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So far... Broken by the Dursleys' extreme cruelty, the bewildered and almost blind Harry Potter is further traumatised by Hagrid's death in Diagon Alley. But on the Hogwarts Express, Hermione provides his first experience of kindness. Will it be enough to help him through the Sorting? Now read on...

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Chapter 2

Injustice Accepted

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Out Of Sorts

Harry hugged himself, shivering with dread of where he was and what was to come. His arrival at Hogwarts had been fraught enough but now the other children were to be 'Sorted' into 'Houses' according to qualities he knew he didn't have. When they'd entered the Great Hall amidst an ocean of staring children, he'd become quite rigid with blind fright. He couldn't see them properly, but this was a girls' school; did they all think he was a girl? Or did everyone know a boy had been captured! That's what girls did! He gripped tightly to his pants top and closed his eyes tight mentally thanking Dudley for his brotherly guidance. Only Hermione's nudge had kept him moving forward to the front of the Hall where they trooped onto a low podium and had to turn to face the multitude. His legs turned to jelly and gave way. The sound of faint sniggering came to his ears. His cheeks were burning with shame.

"Is something wrong?" said the stern teacher who had led them in. She stepped forward, frowning.

"He just slipped," said Hermione, who was helping Harry up from his knees. She pressed him against another girl on his left and together they supported him.

There he quaked, struggling to distinguish through squinty eyes what was happening. When the teacher came close he could have sworn she was carrying a pointed hat with a wide brim – like a witch's hat! So it was true! This was a school for magicians! Did they have to perform tricks? Then he tried to remember what Josey had said on the train and the true horror shocked him: 'you wear only a hat and everything about you can be seen!' He had to be naked except for a hat in front of all these girls! Everything would be seen! Only Hermione's grip kept him upright. The Hall swirled about him. He swayed dizzily. Someone was singing but he was too nauseous to pay attention until:

"Abbott, Hannah!"

There was a movement, and the girl on his left eased forward from him – he almost fell – a rope of blonde hair swished briefly over his shoulder – he strained to see where she went. Blurrily he sensed the teacher was placing a dark shape on her head: THE MAGICIAN'S HAT! Had she been made naked? Of course not! Girls were NEVER naked. Unthinkable! Unimaginable! Everyone knew they bathed in respectable Victorian swimwear. It could only be boys who had to undress and he knew he was the only one. He stared in her direction but she never came back to his group so he couldn't be sure.

"Bones, Susan!"

Harry trembled. Bones began with 'buh' so 'BOY' might be next! Or did they know he had a pretend name?

He swayed again when an F name was announced; would Freak be next? But then...

"Granger, Hermione!"

He bit hard on his lip. Somehow he'd been relying on her not to let him fall. But she almost ran to the stool, eagerly abandoning him forever.

There was a long, long pause. ... In vain, Harry struggled not to think about Hermione being naked – girls never were, remember! NEVER! But still... just suppose...

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat.

He groaned. He'd have to go and live in a completely different house from the only person who had ever helped him. An emptiness rose higher and higher within until it reached his throat where it constricted into a lump that brought tears to his–

"–Potter, Harry!"

He was truly paralysed. They knew his secret pretend name, and soon they would see all! There was nowhere to hide. He was wearing Dudley's baggy used underpants, soiled and smelly. His socks had holes and did not match. And the marks and bruises and scars he'd been forced to promise never EVER to reveal...!

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

"MISTER Potter! Come forward!" demanded the stern teacher.

He had to obey. That was the one absolute that had been beaten into him since before he was two years old. He stepped forward – and fell off the front edge of the platform.

Laughter echoed around the Hall, growing in intensity as–

"–SILENCE!" boomed a voice, and the mockery ended.

"Sit on the stool then!"

He had no option. The seat had to be here somewhere... Harry groped blindly forward to where the others had sat. Something dark and sinister descended upon him...

TERROR such as he had never known! A demon invaded his most secret thoughts like an all-powerful searchlight. There was no possible evading its all-seeing eye. His entire being was truly, utterly naked and exposed, writhing and squealing on the floor. The hat could not be removed no matter how much he struggled. He thought he must go mad. Even he knew that this was no mere magic trick – he was now a helpless sacrifice in a school of black magic!

