softly. “Let’s discuss it more soon? It may help to go over it all again in more detail.” 

Harry immediately agreed before resuming his lunch, though he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Hermione for too long. Something was wrong. He was sure of it, but he couldn’t be sure what the issue was. 

She smiled to Ron and Ginny as the pair of siblings sat down, but upon his announcement that their Quidditch Practice was put off by a few hours, Hermione seemed to ‘drop’ her book rather heavily on the table, just as Ginny opened her mouth to speak. Harry immediately turned to Hermione, just in time to see her briefly shake her head at Ginny with a clear warning shining in her eyes. 

“I’m off to Arithmancy,” Hermione declared before he could ask about the silent exchange, and as he turned his attention to Ginny in the hopes of asking her instead, he found that she had also risen from the table and hurried off after Hermione without a word. 

Ron seemed oblivious to the uncomfortable non-conversation, and Harry spent the following few hours wishing he could ignore it himself, but the look on Hermione’s face as she stared Ginny down before storming off haunted him as he tried and failed to work on his transfiguration homework. 

He was still distracted as he started making his way back to the Great Hall. So much so, he failed to see a hand jut out from a broom closet to yank him in with them. “Wha-” he stuttered before the door clicked shut and a familiar voice muttered, “Lumos.” 

“Ginny?!” 

She nodded with an impatient roll of her eyes. “Look, you have to go to that stupid dinner tonight,” She told him firmly. 

“What?” The one word question rolled off his tongue reflexively. “Why? What’s going on?” 

Ginny slumped back against the wall with a groan. “I can’t say, but you’ve really got to go.” 

That made absolutely no sense to Harry. “Can’t say? Gin, I really can’t cancel practice tonight-” 

“Then don’t!” She practically shrieked. “It’ll be too dark for us to use the snitch anyway, and Katie can keep us plenty focused! Please, Harry!” 

Harry hadn’t seen her this panicked since his second year, when she was cruelly subjected to periodic bouts of possession, unable to remember what she’d done when she wasn’t in control. It was startling to see her shaken up nearly on par with that awful time. 

“Ginny, you’re scaring me! What happened?!” 

Her patience was officially worn out as she grabbed his arms and shook him like a rag doll. “I already said I can’t tell you! Just please! Go to the stupid dinner in Slughorn’s office! And hurry down!” She screeched before shoving him back and hurrying out of the broom cupboard without another word. 

Ten minutes. Dinner wasn’t served yet, and with everyone else in the ‘Slug Club,’ as they’d apparently named themselves, eager to mingle with their preferred social circles, it only took ten blessedly peaceful minutes for McLaggen to approach her. “Would you please just leave me alone?” She requested softly as he sidled up to her with that punchable grin. 

He seemed truly surprised by her question, as though the notion that she may not be as eager for his presence as he was for hers was utterly incomprehensible. “Well, your friend, Weasley,  isn’t here to keep you company,” he mentioned as he stepped closer. He didn’t take any notice of her shudder, or the way she leaned away from. “I thought you might be lonely without a friendly face.” 

Hermione was almost ashamed of herself for the relief she felt just because he hadn’t yet attempted to touch her. “When have I ever given the impression that I deem you a friendly face?” She asked, trying yet again to weaponize her tone, and failing miserably. There didn’t seem to be any way of getting rid of him on her own without resorting to violence or magic, which she was sure would backfire on her.

He merely laughed at her question as he shook his head. “You’re hilarious, Granger!” He insisted, through an enthusiastic guffaw while reaching out to wrap his arm around her yet again.

But, just before he managed to actually touch her, his tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth, and as he stepped back in surprise, he tripped on a puddle that seemed to have spontaneously appeared. He instantly lost his balance and fell back first on the stone floor. Whatever previously affected his tongue must have ended just as he landed, based on the audible, “oof,” that escaped him. 

“You alright there, McLaggen?” Hermione’s heart stuttered in her chest as Harry stepped forward. “That looked like a nasty tumble.” 

Harry’s tone couldn’t possibly be more non-chalant, but Hermione noticed the tiniest twitch in his jaw, a dead giveaway that he was struggling not to shout, or worse. It seemed that McLaggen’s blindness of her discomfort didn’t extend to her best friend. 

“Some idiot must have spilled their drink,” McLaggen grumbled as an answer. 

Harry nodded and leisurely drew his wand, waving it over the puddle with a muttered, “Evanesco,” before storing his wand once more and offering a hand to his housemate. 

McLaggen smiled as he accepted the helpful hand back to his feet. “Thanks, Potter.” 

“Of course,” Harry answered with a shrug as he quickly released the other gryffindor’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us,” he added with the barest hint of a smirk before turning to Hermione. “Could I get a bit of advice on our defense essay?” He asked, and gestured in a vague direction away from McLaggen. 

Hermione immediately nodded and hurried off to an unoccupied corner of the room with him. “What about Quidditch practice tonight? I thought you couldn’t cancel?” She whispered. 

“I didn’t,” he answered softly. “I’m just not there myself. I’ve reason to believe no one is gonna give me too much grief for missing one practice.” Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing and quickly launched herself at him. Harry instantly wrapped her up in his own protective embrace. “How long?” He asked simply. 

“Harry-” 

“No, Mione,” he cut her off before she could brush off the incident he’d just witnessed. “How long has he been a problem, and how long have you been hiding it?” He asked again, pulling back from the hug just enough to meet her eyes. 

She sighed softly, clearly still hesitant to answer, but accepting that there was no hiding it anymore. “I suppose since our trip to Diagon Alley,” she admitted, instantly wincing as his grip momentarily tightened around her. “I didn’t think it was too big a deal. He never approaches me unless I’m alone, and almost exclusively during these dinners,” she explained, hoping Harry would understand her rationale and wouldn’t be too angry. 

Harry shook his head with an irritable grumble. “Of course it’s a big deal. Ginny was terrified and wouldn’t tell me why. And apart from that… I think I have a right to know when my best friend is being harassed.”

To say that Hermione felt guilty would be pathetic understatement. “I’m sorry,” she insisted, and Harry simply pulled her fully against him again with a shaky sigh. 

The intoxicating aroma of vanilla and old books seemed to swirl around Harry as he slowly loosened his grip and reluctantly stepped back as he nodded, silently accepting her apology. 

Miraculously, no one seemed to notice the private moment between the two friends, and they stepped out from the corner just in time for Professor Slughorn to announce that the food was ready. The professor’s eyes grew wide upon catching sight of Harry. 

“Harry, m’boy,” he greeted enthusiastically and waved him closer. “Good to see you finally made it to one of my humble little gatherings!” 

Harry managed a small smile as he walked forward with Hermione at his side. “Hello, professor,” he offered a bit awkwardly as Hermione placed a hand on his arm supportively and led the way to the table they’d all be sitting at. The pair were quick to sit down next to each other, but McLaggen slid into the chair on Hermione’s other side, determined to not be fully ignored, even with Harry attempting to play the part of human shield. 

Thankfully, the unpleasant gryffindor behaved himself for the most part while Slughorn ‘introduced’ Harry to the members of the Slug Club he hadn’t already met during lunch on the train. “Now that we’re all a bit better acquainted,” Slughorn continued after a rather large gulp of his drink. “I’m rather curious about something, if you’d be so kind as to indulge me, Harry.” 

“Of course, sir,” Harry answered after swallowing down his food. 

Slughorn nodded as he cleared his throat. “Well then, I’ve heard quite a bit of talk about an interview you gave last year, but I can’t find the article for the life of me.” 

Harry’s face warmed considerably under the scrutiny of so many slytherin sneers aimed his way. “It was featured in The Quibbler, ” he answered softly, prompting low sniggers from the unpleasant looking slytherins at the table.

“I don’t believe I’ve heard of that publication,” Slughorn admitted, not seeming to have noticed the quiet laughter punctuating Harry’s answer.

Harry shrugged and attempted to ignore the persistent scrutiny aimed his way. “Its an admittedly eccentric magazine,” He described after mentally scrambling for a word that was less likely to be taken the wrong way. “But, I know the editor’s daughter. We’re close friends,” he explained. “And they didn’t hesitate to publish the truth, despite the social and political climate last year,” he added at the last second in an effort to defend the strange magazine. 

Slughorn didn’t seem to need much convincing of the value Harry saw. “That’s quite the ringing endorsement, m’boy!” He stated, his gaze alight with enthusiasm. “And who might this friend be?” 

“Luna Lovegood,” Hermione answered beside Harry, resting her hand on his arm again as fire seemed to spark in his chest at the contact. “Harry knew Hermione had no belief in anything written in The Quibbler, apart from the interview he gave, and frequently dismissed all of Luna’s ideas as nonsense. But he had no doubt that she cared for Luna regardless.

The rest of the dinner passed peacefully enough. Slughorn fawned over McLaggen a great deal, droned on about past students he’d nurtured in the past, even discussed Harry’s mother and her miraculous gifts with potions and charmwork in equal measure for quite a while before they were all happily dismissed to return to their respective houses. Harry resolved to never leave Hermione to attend alone again after catching the way McLaggen continued trying to catch her eye, even if he didn’t approach her again the rest of the evening. 

The pair was almost half-way back to Gryffindor Tower when Hermione suddenly asked, “What was that first spell you used?” 

Harry nearly tripped over his feet at the question. “Oh, um, it’s a recent find?” 

Hermione raised an eyebrow before stepping in front of him with her hands on her hips. The image of her rigid stance and inquisitive stare, the clear irritation present in her body language, seemed to trigger a mental war for Harry and he couldn’t decide if he was more keen on calming her down or testing her patience. 

“And where did you ‘recently find’ that spell?” She asked firmly, sending a delightful shiver down Harry’s spine. 

“Bit of light reading…” he offered, too startled by just how much he seemed to be enjoying her scolding tone to answer properly just yet. 

“From that book?” She asked as she began tapping her foot impatiently. 

Harry couldn’t even muster up any irritation with her taking issue with the Prince’s book again. He was too focused on crossing his arms over his chest in an effort to keep his hands to himself. “And if it was? I thought you weren’t against me using it anymore?” 

“I’m not against you using the improved recipes,” Hermione told him simply. “But did you even know what that spell would do, Harry?” 

The question actually startled him, and he reluctantly shook his head. “That was the first time I used it,” he admitted, and barely resisted the impulse to hang his head. 

Hermione sighed softly and stepped closer to rest a comforting hand over his crossed arms. “I know you didn’t mean any harm, Harry. And I’m grateful that you stepped in,” she insisted. 

“You are?” 

His hesitancy touched her, and Hermione quickly nodded, eager to reassure him. “I really am, Harry. Just promise me one thing, and I swear, I won’t give you any more grief over that book.” 

Harry immediately nodded his agreement. “Of course, Hermione! Anything, I promise!” 

“Any other new spells you find… just, test them safely,” she requested. “We’ll ask the room of requirement for a life-like dummy to use or something like-” 

She was suddenly yanked into his arms without any warning, and happily sank into the comforting embrace. “I promise,” he insisted as he held her tighter. “I’ll test new spells safely from now on.”

Chapter Text

Hermione nearly flinched as Lavender flew back against the wall. “Sorry!” She squeaked, but Lavender merely waved it off with a laugh and started looking for her fallen wand while the rest of the D.A. continued their own practice duels. Off to her left, Ron successfully landed a full body bind on Zacharius Smith, who toppled backward and crashed with an audible ‘oof.’ Hermione had lost sight of Harry, though she felt confident he was likely just surveying the crowd and offering advice and corrections as usual. He’d make a wonderful teacher some day, and Hermione was eager to convince him of that. 

She’d only just relaxed her posture as she waited for Lavender to get back to her feet, when her wand went flying out of her hand and to her right, landing in Harry’s outstretched hand as he grinned at her. Hermione’s jaw dropped as she realized that she hadn’t heard him speak. “Your non-verbal casting is getting a lot better!” She immediately praised and rushed up to retrieve her wand.

“I took your advice, worked wonders,” He answered with a shrug as she came closer, though he couldn’t fight off the warmth on his face and neck as she praised his improvement. “And I figured you could use a new opponent,” he added as she took her wand back. 

Hermione raised a questioning brow as she met his eyes. “Is that right?” She asked and he simply smirked back at her before taking a step back from her and raising his wand. “Good thing you enjoy flying,” Hermione teased and lifted her own wand to send a knock-back jinx his way, though he was too quick, dodging her spell with a grin. 

“Ooh, flying practice! Sounds fun!” He taunted back and flicked his wand, but his spell bounced harmlessly off her hastily summoned shield. 

Hermione couldn’t help laughing at the way his eyes glimmered with excitement and in moments they were slinging spell after spell at one another, though none of them landed. They were too evenly matched. There was no hitting him, Harry just moved too fast, and Hermione’s shield was nearly as strong as his own. She needed a means of tripping him up… 

It’s not just memorizing spells like you’re in class. She heard his words as clearly as when Harry had said it last year. She remembered Krum’s written words, his insistence that her strict adherence to official instruction put her at a disadvantage. She took a breath, and moving purely on instinct, she shot a stinger at his shoulder that he easily shielded against, and summoned his shoes while he was distracted. 

Harry tumbled backward onto the ground with a startled shout while his summoned shoes dragged him toward Hermione and left him laying at her feet as she smiled down at him with her hands on her hips. Harry’s eyes widened as he realized what she’d done. “Brilliant!” He insisted and lifted his hand up in a silent request for assistance. 

Hermione shrugged and grabbed his hand, but rather than helping him up, she was tugged to the floor and fell right on top of him. “Harry!” she squeaked on her way down, and he laughed as she collided against his chest. “What was that for?!” She demanded. 

At first, the only answer she received was more laughter from her best friend, and she struggled to maintain her sense of indignation in the wake of his infectious amusement. While she managed to keep from laughing with him, Harry did notice the slightest uptick at the corner of her mouth, and he coughed through the last of his laughter as she slid off of him, and quickly stood upright once again. “Only seemed fair,” he finally answered with a shrug before rising to his own feet. He hadn’t cared that they were surrounded by people when he initially grabbed her wrist and yanked her onto him, but with the moment passed, he could feel over a dozen pairs of eyes on him and it was a struggle not to wilt under the scrutiny. 

