Author's Note: I don't own Harry Potter but I do own any OC's you see in this story (there's going to be a lot of them!)
Key!
This- Journal entries
This- Memories
This- Modern world
000- Scene break
Chapter Two
Disownment
Harry Potter was worried. Upon waking the next morning, he had been hit with a strong desire to find a quiet, private place and continue reading Amoda's memoirs. Somehow, he managed to resist and left his four-poster bed to complete his morning rituals.
Harry had hoped that he'd be able to resist it easier while in classes but alas, he found that he could not stop thinking about the mysterious book. He had grown so distracted that he accidentally switched Ron and Hermione's hands in Transfiguration. Judging from the look his two best friends were giving him, Harry knew that he'd have to tell them about Amoda. He gave them a look that said all too clearly that he wouldn't answer any questions until they were alone.
Ten minutes later, Harry was being led out of McGonagall's classroom by his irate friends. Marching him to an abandoned corridor, Hermione threw up every privacy charm she knew. "Spill, Harry." said said the bookworm, impatiently tapping her foot, "That's the third class you've made big mistakes in."
"Yeah, mate." chimed Ron. "Today was the first time I've ever seen you bungle a new spell in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Harry winced, Snape had been teaching them a spell to conjure and launch a wooden stake at a vampire mark up. With Harry's thoughts so preoccupied, he had accidentally misaimed the spell which came only millimeters away from hitting Snape's over-large nose. Harry sighed, though inwardly he was smiling; his best friends were putting their argument over Ron's new girlfriend aside in the face of what looked to them to be a major problem.
And so, Harry confessed. He told them of pranking Filch (which earned a sharp reprimand from Hermione and a grinning back slap from Ron) to using the Room of Requirement to hide. Then he told them about the Room not working correctly and then he spoke of the book and it's strange draw, which had Ron frowning, no doubt thinking of the diary of Tom Riddle, and Hermione worrying her lower lip so hard that Harry was afraid that she'd puncture the skin. He then told of the Enchantments on the book and how he had never heard of such a thing, mental links with the artifact's users. And finally, he repeated what he knew of Amoda's life up to the point he stopped reading and skipping the point where he saw her naked, no point giving Ron teasing material.
"I don't know, mate." said Ron, and unusually serious look on his normally easy going face. "This does sound a lot like Riddle's diary, a book that can show people's memories and make them to do things."
"I don't think so, Ron." countered Harry. "Riddle's diary always felt odd but I don't feel anything evil about Amoda's memoirs. If anything, she seemed indifferent about the whole thing, like it didn't really matter to her if I completed the reading."
"Still," hedged Hermione, finally speaking up, "It's really suspicious; such an obviously powerful book that, for all intents and purposes, fell from the sky with no warning... Harry I think you should tell Dumbledore about this. If Amoda's book is really as powerful as you say it is, then the Headmaster needs to know about it."
Harry waited for a moment while Ron delivered the customary remark about Hermione's disposition to trust in people of authority and for Hermione's stinging comeback, probably something about Ron's grades (Harry hadn't been listening too hard, their bickering all too familiar to him now) before he answered, breaking the prickly silence between his two feuding friends.
"I had already planned on telling Dumbledore during our next history lesson," Harry suddenly stalled. "Do you think that I should tell him now?" he asked worriedly. Both of his friends gave him a unanimously firm nod and Harry drew strength from their convictions. "Right," said the black-haired boy. "You two will come with me, right? I don't think I can be alone with the book and not try to read it."
"Of course, Harry." said Hermione sympathetically.
"Well," said Ron, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I could always stun you and we could just float you to Dumbledore's."
"Git!" laughed Harry while Hermione looked on with a fond smile.
000
"Cockroach Cluster, Fizzing Whizbee, Bloodpop." That last one did it and the gargoyle blocking the Headmaster's office rotated upwards like a swirling escalator. Harry stepped onto the staircase while Ron and Hermione shared a raised eyebrow, obviously not used to the Headmaster's habit of making a candy his password, and followed Harry.
