Book Two ― A School Divided
Chapter Thirty-Eight ― A French Connection
Story Summary: Following the events of Third Year, Harry Potter explores the Chamber of Secrets and finds a portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Following Slytherin's advice, Harry will attempt to break out of the games set upon him and finally be free. But how? And is freedom even possible for the Boy-Who-Lived?
Book Summary: Returning to Hogwarts after spending the summer scheming politics with Daphne and furthering Muggle-born education with Hermione, Harry is forced to act prematurely to ensure the safety of the First-Years he promised to help. With Sirius in forced exile, a Tom Riddle with a different plan, a suspicious Dumbledore, and a dangerous tournament, is Harry's desired freedom even possible? Can his ambitions coexist with his desires?
Note: This chapter has been beta-ed by user Outliner.
Note: I have on my profile the links to other Discord servers you may find interesting. Please consider joining them.
Important Note: I have a Discord server! There, you will be able to talk to me, ask questions, and read chapters before they come out. There should always be at least one chapter on Discord that is yet to be published on FFnet. The next chapters of Serpentine Advice are already available. I expect you there! Link in my profile.
Similarly, I have a P*T*R*N account, where you can gain access to even earlier access chapters, among other rewards. There, you can also see the long-term plans I have regarding the Harry Potter universe to create a world-building effort for other authors. No chapter I ever write will be found behind a paywall, and you are under no obligation to support me, but I will appreciate those who do. Link in my profile.
Lunar Calendar: If you enjoy this story, please considering reading my newest story, Lunar Calendar, which covers a year of travels between Luna and Harry following the end of the war, as they struggle with their recovery and yearn to find out more about themselves and the world around them.
When the morning finally came, Harry was still in the Room of Requirement, waiting for Daphne to arrive, as they had agreed. He had sent word to Hermione that he'd be speaking with her and with Gryffindor House after lunch. He wasn't feeling hungry enough to eat, and he was more anxious about the girl who had slapped him twice than with Hermione, who had been surprisingly level-headed as far as he could remember, though there were still gaps in his memory for the past week.
Daphne arrived cooly, sparing nary a glance to their familiar surroundings or quipping anything sarcastic or flirty about them. Her eyes locked into his instantly as she arrived, and when Harry got up from the pouf to greet her, she remained passively staring at him. From that distance, Harry could see the signs of tiredness and concern about which Madeleine had spoken. Her eyes were slightly red from either crying or lack of sleep, her face looked ever so gently disheveled like she hadn't paid attention to her appearance after waking up, and there were small bags beneath her eyes that she tried to mask, but he remembered her face too well not to notice. Her eyes remained ice blue, albeit much more guarded than usual. Harry recognized that they were more afraid than angry, and again the French girl's words rang through his mind, and he felt a new wave of shame and regret.
"You're awake," Daphne commented coldly, not betraying any relief.
"I am awake," Harry agreed. He wanted to make a sly or funny comment but did not know at which stage their friendship stood. He was afraid that trying to ignore his mistakes would trigger anger and distance from the girl, but he did not know how to apologize.
They remained still for the longest time, not really analyzing one another but merely looking at each other. Nothing was going on in their minds during those seconds other than an acknowledgment that they were not alone, and that neither of them knew how to deal with this situation. So, they remained paralyzed. Daphne felt more comfortable in silence than the fidgety and guilty Harry, who after more than two minutes of this stalemate, decided that he had just faced off with a dragon; he could deal with an angry friend.
He took a step forward and studiously ignored how Daphne tensed at the movement, making the pang of remorse appear once more. As Harry approached Daphne, her apprehension grew. When they were a step away from each other, and she didn't dare even breath in a mixture of anxiety and a slight fear that Harry was still unhinged, he gently pulled her into a hug.
"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear. Daphne's arms were still on her side, not moving to recognize the hug at all. "You were right about my temper, about Occlumency, about everything. I should have listened to you."