Hmm... sneered the devil in his head, Difficult. Very difficult. Not an ounce of courage, I see. Severe emotional damage, too. No talent at all, oh my goodness, no – and no interest in improving yourself either, now that's interesting ... So where shall I put you?

Ravenclaw – Ravenclaw – Ravenclaw! Harry heard himself reciting, his last remaining glimmer of hope...

Ravenclaw, eh? No possibility of that. You have almost no intelligence and no knowledge of anything, even including your own name! You are illiterate, dull, inarticulate, near-blind, stupid, dumb by choice and too scared to whisper. You lack cunning and ambition. Never in a thousand years have I beheld anyone so utterly broken and worthless as yourself. Your only loyalty is to obey like a dog and work. It has to be...

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Silence. Except for a few suppressed moans from one part of the Hall and faint sniggering from another.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Potter? Get up off the floor! Go to your table!"

There are tables here? thought Harry, who had believed they would live in different houses.

A hand gripped his arm and he was pushed in the direction from where the moaning had come. They hated him!

"Hospital wing first thing in the morning, Potter, and get those eyes looked at!"

Wing? Hospitals had wings? He groped onwards, arms outstretched like a sleepwalker. Ahead of him, a girl – it might have been the Susan Bones girl – was muttering, "See the scar? You-know-who must have damaged his brain."

Scars? Was he still naked? He patted himself down and was relieved to find he was wearing clothes. Hatred and pain he must suffer obediently as was his lot, but humiliation was truly unbearable, especially from girls.

"Be careful, Susan..." murmured another voice – a BOY'S voice! So there were other boys being held here too!

He found a seat as far away from the others as possible and stared down at his knees. He dared to glance up only once, away from the disdainful, smirking children, and towards the front of the Hall where they'd all been Sorted – but a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on his forehead. He winced and dropped his head down again, this time with eyes tight shut. They must be using black magic to control him whenever he had the arrogance to face his superiors without permission!

Presently he could smell the delicious aroma of food. He was used to waiting his turn. Sooner or later someone would order him to wash the dishes then he might be thrown a crust on the floor. His stomach grumbled in anticipation; he'd not eaten since yesterday. He tried to imagine the cupboard they would lock him in to sleep, and if it would even be in the house the others would live in – what had the Hat called it? Hufflepuff? Dudley had said puffs were really sissies who flounce and nancy about like girls. Was he not even a proper freak boy?

"Eat up then!" said a voice moving opposite – it might have come from the one called Hannah something – but the tone was so soft and gentle, so lacking in brittleness or anger, that instantly he knew it must be a deceit. She must have slid along the benches specifically to torment him! He raised his head just enough to faintly distinguish the rope of blonde hair – two of them on either side of her head!

He had to obey or she'd whip him. But eat what? He reached forward and found an empty plate. He lifted it close to his face; yes it was shiny but definitely empty. Dudley did this to him sometimes so he was used to the prank. Often he would force him to lick the plate whether clean or vinegared or occasionally, if Harry had been lucky, the tasty, nutritious remains of Dudley's meal were still smeared across it.

"What do you want? Chicken? Beef? Gravy? Potatoes and so on?"

He'd definitely never been allowed to even taste those delicacies, but had once eaten some cold mashed potatoes left over from days before. The pulpy grey-green glop had been tasty once he'd scraped off the encrusted filth! He nodded hopefully and whispered, as he been instructed so often after receiving corrective punishment, "thank you"

"You're welcome."

There had been a smile in the tone of the voice. Harry knew what that meant. When the plate was slid back to him, he eyed it warily, wondering what might have been added: peppers? pins? beetles? dog turds? He knew all those odours ... and the flavours.

"Do try! I find it delectable!" said Hannah, digging eagerly at her own meal.

That was almost the same false enticement that Dudley would use, albeit less subtly: 'It's delicious! Look, watch me! I'm eating it, so it's definitely safe! Yum, yum!' Nevertheless, Harry had no choice but to obey. He braced himself, then gingerly picked up a little mashed potato from the edge – Dudley usually buried something in the middle so the edges were often free from–

"–What are you doing? Use the knife and fork!"

He snapped to attention and groped around for the cutlery. He knew all about knives and forks, having been jabbed and scraped so often, and of course, he'd scrub them clean later, but use them? To eat? He scooped up a tiny piece of mash on the fork and held it close enough to sniff. It was fluffy and white with even a few peas – and was that a tiny slice of carrot? Nothing was wriggling in it so he touched it to his lips then, when nothing happened, slipped out the tip of his tongue to get a taste...