Harry strode purposefully past the whirling silver doodads and thingamajigs, having been in the office enough times to lose the curiosity most first time students usually display upon entering the Head's tower. Ron and Hermione were not so lucky and their eyes seemed to be jumping everywhere, trying to take in the strange artifacts, slumbering portraits, and gilded mirrors.
Harry knocked on on the door to Dumbledore's inner office and was immediately granted an, "Enter, Harry, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley!" Harry smiled and opened the door.
"Good evening, Harry." said the old man, wearing robes of the deepest purple. His pointed hat set at a jaunty angle and his deep blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "I was just about to convene in the Great Hall for the delicious stew the House Elves had prepared, but..." he took in their serious expressions and then sobered. "I feel that whatever news you bring is of vital importance."
Harry sighed and, squeezing the tome, he told the Headmaster of the events of the previous night. When he was done, the Headmaster's twinkling eyes had dimmed and an unusually serious air swirled around the normally jovial professor.
Dumbledore extended his hand, silently asking for the book which Harry handed to him with a moment of hesitation. "The Grimoire of Amoda..." said Dumbledore reverently as he ran his fingers over the cover's supple leather.
"Er," said Ron, "what's a grimoire?"
"Honestly Ronald," said the Gryffindor Bookworm, exasperated. "A grimoire is a magic book usually used in the instruction of a practitioner. Any magic book, including our textbooks and the books in the library, can be called a grimoire, though it's a term usually reserved for books of importance, or rare books."
"Excellent explanation, Ms. Granger. Take five points to Gryffindor."
Hermione beamed. "S-sir?" asked she asked hesitantly. "Just what is the Grimoire of Amoda?"
"That," said Dumbledore quietly, "is a very good question. You see, not much is known about this tome, and what is known is heresy at best. It pops up in history when things are bleak and then disappears when things are peaceful. It is not documented what exactly this compendium does, only that it is suspected to have played a major part in many struggles between good and evil since the founding of Hogwarts. I thought it either a myth or lost to history, and all this time it has been in this very school, under my nose..."
Dumbledore handed the book back to Harry, who took it with a forced casualness, as though trying to look like he wasn't desperate to have the book back in his possession.
"Now, Harry says that the book compelled him to not only pick it up but also to read it." Dumbledore speared them with his gaze. "Have either of you had any such whispers in the back of your head?" Ron and Hermione both shook their heads and the aged Headmaster nodded into his silvery beard. "Well, I suppose that Harry is the temporary master of the Grimoire of Amoda." Professor Dumbledore looked to his favorite student only for his proud smile to melt into a frown; the lad seemed agitated and kept sending covert glances at the red-covered tome. "I think it safe to say that Harry will be unable to concentrate on much anything else until the reading is complete..." The boy in question shook his shaggy head and stared at the Headmaster with blank eyes.
"Harry!" gasped Hermione while Ron rushed forward to grab his best mate's shoulder to give him a good shake.
Harry seemed to fight with himself and his eyes slowly cleared and he mumbled something to Ron, who nodded and looked to Hermione then the Headmaster. "Harry says that the longer he goes without reading the book the harder it is to resist it."
Dumbledore frowned while Harry shook his head.
"I must convene the Order of the Phoenix," said Albus, striding to the fireplace. "You three are going to need to come along with me to Grimmauld Place."
"Wait!" said Harry, looking stronger now then he did just a few minutes ago. "No, the less people who know of the book, the better. It should be just me, Ron, and Hermione!"
Mentor and protege stared at each other for a moment before Dumbledore's eyes crinkled in a smile. "Very well, Harry. I shall have a guest room prepared while you read the book. A house-elf will impersonate you three in class, taking notes that I will deliver to you along with homework. Which you can do in Gryffindor Tower; I expect you'd want to socialize with your peers."
000
Harry, Hermione, and Ron appeared in a private room with a pop, each holding the hand of a nondescript house elf. Harry took in the room's features while clutching Amoda's grimoire like a lifeline. The room was large, perhaps half the size of Gryffindor's common room and it had two staircases leading to what Harry absently suspected were dormitories. Five or six plush chairs surrounded a fireplace.
