Harry knew it was coming—he had been waiting for this moment since Karkaroff's comment at the end of the second task. Harry walked into the library for his regular revising session with Hermione—Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, the two classes that he did not share with Pansy—and saw that she had beaten him to their table, as usual. But when he saw that Hermione's books were not open, that there was no parchment in front of her, no quill poised to take notes, Harry knew it was time.
Harry sat down, placed his bag on the table, and made no move to remove one of his books.
"Tell me," Hermione said, "about the cutting curse."
"It wasn't a cutting curse," Harry said, telling the same lie he had told Cedric. "It was a releasing charm. Karkaroff was looking for an excuse to deduct points, so he called it a cutting curse."
"Then tell me about the 'releasing charm,'" Hermione said. Harry could hear the sarcastic quotation marks in her voice as she spoke.
"I fell behind because I stopped to help Fleur," Harry said. He knew that his best chance to placate Hermione was to emphasize his selfless decision to rescue Fleur from the grindylows. "When I was catching up, I realized that the rules of the task required the champion to return with his or her hostage in order to win. So I got desperate and tried to hit Cedric's rope with a releasing charm."
"You almost hit Cho," Hermione said.
"According to Karkaroff," Harry replied.
"You said that Karkaroff lied about the type of curse, not about where the spell went."
"Fine. I missed the rope, almost hit Cho, and the releasing charm landed in the sand. What about it?"
"It was a dirty trick. Even if it had worked, you wouldn't have deserved to win."
"I didn't deserve to win? I was in first place before I stopped to help Fleur…"
"Ugh," Hermione said. "Why is everybody always talking about Fleur?" From her tone, Harry deduced that the "everybody" in Hermione's sentence was probably Ron.
"I stopped because I thought she was going to die," Harry said. "Not because she was pretty."
"Please," Hermione said. "You helped Fleur, the beautiful woman, but you tried to curse the blokes, Cedric and Viktor."
"I didn't try to curse anybody," Harry said. "It was a releasing charm!"
"It still could have hurt someone! You don't know what a releasing charm is going to do—it could have burned somebody, or cut somebody… What if it had hit Cho in the chest, and caused her to release her breath? She might have drowned!"
"I… didn't think about that," Harry said quietly. If he had thought of that, he would have chosen a better alibi.
Hermione sighed. "That's the problem, Harry! You got so caught up in the idea of winning that you started putting other people in danger!" Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione kept talking. "Yes, yes, you stopped to help Fleur, but I bet you didn't think that it would cost you first place, right?"
Harry said nothing.
"That's what I thought," Hermione said. "This is exactly what I was worried about at the beginning of the year. Exactly."
"Come on, Hermione," Harry said. "It's not like I cast an entrails-expelling curse. It was a releasing charm, and it missed."
"The tournament is dangerous enough without the champions attacking one another. You said it yourself—the whole tournament was a plot to get you killed. You should be focusing on staying alive, but you're getting distracted by delusions of grandeur!" Hermione shook her head. "I don't think I should keep helping you, not if you're going to do things like this."
"The task was almost over," Harry countered. "Nothing was going to go wrong and kill me."
"So you decided to put another person at risk, instead."
Harry put his head in his hands. This was the downside of having smart friends—when they argued with you, they had the infuriating habit of being right.
"Did you ever think about what would have happened if your releasing charm would have been successful?" Hermione asked. "After Cedric let go of the rope, what would you have done next? Would you have settled for second place? Or would you have started casting spells at Viktor and me?"
Harry looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "Look, I'm sorry that I made the decision I did. It happened in the heat of the moment, and it was stupid. That's why there was only one releasing charm; when I saw how close I came to hitting Cho, I didn't even try to cast a second, or to cast one at Viktor. If I could take it back, I would."
Hermione sat back and folded her arms. "Thank you," she said, exasperated. "Was it really that hard to apologize?"
"Yes," Harry said glumly. Apologies were admissions of wrongdoing. An admission that he had done something stupid. That he hadn't thought things through all the way. That he had made a mistake. Harry didn't like making mistakes—Harry liked doing things right. Harry hated apologizing. "So… are you through with the tournament? Is it just me, Draco and Tracey from now on?"