At this, Daphne slowly coiled her arms around his torso and hugged him back. She did not say anything, keeping her head low and let the top of her head rest on Harry's shoulder, but her posture relaxed. Harry kept apologizing, saying he was sorry, that he would never allow himself to lose control again, that he was ashamed of what he had done, that he had been too weak. He could only see Daphne's golden hair and her back from where she stood, but she seemed to believe his remorse as it transformed from a more directional set of things that he was sorry for into a rambling waterfall of times he thought he had wronged someone, anyone.
Eventually, Daphne began laughing at his obvious distress at her silence, shutting him up. When she calmed down, she looked lovingly at Harry, with a smile that had none of her sarcasm or wit, just a transcendental amount of affection and warmth, a part of her that he was sure only he got to see in Hogwarts ― except for Astoria and maybe Tracey.
"I get that you're feeling very sorry," she said with a small, amused smile. There was no derision or even fake mockery in that smile, just relief, and Harry thought that Daphne looked stunning in her earnest happiness. "You're going to have to make up for it, understood?" She asked in fake sternness, her blue eyes twinkling happily.
"Of course," he said seriously but couldn't keep himself from sagging in relief. He turned slightly nervous after just a second, though. "Seriously, I really am sorry, I don't know what came over m―"
"Harry," she interrupted him with a whisper, caressing his cheek slowly, still holding onto him with the other arm. "You have been many things this week, and I admit that I hated you for parts of it," Harry flinched at that, but she said it so calmly that he didn't feel that affected after a few seconds. "But I understand. You had to go through things that no one our age should ever have to go against, and you were already stressed out before that from all of our plans. But next time, ask for help. Putting our banter aside," she said with a small smirk but with honest eyes. "I care about you, more than you think. I want to help you when you need help."
"I'd like to help you too," Harry answered softly, squeezing her hands thankfully.
"Then open yourself up to be helped," she said, taking a step closer to him even with the small distance between them. She put a hand on his chest and looked at it for a while. "If you don't open up, I won't help you, and you won't help me."
Harry nodded, feeling dazed from how Daphne's tone had grown kinder and warmer than her usual wit. While he greatly enjoyed the snarky retorts she would jokingly say in one of their many conversations, the amount of affection in her actions ever since he had apologized in such a disjointed manner had made him light-headed. He was having a hard time thinking about anything other than how close Daphne stood to him, how warm she felt, and how her face lifted when she was happy, even though she wasn't smiling.
She looked into his eyes for a while, shifting her focus between one eye and the other, her mouth slightly ajar. "Hey, Harry?"
"Yeah?" He asked, taken aback by the intensity of her blue eyes from such a close distance.
"Do you mean the promise that you've made?" She questioned him in a low voice, her face or body betraying no insecurity, other than her eyes, that showed the ordeal through which Harry had put her, and how close she had gone on giving up on him if he dared to continue to treat people as if they were beneath him. He swallowed in fear of the idea of losing her. "Do you promise that you'll never lose it like that, no matter what?"
"I do," Harry said solemnly as soon as she asked. Daphne seemed to analyze his answer for a time before she looked at the tip of his nose and very gently pecked it, standing on her toes to do so.
"Okay then," she responded sweetly in barely a murmur before taking his hand and leading him to the bed. She sat him down there and then laid on the bed itself, putting her head on his lap. When she spoke next, her voice sounded the same as always, with the dry wit and sarcasm that he had come to appreciate so much. "You owe me a lot of naps for this past week, Potter. We'll be doing this more often."
"If you say so, Greengrass," Harry responded as dryly as he could with a relieved smile on his face. He failed, which did not escape the girl's perception, even as she could not see his face from his lap.
"I did say you needed to listen to me, after all," she smirked before purring lightly in delight as the Room of Requirement provided a blanket for her to cover herself. Soon she was sleeping, and the extent of her exhaustion for the previous week revealed itself.
Harry looked down at the girl fondly, caressing her hair delicately, grinning at her very soft, nasally snorts, and the way she curled into herself when she slept, which made her look unbothered and unshaken by everything. She looked happy.
He could only hope that things would improve from then on.
