Chapter 07 – Glittering, Golden Greatcoat
Three days passed. Not much changed. Ron was still slightly distant. When Harry asked him what he'd been up to Ron muttered excuses and fled the room before Harry could question him further.
Hermione was slowly becoming more rebellious. Twice already she had put her evening castle patrols on the new Prefects for no reason other than because she could. Yesterday she didn't have McGonagall's essay finished to hand in. Harry hadn't gotten around to questioning her yet. He was still reveling in his newly relaxed relationship with her—one in which she wasn't constantly bugging him about his responsibilities.
Malfoy had neither spread rumors about Harry nor had he even been sighted in the Great Hall, classes, or the corridors. While Harry became increasingly curious, Hermione and Ron had both agreed the less Malfoy the better and shrugged the anomaly off. Harry wished he could do the same, if only because his head ached every time he dwelled too much on it—particularly his right temple.
The rest of the school was behaving as oddly as ever. At first Harry had tried to ignore all the strange conversations he was overhearing. But as they grew progressively more bizarre and embarrassing he starting confiding in Ron and Hermione. He was surprised to find that they hadn't heard any of the same conversations.
"You say she was counting days?" Hermione asked.
The three were stowed away in a dark corner of the library, hidden in the dustiest stacks where they wouldn't be overheard. Ron and Harry were working on Snape's latest essay. Hermione was defiantly knitting elf hats instead. Harry had caught Ron smothering his proud grin more than once.
Harry nodded confirmation to Hermione's question.
"Well that's easy to understand. She was probably calculating when she would next start."
"You're kidding!" Ron gaped. "Girl's can calculate that stuff? I thought it was just random!"
Instead of pursing her lips as she might once have done, Hermione giggled. "Of course we can! Don't you know anything about girls?"
"I'm working on it..." Ron mumbled. Hermione must not have heard him because Harry was sure she would comment on such an embarrassing thing to say.
Harry shook his head. "Anyway, that's not the point! Why she would even be talking about it in the middle of class is what I want to know. Is that normal for girls, then?"
Hermione thought about it. "I suppose it is normal for us to discuss it amongst ourselves sometimes. Certainly when we're nervous about being late or—"
"I don't need to hear about that, Hermione," Harry groaned. Girl talk was never something he particularly enjoyed. "In the middle of the lesson, though?"
"No, that is a bit odd," Hermione frowned.
"And that's not all," confessed Harry. "Yesterday I heard Dean talking about the things he'd done the night before with Gin—er," Harry glanced at Ron, whose eyes were narrowed to slits. "With his girlfriend."
Hermione looked angry too. "That's just rude! He should keep their private life private. Boys!"
"But Ginny was talking about it too!"
Hermione gaped. "With Dean?"
"No, they were separate occasions. And with separate people."
Neither Ron nor Hermione had anything to say to that but Harry heard Hermione whispering about 'possible bourgeoning voyeuristic inclinations' and Ron was quietly fuming about Dean and his little sister. They paid one another's opinions no mind.
"And it's stuff like that," Harry continued. "That I've been hearing all over the castle—from everyone; just a whole bunch of little comments that people used to keep private. And for good reason, too. Like anyone wants to hear when Eleanor Branstone has her next—well. Yeah." Harry scowled.
"No," agreed Hermione. "No one does want to hear about that. I would have even thought Eleanor wouldn't want anyone to hear about—" She cut off suddenly, her eyes going wide.
"What, Hermione?" Ron cajoled, laying his quill down and looking excited. Whenever Hermione got that look in her eye it usually meant some big realization had struck her.
"Harry," said Hermione, ignoring Ron. "Could it possibly be that you're able to hear everyone's thoughts?"
Harry gawked at her. "What?" He almost laughed, but he wasn't feeling humorous. "That's ridiculous, Hermione. Legilimency takes effort. I'd have to be focusing and trust me, I am not trying to wheedle sex secrets out of anyone."
Ron was looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione in confusion. Hermione was wearing an expression of shock mingled with triumph.
"What are you on about?" Ron finally demanded.
"You heard her," scoffed Harry. "She thinks I'm reading minds."
"Ron didn't hear me," Hermione whispered. Then, speaking louder, shouting—bellowing; "LISTEN TO ME, HARRY."
Harry slapped his hands over his ears but her voice still rang like a gong. He shot from his seat, expecting faces to peer through the books, Madame Pince to storm over and demand they leave. Nothing happened. No one came. There was only Ron and Hermione; Ron's mouth hanging open at Harry's odd behavior; Hermione beaming.
"What the fuck is going on?" whispered Ron. Harry glanced quickly at Hermione, expecting her to scold Ron for his language. No matter how laid-back she was becoming, she still didn't tolerate his crude tongue.
"Listen to me, Harry," Hermione said again, quieter. "Look at me. My mouth is not moving. I'm no ventriloquist, Harry. You're in my head. You're hearing my thoughts."
"What the fuck is going on?" Ron repeated. "What the fuck is going on? What the fuck is going on? What the fuck is going—"
"Shut up, Ron!" shouted Harry.
This time the noise echoed through the tightly lined bookshelves. This time a Ravenclaw fifth year glared at Harry from a few aisles over. This time, Madame Pince bustled over and shoved and whacked at them until they fled the library.
"What the fuck is going on?!" Ron demanded when they finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, panting from running.