ASTONISHMENT! WONDER! Never had he tasted anything so glorious. He took the food into his mouth where it dissolved on his tongue. This, he knew, was too nice to be anything other than a sweetener: the bait to fool him into digging in heartily, but, pretending ignorance, he slowly turned the plate, working his way around the edges of the food, and all the while conscious that the girl was watching him – just like Dudley waited for him to reach the nasty surprise in the main part of the meal.

Tentatively he proceeded, spiralling slowly inward round the decreasing perimeter, and carefully turning over every piece of meat, every brussels sprout to investigate what might be lurking beneath...

"What are you looking for?" smiled Hannah. "Just eat your fill. Here, have some more..."

Harry winced and commenced to follow orders just as he'd been conditioned to do without question. Forkful after forkful he consumed and each one a delight and a terrifying expectation of something horrible. He ploughed on and on with a kind of resignation until... something very curious happened, a new sensation he'd never experienced before: his hunger was satisfied! He was full!

"Surely you can squeeze in a little dessert? Try some of this meringue."

He stared at the delicacy with revulsion, sniffing the air. Lemon! He'd known all along there'd be a catch, and this must be it. He picked up his spoon and prepared for the worst...

Nothing happened! Nothing except the novel experience of gorging himself on a delicious dessert! He looked in the direction of the blurry shape that was Hannah with a puzzled expression on his face. What had he missed? Had she forgotten the earwigs? The shredded scouring pad? The burning chillies? After failing to entertain his tormentor, he was in for it now surely?

But nobody threatened him with a beating. He was aware of someone making an incomprehensible announcement about 'forbidden' and 'painful death' to the room in general but not at him in particular. There was a noisy shuffling of feet. The Hufflepuffs were being guided away so he stayed with them, wondering if he'd ever see Hermione again or if she'd even remember him. For the first time in his life, Harry Potter had a full belly, but a strangely empty, aching heart.

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Whereas I Was Blind...

The next morning, Harry stumbled out early, having laid down in the safety of a cupboard near someone's spare bed. There were a few other boys still dozing but where the normal Hufflepuffs slept, Harry did not know. The previous evening, the stern lady had given him an order to complete first thing! So by six chimes of a distant clock he was heading out in search of a hospital with wings. They'd put him in the lowest, lowest level of the castle, so the only way was up. He ascended into a large hall he suspected was next to the Great Hall in which he'd dined the night before – yes, he could smell toast and porridge! Dudley used to sometimes let him look at his porridge as he poured on golden syrup...

Harry's stomach growled and he shook himself from the fantasy. Where to find the winged hospital? A great marble staircase rose up before him and one or two students were descending...

"Harry!"

He knew that voice; it was the bossy lion-girl – yes, her pumpkin head fuzzed out distinctively, and her huge fangs flashed when she spoke.

"Where are you– oh! Are you going to the hospital wing like Professor McGonagall told you to?"

He stared blindly, unable to discern her expression or be sure of her motives. Was she scowling? Certainly her teeth were bared more than normal. Would he be in for a scolding? Or an ear-pinching? Or... suddenly remembering Dudley's warning, he nervously gripped his trouser top just in case.

"Come on, I'll help you find it."

Her hand took his wrist and he was tugged towards the stairs down which she'd just come and another figure was just descending. "Excuse me, uumm... Percy isn't it? The Deputy Headmistress ordered Harry to the hospital wing. Could you...?"

Red hair shook – or was that a nod? Harry could not tell which way the person was facing.

"Very well, this way."

He guided them along the first upper floor and pointed. "Directly along there you'll come to the Hospital tower. You can't miss it."

They soon found the entrance and were immediately greeted with, "What is it now? Ah, it's you, Potter! Just as well. Professor McGonagall asked me to inform her if you didn't turn up. The woman sighed and put down her cup of iced tea. "What is the problem?"

"It's his eyes, Matron," said Hermione.

"And what are you? His guide dog?"

Harry thought that was rather unkind considering the girl had helped him. He was broken out of his reverie by a flash of purple that hit him full in the face...

"Mmm... extreme Myopia. Well, what do you expect me to do about it, Potter? Why aren't you wearing glasses?"

