A/N:This is a Harry/Hermione fanfiction. Seems there's some confusion on that. So just to clear that up. and m4x had a suggestion (Have Harry catch R/Hr and run Hr into H's arms or something?) and Beholdthevoid, I think, wanted an Eddings cameo? Actually, I think you just wanted Belgarath, but as Polgara and Ce'Nedra are really my favoritest characters, I want to put the whole bunch in there-so we'll see how it goes. Maybe in later chapters when I find the right place for them. And I'll try my best to make things really horrible for Ron and Hermione because they can't get it through their thick skulls that they're not meant to be together. (*^-^* bwahahahahaaa!!).

Thanks especially to Jess who's reviewed all three of my chapters with especially heart-rending compliments. And other's who reviewed, love you guys as well, you've really set the bar for my fic so now I have to try extra hard to meet your expectations. I had no idea I was funny because the last time I tried to be I got flamed to Mars and back to land on my especially delicate ass. I couldn't write after that for about a month. Regardless, thank you one, thank you all. Now, on to Occlumency lessons.


Harry went to Snape's office that evening a little earlier than planned. Ron and Hermione were especially irritating for some reason, constantly asking after his well-being, or just watching his face when they thought he wasn't looking. He knew the reason for their madness, and secretly hoped they suffered in guilty agony. He made nonchalant references to their recent escapade, just indifferent enough to cover up his jealousy, but yet letting them know that he was not very pleased with their relationship in general. But they never could tell if he was okay with it, and Harry made sure to keep it that way, just so that they suffered. It was inhuman of him, but strangely enough, he was happy watching them squirm in his presence, and constantly scoot away from one another. (A/N:m4x)

But there was a drawback to that pleasure, as there was for everything else. He was constantly having to divert the focus away from himself, and back on Ron and Hermione. And why shouldn't they feel bad? They were supposed to be watching out for the poor firsties, what about them? The thing that bothered him the most was not Ron and Hermione, or least of all the firsties, but that he himself could not justify this feeling. He told himself that he was jealous because they were paying more attention to each other than to everyone else, but he just couldn't admit to himself that it was not their collective attention that he craved. It was Hermione's, and only hers.

He found himself thinking about her constantly, comparing her to Cho, or all the girls he had ever talked to. He replayed every fond moment of theirs in his head, and because of his lack of sleep at nights, he often daydreamed of her in class as he watched the shadow of the leaves play upon the window in Herbology, or the flicker of the candle light as it caught a particularly wretched curve of her face. What he'd give for an excuse to touch that spot, that exact curve, though his conscience burned afterward in illicit desire and self-loath, by the mere thought.

And oftentimes, more so than not, he was filled with guilt. He often said to himself that she deserved better than him, and found his fists clenched and his lip split as he fought to suppress the urge to kiss the ever-present smirk off her face. 'You're a sixteen-year old boy,' his reflection said as he was jerkily dressing himself in front of the mirror at about five-thirty, 'You're entitled to your hormones.'

Where they really hormones, then? Of course not. Indeed, to his surprise, when the mirror had suggested that outlook, Harry'd had this inexpressible urge to shatter it. It was an insult to his poor mind, and all the hours of contemplation he had bequeathed to her person. So what, then, was the true motive of these inconvenient feelings creeping into his head, torturing him so thoroughly that he no longer thought about anything else?

The truth, Harry knew, was that he loved Hermione. There was no denying it any longer. For more than a year, following his first real, coherent glimpse of death, Harry had suppressed much anger and bitterness, investing all his emotion, rather, on the "Why me?" attitude, which albeit childish, was a much easier way to handle things. All of his repression had manifested itself as an almost unearthly love for his best-friend turned obssession. He was never loved, and knew nothing about reciprocating the emotion, and after years and years of accepting the situation as a norm, he had attributed the whole ideal to fantasy. Something to be seen on television, and something that could never happen to him.

The series of unfortunate events that had steadily accumulated in his experience until his life was entirely composed of them, wrought its way into his personality, seeping in like lead. His latter Hogwarts years had fashioned his personality, but it only came out of hiding later on; where at the age of eleven, he had been ignorant in every possible way, gaping at awe at everything. The reality only settled in after Sirius died. Life settled in, thanks all to Sirius. Who died, and left him here. Everyone left him. And there was life. Each day passed him as if he were seeing it for the first time. Like taking off one's sunglasses on a bright summer's day. And he was tired of everything that he no longer cared but to make it to the next morning. He had only a vague plan for his future, knowing not to put too much faith in anything, lest he die. He could never know, as people dropped dead everyday, and he, particularly had such horrid luck with these sort of things.