The Fat Lady squawked and Hermione said "Ronald!" but Ron just glared determinedly at Harry, waiting for an answer.
"I can hear thoughts," Harry breathed.
"Concentrate, Harry!" Hermione implored for the hundredth time.
"I am!" cried Harry.
"Then try again."
Harry turned away from her, facing the opposite side of the abandoned classroom they had found to be away from the evening bustle of the common room. Ron sat on a desk across from him, watching the two interact silently. Harry waited, listening.
"Godric Gryffindor gave a giggling gargoyle a galleon for his glittering, golden greatcoat," said Hermione.
"Spoken," Harry guessed.
"Wrong! Thought."
Harry groaned and turned around to face Hermione again. "This is pointless! What does it matter? I want to block out your thoughts, not tell them apart from your voice!"
"You can't do one without the other," Hermione said matter-of-factly.
Harry growled. "And what makes you the expert on mind reading, Miss Know-It-All?"
Hermione glared at him and Harry relented beneath her. Of course he believed her judgment. When had Hermione ever led him astray?
"I'll never be able to distinguish it," moaned Harry. "It sounds exactly the same!"
"Of course it doesn't, Harry," Hermione said encouragingly. "Does it sound the same to you when you talk aloud and talk in your head?"
Harry thought about it. He repeated the tongue twister in his head and then out loud. Then he moaned again and pulled at his hair.
"Well it's going to sound different when I do it! I can feel my tongue and lips moving—feel the vibrations of my voice in my throat and head."
Hermione smiled. "Then feel the vibrations of my voice."
She turned around then, faced away from him so he couldn't see whether or not her lips were moving. Then the words came:
"Godric Gryffindor gave a giggling gargoyle a galleon for his glittering, golden greatcoat."
And this time Harry focused all his attention on his ears, feeling them with his mind, tracing their shape, inside and out. He felt for each individual nerve ending, traveling inside, spiraling through the canal, touching—like a whisper—his eardrum.
It vibrated. Just the tiniest flicker—the tiniest tingle.
"Spoken," he said confidently.
"Again," Hermione said.
But no. She didn't say it. He felt this one too, felt her next words sweep over him like a butterfly caress, felt it swirling through his mind, touching his brain, the backs of his eyes, passing right over his ears. Godric Gryffindor gave a giggling gargoyle a galleon for his glittering, golden greatcoat. It echoed—if he wanted it to. It shouted—if he made it. It whispered—if he asked it to. He could manipulate it, twist it, move it.
"Again," he whispered this time.
She thought it again.
Godric Gryffindor gave a giggling gargoyle a galleon for his glittering, golden greatcoat.
He was sure this time. He turned the volume of her thoughts up and down as she thought them. When she thought 'giggling' he made her voice titter. When she thought 'glittering' she thought it deep, in a man's voice. 'Golden' she thought in the highest pitch a woman's voice could reach. He could twist the noise like he could twist his own thoughts—they were his thoughts, in his head. He took them as she made them, claimed them, stored them away. Memories. His and hers.
And like his, he could also eliminate them; push them out of his head. He was good at this—occlumency. He tried it now, erecting that great brick wall that wrapped right around his brain. Usually he used it to keep his thoughts in. Now he would use it to keep her thoughts out. It would work. Brick walls did both.
"Again," he repeated. Hermione did too, thinking.
Or he assumed she did.
"Again," he said more urgently. Nothing happened. "Again! Come on, Hermione, louder!"
He spun around. Hermione was pink in the face. A vein pulsed in her neck. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, staring intently at him. Harry looked at Ron. He looked confused and Harry wondered if he was cursing again. He dropped his wall to find out.
—GIGGLING GARGOYLE A GALLEON FOR HIS GLITTERING—
Harry threw his wall back up. He cringed, mentally massaging his brain after the onslaught. Then, he refocused on Ron. He looked worried now. Harry wondered why. He wanted to know but he didn't want Hermione screaming in his head. It was a challenge he was eager to face.
In his mind he crafted a door in his wall. On it he printed the name Ronald Weasley. For good measure he stamped on a warning: Hermione, keep out!
Smiling but wary, he cracked the door and looked at Ron expectantly.
--she still in his head? Is she still saying the tongue twister? What are they talking about? Get out of her head, Harry!
Harry's eyes widened and then he laughed out loud. Hermione let out a great gust of breath behind him.
"What?" she panted. "What's so funny?"
Harry ignored her. "I couldn't hear," he assured Ron.
Ron froze. Then, slowly, he relaxed, letting a tiny, apologetic grin slip over his mouth.
"Did you figure it out, Harry?" Hermione asked impatiently. Can you tell the difference between voice and thought?
"Better," Harry said. "I can block it out."
For good measure, he restored his wall. In fact, now that he knew he could use doors, he would keep the wall in place for good. He'd had enough of unwanted thoughts in his head. He would give Hogwarts back its privacy.
"Harry!" Hermione suddenly shouted.
Harry jumped. "What?"
Beaming, she ran at him and threw her arms around his neck. "Good job, Harry! I knew you could do it!"
In his mind Harry saw Ron's door. He cringed away from it—wary. He didn't have to hear it to know what Ron was thinking. He pulled Hermione away gently, patting her awkwardly on the head.
"Thanks, Hermione." Then he turned and gave Ron a friendly smile. Ron's face went from anger to embarrassment and then he smiled too.
