A/N: So, this was a lot quicker, huh? Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter!!! The response was amazing!
Disclaimer: Still not mine (unfortunately).
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Hermione smiled fondly to herself as she searched the shelves of the history section in the Hogwarts library. She had accomplished the impossible. She had successfully gotten Ron to start working on a homework assignment an entire week before it was due. In fact, it had only been assigned that very day.
Of course, Ron was in an exceptionally good mood, so that didn't hurt. He and his siblings were quickly becoming the center of attention at breakfast each morning, as it seemed all of Gryffindor was always eagerly awaiting new photographs of Hope. His parents sent them regularly, along with letters documenting her progression. She was doing perfectly, and that morning, the note had informed them that she had smiled for the first time; a picture of her doing just that had accompanied. By luck, Ron had gotten possession of that photo, practically having to wrestle it away from Ginny in the Great Hall, and Hermione had watched him draw it out randomly throughout their school day and grin at it. And besides the news on his sister, he was also still elated from Gryffindor's win against Ravenclaw the weekend before. Winning the match 190-40 had secured Gryffindor's place as the winner of the Quidditch Cup and earned them fifty extra House points.
Even with him in such a good mood, though, Hermione had still been forced to practically drag him down the stairs and into the library. He'd been engaged in a rather serious game of chess against Seamus, who, surprisingly, wasn't too far from beating Ron. Hermione hadn't been watching the game, but she had noticed the intense look crossing Ron's face when she happened to glance over at him after looking up from her Herbology assignment. Out of curiosity, she'd wandered over to the small crowd that was slowly gathering around the board and had taken a seat on one of the sofas in between Dean and Natalie Macdonald, a second year who was watching more of Seamus Finnigan than of the actual game; she was staring at him with wide doe-eyes and a dreamy sort of look on her dimpled face.
"Check!" Seamus exclaimed giddily, earning him several slaps on the back from the people standing close enough. No one had ever beaten Ron in chess, and it was an extreme rarity to see someone even get close.
Ron looked up, annoyed at the crowd, and shushed them roughly. But then he noticed Hermione, and he sent her a half sort of smile, his cheeks tingeing to just the slightest shade of pink. She gave him an encouraging nod, and he turned his full attention back to the board.
He managed to get himself out of check, and, after another few moves, he successfully trapped Seamus and won the match.
"You cheating bastard," Seamus said, standing up and thumping Ron on the forehead. Hermione rolled her eyes at the way Ron just beamed back at the remark as though it were a wonderful compliment. There were some things about boys that she would never understand.
"Why don't you learn how to lose graciously, Finnigan?" Ron asked snidely. "Then you won't look like such a tosser every time you play me."
There were several snorts of laughter from around the gradually thinning crowd. Seamus and Ron sent a few more friendly insults at one another before Hermione finally caught the redhead's attention as he was packing away the board.
"What're you about to do?" she asked, perching herself onto the armrest of a chair beside the game table.
Ron looked at her and shrugged. "I dunno. Probably go find Harry and see if he wants to play Snap or something."
Hermione realized that she didn't know where Harry was and hadn't seen him since breakfast. Of course, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Especially when she was attempting the impossible. "Do you want to study with me?"
"Do
I want to study?" Ron drew the words
out into long syllables. "Hmm... There's a tough question."
She kicked her foot out at him and hit his stomach. "Shut up. I'm being
serious."
Ron finished gathering the pawns and packing them into the velvet pouch in which they were stored. "Hermione, this might come as a shock to you, but not everyone finds studying as exhilaratingly exciting as you seem to."
She just looked at him. "I just want to finish up that essay on Orson the Ogling Ogre."
"It was just assigned this morning!" he exclaimed in disbelief, as if no one in their right mind would even fathom doing an assignment on the day it was announced.
"I
know when it was assigned."
"And it's not due for another week!"
"I know when it is due."
Ron sighed in exasperation. "Then what is the big rush?"
Truthfully, Hermione just hated being on a close deadline. Ron, though, was the type of person that would actually be finishing a piece of homework up at breakfast and not worrying at all about whether or not he was going to get done. Luckily, though, she was prepared with an answer.