Harry was drawn from his observations with the appearance of the Headmaster, also clutching the hand of a house elf. "Now," began the Headmaster, "Harry, if you would hand the book to me, I am going to perform some spells that will make the reading easier."
Harry did so and Dumbledore opened the book (which remained blank, seeing as it was not in the hands of it's chosen reader) and used a sticking charm to attach it to the wall. He then waved his wand and enlarged the book. Dumbledore then mumbled something in Latin and flicked his wand three times, finishing his spell casting and stuffing his wand back in his robe's sleeve.
"Sir," asked the ever curious Hermione, "what was that last spell?"
"Ah, that, Ms. Granger, is a spell that will read the Journal entries out loud so you don't have to crowd around it."
"So it's like a television and a radio all at once?"
Dumbledore beamed under his beard. "Precisely!" The Headmaster nodded. "I will have a house elf bring you meals and snacks during the day and they will escort you to an empty classroom close to your common room. Luckily, it is Friday so you have time to relax around the Grimoire. Now, I take my leave, should you need anything, anything at all, call for Dobby and he will be able to alert me." And with that final statement, Dumbledore laid his hand on his elf ride and disappeared with a loud pop.
"Shall we?" suggested Hermione.
Ron nodded and Harry withdrew his wand and approached Amoda's memoirs. "Do you guys remember where I left off?"
Ron nodded. "Amoda just found out that she couldn't have kids and her dad was really angry."
Harry nodded and tapped the expanded book with his wand and sank into one of the squishy armchairs when the book read out in a lilting, feminine voice: My Fatr had never been a kind man. And when he came home he was in a rage...
The pages of the journal took on the familiar (to Harry) glow, looking more like a big screen television than a magic book.
000
Amoda, her mother, Ylffa, and a tall, muscular man with similarly auburn hair stood in Amoda's room. Said girl had sobs raking through her body as she burrowed her head into the furs laid out on her pallet.
"Barren!" shouted Amoda's father, Drogo. "Now what am I to do? No one will want a wife that cannot give an heir!"
"Drogo!" shouted Ylffa and Amoda's Matr while the teen gave a louder sob.
"She's useless! I've already told Haslfur and he canceled her contract on the spot!"
"It does not matter! Amoda is still our daughter!
"Silence, Hallerna!" roared Amoda's Fatr. "This is your fault! She's obviously got her weakness from you!" Drogo strode to Amoda and grabbed her by her reddish-brown locks. He took in her tearstained visage with disgust and slammed her head back into the pile of furs that made her bed comfortable. He grabbed a knife from a sheath on his belt and, before Ylffa or Amoda's Matr could interfere, he cut her long hair shoulder length with a single swipe. "You are no daughter of mine! You are to leave my house and never come back!"
000
The scene faded and sniffles could be heard from the ever sympathetic Hermione. Ron simply looked uncomfortable at having to see something that he would term private, while Harry was genuinely enraged on Amoda's behalf, the hand holding his wand twitched, as though longing to curse Drogo from over a thousand years into the future. But before anyone could say something about what they had just heard, the Journal's feminine voice filled the common room.
000
As I said, my Fatr was not a kind man... Well, after that, he left the house, I strongly suspect that he didn't want to see me again and was simply waiting for me to leave. It took me nearly an hour before I was ready to do anything but lay down and cry. My Matr stayed with me, offering what comfort she could, but eventually even she had to hurry me from my home, afraid what my Fatr would do should he return and find me still there...
000
Hallerna wrapped her arm around Amoda's shoulders and rushed her out the back door, only taking the time to grab a woolen cloak, a work knife, and a hatchet normally used for splitting wood. Holding her daughter in a hug, Hallerna said: "I love you, my daughter. I so wish that I could go with you."
Amoda started and looked to her Matr with a question in her eyes.
