Part 2 - Autumn

Chapter 8 – Rock Bottom

"Go after her!" Hermione cried as she followed Harry up the stairs to his dorm room. "Harry, you can't leave it like this!"

"She left it like this," Harry reminded her. "I can't go up the girls' staircase."

"She's crying! She thinks you don't want her!"

Two steps up, Harry towered above Hermione. "Maybe I don't want her anymore! Did you ever think of that? Maybe I don't want any of this! She snogged him!"

"Don't be a prat," Ron said, at Hermione's side. "That was years ago. She was just a kid."

"That didn't seem to stop you from taking up with Lav-lav last year when you found out Hermione, here, snogged Viktor Krum back in fourth year!" Harry felt a smug satisfaction as Ron's face dropped.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You are not that petty, Harry Potter."

"Yeah? Well maybe I am," Harry told her. "She snogged Voldemort! He was her bloody boyfriend!" It hurt, and he didn't want it to. He should've left straight from the Dursleys on his birthday, then he never would've known.

"Oh, right," Hermione snapped. "Voldemort was her boyfriend in that he was a seventeen-year-old echo that came out of a Horcrux and took advantage of a little girl sort of way. Come on, Harry! It's Ginny! You know her! She's the same girl she was yesterday and three days ago, and last week when her mum caught the two of you on the couch together! That's the Ginny you're walking away from!"

Harry turned. "They're all the same bloody girl."

A blow between his shoulders knocked Harry off balance and he tripped up the last step, catching it against his shin. Ron was on him in the next second, flipped him over and pinned him to the floor with a heavy hand to the center of his chest.

"I'm going to assume you're in some state of shock and not thinking clearly," Ron said slowly, deliberately. "I'm going to believe that after a night of sleep and contemplation you're going to see what an ass you've been to my sister, and you're going to walk right up to her in the morning and apologize."

"Apologize for what?" Harry demanded. "Get off of me you bloody prat!"

"You made her cry!" There were tears pooling in Ron's red eyes, and they scared the shit out of Harry. "My sister never cries, and you made her cry!"

"Ron," Hermione said, and she placed a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Back off, Hermione!" he ground out. "I'm going to hit him!" Spittle sprayed across Harry's cheek. A tear dropped on Harry's chin. Ron was shaking, and Harry had no doubt that his friend really was going to beat the shit out of him. Harry wasn't sure he'd do much to stop him.

"Ron, think," Hermione counseled.

Harry saw Ron's white fist as he whipped his arm back, and then in the next instant Hermione screamed, grabbed her face, and fell backward. It was hard to understand what had happened from Harry's vantage point on the stone floor, but when she disappeared down the stairs Ron was off him in an instant. Harry struggled to get up.

"Hermione!" Ron called in anguish, and he rushed down the stairs after her.

By the time Harry was able to get to his feet she was already lying at an awkward angle at the next landing down. She wasn't moving, and the edges of Harry's vision threatened black. He forced himself to blink and swallow, to reign in the panic.

"Oh…no!" Harry muttered weakly to himself, and he hurried down after Ron.

Ron, on his knees, said her name over and over as he collected her in his arms. Her head lolled back limply and her hair, draped over his arm, left a bloody smear.

"Don't touch her!" Harry called down. Of course Ron wasn't listening. "Ron, if you move her you could hurt her worse!"

"She just fell down a bleeding flight of stairs!" Ron shouted.

"I know," Harry said. "We need to get her to the infirmary."

"She's not breathing," Ron said. He looked up at Harry, his face streaked with tears. He'd gone so white his freckles seemed to disappear. "I killed her."

"She is breathing," Harry said quickly, not even bothering to check if it was true. They needed to get Hermione help, and fast. Harry drew his wand and shouted, "Levicorpus!" Her body began to rise, and Ron cried out, clung harder.

Harry gripped his shoulder. "She's hurt, Ron. She needs our help. Hermione needs us."

"Right," Ron said, and somehow this snapped him back to himself. "Let's get her to hospital."

"Good man."

They ran with Hermione in front of them down the remaining stairs and landings, through the common room and out the portrait hole. It was a terribly long way to the infirmary and, as they ran past the fifth floor, two Aurors in Ministry robes stopped them.

"But she's hurt!" Harry insisted.

"What happened?" one of them asked. "Was there an attack?"

The other, taller wizard nudged his comrade. "Never mind. Her head's bleeding. She needs a healer. You take her, I'll check out the tower."

The first Auror lifted his wand and took over Harry's Levitation Spell.

"Oi!" Harry objected.

"Back to your beds, the both of you!" the taller Auror instructed as his friend quickly continued down the stair with Hermione. Ron hurried after him.

"I said-" the taller wizard said.

"I don't give a bleeding flip what you said!" Ron shouted over his shoulder. "I'm not leaving her! She's my girl!"

"Frank, he's going with you!" the tall Auror called, and then turned back to Harry. "Right, then. Back up with you. And explain exactly what happened."