It was curiosity more than anything that drew Harry towards the Beauxbatons carriage when the news broke that the French Potions Master sent by Madame Maxime had arrived. The Headmistress had informed the Hogwarts students that they were welcome to enter the carriage at any time, only restricting the access to the cabins in which the students slept. When he arrived after breakfast, those students on break from any lecture on their schedule were already there. Technically Harry should have been at his Arithmancy lecture with Susan, but he was not in the mood for it. He would catch up on it, starting the following week.
Unsurprisingly, Tracey was already there amongst the students, talking animatedly in rapid French, laughing and jeering. She nodded discreetly to Harry when he entered and went straight back to her conversation. Madeleine was also there and seemed very happy to see Harry looking relaxed and calm. She was happily chatting in French with a younger-looking girl that looked oddly familiar, and who was staring at Harry with vivid hero-worship.
As Harry did not speak French at all, he restrained himself to analyzing the Beauxbatons carriage and to studiously ignoring the whispers and stares that his presence had caused amongst the present students. It wasn't exactly new to him, anyway, and he guessed that his performance with the dragon would be divisive across the board. At the very least, no one was rudely criticizing him or calling him evil loudly ― not to his face, that is. As with everything regarding the school, the carriage's inside was primarily light blue with gold accents. There were sofas in darker blue colors, with a design that Harry thought was very French ― Queen Anne Chesterfield, Fleur would inform him several years from then ― crystal chandeliers hanging from the low roof, along with light blue curtains drawn halfway over the windows, allowing for a nice view of the Black Lake. A large bouquet was atop the large circular table in the middle of the entrance hall, and an Oriental rug covered the room's length.
The door to the dormitories of the French students, who had refused to sleep in the castle out of principle and a preference for comfort, was to the right, while on the left there was a long corridor that led to several doors which were politely labeled in French and English, informing visitors as to their purpose: a library, two recreational rooms, a studying room, and at the very end, the Potions classroom, to which many Hogwarts students were currently flocking. A beautifully adorned golden mechanic watch was counting down the minutes to the next lecture. Only ten minutes to go.
Harry was curious about the library, but before he could go check out the books they had ― even though he was certain they'd be in French and he wouldn't understand any of them ― the door to the dorm rooms opened and a voice called out to him.
"'Arry Potter," Fleur said cooly, walking straight to where he stood in her immaculate blue uniform, complete with a hat that was stylishly tilted over one side.
"Fleur Delacour," Harry responded cordially. People around the carriage stopped their conversations to eavesdrop on the talk between the two leading champions, but one warning look from Fleur sent them all back to their groups, though everyone kept one eye over their shoulder.
"You 'ave performed admirably on the First Task," she continued in a light tone, though Harry could tell that she carried some resentment against him, either from disapproving of his behavior or from being behind him on the standings.
"I wouldn't call it admirable," Harry replied dryly.
"'ow would you call it, then?" She asked, raising a perfect eyebrow questioningly.
"Dumb fucking luck," Harry deadpanned, making the girl smirk minutely in amusement.
"I dare say we all got lucky, to some degree," she conceded. "Even with the chains in place, teenagers are not supposed to beat dragons, non?"
"For what it's worth, you deserved first place, not me," he said earnestly. "Your solution had finesse and technique. I just hit it very hard until it fell over."
"I would not say that you were purely a show of force," Fleur declared, studying Harry closely with her blue eyes. "The precision of the whip attacks was certainly impressive," she mused, though there was a distinctively disapproving sentiment in the sentence. Her eyes narrowed speculatively, and Harry felt a wave of confusion hit him for a second before he gritted his teeth and rode it out. He glared at Fleur, who looked unphased by his objection to what she had just done. "Zough what I really want to know is what was that blade."
Harry side-eyed her for a second before opening his robe to one side and casually unsheathing Fang from the holster and offering the dagger's hilt to the Veela.
"I zought you were from the House of Lions, not the House of Serpents?" She lightly mocked him, studying the serpents that made up that part of the weapon, though her tone was appreciative, and she seemed to approve of the design, particularly of the emerald eyes. It was a beautiful dagger, both the hilt and the curved fang itself, though Fleur seemed confused by the blade itself, surely not expecting something not metallic.