"Do not look so surprised, Little One." said Hallerna, using Amoda's pet name in an attempt to comfort her. "There was never any love between us, your Fatr and I. We were contracted to wed as well. Coupled with the difficulty I had getting pregnant and with carrying a child to term, well it's a surprise Drogo never divorced me. The only reason I stayed with him was because of you. I love you so much that your birth is one of my best memories, tied only with your brother's, and this was the safest place for you, here we had food, warmth, and money-"
"-Then leave, Matr. Come with me! Grab Freki and we'll make a new life somewhere else! We don't need Fatr!"
"It's not so simple, Little One. The world is a dangerous place. All sorts of beasts call the wild their home. It's not safe for a toddler on the road - if Freki were older I-"
"Hallerna! Did she leave?"
Both women winced at his tone and Amoda's mother pointed to the west where a path led into the woods surrounding their ranch. "You must go, love. Follow that path to the next village, I have a friend who's married to a tanner there, her name is Porfridr. She will help you, she owes me."
Amoda wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and put it's hood up. Tucking the knife in her belt, Amoda grabbed the hatchet directly below it's head, where it was safe to run with it, and turned.
"Hallerna!"
"Run, daughter! We will meet again! I love you!"
Amoda choked back a sob and ran into the darkened wilderness, her cloak swirling around her.
000
There it is! My flight from home. I didn't know if I would ever lay eyes on my childhood home again, but I had little chance to think it over. If I did, I doubt I would've been able to leave so easily.
When I woke up that morning everything seemed so simple, I was to be married to a boy I disliked. I wouldn't have been totally happy, but at least I would've had a home. Now I was banished, alone in the wild without a chance. I had known that my Fatr was strict and demanding, but I hadn't known what a heartless bastard he was.
Well, I ran for what felt like forever. I didn't know how far away the next village having never been out of my own before then. Eventually, when the moon was high, I collapsed, exhausted, in a clearing a little ways away from the road. The events of the day had finally caught up with me and I fell asleep curled up in my cloak hoping for warmth that never came.
Several hours of restless sleep later, I was startled awake by the sound of a wolf's howling...
000
The journal took on it's familiar glow.
000
Amoda stood and grasped at her hatchet desperately with fingers quivering from both the cold and fear. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked upwards for a moment before she heard a rumbling growl blocking the short path leading to the road. Yellow eyes blinked from a foot and-a-half off the ground and Amoda shuffled backwards, trying to put as much distance from the source of the growling as possible.
The Viking girl started when the moon peeked out from behind a cloud and cast the clearing into a pale light. With a soft rustle of grass, the wolf limped forward, his front paw on his left side was obviously injured, and his ribs were visible under his matted brown fur. His growl was loud enough to rattle the bones in Amoda's chest.
000
"Oh great!" said Ron sarcastically. "It's probably starving!"
"Well..." replied Hermione. "We know that she lived to pen her memoirs, so I doubt this will kill her."
"Doesn't mean she can't get hu-"
"-Shh!"
Both Hermione and Ron looked at Harry and grimaced, he looked so tense with his rigid posture. They had never seen him worry so bad over something that didn't involve Voldemort, and even then he never shushed them when they bickered.
They turned back to the journal after muttered apologies.
000
Amoda scanned her surroundings and, knowing that wolves rarely hunted alone, looked for more of it's pack. Suddenly, the wolf charged and leapt forward, mouth open, and Amoda made a desperate dive the the side, the wolf's jaws just barely missing her. Scrambling to her feet, Amoda ran into the woods, in the hope that she would lose her pursuer.
The wolf landed on his bad paw and fell over whimpering. Righting himself, the wolf allowed it's pain to be replaced by a terrible, hunger fueled rage. Snarling, the lone wolf caught the terrified girl's scent and took off after her.
Amoda panted as she ran, her hair and cloak flying out behind her, her grip tight on her small hatchet's slightly curved handle. She heard the wolf's yelp of pain and hoped that it'd leave to nurse it's wounds, but that hope died when she heard it's snarl. Amoda made a sharp turn and decided to weave through the trees, and prayed to the Allfather that the injured wolf would be unable to follow her erratic directions.