The truth, Harry had succeeded in convincing himself, was that no matter what Dumbledore said, life wasn't worth living. It was just another mundane task forced upon by some cruel, unknown authority, and he listlessly went about it, saying little more than what was expected of him, but saying enough so that people left him alone. He loved Hermione, of course, because he just couldn't get her out his mind, and there was no other explanation for it. She was the only constant thing in his life, and the only one who understood him. But he didn't understand her, so there was no hope in that area either. Harry growled audibly, and a few Ravenclaw fourth years turned to look at him. But he was unobservant, and lost in thought, walking fast to the dungeons to get the stupid lesson over with, and with his newly granted freedom (courtesy of Headmaster) fly about the grounds a bit after.

Before he knocked, the stone door opened, and there stood blond Draco Malfoy, with a carefully censored, yet curious expression on his face. He, too, had grown taller, and his hair now reached his shoulders. He looked imperious, and more than ever, like his father, but lacking that certain air of superiority brought along with age.

"Potter." He nodded briefly, his piercing blue eyes regarding his haggard face and crumpled uniform with disdain. Harry nodded in response, and carelessly pushed past him into the office, quite bored with the endless tirades and characteristic war of wit they had kept on in their six-year rivalry. Malfoy's eyebrows lifted, and he smiled slightly, making note to let his father know of Potter's greatly reformed character. Maybe it would prove quite useful in the future, for his own sake.

"Take a seat," Snape said when he'd spotted Harry. There was a suspicious look on his face as he studied Harry's profile that was uncomfortably hard to ignore.

"What?" Harry spat testily. Disregarding the command.

"Cranky, aren't we?" Snape said, raising his brows. His face nearly glowed at the opportunity to annoy Harry over the edge, and in the dimly lit dungeon, it seemed to float in air, in contrast to his black hair and robes.

"Look, Snape," disregarding the traditional 'Professor', "I don't particularly want to be here, as I'm sure you don't either, considering your infamous prejudice to my name, so just get this over with as I've places to be." There was a slight pause, as Snape apparently sized Harry up, evaluating his motives.

"Okay, Potter, wand up, then," he said resignedly. Harry felt the familiar probing in his mind, and unpleasant memories floated to the surface of his mind. After about thirty-seconds of struggling, Harry angrily flicked his wand, releasing not only his annoyance at his inability to control emotion, but all the rage he'd been feeling for no reason. He opened his eyes to see that he'd blown Snape's desk down to smithereens and the Professor himself was keeled over nearby, his lip bleeding.

"Reparo," he said to the desk, and then cast the Healing Charm on Snape, hoping he'd gotten the message across of what exactly he thought of the man, by letting him sit there incapacitated until he'd fixed the furniture. Harry surprised himself with his brutality, but it was not unbelievably so, because he felt like a very different Harry these days--one that he particularly liked because he didn't care what people thought of him. This Harry wasn't at all indecisive-and he knew what he wanted to do, and did it without giving thought to the consequence. Consequence which only held him back, and served no real purpose but to irk him further. Snape, too, was looking very shocked at this side of him.

"Tell me what's wrong, Potter," Snape said in an oddly understanding tone. Snape? Understanding? The words really didn't mix well together, thought Harry, and glanced disgustedly at the teacher that had contributed quite a bit to his misery over the years. Apparently, the look was more disgusted than he'd projected, as Snape had actually dropped his jaw slightly.

"Dumbledore told me about your little episode with the dream," Snape said, hoping to sound indifferent. The boy really needed a talking to, and though he was a Potter, Snape could sympathize with his situation, and didn't much trust anyone else to change his outlook significantly. People just didn't understand. And Snape understood more than he let on, being one of the few left in the world to know (not like, just know) his parents and Sirius, and have lost quite a lot to love.

"Its none of your business," Harry snapped.

"You know, this isn't the only way to be," he replied. Harry glared at him.

"What the hell do you know, Sir? Just get on with the lesson if you please."

"Watch your mouth, Potter," Snape snarled, and Harry-against his will, curbed his temper a bit.

"Now, I'm going to tell you something and you're going to listen to me, is that clear?" Snape said. Harry nodded almost imperceptibly, hardening his ears for some insult that was obviously to come. But it never did.