"It fit the dagger," Harry shrugged. He waited for the girl to ask the question that she wanted to ask, and when Fleur noticed this and glared at his laconic answer, he smiled amusedly.
"What is special about it?" She demanded, looking at him seriously and cradling the dagger between her two palms. Harry made sure that she wouldn't cut herself with the thing before he answered casually.
"It is lightly poisoned," he teased her with a smirk, purposefully not giving enough information.
"'Lightly poisoned' is how I would describe your cuisine," Fleur replied, narrowing her blue eyes once more. "It is a very loose term for something that can severely injure a magical creature as large as a dragon," Fleur's eyes gleamed dangerously, and Harry was struck with the realization that perhaps the Veela had disapproved more than she was letting on about his treatment of a magical creature, what with her technically being considered one in Britain. He decided to stop with the taunting, lest her pretense of politeness gives way to open hostility.
"It's a basilisk fang," Harry announced succinctly. Fleur certainly did not expect that and looked far more nervous about holding the dagger than just a second prior.
"And 'ow have you gotten your 'ands on it?" She asked with the usual confidence, though it took her a second to get over the surprise.
"The usual way," Harry smiled sharply, letting his teeth bare for a second. Fleur looked at him critically, evaluating if his claim was honest. She decided he was not lying but was not impressed. Instead, her eyes grew hard and unforgiving, which killed his smile on the spot.
"Do you specialize in 'arming magical creatures?" She mocked him with a sharp smile of her own, anger audible in her harsh and tight tone. Harry looked at her seriously for a while, studying her anger, before answering.
"I am not proud of what I've done with the dragon, Delacour," he said in a low voice, barely above a murmur. "I did not choose to participate in this Tournament, and I did not choose to fight the dragons, and though I am happy that I am in first place, I am not happy about how I got there," he then locked eyes with Delacour and firmly stated. "But I will not apologize for the basilisk. It was harming students," his eyes grew determined and his tone matched hers in harshness. "It almost killed a friend. I would kill it again, without remorse."
Fleur looked at him down her nose thoughtfully for a time. After a while of this silent staring match, she declared with a short sigh. "I do not blame you for losing control. Despite everything, you are still too young to be in 'zis competition," when Harry involuntarily stiffened at the comment, Fleur snapped at him. "It is not a matter of skill, but discipline," Harry looked away for a second. "Men and your pride; you're all the same," she scoffed, and Harry flushed in embarrassment and some light anger that he struggled to swallow.
"You're one to speak about pride," Harry countered, unable to keep the retort to himself. Fleur just smiled at him piteously.
"I am proud of everyzing about me that merits pride, and nozing more," she explained, raising her chin.
"You have an awfully high estimation of what is worthy of pride in yourself," Harry riposted dryly. Fleur laughed musically.
"Yes, I do," she did not deny, instead only smiling ever more sharply. It was beautiful because of course, it would be, but there was an undisguised danger to her features that made her alarmingly scary in her own way. It was like an ethereal creature from which you could divert your eyes, even as it threatened your life. She turned serious quickly, and Harry consequently sobered as well. "But it remains true that you lacked discipline in the First Task," she said sagely before eyeing the little blonde girl with whom Madeleine was still talking. It then became clear to Harry from where he had seen the resemblance ― the girls were shockingly similar. When she looked back at Harry, her expression was simultaneously warning and pleading, and her voice held an enormous fondness. "Zat leetle girl there is my sister, Gabrielle. She worships you and seems to be under the impression zat what you've done with the dragon was brave and gallant," her voice continued, sounding sad and admonishing. "I did not have ze 'eart to tell her zat it was a monstrous, callous, dangerous, foolish thing. But you know all of zat, apparently."
"I do," Harry confirmed quietly, struggling to not look down in shame. Fleur nodded.