000
That wolf and I played a horrible game of cat and mouse for nearly an hour. Every time I would think that I lost it, I'd hear it's rumbling howl and have to start running again. Eventually, I led the beast deep into the woods...
000
The memory shifted and revealed Amoda in a different forest clearing. Her cloak and dress were torn and stained with mud and she had twigs and leaves knotted in her hair. She was hunched over, breathing heavily as crimson blood dripped from scratches on her face and arms where she had been whipped by branches whilst weaving through the trees.
Suddenly, the wolf burst through the foliage and landed seven feet away.
"Really?" panted Amoda. "You're injured and you must've slammed into four different trees trying to chase me. Why don't you just go away?" The wolf just gave it's loudest growl yet and Amoda brandished her hatchet in her left hand, knowing that she just didn't have the strength to run anymore.
Again, the beast charged and leapt for Amoda's neck and, more out of reflex than anything, she threw her right arm in front of her only to shriek in pain as the wolf's fangs pierced her skin. Amoda was knocked to the forest floor, the snarling wolf on top of her clamping his muzzle on her forearm. Through her pain, Amoda brought her axe up and swung downward as hard as she could, planting it's iron head deep into the wolf's flesh.
000
I think it goes without saying (or writing, in this case) that that bite was, at that point in time, the most painful thing I ever had the displeasure of feeling. Well, anyway, I killed the wolf and managed to push it's surprisingly heavy corpse off of me...
000
Amoda moaned and cradled her newly mangled arm close to her heaving bosom, her hatchet covered in the blood of her now deceased pursuer. Standing wearily, she inspected her arm. The sleeve of her dress was in tatters and drenched in freely seeping red liquid, and spots danced in her vision.
She took a few stumbling steps, to where she didn't know, as the adrenaline left her system, making her woozy. Amoda looked around dimly, trying to discern any landmark that could lead her back to the road. Seeing none, not even the path she weaved through the trees, she sank to her knees and despaired at the hopelessness of her situation. It was only a few minutes later when Amoda heard the sound of someone stomping heavily through the forest.
"Help!" shouted Amoda in a strangled voice.
The last thing she saw as she lost consciousness was a burly figure entering the clearing holding a lantern, and then a pair of shockingly silver eyes...
000
Harry stood and strode to the journal and, with a tap of his wand, he shut it's cover, pausing the reading. "C'mon you two, let's head back to the common room." Both Ron and Hermione nodded, not questioning why he felt that was the best place to stop, he was the one with the weird link with the book. They all called for a house elf and popped to an abandoned classroom a floor below Gryffindor Tower.
"You seem more at ease, Harry." said Hermione, leaving the abandoned classroom and scanning the hall for teachers, it was dangerously close to curfew.
The black-haired boy smiled easily. "I don't really understand it, and I don't like using this comparison, but it's almost like a drug; now that I've read some of the book I can concentrate on other things. I reckon I should be okay from now on, now that I don't have to wait an entire school day to read some of the journal."
Both Ron and Hermione frowned, they really didn't like the effect the Grimoire of Amoda had on their best friend.
"I'll see you lot later," said Ron as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, "I haven't gotten to talk to Lavender since lunch." Ron didn't notice Hermione's scowl at the mention of the Gryffindor Gossip Queen.
"Remember to keep the Grimoire secret." said Harry. "If she asks, just tell her that you've been helping me and that I made you promise not to tell anyone what we're doing."
"'Course mate, seeya!" Ron practically skipped the last few stairs to the Fat Lady and muttered the password. The portal swung open and Ron dashed inside. Harry and Hermione heard a squealed 'Won Won!' before the portrait closed again with a click.
Harry sighed and looked to his best friend, Hermione was glaring at the door to Gryffindor Tower so hard that he was surprised that it hadn't burst into flames. "Hermione," said Harry tentatively, "if you want to talk about it, I am here for you..."
"Talk about what?" replied Hermione defiantly. "I have nothing to say about that ginger idiot, especially if he wants to go prancing after some blonde... bit-bimbo! who has more breasts than brain!"