"Well," she said, making sure to look away shyly, "if we finish it early, we would have more time for... other things."
She caught the way Ron's eyes grew slightly larger at the promise of 'other things.' She was actually referring to things such as getting ahead in Transfiguration and, of course, studying for the O.W.L.s, but Ron could assume whatever he wanted to.
And she knew exactly what he would assume.
It wasn't as if they'd done that awfully much. Yet. But things were continually getting a little more intense each time they managed to snag a few minutes alone together. And Hermione could definitely see the possibilities.
Not that she would ever tell anyone else that, of course. Because, honestly, who was she going to tell? She couldn't tell Ron because that would just be plain embarrassing. She couldn't tell Harry because... well, basically because Harry would tell Ron. She couldn't tell Ginny because Ginny might kill her if she wasn't too busy throwing up. The only other people she would even consider telling anything personal to were Parvati and Lavender, and she certainly wasn't telling either of them.
So, she was prepared to just be patient and let things go as they would. She didn't want to hurry anything, and she was actually quite pleased at the pace things were moving.
But whatever her real intentions were as she used the words 'other things,' Ron naturally assumed the most exciting, and he went to the library with her willingly. Now, she was standing in the O aisle and searching for information on Orson the Ogling Ogre. Ron had offered to take her things and go find them a table while she looked for research information. There didn't seem to be too many possibilities, and she wondered briefly why Professor Binns would assign them a report on someone who wasn't very popular in the resource department. He had, though, and she reached for the only book that looked as if it could be even remotely helpful.
She spotted Ron across the library; he was paying her no attention as he set their inks and quills up. The shortest way to the table he had picked was through the Muggle fiction section, so she started down that aisle, glancing carelessly at titles she had once studied in primary school. She'd probably been the only eight year old in the world to do a book reports on Wuthering Heights and A Tale of Two Cities. She looked up from her scan of the novels when she heard a familiar voice just on the other side of the shelf where Ron was sitting.
"What're you doing?" Harry's question was answered by a rather reluctant sounding Ron.
"The
essay on Orson..."
A snort of laughter sounded, and Hermione assumed it was Harry. "It's not due for a whole week!"
"I know."
"So, this is what having Hermione as a girlfriend gets you, huh?"
Hermione had been ready to march around the corner and tell Harry that he should be working on the essay, too, but she stopped short when she heard her name mentioned. And hearing her name mentioned in the same sentence with the word 'girlfriend' actually made her glance around to make sure that no one was watching her and then drop to her knees so that she could move away some of the lower books and view the scene she was eavesdropping on.
Harry had seated himself on the edge of the table, and Ron was sitting in one of the wooden chairs. He was facing the side, but she could still make out his face, and she was pleased to see that it didn't look completely appalled. So far, neither of them had actually used the words 'boyfriend' or 'girlfriend.' It was naturally assumed by most of their classmates that those were the proper classifications, but Hermione was a bit apprehensive about how Ron reacted to such assumptions. He'd never really commented on the situation, and neither had she. But it was a relief to see for sure that he wasn't totally disgusted with the idea that she would be his actual girlfriend.
Ron shrugged and glanced to the table. "I guess so," he muttered. It was obvious that he was actually embarrassed at doing his homework ahead of time and being caught by his best friend.
"So, how's that going?" Harry slid into one of the chairs surrounding the table, giving Hermione a much better view of his face.
"How's what going? The essay? I haven't even started yet!"
"Not the essay, you dolt!" Harry exclaimed in a quiet voice. "Hermione."
Ron looked confused. "What about her?"
"What's she like?"
"What do you mean?" Ron wrinkled his forehead. "You've known her for five years."
Harry looked incredibly frustrated. "I mean what's she like as a girlfriend?"
Hermione's own eyes widened simultaneously with Ron's, and she pressed herself even closer to the ground in order to get a better view. She couldn't quite believe that she had lowered herself to eavesdropping, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
She watched as Ron shrugged again and looked away. "I don't really have a lot to compare her to." Hermione almost felt disappointed until he finished with, "But I wouldn't want to anyway."