Harry had wanted to go with Hermione. He was terribly worried about her, but he knew that if he made a fuss the Aurors would've forced both he and Ron back to the common room, and well, if that happened Ron would've likely thrashed him senseless. Not that he wouldn't eventually, anyway, but Harry decided that if anyone deserved to see Hermione to the infirmary it was Ron. He was her boyfriend, after all. And he'd knocked her down the stairs, however accidentally. His guilt would be overwhelming. Harry's very nearly was, but the guilt was mixed so evenly with anger and outrage that it burned and churned in his belly and kept him from collapse. In fact, he found it impossible to simply sit on the couch in front of the fire. He paced the carpet that was still damp from where he'd dripped on it not ten minutes before. A crash of lightning outside made him jump.

And suddenly Ginny stepped down the girls' staircase, her eyes wide and distracted, her face clearly still distraught. She stopped for a moment on that last step and look up the boys' stairs. Then she shook her head, wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand, and turned to walk to the fire. She stopped dead when she saw Harry.

His heart rate doubled, and his only thought was to catch her before she escaped. "Ginny-"

"No!" she insisted.

"Hermione's hurt."

"What?" Her brows rose and she took several quick steps toward him.

"Ron and I were fighting and she got hit."

Ginny gasped thinking that was the worst of it.

It took a moment for Harry to swallow the lump in his throat, and he looked down at her feet to tell her the rest. "She felt down the stairs, Ginny. She was bleeding…unconscious."

And suddenly the whole night's emotions crashed down on Harry, and he found himself fighting back tears. He turned so Ginny wouldn't see, but he knew he couldn't hide from her. His shoulders shook, and even though he'd barely eaten at supper his stomach felt as if it wanted to reject what little he'd fed it.

It wasn't just Ginny and what she'd told him, and it wasn't just Hermione; it was both of them together, and being back at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore and Hagrid and the injustice of it all. What did it matter if Hermione could fall down a flight of stairs and die? If a bloody accident could take them out? If Ginny could fall in love with the single most evil wizard in the world – and the one person who wanted to see Harry dead? The one wizard Harry had to kill. It wasn't fair! None of it was bleeding fair!

"Did you love him?" Harry asked, still not facing her. His vision went blurry, and he yanked off his glasses to angrily wipe his sleeve over his cheeks and eyes. "When you snogged him, did you love him?"

"Why do you do this to me, Harry?"

"I need to know!"

"No, you don't."

"I do! Did you love him?"

"I was eleven."

"What does that mean? Did you love him?"

"It's not any of your business!"

He spun to face her then. "Tell me, you bloody bitch!"

Her face crumbled, and she shook her head. Her expression was pure agony. "I hate you, Harry. I really do. But you're the only boy I've ever loved."

Where there should have been relief, he felt only an ache in his chest. Grief compounded. "You hate me?" His voice came out very small.

"I deserve better than you."

He couldn't disagree. Looking at her now, he'd never seen her so hurt, so miserable. "You do. I'm sorry. Gin, I'm sorry."

When Ginny turned and went back up the stairs, he wasn't surprised. He watched her until she went around the curve, and then dropped down on to the couch. His nervous energy was gone. Now he just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep for the rest of his life.


Neville woke him. "Blimey, Harry, did you kip down here?"

A crisp light filtered through the stained glass windows of the common room. "What time is it?"

"Breakfast," Neville said. "You don't want to miss the owls. They'll have our class schedules this morning."

Harry nodded and promised he'd be down soon, but his only thoughts were on getting to the infirmary to check on Hermione. If she was well, he would leave Hogwarts before the first class. If she wasn't…he'd have to cross that bridge when he came to it. There would be no problem of her or Ron following now. Ron would stay with Hermione until she was completely recovered. And Ginny…she'd be happy to see him go.

In the infirmary, Hermione was the only patient, and Ron sat beside her in a chair, elbows on knees, holding one of her hands between both of his. He didn't take his eyes off her, didn't even blink. Still in his pajamas and a t-shirt, barefoot and hair messed, Ron managed to look haggard. Harry had never seen him look so bad, not even after he was poisoned last year.

"How is she?" Harry quietly asked.

Ron kissed her fingertip without looking at him. "She had a fit last night. Madame Pomfrey thought at first it was a concussion, but then there was some bleeding…her brain was bleeding...her perfectly clever brain…"

"Oh, no…" Harry felt a little dizzy, and he closed his eyes. "Brain damage?"

"Madame Pomfrey said she was able to stop it, able to fix her or something, I had trouble following. She's doing better now. She's resting now. Will be right as rain, my girl." He swallowed thickly. He was exhausted.

"If you want…I could sit with her for an hour or two. If you wanted to get something to eat, or rest a little." Harry knew it was a mistake to offer the moment Ron's accusing eyes snapped to him. "Or, not," Harry said. "I'm sorry. Ron, I'm terribly sorry."

Ron shook his head, and looked back down at Hermione. "Are you disgusted by her?" he asked quietly.

"Disgusted? By Hermione?"

"By Ginny," Ron snapped. "Don't play with me. She was here earlier."