"Have Draco or Tracey talked to you about the cutting curse?" Hermione asked.
"No," Harry said. "Why would they?"
Hermione sighed again. "I need you to promise me, Harry. Promise me that you won't do something like that again. No more cursing the other champions."
"It wasn't a curse," Harry said.
"No cursing, hexing, jinxing, charming, enchanting, or otherwise casting spells at the other champions. Winning isn't worth it."
Harry looked Hermione in the eye, searching for any sign that her resolve might waver. There was none—she seemed completely adamant about her position.
"I promise," Harry said. It was his only choice.
"Thank you," Hermione said, sounding genuinely grateful. She seemed satisfied by Harry's promise, and the two friends were able to study in relative peace for a few hours.
The peace did not last. Two days later, The Daily Prophet ran another article about Harry—Rita Skeeter had once again put quill to parchment. The article was titled "Harry Potter's Secret Heartache," and it contained a surprising amount of details about Harry's friendship with Hermione, Hermione's relationship with Viktor, Harry's dance lessons with Pansy, Harry's date with Ginny at Yule Ball, and even some mention of Harry's subsequent row with Ginny. "Miss Weasley accused Mr. Potter of preferring the romantic attention of wizards over that of witches," the article read. "Certainly this would be a secret heartache, if one ever existed. Mr. Potter mde a heated denial of the accusation." (Draco was not named in the article, which was a smart decision. The unfavorable attention of the Malfoy family was not something that anybody attract voluntarily, not even a gossip-monger like Rita Skeeter.) Ultimately, the article made it seem as if there was some sort of ridiculous love-pentagon going on, which couldn't have been farther from the truth, in Harry's opinion.
That afternoon, Harry once again went to the library to meet Hermione for revising. Harry found Hermione just as he had two days earlier: books closed, parchment and quills put away, mouth pinched in an angry line.
Harry sat down at the table. "It's Skeeter, isn't it," Harry asked.
"Where is she getting her information?" Hermione asked, frustration evident in her voice. "The article says that Viktor asked me to visit over the summer, which is true, but he asked me immediately after the second task. Nobody else was around."
This was not the conversation that Harry had expected to be having. Harry had expected Hermione to say something about Skeeter's report that Harry had been fighting with Ginny. "There were a half-dozen ministry employees standing around with towels, along with all the other champions and their hostages…"
"Nobody was close enough," Hermione said insistently. "At least, I didn't think they were. Who was around when you had your fight with Ginny?"
"Cedric Diggory. Derrik and Bole. Draco. Pansy."
"Draco," Hermione said suddenly. "It has to be him."
"He wouldn't do that to me," Harry said.
"He's the only one who was there to see me talk to Viktor and to see you fight with Ginny!" Hermione said.
"Him and Diggory," Harry said.
"Cedric wouldn't do that," Hermione said quickly.
"So, between my best friend and a Hufflepuff I barely know, you think my best friend is the one who would sell me out to a reporter?" Harry asked.
"Think about it," Hermione said. "Skeeter knows about you and I being friends, she knows about your dance lessons with Pansy, she knows about your fight with Ginny, she knows about Viktor asking me to visit this summer. Draco is the only person with the opportunity to know every one of those things!"
"And he has absolutely no motive to do it," Harry said. "Making me look good is also making Draco look good. Shaming me will also shame Draco, so why would he do it?"
"I'm not concerned with motive," Hermione said. "I'm concerned with opportunity. If nobody else could have done it, then it must have been Draco."
"Was it Draco that discovered Tracey's past earlier this year?" Harry asked. "He was just as surprised as the rest of us when that article was published."
Hermione frowned, and her mouth twitched back and forth as she turned the problem over in her head. "Well… what about Pansy?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head. "Wasn't around for the second task. And Pansy would never approve of an article that makes it seem as if she's competing with a couple of Gryffindors for my affections." Pansy would probably phrase it differently—she would never approve of an article that made it seem as if she was competing with a blood traitor and a mudblood for Harry's affections.
"Derrik and Bole?" Hermione said hopefully.