Harry could see furious tears welling up in Hermione's eyes so he made a snap decision. Grabbing Hermione's arm, he dragged his bushy-haired friend back to the abandoned classroom and, with a wave of his wand, he opened the door and ushered her inside. He then threw up a slew of the strongest privacy charms he knew.
"Talk to me, Hermione!" implored Harry. "Let it all out."
Hermione's lower lip trembled for a moment before she broke down, flung herself at him, and blubbered on his shoulder. She spent the next few moments in a land of tears and sniffles before she was aware enough to accept the handkerchief Harry had transfigured for her. "I'm sorry, Harry." sniffed Hermione. "I got your cloak wet."
Harry simply smiled at her and, with a flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, his robes were looking freshly pressed. Leading Hermione to the vacant desk at the front of the classroom, Harry sat her down and rubbed small circles into her back.
"I'm sorry." repeated Hermione. "I'm bursting into tears when you're so strong. I mean, I know you're going through the same thing I am but you've been so calm about it."
"W-what d'you mean?" stuttered Harry nervously.
Hermione snorted. "Please, Harry. I've seen how you look at Ginny. You fancy her, don't you?"
Harry sighed. "Yeah. It surprised me, y'know? I mean, one day she was just Ron's little sister and she had this really bad crush on me, and I could never talk to her because she would squeak and run away whenever I got close. And then she started talking, being more open, and I genuinely liked the person she had been hiding from me! I thought maybe I could make a go of it now that she's over her crush... But now she's dating Dean and..." Harry sighed again. "I dunno, what about you?"
"What's to know? I've like Ron since last year and he seemed to do a lot of growing since the end of fifth year. Y know he's been really listening when we talk? We didn't get into fights, we had discussions, some of them had even been quite heated, but they never devolved into the type of fighting we would do since our first year. I was hoping that Ron had matured enough so that we could start something great. And I finally get the courage to ask him out and he starts snogging that vapid, air-headed bimbo!"
Both Harry and Hermione sighed at the same time.
"And if that wasn't bad enough," continued Hermione, "I have to hear 'Lav Lav' gloat about how, 'well hung' Ron is, or how talented he is with his fingers and tongue! And how good a shag he is!" Harry made a face and Hermione sent a muttered apology his way. "And here's me," she continued, "complaining again when you must get the same thing, sharing a dorm with Dean."
"What d'you mean?" asked Harry, almost afraid of her answer.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Really, Harry? Boys talk about girls don't they? About how far they've gotten with them. If Lavender gloats this much I can only imagine how much of Dean's smugness you have to put up with. Even Ginny likes to talk about what she's done."
Harry felt as though he'd been hit with an Iron clad punch.
"You didn't know?" said Hermione catching Harry's expression.
"No, Dean refuses to talk about what he does with girls. It's the one area he's mum about. He won't even tell Seamus at his most annoying."
"Oh, Harry!" began Hermione, enveloping her raven-haired friend in a hug. "Ginny's been shagging Dean since the first week of school."
Harry made a disgusted face. "Ew! Why would she do that? Dean's hygiene is nearly as bad as Ron and Seamus'! It's like Neville and I are the only people in our dorm who know that a cleansing charm is not a permanent replacement for a shower!"
Hermione looked faintly green. "You're not mad that Ginny's shagging someone else?"
"Hermione," said Harry seriously, "can I be open with you?"
She giggled. "Harry, you kidnapped me and now we're talking about sex in an abandoned class after curfew. Please, be as blunt as you want."
"Frankly, I don't want Dean's sloppy seconds. The news that they're shagging is slowly but surely killing any desire I had for Ginny. Besides, It's not like I'm a virgin."
"What!" shouted Hermione in surprise. "When did you have sex and with wh- It was Cho!"
Harry smiled. "Yeah, I left a lot of what happened the night that we kissed private. At the time I really liked her, and I thought that we had something special so I kept it between us. Of course, that was before I found out that she was just using me to replace Cedric. The only people who knew were Sirius and Remus, they smelt sex on me the moment they saw me. I got one hell of a 'Talk' that holiday."
