AN and Disclaimer:
Gryffith: Which chapter is this?
Cloe: Um Chapter 11?
Gryffith: Oh yeah. I liked writing this one.
Cloe: Heh heh I'm not exactly sure if it is Chapter 11 but close enough.
Gryffith: It is.
Gryffith: Trust me.
Cloe: Sorry we left you hanging there on the last one, didn't mean to. Well we did but oh well.
Gryffith: I didn't.
Gryffith: I don't think.
Gryffith: ~grins~ I really liked writing this one...
Cloe: ::rolls eyes:: Yeah I know you did.
Gryffith: :P
Gryffith: BTW this thing is probably going to have around 20, 21 chapters.
Gryffith: And any chars that don't belong to us, don't belong to us.
Gryffith: Circe does, so nyah.
Cloe: Circe is mine. All mine. Mwahahaha.
Gryffith: Yes, to evil Cloe.
Cloe: ::looks smug::
Cloe: Read Black Hole Sun, if you like H/D slash. (there Lin does this make up for me flaming you without reading the story?)
Gryffith: Probably not, knowing Lin.
Gryffith: Anything else for the AN?
Cloe: Uh...guess not.
Gryffith: Okay. Enjoy the ficcie.
Cloe: And for the love of god and donuts, review.


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Guardian Angel from Hell
Chapter Eleven, Introduction to the Title

A Harry Potter Fanfiction
By Gryffith and Cloe
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Chapter Eleven

"That was a complete waste of time!" Hermione fumed as she stormed out of the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Hope Dean gets out of there alive."

"It's his own fault. Mr. Thomas has the right to be furious."

"Mr. Thomas is his father, so I guess so. But don't you think it's cricket that Mr. Thomas recognized us from Dean's sketches?"

"Not when he gets us into trouble by drawing them on the backs of playwizard magazines!" she snapped.

Harry shrugged and looked at his watch, "Well, you are right about a waste of time. Dinner must be starting soon and Ron may be worried about us. And if Circe is still with him they must be biting each other's head off."

"I'd bet that it would get physical. If they do, five galleons that Circe throws the first punch."

"You're on. But if we aren't able to see it, five galleons that Ron's on top."

"Harry, Ron doesn't know what he's getting in to with her. She's…like…I don't know… a cyclone that passes through and destroys or at least mauls everything in her wake."

Harry grinned, "Poetic. Let me see if I can match it…I think she's a fallen angel. Born amidst the fiery regions of hell, spawned from stupidity incarnate himself, Draco Malfoy!"

"Impressive," Hermione praised absently, and considered Harry thoughtfully. "Sometimes I think she's more like a guardian angel from hell," she murmured under her breath.

Harry must have heard her voice, if not her words, and turned to regard her curiously, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh…how am I looking at you?"

"As if I'm going to disappear in a few minutes and you'll never see me again. As if you're trying to figure me inside and out, memorize everything about me."

She bit her lip, realizing it probably was true…but she couldn't tell him about what Circe knew about the future, his own death. It just wasn't right. But, Circe had said other things in the library, and even though Hermione had told herself to ignore and forget them, they kept niggling at the back of her mind. Still, it couldn't work…she couldn't…or could she? "Not quite, Harry" Hermione lied. "Circe kept calling you my boyfriend. I was wondering if there was anything behind that."

"No, I-no…" Harry held though note as though he wanted to continue, but then he dropped the vowel, trailing off.

"I also…wondered if you wanted there to be something…" Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, flabbergasted that she had blurted out such a thing. Such words were only asking for trouble, weren't they? But then there were Harry's eyes, so big, so round, so…blatantly hopeful! She hesitated, and opened her mouth to speak when the dinner gong blared through the air. The unexpected noise shocked through Hermione, causing her to drop the books she was carrying. Before Harry could do or say a thing, she had bent, gathered them up, straightened up, and started walking towards the Great Hall. "Come on, Harry, you know Ron never misses a meal. He'll be waiting for us."