"Also weren't around after the second task," Harry said. "Those two are from good, pureblood families. They don't need to sell things to Skeeter for money, and their reputations would be destroyed if they got caught." And nobody in Slytherin wanted to ruin a relationship with Harry Potter, not when he was a Tri-Wizard Champion. But saying that sort of thing out loud sounded arrogant, so Harry didn't say that thought aloud.
Hermione began tapping her fingernail against the table over and over. "This is absolutely infuriating," she said.
"You seem… disproportionately upset," Harry said. "Is this really all about your summer plans being made public?" Harry suspected that some of Hermione's irritation was displaced anger over Harry's fight with Ginny.
"Two of my closest friends had a row, and I had to find out from a gossip column in a newspaper," Hermione said snappishly. "Of course I'm upset."
"Why didn't you just say that?" Harry asked.
"Because I'm trying to respect Ginny's privacy," Hermione said. "If she wanted me to know, she would have told me."
"That's kind of you to do," Harry said.
"Not that Ginny had much privacy in the first place. You humiliated her in front of how many people, again?"
"She started in on me," Harry said defensively.
""You know what? I don't want to know," Hermione said, waving her hands in the air.
"You clearly do," Harry said. "You wouldn't be so angry, otherwise."
"Of course I want to know about it!" Hermione said through clenched teeth. "But I'm not going to pry. If you don't want to tell me, and Ginny doesn't want to tell me, then I'm not going to bother." Hermione took a deep breath. "What are you going to do about her brothers?"
"Are they planning something?" Harry asked. In truth, Harry was a little surprised that nothing had happened to him already. He had expected retribution to come swiftly from the twins, perhaps with some involvement from Ron. Instead, nobody acknowledged the fight at all.
"Not that I know of," Hermione said. "But now they know about the fight."
"They didn't before?" Harry asked.
"Ginny didn't tell me about it, and she tells me just about everything," Hermione said. "If she didn't tell me, then she didn't tell anybody. Also, I'm fairly certain that she doesn't enjoy talking to her brothers about her love life."
"Huh," Harry said. It hadn't occurred to him that Ginny might keep their fight a secret.
"So… what are you going to do about the twins?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing," Harry said. "If they're going to do something to me, there's no way I can plan for it. And allowing them to pull their prank is the only thing that will actually satisfy them. So… I just have to let it happen, take my lumps, and move on."
"That's the first mature thing you've said in weeks," Hermione said.
"Is not," Harry replied in a childish voice.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but gave Harry a small smile.
"I'm sick of talking about this," Harry said. "Can we just study quietly, like normal friends do?"
"Sure," Hermione said. She opened her Arithmancy book, and Harry did the same.
Harry found it difficult to concentrate on his readings, though. He couldn't stop thinking about Skeeter. Yes, Harry and Ginny had a fight, but the real problem was that Skeeter had taken the fight and blown it completely out of proportion. That woman could turn absolutely anything into an opportunity to fabricate ridiculous falsehoods about Harry and his friends. This gossip business had to stop. And if Harry couldn't stop the flow of information to Rita Skeeter, her articles would have to be… managed… at a different stage in the process.
When Harry and Hermione were done studying, as they were packing their bags, Hermione spoke again.
"Harry, I've been thinking…"
"Aren't you always?"
"Seriously," Hermione said. "I've been thinking about why we're friends. I remember when we first met, and you had Neville's rememberall, and you gave it back to Draco instead of giving it to me… I thought you were a real jerk. But then you rescued me from a troll. And you defended Snape when Ron and I were convinced that he was evil just because he wore black clothes and had greasy hair. And you went into the Chamber of Secrets, alone, to save a girl you barely knew."
"Those are some of my greater achievements," Harry said. He jokingly polished his fingernails on his robe.
"Then, last year, you started throwing fireballs at Peter Petttigrew. You wanted to kill him, Harry. That scared me. And this year, I found out about all the lies that you had told me…"
"Not lies," Harry said. "Secrets. That Dumbledore asked me to keep."
Hermione forged onward. "And now you're casting spells to sabotage other champions, you're treating Ginny like dirt, you're having huge rows in the hallways…"
"What are you saying?" Harry asked. He felt a chill run down his back; he had a horrible idea that he knew where this was going. Hermione warned him earlier in the year, after all.