Hermione shook her head. "So, she just laid back and let you do her?"
"There was other stuff involved," said Harry defensively, as though she had insulted his abilities. "It was my first time! I was nervous and riding a hair trigger. She talked me through a few foreplay techniques and we had a pretty good shag."
Hermione stood and walked to a desk, pulling out a chair, she sat, taking a moment to rub her legs together discreetly under the cover of getting comfortable. "Was that the only time you did it?"
"We did it twice more," shrugged Harry, determined not to let the conversation get to him. "Once when we came back from holiday, and once after our really bad Valentine's Day date at Madam Puddifoot's. Let me tell you that the second and third times were a lot better when I remembered the advice of Padfoot and Moony."
There was a silence as Harry also sat down at a desk in an attempt to hide his reaction to the conversation.
"Harry," said Hermione hesitantly. "Are Ron's cleaning habits really that bad?"
Harry groaned, that was enough to drive him away from memories of his first girlfriend. "Merlin, Hermione! The first spell I could do with any consistency was a silencing spell to block out his snores, followed by one to block the stench of living in a room with four other teenage boys, three of which aren't the cleanest lot!"
Hermione was a deep green at the thought of having to learn that kind of magic just so she could sleep.
"Don't get me wrong," amended Harry, "Ron's a good bloke and a great mate, it's just that I wouldn't want to share a tent in the woods with him."
Hermione chuckled. "Come on, Harry. Let's get back to the common room.
They stood, talk of Ron's cleanliness (or lack thereof) driving away any physical reaction their open discussion of sex might've caused.
"So," asked Harry innocently as they left the classroom, "what about you?" Hermione looked askance at Harry. "What?" exclaimed Harry. "Ron and I have obviously lost our virginities, I can't help but be curious about you."
She snorted "It's not like the opportunity has presented itself." Hermione looked thoroughly put out with her lack of experience. "I mean, who was I supposed to shag?"
Harry shrugged. "Viktor?"
"Arrg!" yelled the bushy-haired bookworm, throwing her arms up in agitation. "Why does everybody assume we had sex! We went on one date! I mean, yeah, we snogged, but that's it!"
"Really?" asked Harry skeptically.
"Yes," replied Hermione firmly. "You and Ron may be able to dive cock first into the first girl who'll spread her legs for you, but I want my first time to be special. I was three months into my fifteenth year and I wasn't ready for sex - not that Viktor didn't show any interest - it's that I turned him down and he dropped it like a gentleman. Besides, I didn't know him that well - still don't, in fact. "
By some unspoken agreement, they dropped the subject as they approached the portrait covered entrance of Gryffindor Tower. Quickly giving the password, they entered the empty common room and parted at the stairs.
Opening the door to the sixth year boy's dormitory, Harry was hit by a wall of what now he knew to be the smell of Ron after he just had sex. Scrunching his nose, Harry waved his wand to clear the air and dove for his bedcovers, excited for tomorrow's reading.
000 Chapter End 000
Author's Note: Already, we can see some of the influence the Grimoire of Amoda has over it's chosen reader. Though I can tell you with absolute certainty that the book is not evil, nor is it a knock off One Ring of Sauron. Though it can and will blur the lines between what is acceptable.
Author's Note, Part Deux: I didn't get a single review for the first chapter, which is terrible because I've seen other... eyesores (which is really the only way to describe them) with hundreds of reviews.
I'm not saying that I'm the best writer ever (I'm not, but I'm constantly learning and improving) or that everyone who reads a story should review at the end of every chapter, but it really does motivate a bloke to write more often, and better, with at least some recognition for his efforts.
I know that people must've enjoyed the prologue because my E-mail was filled with story alerts and favorites but it would be nice to know what you liked about it.
-sigh-
Well, anyway, I have my first Lemon scheduled for the next chapter, so people who want to fight scurvy (and who are of age) should definitely check that out.
See ya next time!