Alarms went off in Harry's head, and he knew he had to tread lightly here. Ron was a bomb waiting to go off, and Hermione…she needed him calm.

"Do you find Ginny disgusting?" Ron asked again. The vein at his temple pulsed.

"No," Harry said. "Of course not. She's beautiful."

"Even now," Ron pressed. "Now that you know?"

"Even now."

"Do you love her?" Ron asked, but it wasn't simply a question. His voice was low and dangerous.

The truth slipped from Harry's mouth on a breath. "I love her. I do. I reacted badly. I was…hurt. I was stupid. It doesn't matter. None of it matters now."

"Tell her," Ron commanded.

"Ron-"

His eye flashed to Harry. "Tell her now. Go find her and tell her."

"It's not that simple-" Harry began, but Ron shot up from his chair and drew his wand faster than Harry thought possible.

"You will find her and tell her, or I will strike you down. Have I made myself clear?"

Harry took a step back. There was a madness in Ron's eyes that he'd never seen before. It terrified him. "Clear," Harry said.

"And if you leave, if you even think about running, I'll hunt you down." Ron's wand didn't waiver, and Harry believed every word he said. "Now, go and find Ginny, and you tell her you love her."

"She hates me, Ron. She told me."

"We all do." Ron pocketed his wand, then took his seat once more. He picked up Hermione's dropped hand, and gently kissed her knuckle.

Harry's heart might as well have stopped in his chest. He couldn't breath, he couldn't think beyond Ron's declaration.

"I'm not fooling around here, damnit you! Tell her, you bloody bastard!" Ron said, raising his voice. "Now!"

Harry's instinct was to run, to grab his broom and never, never look back. But he couldn't. This was all his fault, and he had to put it to rights. Ron was right, he did need to find Ginny, because even if she no longer wanted to hear it from him, Harry did love her, and she deserved to be loved. She deserved so much more.

Of course, finding her proved to be something of a challenge. Ginny obviously didn't want to be found. She wasn't at breakfast, which wasn't all together surprising, but she also wasn't in the Gryffindor common room, or in the girls' dormitory (if Padma was to be believed) or in the library – not that he really expected her to be there. Harry started checking classrooms.

When he pushed open the Muggle Studies door, his stomach dropped out from under him, his chest tightened and he couldn't draw a breath, his eyes refused to shut, his feet wouldn't allow him to turn away. It was a solid minute that Harry stood there staring as Ginny Weasley snogged the hell out of Ernie Macmillian. Her hands were in his hair, mussing his perpetually perfect brown coif. His hands were on her bum – wadding up her skirt high enough for Harry to see her blue flowered knickers - and Ernie had her pulled tight against his body. She groaned and Harry's throat released a pained moan. Ernie must've heard it because he broke the kiss and looked up.

"Potter!" he said, both surprised and a little embarrassed at being caught. Ginny's face dropped. She closed her eyes and dropped her forehead against Ernie's chest.

And still, Harry couldn't look away. Some masochistic part of him wanted him to see them, wanted to feel the knife twisting in his chest. He deserved it, he told himself, and yet he thought of a dozen ways he could hex Ernie without even breaking a sweat. Harry could make him hurt. He could make him wish he was never born.

"Go away, Harry," Ginny said. "I've nothing to say to you."

"That much is clear," Harry snapped. Pain turned to anger, and it slithered through his veins. "Already found yourself a new bloke, have you? My, my, Ginny, you do work fast."

"New and better," she said lightly. "Ernie's Head Boy this year."

There was a buzzing inside Harry's head as blood surge fueling his rage. His hands began to shake. "So you got your Head Boy, after all. Brilliant."

"Yes," she said curtly, "he is."

"Say, Potter," Ernie began, "is there some problem? You look a little peaked."

Ernie still had his hands on Ginny's lower back, and she still stood happily in his arms. Ernie was tall, he had dark hair…much like Tom Riddle. Harry's head began to pound. And then there was a blinding light, and his scar felt as if it was ripping open. He grabbed his forehead, collapsed forward on to his knees.

"Harry!" It was Ginny's voice, distant and frantic.

And then there was laughter, an evil hissing sort of laughter he'd heard before in his head. And then Harry blacked out.


Eggs. Rotten, stinking eggs. Yellow water, and thick air, and stars…thousands and thousands of stars.

Wormtail on his knees, and another squat wizard, someone familiar…Greyback, in his human form, torn and bloody and smiling. They're all smiling, laughing a horrible guttural laugh. It's good. It's very, very good…

"Harry!" The shrill voice was followed by a sharp jostling of his shoulder. Harry blinked, and then hid his eyes from the bright light. Too bright. Wasn't it night?

"There you are, Harry." This time it was Lupin's calm voice. "Now, sit up. There you go."

His stomach wasn't right yet, but he managed to swing his legs over the couch and lean forward on them. Dumbledore's office? How had he gotten there?

"Eat this." A piece of chocolate was forced into his hand. Chocolate was Lupin's cure-all. When Harry blinked up at him he had his hands in his cardigan pocket, and he smiled warmly.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked Lupin, and then he realized that Tonks was there as well. She stood across the room, hands on hips, robes open to reveal a short denim skirt and a tight, low-cut top. She seemed agitated, and clutched her wand.