Hermione appeared to be immune to the stares as she resumed her duelling with Harry, but her heart was pounding in her chest as she tried to calm the desperate urge to just tackle him. Curse her recent dreams, the ones that taunted her nightly since the last of Slughorn’s dinners. Fantasies of her and Harry together that seemed to grow all the more… desperate… since he shielded her from McLaggan’s advances. That vengeful tick in his jaw that night just seemed to light a fire within her that she couldn’t extinguish, no matter how many times she reminded herself that Harry was simply her friend. Her best friend. Her best friend, who she could NOT afford to lose if she didn’t temper her sudden and incredibly inconvenient craving for him. 

Her wand flew from her hand once again and Harry smirked before using the whistle he always conjured at the beginnings of lessons to draw everyone’s attention and instruct his classmates to spend the next ten minutes practicing their patronus charms before they called it a night. Hermione couldn’t help but admire that he seemed to have remembered her mentioning the three recent dementor attacks in the paper as he passed her wand back to her. 

“Nice rabbit,” Ron mentioned to Luna as she conjured her patronus with remarkable ease. 

She turned to him with those perpetually dreamy eyes and offered him a soft smile as she nodded. “Thank you, Ron,” she answered softly and stepped closer as his bloodhound bounded along the walls, chasing after the hopping bunny. “Oh, I completely forgot to mention, congratulations on making the quidditch team,” she mentioned, her smile brightening as she easily maintained focus on her patronus.

Ron’s bloodhound dimmed momentarily before glowing brighter as he looked over at Luna. “Oh, um, thanks,” he answered. “But… I was thinking of quitting… I haven’t been playing well at practices…” He admitted as his ears reddened a bit. 

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Luna said softly. “You did wonderfully last year,” she mentioned with a shrug. 

His ears seemed to burn at the reminder that the last game actually did go well for him. “Harry thinks it’s a confidence issue,” he admits, barely speaking above a whisper as his stomach churned. Why did I say that?!

Luna nodded, her eyes following her rabbit patronus. “Ah, that makes perfect sense actually,” she decided. “I was wondering if perhaps you’d encountered any wrackspurts, but I haven’t seen any buzzing around your head.” 

Wrackspurts?! “I uh… Well…” What the bloody hell was someone supposed to say to that?!

“You’ll be playing in the upcoming game though, won’t you? I hope so. I plan on cheering for Gryffindor,” she continued on, as though she hadn’t mentioned anything that made her sound mad. 

But… despite the oddness… “Harry doesn’t have a replacement keeper… so yeah, I’ll be playing,” he answered a bit hesitantly. “D’you still have that lion head hat?” 

Luna’s cheeks actually pinkened a touch at the question. “I do,” she admitted. “But… it wasn’t too welcome last year… I wasn’t sure if I should wear it again.” 

“I liked it,” Ron said suddenly. “Or well… I’d give it a second chance if you did.” 

Luna finally looked away from her rabbit and back to Ron with a small smile. “I’d be happy to,” she told him softly, just as Hermione’s owl flew overhead. 

Harry couldn’t believe the improvement in Ron’s demeanor as he caught the Quaffle and tossed it back to Ginny. This was the best practice they’d had in weeks! Over an hour and Ron hadn’t missed a single save. It was miraculous, and as he drew practice to a close, he couldn’t wipe his grin off his face. “You did great,” Harry insisted as he touched down next to Ron and clapped a hand on his shoulder. 

Ron seemed to stand even taller at the praise, and turned to Harry with a bright smile. “Guess you were right,” he answered with a shrug. “Just a confidence issue.” 

“And you can save anything when you’re on form,” Harry repeated himself cheerfully. The pair walked together off the field with their brooms slung over their shoulders, trailing behind the rest of the team. 

“Oh, Gin asked me to warn you about something she overheard,” Ron suddenly mentioned, and Harry looked up with a raised brow. “Apparently a few girls were chatting about trying to slip you a love potion. With that Christmas party Slughorn’s planning for, they’re all losing their damn minds wanting to be your date or some rot like that.” 

Harry groaned and kicked at a small pebble in their path. “I don’t even want to go myself, I just can’t get out of it. Why would I drag anyone with me?” He asked. 

His question was met with a shrug. “Well, Hermione’s already invited. Why don’t you two just go together? That’d be at least a bit discouraging,” Ron suggested as he turned his head to the side so Harry wouldn’t catch his smug grin. 

“What?!” Harry’s shout drew a couple of his teammates’ attention and he cleared his throat before looking to Ron and dropping his voice down a few octaves. “Why would you suggest that?” 

Ron shrugged in his eagerness to play up his dismissive demeanor. “Just proving a point,” He answers before finally meeting Harry’s gaze with his own self-satisfied grin. “Cat’s been out of the bag for weeks though, mate. Why don’t you just admit it?” 

Harry hesitated to answer, slowly pulling to a stop with a small sigh. “I don’t want to make things awkward with her when she rejects me,” He admitted, barely whispering as he shook his head again. He didn’t expect to be met with laughter, and whipped out his wand to send a singing jinx at Ron’s foot, instantly cutting off the chuckles. “What’s so funny?!” 

“Ouch!” Ron grumbled at the mild pain and rolled his eyes. “How ‘bout how blind you are? Seriously, she’s barely more subtle than you are, mate, and that’s not saying much.” 

“I’m plenty subtle,” Harry argued dismissively, though logically, he knew that if even Ron had caught on, he definitely wasn’t. 

Ron simply rolled his eyes again. “Oh, yeah, ‘plenty subtle,’ you’re delusional. If that stunt in the D.A. meeting the other day wasn’t enough, I haven’t gotten an uninterrupted night’s sleep in over a week. For the love of merlin, please work on your bloody silencing charms. I’m sick of casting them myself.” 

There had been times that Harry wondered if it were truly possible to die of embarrassment. Now he knew it was impossible, or he’d be floating above his body. He locked his eyes to the ground in front of him as he gulped down his urge to hurl. “Noted.” He didn’t bother retaliating for Ron’s amused guffaw as he kicked at another small pebble and resumed walking. “You sure she’s…” Harry sighed and shook his head. 

“If she turns you down, I’ll happily volunteer for target practice,” Ron answered simply and picked up his pace while whistling to himself. 

Hermione was focused on the book in her hand, eager to block out the bad mood McLaggen had inspired in her. The chill of the late autumn air didn't even register to her, nor did the approach of her best friend riding his broom. 

Harry noticed Hermione’s absorption in her book and the crease between her eyebrows that painted a clear picture of irritation. The last thing Harry wanted to see was Hermione in a bad mood. He had half a mind to interrogate her over who'd inspired her frustration and exchange a few choice words with the culprit. But, perhaps there was a better option. 

"Hey there 'Mi!" Harry called, breaking Hermione from her focus. As she looked up from her book, ready to tell him off for interrupting her, all she could do was laugh at the sight of him hanging upside down from his broom and waving at her with a massive grin. 

The laughter that Harry was met with lifted his spirits, and he righted himself on his broom so he could lower himself properly and touch down to the ground. "Haven't you anything better to do than show off your prowess on a broom?" Hermione asked jokingly, shutting her book with a smile. 

"'Course I have," he answered. "But why would I ever pass up a chance to make you laugh?" He countered with a sly smile of his own.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him and stood up. "How joyous, my own personal jester!" She joked.

Harry immediately fell into a bow, running with her joke. "At your service!" He insisted before standing properly again, lifting his broom to his shoulders and settling it behind his neck. "So, how did it go?" He asked casually. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes and gestured to his Quidditch Uniform. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" She asked. 

Harry shrugged. “Perhaps, but I’m more interested in your day," Harry took a step closer. "Weren’t you planning on studying in the library?" 

Hermione sighed as she looked down to the frosted grass. “I’ve only just escaped,” she admitted irritably, and grumbled as Harry quirked an eyebrow in confusion. “McLaggen showed up and asked to study with me.” 

“Did he-”

“He didn’t touch me, thankfully. He was just annoying,” Hermione cut in before Harry could get too angry over her stalker following her into the library instead of sticking to Slughorn’s dinners.

It was a struggle to calm the little voice in Harry’s head whispering delightful little ideas about wringing McLaggen’s neck and burying him under the Quidditch Pitch, but he managed and grinned again, falling back on trying to make her laugh. “So, impromptu study date, then?” He teased softly.

"It was NOT a date!" Hermione insisted and crossed her arms under her bust. "And even if it had been there certainly wouldn't be another!" She added and began storming down the path back into the castle. 

Harry wanted to be upset on Hermione’s behalf, but he couldn't help the smile that graced his features for a moment. "Oh," he commented and caught up to her pace. "That bad?" He asked softly. 

Hermione scoffed. "It was... it was just awful! He was awful! We were supposed to be studying, but he just kept flirting with me and trying to convince me to accompany him to Slughorn's Christmas Party! And the bloody bastard refused to take no for an answer either! He seemed to prefer practicing verbal gymnastics with me! Such a prick!" She ranted. 

Harry took on an exaggerated expression of surprise at her language. "The formidable Hermione Jean Granger, walking dictionary, resorting to foul language? What is this world coming to?" He joked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh shove it, Harry!" She answered. "Books are rather functional weapons, you know,” she reminded, casually waving at him with said book in her hand. 

The blood drained from Harry's face. "You wouldn't dare!" He insisted. 

The look on Hermione’s face said otherwise. "Wanna bet?" She asked, smirking at her disheveled friend. 

Harry wilted a bit and cleared his throat. "So, verbal gymnastics? What did that consist of?" He asked as they made it inside and began the trek up to Gryffindor tower. 

Hermione simply sighed as she clutched her book to her chest again. "He asked me if I’ve got a date, so I admitted I didn't. He asked me to be his date, and I tried to shoot him down. But he just kept on it, insisted I’m just playing hard to get, that I’ll change my mind." She shook her head and shuddered at the thought. “I’d rather go with the giant squid. And I told him as much before I left.” 

Harry felt his heart leap in his chest and couldn't help smiling. "Certainly sounds unpleasant," He heard himself saying. "Sadly, I'd have to say I doubt your jab will make much difference to him. He clearly just thinks you're a challenge." 

"That's what I was worried about," Hermione admitted with another sigh. "I want him to leave me alone, but nothing gets rid of him." 

If he hadn’t already spoken with Ron, Harry never would have been so bold, but this was probably his only opening to try. "Well, if you had a date, maybe your escort could act as a buffer between the two of you, take some of the work off of you since he's too much of a disrespectful git to listen to you anyway." 

"I thought of that," Hermione mentioned. "But I can't think of anyone I can attend with. Especially if it's specifically to discourage McLaggen. It just seems rude to invite someone solely to be a buffer.”

Harry chuckled and sped up to stand in front of Hermione. "Really?" He asked. "You can't think of anyone?" 

Hermione raised a brow, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Eager to be my human shield again?" 

Harry's face flushed at the reminder of his thankfully subtle spellwork during the last of Slughorn’s little dinners, but he cleared his throat again and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "M-maybe," he answered. "Or maybe going to an annoying party with my beautiful best friend will make it less miserable,” he blurted out, feeling his face heat up even more. 

Hermione felt the blood rush to her cheeks and clutched her book to her chest even more tightly. "Beautiful?" She asked, caught on the word. She couldn’t recall the last time anyone commented positively on her appearance. At least not since the yule ball.

Harry nodded. "Beautiful," he repeated. "Brilliant, talented, the best friend I could’ve ever hoped for, and…” he hesitated for a moment as he leaned in a bit closer. “Absolutely gorgeous," He said, and gulped, his nerves taking over fully. 

Hermione launched herself at Harry, wrapping her arms about his neck and pressing her lips to his, not even noticing the sound of both her book and his broom toppling to the ground and landing just behind Harry's feet. What she did notice was Harry wrapping his own arms around her waist and holding her against him tightly. Yes, his arms and hands she took perfect note of, the feeling of his lips against hers, the lightning shooting down her spine as their tongues brushed against each other certainly registered too, as did the way one of his hands rose up from her waist to her hair, his fingers tangling in her curly tresses and gripping softly, keeping her in place. 

She could feel his passion pouring out from him and filling her from her lips to her toes, and she couldn’t help but think to herself that she’d happily accept Ginny’s looming I told you so. She was almost angry at herself for refusing to take the chance before now. How much time had she wasted when she could have been filling extra moments with kisses like this? Kisses like this one that left her breathless and clutching Harry for dear life, terrified her legs could and likely would collapse out from under her. 

"Wow," Harry whispered into her hair and pressed his lips to her forehead. 

Hermione couldn't help chuckling and met his eyes, wanting to see what she'd felt from him and finding it shining out at her from behind his glasses. "Have to agree," she admitted as the warmth on her face intensified 

Harry's smile was infectious, and he raised the hand still resting on Hermione’s waist up to her face, softly caressing her cheek. "So, does that mean we’ll show up together?" Harry asked softly. 

Hermione shivered at the soft touch of his fingers and leaned into his hand as she nodded. "I'd be thrilled to have you for a date," she answered.

Chapter Text

Hermione was accustomed to the usual pre-Quidditch fanfare the morning of game days, and her own excitement propelled her out of bed and down to the Great Hall for breakfast. As she set up a plate for herself, all Hermione could think about was the previous evening. Her first absolutely incredible kiss with Harry, Ginny’s outright cheer as she walked into this same hall for dinner hand in hand with Harry, and Ron’s demand that they keep their sappy rot to a minimum around him. Such a shame for Ron that Harry immediately disregarded the demand in favor of kissing her in front of everyone, but Hermione certainly wasn’t going to complain! 

She was still grinning as the table erupted into cheers around her, and she turned to see Harry walking in with Ron at his side and the rest of the team trailing behind, stopping off at different spots along the table to eat with their friends. While Ron seemed just as eager as the rest of the team to soak up the roaring cheers from the table, Harry simply made his way to his girlfriend, dropping down into the empty space beside her and wrapping his arm around her waist. “Morning Mione,” he greeted and kissed the top of her head before letting go to start fixing up his own breakfast. 

Hermione’s face warmed considerably as she instinctively leaned against him. “Good morning.” 

Her greeting sounded just as Ron sat down across from them and began piling his own plate high, though he barely acknowledged her beyond a nod. His focus seemed to be trained on a search somewhere behind her head. “Morning,” he muttered a bit dismissively before suddenly beaming. The sudden shift in his demeanor set off Hermione’s curiosity and she turned around to see Luna Lovegood take a seat at the Ravenclaw table, her lion’s head hat from last year perched precariously atop her head. 