Hermione said, "But Madam Pomfrey, he was told by Professor McGonagall that he–"

"–Yes, yes, his eyes can be healed by magic but it's excruciating deformation! Why'd you think most shortsighted wizards wear spectacles? Oh very well. Sit down here and brace yourself, Potter – no, not like that! Lock your feet under the footrest so you don't kick me, lean forward and grip this iron rail with both hands, then clench in front of your tongue, otherwise you'll bite it off, you silly boy!"

He thought she was going to poke a stick in his eye but then realised it was a magician's wand like the one in his travel trunk. The lady murmured some strange words. Jaws clamped, Harry screamed into his mouth. A tiny trickle of blood seeped out of the corner of his lips but he never stopped howling through his teeth.

"Oh do sit still and stop squirming! It'll only take a few minutes. If you can't stand the heat then keep out of the cauldron!"

Harry felt as if his eyeballs were being squashed – and they probably were. Light flashed even though his eyes were shut tight against the severe pain.

Then everything went dark.

"No, don't open your eyes yet, Potter! Wait a few moments. I'm not a miracle worker you know ... there now... keep looking down, then very, very slowly raise your eyelids..."

Harry gasped. His lips parted in a wide gape. He could see every stitch in his shoes in great detail! Even a perfectly formed drop or two of red blood from his mouth. One of the laces was badly knotted – it was beautiful how he could see every intricate–

"–Well?" snapped Pomfrey.

He looked up. His jaw dropped even further. The girl – Hermione, he remembered – was not hideous like he'd imagined. Her hair was a glorious halo in the golden sunrise streaming through a nearby window. The teeth were not fangs but perfectly shaped pearls, shining white, and polished! The nose was a dainty nub and the ears amazingly intricate – but it was the tiny details that astounded him: every single hair in a wisp, the varied hues of delicate skin, and each individual eyelash! And those eyes! Molten amber. Full of concern. Looking directly at him. Harry Potter was mesmerised by the splendour of the first person he had ever, ever, actually seen!

"You also have a partly healed clavicle fracture. One teaspoon of Skele-Gro should take care of that and the tissue damage associated with it."

"Aaaaaggghhhh!" spluttered Harry, as Matron pinched his nose and held the spoon firmly in his mouth; it was either swallow or not breathe. Harry held on as long as he could but eventually choked it down.

"Well, what did you expect? Pumpkin juice? Now get– TURNER! What are you doing out of bed and where are your pyjama bottoms!" Matron hurried off to tend to another patient.

Hermione squealed and covered her eyes but the damage was done. The mystery of boys' bodies and her innocence were both lost forever. When she next peeked between her fingers, Harry, eyes watering profusely, was fanning his open mouth with both hands and panting over the smoking tongue.

"Here!" cried Hermione, handing him Matron's cold drink. Harry took it and dutifully awaited instructions despite his mouth burning with pain.

"Well, drink it then, Harry!"

He obeyed. Willingly. Without fearing a trap from this impeccable goddess-protector-mistress. It tasted good.

When his eyes stopped streaming, he blinked away the last tears and stared once more at Hermione's features. To behold such fine details would take a lot of getting used to for the deprived boy.

"What?" she frowned at his stare.

"Nice," whispered Harry, daringly, and the never-yet-used smile muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched ever-so-slightly.

"Honestly, it's just tea cooled with ice or a common spell," said Hermione loftily. "I read about it in Beverage Charms for Beginners but it's really a summer drink. The book also covers things like hot cocoa, soups, even porridge and– goodness, we'll be late for first breakfast! Come on!"

She led the way at a jog with Harry following eagerly. The boy could finally see where he was going.

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Black and White

The Great Hall was filling up noisily, but a hush descended as Harry and Hermione entered. His newly-heightened senses were immediately on overload: an angry sea of warty, spotty, pale, dark, mobile, twisty faces turned to glare – some stood up to see better – a fist was raised – owls flapped and hooted overhead – Hermione abandoned him for the Ravenclaw table without a backward glance – Harry, lower lip quivering, stumbled around without any destination. Then... he glimpsed blonde whips of hair at the far end of the Great Hall. He ran to them. Familiar punishment would be far better than those accusing eyes!

