The days following everything that happened post Harry's Hagrid-visit passed in a blur of sleep, rushing down to the Great Hall for quick bites of food, staring at the Marauder's Map, and more sleep. Ron had left Hogwarts on the Monday after spending the weekend with Hermione, though not in her chambers by night, to Harry's great relief. Knowing it was an incredible selfish sense of relief but not being able to help himself from feeling it, he instead seemed to be punished by recurring nightmares of Hermione carrying a red-headed child, with a beaming Ron glowing with pride at the sight and the Weasley-family standing around them. Harry was there as well, though alone and unnoticed. No matter how much he tried getting their attention and making himself heard, they always ignored him. Or at any case, did not hear him.

A full week later saw the day of the Halloween Feast. Harry had been busy teaching, he'd attended Fang's funeral alone with Hagrid (Hermione had been away), grading papers, and, whenever he had the chance, nagged his Headmistress about their upcoming questioning of Decima. Apparently (and quite unsurprising to Harry) no one had seen her in a few weeks, which was something of an obstacle in their quest to bring her to Hogwarts.

His office was cramped. His bed messy, his floor covered with clothes, and his desk and chair cluttered with everything from letters and parchments, to coffee stains and quills. Several editions of the Daily Prophet laid crumbled in and around the bin, mostly unread or partly skimmed. Nothing of interest was ever printed these days, it seemed.
His sleeping chamber wasn't big, but it was his - and Harry had never needed a large bedroom. He was alone. A part of him had hoped Hermione would have shared his bed by now, rather than once or twice sleeping in it without him. That would of course not be happening now, with her and Ron's apparent rekindling. It was for the best, he knew, though he had not actually heard whether or not they had in fact gotten back together again. It was an easy assumption to make as Hermione lately seemed to be avoiding Harry, not even appearing in the Great Hall for breakfast, lunch or dinner whenever he was there. In that regard, the Halloween Feast would be an excellent opportunity to catch up with his best friend - for whatever had happened or indeed was happening between them, they were still best friends.

Otherwise, the past week had progressed without any odd sightings, attacks, or even phantom whispers or footsteps. In other words, they were none the closer to catching Visla, or even finding out who he or she really was. The strangest thing was the fact that so few people in the castle were even aware of the potential danger they were in - no one had heard about the attack in the Room of Requirement, and only the trio, Ginny, and McGonagall knew about Ron's mysterious appearance last week. Everyone walked around, studying, playing, eating, drinking, and sleeping without a single clue. It made Harry think of how much he must have missed in blissful ignorance when he attended the school, not knowing what was going on between the teachers, what Dumbledore was doing all those times he wandered the castle at night, or even what the Room of Requirement had been used for by the previous generations of Hogwarts students. The mental image was unpleasant. What happened in that room ought to stay there, he thought.

Harry was struggling to force himself out of bed, despite the potential of finally speaking with Hermione. He wanted to hear what she had to say, what had happened between herself and Ron, and what she wanted with Harry. But, then again… If her answers were what Harry thought they were going to be, did he really want to hear them? A groan escaped him as he eventually left the comfort of his bed, waving his wand to give the room a swift and long-awaited clean up. His teacher's robes were dirty and unkempt, much like his messy morning hair. Another flick of his wand fixed that, though nothing could fix his hair, he knew. He proceeded to pick up trash from around his desk by hand before sorting the papers and parchments with magic. The cleaning routine was giving him a sense of productivity - even Hermione would be proud of how spotless he had made it!

Two hard knocks on his door followed by a voice belonging to said Hermione startled him from admiring his work. Speak of the devil, he thought before opening the door.

'Hey, m- Harry!' she greeted him, without a hug or her usual warmth. Instead she stayed by the door, dressed in what seemed to be clothes that were far too large for her.

'Er - hi! What are you doing here, Hermione?'

'I… I came to see you, of course. I was just going to ask… Remember that night in the Room of Requirement?'

'Yeah. Of course I remember. Why?'

'I just thought that… Well, could you tell me what happened? I think… I'm having some trouble remembering. Did something happen between us that night?' Harry was stunned by the question, completely unprepared by the bluntness of her apparent forgetfulness.

'What? No, we just… Wait, what do you mean you don't remember? Are you feeling alright, Hermione?'

'Yeah, of course! It's just… it feels weird. Are you sure nothing happened?'

