24 November 1994

The fireplace crackled contentedly in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, its sparkling embers dancing up and down the grate like yellow roses in a field of grass. The wood snapped and splintered in a reassuring rhythm, and Harry yawned, rubbing his eyes tiredly, as he leaned back in his favorite maroon armchair.

A few feet away, Hermione was perched precariously among a ruckus of haphazardly opened books, inky quills, upturned chairs, and brightly colored Gobstones. She was flipping feverishly through her Charms notes, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as she searched for something—anything—that would help Harry.

Several moments passed in semi-peaceful silence, and gradually, Harry felt his hearing begin to fade, his eyelids grow heavy, his mind slowly numb…

"Harry." His eyes snapped open. Hermione was standing over him, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah—m'fine," Harry mumbled, climbing reluctantly to his feet. He wobbled unsteadily for a moment. Then, he buried his face in his hands, stifling a wide yawn.

Hermione stared at him intently, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and for the first time in what felt like ages, the corners of Harry's lips lifted in a smile. "What?" he asked her, amused.

"You look horrible," Hermione told him honestly, shaking her head. "Maybe…Harry, maybe we ought to take a little break."

"We don't have time for breaks, Hermione," Harry said shortly, pulling out his wand. "I've got to get this spell right by morning."

Hermione seemed to teeter on the edge of arguing, plainly not ready to drop the matter. But with a sigh of concession, she stepped back and picked up a very battered copy of Hogwarts, A History. Dusting it off slightly, she held it up and looked at Harry, nodding.

"Accio book!"

The book wriggled violently on Hermione's outstretched palm, tipping out of her grip and landing spectacularly at Harry's feet.

Harry stared at it.

Then, groaning, he flung his wand to the floor. "That's it, I give up. I'm never going to learn this bloody—"

"Harry, you're getting better," Hermione interrupted in placating voice. "Honestly, did you really think you'd get it right away?"

"We've been practicing all day!"

"Yes," Hermione agreed, biting her lip, "And we're going to keep practicing until you've got it, all right?"

Harry ignored her, gazing at the fireplace. Just forty-eight hours earlier, he'd seen his godfather's face for the first time in months, in those very flames. Harry desperately wished Sirius were here, now. He didn't know how much help his godfather would be, confined to the flames, but it would be a much-needed comfort to see his face again.

"Harry…"

"Maybe you're right," Harry said curtly, sinking back down into the armchair, his eyes still glued to the fireplace, as though staring at the flames long enough would somehow trigger Sirius's appearance. "Maybe we ought to take a break."

Hermione fell silent, and after a few moments, Harry wondered whether she too had given up. He chanced a glance in her direction. She was hunched over a scroll of parchment, her quill traveling rapidly across the the surface.

In his curiosity, Harry forgot to be sullen. "What are you doing?" he asked her, eyebrows raised.

"Helping you," she said simply, applying the last few strokes to her masterpiece.

"What—?"

But Hermione had already gotten to her feet, picking up a nearby dictionary as she did so. Without a word, she handed Harry back his wand, an oddly grim expression on her face. "Let's try again," she told him firmly.

Utterly bewildered, Harry gave in. Moving to stand across from her, he raised his wand. "Acc—what the—!"

Hermione's face was contorted in the most peculiar fashion, her arms flayed and her eyes wide and unblinking. She snarled at him, nostrils flaring. And pinned to the inside of her cloak was a caricature of what Harry could only assume to be a dragon.

Harry blinked.

The sight was so bizarre, so unexpected, so utterly…un-Hermione, that Harry could do but one thing.

"What?" Hermione demanded, in what would have been a severe manner, had she not been desperately trying not to smile. Harry was doubled over, laughing hysterically. "What's so funny?"

It was several, long minutes before Harry regained enough of himself to speak coherently. "What—?" he gasped. "What was—?"

"You weren't able to concentrate on the charm because you were too concentrated on the dragon," Hermione explained pointedly, "So I thought I'd take the image out of your head, and put it in front of you."

"Hermione, I was distracted by a dragon!" Harry told her, shaking his head in disbelief. "Not—" he squinted at her doodle, "—a potato with eyes!"