"All right now, Potter? You look as if you could use another lie-down," she said.

"It was your scar?" Lupin asked. "Did you see anything?"

Harry nodded, absently touched his forehead. It prickled, and his head throbbed. "But…what are you doing here?" Harry asked Lupin. His voice was rough, like he'd been screaming. "At Hogwarts?"

"Was in the neighborhood," Lupin dismissed with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

Shaky, sick, guilty, angry. Ginny snogged Ernie Macmillian. Bloody bint. "I'm good," Harry said.

There was a disbelieving snort from near the fireplace, and Harry turned to see Esmerelda standing there, staring at the flames, her arms crossed over her long, black robes. What was she doing there? Come to think of it, what was Harry doing there?

"Professor," he said to McGonagall, "am I in trouble?"

"What did you see, Harry?" Lupin asked, drawing his attention again. "Was it Voldemort?"

"I think…maybe. Yes."

"Maybe yes?" Esmerelda sounded upset. "Which is it, Potter? Maybe or yes? Was it Voldemort or not?"

Harry didn't understand why she was snappish with him. She hardly knew him. And his head still hurt. "I didn't see him, but I think-"

"You think?" she barked. She took a couple of steps toward him. Her black eyes pinned him. She was angry. Why was she angry? "Where was Voldemort? Who was he with? What were they doing? Did they say anything? Could he see you, as well? And who were you with? What were you doing in an empty classroom?"

"Enough!" Lupin said sharply, and raised a hand to cut her off.

"Remus-" Tonks began.

"No, luv, I won't have him badgered! He's still in shock." Remus tapped Harry hand. "Eat," he urged.

"He's not a child," Esmerelda said. "You treat him like a child. No wonder he's weak."

"I am not weak!"

"Oh, really? And how long was You-Know-Who in your head before I shoved him out? You didn't even try to defend yourself!" The color in her cheeks blazed as she turned to McGonagall. "If I'm here to teach him, then his lessons start tonight. We can't have You-Know-Who peeking into his head whenever he wants! Harry's not Order, and he hasn't Whispered, but he knows a helluva lot more than you think he does. He's got to be stronger, both physically and mentally, and no more pandering to him. No more kid gloves."

"Yes, yes," McGonagall said. "Of course you're right. But I can't allow-"

"Of course she's right?" Harry objected. "Who the bloody hell are you? I don't care if you're Charlie's bird or not, or if you knew Dumbledore! You can't come in here and start making demands! You're not even British!" Bloody Americans, always try to take over. They never left well-enough alone.

"I'm not American, you pathetic little boy!" she shouted. "And like it or not you need someone to take over here! Someone who doesn't know you, someone who don't care to coddle you. You're not ready for your future - you think you are, but I can tell you that you're not. You're not even close. You're weak-"

"I'm not weak!" Harry yelled. She took another step forward, and suddenly she was there, in his head, pushing and prodding, looking at things he didn't want her to see. Private things. Ginny…Hermione's breasts…wanking in the loo…Charlie-

She jerked away from him, and Harry fell forward on to the floor.

"Oh, dear!" McGonagall said.

"What did you do to him?" Lupin demanded. "Harry, are you all right?"

"She Read him," Tonks said grimly.

"Professor Wizmere, we do not force our way into the students' minds! This is Hogwarts! This is Britain! This is not the wild west!"

"And this is not a student," she said, holding out a hand to help Harry up. He wasn't about to take it. "If you treat him like a student, this is all you'll ever get out of him. How long do you think he would hold up if another attack came right now?"

"That's what you're here for," Lupin insisted.

"No. I agreed to teach him to Shield his mind, not to baby-sit him the rest of his life because no one expected more from him." Her thin brows rose. "By the way, that was impressive, Harry, using a known weakness against me like that. Clever to pull up that particular memory. There is potential, I think. But you have to work harder. It's time you grew up."

Clever? He'd remembered Charlie lounging on Ron's bed when they talked that one morning at the Burrow about Ginny. How was that clever? "I've grown up. I'm seventeen."

She snorted. "As if that means anything. Get up, Potter," she said. Not an order, but a request. With everyone watching, it felt self-conscious and petty to refuse and remain on the floor. When he made it to his feet she inhaled deeply. "All right, then. Start at the very beginning, from the first instant your scar started to hurt. Tell us everything."


Harry's belly was grumbling as he made his way back to the infirmary. Ron didn't say anything when Harry sat down on the other side of Hermione. Neither of them had moved. He should've brought Ron some food, or pumpkin juice. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier?

"You found Ginny," Ron said. "You look like hell."

"Bloody Ernie Macmillian."

"Ernie Macmillian?" said Ron.

"Yeah, Ginny's new boyfriend. What the bloody hell does she see in him?"

Ron's brows lowered, and he turned back to Hermione. "She has a new bloke, then?"

"She has the Head Boy," Harry grumbled.

"Was she crying?" Ron asked.