She bit into her lip. Hard.
"You really do like her, huh?"
Ron turned very red, but he actually looked up and made eye contact with Harry again before answering very quietly. "Yeah. I do. I reckon I have for a long time now."
She pursed her lips, trying not to smile so largely.
"But what is it?" Harry went on. "Why all of a sudden did you just realize it?"
There was a rather long pause, and Hermione waited for Ron to give an explanation. Finally, he said, "I dunno. I guess I just really noticed this summer, you know, how pretty she really is. You think she's pretty, don't you?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, but she's always been cute. You just never noticed before."
Ron shook his head. "Yes, I did," he mumbled quietly. "I just never wanted to admit it."
"But what else besides that?"
"She
smells really good."
"What?!" Harry snorted again,
apparently finding this quite hilarious.
Hermione craned her neck to get a better angle. "She smells good?"
Ron, turning quite red, nodded. "Yeah. Have you ever smelled her hair?"
"Can't say that I have..." Harry actually looked a bit put off by the suggestion.
"Well,
it smells like lemons and coconuts."
"Is that so?" Harry looked very amused.
But Ron just nodded again. "Yeah, and it's great. And she can be really funny, you know? Especially now that she's not so obsessed with her grades. But you know what the best part is?"
Harry shook his head.
"She's brilliant."
"Of
course she is," Harry said dismissively.
"She's always been smart, but that's always annoyed you before now."
"No, it hasn't," Ron interrupted. "Not really. I wasn't ever annoyed that she was smart; I would just get annoyed when she used to flaunt it. But she doesn't do that anymore. Not much." He smiled slightly. "And she knows everything, and it's amazing. It's like, you can ask her a question, any question, and she knows the answer. Or if she doesn't know, she knows how to find out. And her brain just works so quickly and so efficiently and, I don't know, it's just cool."
"And she can see the future," Harry pointed out mock-seriously.
"That, too." Ron grinned.
Hermione felt her own cheeks heating up quite quickly, and, in with a flurry, she stood, forgetting the book on the floor. Without another thought, she hurried to the other side of the shelf where both boys looked surprised to see her.
"Where's the research?" Ron asked, eyeing her now empty arms.
She shrugged. "There really wasn't much."
Ron just stared at her with yet another look of confusion.
"I don't care anyway," she went on. "I'm not really in the mood to do homework right now anyway. I think I want a walk actually."
Harry and Ron glanced at each other. Finally, Ron said, "Do you want us to come with you?"
She shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. "If you want to. If you're not busy." She looked at Harry, and it was by some miracle that he seemed to read her mind.
"Um," he said, standing up and gathering up his own bag. "Actually, I have some work to do in the greenhouses. You know, for Professor Sprout."
Hermione smiled brightly. "Oh, that's too bad. Well, we'll see you back in the Common Room later, okay?"
Harry just stared weirdly at her for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, okay. See you." And then he turned around and left.
"Why'd you change your mind?" Ron asked as he watched her quickly packing away the supplies he'd just set up.
She shrugged again. "I don't know. I just don't feel like doing homework right now."
"Are
you ill?" he asked playfully, teasingly putting a hand to her forehead to check
to see if she was warm. "Perhaps we
should take a walk to the infirmary."
Hermione ducked away from him, trying desperately not to notice how the touch
of his hand really did make her hot all over. "Stop," she scolded. "Let's
just go, okay?" She grabbed her bag and
handed him his own. He took it, looking
at her as if she really had lost her mind.
"Okay..."
Seven minutes later, they were at their destination. Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and dragged him into the small room after her. When the door was shut behind them, and they were left in total darkness, Ron finally asked another question.
"What is this?"
Hermione didn't answer. Instead, she used her gradually adjusting eyes to find Ron's outline and do something she'd been wanting to do since they'd been in the library.
She kissed him.
Afterwards, she lit the tip of her wand, and they stayed in the small linen room for a very long while.
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Later that night, Hermione dreamt.
She'd gone to bed relatively early, snuggled deep beneath her covers with Crookshanks lingering at the foot of her bed, randomly attacking her toes whenever she made a movement. Her sleep was light and dream-ridden, but most of the dreams were senseless. It didn't matter, though; there was just one that she needed to remember.