"In zat case, zere is 'ope yet, non?" She said lightly before looking at where the arena built for the First Task was being dismantled. Without turning back to face him, she continued. "Remember, 'Arry Potter, that whenever people as powerful as you or I lose our control, it is not us who pays the price." She then looked at him over her shoulder. "Others always pay for us."
Harry restricted himself to a solemn nod, showing he understood. Fleur seemed satisfied and conveyed in a neutral, but respectful tone. "I await your competition in the next Tasks, 'Arry Potter," she gestured to the door under the clock that now said it would only be half a minute until the Potions Master could attend to them. "I 'ope you enjoy the lectures."
She walked away without waiting for his answer.
Neville was there, but as he was speaking with a French girl who seemed very interested in him and he kept blushing at her forwardness. Harry just kept to himself, sending cheeky waves and thumbs up at him to which he responded with glares and less polite hand gestures. Harry laughed at his friend and was glad that Neville did not seem angry with him, though it was clear that he wished to speak. The nervousness of the Hogwarts contingent around Harry was quite clear. Whichever group he passed by on his way to the Potions class would halt their conversations and look at him either warily or deferentially, neither reaction being enjoyable for him.
Resisting the urge to sigh, and slightly afraid of the headache coming on, Harry was expecting to sit alone, but he was surprised to see someone unceremoniously dropping into the chair next to his before the teacher arrived in the classroom.
"Heya, Harry," Tracey greeted him animatedly, setting aside some parchment and a quill for notes, and nothing more. "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine, Tracey," Harry said, simultaneously startled and bemused. He did not miss that people were looking at them and their supposed familiarity with neutrality. Tracey, who saw his blossoming confusion, smirked and leaned forwards to say quietly enough for just him to hear.
"I have been defending you ever since the First Task," she shrugged. "I'm pretty sure people have been assuming I have a thing for you."
Harry choked, making Tracey laugh and playfully slap his back. Glaring at her, he gritted out. "And I'm sure you did nothing to dispel those rumors."
"Of course not," she grinned benevolently. "They amuse me too much, and you'd be surprised how many doors are opened by having a supposed crush on Harry Potter." Harry moaned in lament, making the girl giggle. When she calmed down, she mirthfully continued. "I'm serious, the Gryffindors have never treated me better! To say nothing of the Hufflepuffs," she grinned salaciously at him. "You are very popular with the Badgers."
"Piss off," he deadpanned, but she just smiled beatifically back at him. He sighed before asking her more seriously. "How bad is it, Tracey?"
"Honestly, it's hard to say," she answered, also taking a more serious demeanor. "The school is divided, yes, but they're not divided into the groups you'd expect. There are people for and against you in every demographic, from the Purebloods of Slytherin to the Muggle-borns in Gryffindor, from the first to the seventh year. Because of that, I can't think of a way of making the situation improve," she confessed, looking frustrated by the admission. "I have to think about it."
"Alright," Harry hummed. The teacher still hadn't arrived, and the students were getting slightly impatient. He looked around, seeing some Durmstrang alumni isolated off in one corner. "What about the foreign schools?"
"Those are more in your favor," she reported immediately. "Fleur seemed to convince the French students that you were not at fault for your behavior and that you had to prove you were just as strong as every other champion," she looked thoughtful for a second. "I heard similar things coming from a Ravenclaw girl," Harry closed his eyes. Without even naming her, he knew this was Luna Lovegood. He had to speak with Flitwick as soon as he dealt with Hermione. "And Krum was very impressed with your performance. He called it a deserving first place, and his approval has somewhat distanced the Durmstrang contingent from Draco, though they have not sided with Daphne either."
"Are they not playing a role in your internal politics, then?" Harry asked, realizing how little he knew of the situation in Slytherin, as Daphne and he had instead focused on the Tournament.
"They certainly could if they wanted to, particularly Krum," Tracey mused after thinking for a second. She grimaced slightly. "But it is a good thing they don't. I imagine they'd side with Nott, which would fracture the Dark into him and Draco, but Nott would be a worse opponent for Daphne simply because not a lot is known of him. He's very low-key, but also influential in his own way."