"Sirius loved you. Your parents loved you. And they will never stop loving you." Snape's voice sounded to Harry very coaxing, and not at all bitter as he was so used to. Harry looked up at him, unable to shut off the dam of tears that had accumulated somewhere in the back of his eyelids. His facade broke, and his bit his lip, nodding unconsciously at Snape.

"They are all just beyond the veil, Potter, and they live with you in memories. Not only of your own, but in others who they loved and loved them back too. Do you understand me?" Harry nodded, as silent tears slid down his face, and he sat there like a big baby, in front of Snape nonetheless, unable to control them.

"Potter, everyone expects a great deal from you, and that can be a great burden, but you will not let it get to you. You cannot shirk responsibility, because your particular responsibility is great. More than grown wizards have had in their entire lifetimes. And you hold millions of lives in your hands." Snape made a grasping motion with his hands, and his strange eyes glittered brilliantly. "You've been hurt a great deal of times, and each time has made you stronger. Potter, you have the chance to save people exactly like you from futures like your own! Would you wish that on other people just because you're currently wallowing in some prolonged self-pity? Will you make the same mistake Black made? The same mistake I made?" Potter's eyes suddenly shot up to his own, and Snape hastened to amend his mistake, realizing a bit too late, that he'd revealed more than he'd intended.

"You made, Professor?" Harry said, his voice subdued. Snape was quiet for nearly a minute, considering the potentially believable excuses he could use, even an 'Obliviate' a time or two.

"Yes," he admitted in resignation, figuring that Potter couldn't do much harm anyway knowing his true character. It was inevitable.

"The scene that you so nosily investigated in the Pensieve--" Snape spat.

"I'm really very sorry," Harry interrupted, without thinking, "It was a breach of privacy. I was just a bit curious, I suppose."

"An unfortunate side effect of your lineage, I'm guessing, but it's not forgiven," warned Snape, "Anyway, I really hated your father, because he was an arrogant pig who didn't deserve to live on the godforsaken Earth, and deserved Lily-your mother-even less," he explained. Harry nodded, doing his best to ignore the comment Snape had made about his father.

"She always stood up for me. And I expect if she'd known of the extent of our rivalry she wouldn't have married him so hurriedly, three years after Hogwarts," Snape's tone had taken on a nostalgic note, and Harry was very pleased to hear someone finally eager to tell him about his mother. "They loved each other, I guess," he went on, "I can't imagine what potion or enchantment could've been strong enough to get her to put up with that prat, anyhow," Snape finished, looking at Harry to say something.

"Why do you hate him so much, Snape?" Harry asked. Snape thought for a second of all the shortcomings of his nemesis, and tried to pick the one that stood out most. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn't even have a reason for hating him. He just turned all his bitterness from his peer-pressure, and his idiotic parents to the first person he disliked.

"I suppose," he began, hardly believing that he was confiding things to a Potter--the same one who he so abhorred all his waking life, "the same reason that you hate Lucius Malfoy, or Beatrix Lestrange."

"But my father didn't kill anyone!" Harry protested, sounding genuinely perplexed. But Snape was unfazed by his emotion.

"No, but I was tormented all my life for being myself, as you were. My father hated me for not being devoted enough to the Dark Arts, for being lenient to muggleborn people, and when that stupid Potter came along, pointing out all the things that I already hated about myself, I just turned all my anger towards him." Harry was startled at Snape's genuine retrospection and honesty. Guessing his thoughts, Snape said:

"Don't get used to this, Potter, I still hate you and all," There was a very faint hint of a smile on his face, "But you are really more like your mother than your father, so I'll partly forgive you for being born. For her." The back of Harry's eyes burned again, and he could hardly believe who he was speaking to. Snape, he thought, the Snape he had hated for so long.

"You know, Snape," Harry smiled for the first time since talking to Dumbledore, "You're really not as tough as you'd like to think." Snape's face hardened, and Harry began to think it was a stupid thing to say. He'd surely messed up the good standing he had with the moody teacher now. He and his unruly mouth.

"Your mother told me the exact same thing the last time we talked, you know," Snape confided. Harry (feeling faintly embarrassed) nearly hugged the unapproachable man who knew so much about his beloved mother.

"What else do you know about her?" Harry asked, feeling a childish excitement bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. His heart pounded in his chest.

"She was very beautiful. And she had so many friends at school. She was good at Potions too, but I don't think she enjoyed my company very much. Very popular, but she was really alone on the inside. Until the Marauders befriended her, of course, then all her popularity vanished. No one liked them much, because they played pranks on everyone. And they were, as I said, huge prats-- it was just their status in the in-crowd." Harry nearly laughed at Snape's use of "in-crowd" as if he said it everyday, but controlled himself, as Snape was already sort of frowning at the expression on his face.