The dream setting was an odd one, one that she wasn't familiar with and was positive that she had never seen before. As was common in the few 'dream visions' she'd had, she could see everything that was taking place but no one could see her. Not that it mattered, of course; she didn't recognize a single person in the room.
At first, it didn't seem as if anything of importance was even taking place, and she was confused as to why she was being shown any of this at all. It was soon clear, though, when a few of the men that were scattered about the room began speaking.
"Are you sure he'll have what we need?" asked on particularly fat man with a mop of unruly mousy hair.
"Of course, he will," answered another, a more dignified man who appeared to have stemmed from great wealth. "His brother is Potter's best friend."
Hermione froze, but something in her mind told her to get closer so she could hear the conversation better. Another man was speaking now; he looked closer to the second one, wealthy and educated.
"Not only that, but Potter has been known to visit his house on several occasions."
"But can't we get that out of Pettigrew?" asked the fat man. "Didn't he live with that very house for twelve years?"
The first of the two wealthy men rolled his eyes. "Do you need to be reminded that he was a rat? And apparently a very sleepy rat at that."
Hermione felt her heart start to slow down, and a feeling of dread crept deep inside of her. Knowing that there was no real point, she ducked behind a chair and knelt down when the door opened. No one was going to see her anyway, but it just made her feel safer.
"We're
ready," announced one of the dignitaries, motioning for everyone else to get
silent. "Bring him in."
The person who had entered the room appeared to be a guard of some sort. He was very big, but he apparently took
orders well. He nodded and exited
again.
"Now, I will do all of the talking," announced the richest looking man. No one questioned his authority, simply nodded and sat down.
The doors opened again, and Hermione gasped. The guard was back and dragging a tall, thin redhead behind him. "Mr. Lestrange," he said clearly, "your guest has arrived. Mr. Percival Weasley."
Hermione stared at the one-time Head Boy. She hadn't seen Percy since last year when he showed up at the Triwizard Tournament, and he didn't look anything at all like the pompous man he had at that point. Percy, despite his families meager financial means, had always managed to dress the part of importance. His clothes were always perfectly pressed and spotless, and he never had more than the necessary amount of hair. Now, though, he was wearing filthy clothes, jeans and an old, tattered sweatshirt. His hair was long and dirty, and the distinct outline of a beard was beginning to make its way onto his usually clean-shaven face. His glasses were gone, and there was nothing at all about him that resembled the ambitious and important person he so desperately strived to be.
The
man who Hermione could only assume was the recent Azkaban escapee, Alexander
Lestrange, smiled coolly at his visitor.
"Mr. Weasley, please have a seat."
He motioned to a comfortable looking sofa and waited until Percy was
shoved, rather than seated, into the chair.
"What the hell do you want?" It was the first time Hermione had ever heard Percy even remotely swear, but it sounded strangely normal coming from the raggedy man in front of her.
"Just
some information," Lestrange said casually.
"I understand you might have a bit that would be quite useful to us."
"I'm not telling you anything," he said fiercely. "You'll have to kill me first!"
"I'm sure that could be arranged," the other man said loftily. "However, you are of no use to us dead, so before we get to that part of the ceremony, I was wondering if you could answer a few questions."
Percy glared at the circle of men who were hanging onto each word eagerly and gleefully. "I already said that I'm saying nothing. And I mean it."
"Oh, but you will." Lestrange pulled a small vial out of his robe pocket and held it up to be viewed. "Surely an educated young man such as yourself knows all about the powers of Veritaserum."
Percy looked faint; the color was draining rapidly from his face, and Hermione wished there was some way she could let him know that he wasn't alone, that she was there with him. But there wasn't. Because she wasn't really there at all.
"Trevis," Lestrange motioned to the fat man, "would you please hold Mr. Weasley still while we treat him with the first part of the banquet?"
Hermione watched with sickness as Trevis made his way to the sofa and forcefully held down a helplessly struggling Percy as Lestrange slowly twisted the cap off of the vial and placed it to Percy's lips. Percy made a gagging noise and twisted violently. However, Lestrange simply stepped back and counted down from five.