'Nothing happened that night. Well, except the attack, that is. Are you thinking about the kiss? I mean, we've talked about that, haven't we? But that wasn't until next day… Why? Is Ron asking?' Harry wondered, his guilt bubbling up again by the thought of his friend finding out about his wife's and best friend's moment in Harry's office. Luckily, and despite Harry's judgment, Mr. Elmbrigg, who had seen the kiss, had seemingly not spread word of it. Not yet, at least.

Hermione did not answer. Instead, she clenched her fist and shut the door with a loud bang before striding off in anger. What was that? Finding it… bizarre that she supposedly had forgot what happened on what was unquestionably the most eventful night in seven years, he replayed the night in question in his mind - trying but failing to see if there was anything she could have been alluding to. Something wasn't right with her, despite her claiming otherwise, he thought.

'Yes, Mr. Sterling?' Harry sighed. The young Ravenclaw was an eager learner, and perhaps the most talented wizard among the third year students, though he did not possess the knowledge on when to stop asking questions. 'What part of the Disarming Spell was unclear?' he asked, immediately regretting his passive-aggressive tone. The youngster did not appear to mind it or even pick up on it, though.

'Nothing, Professor Potter! I was just wondering… Well, is it true that you could produce a patronus when you were our age?' the question left him perplexed. How had this little kid learned that? Harry knew that Mr. Sterling's parents were higher ups in the magical ministry (something Slughorn knew very well when he invited him to his Slug Club), and as such were privy to a lot of information about him. Though he doubted they had gossiped intimate knowledge of Harry's youth to their child.

'It is true, yes,' Harry answered to the gasps of wonderment of his class of Ravenclaws and Slytherins. 'Though, I only learned it after hours and days of practice. And only because I absolutely needed it, after being affected more than most by the presence of dementors that year. I used to faint in their presence, you know!' he added truthfully. It had the opposite effect of what he had hoped for. Instead of settling the class down, they were now talking amongst themselves about how amazing his feats were and how he had "fought off a thousand dementors at once on the quidditch pitch" or "single-handedly caught the first escaped prisoner of Azkaban!" with less truth and more outlandish claims for every second that passed… 'Settle down, settle down!' he commanded. Children were harder to control than adults, yet his story, if one could call it that, had increased their respect of him. They silenced at once. Several more hands flew into the air as their attention went back to their teacher. 'Mr. Boote, do you have a question pertaining to the Disarming Spell?' he asked with increasing desperation, fearing the answer.

'Will you teach us the Patronus Charm, Professor? Please?' asked the brown-haired and quite tall Ravenclaw Beater. Several other heads nodded in agreement.

'Alright, I'll make you all a promise. I will teach you the Patronus Charm - If, and only if, each and every one of you are able to demonstrate every spell on our curriculum this first term. Let's say you have until… The day before Christmas Break. Yes, that will do, I think. I will pair you up with someone from a different House, and if you are struggling with anything, you will refer to your partner for help and guidance until you both figure it out. Understood?' nodding heads and murmurs of agreements filled the classroom. 'Good. Now, back to Expelliarmus. Can someone tell me - Yes, Miss Abbott?'

'Are we allowed to ask other teachers for help? I saw Professor Granger make a patronus once, I think it was a reindeer, or something…'

'It was a moose!' corrected Priscilla Parsons.

'No, it was a small horse, idiot!' yelled Rafe Wolrond.

'Quiet!' demanded Harry, magically closing all the window curtains and showering the room in near total darkness. A swift silence occurred, before he slowly let the curtains roll up again. 'You may of course use any help at all, including books and teachers not included in this classroom. I will remind you, though, that I will not accept lagging behind in other lessons or missing any essay deadlines on account of this… special task. And,' he added, the students gripping on to his every word with great suspense. 'Mrs. Granger's patronus is an otter.'

The day was passing slowly, each tick of the clock feeling like an eternity as Harry longed for the sweet release of dinnertime. He did enjoy teaching, more so than he ever thought he would, but his strange encounter with Hermione had put his mind solely on the impending feast that evening. Reading through the first year's essay on "Identification & Avoidance of Bowtruckles" wasn't particularly engaging in the meantime, he had to admit.

Bowtruckles are mostly harmless and live on trees. They form societies known as tribes and possess two different kinds of camouflages - Passive and Defensive…

A Bowtruckle is a creature that looks like a tree, lives on a tree, breeds on a tree, and dies on a tree…

One of my favorite creatures are Bowtruckles because they are pretty. There are two kinds of them according to books and what I've seen. Angry ones, and nice ones…

Bowtruckles are mostly harmless and live on trees. They form societies known as tribes and possess two different kinds of camouflages - Passive and Defensive…

Harry made a note to give the two Bodgeberry-twins detention for copying each other's work. He couldn't help but smiling at their effort, though. They had obviously hoped that their famous professor would not be bothered to actually read their essays. If only, Harry thought, throwing another quick look at the clock above his desk. Hours to go, still…

As if someone had heard and was answering his prayer, a perfect distraction appeared in the form of a gentle knock on his office door.

