Completed: (12/1/05) 8:47 PM
Posted: (12/1/05) 9:00 PM
Title: Deception & Concealment
Author: KissThis
Rating: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"
Disclaimer: I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.
Pairing: Hermione x James x Sirius – FINALLY, albeit dysfunctionally.
A/N: D&C is back after an age-long hiatus! Yay! I know this is a little shorter than usual, but I wanted to get something out before you all came tearing down my house. Next chapter sees Harry having a few close calls where his secret is concerned – reviews make it come faster!
And thanks to everyone who so patiently waited. I think it was definitely worth it for me to take a month off. Kisses!
Harry stared at the glimmering object in his possession shining weakly in the watery light of a winter dawn. The chain draped across his splayed fingers, he was hypnotized by the twisting turning of the hourglass made by the subtle movement of his hand. Turn. Spin. Glitter. If he stared long enough – hard enough – the pale ivory sand within took on an almost phantasmal blue tint. He could see the tiny knob from where he sat cross-legged atop his bed. It's already set to 'forward'.
It's so pretty when it's spinning really – all smooth shining curves and cascading sands. So easy too. It would cost him nothing to use, to send it spinning into magical power. Ron and Harry – he could see them, he could be their Hermione again.
Twist. Twirl. Sparkle.
Oh to see it spin again, to have the world drop in away in a blurring whiz of Technicolor. There was no reason to stay... Harry reached for it.
BANG!
"WAKE UP YOU LAZY GITS!"
Harry held the Time-Turner to his hammering heart, his throat dry at having very nearly dropped it. A narrowly averted disaster. He was gripping it so tightly it might break regardless and – with shapes dancing in warped shadows behind his curtains – he was forced to make it a conscious effort; unclenching, uncurling fingers.
Still in a daze he heard his name through the fog of anxiety, throbbing adrenaline, and the golden hourglass disappeared in a whisper of cloth just as the curtains were wrenched excitedly open. It was James, fresh from his own dorm – the higher octave in his tone voicing his mild shock at seeing Harry upright in bed, legs neatly folded over an already made bed.
"Come on get up! PRESENTS!"
Harry blinked, almost dumbly, at him still trying to shake the ringing from his ears and to dispel the demanding, tantalizing weight of the Time Turner against his chest.
"Don't you get presents where you're from?" Peter asked rather densely, his round face appearing in the triangle made by James' arm with a fist on his hip.
"Of course." He found his voice, unwinding from atop the bed. Peter had already moved on with a shrug, but James was there still, still looking at him. His glasses had been put on in haste and they balanced on his nose with as much defiance as the rowdy tangle of hair atop his head, matching the engrained image in Harry's head, the cemented feeling that was only just and still everything at all that was – poignantly – James.
Hermione was never meant to have such an all encompassing "feel" of James Potter embossed behind the backs of her eyes.
Like a match flaring to life the Time Turner burned white-hot beneath the cotton of his shirt. His coming breath went in sharply and he froze, feeling the steaming weight of the hourglass through the tightly woven threads and heavy layers of cloth that bound Hermione's breasts.
But James was looking at Harry in a way that made the skin along the backs of his knuckles tingle. It was concern – he could see it resting in his hazel eyes and the uncertain stance within the hangings of his bed – but it was more, more enough that it caused a knot of air and anxiety to form in his throat. So personal and centralized in its intensity, James was looking with eyes only for him and Harry was unprepared for the unfamiliar feelings it beckoned up from someplace deeper than his chest, somewhere in the tips of his toes.
Hermione dared to preserve the memory of that look deep inside her withdrawn consciousness. And Harry risked it all; deciding that to stay just one more day would not horribly alter the future.
At that moment, the scalding touch of metal died away and a cool, cloaking feeling – icy rivers moving from his chest out through his veins – overtook him. He could breathe again without choking on the thick ball of oxygen, though his chilled lungs rattled slightly beneath his ribs.
"Do you always make it a habit of invading other students' privacy?" Harry felt the words leave his mouth, but they sounded far away and thin. "If so, it's easier to see why you were given a room of your own."
A cheeky half-smile cracked James' sleep-dried lips. His voice was easy and filled with an extra weight of smug pride. "Now ya know why we can't get up the girls' stairs."
Harry smiled back, and to his own lips the wide, beaming grin felt alien; though, unexplainably right in its unfamiliarity.
Yes. He would stay just one more day...
Everyone was gathered around the tree in the common room – everyone at least that stayed behind for the holidays – and the boys were eagerly dividing up their gifts into monstrous piles, while Lily shook her head but stuck with the other seventh years who waited until the boys were finished before circling around the remaining parcels in a pack of vibrantly colored nightdresses and bathrobes.