"What?" he asked harshly. Harry shook his head, pursing his lips to keep from smiling. Snape narrowed his eyes, glowering menacingly. "You know, Potter," Snape said, getting up from where he was leaning on his table. "Get out of my damn office. This idiocy has persisted long enough. And if you don't show up tomorrow and make a decent effort to do some real work," he began pushing Harry at the door, his wand sticking the back of his neck, "Remember that you have two other classes with me, and I won't think twice before I fail you this time." He gave a final thrust at the doorway and Harry stepped out, turning to see if the man was really serious.

There was the usual hardened-convict expression on his pallid face, and he was still very scary looking, but Harry also noted that there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that he was quite sure had not been there before. He smirked.

"Whatever, Snape," he said in a mock hateful tone, turning around and walking back in very high spirits to go get his broom, cloak and map. Hardly believing that it was Snape who was the cause of this mood.


The Occlumency lessons were very helpful. Harry not only learned of the intricacies of mind-control and blocking, and of the magic that allowed access to certain parts of the mind that even the owner didn't know existed, he also learned a great deal about Snape. When in the beginning, Snape had took out the more private memories of his and deposited them into the Pensieve, in the more recent lessons, he left them in his mind. He had actually made an assignment of it. If Harry succeeded in fishing out a particularly guarded memory, then he was let off early.

Although this nice Snape was generally easier to cope with and learn from, Harry found out that he was very quick to lose his temper when he couldn't do something right. He was often befuddled and found many concepts very vague and hard to understand, and these days, Snape berated him outright. He knew not to take the insults personally, but was annoyed all the same. Their common incompatibility more than infuriated Snape, and thoroughly exasperated Harry.

As he learned, Harry would put in seeds of stupid emotions like confusion, annoyance, or even hunger and thirst, sometimes, when they were practicing, just to let Snape know that he was not liked. And Snape would childishly pick out the same memories from Harry's mind (like horse-faced Aunt Petunia making animalistic love to a grunting Vernon Dursley--a tragic scene he'd walked in on at the impressionable age of eight) that he knew he'd hate and replayed them over and over until Harry was pushed to the limits. But Harry could say nothing, just grudgingly put up with it until occasion for retaliation came up again.

In Potions class Snape was really mean to Harry, and Harry purposely messed up on classworks and often set the class on fire. Especially on days when Occlumency had not gone too well, Snape would do his best to pick on Harry's potions, and if he'd done it exactly right, purposely enchant it to go wrong so that he could scold him. On one occasion, Hermione was helping him with a Cure-All Potion, which was especially hard so that Snape had to pair the class up. Snape had come around to them about halfway through their potion making and told them that it was entirely wrong, and was about to empty the whole thing when Harry, losing his temper, flicked some at him with the stirring spoon he held in his hands.

"Really hope it cures your stupidity, but I guess its too much to hope as the person who made it is top of the whole year!" he had said, gesturing wildly to Hermione. Snape looked enraged. The entire class (of eleven people) stopped their work and turned their attention to the two, eager to see what would happen to Harry.

"POTTER!" Snape yelled. "I'm sick of your temper tantrums! Detention for a month!" he declared, "You pull a stunt like that one more time, you know what I'll do!" he hissed evilly.

"No you won't, you can't!" Harry yelled back, still waving the spoon crazily. The Cure-All had begun to look like a crusty orange face-mask on Snape pale skin.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Snape said, waving his wand frustratedly, and Harry spent the rest of class and the next one sullenly hovering over the cauldrons. Ready to fall right in when Snape said the countercurse.

"Don't ask me. Just...don't ask." Harry sat with his head in his hands in the Great Hall at lunch (following Care of Magical Creatures-a rather boring lesson about types of dragons) after the fifth person had asked him about the incident at Potions. Ron and Hermione were looking at him like he was going to burst at any moment, as they had never seen Snape act toward anyone that way, and Harry was never too eager to tell them about what exactly went on in Occlumency. Actually, Harry didn't share much of anything of significant importance anymore. He was always talking about homework, or the latest owl from Fred and George (who he'd grown rather closer to), or the progress of the Chudley Cannons in the English League (they were still as horrible as ever, though). An owl flew in through the window to Ron at the exact moment, from The Fred and George themselves. It was a Great Horned, and it picked a sausage off of Hermione's plate and flew off with a nip at Ron's ear as it went.