"I just…" Hermione shook her head. "Look. I made a commitment to you, to help you with the tournament. I'm going to keep my promise. Whatever I feel, I don't want to see you hurt because I wasn't around to help. But once the tournament is done… I'm going to take some time to think, over the summer. Because I'm not sure that you and I should be friends any longer."
Harry's head had begun to pound. How had he managed to screw things up so badly with Hermione?
"Are you going to say anything?" Hermione said.
"You make a fair point," Harry said. "If that's how you feel, that's how you feel. But don't make your decision now, okay? Wait until the year is over."
"You really think the next few weeks are going to change my mind?" Hermione asked.
"Maybe they will," Harry said. He just had no idea how.
Hermione smiled sadly and pulled her bag over her shoulder. "Maybe they will. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Harry."
That night, in the Slytherin dormitory, Harry wrote a long letter. After everyone had gone to bed, he snuck out of the common room with his invisibility cloak and gave the letter to Hedwig. His owl gave a hoot of surprise when Harry told her the destination. Harry was insistent, and with a final ruffle of feathers, Hedwig launched herself into the night.
Harry grimaced in the darkness. This wouldn't take care of everything, but it certainly would take care of some things.
*!*!*!*!*!*
Harry continued revising with Pansy several times per week. Pansy had refreshed her stash of sweets at Hogsmeade after the second task, and she proudly declared that she had enough to last through exams. Harry wasn't so sure; at the rate that Harry could consume candies, even Pansy's enormous pile of treats would be gone in less than a month. Then again, at the torturously slow rate that Pansy ate when Harry got answers wrong, the candy would never be exhausted.
It turned out that Harry's estimate was better than Pansy's. The third task would not be announced until thirty days before it was scheduled to occur, which gave Harry some time to rest and recuperate. Harry was glad to give his tournament crew a well-deserved break, and Harry himself could turn all his focus to studying. The frequency with which Harry delivered correct answers to Pansy increased dramatically, and Pansy's sweets began to leave her bag at an alarming rate.
Ultimately, Pansy had to end the incentive program, as Harry had caught up in his lessons for all their classes. In fact, Harry was beginning to lead the revising sessions himself, helping Pansy through some of the trickier aspects of Defense and Charms. Hex deflection, for example.
"It's like this," Harry said, snapping his wand across his body. "You have to focus, then flick the hex away with your wand."
The two Slytherins were standing in an unused Potions room. Harry was wearing a gray vest with green trim, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. Pansy was still in her uniform, as well, although she had unbuttoned an additional button of her blouse. Both of them were breathing hard from the effort of repeatedly casting spells at the other.
"Moody kept saying that," Pansy said irritably. "It doesn't make any more sense now than it did in class."
"Think of a shield spell," Harry said. "Imagine that you're going to cast a simple shield. Protego. But instead of casting it, don't. Get the incantation on the tip of your tongue. Imagine that the shield is waiting at the end of your wand. And then use your wand to deflect the hex."
"Okay," Pansy said. "Focus. Think protego." Pansy closed her eyes in a look of calm thought. Harry allowed himself a long look at Pansy's pretty face, the type of look that he would normally feel awkward about, if Pansy could see him.
"Ready?" Harry asked, after a moment.
"Ready." Pansy opened her eyes and raised her wand. Harry raised his own in response. "Stinging jinx," Harry warned. Pansy nodded in acknowledgment.
Harry brought his arm down and fired a stinging jinx at Pansy. Pansy swept her arm across her body, waving her wand at the jinx, but the spell was not deflected. She dropped her wand with a shout, and started to rub her arm where the jinx had struck her.
"What am I doing wrong?" she asked.
"You have to focus-"
"You think I like the sensation of getting stung by a bee? This is something I enjoy?"
"Focus, then FLICK," Harry said. "You have to do both. Focus your magic, then flick the other spell away."
"I am flicking," Pansy said angrily.
"No, you aren't," Harry said. "You're sweeping. You need to snap your wrist."
"You want me to start snapping?" Pansy snapped.