"What a nightmare," Harry murmured, rubbing his forehead slowly.
"Tell me about it," she quipped back tiredly.
Before their conversation could continue, a woman with long red hair entered the room in a rush, carrying a tower of books so large that it obscured most of her face. Some students tried to get up to help her carry them, but even without properly seeing them, she waved them off with one of her hands, temporarily managing to carry the heavy-looking stack of books by herself, which was not trivial. Harry did not think he'd manage to do the same. She finally arrived at the table designated for the teacher and not particularly gently put the books down on the table, which creaked under their weight.
As she manually and methodically kept taking books away from the large pile, more of her face was revealed. She was tall and lean, maybe in her late thirties, with a calm but open expression on her face. Her eyes scoured the books and put them in piles according to some unknown criteria, and when she finally ended this categorization she raised her gaze to reveal clear hazel eyes below thin eyebrows and a small nose. She smiled invitingly to everyone, still not having said a word, and stretched out her neck.
The contrast with Snape was so obvious that Harry wondered if Maxime had done it on purpose. The woman wore clear clothing, white and light blue, seemed calm and more importantly, she looked calming. Harry could see someone with that expression talking an enraged man down mid-frenzy with ease. She seemed to be one of those people in whom one can't help but confide, and the intelligence in her eyes made him excited for whatever there was to come.
"My name is Amèlie," she presented herself in perfect English, her accent only visible when she spoke her name. She omitted her surname. "I am not a Professor at Beauxbatons, so I believe I'd be dishonest of me to require that you call me so. But, because I am technically responsible for this class, I understand that some of you may be inclined to do so."
She palmed the leftmost pile of books that she had brought with her. "You may be wondering how teaching Potions can work if you're from seven different years," she smiled serenely. "The answer is, of course, that you cannot. But as this is the first lecture, I will be addressing some of the points that Hogwarts has not taught you because of," her smile grew bitter and angry momentarily as she spoke the next words, "staff deficiencies."
"As I'm sure you'll be able to count to seven, each of these piles," she gestured to the seven groups of books in front of them. "Represents the books for one year. There are not enough for all of you, of course. This will be remedied by Hogwarts. Students of Durmstrang, I have not spoken with Karkaroff, so my apologies," she gestured to the contingent of the Scandanavian school, who accepted her apologies with tight nods and casual murmurs of dismissal. "Now, I am sure that many of you are going to question my credentials," she said seriously, swinging around the table and crossing her arms over her chest as she casually sat on it, slowly analyzing the crowd. Every time that her eyes would roam over someone that Harry knew to be a blood supremacist or from a family of blood supremacists, Amèlie would stop and stare longer at them, and he couldn't help but be impressed. Regardless of who she was, the woman was well informed. Tracey seemed to agree because she suddenly seemed much more captivated by what the woman had to say.
"Before I can present them to you, I need to tell you something," she said, pushing herself off of her chair and walking towards the green board behind the desk. She leisurely picked up a piece of chalk and started throwing it up and down instead of writing with it. Without stopping the very limited show of juggling, she continued. "France has a rich history of alchemy and alchemists. Germany has more well-known alchemists than any other country historically speaking, but France comes close behind, and we have had the gold standard of that science in the form of Monsieur Nicholas Flamel," as she finished that sentence, she looked straight at Harry for a second, and he tensed. The woman definitely knew about the Stone. How? Harry knew how limited with information Dumbledore himself could be. He knew that what happened with Stone was extremely secret information. "Potioneers and Alchemists walk hand-in-hand in France, closer than in any other country. I am not a Potioneer," she claimed, throwing the chalk one last time before catching it swiftly. "I am an Alchemist."
Now the class gave her their full attention. Alchemy was a rare and difficult science, which allowed them to do things that seemed beyond their natural abilities, even with magic. Even the Muggle-borns in the room seemed excited because that was a branch of magic that had bled into actual Muggle history as well. But Harry noticed that some people were aghast, including Tracey, who was open-mouthed and wide-eyed, staring at the woman as if she were a new star in the sky.