She turned back with a bright smile of her own as she grabbed her second slice of toast. “Looks as though you’ll have a cheering section among the Ravenclaws.” Ron nearly choked on his food, but he took note of Hermione’s smile and slowly nodded as his face warmed. It didn’t take much longer to finish her meal, but before she stood to leave, Hermione quickly kissed Harry’s cheek. “Good luck.” 

Harry hadn't been expecting the quick kiss and nearly fell out of his seat as he leaned back to watch her exit the hall. “Careful there, Harry,” Neville said as he grabbed Harry’s arm just in time to keep him from falling backward. 

“Thanks for that,” Harry offered as he steadied himself at the table once more and attempted, though ultimately failed, to calm the burning sensation all over his face and chest. Or well, he failed to alleviate it on his own. But the resilient warmth died instantly upon hearing the next voice to greet him. 

“Good luck today, Potter,” McLaggen offered as he sat down in Hermione’s empty seat. Harry’s previous smile dropped into a scowl as he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice in an effort to ignore the unpleasant intruder on his happy morning. “I’m sure you’ll still get the better of those snakes. Even if I have my doubts about a couple of your teammates.” 

The jug in Harry’s hand shook from the effort it took to restrain himself from smashing it over McLaggen’s head. He couldn’t shake off the image of Hermione visibly recoiling from McLaggen’s outstretched hand as though it were a threat tantamount to a death eater aiming their wand in her direction. It’s not worth detention, can’t stand between them from detention, stay out of trouble, don’t lose it, don’t lose it, don’t lose it… “Y’know, I seem to recall Ron making every one of his saves, while you missed one,” Harry mentioned instead of mangling his face. 

McLaggen reflexively bristled at the reminder before waving off Harry’s critique. “Everyone has off days,” he countered simply. Thankfully he waited until Harry set the jug back down before speaking up again. “I heard a bit of talk that you and Granger are something of an item now.” 

For a moment, Harry enjoyed the delightful mental image of McLaggen being repeatedly pelted with heavy bricks, but blinked it away as he gulped down his pumpkin juice before answering. “Something like,” he confirmed, hoping that’d be enough and the burly would-be keeper would quit testing his patience and finally leave. Every second near him felt more akin to an hour. Don’t lose it, Don’t lose it, Don’t lose it…

Unlike his past harassment of Hermione, McLaggen seemed to catch on that he wasn’t wanted and stood from the table with a mocking laugh. “Well, enjoy her while you’ve got her,” he taunted. 

“Hey, McLaggen!” Harry called before he could get too far and stood from the table, slinging his firebolt over his shoulder. McLaggen came to a stop and waited patiently as Harry walked up to him with an odd grin. “Little friendly advice between housemates,” Harry said as he came to a stop, maybe a foot from McLaggen. “Might want to watch your step around my girlfriend. Never know when someone may spill another drink,” Harry mentioned before forcefully bumping his shoulder on the way out of the Great Hall, while the rest of his team hurried along to follow him out. 

Hermione watched on with bated breath as Harry stepped out onto the field, followed closely by his teammates. While she’d never been much of a fan of muggle sports, she couldn’t deny her love of Quidditch, although her affection for the sport may have had more to do with Harry than she’d like to admit. 

She felt her heart leap in her chest as the two teams kicked off from the ground. Slytherin took possession of the quaffle first, but Ron easily knocked it away and into Ginny’s hands, and she scored the first goal of the game. Each of Ron’s saves, some of them undeniably spectacular, was punctuated by Luna’s lion head hat roaring in victory, and it wasn’t long before the gathered Gryffindors were belting out the lyrics to Weasley is our King almost as loud. 

But one person was clearly not impressed by the team Harry put together, and that was the new and very unpleasant commentator, Zacharius Smith. While the Slytherins cheered their agreement of his many complaints about the team, Hermione simply preplanned her spell selection for the next D.A. meeting, fully intending to pay him back for every insult when he was least expecting it. 

Half an hour passed by and it seemed that the Gryffindor team could do no wrong. The score was sixty to nothing, and Coote, the weedier of Harry’s new beaters, whacked the bludger at Harper, standing in for Malfoy, just as Harry shot upward, clearly having caught sight of the snitch. Hermione instantly whooped and hollered, cheering Harry on even if he was likely too far up to hear her. 

As he closed his fist around the snitch, Hermione screamed just as loud as the rest of the crowd, watching on as Harry circled the pitch with the snitch’s golden wings beating on either side of his closed fist to confirm that he’d caught it. The rest of the team was quick to surround Harry in a massive, mid-air group hug, apart from Ginny, who shot past the huddled up team and crashed into the commentator’s podium, along with Zacharius Smith. 

Instantly startled by the crash, Hermione shoved through the crowd to get to Ginny, arriving just in time to hear her friend apologize to their head of house. “Sorry, Professor, forgot to brake.” Judging by grin on Ginny’s face, and the obvious lack of injury, she and Hermione were of a like mind about paying the surly Hufflepuff back for his rudeness, but Ginny wasn’t as patient. 

Hermione found herself so amused by her friend’s antics, she didn’t even notice that Harry had flown into the stands until he stepped up behind her and gently wrapped his arms around her in a loose hug. She didn’t hesitate to lean back against him with a bright smile and soft, contented sigh. 

“Are you sure I’m allowed, Ginny? I’m not a Gryffindor…” 

Luna’s soft reminder that she was still indeed a Ravenclaw seemed to matter very little to her friend as Ginny waved her free hand a bit dismissively and continued to tug her toward Gryffindor Tower. “You’re a guest, it’s not like you’re moving into my dormitory,” Ginny countered before offering the password to the fat lady and all but dragging Luna into the common room.

Within, music roared, cheers sounded, and frothy mugs of butterbeer clinked all around Ron and Harry, who’d both been lifted up onto the shoulders of other celebrating Gryffindors. To call it a pleasant sight would be devastating understatement. “Luna! You made it!” She was almost startled by Neville approaching her with a bright grin before pulling her into a brief hug. 

Ron wasn’t sure how he heard Neville’s voice through the surrounding fanfare, but the moment he heard Luna’s name he looked down at the crowd, and easily spotted her massive hat. She seemed to expect that he’d look her way, as she already had a hand up to wave to him while she hugged Neville. 

“Weasley is our king!” 

Harry’s voice rang out loud through the common room, rousing the room into another chorus as Dean and Seamus finally set him down so Harry could pull Hermione back into his arms. Well… most of the room. There was one glaring exception, who preferred to stay quiet as he observed Harry and Hermione. Harry took note of McLaggen’s relentless glare and kept his arm around Hermione as she kissed him and congratulated him on his first win as Quidditch Captain. 

Ron all but collapsed with a huff beside Luna, who offered him a warm smile. “You really did wonderfully today, Ron,” She mentioned softly, and even though he’d heard some variation of the same compliment over a hundred times by the rest of his house mates, it still felt remarkable hearing it from her. 

“It helped seeing you in the crowd,” he answered back and reached out to touch the lion’s mane with a bright grin. “And I definitely like the hat,” he added.

A soft pink tint rose to Luna’s cheek at the compliment, and Ron’s first thought was that she was rather cute when she blushed. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” She was still blushing as she looked over at Harry and Hermione, who were standing close by the portrait hole and sharing a laugh. “It’s so nice to finally see them together properly,” she mentioned. “Do you know how it happened?” 

Ron nodded, though she didn’t notice as her attention was still on the couple. “I suggested to Harry that he should ask Hermione to go with him to Slughorn’s party, and I s’pose it went so well they just decided they’re together,” He recounted with a shrug. 

Luna watched Hermione lean up to whisper something in Harry’s ear, and it must have been pleasant judging by the grin on his face, but Luna paused her observation to look back at Ron. “I hope attending together will make it more enjoyable for them. I threw my invitation away.” 

The casual admission nearly had Ron leaping out of his skin. “You- you were invited?” 

Luna nodded before sipping at her butterbeer. “Yes, but I don’t really like professor Slughorn much,” she explained a bit dismissively. “He’s a rather sad person, really.” She shook her head and her soft sigh gave Ron the impression that she was disappointed. 

“Sad?!” Ron couldn’t believe his ears. “But being in the Slug Club-” 

“Doesn’t appeal to me,” Luna cut in softly, even shrugging at Ron’s incredulous expression. “I want my future accomplishments, whatever they may be, to be mine. Why should I welcome his influence over my life going forward?” 

It seemed a bit bonkers to Ron, but certainly more sane than her previous ramblings about wrackspurts. He considered her perspective for a moment before slowly nodding. Maybe she has a point… He looked up from Luna momentarily, just to check on his friends, only to see that Harry and Hermione had seemingly vanished from the room. 

Luna, taking notice that her conversation had gone quiet, followed Ron’s gaze and smiled softly to herself upon seeing the empty space previously occupied by the new couple. “Oh, well, that explains that then,” she said mostly to herself, concluding that Hermione’s whispered words to Harry were likely a suggestion that they excuse themselves from the celebration. 

“Explains what?!” 

The euphoric haze clouding up Hermione’s head as Harry kissed her made it rather challenging to focus on casting silently, but the surprisingly loud click of the lock sliding into place as she flicked her wand at the door was enough confirmation that she still managed it before stumbling back against a desk and grabbing at Harry’s quidditch robes to stay upright. 

Harry just barely pulled back from her to laugh softly against her neck. “Extra plans you neglected to mention?” He asked, gesturing to the locked door. 

Hermione rolled her eyes as she laughed with him and playfully shoved at his chest. “Of course not,” she answered simply. “I said I wanted a break from the stares, what’s the point if we leave the door unlocked?”

Harry shrugged at first, though his eyes grew wide as Hermione sat back on the desk and smirked at him. “Have I mentioned that you’re beautiful today, cause I really think I should,” He mentioned, unable to look away from her slightly tousled shirt, her flushed cheeks, and somehow even wilder hair than usual. Harry wasn’t sure if she looked more adorable or… he was actually nervous about the descriptive word that popped into his head as he tried to commit her current state to memory.

“Not today, but that’s alright,” she insisted before sliding properly onto the desk and yanking him closer. “I don’t need to hear it every day.” 

Harry shook his head and his hands seemed to move of their own volition as he grabbed her waist and leaned into her. “I should remind you hourly,” he argues and lunges, kissing her passionately and shivering as her own roving hands wandered under his robes, grabbing at the back of his shirt. 

Hermione couldn’t stifle an odd mewling noise at the back of her throat as Harry’s hands slid down to her hips, but she didn’t pull away until she found herself in desperate need of air, and Harry didn’t hesitate to lean forward and kiss her forehead softly before she rested her head on his shoulder. “How do you tolerate people staring at you all the time? I thought I’d combust with so many eyes on me back there,” she teased softly. 

Harry simply shrugged. “Years of it I suppose,” he answered and held her a bit tighter. “Sorry it’s uncomfortable for you, ‘Mione.” 

“Oh, you shouldn’t have to apologize for that, Harry,” Hermione assured him as she pressed a soft kiss to his neck and looked up with a warm smile. “McLaggen looked murderous though, worries me a bit.” 

Harry instantly tensed and raised a hand up to rub his neck. “R-Really? I didn’t uh, I didn’t notice,” He mentioned and Hermione narrowed her eyes. 

“Harry,” he instantly shivered at her scolding tone. “Did you do something?” She asked. 

“Of course not,” he answered reflexively, but the intensity of her gaze hammered at his already shattering mental fortitude. “Well… maybe…” He hesitated for another few seconds as her eyes narrowed further before finally relenting and relaying the unpleasant interaction that morning, though he glossed over the last of McLaggen’s taunts. 

Hermione considered the retelling for a few moments before finally smiling and gently tugging him back to her for another soft kiss.

Chapter Text

The rhythmic vibration of Hermione’s purring cat just behind her head was calm and consistent reassurance that Crookshanks’ vigilance was peacefully undisturbed. He’d taken Harry’s earlier request to, “Guard our girl,” very seriously, aiming a vicious swipe at a friend of McLaggen’s who’d wandered too close for comfort, and hissing at a fourth year girl who shot a glare her way as she walked past. While it seemed a bit silly and unnecessary to have a fluffy body guard in Harry’s absence, Hermione couldn’t deny that it was at least effective. 

“Hey Hermione,” Ginny greeted as she plopped down across from her. “Where’s your shadow?” 

Hermione could help chuckling at that as she shook her head. “Harry isn’t my-” 

“Point proven, you knew I meant Harry,” Ginny cut in with a smirk as she lounged comfortably in her seat. “So, where’s the boyfriend?” 

As if summoned by the question, the fat lady’s portrait swung open, and the subject of their discussion yelped in pain just before a walking stick clattered against the stone floor. Peeves’ familiar laughter sounded as Harry glared and drew both his wand and a balled up bit of parchment from his robes. “That’s it! Waddiwasi!” The crumpled ball of parchment shot out of his hand with the force of a bullet, and Peeves seemed to be gagging and wheezing as Harry trudged into the common room while rubbing at his head. 

“Seems you spoke him into existence,” Hermione joked as she waved to Harry. 

Harry huffed, seemingly relieved as he caught sight of Hermione and made his way over, setting a book down on the table between the two girls and dropping onto the couch next to Hermione. “Hi,” he greeted a bit stiffly before turning in his seat to lie down, propping his feet up on the arm of the couch and resting his head on Hermione’s thighs. 

“Am I your designated pillow now?” Hermione asked, clearly teasing, and Harry simply shrugged. 

“As much as I’m yours,” he answered softly before looking up at her with a small frown and a crease between his brows, as though worried he may have done something wrong. “Unless that’s an issue?” 

Hermione shook her head as she smiled down at him. “No issue at all,” she assured him, just as Crookshanks hopped down onto Harry to lie down on his chest. 

Ginny giggled at the sight, but Crookshanks paid her no mind as he busied himself with getting comfy and resuming his rhythmic purrs. “You two are adorable.” 

“Hi Ginny,” Harry finally greeted. “Did I interrupt?” He asked while gesturing back and forth between the two girls. 

“Not at all,” Ginny answered and held a rolled up bit of parchment out to him. “Professor Dumbledore asked me to give you this.” 

Harry quickly accepted the note, opening it without hesitation, though careful not to jostle Crookshanks too much. “Thanks Ginny,” He offered as he began reading. She simply nodded before getting up, likely to find her own boyfriend. “Next lesson is tonight, apparently,” Harry mentioned before stuffing the note into his pocket. 

“Excellent, I actually had a thought about that-” 

“As you often do,” Harry teased, earning an eyeroll from his girlfriend. 