'Enter,' Harry said with an eager voice, turning towards the opening door that revealed the face of Silvia Selwyn. 'Oh, good day Miss Selwyn. To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'Er - Sorry to bother you, Professor. I just - I wanted to apologize. For - for what happened last time. I'm not sure how -'

'It's quite alright, Miss Selwyn, pay it no mind. As I understand it, you can not remember what happened, correct?' Harry received a timid nod in response. 'Consider it forgiven and forgotten, then! I'd much prefer it if my students have no memories of kissing me at all, as I'm sure you'd understand,' Harry said, smiling at the blushing student.

'Thanks, Professor. I'll just… I'll go now. Thank you!' she left with a quick and awkward curtsy, leaving Harry alone with his essays once more. For a few seconds, at least.

'Professor? Professor are you - oh, good day Professor!' said a jovial Edmonde Elmbrigge as he entered Harry's office without knocking.

'Yes, Mr. Elmbrigge? Looking to find new ways out of homework again, are we?'

'N-no, Professor! I would never do… Well, as a matter of fact, Professor… I have a trial with the Chudley Cannons, and… I was wondering if you could let me -'

'Skip the essay on the Unforgivable Curses?'

'I'll make it up! I'll write double on the next one, I swear!'

'Relax, Edmonde, relax,' using the prodigy Quidditch Chaser first name seemed to surprise him. 'I am not a monster. I will allow you to write half as much on the essay. Provided you indeed write double on the next. And… you will show me exactly how good of a Chaser you really are, next week against Ravenclaw. I expect no less than, shall we say, ten goals?' the young student swelled with pride at Harry's challenge.

'Deal, Professor! I will not disappoint!' he answered, practically bouncing on the walls as he left.

Eventually, after what must have been the most extensive session of basic Bowtruckle-reading anyone had ever endured, the clock reached dinner time. After changing into a more presentable black robe and a tight-fitting white shirt beneath, complete with a strangling Gryffindor-tie, he flew out of his damned office and classroom, eager to confront his curly-haired best friend to find out exactly what her behavior had been about. The halls and corridors were filled with all kinds of appropriate decorations: floating carved pumpkins, which spewed out fluttering bats as students approached. Candles lighting up the student's ways only to magically extinguish at will, leaving them in total darkness. Walking skeletons terrorized the first years, especially in collusion with the Hogwarts ghosts… By the time Harry reached the Great Hall, which was not far from his classroom, he had witnessed several groups of students of varying ages running scared from the horrors of Halloween, before bursting into nervous laughs.

Harry seated himself at the teacher's table in the empty chair next to Neville. Hermione had yet to arrive, though she could not possibly be planning to skip the feast. Harry was convincing himself of that, at least.

'Hi, Harry!' Neville greeted him. A thick stubble had grown on his old friend's cheeks. It suited him, Harry thought, while wondering if he himself should perhaps try to save for a beard. Neville looked quite handsome, and definitely more adult now.

'Evening, Neville. You seen Hermione yet?'

'No, not yet… Though I did I see her earlier today. She said something about not feeling to well. I suggested that she go to Pomfrey's, she looked quite ill, to be honest…' he explained. And it was a decent explanation to Harry, as it would indeed explain why she had acted so weird earlier. 'It was a long time ago, I expect her to show up today. Why do you ask?'

'Oh, no reason, Neville. I'll just wait. So tell me, how are things going with Hannah Abbott? I heard you guys are pretty serious?' Harry asked, trying to get his mind of something other than his potentially sick friend. Neville's blush was clear through his stubble, as his eyes quickly went around the room while he tried to find words.

'Er - yeah - yeah we've been dating for a while now, actually. She moved in with me just two weeks ago. Her cousin attends here now, you know. She's in Hufflepuff.'

The evening continued into the dinner as all students and staff gathered in the Great Hall, except one Professor Hermione Granger. Headmistress McGonagall held a short speech addressing the hardworking House Elves, urging the students to be thankful for them and even visit the kitchens once in a while to express their gratitude in person. As Harry was thinking about how proud Hermione would be of her old Professor of Transfiguration, the food appeared at the tables. Still, no sign of Hermione. Harry's foot tapped impatiently as he stared at the large doors of the Great Hall, waiting and hoping for any indication that his best friend would enter, and cursing that he did could not take a peek at the special map inside his robes, just to check up on her.