"Hagrid died because of you, Potter!" cried one Hufflepuff, who was waving a rolled-up newspaper, and bruised Harry's head with it as he passed. So that was it? They'd learnt more of what had occurred in Diagon Alley that day...

Harry found his seat near Hannah, but she looked away, tears in her eyes. She must have loved Hagrid very much, he thought. On the table before her was another copy of the newspaper. Despite his now-perfect eyesight, the large words headlined on the front: MACNAIR CAPTURED! were still meaningless marks to the boy, but the twitching corpse in the photo spoke for itself. The dead bird in the cage was motionless and Harry stared; it was no longer scary at all, in fact it was–

"–The full report is now here in irrefutable black and white, Potter, and the camera cannot lie!" snapped Susan Bones. "How you led Hagrid out to his death!"

Someone thwacked him on the back of his already-bruised head. Harry instinctively slipped off the bench and crouched submissively awaiting further punishment. He kept his head down, knowing he deserved this treatment for being a freak. A dollop of hot porridge hit him on the ear – he dare not wipe it away no matter how hungry he was – followed soon after by a goblet splashing across his hunched shoulders. Someone spat at him. After twenty or thirty minutes there was quite a pile of objects littered around the lad, but the noise was abating as students finished their meals and began to depart. He kept his eyes tight shut, hoping someone would order him to eat. No one did.

An icy chill crept over Harry.

"Hagrid was dearly loved. Even we Hufflepuffs will be slow to forgive your wicked act."

Harry squinted one eye open. He found himself staring right through the greyish-silver legs of a robed figure. Startled, he looked up – and fainted.

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The Power of Toast

"Harry! Harry! Wake up!"

He blinked dizzily, easing his aching limbs into slow movement. Was that Hermione's voice I was dreaming of?

"We'll be late for Potions and oh! we'll be in so much trouble!"

His eyes slowly opened as he tried to recall where he was and why he was on the ground but not in his cupboard under the stairs.

"The Fat Friar's just your House ghost – honestly, he's nothing to be afraid of."

Hazily, Harry tried to gather his thoughts, but nothing made sense. Ghost? Fat fryer? But–

"–Where's your timetable? Is that it screwed up on the floor?"

Numbly he watched her open up some crushed paper and smooth it out.

"Yes, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Double Potions, Mondays, first class." She handed him the schedule before tugging at his arm. "Oh, do come on!"

He stumbled after her, disregarding the emptiness in his stomach, which was normal for him, and focused entirely on Hermione: she hadn't forsaken him completely after all! And they were to share lessons!

"I saved you some toast – here, you'd better eat it quickly as we go along."

Harry took the offering in reflex but stopped walking in astonishment. New emotions surged up within him, engulfing his heart painfully. His throat hurt too, and he was overwhelmed with tears that streamed down his face. He longed to say thank you, but the words struggled to find the way from his heart to his mouth.

"Whatever's the matter?" cried Hermione, coming back to see.

Harry held up the toast, unable to express why the gift had touched him so, nor even himself comprehending the powerful feelings that soared within. The boy was a truly pitiful sight, blubbering as he was.

"I'm sorry, Harry, it was all that was left," Hermione said sadly. "Can you hang on till lunchtime?" She looked swiftly around. "We'd better run. Come on!"

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The Cruel Disciplinarian

"Ah, yes," the Potions teacher said softly as he was taking the register, "Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity serial killer. Mr Potter has the dubious record of causing two deaths before he's even... learned to talk."

Boos and growls sounded through the classroom which the teacher did nothing to suppress.

The man finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's had been, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels. "Potter!" he cried suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry dared a fearful glance sideways at Hermione who's hand had shot up in the air. He fumbled the book before him on the workbench, but if the answer lay within, he had no way of reading it. Sheepishly he shook his head.

The Professor's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut – infamy clearly isn't everything."

The man sniffed disdainfully. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"Uh... uh..." Harry shook his head again and stared down at the crown graffiti carved into the top of his workbench. He had no clue the name carved there was that of the person who had first tried to murder him, while elsewhere in the room, Macnair's initials embellished a crude axe motif.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter? Well then, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry kept his head down and shook it.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff for disrespect, Potter! You will give me the answer," snapped the man, "or else reply, 'Sorry, I do not know, Professor Snape'."

"He can't, sir!" cried Hermione, half-rising in indignation.