"What? No, she was snogging him! In the Muggle Studies classroom!"

"Well, then," Ron said. "Sounds to me like she traded up."

Harry wanted to be hurt by the slight, to be angry, but he found himself agreeing. Ginny deserved better than him, and she'd gone out and gotten it.

"You're too late," Ron said quietly. "You let a moment go by, and suddenly it's too late." He took a deep breath. "I could've caught her. I could've cast Arresto Momentum. I could've conjured pillows for her to land on – there are a hundred things I could've done."

"It happened so fast," Harry said.

"It always happens fast," Ron insisted. "Every time we get into a duel it's lightning quick, and one second can make the difference between floating to the ground or falling down the stairs." He placed her hand on the bed and rubbed his face. "You have to start up the DA. There's no way around it."

"The DA? Are you mad? Now?"

"We need the practice. I need the practice. I need to know what spells to use in every situation. I need to be able to protect her properly, Harry. This is my fault. Look at her! I did that!"

Hermione's eye was purple and green and had swollen shut, and her cheek radiated sickly pink and blue. Madame Pomfrey would want her conscious before healing the more minor wounds, of course. She would take care of the major injuries first, and leave the minor to heal on their own so as to not overtax the body with magic. Harry had been in the Infirmary enough to know the drill.

"I hit her, Harry."

"You didn't. It was an accident. You would never hit Hermione."

"No?" Ron asked. "I was going to hit you. And you're my best mate. I was going to hex you this morning. Or send you away. Who's to say I wouldn't hit her, too?"

"You love her," Harry protested. The guilt on Ron's face was so profound Harry's own eyes watered.

"And still…I couldn't save her from falling."

"I didn't save her, either. You're not alone in this. If I hadn't upset Ginny-"

"Yes, let's blame you," Ron said. Harry's stomach tensed, until Ron glanced over at him with a weak, watery smile. "You bloody bastard."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. Ron was still upset – hell, Harry was still upset – but if Hermione made it through this whole, then he knew he and Ron would be all right. If Hermione didn't make it…then Ron would need him. Ron would need them all.

"So, Macmillian, eh?" Ron said, as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "He's handsome. Serves you right."

"He's not so handsome," Harry said.

"Oh, the girls think so."

"Yeah, well, I defer to their judgment."

"You going to swear off witches, then?" Ron asked. Harry hadn't even thought about it. Why would he date someone if not Ginny?

"I'm a lousy boyfriend," Harry said.

Ron whole-heartedly agreed.


Fed, showered and changed, Harry reported to Tonks' office that night for detention, but she sent him to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom instead. It was lit up when he arrived, and all the desks had been piled along one wall to leave room for an enormous, thick green mat in the center.

"Before you come here each night you will spend at least a half hour in solitary meditation." Esmerelda swept down the office stairs and stepped onto the mat. She looked like a raven. A giant, angry raven. "You've mediated before, haven't you?"

"Erm…well, the traitor Snape had me lie in bed and clear my mind. That's like meditation, isn't it?"

Esmerelda's dark red lips twisted in a smirk. "Who's the traitor Snape?"

"He murdered Dumbledore."

Her smirk disappeared, and Harry found some satisfaction in that. "He was also my last Defense professor, so you'll understand when I say I don't trust you."

"You shouldn't trust me. You don't know me," she said succinctly. "Always keep your own opinion of people, follow your instincts above what others tell you. It's good that you challenge. Always question. Everyone has their own agenda in this, Harry, even people who want to help you."

"Even you?" he asked.

"Especially me," she told him. "My motives for being here aren't selfless. Yes, McGonagall asked me to teach you Occlumency, and she desperately needed to fill the Defense position, but I have my own reasons for coming to Hogwarts."

"Charlie," Harry said.

"Oh, fuck no. And just for the record, I don't care that you're Harry Potter. If you ever call me Charlie's bird again I'll string you up by your ankles and let the first years have a go at you with a broom. Capisce?"

"Er…"

"Good. Two more things before I teach you what true meditation entails. Number one, I don't make a habit of breaking into other peoples' heads. Some people Broadcast like Charlie, or your friend Hermione – that one's a real screamer – but you don't. So when I'm Reading you, you'll know. You knew before, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Harry was still miffed about that.

"Right. That brings us to number two. I don't tell your secrets, you don't tell mine. In order for me to teach you properly there's going to be a lot of and back and forth between us." She took a deep breath. "I give you my word, and my word is my bond. I need yours."

"That includes what you already saw today."

"Of course," she said.

"Then you have my word. Your secrets are as safe with me as mine are with you."

She wasn't completely thrilled with the way he worded his promise, Harry could tell by the wary expression on her face, but she didn't call him on it. Harry didn't trust her, secrets or no, and if there was something dark in there that the others needed to know, he wouldn't hesitate in spilling every detail at his disposal to keep his friends safe.

"OK then," she said as she took a seat on the mat. "To meditate, from the Latin meditatus…"


Harry went to check on Hermione before going back to the dorm that night. Ron was bent over her hand asleep. Harry sighed. Honestly, though, if it was Ginny, would he be any different? Merlin. He hoped it would never be Ginny lying in that bed.