"I see that my reputation precedes me, in some cases here," she smiled warmly for the first time, which seemed to make her a decade younger. "To those of you wondering, yes, I am that Amèlie, known as Flamel's last apprentice," she then bowed slightly towards the largest cluster of blood supremacists in the room, in open sarcasm. "The Red Alchemist, at your service."
Harry exited that classroom feeling excited and also exhausted. There actually wasn't that much that Amèlie said after that, but the prospect of a connection to Flamel so near him brought memories of his first year in Hogwarts, and he had long ceased to believe in coincidences. The fact that a red-haired woman suddenly appeared on the dawn of the first dream Harry had of the Red Woman also weighed on his mind. That was harder to deny as a coincidence ― he was not daft enough to believe that both figures were equivalent just because of their shared hair-color ― but it did not go unnoticed. Another thing that did not go unnoticed was how much the woman wanted to speak with Harry, but he did know to what degree such a desire manifested. Was it because she wanted to ask more about what happened with the Stone? Was Flamel even dead?
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Tracey had delayed him by several minutes to explain about the origins of the Red Alchemist and why she was such a big deal in certain circles, and that she had heard of her repeatedly from Daphne due to her father's dealings with Potions ingredients, and because of her mother's background as a Potions Mistress. He was sure that the rumors of her academic exploits would be widespread before dinner. Maybe it would take some attention out of him. But he doubted it. New things were exciting, but dragons overcame academics when it came to people's attention spans, and Harry's presence in the Tri-Wizard Tournament would serve as a permanent reminder of what he had done.
After that Neville had talked with Harry, but he was understanding, and a little bit pitying, when he told him that he needed to talk with Hermione before.
Now he had to deal with Hermione and the rest of Gryffindor. Well, he was planning on doing that. He was already thinking about what he would say to everyone in the Common Room at once. But he had forgotten with whom he was dealing. Of course, Hermione sought him, looking frustrated and angry that he did not talk with her earlier. So, he was forcefully directed towards a room near the Gryffindor Tower, and his best friend was currently doing something halfway between a pout and a sulk, looking accusatorily at him.
"You didn't talk to me," she said, hurt.
"I needed to think by myself," Harry explained calmly.
"When the basilisk petrified me in Second-Year, I went to you before I had time to think about anything else," Hermione replied immediately, still looking upset.
"Hermione, those are different things," he sighed.
"The principle is the same," she furrowed her brows before proclaiming. "And you have been acting horribly this past week. The least you could do is apologize," she said imperiously before adding in a smaller voice. "I was only worried about you."
"I am sorry, Hermione," Harry said sincerely, looking at his friend in the eyes. She met his gaze, and though she seemed slightly flustered, Hermione did not break it. "I really lost it," he added silently.
"I am sorry for not being there when you woke up," Hermione said, seeming disappointed with herself. She fidgeted and winced minutely before admitting in a low voice. "I was scared."
"Madeleine told me that was a common thing among the students," Harry smiled sadly. Hermione tried to smile back, but it was blocked by something. She kept playing with her hands, doing complicated patterns with her fingers to calm herself down, initially with the same level of precision and diligence he had come to associate with her, but the movements were messy and unfocused as her discomfort grew.
"Why did you do all of that with the dragon?" She finally gathered the courage to ask. "I understand some of it, but the end was just... cruel," she finished, looking down. "But you're not a cruel person, the furthest thing from it. I―" She seemed to be struggling to speak and took a second to swallow a lump in her throat. Her voice sounded emotional when she continued to speak. "I felt like I didn't know you at that point."
"I really did lose it," Harry said in a low voice, looking at Hermione, but through unseeing, distant eyes. "I don't recall any of my decisions when it came to the dragon. I felt very, very scared, and then I began feeling furiously angry. The next thing I can remember clearly was the infirmary," he finished solemnly. That was not completely honest of him. Though Harry did not remember why he made the decisions he made, there were several moments in the fight against the dragon that Harry remembered vividly, and some in which he thought himself in control. It was a very difficult retrospective to build in his mind from his scattered memories. After a few seconds of silence, Harry spoke once more.