"SILENCE!" thundered Snape. "TWENTY points from Ravenclaw."

"But he can't–"

"–DETENTION, GRANGER! If you can't stop showing off and learn to keep your mouth shut then perhaps you can learn how to scrape congealed Bubotuber Pus off a dozen cauldrons with caustic and a wire brush."

"Uuuuuh..." gasped Harry. He knew all about caustic; his fingers still bore the scars. He had to do something! If he were given the tension instead, then perhaps he could scrub the cauldrons for Hermione. "Uuh Uuh Uuh!"

"Something to say, Potter? Or was that a selection of your usual animal grunts?"

Harry looked wildly about for some outrageous act that might earn him cauldron duty. "UUH!" He pushed his book off the bench onto the floor.

Snape glared. "FIFTY points from Hufflepuff! Pick it up, Potter!"

Timidly, Harry obeyed. But as he did so, the volume fell open and he snatched at it with his other hand. His fingers grasped only pages which tore immediately. He tried to hide them by closing the book but–

"–ONE HUNDRED points from Hufflepuff for destroying school property!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. "But that's his own–"

"–SILENCE! We'll make that TWO dozen cauldrons, shall we and... Potter, what are you doing?"

Harry was tearing the remaining pages out of his textbook and casting them about. Hermione sucked in her breath at his audacity.

Snape's eyes flitted back and forth between the pair of of them. "Ah... I see... perhaps you are hoping to share punishment with your... girlfriend, is that it? Very well. Far be it from me to upset your love life. DETENTION!"

Harry understood little of that, but he could see Hermione's cheeks burning, and he knew in some way he must be responsible – he always was.

"Tonight. Six-thirty sharp!" smirked Snape.

Hermione's mouth opened, but she closed it quickly without saying anything. Snape knew full well that meant they'd miss dinner. She resolved to bundle up a few extra sandwiches at lunchtime...

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Punishment by Proxy

The Potions teacher's office was a gloomy and dimly-lit room in the school dungeons. The shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars filled with slimy, revolting things, such as bits of animals and plants, floating in potions of varying colours. Harry dropped his head and shuddered.

"Since you are regularly prone to cowering and lowering your head, Potter, Mr Filch has kindly removed the human remains from this iron gibbet so you can stand within its iron cage and learn to keep upright like a real man."

Hermione cried, "But he's still a–"

"–SILENCE! You, Granger will quarter-fill each cauldron in turn with cold caustic solution and scrub with this wire brush until every vessel shines like new. No cheating! I have cast a spell on the brush to count every stroke while my attention is elsewhere. Well? What are you both waiting for?"

Harry moved towards the cauldrons, wondering how he could somehow swap tasks with Hermione.

"POTTER!" Snape dragged him by the collar into the gibbet. There was a loud clang as Snape locked the metal gate to imprison Harry in the restrictive human-shaped cage suspended from its heavy chains. "I have turned you to face the cauldrons, Potter. Your task is to count Granger's brush strokes. If your total does not tally within a dozen of the charm I cast then you will find yourself in deeper trouble. Is that clear?"

Although very short and skinny, Harry found he could scarcely move within his confinement, for its iron bands were springy, and their clamps screwed themselves in magically to fit each victim. He could neither lower nor turn his head, but was forced to watch Hermione's anguish. He'd never learnt to count above eighteen – that being the number of steps up and down which he'd trudged each week to empty his bucket in the bathroom and to clean the Dursleys house. However, he could faintly hear Hermione whispering as she counted for him, so he tried to pay attention.

But soon her pitiful cries obscured and confounded even her counting. The poor child's hands were becoming red raw from the caustic, and Harry knew that blisters would not take long to appear. To watch her suffer, and know it was his own fault she was there, was appalling, but he could not avert his eyes more than a few degrees – just enough to glimpse Snape watching him with a sadistic sneer on his face. Harry might be ignorant, but even he realised this vicarious torture was deliberately intended. To be forced to watch the consequences of his own freakishness was something Dudley had enjoyed most. The lad gulped as he recalled the short life of Proxy, the baby cat his cousin had bought and named for him. But Hermione was the doomed kitten now.