"Dear Ron," he read off to them, "'We just wanted to let you know that..blahblah'...new sweets..." he scanned the rest of the letter all the way down to the P.S. "'Katie has only very recently accepted my proposal for marriage and aims to quit Hogwarts to come join us at the Weasley Wizard Wheezes, where we live in opulence' show-offs. 'She expresses her desire to put GINNY in her position on the Quidditch Team and wishes good luck to--" Ron stopped, "How come she gets honorary mention, anyway? What's she got that I don't?" he complained somewhat childishly.

Ginny, who had lately been complaining quite a bit for having to try out again because Harry had said that "everyone deserved a fair chance", was, needless to say, very happy. She hugged Hermione, squealing.

"Angelina says hi," Ron informed him, "And to watch out for the new Hufflepuff defensive strategy. They've a new captain too." Harry nodded, the excitement within him mounting in anticipation for Quidditch season and the Tryouts. They'd need two good chasers and two beaters. Hopefully there was a little under-developed talent in the younger years.

"Hey, I'm going back to the Common Room to tell my friends, all right?" Ginny had said, and left-nearly skipping out of the room. Ron too, grudgingly went up to the Owlery to inform Bill, Charlie, and her parents at the Burrow. That left Harry and Hermione.

"So who're you all thinking to put in the Beater positions, Harry?" Hermione asked amiably, turning to him. Harry gritted his teeth to reply, this being the first time since the Hospital Wing that he was talking to Hermione alone--and not about schoolwork.

"I have no idea," he said, unconsciously cold.

"Harry," she started in a pained voice, "I don't understand why you're cross with me--"

Harry considered telling her, but glancing at the genuinely upset look on her face, he winced, putting down his fork. "I don't know what you mean, Hermione," he said, still unable to meet her eyes.

"Harry, please, give me a bit more credit than that. Is it about--Ron and me?" Harry felt a lump in his throat. How could he explain to her--?

"Don't pretend you know everything about me, Hermione, because you don't!" he said, feeling happy that he'd evaded the necessity-once more-to discuss the three of them.

"What's wrong with you, Harry? I never said I--"

"Just--shut up, ok? I leave you alone, you leave me alone." Harry rounded on her meanly, but he'd not really intended to come off that way. She was just being so--nice, and it sickened him.

"WHY? I don't understand!" she wailed, near tears, and surveyed him through blurred eyes. Harry nearly melted at the tear that rolled down her cheek, and chastised himself inwardly for hurting her. He was inhuman, and purely evil. He was a horrible person, he thought to himself, he really didn't deserve her. She shouldn't cry because he wasn't worth it.

"You don't have to understand," he calmly replied, but he felt far from it. Apparently, the message had got across though, because she did not talk to him, or even look his way for the rest of the day.

Quidditch Tryouts went well. Within reason. Ron was off in the Common Room, hurriedly putting the finishing touches on Hermione's present, so it was only he and Ginny to pick the team. There was no one even nearly as good as Fred and George for Beater, but the team decided on two fourth year boys who were relatively close. They didn't have much stamina, and weren't big or tall, but had good aim and flying skills, and Angelina quite grudgingly admitted that maybe they did have high expectations as Fred and George were really good, and had been playing for five years.

Two second year triplets (the Diggles) tried out for Chaser, but only two positions were available, and being unable to decide which of the three would be rejected, Harry just rejected all three, much to the protest of Ginny.

Ginny was the one who actually picked her Chaser partners, two fifth-year girls that she obviously knew very well to be good. Harry very nearly denounced her for being favoritistic, but seeing their talent, he concluded that it wouldn't be the best thing for the team.

"They would get better with training," Ginny promised, and he (almost regretful) was relatively mollified.

Things went even better for Harry when he confronted Cho at the end of tryouts. She was still a little shy around him, but it seemed that she and Davies had hit things off over the summer and she was mostly over him. Harry did his best to be nice, and found himself too busy racking his brain to think of what Hermione would suggest he do in the situation to talk properly.

"Relax, Harry," Cho said noticing his aggravation, "I'm not going to bite your head off." And relax he did--and they had a very long conversation about Quidditch, aimlessly walking about the grounds as it turned darker. Then, he remembered, it was Hermione's birthday, and they were supposed to have met at Hagrid's Hut right after Tryouts. He apologized to Cho and walked her back to the gates in great haste. Frantically, he searched his pockets, finding the real sapphire encrusted quillpen /Cat Keeper he'd bought when he'd snuck out to Hogsmeade after Occlumency the previous Wednesday. He sighed heavily when he found it and began running across the grounds where the hut was.