Harry followed her down the halls desolately as she mercilessly chattered about Ron, Circe, classes, grades, homework, how they mustn't be late, and then around the cycle again. Harry set his mouth firmly until they found a place at the Gryffindor table. Across the table sat the Creevey brothers, and Harry noticed that Colin once again had a handheld camera hanging from his neck.

"So, you found your camera?" Harry asked, trying to start a conversation that didn't have to do with Circe.

Colin looked up, startled, and hen smiled widely, "Yeah, thanks. I found it on my bedside table this morning. There were some negatives in here, so I developed them."

The sixth year pulled out a rectangular paper packet and fingers the manila flap gingerly, "These are the pictures, but I find them rather disturbing-"

"Oh shod it, Col!" Dennis snatched the packet from his brother's hands and handed it over the table to Harry, "These pictures are the funniest things I've ever seen in my life!"

Harry took the packet and laid it on the table between him and Hermione, who smiled at the courtesy and took out the pictures. Immediately she burst out giggling and, turning bright red in her efforts to hold them back in, showed them to Harry, and he whooped delightedly. Ginny, just now entering the Great Hall, stopped over to see what the joke was. Bending over Harry's shoulder, she looked at him, Hermione, and the Creeveys, "What's so funny, guys?" Then she caught a glimpse of the pictures jiggling in Hermione's shaking hand. She grabbed them, thumbed through them, and saw several pictures of the Snape/boggart in the striptease costume jumping up and down and then tripping on the French heels and then more photos of Snape throughout the makeover from afro to Mohawk. She clapped her hand over her mouth and hooted. Once she had regained her composure, or at least some of it, she handed them back to Hermione and snorted, "Oh. My. God. Who took these?"

Colin began to shrug and admit ignorance, but Dennis knocked his brother off the bench and waved his hands modestly, "I did, but it's nothing much."

"Are you kidding? These things are hilarious! I should write a column about them! Come on, tell me how all this…happened!"

Dennis paled and stammered for an explanation, but Harry turned and saved him, "Dennis happened to be walking by the Defense Against he Dark Arts room and the Dungeons with Colin's camera. All he had time to do was take the pictures; he doesn't know anything."

Hermione turned as well and looked up innocently. "But Harry and I would be more than glad to tell you enough information for your column, if you'll post them all over the school," she suggested sweetly. Harry snorted and Colin, who had managed to regain his seat, spat out his pumpkin juice.

Ginny pulled out a notebook and elbowed her way in-between Harry and Hermione, "So, when was this?" she licked the tip of her quill and dipped it in the ink, and winked conspiratorially at Dennis, who then grinned idiotically and blushed.

The seventh years gave Ginny all the information that they knew, or rather, deemed appropriate for those ignorant of Circe's existence. Then they told the redhead that Neville and Seamus probably had more to offer on the subject. Ginny nodded and turned to go, Dennis ready to follow her, when Hermione turned and grabbed her wrist, "Oh, by the way. You haven't seen Ron anywhere, have you?"

Ginny started to shake her head, then hesitated, "I haven't seen him. But I think I heard him in the old transfiguration room. He and some girl, I didn't recognize her voice, were shouting at each other. The door was closed, so I supposed they didn't want to be disturbed," she snickered and strode over to the other part of the table where Seamus and Neville were seated. Harry and Hermione stood up, pushing aside their half-finished dinners and apologizing to Colin as they awkwardly disengaged themselves from the bench and hurried out of the hall.

Hermione set the pace, predicting what they might find in the room, "Oh, I bet one of them is killing the other."

"I still hold the bet that Ron is on top."

"I'll take that bet. Circe isn't a wimp, however short she might be."

Harry started to slow down, especially at the stairs. Hermione noticed and at first tried to match his pace, assuming that he was merely tired, but soon she just stopped, "What's wrong, Harry?"

Dragging his feet he climbed the steps so that he was as high as she was, "You were saying something about wanting to be a couple earlier, after we were caught be Dean's father. Do you want to be? A couple?"

Hermione nodded, then shook her head, unsure, "No…I mean yes…I mean, I don't know. You're…you…can you drop it for right now?"