"Ung, Hermione!" Ron jerked up and blinked at her. Harry could tell he was holding his breath, searching for movement in her chest, any flicker of life in her face.

"She didn't move," Harry said quietly.

Ron jumped again, clearly taken by surprise. "I thought I heard her calling my name," Ron said groggily. He turned his attention back to Hermione. "She was calling me."

"She's still asleep."

"Yeah." Ron picked up her hand again.

"Ron. You need to eat something."

"I'm fine."

"You look like shit. Eat something, change your clothes. If you look like this when she wakes up you'll scare the hell out of her."

Ron glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "When did you start swearing?"

Harry smirked. "I'll stay with her. Go."

"No."

"I won't leave her side. I promise. Scrub up. Get some coffee."

"I want to be here when she wakes up."

"You will do," Harry assured him. "She'll wait for you. She loves you, and you know Hermione – she can be very stubborn."

A half-grin lifted his mouth. "Yeah…"

Harry didn't know how Ron stared at her like that. It was difficult to see Hermione so still.

"You'll stay with her, then?" Ron asked. "You won't leave her?"

"Not even for a second," Harry promised.

Ron nodded, but didn't make a move to stand.

"She's going to be all right, you know?" Harry said.

He didn't know if it was his words that triggered it or something that had been building, but Ron erupted then into guttural sobs that shook his entire body. He doubled over her hand again, pressed it to his forehead. Harry froze. He'd never seen Ron break down like that – or anyone, really. But this was Ron, his best mate. If it was Hermione, Harry would've put his arm around her shoulder, he would've given her a hug and held her. But Hermione was in the bed, and it was Ron who broke down, and somehow, the thought of holding Ron didn't sit quite right. Harry considered letting him cry; quietly leaving the infirmary and giving Ron a private moment, because his preferred tension release – swearing – wasn't likely to help him much at the moment. But Harry couldn't do it, he couldn't leave, not when Ron was so distraught.

So, with a heavy heart, Harry walked around the bed and knelt down beside his friend. Ron was a mess, red-faced, snot everywhere, and spittle that flew with every sob. Harry thought he knew this kind of anguish – when Sirius died he spent a night and a day bawling until his eyes simply wouldn't produce any more tears. But when Harry saw Hermione, and thought of what she meant to him – of all she meant to him – and knowing that she meant infinitely more to Ron, Harry realized that he had no concept for Ron's pain at all. Sirius had been his godfather, yes, but Harry had known him for less than a year all told. Harry couldn't possibly know the pain Ron had because he would never have the kind of connection Ron shared with Hermione. He might have had it with Ginny, he thought, but he'd ruined any chance for that now.

Ron shot up out of the chair before Harry had a chance to think of something to say. "You stay with her," Ron said, hiding his face, and pointing at the seat. "You stay here."

"Won't budge an inch," Harry said.

Ron gave a sort of nod and practically ran out of the infirmary.

He was back in less than twenty minutes.


Ginny was coming in the portrait hole the following morning just as Harry was going down to breakfast.

"Oh!" she said. She dodged his gaze and her face flushed. She pushed past him.

"Sorry," Harry said, annoyed. Was she going to start ignoring him now? She gave a sarcastic snort. "What's that for?"

"Interesting what you're willing to apologize for," she snapped.

"It wasn't an apology," he insisted.

She spun around to face him, and her hair fanned around her shoulders. "It's the closest I'll ever get out of you!"

"You want an apology?"

"I don't want anything from you," she insisted.

"Good, then. You'll not have one." Strictly speaking Harry hadn't done anything wrong. He wasn't the one snogging the Head Boy in empty classrooms. Come to think of it, where was she coming back from so early in the morning? "Been snogging your new boyfriend already this morning, have you?"

Her face dropped and Harry knew he was closer to the truth than he'd intended to hit. "It's none of your business, where I've been." She lifted her chin, then, but it was a little late for true indignation. She was worried.

"More than snogging?" Harry asked, though his voice seemed to have lost its momentum by the third word. There was a chill that filtered through him from his head down.

She crossed her arms. "Again, none of your business." She refused to meet his eyes. Or couldn't.

And then his face went hot, and a sick sort of rage twisted his gut. "Bint," he spit out, but his mind was screaming slag! Slag! Slag!

Tears filled her eyes, her chin quivered, but her voice didn't waver as she screamed, "And you're a bloody, selfish, prick of a boy who will never be anything more! You're pathetic! You're small! I hate you!"

Her words stung more than he could've thought possible. "Really? Well…you're the only one who seems to think so!"

"I'm the only person who really knows you, Harry. Ever think of that?" And then she blew up the girls' stair and out of sight.

His mind protested that she was wrong, that it was a lie. Ron knew him, and Hermione! Certainly they knew him better than Ginny! Except they didn't. She knew him in a completely different way. She understood what they couldn't even begin to fathom. Small, she said. Pathetic. Selfish. She'd called him a boy. Not a wizard, not a man, but a boy. He was a small, pathetic, selfish boy. She hated him.