"No, no. Let me show you." Harry crossed the room and stood next to Pansy. He showed her how he snapped his wrist back and forth. "Like cracking a whip or snapping a towel," Harry said.
Pansy waved her wand. Her wrist flopped back and forth in a motion that did not resemble a snap in any way.
"Not at all," Harry said. He moved around so that he was standing behind Pansy. He reached forward with his right arm, and grabbed her right wrist. He placed his left hand on her shoulder, to keep Pansy steady, and began to move her arm from left to right. "Like this," Harry said in a low, gentle voice. "You move your arm across your body, then… flick." Harry moved Pansy's hand quickly, holding her arm steady. "Focus… and flick." He repeated the motion several times, making sure that Pansy could feel the timing. "Do you feel the difference?"
"Yes, I do," Pansy said.
"Great." Harry released Pansy's arm and stepped back, putting some distance between the two of them so that they could practice again. Pansy turned and started to say something, very quietly. She looked surprised when she realized how far away Harry was—it was as if she had expected him to be closer.
"What was that, Pansy?" Harry asked.
"Nothing," she said.
"Ready to go again?"
Pansy sighed. "Why not."
The two students raised their wands. Harry cast his stinging jinx, and Pansy missed her deflection entirely. The stinging jinx struck her in on the collarbone, and left a red mark.
"Augh! Why can't I just cast a sheild?" Pansy asked, rubbing her neck. "It's so much easier."
"Okay," Harry said with a shrug. "Let's try it."
Pansy gave a little harrumph, and set her feet. She nodded, then raised her wand. Harry raised his as well. After a beat, he snapped his wand forward.
"Aguamenti!"
A jet of water burst from Harry's wand. Pansy shouted, "Protego," but the water passed through her shield without pausing. It struck Pansy square in the chest.
"Harry! Come on!" Pansy was soaked. Her hair was plastered to her head, and her shirt clung to her sides. She held her arms out, dripping with water, and Harry began to cackle. Pansy stamped her foot. "This isn't funny!"
Harry lowered his wand. "A simple shield charm only stops energy, Pansy; that's why it's called a simple shield. A stinging jinx or tickling charm is still magic energy when it strikes your shield, so the shield works. It'll even stop something like an incineration curse. But anything physical, like conjured water or a banished rock, and a simple shield is useless."
"You couldn't have just told me?"
"This seemed more effective," Harry said with a grin. "You're less likely to forget it." And Harry wasn't likely to forget how Pansy looked in a wet, white shirt, either.
Pansy scowled and began to cast drying charms on herself. "So how does hex deflection protect me against conjured water?"
"It doesn't," Harry said.
Pansy stood up and put her hands on her hips. "Harry Potter!"
"I'm just telling you that a simple shield has its shortcomings!" Harry grinned again. His arms were hanging easily at his sides, and he absentmindedly tapped his wand against his leg. "You can't shield yourself from everything. The real problem with simple shieldsis that some spells are too strong for your shield to stop. Your shield will break, but by the time you realize it, you'll be dead."
"So it's safer to deflect a spell than stop it with a shield," Pansy said. She was almost finished with drying herself, just finishing up with her shoes and socks.
"Right. If you use a shield, then you're allowing yourself to be struck with a spell. If you deflect, then the spell never hits you. Much better. Plus, if you're good enough, you can control where you're deflecting the hex. You can use it to attack somebody else, or even send it right back at the caster."
"You don't say?" Pansy grinned wickedly and straightened her back. Her clothes were once again dry. "Let's try again," Pansy said.
"Er… sure. Remember, first you focus, then you flick," said Harry. Harry raised his wand.
"Just start casting," Pansy said, raising her wand in response.
Harry brought his wand down and sent a stinging jinx at Pansy. A blue bolt of light shot out of his wand. Pansy brought her wand across the front of her body and flicked her wrist just as the spell arrived. The jinx ricocheted off Pansy's wand, directly at Harry's head. Harry let out a yelp and dropped awkwardly to the ground, allowing the jinx to pass over his head and impact upon the wall.
"How was that?" Pansy asked curtly.