Harry nodded and led the way down the abandoned corridor, shivering slightly at all the shadows cast by the flickering torches, the only barrier against the impending night. Together the stopped outside the door, and strained to hear someone, something, anything, but stillness prevailed. Then…THUD!

Grunts, indeterminate of gender, pierced the silence, even through the heavy door setting Hermione and Harry into action in hopes to save one or the other's life. Harry readied himself by the handle as Hermione pointed her wand at the lock, "Alomohora!" she cried, and Harry yanked the door open.

At first they could see nothing, the gloom being too intense, yet Hermione somehow knew that no one was injured…but what was the thud from? "Lumos," she whispered.

"Great Wizards! I am not seeing this, I am not seeing this!" Hermione moaned in revulsion and surprise. Harry shouldered past the door and stared down at the figures on the floor. Ron's bright red hair, glossy in Hermione's light, sprang to view first, but Harry involuntarily let his eyes roam over how Ron's body was arched over an over turned desk. The scenario that seemed most likely was that Ron must have pushed it over and fallen with is, and Harry raised an eyebrow at how his right arm held up his body like a Doric column. Meanwhile his left hand supported Circe's head, pressing it against his, or to be more specific, her lips to his. Following the contour lines of Ron's left arm, he held back a snicker when he saw that Ron's robes enveloped Circe's entire body, which was cloaked by his robes in a black tent. Except for her legs, which were resting limply on the edge of the desk to either side of Ron's waist. His mind digested this interesting assessment and then his face turned to Hermione. At first his voice box refused to work, then it cooperated minimally, cracking his voice at a high pitch, "Mione, you owe me 5 galleons."

"I hardly believe that this is what you had in mind," she retorted.

Ron's head snapped up as he finally realized his friends' presence, "You're alive!" he exclaimed.

"Why wouldn't we be?" Harry frowned. Hermione grabbed his arm and held him still, but Circe saved her the trouble of distracting his by slapping Ron soundly, "Tactless idiot! How you ever succeed in politics I'll never know!" after saying which she shoved him off of her to the side. The momentum caused him to roll on the desk, fall on his back, sending his feet flying over the side and propelling him into a backward somersault.

"I'm the idiot? You said so!"

Circe rolled her eyes and, ignoring Ron, turned to Harry, "In my time you're dead. Parades and yada yada are held on your deathday. I told Ron this and he freaked out when you guys hadn't shown up."

"I freaked out? You were the one who was in hysterics!"

The girl sniffed, "Was not."

"Oh?" Ron stumbled to his feet, "And then why were you hyperventilating? Just felt like it?"

"Shut up!"

Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry's waist from behind and rested her chin on his shoulder, "How did you two imbeciles manage to get locked in anyway?"

"Peeves," the pair condemned the poltergeist in unison, their voices rivaling each other in the degree of rancor and aggravation.

Harry covered Hermione's hands with his own, not sure what she meant by the gesture. At last he gave up and quirked his eyebrows at Ron and Circe instead, "Can you two explain the amount of snogging just now?"

"Um…she started it!" Ron pointed at Circe.

"Nuh-uh! You kissed me first!" Circe starts dragging herself backwards so that her legs weren't leaning on the desk anymore. Carefully she lifted herself onto her feet and limped over to another, upright desk, wincing every time she put weight on her right foot. She grunted as she sat down, but gave no other outward sign of discomfort, and winked at Ron, "But you are a pretty good kisser."

The redhead blushed and Harry looked confused, "That still doesn't answer the question. Why did you do it?"

"We were bored," Circe replied as if stating the obvious.

Harry rolled his eyes and, spurred on by the irritation, interrogated the college student, "When do I die?" He stared at Circe, daring her to evade the question, and ignored Hermione suddenly tightening her hold around his waist.

Circe met his eyes glare for glare, noticing how cynical his tone and expression were, "According to the history books-"

"I'm in the history books?" at this piece of information Harry seemed quite stunned.

Hermione squeezed his middle playfully, "Of course, dimwit. You're already in the history books!"

The other girl yawned rudely. "As I was saying," she continued, "You die in about 5 months."