Harry is the last one down the dormitory steps and by then his presents have already been pushed into their own pile beneath the tree and out of the way of Sirius' almost violent paper shredding. He smiles, but chooses to remain silent as he sits down Indian style beside his pile. Pine needles are poking him through his t-shirt, but if this is to be his last day in the past then he wants to soak in as much of it as he can.
Remus is peacefully ensconced in a semi-circle of new books – Peter quibbling to the oblivious prefect about how wrapping paper was meant to be torn not folded as he fiddles with a stack of cards from the chocolate frog boxes, Sirius is snickering over a love note attached to an admirer's gift, and James has fashioned himself a pirate's hat out of flamboyant magenta wrapping paper.
"You gonna open those or what?" James demanded, cutting into his daze.
Harry blinked at him in surprise and then looked down at the pile beside him. "Oh, I suppose..." After everything, Yule didn't seem that big of a deal anymore.
"You sure do got a lot," said Peter, blissfully chomping on chocolate and Sugar Quills and shuffling over on his knees. A parcel wrapped in plain brown was tucked under his arm. Harry looked at his pile again.
"Yeah..." he murmured and couldn't stop from prodding the substantial stack. "Wonder who sent them."
"Whadaya mean 'who sent them'?" Sirius exclaimed laughing. "Family, friends from back home."
Harry looked away, but didn't bother correcting the boy. He hadn't exactly told anyone his reasons for "transferring" to Hogwarts, but now that his time here was over he'd let them draw their own conclusions. "Hmm" was all he said picking up the topmost present in Gryffindor red. It was from Peter.
Since he knew well enough that Marauders couldn't be trusted, Harry'd arranged during the Hogsmeade trip for their Yule gifts to be delivered the day of (for a nominal fee, of course). Remus had already opened his – a snow globe depicting a cozy cabin in a sea of evergreens charmed so that the sun was always shining and a tiny spiral of smoke appeared periodically out the chimney. Instead of snowing when you shook it, the globe emitted bird and woodland sounds as well as the rich scent of pine.
He couldn't tell if James had opened his yet or not, but Sirius was making his way towards a smaller bundle of packages now after dealing with his "fan mail", and Peter was tearing open the brown package stuffed in his lap. It was always weird seeing people open the gifts you've given them so Harry turned to his own pile.
Peter had gotten him a planner and schedule set for tutoring next term. A photo album from Remus had the first page filled with ridiculous portraits of the four Marauders. James had gotten him a bag of Bertie Botts; Sirius, two cases of Butterbeer. Any further forays into the land of gifts were put on hold by that same Sirius squealing in girlish delight and hoisting a large black something out into the air.
"Wicked!" He exclaimed and Harry worried James might have a new rival with the look of pure adoration Sirius was giving his shiny, new bike helmet.
"Put it on then!" Peter encouraged and Sirius readily obliged. He shoved the helmet over a mass of hair, nearly taking off his nose in the process, and the behemoth settled around his shoulders. Bright blue eyes peered out from the opened visor slot.
Sirius Black stood up pompously in the middle of the common room in his rumpled pajamas, hair jutting out all over and a great black helmet on his head and proudly proclaimed, "I am so rad." The visor fell shut.
"Why, Harry?" Remus lamented. "You've gone and encouraged him."
Harry smiled slightly in apology and eyed his remaining gifts distrustfully. Who were they from? He picked the first one up and turned it over in his hands.
"No, no, no!" Sirius was telling James. "I could be in movies, I tell ya! Motorcycle cop by day, undercover spy by night."
"Don't forget to take off the helmet," James advised. "The other spies might cotton on."
Sirius smacked him. Leaping onto an armchair – and nearly missing it all together with his distorted seeing – Sirius wobbled his way onto the back and proceeded to "drive" it with all the requisite sound effects and pantomimed motions. Harry shook his head at the sight, but it was so instinctively Sirius that he soaked up the scene along with all the others. It was a shame he wouldn't be able to fill up the rest of Remus' photobook.
Realizing that the others had finished their own unwrapping and were now casting curious glances in his direction, Harry hurried to finish, furtively peering at the suspicious packages as they were opened. The first was innocent enough – a new eagle quill from McGonagall with a short note to enjoy the holidays – and at least Harry had thought it was innocent. Sirius was sobbing loudly inside his helmet and dramatically throwing himself about the room.
"Pookums never sends me gifts!" He was heard repeating while he flailed about.
The next few boxes held nothing but confusion – a gaudy gold chain, heart-shaped candies, a new money bag, and a blue patterned scarf; all but the last one were without cards or notes. A tag had been fastened to the scarf imprinted with a sugar pink lipstick kiss and something about the astronomy tower; it was snatched from him before he could finish reading it himself much less hide it.
"Who's 'Ashley'?" Remus asked with teasing smile. Harry's gaze went over the brunet's shoulder to James, who was frowning. Last night's stolen kisses and heated touches were suddenly too close a memory and Harry flushed.