Nor was Harry's own situation an easy one. After one hour he was painfully stiff; after two he would have fallen if the cruel iron had allowed it. Almost three hours passed before Hermione softly hissed at him, "twelve thousand four hundred and seventeen," and allowed the wire brush to fall from her raw and ruined fingers. At least two fingernails were gone that Harry could see.

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Helping Hands

The hour was late when Snape dismissed the pair; the dungeon corridors were dark and nobody was about, apart from a distant door slamming and a passing house-elf with a feather duster.

"Miss is needing help?" said the elf, eyeing Hermione's hands.

Hermione scarcely knew where she was, and could not respond. She had one forearm across Harry's shoulder; he was himself staggering with stiff and uncoordinated limbs. "please...." he managed to whisper.

The elf turned to a picture of a giant fruit-bowl on the nearby wall and tickled a large green pear which squirmed, giggled, then turned into a door handle. The creature guided them through the door and snapped his fingers. Instantly, half a dozen more elves appeared. "Essence of Murtlap," squeaked the elf, vanishing his duster and rolling up his sleeves.

Soon Hermione was sitting down, soaking her hands in the solution and sighing with relief. Harry stood and watched, having declined several offers of different varieties of seating because he was not yet able to bend. With his attention entirely on Hermione, he remained as immobile as when in the full-body cage. The house-elves stood attentively too. Far across the kitchen a saucepan was bubbling but generally it was very quiet in this off-peak period – though the wonderful aromas of bread baking for the morning and many other luscious foods filled the chamber. In the hush, the sudden growling of Harry's stomach sounded embarrassingly loud.

"Harry! Surely you didn't miss lunch as well as breakfast and dinner!" cried Hermione, lifting one hand from the bowl in consternation. "I saw you staring at your empty plate, but I thought..."

Harry could not explain. She didn't seem to understand that he was not allowed to eat until ordered to.

Abruptly, Hermione's eyes bulged wide. "Goodness, I forgot!" She raised her dripping hands then plunged them back into the healing fluid. "In one of my pockets, Harry, I wrapped up some sandwiches at lunch but there was no time to eat them later – to be honest, I forgot."

The poor boy gaped. How could he feel inside a girl's pockets? Unthinkable! Yet he was forced to obey her direct order...

He began with the loosest part of the side of her robe, yet as he groped deeper, all he could feel was the warmth of her leg and hip. Swiftly he withdrew his hand and went round to her other side – but with the same result.

"Perhaps I put them in..." Hermione's voice tailed off and her cheeks flushed beetroot red as she remembered. She'd had to hide them away in the inside pocket of her Hogwarts jacket.

Tentatively, Harry forced himself, inch by excruciating inch, to reach into her–

"Is young master hungry?" squeaked the elf who'd brought them here. He snapped his fingers. Instantly elves leapt into action, piling succulent slices of beef, salads, and mouthwatering desserts onto plates on the nearest table. So fast were the little creatures that Harry barely had time to remove his hand from inside Hermione's jacket before they were dragging the table over to the young couple.

"Eat all you wish!" cried the elves, "there's plenty more!"

Harry stared at the soggy ham and lettuce sandwich he'd removed from Hermione's chest pocket, and wondered if he ought to return it. Could he sneak it back while she was distracted? Surely he couldn't. Hermione was staring down at her lap with her face still blushing furiously. He lacked any initiative of his own, and the elves had ordered him to eat what he wished, and his most fervent desire was to–

–With trembling fingers, the boy carefully unwrapped the sorry-looking sandwiches and bit deep. The heat of Hermione's body that still softened and saturated the ham seemed to bring out its flavour, though Harry's attention was less on the taste in his mouth and more on fighting his imagination. This was her warmth! Her softness!

His eyes caught hers and with a shock he realised she was unable to feed herself, yet must be as ravenous as himself! "UH! UH!" He dropped the sandwich and stumbled awkwardly to grab the nearest bowl of chocolate sponge pudding and custard which he began spooning into her mouth – much as Dudley had trained him to when he knew Harry was especially hungry.

No starving person can speak with a mouth full of delectable, light, fluffy sponge, and Hermione was no exception. Frankly, she was struck dumb with astonishment, and swallowed each portion without protest. There are some experiences a girl can't enjoy without ending up liking someone – and feeling that person's fingers exploring your inside pocket, then being handfed chocolate sponge are two of them.

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

And that's just the first day! Surely things can't get worse?

Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

– Hippothestrowl

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