"How would I die?" Harry queried further, like jiggling a sore tooth, however much it hurt he couldn't seem to be able to stop.

"I honestly don't know. They find you and Voldie dead together in the forbidden forest, all of Voldie's followers gone. But that's really all they ever found out. They couldn't even figure out what the last spells you ever used were; the wands were dead, just like regular sticks of wood with bits of red feather poking out."

Ron goggled at her, "You called him Voldie? Voldie?"

"Yeah, why not?" Circe smirked. "You're not one of the people who will only call him "You-know-who," are you?"

The redhead immediately started coughing. Harry chuckled, "Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who calls Voldemort by that name, aside from Dumbledore. But Voldie, now that name is rich."

Hermione blew softly on his neck, "Is that why you aren't freaked out? I mean, in her time you're dead-"

Harry sighed, "I've had my death predicted since the day we learned that Voldemort was still alive. I mean, what's one more?"

Circe rolled her eyes yet again, "What pretentious jerks. No one's death can possibly be predicted like that. You should know that, Hermione. I mean, in my time, I am so very sick of hearing you quote, "Nothing is written in stone, and even then stone can be broken. The future is always in motion, no matter what future it is." I mean, it's true and all, but you'd think that you'd have it memorized already. Even if it hasn't been said yet."

Hermione groaned faintly, "Am I really that bad?"

"Uh-huh, very," Ron grinned.

Harry cleared his throat, hesitated, cleared it again, and then stared straight at Circe, "Do you think that there's any chance of changing what you know in your time?"

Circe gave a fake gasp, "So the famous Harry Potter really does believe in prophesies!"

"It's not a prophecy! It's from the future!" Harry protested stiffly.

"Nuh-uh, Harry. Wrong," she laughed quietly to herself. "Don't you understand the quote? The future is always in motion. There is no "the" future. There is a possible future. There is a potential for a certain future. But nothing is set. From here, I have no idea what will happen in the next 20 years, even though I lived through most of them. But the key word in there is "from here." Things do or don't happen. If Father gets his way and doesn't let Grandfather marry him off to Sylvia the slut from Durmstrang, then I probably won't be born at all. But that's where it gets confusing. Of course, things usually do happen the way they are remembered from the future. Unless they are changed, there is no reason to think you will live to graduate from Hogwarts."

Harry positively had the breath knocked out of him upon hearing that statement, not only from his own shock, but also from Hermione impulsively squeezing his middle as if her arms alone could hold him together. Once he could breathe again, he tested the verdict tentatively, "So, there is no hope-"

Circe cackled and then carried on in a singsong voice, "I didn't say that. I did not say that! Listen carefully, all of you. Unless they are changed, there is no reason to think that things will be different. That's the same as saying, if things are changed then it will turn out different. And things are already being changed. I'm here. And…and Demetri and the Greythorne fellow are here."

"What do you mean that?" Ron asked, worried by her solemn attitude at the end.

"I mean," Circe scoffed at herself bitterly, "Harry is probably going to die anyway. The only reason that I'm here is that they're here. And the only reason they're here is to try to kill Harry while keeping Voldemort alive."

"Are you all right?" Ron started moving her way apprehensively.

"I'm fine!" she insisted tersely.

Ron settled back down reluctantly. "Yeah, and I'm a grindylow's sister," he muttered sarcastically.

"I…" Circe twisted and stared out at the Forbidden forest, leaving the potential for a response hanging in the hair. None of the other three felt like interrupting her, even though Harry got increasing uncomfortable with Hermione holding him as if she believed that when she let go he would disappear. And, he thought derisively to himself, why couldn't he hug her back? At length the girl twisted back around, her eyes etched with a rebelliously grim countenance, albeit her tone regained its normal petulant timbre, "I'm starving, how long ago was dinner?"

Before anyone could say a thing, she had hopped down from the desk and collapsed with a sharp cry. Ron and Hermione, quickly disentangling herself from Harry, swooped down to her and pulled out her ankle to examine it.

Circe tried to resist, "Stop! I'm just out of practice. I would normally be able to walk on this."