Hermione spluttered in indignation. "A potato—Harry, I know your eyesight's not the greatest, but really—"

"This has got nothing to do with my eyesight!" Harry exclaimed incredulously. "Honestly, Hermione, the only reason I could tell it was a dragon was because of the fire coming out of its mouth." Harry indicated the squiggly lines Hermione had drawn by the creature's head. "No, wait—hang on, maybe that's just steam…you know, to show that it's baked, not mashed—"

"Oh, like you could do any better, Harry!"

"Of course I could!" Harry snatched up Hermione's quill and darkened the dragon's eyebrows. Then, he stepped back, satisfied. "There!"

Hermione looked appalled. "Now, it's got caterpillars growing out of its eyes!"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

Harry didn't know quite how long this went on. He didn't know quite how long they squabbled over the state of the dragon, making adjustments and bantering back-and-forth. But by the time they'd finished, they were both collapsed on the hearth, laughing, and the drawing resembled nothing more than an inky boulder.

Slowly, a comfortable silence filled the room, punctuated only by the occasional giggle from Hermione. Harry shot her a sideways glance. Her eyes were closed, but the hint of a smile was still playing at her lips.

Harry cocked his head to the side, watching her. With a slightly guilty lurch of his stomach, he realized that he didn't give Hermione quite enough credit. She had spent her entire day, and night, determinedly helping him attempt to master the Summoning Charm—and what had he given her in return? Dark looks and disappointment. She didn't have to help him; she was quite free to ignore his existence, like Ron. She was free of the burden of the tournament, and yet…

"Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship, and bravery, and—oh, Harry—be careful!"

Harry's heart gave a small jolt at the memory. And suddenly, he felt a warm, fierce rush of affection well up in him. Because in spite of all of her bookish-ness, and common sense, and the time she spent holed up in the library, Hermione knew more about friendship than Harry could ever fully appreciate.

"Harry, we should probably start practicing again," Hermione mumbled, barely stirring. Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned to him, jumping slightly as she noticed his gaze on her. "What is it?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Harry hastily looked away, scrambling to his feet and holding out his hand for her. "Just…thanks, Hermione," he said earnestly, hoping that she understood just how much he meant it.

"Don't be silly," Hermione said quickly, but Harry knew she was pleased.

Smiling to himself, Harry took a deep breath and pointed his wand. And as he raised his arm, a whirlwind of memories raced each other through his mind: the anxious look on Hermione's face as she told McGonagall that Ron and Harry had saved her life…the way his heart had constricted with dread as he hurried into the hospital wing after Ron, Hermione's pale and petrified body coming into view…the blur of shapes and colors flying past him, as Hermione completed the final twist on the Time-Turner…and finally, now, the determined, blazing look in Hermione's eyes, as she placed the rune dictionary on her palm and held it out towards him.

"Accio Dictionary!"

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, his chest tighten with excitement, as the dictionary soared high into the air, spiraling wildly like an Quaffle. And with his infallible skill as a Seeker, Harry did not need to think twice as the book hurtled towards him. He reached out and caught it deftly between his fingers, inhaling sharply, as, at long last, he heard the soft thud of leather against skin.

There was a stunned silence, as Harry gaped at the book in his hand and then up at Hermione, who looked on the verge of tears.

The next instant, she rocketed towards him and flung her arms around his neck.

"That's better, Harry, that's loads better," Hermione whispered, as she pulled away a moment later, smiling widely and blinking rather rapidly.

"Well, now we know what to do next time I can't manage a spell," Harry said numbly, feeling as though an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He threw the rune dictionary back to Hermione, so he could try again. "Threaten me with a dragon…right…" A fierce surge of confidence shot through him as he raised his wand once more. "Accio Dictionary!"

The heavy book careered out of Hermione's hand, and Harry seized it, yet again.

Hermione beamed.

Author's Note:

Hi lovelies! This is my second entry for Morning Lilies's Yellow Rose Bowl: a friendship competition. :) Harry and Hermione this time! For this piece, I chose to flesh out a scene from GoF. It's page 347 of the Scholastic version, but I'm not sure what it is in the Bloomsbury edition. The quote prompt for this piece was Muhammad Ali's "Friendship…is not something you learn out of books. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything."

Ari