“Anyway, I was thinking that maybe Ron and I should come with you, since you’re already allowed to tell us everything anyway,” She finished softly before flipping to the next page of her book. 

Harry instantly tensed at the suggestion, and seemed to be carefully considering his words before answering. “Are you sure?” He asked a bit tentatively. “Most of what I’ve seen… wasn’t pleasant…” 

“Well I can’t imagine any of it would be particularly pleasant,” She conceded with a dismissive shrug. “But wouldn’t you still tell us all about it later?” 

Before Harry could answer, Ron walked into the common room with a bright smile shining on his face. “Hey, Ron!” Harry called, and Hermione had to resist the urge to laugh as their friend nearly tripped over his feet after being so thoroughly startled. 

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron griped as he shook his head and made his way over. “This better be good.” 

Harry simply looked up at Hermione. “Your idea, not mine,” he mentioned, prompting an impatient groan from her. 

“Oh fine,” she grumbled and shut her book before looking at Ron and broaching the topic of joining Harry in the pensieve. 

For a moment, the only sound was of Crookshanks purring, while Ron stared at Hermione as though she’d grown a second head. When he finally did speak up, Hermione was disappointed by what he had to say. “No, absolutely not,” he insisted with a horrified shudder. “It’s bad enough hearing about it second hand. Watching it? Practically living it?” Another shudder ran through him as he shook his head. “No thanks, that’s a little too much for me.” 

Harry nodded, as if expecting what he heard. “Fair enough, mate. Still want the run-down later?” He asked. 

“Of course,” Ron answered as the color slowly returned to his ghost-white face. “Preferably some time in the morning,” he added before sitting down across from the pair. 

As Ron began pulling out a textbook from his bag, Harry looked back up to Hermione. “So, again, are you sure?” He asked softly. 

Hermione didn’t hesitate to nod as she grabbed his hand. “Absolutely.” 

As Harry offered the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office the password, Hermione gripped his hand even tighter. He’d presented no further argument against her joining him in the pensieve, but did insist that it would ultimately be up to Professor Dumbledore whether or not she would be allowed. 

Hermione had never actually been in the headmaster’s office before, and it turned out to be a rather large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables while whirring and puffing smoke, portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, and behind the door, a phoenix-Harry had mentioned his name was Fawkes-observed them both from an ornate gold perch. 

“Good evening, Harry. And miss Granger, I hadn’t expected to see you as well, but it’s certainly a pleasure,” Professor Dumbledore greeted them both from behind his desk with a bright smile. 

“Thank you, Professor,” She answered softly. “I hope I’m not… umm…” her words failed her as she tried to think of how to explain her presence. 

She felt Harry give her hand a quick and reassuring squeeze as he spoke up on her behalf. “Professor, Hemrione recently considered asking if she could join our lessons, since you’ve already given me permission to discuss them with both her and Ron,” he explained, and Hermione instinctively leaned against him. 

Dumbledore seemed to be thinking about it when a scoff sounded from one of the many portraits. “You see, Albus? Just as I’ve said many times before! You offer the tiniest privilege, set down the most miniscule of boundaries-” 

“That is quite enough, Phineas,” Dumbledore said simply, still as calm as ever, then looked to Hermione. “Miss Granger, if you would please explain why this request occurred to you?” 

Despite Dumbledore’s calm demeanor, the previous headmaster’s criticism clanged through Hermione and she clung to Harry’s hand as she nodded. “Of course sir. I meant no disrespect, but I…” That same difficulty seized her once more, and after a moment she sighed. “Please forgive me, headmaster, but I simply want to support Harry in this however I can, and I assumed that you wouldn’t take issue with it, having already permitted Harry to pass along the information you share with him, to Ron and I as well.” 

To her astonishment, Dumbledore barely waited before nodding, his eyes seeming to twinkle behind the half-moon spectacles. “And I trust you are aware that most of these memories are not particularly pleasant to view, and that in our attempt to piece together the beginnings of Lord Voldemort, we must delve into a great deal of guesswork?” He asked softly.

Hermione quickly nodded. “Yes, sir, of course.” 

“Very well then,” he stated before turning his attention fully to Harry. “I am afraid I must inflict an unknown discomfort on you once again this evening, Harry.” 

Hermione was startled by Harry’s flinch at the softly-worded warning. “Sir, what do you mean?” she found herself asking. 

“Though I have already viewed each of these memories myself, a few of them many times in fact, I do not understand parseltongue, and therefore, must rely upon Harry to translate at times,” Dumbledore explained. “Unfortunately, that leaves me unable to warn him of what he must hear, and therefore repeat.” 

Harry stood deathly still as his grip on Hermione’s hand tightened. “How bad was the last memory you had to translate?” She asked. 

“Hateful and disgusting,” Harry answered bitterly before shaking his head. 

Dumbledore nodded his agreement. “Very much so, but before we are all subjected to that mysterious displeasure,” a solitary flourish of his wand duplicated the chair on the other side of his desk, and he gestured for them to sit down. Hermione was momentarily distracted by the horrifying sight of his blackened hand, it looked so much worse up close, but immediately focused as he began speaking again. “Harry, you will recall of course that we left off on the threshold of Tom Riddle’s years at Hogwarts…” 

Harry nodded along as Dumbledore described the young Riddle’s arrival at Hogwarts, how quiet he was, never revealing any outward arrogance or aggression, despite how talented he was already proving to be, and how naturally he drew both sympathy and favor from all in equal measure. 

Hermione found herself utterly transfixed by the retelling, but Harry politely interrupted with a question. “Didn’t you tell them, sir, what he’d been like when you met him in the orphanage?” 

“No, Harry, I did not,” Dumbledore answered softly. “Though he had shown no hint of remorse for his actions, I chose to give him the chance to turn over a new leaf.” 

While Hermione was eager to hear more, Harry actually smirked, and Dumbledore’s eyes shone ever brighter. “But you didn’t really trust him, sir, did you? The Riddle that came out of the diary told me, ‘Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did.’” 

“Lets just say that I did not take for granted that he was trustworthy,” Dumbledore answered, his voice still just as soft and calm, before continuing on with his story. 

The tale continued with a vivid description of Voldemort’s early death eaters, an apparently motley collection of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious eager for a share of glory, and thugs gravitating toward a leader better versed in pain and cruelty. Just as Hermione began to feel a bit nauseated over how they managed to avoid detection despite many disturbing incidents, he segwayed into something of a detailed sermon in regard to how difficult it was to obtain memories of Riddle at Hogwarts. 

Finally, he looked specifically at Harry again. “Those whom I could persuade to talk, told me that young Riddle was obsessed with his parentage. This is understandable of course; he had grown up in an orphanage and naturally wished to know how he came to be there.” 

Dumbledore continued speaking, recounting what he assumed must have been an extensive search on Tom Riddle’s part for evidence within Hogwarts of his parents, which simply didn’t exist in the case of his father. But while Hermione heard him, her main focus was on Harry. She couldn’t look away from his rigid posture. His knuckles were stark white, and his eyes were the slightest bit misty. 

Of course, Hermione knew that her best friend of several years was an orphan, though he’d never used that word to describe himself. But refraining from wearing the word as a badge didn’t change the truth, and it seemed to hurt him to be reminded of his own struggles. She couldn’t help wondering if Harry had ever done similar, seeking out information about his parents while on his own. 

Hermione quickly reached out to grab his hand in a silent gesture of support and reassurance that he seemed to accept as he laced his fingers through hers. 

“In the summer of his sixteenth year, he left the orphanage to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives.” Harry’s face paled considerably at the name ‘Gaunt,’ but Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice as he stood and gestured for them to follow as he led the way to a massive stone basin. “I was very lucky to collect this,” he said as he poured the pearly white contents of a crystal bottle into the pensieve. “As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?” 

Hermione followed Harry’s lead, bowing over the basin until her face sank into the surface of the memory. She barely held back a scream as she seemed to fall through nothingness before her feet found solid ground, in the form of a dirty stone floor in almost total darkness. 

Once she had her bearings again, she strained her eyes to take in the house they currently stood in, and promptly wished she could forget the nauseating sight. This had to be the filthiest hovel that ever existed. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of heavily crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle resting at the feet of a man whose hair and beard were so overgrown, she had doubts that there was even a face beneath them. 

The man they observed was slumped in an armchair behind the candle, seemingly asleep. Then a loud knock sounded at the door, and the man jerked awake, raising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left. 

The door creaked open. Standing at the threshold, holding an old-fashioned lamp, stood a boy Hermione assumed must have been the teenage Voldemort. He was tall, pale, dark-haired… but the coldness in his every miniscule movement set her shuddering in fear. 

Voldemort’s eyes roved slowly over the hovel before landing on the man in the arm chair. For a few seconds, they simply looked at each other, but then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering across the floor. 

“YOU!” He bellowed, and Hermione clutched at Harry’s arm reflexively. It was startling, to say the least, watching the furious man hurtle at Riddle with his wand and knife held aloft. 

But Riddle didn’t look fearful as he hissed at the man, who stumbled back and skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. “Stop,” Harry said softly, and Hermione caught Dumbledore’s quick nod. 

A long silence stretched between the young boy and bearded man as they regarded each other. As the bearded man began to hiss back, Harry was quick to translate. “You speak it?” 

A heartbeat later, Harry relayed Riddle’s confirmation before the teenage Voldemort moved forward in the room and allowed the door to swing shut behind him.

Suddenly the hissing came in rapid-fire bursts and Harry was actually struggling to keep up, resorting to pointing to who said what as he relayed the quick interrogation. Voldemort wanted to know where Marvolo was, which was apparently dead, for years. Next he asked who the man he was speaking with was-Morfin-and if he was Marvolo’s son. 

“‘Course I am,” Harry translated for the bearded man, Morfin, who pushed the hair off his astoundingly filthy face, the better to see the young Voldemort, revealing a very large black-stoned ring on his right hand. “I thought you were that muggle,” Harry spoke up over the hissing. “You look mighty like that muggle.” 

Hermione couldn’t discern tone from the unnerving hissing, but Harry clearly could, as he actually winced before ‘asking,’ “What muggle.” 

Morfin was a bit slower to answer, likely thanks to a combination of alcohol and exhaustion. Harry’s arm tensed under her grip as Morfin began hissing again. “That muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that muggle what lives… lives in the b-big house over the way.” Harry’s face twisted in horror as he seemed to realize something while Morfin suddenly spat at the floor between himself and the stranger he spoke with. “You look right like him. Riddle.” Harry hung his head once Morfin’s drunken ramblings came to a brief end, but jolted upright again in wide-eyed distress at the next short hiss.

Hermione noticed Dumbledore place a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry reluctantly relayed Morfin’s admission that Riddle had come back, and Voldemort’s probing request for clarification. Harry flinched at Morfin’s next hiss, even as he continued translating. “He left her, and se-serve her right…” he shook his head before carrying on, and Hermione suspected his translation was intentionally incomplete. “Robbed us, mind, before she ran off. Where’s the locket? Where’s Slytherin’s locket?” 

And Harry, rather suddenly, stepped backward with a look of horrified revulsion before turning his eyes to the floor. Hermione could feel him trembling as she grabbed at his hand and gripped his arm a bit firmer. Morfin worked himself into a rage, hissing, spitting, brandishing his knife again, but Harry repeated nothing as he gripped her hand so tightly he was starting to cut off circulation.

An unnatural darkness began to fall, and Hermione was suddenly soaring upward, back into the present. “What happened?” She asked as she looked at Dumbledore. “Why did it go dark?” 

“Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward,” Dumbledore answered and gestured for the two of them to join him at his desk again. 

Harry reluctantly released Hermione’s hand and sat back down as Dumbledore explained the significance of what they’d seen. But Harry already understood the significance. It was perfectly in line with Voldemort’s early methods. Morfin was an even better fall-man for the murder of three rich muggles than Hagrid had been for the Chamber of Secrets. 

And Harry knew it was coming the moment Morfin had admitted that Riddle had come back. Upon learning that Riddle was alive and well in ‘the big house over the way’ Voldemort wouldn’t have hesitated to knock out his uncle, snatch his wand, and seek out vengeance. Vengeance against the muggle father who’d abandoned his witch mother, and his unfortunate grandparents for good measure, burying the truth of his heritage, and leaving his disappointment of an uncle to pay for his crime. 

The conversation had shifted. Hermione was criticizing the flawed functionality of ‘The Trace’ and how it failed to identify the true murderer. Her critique was met with a sad nod from Dumbledore. 

“I agree, miss Granger. Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for murders he had not committed. But, it is getting late, and I would like you both to see this other memory before we part…” 

Harry slowly stood again and let Hermione take hold of his hand once more. The second memory that Dumbledore poured into the pensieve seemed oddly…congealed? Harry briefly wondered if it were possible for memories to go bad, but he tabled the thought as they delved back into the pensieve and landed in the middle of one of Slughorn’s little dinner parties. It was odd seeing him so much younger, significantly lighter, and sporting a full head of hair, but he was undeniably the same man, munching on crystalized pineapple and doling out praise like candy. 

Harry also immediately recognized the young Voldemort, who was wearing Marvolo’s pilfered ring. He’d already murdered his father. 

But something strange happened out of nowhere. A white fog suddenly flooded the room, and Slughorn’s voice rang out unnaturally loudly through the mist. “You’ll go wrong boy, mark my words!” As suddenly as it manifested, the mist cleared away, and no one within the memory gave any indication that they had noticed it. 

While Harry was attempting to make sense of what had happened, all the students made their way to the door to leave. All but Voldemort, who seemed to have dawdled on purpose, aiming to be alone with Slughorn as he posed a question. “Sir, I wondered what you know about… about horcruxes?” 

The dense fog returned, filling the room so thoroughly, Harry could see nothing other than Dumbledore and Hermione. At least she seemed to be as confused as he was. Dumbledore simply smiled serenely as Slughorn’s voice thundered around them again. 

“I don’t know anything about Horcruxes, and if I did I wouldn’t tell you! Now get out of here at once, and don’t let me catch you mentioning them again!” 

They’d barely re-emerged into the headmaster’s office when Hermione suddenly spoke up. “Sir, I think that memory has been tampered with.” 

Dumbledore seemed to beam delightedly at her observation. “It certainly has been, miss Granger. Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections.” 

“But why would he do that sir?” Harry asked. 