"You mean that your father and brothers would normally "toughen you up" by breaking your ankle any old time they felt like it," Ron corrected with revulsion dripping from his voice. Then his tone picked up and turned vehemently vindictive, "I am going to seriously maim, then curse, and then kill Draco for this."

"Quit being such an asinine hothead!" Circe snapped.

"Then quit being such a jackass stoic! You're attitude is the most hypocritical thing I've ever heard!"

"Hothead!"

"Stoic!"

"Asinine!"

"Arse!"

"Stop it!" Hermione snapped her fingers in front of their faces.

Circe, drawn and pale, swatted the hand away. Ron peered at her, anger drained and concern replacing it, "Are you all right? Does it hurt?"

"Unless you count shooting throbbing pain as "hurting," no, I've never been better," Circe crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. "Now, if you have nothing more intelligent to say, then I'll be getting up and getting something to eat. Herm, you were saying that some of the teachers might have lists of aurors?"

Hermione shook her head, "You're not going anywhere on that ankle. I'm pretty sure it's broken. Pomfrey will be able to fix it."

Circe pumped her head back and forth negatively and started pushing herself onto her feet with her hands, "No way! Not a chance! I can't let Pomfrey near me! Then the whole school will know about me!"

Ron pushed her back down to the floor, his hands gripping her shoulders firmly, "I see your point about Pomfrey, but there is no way I'm gonna let you walk on that ankle! Hermione, what the hell…?"

For the other girl had just doused her light. In the confusion she pointed her wand at Circe, "Stupefy. Ron, do you have her?"

"Yeah, what the hell did you just do!"

"Lumos," and Hermione's wand flickered back to life. "She's knocked out, so she won't struggle. I'm gonna try to fix her ankle."

"Are you sure about that, Mione?" Harry asked, still in the doorway.

She shrugged, "I know enough. Now, Harry, can you light the room?"

Without delay the room glowed, ringed by little hovering orbs that emitted a faint blue light. Hermione smiled briefly, then bent over the ankle in question, wand in hand, and concentrated and muttered incantations for much of an hour. Ron crouched at the other end of Circe's body, cradling her head, and at Hermione's request used the Stupefy spell whenever Circe looked like she was coming around.

At last Hermione straightened and heaved a huge, relieved sigh, "Done. It's not perfect, but if she actually takes care of it and doesn't walk on it, it will be all right in a few days, at most a week. Now all we have to do is get her down to the kitchens.

Needing no more prompting, Ron stood up and maneuvered Circe around him so that he and she were more in a piggyback position. His arms held her legs while her head lolled senselessly on his shoulder. Hermione got the impression that he liked having to be depended on by someone more helpless than he was. When he hung out with Harry and herself, it was almost always the other way around. Together they walked down out of the wing, and Hermione was touched by how tenderly Ron carried his burden, always aware of her, especially when she groggily regained consciousness. She guessed that Harry noticed it as well when he took to walking right next to her. Shrugging, she let herself lean against him as they walked, honestly tired from having concentrated so hard, and honestly gratified by the arm and Harry rested on her shoulders.

Ron gained the kitchens first and gently laid Circe in her makeshift bed, kissed her on the forehead, and left. Having watched from the entryway, Harry and Hermione then followed him up to the Gryffindor common room, parted in the corridor up to the dormitories, the boys up to the boys' dorms and Hermione up to the girls'.

The next morning, the trio let themselves sleep in, so they got to breakfast relatively late. When they did reach the Great Hall, they found it in an uproar; amidst all the rumors breeding and spreading in the hall, like amoebas Hermione decided, the things that everyone agreed to have happened was that the teachers' offices had all been broken into and ransacked. General consensus condemned the anonymous, to them at least, prankster, but Hermione reassured Ron with the knowledge that the break in took place at midnight, at least the majority of the students said so, and Circe would have been too groggy to think, if not out cold. Of course several Ravenclaws maintained that the break ins occurred at sunrise, but Harry, clued in by Hermione, took care to steer Ron away from them. Regardless, the redhead felt he needed to go check on Circe, and at first Hermione wanted to refuse, but he went anyway.