"Five... Four... Three... Two..." Percy went limp. "One."
Hermione could feel her heart pounding a mile a minute. She prayed to whatever deities she could recall to stop this tragedy from taking place, but it was no use. Percy had been given a very powerful does of Veritaserum, and he was now completely willing at his kidnapper's hands.
"What is your full name?"
"Percival
Christopher Weasley."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty years old."
"Where do you work?"
"At the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Foreign Affairs."
"Are you married?"
"No."
"Do you have any children?"
"No."
"How many siblings do you have?"
"Six." Hermione realized that Percy probably had no idea that the number was now seven.
"Could you please name them, starting with the eldest and ending with the youngest?"
Percy seemed to be in a trance, listing off the names of his siblings tonelessly. "William Weasley, Charles Weasley, Frederick Weasley, George Weasley, Ronald Weasley, Virginia Weasley." Once again, Hermione thought of Hope, and her heart ached for the fact that Percy didn't even know about the existence of his youngest sibling, let alone have met her.
"Thank you," Lestrange said, with a horribly demented smile on his face. "Now, have you ever met Harry Potter?"
"Yes."
"And under what circumstances did you make Mr. Potter's acquaintance?"
Hermione bit into her lower lip and wondered why she couldn't feel any pain.
"We were at Hogwarts together for three years. We were in the same House."
"Are you or any of your siblings close friends with Mr. Potter?"
Percy didn't answer right away, and Hermione strained to see his face. It was obvious that he was now struggling internally with answering the questions. It was as if he knew what he was doing but had absolutely no control over it; no matter how hard he tried, the answers still came. Finally, he managed to sidestep the question. "He is on the same Quidditch team as two of my brothers."
Hermione realized that Percy had been gone for so long that he didn't even know Ron now played on the Gryffindor team. She was thankful, however, that he had gotten around the question.
Lestrange, though, had his own way of getting around answers. "Is your youngest brother, Ronald Weasley, in any way, friends with Harry Potter?"
Hermione held her breath and watched as Percy squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to lie. "They are... They are in the same year and share a dormitory."
Hermione let out the breath.
It was obvious that Lestrange was getting exhausted with the hit and miss questions. "Is Ronald Weasley considered to be Harry Potter's best friend?"
Please, please, please... Hermione begged silently. Please say no.
"Yes."
Hermione felt tears start to well in her eyes; she knew this wasn't good. She didn't know why the Death Eaters were asking questions which were already common knowledge, but she did know that it wasn't for the benefit of their weekly gossip meeting.
"So, your youngest brother is Harry Potter's best friend?"
"Yes."
"Are there any other people who could be considered a best friend of Mr. Potter's?"
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.
"Hermione Granger."
They flew open again at the sound of her name, and she watched as a smile finally flickered across Lestrange's face.
"Is Miss Granger also in Gryffindor?"
"Yes."
"Is she also in her fifth year of schooling?"
"Yes."
"And of what birth lineage does Miss Granger descend?"
"She is Muggle-born."
"Both of her parents are Muggles?"
"Yes."
Hermione wanted desperately to cry, but she couldn't. Hearing people discuss her like that was just sickening.
"Has Miss Granger ever visited your family's home?"
"Yes."
"Has Mr. Potter ever visited your family's home?"
"Yes."
"Where is your family's home located?"
"In St. Ottery Catchpole."
"Have you or anyone in your family ever visited Mr. Potter's place of residence?"
"My father and my brothers have."
"And do you know where his home is located?"
"He lives with his aunt and uncle in Surrey."
"And Miss Granger. Do you know where she resides?"
"I believe she lives with her parents in Sutton."
Hermione felt as if she was going to throw up. Why did they want to know where Harry lived? And why did they want to know where she lived?
Suddenly, though, Hermione felt a tugging, and she realized she was being removed from the dream. She struggled, trying to stay for as long as possible and find out any other questions they might ask. It was of no use, though.
Moments later, she woke up in the fifth year girls' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, drenched in an ice cold sweat.
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