He whirled around wanting to hit something, wanting to hurt someone. He wanted to fly. He wanted to rage. There were second years between him and the portrait hole, and he roared at them, "Get the bloody hell out of my way!" They scattered like mice, squeaking. He stormed down the tower stair, and then the Grand Stair, pushing students out of his way. Was he invisible? Couldn't they see him coming? "Move!" he ordered. A fourth year pushed back, and Harry had his wand in his hand before he registered what he was doing.

"Potter!" The sharp voice snapped him back to himself, and while his anger didn't dissipate, he was able to see past it. He turned to see Esmerelda, dark hair, dark eyes, and in black robes looking fierce. "My office! Now!"

Who the bloody hell did she think she was, anyway? "I've got breakfast and then class," he told her, jaw clamped tight.

"You've just forfeited breakfast. My office now!"

He was still livid when he stomped into the empty Defense classroom. He didn't even make it to the circular stair that led to her elevated office when she said, "What the fuck is your problem, Potter?"

He spun on her. "You!" he shouted. "This place! Everything!" He was just an ass to Ginny. Why had he called her a bint? Why hadn't he just apologized? She'd wanted an apology, he knew, even if she wouldn't admit it.

"So you throw a tantrum?" She wrinkled her nose at him. "Pathetic."

"Shut up!" he yelled.

"Make me," she taunted. "Come on, Potter, show me what you're made of. Or is bullying fourth years more your style? Like to pick on the little ones?"

He whipped out his wand and tried to Petrify her, but she blocked him before he had "Petrificus," completely out, and hit him hard with a Disarming Spell. He flipped backward and landed on a desk.

"Get up," she commanded. "Show me what you're made of. Where's that powerful Potter now?"

Harry held his back as he curled on to his side and forced himself back to his feet. Pain mingled with the anger now, tempering it a little, making him more cautious. What was she doing? Taunting him? She was supposed to be a professor! McGonagall would never force him to duel.

"Wand up," she commanded. "Give me the best you've got!"

"Levicorpus!" Harry shouted, and Esmerelda was yanked up by her right ankle. Her robes fell down around her shoulders revealing more than Harry wanted to see; pudgy legs, thick middle, more than ample bum and baps incased in a black bra and knickers.

"Convertic!" she called, and Harry was punched hard in the gut. He doubled over, fell to the ground, and he heard her hit the stone floor as his spell failed. "Bastic!" she shouted, and he flew through the air and hit the wall with a thick thump.

"Protect yourself, Potter! Shield!" She was closing in on him, and he was still stuck with his feet dangling off the ground. His lungs wouldn't work, his eyes watered, his vision went dark around the edges. And then she was in his head, peeling away the layers of hurt, making the freshest wounds bleed all over again.

you're a bloody, selfish, prick of a boy who will never be anything more! You're pathetic! You're small! Ginny's words, Ginny's voice.

I'm small, Harry said in his head. I'm pathetic.

You chose to be, Esmerelda whispered inside him.

"No!" Harry shouted. "Get out of my head!"

"Make me," she urged. "Force me out!"

Ginny crying…Hermione lying bruised and still…Ron weeping.

"Will me out, Potter!"

He tried, but his hands were forced against the wall, his feet couldn't gain any purchase. She had control of his body, and access to his thoughts…of Ginny in her summer dress pushed up on her parents' couch, his hands in her knickers, her hand down his trousers. No! Not that thought – that was private! She couldn't have that! Ginny stroked him, she teased and tugged, and Merlin it felt so bloody good. And he kissed her, and he pushed a finger inside her and she touched herself, and fuck! he was going to come, and bloody Merlin, he loved her, he loved her, he loved her. And she hated him…and Ernie…and Harry's heart bled in his chest. He wanted to die.

Esmerelda pulled away, he felt her go. Slowly he slid down the wall, but he let his legs crumbled beneath him. He curled into a heap over his wet denims and hollow chest.

"Stand up, Harry."

"Go to hell."

"If you were physically stronger you would've been able to break the Restrain Spell," she said, as if he weren't lying on the floor, crying like a little girl. "And even with your limited mental training you should've been able to shove me out of that last memory. Were you even trying?"

"You had no right to see that!" Harry growled.

"Yeah, well, it's not exactly my idea of a good time, either," she said. She rested a hip on a desk and relaxed a little. "It makes me feel like a dirty old woman seeing you like that. Seventeen? You may be in your majority, but you're still very young. And that memory was hot."

"You shut up about it!" Harry shouted.

"Stand up," she said again. "Clean yourself up. Let's talk like adults."

He felt ridiculous on the floor, so he did force himself to his feet, and he Scourified the front of his jeans dry. He faced her, squared his shoulders. "You spoke to me in my head. The traitor Snape never did that."

"Not all Legilimens can do it. And not all Occlumens can hear it. The fact that you could proves you have at least some ability. That's something of a relief after that pitiful demonstration we just had. You could feel me in there, yes? Why didn't you try to push me out?"

"With what?" Harry asked. "What does that mean?"