"How're yeh, Harry!" Hagrid bellowed jovially, crushing Harry then pulling him in the door rather harshly. Hermione was sitting at the table with her forehead on her arms, with Ron patting her back awkwardly. "Hello, HARRY," Hagrid said again rather pointedly and Ron turned to give him a frosty glare. Hermione sniffled and wiped her face, turning to him, and Harry instantly felt awful.

"Hermione-" he began, but trailed off, knowing that an apology wouldn't be enough. He dug in his pockets again to pull out the long black velvet box that held her present and stuck in rather close to her face. She accepted it, but did not open it.

"I thought you wouldn't come, Harry," she said, so softly that he could barely hear her. He remembered what she'd said the year before about mentioning other girls to the once he'd fancied and said very properly.

"Oh, you know, that old hag, Cho Chang wanted to talk to me about Quidditch. I wanted to leave, but she wouldn't shut up. I came as soon as I could," he said, looking at her apologetically.

"Oh! Harry," Hermione said, letting out a laugh that sounded rather like a sob, and stood to hug him tightly to her. He looked at the wall in front of him with the cabinet and Hagrid's china and stiffened, only barely hugging her back and praying for her to let him go soon. When she did, he hastened to twist the expression on his face to a slightly more happy one, but Hagrid had noted his discomfort, and gave him a meaningful look. Hermione, though, carefree and happy looking again, summoned Ron to her to get the two other presents from the corner of the room so she could open them all together.

The first was Hagrid's. And predictably, it was a book. A skinny paperback messily bound, entitled: 'All About Acromantulas, By Rubeus Hagrid.'

"Thank you, Hagrid!" she exclaimed, jumping up gleefully to hug his giant form but barely fitting her hands around his beard. "You wrote it just for me?"

"Well, you and those two," he nodded to Ron and Harry, smiling, "if they're interested. But mainly fer you, yes."

"Thank you," she said, again, setting away the present and moving to Ron's present. He'd given her a set of red mittens and a hat that said clearly "'Vote', and 'S.P.E.W.'" on the gloves and "House-Elf Liberation Front" across the top of the hat. Harry suddenly felt that his gift was very stupid and impersonal compared to Ron's, and seriously considered taking it back.

"It took me about two months just to learn the charms for it without your help, so you better like it," Ron warned, but he sounded rather afraid that she wouldn't.

"Oh RON, how thoughtful!" She'd turned to him then and kissed him squarely on the lips for about seventeen seconds. Harry felt the bile rising to his throat, but fought to keep his expression under control. Thus, he did not notice Hagrid studying him instead of the loving couple.

When she finally turned to his present, Harry felt very self-conscious. It was so stupid! Why had he even bought it? She'd probably not even like it, and he couldn't return it because it had been on sale. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

"Oh my god!" she screeched when she saw it. Harry winced, closing his eyes.

"I know, Hermione, I'll take it back if you don't want it, I mean, I know it's not much," he rambled.

"NOT much?" she gasped, "How much did this cost?"

"It was seventeen galleons originally, but they had it on sale for fourteen..."

"Harry! What an awful lot of money--" she began, looking astonished. He glanced at Ron, and predictably, his best friend was disgruntled, his ears slightly pink.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just...wanted to apologize, not that I'm trying to buy you or anything" he added, but whatever came out his mouth all seemed very inadequate. "See, it's a Cat Keeper too." He took the pen from her, "You just write on a parchment asking where Crookshanks is, and it'll tell you--I mean, its useful, if he ever-you know..." Harry trailed off, feeling dumb, and looking from Hermione's startled face down to his hands. He was very surprised, a second later, when Hermione had tackled him and was holding him tightly.

"Her-" he gagged, "Mione," she was cutting off his air supply.

"Oh sorry," she breathed, "Thank you very much, Harry."

"You like it?" he asked hesitantly, looking at Ron for his reaction. He was smiling, to his relief.

"Of course, I just didn't see why you had to waste all that money like that," she fussed. She put on Ron's gloves and mittens and set the pen on the book and placed them in front of her on the table. Harry suddenly remembered something as his eyes fell on his watch. It was eight o'clock.

"Hey you guys," and they all turned to him, "I have to leave. I have detention with Snape, and he practically goes postal if I'm late." He missed the disappointed look on Hermione's face, but left quite contentedly, glad to be out of her innocent gaze, which lately always made him self-conscious.