Before long, Harry had practically shoved some pieces of food inside of him, barely chewing it as he did so. Neville and Slughorn gave him odd looks, but he paid them no mind as he quickly excused himself to instead pay a short visit to the missing professor. Luckily, her office was on the first floor. As the eyes of most students followed him out of the Great Hall, he was considering the fact that this would be the first time he was in her office, rather than her in his. Wondering how she had decorated the place, he felt his legs work faster under him from curiosity and anticipation. The doors of the Great Hall must still have been swinging as he reached her door, he thought. For some reason he could not explain, he cleared his throat before knocking. No answer. Another two knocks. Still nothing.

'Hermione?' he knocked again. 'Are you there?' he asked. Then he remembered… He pulled out his father's old map, tapping it with his wand and whispering "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.", as he had done countless times in the past. Lines of ink started filling the blank parchment, as dots and labels with names appeared, nearly all concentrated in the Great Hall. Harry was not far off, and Hermione… in her office? Why had she not answered? Harry started banging on the door. When he again received no indication of his friends presence, he was left with no choice. Pointing his wand to the door and casting Alohomora did the trick, as a metallic sound clicked, leaving the door now unlocked.

The fireplace and large mantelpiece were the same as when the office had belonged to McGonagall, though almost everything else had changed. Gone were the tartan plaids and the reliable tin of biscuit, and no personal memorabilia or pictures could be found. Instead, stacks of books and parchments lay everywhere, reminding Harry far too much of his own office before he had the morning's cleanup. He had expected better from Hermione, to be honest, though could not blame her for allowing her room to clutter at such stressful times. Hermione herself was nowhere to be found, though the map promised she would be here. Ah, Harry thought as he saw it. The door to her bedroom was concealed, though the magic around it evident for those who knew her. Clever. As she always was. An unlocking charm was not needed this time, as he was gently pressing down the handle to slowly open the door. He wouldn't deny a spell to slow his heart rate, though.

'Hermione?' he whispered into the darkness of her bedroom. 'It's me - Harry. Are you awake?'

'Wha- Harry?' her groggy voice replied. She coughed lightly. 'Harry? Is that you?'

'Yeah, it's me, Hermione. I was just… I thought I would check up on you. I missed you at the feast. Do you mind if I turn on the light?' asked Harry. Hermione made a soft groan of pain as she grunted approvingly. Harry obliged, flicking the candles to life. The sight of her nearly gave him a heart attack - she was sweating profusely, her face red and her hair clinging to the sticky wetness. The thin red sweater she was wearing was drenched, and no wonder… despite the burning hot temperature of her forehead, as a hand on it revealed, she was lying underneath a thick quilt with no open window. Harry's eyes darted around the room, looking for a glass or a jar to fill with water for her to drink. Her chambers were larger than his, as was her bed. Posters and pictures of family and friends adorned the walls, with even a picture of Harry holding little Harry for the first time. The sight of it made Harry's heart skip a beat or two. A window overlooking the Quidditch pitch was above to the left of her headboard, it's sill covered with opened letters and parchments with half-written ones. A teacup! That would do. 'Scourgify. Aguamenti,' Harry cast the two spells to clean and fill the cup with water while pointing at the cup with his wand. Hermione graciously but clumsily accepted it, managing to mumble a "Thank you" in response before taking a sip and coughing.

'Why -' she coughed again. 'Why are you here?'

'I told you, I wanted see you. I didn't know you'd been so ill. You should go to the Hospital Wing! Pomfrey'll fix you up in no time!'

'I wasn't so ill! I was fine, until… Until a few hours ago. I started feeling a bit dizzy, thought I would lay down for a while… What - what time is it?'

'Some time past eight, I imagine. We just had dinner.'

'What?!' she shot up, throwing off her quilt. She was wearing nothing but very tight-fitting and quite small black underwear - her legs bare and shining in the candlelight. As fast as she had stood up, she had now sat down again with her hands holding her head is if it was pounding in pain. Harry was straining hard not to let his eyes wander further down than the end if her thin sweater.

'I'll take you to Pomfrey's, alright?'