"Great," said Harry from the ground. "Let's move on to something else!"
"Let's," Pansy said.
Harry pulled himself to his feet and walked over to their books and bags, which were sitting on a nearby table. Harry got the impression that Pansy was better at hex deflection than she had let on. She was playing dumb, probably as an excuse to spend time with Harry. That was fine with Harry, because he enjoyed spending time with Pansy, as well. But now that Harry had managed to put Pansy in a mood, working on readings seemed like it would be safer business.
"What do you need to read, yet?" Pansy asked. She had retrieved her jumper from her school bag and put it on, still shivering slightly from her soaking. Harry was slightly disappointed, but the v-neck of the jumper still gave him a nice view of…
"Harry?"
"Huh?"
"What do you have to read, still?"
"Oh. Potions, mostly," Harry said.
"Good, me too!" Pansy looked back inside her school bag. "Aww. I've forgotten my book. Can I look off yours?"
"Sure thing," Harry said. He opened his book and set it on the table in front of them. Pansy sat down to Harry's right, and they began to read. Pansy would ask questions, from time to time, and Harry was able to answer most of them.
Sitting so close to Pansy, Harry could smell her perfume. It was flowery, but a little fruity. He was sure it would be named something like "apple blossom" or "cherry orchard." Whatever it was, he liked it. Harry moved subtly toward Pansy as they read. At least, he hoped it was subtle.
"What about narwhal horn?" Pansy asked. "Why is that different from unicorn horn or bicorn horn?"
"Narwhal horn?"
"Here," Pansy said. She put her left arm on the back of Harry's chair, and reached across the book to point with her right hand. Harry felt Pansy's jumper brush against his arm as she tapped a passage in the book. "What's the big deal about narwhals?"
Pansy's question didn't quite process for Harry. He was too busy thinking about her jumper. Because if her left arm was on the back of his chair, and her right hand was pointing at the book, that meant that Pansy was brushing up against him with her…
…Harry started to blush. He turned slightly and looked at Pansy. Their faces were close. Very close. And she was wearing a soft pink lipstick that appeared to have glitter in it. It was very fetching. In fact, Pansy's lips were moving. She was saying something.
"What?" Harry asked.
"I asked if you were listening to me."
"No," Harry confessed. "I'm not."
And then Harry leaned forward and kissed her.
*!*!*!*!*
After that night, Harry's grades began to fall again, despite his regular attendance at revising sessions with Pansy.
Neither Harry nor Pansy was concerned.
A/N: Another one of my favorite chapters. I've been looking forward to this one for a while.
In other news, one of my readers brought up the issue of homophobia after last week's chapter. I think it was pretty clear that I, as an author, do not approve of either Ginny's comments or Harry's in Chapter 28. If my story was not sufficiently clear, then let me make it explicit: neither Ginny nor Harry should have said what they did.
That being said, I don't think Ginny was making a value judgment about homosexuality. She's trying to do to Harry what Harry had done to her: disrupt his life. Ginny hopes that her accusation will raise questions (nobody would ever call Draco either "open-minded" or "tolerant"), and those questions will distract Harry from the tournament, distract him from school, and distract him from any other relationship that he might be pursuing. Ginny isn't saying that homosexuality is good or bad—like I said, no value judgment. She doesn't care whether Harry is homosexual or not, beyond the fact that it might explain his behavior toward her. What she does care about is throwing Harry's life into chaos, the same way he threw her life into chaos when he kissed her and then ignored her for weeks. It's an accusation of opportunity—the second task presented her with the opportunity, so she took it. It's problematic in a lot of ways, but I don't think it makes her a horrible bigot.
Ultimately, Ginny is thirteen years old. There were things that I said and did things at age thirteen and, looking back, I hold myself in absolute contempt for them. Remus Lupin seems to feel the same about the way he and Sirius and James acted at age thirteen, and Snape feels the same about calling Lily a mudblood. Let's just say that this is another example of the same phenomenon. This is a decision that, as an adult, Ginny would not make. It's almost certainly a decision that she will regret, because she's not being a good person when she says these things. But she's already upset with Harry, she's only had a few hours after the second task to think about it, and she makes a bad choice.