"You're a wizard. Your mind is the strongest asset you've got. When you want someone out of your head, or out of a particular thought you can push them out. Here, let me show you. Think of something pleasant. Something easy that you don't mind sharing with me. Something non-sexual, please."

Harry eyed her. He didn't want to share anything with her at the moment, but he took a deep breath and thought. Easy? Easy would be something with Ron, probably. Like the two of them playing chess. Harry thought about the first time Ron had showed him wizard's chess, and the wonder Harry had felt. "All right."

"Now, the instant you feel me, I want you to imagine a large hand inside that memory, and force the hand to push me out. You push me away."

Ron's chess board was worn and chipped from years of play by different owners. The black pieces strutted around their little squares while the white yelled frantically up at Harry, begging him to do one move over another, to spare the bishop's pawn.

So, Ron's good at chess? Esmerelda thought. He's a strategist? He should apply himself more.

You sound like Hermione, Harry told her.

Push me out.

He thought about making a large, Hagrid-sized fist, and then all of a sudden he was remembering the first time Hagrid had brought him and Hermione to see Grawp, his giant half-brother. The woods were dark, and they were going in very deep. Harry had the oddest sensation that they were being watched.

Push me out, Potter!

Another fist - Grawp's fist - came out of no where, and Harry imagined it sweeping through the memory, knocking Hermione back and down the stairs. She was lying there at the bottom, her legs sprawled in her purple striped pajama bottoms, and Ron was standing over her. "She's dead," he said. "I killed her."

Push me out, damn it!

"I can't see you," Harry said.

You know I'm here, you can feel me. Reach out with the hand and touch me.

He found her just over his left shoulder. And suddenly Hermione and Ron became Charlie and Tonks, and it was Charlie on the ground next to a fireplace. And he wore nothing but jeans, and he lounged on an elbow with a glass of wine in his hand. His bare chest was covered in ginger hair. Tonks was next to him sitting cross-legged, her hair long and curly and blonde. And she was laughing, and Charlie was smiling at her, and Harry suddenly knew that they'd been lovers.

But of course they'd been lovers. They'd been each others' first. Harry knew that. And then there was an enormous punch to his chest, and Harry flew backwards and hit the wall.

"What was that?"

"That," said Esmerelda, "is what it feels like to be pushed out."

"I was in your head," Harry said. "You were watching Charlie and Tonks."

"The memory isn't important. Did you understand what it felt like when I pushed you? You think you can do that to me?"

"Yeah," Harry said. But it was hard to shake the memory he'd just witnessed. "You were angry that they hadn't told you. And you were jealous of them. I felt it. Why could I feel it? Legilimency deals with memories, doesn't it? Not emotions."

"Memories are laced with emotion. Be careful about interpreting other peoples' emotions," she said. "Isolated memories can easily be taken out of context."

"Is that what this was? That intense jealousy, that anger was taken out of context?" Harry asked.

She gave him a hard look. "No."

"But why were you jealous? It's clear he fancies you."

"It was a long time ago," Esmerelda said. "And nothing is ever clear with him."

"But you could just look in his head-"

"No!" she said sharply. "You can't do that! Harry, you can't ever use what I teach you on Ginny!"

"What?" Her vehemence startled Harry.

"Harry, this is serious. The closer you are to the person, the more dangerous Legilimency becomes. You never use it on a family member, and you never, never use it on someone you love. Ever. Do you understand? You shouldn't use it on Hermione or Ron, but especially not on Ginny."

"But why? Does it mess with the head or something?"

"Very much so," she said. "It messes with the head, with the heart...it becomes something more that Legilimency when love is involved. Making love when you're inside her head, it invokes the old magic. You won't be able to control it, and neither will she. It's addictive and seductive and it destroys you from the inside out."

"But-"

"No!" she shouted, and jumped up from the desk. "I will not teach you anything more unless I have your word that you won't use Legilimency on Ginny!"

"I won't. She's already got a new bloke. We're through."

"Is that what you think?" Esmerelda said.

"Yeah, that's what I think," Harry challenged.

"Then you're an idiot. I've seen the way she looks at you. It's the same way Charlie looks at me. It isn't over. It'll never be over."

"What part of new bloke do you not understand?"

Esmerelda crossed her arms. "Are all my students going to be as difficult as you?"

"I've seen the way Charlie looks at you, too," Harry pressed. "And if memory serves, you gave him a good snogging at the Burrow."

She covered her face with her hand. "Tell me you won't use Legilimency on Ginny, Harry. It's important."

"I won't use Legilimency on Ginny," he promised. "Is that what happened between you and Charlie?"

She dropped her hand and gave him a wary glare. "Enough for today, Potter."

"What happen between you and Charlie?"

Esmerelda shook her head. "Don't ask, Harry. I'm not going to tell you."

"Fine, then." He got up to leave, but just as he reached the door he remembered. "You know, I think Charlie said the exact same thing to me about you."

She stared at him for a moment, and then turned and headed to her office. "I'm sure you're mistaken."

"No," Harry said to himself. "I don't believe I am."