“I suspect he’s ashamed of it,” Dumbledore answered rather simply. “His alterations were intended to cast himself in a better light while simultaneously obliterating those parts he wishes to conceal from me.” He turned his attention fully to Harry then. “For the first time, I am giving you homework, Harry. I am trusting you to persuade professor Slughorn to divulge the intact memory.” 

Harry was still trembling as they entered the common room, and Hermione squeezed his hand a bit tighter once the portrait shut behind them. “You left things out of that translation, didn’t you?” She asked softly. 

He reluctantly turned to face her and slowly nodded. “Yes.” 

“And you’re not going to tell me what you heard.” 

“No.” 

Hermione sighed and stepped closer to him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You don’t have to protect me. Least of all from words.” 

Harry was hesitant, but he accepted the soft press of her lips against his cheek before wrapping her up in his arms with a soft sigh. “I know I don’t have to. I want to,” he told her simply as he held her tightly against him. 

They stood that way for several minutes, before she stepped back and started tugging him toward the couch they’d occupied earlier in the afternoon. “Then at least let me protect you too,” she requested softly. Harry didn’t fight against her guidance, lying down across the cushions with her while she transfigured her robe into a blanket and threw it over them both. He’d just barely shut his eyes when she whispered in his ear, “You know you aren’t alone, don’t you?” 

The question seemed to hang in the air between them, but as she laid her head down on his arm, he slowly nodded. “I believe that.”

Chapter Text

“For the first time, I am giving you homework, Harry. I am trusting you to persuade professor Slughorn to divulge the intact memory.” 

“Why couldn’t you have given me that assignment after the damn Christmas party,” Harry muttered irritably to himself as he descended the staircase from his dormitory to the common room. 

Harry didn’t care much about the party itself, nor the majority of people who’d be attending, but it was still supposed to be his and Hermione’s first date, and he’d hoped at the very least that he’d have a shot at a better first date than the disaster he’d somehow survived last year with Cho. He actually shuddered at the memory of Madam Puddifoot’s on the way to one of the armchairs by the fire to wait for Hermione. Hopefully a stuffy party with a bunch of future ministry cogs and past Slug Club members won't be quite as awful.

The common room was actually rather empty, as most of his housemates had likely already made their way down to the great hall for dinner, and he was actually somewhat relieved to be mostly alone, though he did notice that Dean was hanging back too, leaning against a wall and undoubtedly waiting for Ginny. The wait wasn’t long, as both girls came down the staircase together. Harry jolted upright and out of his chair as he caught sight of Hermione. 

Self-consciousness hung heavy over Hermione as Ginny tugged her down the stairs by her wrist. Her dress-borrowed from Ginny-hugged her chest a bit tightly while the skirt swished around her knees. The light pink of the soft material resembled her own skin, and though the notion seemed nonsensical, Hermione couldn’t help the feeling that she might as well have been naked. Her arms, usually hidden under long sleeves, were on full display, and the neck line may not have been excessively deep, but there was no hiding the obvious ‘v’ drawing attention to her chest, attention she’d been actively trying to discourage for months from one person in particular. 

Her nerves flared all the more prominently as Ginny finally released her wrist and playfully shoved her toward Harry. Thank Merlin for her boyfriend’s quick reflexes, Harry easily caught her before she could tumble to the floor, what with her balance somewhat compromised by the black heels she wore. As she shyly looked up to meet Harry’s eyes and thank him, all that self-conscious panic evaporated. 

If Hermione had to settle on a single word to describe the way Harry viewed her, she’d have to call it reverence. Time seemed to pause on a single heartbeat as her face warmed under his adoring gaze, and she was sure she heard his breath stutter before the world started turning again. “You look beautiful,” was all he said as he smiled. 

Before Hermione could say anything back, Ginny cut in with a smug smirk. “Never doubt me again, Hermione,” she taunted before prancing along toward Dean and yanking him out of the common room with her. 

Hermione muttered under her breath as she shook her head before looking back at Harry with a soft smile. “You look really great too, Harry. Ready to go?” 

He seemed to hesitate to answer, and grinned before leaning down to briefly kiss her. “Let’s go,” he said simply and grabbed her hand as they walked toward the portrait hole together. 

Slughorn’s office, already a tad larger than other teachers’ studies, had been magically enlarged to accommodate his sprawling guest list, but that was certainly not the only change since the last time the pair of students had last entered it. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, and Harry wouldn’t have judged anyone for mistaking the room for a massive tent as it certainly looked the part. Adding to the stuffy atmosphere was an ornate golden lamp, dangling from the ceiling, and within which were a gaggle of actual fairies, each of them a brilliant source of light on their own. Music was playing from a distant corner, a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they carried above their heads. They looked more like roving tables to Harry’s view, but one glimpse of Hermione’s disapproval had him gripping her hand a bit tighter. 

He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “I promise we’ll go somewhere better for our next date.” Apparently, it was the right thing to say, as she squeezed his hand before turning to smile at him. 

“Three Brooksticks?” She asked softly. 

“Butterbeers, on me,” Harry agreed simply and lifted their hands up to quickly kiss hers as she laughed. 

“Wonderful, can’t wait,” she insisted and leaned up to kiss his cheek seconds before Slughorn finally spotted them both. 

“Harry m’boy!” Their potions professor boomed and all but shoved through the crowd on his way. “And Miss Granger! Come in, come in!” He insisted and quickly grabbed Harry’s free arm. “So many people I’d like you to meet, Harry, come along,” He insisted with a joyful laugh. 

Although Harry desperately wanted to yank his arm out of Slughorn’s vice grip, he resisted the urge and simply held onto Hermione’s hand all the tighter, dragging her along as he was led purposefully into the party. 

As they finally came to a stop, Hermione reached out with her free hand to grip Harry’s arm, much as she usually did when she was fearful, but more for the sake of stability on account of her heels. 

“Harry, I’d like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, and rather talented author, His best known work of course is, Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires,” Slughorn introduced while gesturing to a short, stout, bespeckled man, whose eyes lit up excitedly as he grabbed and shook Harry’s free hand enthusiastically. “Oh, and his good friend Sanguini of course,” Slughorn added, and Harry took note of Worple’s ‘good friend,’ who was clearly the vampire rumored to be attending the party. Sanguini towered over Worple and his pallid skin made the dark circles under his eyes all the more prominent. He appeared rather bored. Harry couldn’t blame him. 

“Harry Potter, it's a true delight to meet you!” Worple insisted as he peered up at Harry. “Professor Slughorn and I were just discussing, couldn’t have been more than ten minutes ago, what a travesty it is that your biography hasn’t been written yet!” 

The idea did not appeal to Harry in the slightest, but Worple seemed determined to write the hypothetical book himself, even adopting a more business-like attitude, leaving Harry no room to interject. Though someone else even more unpleasant had no trouble whatsoever interrupting the conversation. “Oh, Worple darling, if anyone is writing young Harry Potter’s biography, it should really be me.” Harry’s skin crawled at the sound of Rita Skeeter’s voice and he couldn’t restrain an irritable groan. Why of all people did Slughorn have to invite HER? “After all, I’ve the most experience interviewing him, and apparently,” she looked pointedly at Harry and Hermione’s clasped hands, “I also seem to have something of a prophetic sense where he’s concerned,” she added smugly, reminding Harry of the articles she wrote about him and Hermione two years ago. 

Slughorn didn’t seem to catch on to the tension between Skeeter and his two students. “Oh, Skeeter, dear, are you familiar with Miss Granger?” He asked, and Harry was sure Hermione cut off the circulation in his arm with how tightly she gripped him. 

“We’re acquainted,” Hermione answered for the reporter. 

Rita momentarily sneered Hermione’s way before looking back to Slughorn with a sugary smile. “Indeed we are, I may very well have sped these two along in their romantic endeavors,” she said, and Harry’s face heated as he glared her way. 

“Or maybe you delayed the inevitable by bugging us so much,” Hermione suddenly threw in, and Harry’s rapidly building rage melted away as he laughed at the way Skeeter instantly wilted, even backing away a few steps before waving off the comment with an unconvincing laugh of her own. Though it seemed as though she was still eager to undermine Worple, as she quickly pointed out that his vampire friend had wandered off toward a cluster of girls with a rather hungry expression, before finally making an escape of her own. Harry was about to compliment Hermione’s quick thinking when she leaned up to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to get something to drink, I’ll catch up,” and squeezing his hand once more before wandering off into the crowd. He was tempted to try and follow her, but before he could, Slughorn had grasped his arm again and waved over another person for him to meet. 

Hermione could see exactly where Harry was as she grabbed up two goblets of mead, expecting he’d likely want one himself, but she hadn’t noticed someone she was hoping to avoid, suddenly stepping into her private space until he’d snatched the extra goblet out of her hand. “Excuse-” She stopped short as she turned to face McLaggen and instinctively stepped back from him. 

“Done playing hard to get, yet?” He taunted before sipping at the pilfered drink. 

Hermione’s jaw dropped at the accusation. “I’ve done no such thing, why won’t you just leave me alone?” She asked. 

McLaggen just rolled his eyes and stepped closer to her. “You know you don’t need to play games with me,” He insisted, completely ignoring her argument. 

She shook her head at that and took another determined step back. “I’m not interested in explaining myself to someone who doesn’t listen,” She tried again, but he started reaching out to grab her. Purely on instinct, Hermione threw her drink at him, and actually smiled at the sight of him dripping wet and utterly fuming… until he suddenly threw his own goblet down on the stone floor. The awful clang rang through the room, followed closely by his wrathful shout. “You little bitch!” 

Slughorn seemed incapable of noticing Harry’s obvious discomfort in being separated from Hermione, and in being spoken to by yet another person who seemed eager to discuss his fame and the impact he supposedly had on the wizarding world at large simply for existing. Harry had only just freed himself from Slughorn’s grip when he heard a loud clattering sound that seemed to echo through the room, and he instinctively shoved through the crowd to see where the noise came from. “You little bitch!” quickly followed the sudden noise, and Harry finally saw McLaggen standing maybe three feet from Hermione, glaring down at her as she visibly trembled. 

Harry didn’t stop to think, he moved on instinct, disregarding everything other than the fear flashing in Hermione’s eyes as McLaggen stepped closer to her. She was terrified, frozen in place. The rest of the world came to a screeching halt as Harry ran, just barely reaching them in time for McLaggen’s fist to collide with Harry’s jaw instead of Hermione’s nose. 

Hermione watched in horror as the impact against his jaw knocked Harry to the floor, and she instantly drew her wand. Several small yellow birds sprang from the end of her wand as she waved it over her head before pointing at McLaggen and crying, “Oppugno!” 

As the conjured flock of birds began to attack McLaggen, she dropped down to her knees next to Harry. She barely heard Harry’s attempts at assuring her that he was fine over McLaggen’s pained shrieking. The birds pecked and scratched at his face and arms; at every bit of flesh they could reach as he tried and failed to swat them away. “Gerroffme!” He yelled repeatedly, only for the feathered assault to come to a sudden end as Slughorn came forward. 

“What happened?!” 

The chaos seemed to settle rather quickly once McLaggen was dragged out by Filch, having received a lifetime ban from the Slug Club, with a month’s worth of detentions awaiting him once the holidays came to an end. But Hermione still seemed a bit fidgety and kept insisting that Harry should go to the hospital wing. Harry had lost track of how many times in twenty minutes he’d insisted that he was fine, but regardless, she still dragged him out of Slughorn’s office. “Hermione, really, I’m fine, I don’t need the-” 

Harry was instantly silenced as she practically leapt at him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him hard. While he may have been slow on the uptake about why she actually wanted to leave the party, he didn’t hesitate to wrap her up in his arms and kiss her back. He held her tight against him, basking in her affection, and Hermione slid her hands up to his face, caressing softly before slowly, reluctantly pulling back. “Why did you do that?” She asked him, and his brain seemed to short circuit, as he couldn’t figure out what she meant. “When you volunteered to be a human shield, I didn’t think you meant it literally!” 

Harry’s face flushed as she gently ran her fingers against his jaw. He’d undoubtedly have a bruise tomorrow. “I umm… I wasn’t thinking?” Harry suggested before wincing at Hermione’s frustrated groan. 

“Merlin help me, I’m in love with an idiot!” Hermione instantly clapped a hand over her mouth as she realized what she said. 

Harry froze momentarily before grinning at her. “Yeah, and I’m in love with a bossy know-it-all. We’ve all got our little problems.” 

The sparkle in her eyes as her hand dropped away from her mouth lit Harry up from the inside out and he raised his hand to cup her cheek and draw her into another passionate kiss.

Chapter Text

Weighed down by his exhausted limbs and possible food coma, Ron trudged up the staircase to his dormitory. He expected to see Harry after he caught sight of Dean, but his best friend didn’t seem to be in the room. “Party still going?” He asked around a yawn as he walked up to his bed to start changing. 

“Nah, I got back a few minutes ago,” Dean answered simply while changing into his pajamas. “Why?” 

Ron shrugged. “Just wondering where Harry is,” He admitted, pulling off his robes and yawning yet again. 

“Oh, he and Hermione left before we did,” Dean mentioned with a smirk before climbing into his own bed. The tight grip of drowsiness fogging up Ron’s brain couldn’t withstand the sight of Harry’s bed, the curtains left open to show off the distinct lack of his presence. “Shouldn't you see to that, y'know, since you're a prefect?” 

Dean's taunt had Ron's ears turning red and he glared at his sister's boyfriend. Okay, maybe I deserved that… “Not a chance in hell. I'll let them get caught by someone else,” he declared with a determined head shake. 

If Hermione weren’t almost completely lost to her own euphoria, she’d marvel at how quick a study Harry could actually be when he cared about the subject. The current subject in question? How to drive her up the wall with pleasure. 

There’d been no hesitation, barely even a flicker of nerves from him as they tumbled into the summoned Room of Requirement and fell back on the summoned bed. He simply asked once if she was sure, and the moment she nodded, he pulled her up on his lap and resumed their feverish kiss. 

Her breathy pleading to be touched was met with a simple request, “Show me how.” Hermione eagerly grabbed his hand and gave him all the guidance and direction he needed, started with her own fingers over his to show him exactly how much pressure she liked against her clit, her own well practiced patterns she’d come to rely on when she was in desperate need of relief, and it took almost no time for him to gather enough confidence to keep going without direct guidance. 

Now, sweating and writhing against the bed as he held her in place with the brightest grin she’d ever seen on his face, Hermione wasn’t sure if she was more ecstatic that he caught on to what she liked so quick, or irritated that he was taking his time escalating. It wasn’t fair! “Harry!” She gasped between raspy moans. “Harry, quit teasing already!” She pleaded and tried to wiggle away. “It's torture!” 