'Don't be silly. It's probably just a flu or something. Point your wand to my head and say "Reparifors", and give me the green vial in my third drawer, please,' she asked, and Harry obliged. 'It's… very kind of you to come here, Harry,' she said as she gulped down the smelly green liquid, screwing her face up in the process as if the taste was tenfold that of the smell. 'But you really shouldn't,' she said. Why not? He was wondering, before an image of a stern looking Ron appeared in his mind.

'I'm…' he began, wanting to apologize as the anger in him started to bubble up. Was he not allowed to visit his friend in need? What kind of friendship would that be? 'Well, I'm sorry, but to hell with that! I don't care if someone doesn't want me here. I want me here. I missed you today at dinner. I've missed you for more than a week! Despite whatever happened this morning, I'm still your friend, no matter what happens, actually. If you or Ron or anyone else has a problem with that, then they are more than welcome to tell me in person,' he nearly yelled it all out while staring out Hermione's window, refusing to look at his still bedridden friend.

'I - I missed you to, Harry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I'm glad you came,' her voice was apologetic, and Harry thought he could see tears welling up as he now turned around to see that his friend had covered her legs with her blanket. 'Please, Harry, sit down?' she patted on an empty part of her bed. Hesitating first for a second, Harry then took off his outer robes to join her by the end of her large bed. It sunk far down as he sat, quite different from his own unyieldingly rigid mattress.

'Hermione, I… I want to know. I need to know,'

'About Ron?' she asked, receiving slow a nod from Harry. 'We've… I don't know, honestly. We're not the same. He's angry, he doesn't listen to me anymore, he refuses to believe me, which I understand as I haven't really been honest with him…'

'So you haven't told him yet? About our…' Hermione shook her head. 'So, when you came over earlier today -'

'What? Was I at your office? When was this?'

'Oh, er, maybe around three? Why, you don't remember that either?' he asked. Was her illness so bad she had walked the castle in a delirious state for hours before deciding to have a lie down? It was strange behavior from her, indeed.

'I… no, actually. I have been quite out of it, today, I guess… Well, no, I haven't told him,'

'Then why has he been so angry?'

'You tell me, Harry… I don't understand any of it. He says he knows something happened that night in the Room of Requirement. Or that something was going to happen or is going to happen, or something like that. He's not making any sense at all. I don't know where he's getting any of it from!' she took another sip from her water. It did sound strange, though judging by the events that had transpired in this very castle these past weeks, strange wasn't even out of the ordinary anymore. If anything, strange was the new norm. Still, it wasn't impossible that some idea or thought had gripped him, causing him to obsess over it - maybe waking him up in cold sweat at night… Or, maybe the answer was far more sinister…

'Do you think it possible that Dec- Visla could be manipulating him, somehow? McGonagall spoke of whispers, and I have seen weird visions in broad daylight,' Harry suggested. Hermione seemed to contemplate this, not answering for a while. The candles flickered and swayed, while the bright full moon outside her window supplied a ray of light that reflected on her still quite wet forehead, cheeks and nose. She was beautiful, illness be damned. Harry felt his hand rise toward her face, longing to caress her, to feel the touch of her skin on his. She jerked her head to face him and opened her mouth as his fingers grazed the threads of hair clinging to her. Before Harry knew it, she was on him. Her hands on his face and in his hair, her blanket tossed aside as their lips and tongues met once again with the passion of two long lost lovers. His hand grasped the back of her thigh, pushing her closer to him before grabbing her buttocks firmly. A moan escaped her mouth. His other hand was on her jaw, with his fingers in heir curly and soft hair. He felt the buttons of his shirt being clumsily undone and his tie being loosened. The wait was over. No one would interrupt them this time.

Pushing her onto her back, and catching a blushing smirk on her face as she fell backwards onto her bed, he threw off his shirt to then threw himself on her. Kissing her throat from end to end, finally reaching with his lips behind her ear, causing a stream of hot breath and a pleasureful moan to exit her mouth. Her hips moved rhythmically towards his, pressing herself against him again and again. Her hands struggled with his belt, but not wanting to hurry things along too much, he let her continue her struggle. He would take his time.

Her thin sweater and lack of brassiere revealed that she enjoyed the feeling of his hands traveling the length of her body, or maybe it was the kissing of her ribs and tummy that caused it. Her breasts were supple and soft, and it took all the effort he could muster not to rip open her sweater to taste them all over.

'Harry!' she giggled a whisper as his lips kissed below her bellybutton, nearing the top of her panties. His fingers gave a light squeeze on the tip of her breasts, as she near-wordlessly moaned his name this time, arching her back in pleasure...