"I honestly have no idea!" He insisted, before realizing that he was speaking to James alone. His eyes darted away and fell on Sirius instead. The visor had fallen down again and so his expression was anyone's guess. "I don't even know any Ashleys."
"It says your name," Peter told him, pointing to the card. He grinned. "Are you really going to meet her on the astronomy tower at midnight?"
Harry's face flamed. "Oh, shut up, Peter," he mumbled and stuffed the letter in with his gifts.
"I didn't even know you had admirers" – and suddenly Sirius was sitting with legs akimbo in front of him. He'd pushed the visor up again, but it kept falling. Down. Up. Down. Up. It was very distracting.
"Don't be daft, Sirius," Harry said stoutly. "They're just being friendly."
"Mmm," he grunted with dramatic eye movements. "Whatever you say, Harietta."
Harietta...oh, God! Those poor girls! What would they think when they found out Harry wasn't really Harry but Hermione, a girl – oh, they'd be so embarrassed. Really, Harry didn't know what to do so he just stacked the gifts beside those from the Marauders and reached for the last box, which looked like it had been store wrapped.
While the other boys argued over the secret innuendos of a scarf, Harry peeled back the shiny paper and lifted free a book bound with dragon-hide. There was no note, save for his own name scrawled on a slip of paper tucked within the pages. He flipped back to the front to read the title, his brow puckering and a thoughtful line shaping his mouth. Magical Anomalies: Theory and Research. How odd.
He'd just curled up to read the first chapter when the Marauders realized he'd finished and swarmed over him like a litter of puppies.
"The only thing better than Hogsmeade Day," Sirius proclaimed. "Is Christmas Day! We can't miss brekkers."
And so Harry was wrangled by the arm and dragged down to the Great Hall in his pajamas, the odd procession led by a pantomiming Sirius still wearing his helmet.
"Harry, put that book away – it's Christmas!"
"But James, it's actually really interesting—"
"More interesting than me?"
"..."
"Put the damn book away."
"You alright, Harietta?"
"Sirius!"
"You look a little flushed."
"I'm f-fine. Really. It's just a little hot in here."
"Then let's...go outside..."
"Where've you been all day? Look, I wanted to show you something..."
"R-Remus – I...I gotta go!"
"Harry?"
It wasn't until ten o'clock that Harry finally got a moment to himself, having narrowly escaped Sirius and James and sequestered himself in the classroom that housed his potion's experiment. He'd already caught sight of his reflection on the way there – hair tousled, clothing mussed, his mouth looking like he'd just eaten a box of strawberries. He felt like the entire day had been a wild hippogriff ride that was only now starting to wind down again. His heart was still beating a little too fast.
James and Sirius. James and Sirius and me...
A big doofy grin plastered his face in drunken giddiness and if anyone were to walk in the door now they surely wouldn't recognize him. Harry Granger was mostly resigned to blank looks or disapproving frowns with the occasional quirk of lips that might be considered a smile. But here he was acting like Ginny, or worse...Lavender.
Just for the reassurance that he was indeed not turning into that harpy, Harry spent ten minutes checking their accumulating store of potion ingredients and resetting the spells that had started mounting up when their stock spread out to adjoining shelves and dusty cupboards. The room could have used a good cleaning, but his conscientiousness had deserted him and he collapsed in a pathetically happy heap on the nearest chair.
Something cold brushed his chest and in the following shock he wondered how he hadn't remembered the Time Turner was still there; not even when he'd changed out of his night clothes. Awkwardly reaching beneath his shirt collar he snagged the golden chain with a finger and spilled the charm out into his hands. The small hour glass glinted up at him; a smooth winking eye, but somehow it didn't hold the same captivation it had this morning. His thumb skated across the metallic rings before tucking it back under his shirt.
After all...it couldn't hurt to stay just one more day, could it?
That 'one day' turned into another and another, and then into a week, a month, and soon January had completely flown by and February was just as rapidly slipping away. His brief encounters with James and Sirius grew longer, more intense, more frequent until he scarcely had time with tutoring to get his homework finished. He rolled into bed every night well past midnight and was up by six to work on the research project.
He had no time to think about the Time Turner now stashed deep within his trunk, nor to agonize over his current situation and its affect on the future; time, which he'd so naively thought had been under his grasp, was now steamrolling him flat and would no longer listen to his suggestions. Time, it seemed, had its own plans for "Harry Granger" and the only time the thought of it ever entered his mind was when his eyes ached from reading and the candles had long extinguished themselves and he, in his exhausted state, could not figure out where all his time had gone. He didn't much care about it when Sirius was pressing him against the wall of the third floor corridor, or when James trapped him in the kitchens' storeroom after hours for a quick snog.
He should have known thathis happinesscouldn't have lasted...