Harry's grin didn't waver at the word and he kept his free hand against her abdomen, keeping her pinned. “Is that so? Doesn't look like you're in pain,” he taunted simply and curled his fingers, just like she'd demonstrated minutes ago, successfully wringing another pleasurable cry from her as she twisted to try and bury her face in one of the pillows. “Doesn't sound like it either,” he added as his grin grew ever more smug.

Hermione looked up from the pillow with a vengeful glare. Let's see how you like it then, she decided and grabbed at his tie, yanking him down for a needy kiss and quickly reaching while he was distracted, her hand sliding into his trousers before gripping him firmly in her hand. 

Harry pulled back with a strangled groan the moment he felt her grab him. “Not fair!” He insisted, but she ignored him and started slowly stroking before yanking him back and whispering in his ear. 

“Why is that? Doesn't seem like you're in pain,” she taunted back and sped up her pace ever so slightly. The hitch in his breath was the sound of victory and she easily shoved him on his back. 

It didn't take too much effort to get his dick free from his pants and before she could second guess how sure she was about it, she took him in her mouth and swirled her tongue. Harry's instant hiss was all the confirmation he enjoyed and she did it again before taking him deeper. 

It was oddly empowering, hearing him gasp and groan, feeling his hands gripping her hair as he trembled and seemed to fight off an instinct to try and force himself deeper down her throat. 

It didn't take long before he finally burst down her throat, and she managed to swallow before sitting back on her knees with a triumphant smirk, looking down at him as he struggled to breathe. 

“Awww, did I break you?” She teased, and the next moment she was pinned to the bed again and laughing as he hovered above her. 

He shook his head and reached for his wand, pointing at her before a small white light shot from his wand and into her. She felt the slightest tingling fluttering through her for a moment before he tossed his wand aside and lunged to kiss her again. 

Hermione quickly wrapped her arms around his neck as he gripped her hips, lifting her just enough to line himself up and ease into her. Her moan was instantly swallowed up in the needy kiss and she hooked her legs around his waist as he slowly, steadily pushed deeper. 

Hermione could've cried once he was fully buried between her legs, and nearly shouted her indignation as he started to pull back, only to moan as he all but slammed forward again. 

Neither of them could manage any words between the panting breaths, the repeated slap of skin against skin, and it didn't matter. The pleasure was indescribable, and Harry, once he was sure he was about to burst, was quick to move his fingers back to Hermione's clit, pulling her over the edge of her bliss before he followed seconds later. 

Hermione clung tight to Harry as she gasped for breath and trembled under him. She finally looked down, suddenly realizing that they hadn't even stopped long enough to fully undress, and started laughing. Harry was confused at first, before she gestured to their clothes, and the sight of their rumpled clothing had him chuckling with her. 

“That was so much better than I imagined,” he mentioned out of nowhere, and Hermione grinned up at him before rolling them over once more and reaching up to actually slide the top of her dress down off her shoulders. 

“Agreed, and I hope you're alright with going again,” she teased softly, her grin brightening at the sight of Harry's wide eyes. 

“I think you were right, I may need the hospital wing after all,” he said, his eyes shining as she tilted her head in confusion. “I must've died. How else did I wind up in heaven?” 

Hermione's laugh was music to his ears. 

As the sun rose on the following morning, both Harry and Hermione’s beds still lay empty, and Hermione in particular, had the poor fortune of sharing a dormitory with two of the biggest gossips in their entire school. Even before she and Harry stumbled back into Gryffindor tower, Lavender and Parvati whispered between themselves about the couple’s absence, only to have their suspicions confirmed just based on their appearances as they finally showed themselves again. 

The couple were not only still wearing their previous night’s attire, but they were also exceptionally rumpled, and the dark circles under their eyes made it clear that they hadn’t gotten much sleep. Yet they were laughing and grinning as they arrived in the common room, as though they hadn’t a care in the world. No one could possibly be that happy losing out on sleep… unless they’d dedicated their time to much more enjoyable activities. 

Christmas had come early for the pair of gossips!

Chapter Text

Despite her discomfort with being stared at so much during the recent victory party, Hermione barely noticed any of the whispers or glances her way until she carted her school trunk onto the Hogwarts Express. Her distinct lack of sleep made it too difficult to focus on much of anything other than the pleasant ache from the night before, which seemed to grow ever more noticeable to her every time she locked eyes with Harry, who couldn’t seem to stop grinning all through breakfast that morning. He also seemed to take issue with any moment spent not touching her in some way, whether pressing a kiss to her forehead, keeping his arm around her as they sat down or gripping her hand tight in his while they walked. Hermione didn’t mind, on the contrary, she happily basked in the affection. 

But, once Hermione stowed her trunk beside Harry’s in the compartment he picked out, and left his side to make her obligatory rounds down the train, she finally started to notice the intimidating stares of nearly everyone she encountered. Hermione did expect that leaving her bed empty while she snuck off with Harry would probably set off wagging tongues, but logical expectation wasn’t the same as facing it head on, and it was a struggle to ignore the whispers, to pretend she didn’t know why she was getting a wide range of looks from her classmates. She wasn’t sure what was more uncomfortable, the judgmental, disgusted scowls, the envious sneers, or the odd approving grins. 

Harry was faring much better to begin with, as he’d been left alone with Ron, who merely shot him an amused smirk before shaking his head and staring out the window. “Something on your mind?” He asked, lounging back in the cushioned seat, his own joyous grin impervious against judgment of any kind. 

Ron chuckled as he shrugged. “Guess I’m wondering how often I’m gonna have to turn a blind eye to you two wandering off,” he answered simply. 

Harry couldn’t resist laughing at that. “I s’pose that means everyone else noticed I didn’t sleep in our dormitory last night?” 

“Hermione shares a room with Lavender and Parvati, you two are screwed,” Ron answered simply, prompting even more laughter from both of them. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Ginny was already hunting Hermione down to interrogate her.” 

Ron turned out to be correct, as Ginny quickly grabbed Hermione by her wrist and yanked her into an empty compartment. “Ginny!” Hermione squeaked as Ginny shut the door behind them and drew the curtains shut. “Ginny, what was that about?!” She asked. 

“What do you think it’s about?! Lavender practically jumped me the moment I came downstairs, asking me if I knew anything about you and Harry stumbling into the common room this morning!” Ginny answered before stepping closer to Hermione. 

Hermione instantly winced and collapsed on the seat. “Oh, oh, that’s bad, I didn’t even…” She groaned and shook her head. “I was just so tired this morning, I completely forgot-” 

“Forgot what? To maybe use a couple spells to clean yourselves up? Possibly stop off in the prefect’s bathroom for a shower? At the very least use the damn cloak? Was it really that good?” Ginny rattled off, her grin only growing more smug with every question.

Hermione’s face burned mercilessly as she turned her gaze down to the floor, though she couldn’t smother her gleeful smile. “Good would be an extreme understatement actually…” She admitted as she started laughing. 

Maybe it was the admission itself, or the fact that Ginny didn’t have to yank teeth to get it, but her jaw actually dropped in response before she suddenly squealed, actually squealed, and dropped down onto the seat across from Hermione. “So you really did… I honestly wasn’t sure if Lavender was just being a bit overdramatic… wow!” 

The pair of girls dissolved into giggles at first, and Hermione found it far too easy and enjoyable to actually discuss the previous night with Ginny. It felt good to talk about it with a trusted friend, and Ginny was quick to promise she wouldn’t repeat a word, and even shared the gossip she’d already heard, which Hermione had previously been deaf to. By the end of their chat Hermione actually felt far more confident about facing her classmates again, this time with her head held high.

She was so untroubled by the stares and whispers on her way back to her own compartment, she didn’t even notice she was about to run into someone until she’d accidentally collided with him. “Oh, sorry-” she started, and tried to step back, but a familiar pair of hands grabbed her arms, this time with a furious vice grip. 

“Sorry? For what? Running into me, or for the birds you let loose on my face?!” McLaggen’s tone was venomous as he tightened his grip, wringing a pained cry from Hermione. 

She tried to tug free as panic started to set in, but her struggles only hurt her worse, and she couldn’t reach her wand. “You’re hurting me!” She cried. 

“Good!” 

Hermione’s vision was starting to blur from the tears welling in her eyes, but as she started begging again for him to let go of her, he released her wrists, and a burst of white light momentarily blinded her before she was greeted with McLaggen’s upside down face as she dangled by his ankle in front of her. 

“Mione,” Harry called, and she immediately turned to face him as he kept his wand trained on McLaggen’s dangling form. “Get in the compartment,” he demanded with that same vengeful tick in his jaw the first time he stepped between her and McLaggen. Hermione didn’t argue, she simply grabbed his arm, leaning in to kiss his cheek before retreating into the compartment. 

The dangling wizard glared at Harry. “Y’know, I figured Hermione’s spellwork would’ve been enough to finally get through your thick head,” Harry taunted, though there was no hint of amusement in his face as he glared at McLaggen. “But, since you’re still determined to pick fights with us-”

“She ran into me!” 

Harry raised an eyebrow at that and switched his wand over to his other hand before balling up his fist and breaking the other wizard’s nose. “That’s your last warning. Next time you touch my girlfriend, it’ll be the last time you’ve got hands, that clear?” He asked simply while McLaggen’s hands flew to his bleeding nose. 

“I’m not scared of you!” He protested, and Harry shrugged dismissively as Ron stepped up with a smirk. 

“You really should be,” Ron told him simply. “How many other wizards have walked away from five attacks from You-Know-Who?” He asked before waving his wand so that McLaggen would bob along behind him, though he was flipped right side up. “I’ll be taking him to the prefect’s cabin,” he told Harry before walking off with McLaggen dangling along behind him. 

Harry watched on for a moment before sighing and walking into the compartment, immediately sitting down beside Hermione and pulling her into his arms as she wiped away the moisture around her eyes. “He just came out of nowhere-” 

“I know, Mi, it’s okay,” Harry insisted as he held her in his arms and kissed her forehead. 

But Hermione didn't think it was okay. “I should’ve had my wand in my hand, should have stepped on his foot-” 

She didn't expect Harry to suddenly kiss her, but she couldn’t fight off her instinct to kiss him back if she wanted. Her sense of shame rapidly dissipated as she wrapped her own arms around him, as did her sense of her surroundings beyond his embrace and the seat beneath them. She basked in the warmth blossoming in her chest as she slid onto his lap and moaned softly against his lips. 

Harry didn’t hesitate to wrap one arm around her waist as he reached up to cradle her face with his other hand. Like his girlfriend, Harry couldn’t bring himself to give a damn about anything beyond the two of them. Surely the gorgeous witch in his arms was all that mattered in the world. Nothing existed beyond their loving embrace and her passionate kisses that sent lightning down his spine and set off fireworks in his head. 

“My eyes!” Came a shout from the doorway and Hermione squeaked as she leaped off Harry’s lap and back onto the seat proper. Ron shook his head at them as he stepped in and settled down across from them. “Can’t keep your hands off each other for five minutes? Really?” He taunted, though both his friends could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. 

Harry shrugged while Hermione slowly relaxed her posture and smiled once more. “Oh, I almost forgot!” She piped up and turned to Harry. “You said you had a plan to try and get closer to Professor Slughorn?” 

“What? Why does he need a plan? Harry’s his potions prodigy, it shouldn’t be any issue just asking. I doubt Sluggy would refuse Harry anything,” Ron insisted.

It took a great deal of effort for Hermione to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Ron, if he wouldn’t even give the true memory to Dumbledore, then clearly this is the kind of task that’ll take a delicate hand.” 

Her argument was met with a dismissive shrug from Ron, but Harry took her hand to hopefully keep her calm before he spoke up. “I did have an idea. Slughorn’s weak to bribery, after all, it clearly worked for Riddle, so… why not try it again?” He asked. 

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait a minute… you’re thinking of sending him a gift to butter him up before approaching him?” She asked, just to confirm. 

“Well, yeah,” Harry answered. “Obviously, Riddle also had years to get close to him, but he still gifted him his favorite snack before approaching him, and it must’ve worked, otherwise Slughorn wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to forge a fake replacement memory,” he recounted simply. 

Hermione actually smiled at his logic, but Ron wasn’t too pleased. “I don't like it. That’s the kind of thing those slimy snakes would do.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes on Ron. “Yeah. And Slughorn is a Slytherin. A Slytherin that’s already been proven easy to manipulate. And he won’t be expecting it from anyone outside his own house.” 

“I assume you plan on sending him the same thing, crystalized pineapple?” Hermione interrupted to ask, and Harry nodded his confirmation. “Make sure you get a variety pack of crystalized fruit, pineapple included. If there are multiple options, he’ll be less likely to catch on to your true motives,” she advised. 

Ron’s jaw physically dropped at the advice, but Harry, once he could stop blinking in shock, grinned and leaned in to kiss her. “Brilliant. You’re absolutely brilliant!” He declared. 

Hermione’s face took on that adorably pink blush at his praise, and she cleared her throat before adding, “You could also use what happened at the party as further reason for sending him a gift. An apology for mine and your parts in the fight with McLaggen during the Christmas party.” 

“You know you’re scary sometimes. Brilliant, but scary.” Ron’s sentiment was met with laughter from his two best friends. 

Harry caught sight of Sirius and Remus the moment he stepped off the train, hand-in-hand with Hermione, and eagerly tugged her along toward his godfather and favorite professor while Ron rushed to his family with Ginny in tow. 

“Hey pup!” Sirius greeted and pulled Harry into a tight hug. “I missed you!” He insisted while Harry laughed and embraced him in return, eagerly assuring his godfather that he’d missed him too. As Sirius let Harry out of his arms though, he caught sight of a bit of purplish discoloration along his jaw and gently grabbed Harry’s chin. “Turn your head a bit,” he requested, and Harry groaned before reluctantly turned his head to the side to show his godfather the fresh bruise along his jaw. “What the hell, Harry! Who hit you?” 

“Cormac McLaggen,” Hermione answered for Harry, and he glared her way. “During Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party, Harry kind of threw himself into the line of fire,” she added before sticking her tongue out at Harry. 

Remus smirked at Harry's irritable demeanor and Hermione’s obvious teasing, but Sirius hadn’t caught it yet, he was still too focused on the fact that Harry was bruised. “Why would you do that?” Sirius asked. 