After a half-hour or so of waiting for a teacher to lay to rest the flood of wild speculations, Harry went to the owlery to brief Sirius on the recent events by way of Hedwig. Ironically, 5 minutes after Harry left, Professor McGonagall appeared on the scene and addressed the crowd, "Quit spreading gossip! We don't know who the perpetrator, is or if there is more than one. Either way, he, she, or they will be caught shortly. The intruder, or intruders as the case may be, have gone through all of our files and has taken some rare and potentially dangerous items. If anyone has any suspicions, please report them to the head of your house."

Snape walked up to stand beside McGonagall, cleared his throat, and added, "This intruder has also seen all of the student files, so it may be within you best interest to have him or her apprehended before it is too late."

Immediately the volume in the hall rose from a quiet hum to a raucous buzz. Hermione rolled her eyes at Snape's tactics, but admitted to herself that they were nonetheless effective tactics. In the midst of the crowd's reaction, both boys fought their way through frantic masses back to Hermione, Harry looking a little concerned and vaguely amused, Ron looking worried and disconsolate.

Harry gave his report first, "I couldn't find Hedwig. She must be out hunting or something, but I'll never know what possessed her to go out into the snow."

Hermione shivered and glanced up at the ceiling, which hadn't recovered from Circe's weather working yet, "Ugh, snow this early? No, Harry, I'm fine," Hermione shrugged him away as she would brush away a fly. To distract herself she looked to Ron, "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

"Circe," he croaked hoarsely, "I can't find her anywhere. Her broom's gone and the invisibility cloak isn't where we left it last night…I think she took it with her, wherever she is."

Harry frowned at him, "You can't think…?"

Obviously he did, from the hurt, betrayed look in his eyes. Hermione slipped a friendly arm around his waist-for a moment Harry envied his friend that touch before banishing it from his thoughts-and looked up at him with sympathetically, "Are you okay?"

The redhead shook his head, but whether it was a negative answer or a denial of their concern neither of his friends could tell. Irksomely Ron disengaged her arm; "I'm fine, it's just that the moral of the story is never trust a Malfoy, which I did."

Ron turned to leave, but Filch stood in his way with a triumphant gleam in his eyes that worried all three of them.

"Well, well, well, isn't it the famous trio. How convenient that you are all together. Professor McGonagall wants you in her office immediately," the man sneered down, or up in Ron's case, at them.

Together they left the hall and made their way to her office, Filch trailing not far behind. After some negligible quarrelling they knocked on the solid oak door together, multiple Davids bearding the bespectacled lioness in her den.

"Come in," the voice, stiff with chilly formality and cold even for McGonagall, cut and sliced open their façade of calm expectation. Reluctantly Harry turned the knob and entered, the others following.

Before the door closed behind them McGonagall's eyes darted past Hermione's head, "Argus, I do not believe you were invited to the meeting."

"But wouldn't you be needing-"

"No," crisp refusal.

"Or what about the-"

"No, Argus," a flat dismissal tinged with tired irritation, "All aspects of this meeting are quite within my capacities."

Filch submitted regretfully resentfully, and gracelessly, but at last he did leave. His absence however left a gaping hole, which could only be filled by the accusation voiced already in their professor's eyes. Hermione, the one most comfortable with the transfiguration teacher, broached the silence, "What are we called down for?"

"You came in after curfew last night," the seventh years swung around to see the fat lady from the portrait hole entrance to Gryffindor tower sitting malevolently and superciliously in a side picture frame, her pink dress clashing ludicrously with McGonagall's prudent burgundy and off-white furnishings. Piggy eyes in a fleshy, powdered face glowered down at the teenagers as though they were the scum of the earth and if she were the pristine figure of righteousness that had brought them to justice.

Professor McGonagall's neck tensed at the portrait's presumption, but she addressed the threesome with her tight, strictly controlled voice as usual, "Until contradictory evidence is found, you will be confined to the detention cells."

As Filch appeared to lead them away, Ron muttered darkly,
"So much for innocent until proven guilty."