"After I woke up, they told me that I lost control because of very poorly managed stress. I had a mental collapse, and my magic got... ultra-defensive, I guess is the word for it," he finished uncertainly, betting, correctly, that Hermione would not question who had told him. He was sure he wanted to invite the possibility that she'd want to speak with Dumbledore about this, and her mind would naturally go in that direction. Best to allow her to believe what she was predisposed to believe.
Harry also suspected that his magic was predisposed to acting that way because of the aggressive spells he had been learning in the summer before he was ready to use them properly with the required discipline. But that was something that he had to discuss with Bill.
"Why didn't you ask for help?" She demanded.
"I didn't know I needed it," he shrugged loosely. "I might never have noticed if it wasn't for Madeleine."
"Madeleine? You mean, our student?" Hermione questioned, some of her anger being supplanted by her natural curiosity.
"Yeah, her," Harry confirmed. He looked up at the ceiling, remembering that conversation. "She pointed out some occasions in which I had acted very badly this week that I didn't even remember."
"You don't even remember everything that happened for the past week?" Hermione asked, her eyes showing concern, and any embarrassment she felt at the prospect of being alone with Harry disappeared in favor of the current problem facing him. Harry shook his head, confirming that he indeed did not remember everything, and Hermione stayed silently thinking for a second, biting her lower lip and occasionally looking at Harry. Nervously, she eventually challenged him. "Harry, does this have anything to do with the magic you have been learning lately?"
"The one I've been learning with Mad-Eye?" Harry asked with a forcedly pensive frown.
"Harry, please don't do that," Hermione immediately and firmly called him out. Harry looked at her in slight shock for a time, but apparently, the dam had burst because she did not react to his reaction and instead kept speaking as if he was barely there. "Do you expect me to believe that you learned to be that proficient in magic in little more than a week with Professor Moody? Or that I didn't notice that you suddenly know a lot more about the concept of magic than before? Or about how you've been casting much faster than you used to? That you cast spells in Parseltongue in the First Task? That those spells were much more powerful than normal? Or that you have been sneaking away at night to a place in the castle that you don't tell me? That I don't know that the story about the portrait and the Muggle books you told me was a lie? That―"
"Hermione, calm down," Harry urged her, as his best friend was crying more and more as she continued to speak about the things that he had done and hidden from her, and his guilt shone brighter and brighter. She did not continue to list her grievances, but she did not stop crying and began to quietly sob and lament his deceits with murmurs that he could not decipher. Harry softly went forward to hug her, and she immediately almost crushed him, holding him tightly against her body. When he tried to adjust his body so that the hug wouldn't hurt his ribs so much, she whimpered, saying that if she let go, he would begin to lie to her again, and she didn't want that, she just wanted to be a part of Harry's life and didn't do anything to deserve only getting his lies instead. The more she blabbered, the more she turned incoherent, and the more Harry's heart broke. He needed to think of something. After several minutes of whispering things to try and calm Hermione down, he finally sighed in resignation and said. "Calm down and I'll show you something."
Hermione still took a few minutes to truly get her emotions under wraps and was still sniffling when she finally released him, with enormous reluctance. She kept holding his hand, but he didn't mind as much, because she was not gripping it with all her strength, and kept it at a feather-light touch.
"I am going to show you the place that I've been going to study and train after Sirius escaped," he said in a low voice when they were out of earshot from any other group of students. Hermione perked up and looked at Harry with hopeful, wide eyes that were impossibly bright and relieved. He did not look at them for very long. "Come on," he ordered her, and then guided her towards a series of ladders, hidden passages, and narrow corridors. During all that time, Hermione had been smiling, genuinely happy at that development, and Harry had only been feeling growing dread. He did not feel happy with himself with what he was about to tell his friend, but he felt he had no other choice.
Finally, they arrived. "This, Hermione," he proclaimed as neutrally as he could, ignoring the guilt of lying about a lie, "is the Room of Requirement."