Harry sighed and turned back to meet Sirius’ eyes. “He was aiming for Hermione. I couldn’t have that,” He answered simply, though his tone was firm.

Sirius’ jaw nearly dropped as he looked between the two teens, before slowly nodding. “Well, good on you for protecting your witch. But next time I’d prefer you grab your wand,” he mentioned firmly, only to be met with a giggle from Hermione of all people, while Harry smirked and looked to the ground. He was tempted to ask what that was about, but decided that it could wait until later and simply pulled Harry into another hug. 

Meanwhile, Remus smiled at Hermione. “Are you sure your parents won’t take issue with you splitting Christmas between them and us?” He asked softly, and Hermione immediately nodded. 

“Already confirmed,” she answered with a bright smile of her own. “If you can pick me up before we all go over to the Weasleys for lunch, then it’s just fine.” She turned to Harry once he was free of his Godfather’s arms again. “I’ll see you in a week, Harry,” she mentioned, and with her face nearly burning all over again, pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then rushed off before she could consider skipping her time with her parents to go home with her boyfriend instead. 

“I knew it!” She heard Sirius shout just before she ran through the barrier and into her parents’ arms.

Chapter Text

The days following the train ride back from Hogwarts passed quickly in a blur of feverish decorating for the holiday, headed by Sirius' insistence upon transforming their dismal dwelling into a glittering winter wonderland. Harry suspected that Kreacher's unpleasant return to Grimmauld may have intensified Sirius' eagerness to block out anything and everything he found less than the highest form of jolly celebration. By the end of the week, Harry was just as frustrated with Kreacher's presence as Sirius, and the irritable house elf kept his distance from them both, additionally avoiding Remus like a plague whenever the werewolf was present.

But upon waking Christmas morning, Harry couldn't possibly care less what the day may hold for him, because at the very least, he had Hermione to look forward to. That thought alone was enough to launch him straight out of bed. Harry hardly even glanced at the bulging stocking hanging off his bed, his focus purely on the impending arrival of his girlfriend.

"Harry?" Sirius called from the other side of his bedroom door as he knocked. The teenage wizard had only just finished changing his clothes, and answered back with an invitation to come in. "Hey pup," Sirius greeted softly as he stepped in with his hand behind his back before subtly rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," Harry answered back, tilting his head in curiosity of Sirius's odd behavior. "Good morning," he added, as Sirius hesitated to speak up again.

"Of course, Morning," Sirius finally answered and shut his eyes as he took a deep calming breath. "Harry, I have an extra gift for you… but… oh, the hell with it, I found this while you were at school," he admits and slowly stretches his arm out, holding out a thick envelope.

Harry raised an eyebrow, curious and confused over Sirius's apprehension, but he accepts the offered envelope, opening it and nearly dropping the previously folded parchment the moment he realized what he was now holding in his now nerveless fingers.

Dear Padfoot,

Thank you, thank you, for Harry's birthday present, it was his favorite by far! One year old and already zooming along on his toy broomstick, he looked so very pleased with himself! Don't worry, I'm enclosing a picture for you to see for yourself, James insisted upon it. He's so proud, won't stop going on about how natural a flier Harry already is! Of course, I'm relieved it only rises about two feet off the ground, but even that was enough to nearly kill the cat, and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Obviously, James thought it was absolutely hilarious, says Harry is guaranteed to be a great Quidditch player, but we've had to pack away all the ornaments and can't take our eyes off him once he gets going!

We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda. Still as sweet as ever, she just can't resist doting on Harry, though I do still get that little twinge when he's out of my arms for too long. We were so sorry you couldn't come, but the order's got to come first, and really, Harry's not old enough to know it's his birthday anyway, so please don't get too down on yourself!

James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, so restless. He tries not to show it, but I can tell. And with Dumbledore still holding onto his invisibility cloak, there's no chance of any little excursions. I think if you could manage a visit, it would cheer him up a great deal, and I know Harry misses his Godfather. Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the news about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard.

At least we have regular visits from Bathilda. She's a truly fascinating witch, with the most amazing stories. Had she been teaching rather than Inns, I'm sure I wouldn't have ever fallen asleep in class! I doubt Harry understands a word she says, still so very young, but he seems utterly transfixed whenever she starts up.

Stay Safe Sirius, all our love,

Lily

Harry's extremities seemed to have gone numb as he stood stiff, seemingly frozen in place as he held the miraculous paper in his nerveless fingers. A quiet eruption of joy and grief in equal measure thundered through his veins while he lurched to his bed and sat down, his eyes still locked on the letter. He raked his gaze over the words again, staring at the handwriting itself. His mother made her "g"s the same as he did, and he found himself compelled to search for every one of them; each of them felt like a friendly little wave, glimpsed from behind a veil.

There was no greater treasure in the world than the miracle he held in his hands. The letter was proof that Lily Potter had lived, truly lived, and even more incredibly… it was proof that she had loved him, tangible evidence of her care and affection for her son, for him. The child she wrote about affectionately, lovingly describing his first year of life, praising his antics as an infant…

Impatiently brushing away the wetness in his eyes, Harry finally looked away from the letter and back to Sirius, who was now holding out the same photograph his mother had promised to send along with the letter. He reached out to accept the photo, watching as a black haired baby zoomed in and out of the picture on a tiny broom, roaring with laughter, while his father chased after him, a massive grin on his face, while Lily, his mother, watched on and laughed at the sight, her eyes alight with joy.

"I thought you should have this," Sirius finally said, and Harry's gaze switched from the photo in his hand to his Godfather.

Much as Harry wanted to shove down his tears, he let them well up in his eyes before rolling down his face as he rose once more from the bed and lunged at Sirius, wrapping his arms around his godfather in a tight hug. Sirius didn't hesitate to fold his own arms around Harry, holding onto him just as tightly while Harry wept. "Thank you," Harry whimpered as he clung to Sirius.

Sirius nodded as he held Harry to him. "They loved you so much," he insists. "Never forget that, Harry. Your parents loved you with everything they had. And they would be so proud of you." Harry's awareness of his surroundings didn't extend beyond the safety of his Godfather's arms as he surrendered to the intensity of the emotions the letter had provoked.

Hermione couldn't wipe her smile off her face as she stepped out of the fireplace and into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. She'd missed Harry terribly the last few days. The days seemed to go on forever, her parents all but interrogating her over the evolution of her friendship with Harry, particularly her mother. Her father mostly just grunted irritably from the couch, seemingly disgruntled merely because she was dating at all.

The fireplace roared back to life behind her, and she turned to smile at Remus. "Thank you," she offered softly, and he answered her gratitude with a smile of his own. "Is Harry still in his room?"

Remus shrugged. "Most likely," he answered while setting Crookshanks' carrier down on the table and waving his wand at her school trunk behind him, lifting it into the air with ease. "Go on up, I'm sure he'll be over the moon to see you. I'll drop this off for you," he told her simply while gesturing to the hovering school trunk.

Hermione nodded and quickly let Crookshanks out of his carrier, giggling at the proud cat snuffling at her indignantly over being trapped in the carrier for even five minutes time. Once he was content that his human was plenty aware of his disapproval, Crookshanks jumped down from the table and trotted off toward the stairs, likely already eager to curl up on her pillow and take a long and clearly well deserved nap. With Remus already out of the room and Crookshanks having taken off, Hermione shrugged and began making her own way up toward Harry's room.

She was too eager to see him. Every time her mother requested more information about Harry, Hermione missed him all the more intensely. Before she even realized it, Hermione was running up the stairs two at a time, and she was greeted with the sight of Harry just barely stepping out of a hug from his godfather while wiping at his damp eyes and face with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Harry?" She asked softly, and he quickly turned to her, his watery eyes brightening joyfully as he reached out, grabbing her hand and gently tugging her into the room. "Harry, are you alright? Why were you crying?" she asked.

Harry seemed to hesitate for a moment before showing her the parchment and photo in his hand. "Christmas gift from Sirius," He answered softly, and Hermione's eyes widened considerably as she took in the contents of the letter.

No wonder Harry had been so tearful, Hermione could feel her own eyes stinging a bit, and she blinked back her own emotions as she smiled at Sirius. "That's an amazing gift, Sirius," she insisted before quickly stepping closer to Harry and finally hugging him for the first time in a week. "I missed you so much," she whispered in Harry's ear, and he immediately returned her embrace before kissing her cheek.

"I missed you too," Harry whispered back as he held her in his arms. Sirius simply smiled at the exchange and stepped out to give the young couple a bit of privacy for a few minutes at least. Harry noticed the moment Sirius disappeared from view, and pulled back just enough to cup Hermione's cheek in his free hand and lean down to kiss her.

The moment Harry pressed his lips to hers, Hermione felt lit up from the inside out and eagerly kissed him back. She wanted to just bask in the warmth she felt within the safe confines of his arms, but she didn't get much of a chance to before Crookshanks padded into the room and nudged himself against their ankles. The fluffy beast was determined to be the center of attention, likely as payback for being temporarily confined.

Harry reluctantly pulled back from kissing his girlfriend and smirked down at the demanding cat. "Something on your mind, Crooks?" Harry asked before swiping down and snatching Crookshanks up off the floor and into his arms.

Crookshanks huffed indignantly at being carried like a baby, before purring as Hermione happily scratched under his chin. "Crooks is a little upset about the carrier," she explained softly. "And I think he missed you."

Harry chuckled at that and gently set Crookshanks down on the bed before carefully folding the letter in his hand, returning it and the photograph to their envelope before storing it safely in a drawer in his bedside table.

"Oh, I had an extra gift for you," He told her, grabbing the wrapped up 'book,' and holding it out to Hermione.

Hermione drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she hesitated to accept. "Harry… you really didn't need to do anything too extravagant," she insisted. "Honest, the cat treats and the extra books on defensive magic were plenty-"

"Come on, Mione, I worked hard on this for you," he told her, smirking at her nervous shuffling and her bright, wide eyes.

Slowly, Hermione stretched out her arms and accepted the gift, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper to reveal what appeared to be a journal, but upon opening, turned out to be recipe after recipe of different potions, and her jaw nearly dropped in realization as she looked back to Harry.

Harry's momentary confidence as he teased her had utterly evaporated. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously as she read through the pages and nearly winced as she looked up at him. But before he could apologize for his assumption that she'd want a copy of her own of the improved recipes and effects of all the spells he'd tested, he had to catch her in his arms as she crashed into him and kissed him breathless.

"I love you," she insisted breathlessly between eager kisses, tugging him closer to her by his shirt. "I love you so, so much!"

Harry was actually struggling to keep up with her passionate affection, and reached down, grabbing her thighs and hauling her up into his arms properly as he tried to answer her feverish kisses to the best of his ability. Hermione didn't hesitate to wrap her legs around him as he held her up. She didn't even notice that he'd stepped toward the bed, and couldn't hold back a startled squeak as he suddenly dropped her on his bed with a bright grin on his face.

Hermione took issue with him just hovering above the bed and yanked him onto the mattress with her. They both laughed as Crookshanks hissed irritably and trotted off, his patience officially worn out from all the jostling while he attempted to sleep. Neither teen took much notice Crookshanks was off the bed, as Hermione didn't hesitate to tug Harry into another searing kiss while his hands wandered up her thigh and into her hair, holding her against him.

But unfortunately, Crookshanks wasn't the only one to take issue with their tunnel vision, as Sirius knocked on Harry's door, startling the teens and laughing as they jumped apart. "The Weasleys are probably already waiting on us," he mentioned and pulled a watch from his pocket, tapping it twice before stepping back out.

"Oh, I do hope they'll be here soon."

31, Ron thought to himself, running a mental tally of the times his mother had repeated that phrase. He glanced over at his sister, who smirked back at him and nodded before resuming a letter. That bit he wasn't quite so happy about, but despite his instincts screaming to try and read it over her shoulder, he stayed put at the table and looked back to the braided leather bracelet around his wrist, his Christmas gift from Luna. He hadn't been expecting anything from her, despite sending her a gift himself, but he hadn't hesitated to tie it around his wrist the moment he opened it and read the note.

Happy Christmas Ron, I hope you enjoy your good luck charm. -Luna.

Ron still felt warm every time he looked down at the bracelet, and he just hoped she enjoyed her own gift.

The flames in the fireplace rose up bright green as Harry, Hermione, Sirius, and Remus all stepped through together. Harry was wearing his new jumper, deep green with a golden snitch stitched just under the neckline. Ron quickly rose from the table and rushed up to greet both his friends, while his mother finished setting up for lunch.

"You're here!" Mrs. Weasley declared and rushed to try and snatch up both teens into smothering hugs. "I was starting to worry!"

Harry was relieved once the fanfare came to an end, and complimented Mrs. Weasley on her new hat and golden necklace as they all sat down together at the table. "They're both from Fred and George! Aren't they beautiful?"

"Well, we find we appreciate you more and more mum, now we're washing our own socks," George mentioned as he grinned. "Parsnips, Remus?"

The comfortable calm of broken conversation while passing food sadly didn't last long, as Mrs. Weasley rose from the table, her hand pressed over her heart as she stared out the kitchen window. "Arthur! Arthur, it's Percy!"

The declaration was met with disbelief, and everyone looked to the window, and saw that sure enough, Percy Weasley strode through the snowy yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. But Harry knew instantly that this was not the reconciliation that Mrs. Weasley was undoubtedly hoping for. Percy hadn't arrived alone.

"Arthur, he's- he's with the minister!"

Indeed, the man that had only just supplanted Fudge, Rufus Scrimgeour, was following along, limping slightly, his mane of graying hair and his black cloak flecked with snow. Before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could do more than exchange stunned looks, the back door opened and there stood Percy. There was a moment's painful silence before Percy finally spoke up. "Happy Christmas, Mother," he said rather stiffly.

Mrs. Weasley nearly burst into tears and threw herself at her son, wrapping her arms about him tight. Percy hesitated a moment before tentatively returning her hug, though he kept his arms loose and looked instead to the rest of his family, particularly his siblings, all of whom regarded him with stone faces.

Rufus Scrimgeour paused in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick and and smiling at the 'reunion' between mother and son. "I do hope you'll forgive the intrusion," he spoke up once Mrs. Weasley looked around at him and wiped at her eyes. "Percy and I were in the vicinity for work, and he just couldn't resist dropping in to see his family."

Percy showed absolutely no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of this family. He still rigidly, staring over everyone's heads. While Mr. Weasley and all Percy's siblings remained stone-faced, Mrs. Weasley invited the Minister to join their meal, while he insisted that he didn't intend to butt in while Percy caught up with them all, and then looked to the table.

Harry knew what was coming before the intruder on their Christmas morning spoke up again. "Well, if anyone cared to show me your charming garden… Ah, that young man appears to be finished, why don't you take a stroll with me?" He asked, looking directly at Harry, while ignoring that Ginny, Fleur, and George all had clean plates as well.

Harry reluctantly nodded as he rose from the table. "Yeah, all right," he answered through the resounding silence, as everyone could see through Scrimgeour's unconvincing pretense of not knowing Harry's name. "It's fine," Harry told Sirius, who'd half risen from his chair, and though Lupin looked eager to step in as well, he didn't argue with Harry's firm glare. "It's fine," he repeated quietly to Mr. Weasley, who also looked ready to argue. Harry looked back to Hermione momentarily, and wished she didn't look so uncomfortable and nervous, but she reluctantly nodded and cleared her throat, attempting to start up conversation with Lupin.

"Wonderful!" Scrimgeour said, standing back to let Harry pass ahead of him. "We'll just take a turn around the garden, and Percy and I'll be off. Carry on, everyone!"

Harry had no intention of speaking first as he led the way to the garden. He said nothing to Scrimgeour's comments about how 'charming' everything supposedly looked. After a minute or so, he finally had something worth responding to, much as he'd rather not.

"I've wanted to meet you for quite a while," Scrimgeour finally admitted. "Did you know that?"

'Course I know that, every damn person in the wizarding world wants a piece of me. Harry shook his head, feigning ignorance. "No," He answered simply, maintaining his calm, pleasant tone.

"Oh yes, for a very long time actually," Scrimgeour continued softly. "Dumbledore has been very protective of you. Natural of course, natural, after what you've been through recently, particularly from… less than trustworthy government officials, such as my predecessor."

The effort it took not to laugh at the clear comparison Scrimgeour was trying and failing to establish nearly doubled Harry over, but he didn't speak up. Nor did he say anything as Scrimgeour near about rambled over Harry's 'rumored' significance, the belief that he was chosen by prophecy to stand against Voldemort, all of which Harry all knew and didn't need repeated to him. All he wanted was for Scrimgeour to just get to the point already.

"—Well, naturally, it gives people a lift. And I can't help but feel that, once you realize this, you might consider it your duty to stand alongside the ministry, and give everyone a boost." Finally, Harry thought to himself, but still hesitated to speak. "So, what say you, Harry?"

"I don't exactly understand what you want," Harry answered slowly. "'Stand alongside the ministry'… What would that consist of?"

"Oh, nothing strenuous, I assure you," Scrimgeour answered. "Just perhaps, visiting the ministry from time to time. And you could have plenty personal reason to do so beyond simply raising morale. You would have ample opportunity to speak with Gawain Robards, my successor as Head of the Auror office." Harry grit his teeth at the hinted bribery, though Scrimgeour wasn't finished with that particular insult. "Dolores Umbridge has told me that you aspire to be an Auror. That could be arranged rather easily."

Harry felt anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach over the revelation that the pink toad was still working at the ministry, but he kept his tone light and convivial. "So essentially," he spoke up calmly, "You'd like me to give the impression that I'm working for the ministry?"

"It would give everyone a lift to think you were more involved, Harry—"

"But if I keep running in and out of the Ministry," Harry interrupted, while maintaining his friendly tone, "Won't that give the impression that I approve of what the ministry's up to?"

"Well, yes," Scrimgeour answered, his confusion over Harry's question evident in his own voice. "I thought you already-"

"That doesn't really work for me, sir," Harry politely interrupted again. "You see, I don't actually approve of what the ministry's been doing. I don't approve of your methods." He thinks back to things he read recently in The Prophet. "I don't like that you used the Weasleys to get to me. I don't approve of you locking up Stan Shunpike without adequate evidence. And I certainly take issue with you still employing Dolores Umbridge."

Scrimgeour's expression instantly hardened as Harry spoke up, even as Harry maintained his pleasant tone. "I don't expect you to understand, Mr. Potter, you are, after all, only sixteen years old—"

"And living proof of the consequences of improper governing behaviors," Harry interrupted yet again. "I grew up with people who hated me because Barty Crouch tossed by Godfather in Azkaban without a trial." Finally Harry had dropped his pleasant tone. "And that little oversight resulted in the real criminal hiding out as a rat for twelve years, and eventually helping Voldemort," Scrimgeour winced at the name and Harry's already nonexistent respect for the man dropped ever lower at his cowardice, "gain a new body."

"Young man—"

But Harry wasn't finished. "And just as Fudge finally admitted that Voldemort was back, now you come in, and you're just as concerned with 'perception' as he was."

"I am not Cornelius Fudge!"

"Doesn't make you any better," Harry argued and raised his right fist. Scrimgeour flinched again, this time at the scars shining white on the back of his hand, the words Umbridge had forced him to carve into his own flesh, I must not tell lies. "I don't remember you rushing to my defense when I first tried telling everyone Voldemort was back. The ministry wasn't so keen on being pals last year. No, you were all a little too busy with your smear campaign against me. And Dumbledore."

Harry's criticism was met with silence as frigid as the surrounding snow. And once Scrimgeour did speak up again, it was very clear he had given up on gaining any good will from Harry. "What is Dumbledore up to?" He asked. "Where does he go when he is absent from Hogwarts?"

"No idea."

"And you wouldn't tell me if you knew. Would you?"

Harry smirked and shook his head. "Absolutely not."

Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Seems as though you're Dumbledore's man through and through."

"Glad we straightened that out," Harry answered dismissively, turned his back on the Minister of Magic, and strode back toward the house, his friends, his godfather, and his girlfriend.

Chapter Text

Cold. So, so cold.

Icy metal around her neck. A cold, clammy hand clamped around her arm where her robes had been torn. Her legs, already massacred, the bones broken in three places each, dragging across the icy marble floor.

Five. She had attempted five times to shift into her beetle form in an effort to escape, yet each time she had failed to change her shape. Something, likely the metal collar around her neck, inhibited her animagus abilities. She had lost track of how many times she traced the runes carved into the metal around her neck in the immeasurable time she'd spent in total darkness. Sadly, she had never learned how to read runes, and even if she knew, she likely could not have broken the enchantment.

Her wand, just as lost to her as time. And without her wand, without her shape shifting, there was no escape. Only the looming inevitability of her own demise. And judging by the pain she'd already been subjected to, there would be no mercy, no clean kill that would simply send her on. No, they wanted to drag out her suffering until her final breath.

She didn't even open her eyes until she was dropped by the death eater that had dragged her into the spacious room with marbled flooring. "Ah, Miss Skeeter." The high pitched voice sent horrified shudders down her spine, and she trembled against the floor as she caught the sound of soft, unnerving hissing. "My friends and I have been most eager to meet you, to express our… thoughts… about the article you wrote last year, naming members of my inner circle."

Voldemort's words were met with another terrified shudder, and still, she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes and look up at The Dark Lord. A screeching voice rang out around Rita Skeeter. "Show some respect!" And Skeeter's world exploded into white hot agony. Skeeter didn't bother trying to hold back her tortured screams as she burned from the inside out, as her bones splintered from within, and she felt no shame for the tears she finally felt streaking down her face once the pain eased, the Crutiatus Curse lifted.

"Now, Miss Skeeter," The high pitched voice spoke up again. Skeeter's eyes were open, but she couldn't see properly through her blurred vision. "I will not lie to you," he continued, his voice softening a touch, though it brought her no comfort. "I have no intention of allowing you to leave this room alive. However, if you cooperate with me, give me the information I seek without forcing the task of riffling through your mind, I am inclined to offer you a quicker, more merciful death."

Skeeter heard the swishing of heavy fabric against the marble floor and as she stared up at the ceiling while lying on her back, she finally began to see the skull-white face, the crimson eyes with snake-like slits for pupils, just as young Harry described when she interviewed him. Voldemort. His fingers, long, thin, gripping a wand that resembled bone.

"Of course, the consequences of refusing me, of not accepting my kind offer, is more pain," Voldemort told her, and she flinched at the threat. How much more pain could she withstand? "Now, my first question should be the easiest for you to answer. How did you contact Harry Potter last year for that interview?"

He was right. It would be easy to answer, to tell him exactly how that came to pass. But despite how fearful she was of the pain she knew would come, despite knowing that she likely wouldn't be able to keep the memory from him if he invaded her mind, she held her tongue and shook her head. If he wanted answers, he could seek them out himself. She wouldn't willingly help him destroy Harry Potter.

As frustratingly uncooperative the teenager was, as rage inducing as his little girlfriend was, Skeeter owed them for the chaos she unleashed before Voldemort returned. Perhaps if she hadn't portrayed Harry as dramatic and unstable in the first place, he would have been believed when he first warned the wizarding world. If this was her penance…

"Master, master, please allow me." That same feminine voice, the shrieking command from before. Skeeter felt the heel of a boot stabbing into her arm before a sudden stinging burn that severed her index, middle, and ring fingers from her right hand.

Skeeter impulsively looked to her right to see a familiar woman, her hollowed cheeks framed by straggly black hair. Bellatrix Lestrange. Azkaban had not been kind to the woman's appearance, a fact that Skeeter took an odd pleasure in despite the painful loss of three of her fingers and the disturbing sight of her own blood dripping off a vicious looking knife.

"Last chance, Miss Skeeter," Voldemort spoke again, and she turned her attention back to the magically deformed 'wizard.' "Answer me of your own volition."

Again, she shook her head. "I won't help you kill Harry Potter."

Voldemort actually sighed, clearly disappointed that pain wasn't enough to make her talk. "Very well. Legilimens."

The well of information within her mind was almost bottomless, the exact reason Voldemort didn't want to go searching for answers himself. Navigating the sheer expansive library of different subjects and people she had rigorously researched was no easy task, but a master Legilimens like himself couldn't be held back for long.

"What deal?!"Rita asked as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. "You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you just told me to turn up! Oh, one of these days!" She took a deep shuddering breath.

"Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me," a young girl with wild brown hair mentioned dismissively. "Find someone who cares, why don't you?"

The girl drew Voldemort's attention. She was familiar, present in the photos that Skeeter had been found with, photos that one of his loyal death eaters developed for him. Potter had thrown himself between the girl and someone else who seemed to mean her harm. That was interesting. Was this girl another potential weakness he could exploit? Perhaps she would be as effective a tool as Sirius Black had been.

"But of course," Rita said, lowering her quill and staring daggers at the girl. "Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?"

"As a matter of fact, that's exactly what little miss perfect wants," the girl taunted back with false sweetness.

Voldemort took notice of Potter's reaction to what the girl said, the shock at her taunting Rita, even as the journalist questioned her certainty.

"Yes, I do. The true story, all the facts. Exactly as Harry reports them. He'll give you every tiny detail, the names of the undiscovered death eaters he saw there, he'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now—oh get a grip on yourself!"

Rita had responded properly to the sound of his name, with fear, spilling her drink all over herself. Yet this girl had no qualms at all, even appeared contemptuous at Rita's justified terror.

"We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles! We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth!"

Finally, he released Rita from his mental grip, giving himself a chance to recover from the effort it took to wrest the truth from her. "So, you didn't have a direct line to him at all. You were blackmailed by a teenager. A teenage girl that is quite protective of Potter, and arranged the entire interview. You were no more than a pawn."

He cast an eye over the rest of the room while Skeeter wept on the floor, recovering from the agonizing mental ordeal. She had fought hard against his intrusion, inflicting further pain on herself than was necessary. Finally, he caught sight of the young new death eater that had warned him of Rita's animagus status. "Draco, how well do you know Potter's… acquaintances?" He asked.

The young blond boy flinched before stepping forward from the wall and bowing his head respectfully. "His closest confidants are the youngest Weasley boy, and a Mudblood named Granger," he answered diligently. "There's been gossip within the castle that Potter and Granger have grown closer recently… that they are together."

Ah, similar interests to his father it seems, both transfixed by stubborn mudbloods. "Thank you, Draco. You have done well," he told him simply before waving his hand, giving the teenager leave to step back once more, which Draco didn't hesitate to do.

Skeeter finally looked back up to face him before visibly recoiling at the sight of his face. It didn't bother him. Arbitrary ideas of what does and doesn't look 'appealing' held no weight to The Dark Lord. What mattered was power, and his new face was properly fear inspiring, more than a fair trade for what he'd gained. Immortality.

"Now, my next question, Miss Skeeter. And this time, I am not asking about Potter," he told her softly, and again, she flinched. "You attended an event at Hogwarts, hosted by Horace Slughorn." She looked up hesitantly, as if anticipating another attack already. "Did you learn anything about Him?" Voldemort asked, tilting his head curiously as he observed her at his feet.

She slowly shook her head. "I… I haven't been in contact with Horace in several years… I wasn't expecting an invitation… it was just a party…"

Fear. There was absolutely no doubt that she was terrified, but was it because she knew more than she claimed, or because she truly had no information to offer about his old professor?

He didn't wait for Lestrange this time, he slashed with his wand, slicing off her entire arm, and levitating it above Nagini's head for a snack while the journalist shrieked in agony. "Are you sure about that? You know nothing significant of Horace Slughorn?" He asked again.

"Nothing you don't already know! He's out of retirement is all!" She insisted, her eyes were locked on her severed and suspended arm. "That's all I know! It's all I know!"

He considered for a moment before nodding and flicking his wand, letting her arm drop and hissing to Nagini. "Enjoy, my sweet."

Skeeter seemed to weep all the more dramatically as she watched his massive snake devour her severed arm. The sobs were unnerving, but he schooled his features and flicked his wand, silencing her before turning his back on his gathered death eaters. "I want enough left of her to be identifiable. Beyond that, she is of no further use to me."

Nagini swiftly slithered across the marble floor and climbed up to rest over his shoulders while his death eaters cheered over the torturous sport they were now treated to unleash upon the witch that had dared to unmask them. "We can trust that our secret is safe, Nagini," he hissed to his beloved snake once the door swung shut behind him.

"My Master," Nagini hissed back lovingly and nudged her head against his chin.

There was an odd pleasure in knowing that even his new face hadn't robbed him entirely of his innate charm when he needed it. And it was certainly a necessary skill to gain the trust and loyalty of his dearest Nagini. She had proven so very useful, certainly worth the effort of brushing off his talents in charm and deception.