A/N: Angelina pointed out some technical plot flaws in Chapter four which I have now fixed (to the extent of their accuracy) and if you're reading this now, Angelina, please forgive my OOC Snape, I believe I'd already warned people about that, but maybe I wasn't too clear. Forgive me, I get like that sometimes. This chapter is short coz I kind of changed the plot during the trip. Vacation was ok, I guess. As good as a family vacation can ever get. I hope you all had a good Independence Day as well--complete with the fireworks which I sorely missed. I didn't get to see the peach drop either, come to think of it...
So, needless to ramble, I hated my weekend. Internet deprived weekend. Sea World was a bust, and I didn't get to spend as much time at St. Augustine as I'd liked. We were supposed to go to India (Madras), but things are stupid, so we cancelled that trip--the 'rents say "postponed" to December, but who believes 'em anyway? I truly envy you Milky Way Bar, you actually get to see your family. :P. Ok, ok, I'll stop talking now.
Oh, one more thing (dodges habitual audience-tomatoes). I never proofread my chapters, and I write them late at night/morning and post them a few hours later, and plus I'm not a very good writer in general, and its not like you can expect very many Shakespeares, or Rowlings in this website anyway, so just forgive my errors if you can't point them out nicely. It really hurts my fragile ego when you people piss about it, and I'd just give the whole mess up if you feel so strongly about details which most ff-authors thoroughly avoid. I mean, why should I care, really, if I'm not getting any better? It fanfiction, I'm not making any money off it, and I could be doing better things but for the fact that I'm obsessed. So I'm saying that if you can't criticize nicely, don't. It's not very flattering to me if you flame, unless your writing is relatively better than mine, atleast. Read at your own risk...
Thank you.
Harry eventually got extremely bored with Hogwarts. Around the end of October, his detentions with Snape were over, and so were his Occlumency lessons. At first, he was very glad that he would no longer have to prolong time spent with his least favorite teacher. Snape had his occasional moment of leniency, but regularly, he was just as contemptuous as ever. The years seemed to have built the 'nasty' feature right into him. And Harry doubted that even if he'd tried, Snape could manage to be nice to someone for a change. Ron and Hermione had broken up and gotten back together so many times that even he, as their closest friend couldn't manage to keep the record straight. Their arguments never ceased to fill him with immense glee, awfully enough, and he loved to watch or listen to them, as did the rest of Gryffindor House. But to keep the full-effect of his conscience at bay he often teased that he wanted to be best man at their wedding, or named godfather of their soon-to-come ronnies and hermys.
Ron had become really popular so that (atleast at Hogwarts) his name was almost as well known as Harry's. It was always prefect Ron, or Keeper Ron, or Ron who's so funny my blasted stomach hurts just thinking about it, all over the school. He had become so confident in public that he was even managing to bear the Slytherins' attacks on his reputation in the school and as a Weasley. Fred and George's alleged dropout, Percy's general brownnosing, snooty personality, and Ginny's earlier obsession with Harry was all, at one time or another, a foundation for the often unimaginative, yet adequate slights that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle regularly came up with. It wasn't like Ron came up with better insults, but they could not insult Harry these days, as he never paid much attention to them anyway, and Malfoy (oddly enough) was trying to remain on atleast neutral ground, thinking that if Harry did not remember any recent affronts, his name would be cleared for whatever big scheme he had hidden up his sleeve.
Harry observed these things with a sort of detached interest. He had been using the Sleeping Draught that Pomfrey had been regularly giving him, and he made him sort of restless and cranky on the inside, but it was like he was trapped. The dreams were still going strong, and possibly becoming more and more grotesque the more Voldemort conspired and machinated as the unease in his mind grew, but he knew nothing of it because he'd just been suppressing them. The Draught made him feel drugged, like Dudley on marijuana, yet his senses weren't at all blurred, but embellished further. All the sounds and sights and smells were intensified, and he seemed to remember infinitesimal feelings or objects with the grandest details, like in dreams themselves. It was as if his body was fighting the potion, and he hated to think what would happen if it were overthrown all together.
All in all, he felt he had entirely too much time to think, even though he was so busy with actually doing his homework (mainly to avoid Hermione) and everything else. As Quidditch Captain, he planned all the team's practices and worked them almost as much as his predecessors had, yet with very little of their emotional rages and panic attacks. The team on the other hand, felt very much disturbed by his nonchalance. The two beaters, Roy and Barnes were very subdued around Harry, doing their best to keep from his criticism or any scrutiny, being of the sort that actually believed the Daily Prophet the year before. Though Fudge had retracted all of his former skepticism (and hold over the press) and Umbridge had disappeared somewhere in the muggle world in a scary daze, untraceable, it seemed the public opinion of Harry, would never be the same again.
"Have some eggs," Hermione suggested, gesturing with her fork. Her hair was pulled tightly back from her face as he had never seen it before, and she was absently scanning a small book in her left hand. Ron had decided to sleep in and would most likely be late to class, but Hermione told him that she was "teaching him a lesson" by accidentally forgetting to wake him. She was using the rare opportunity to catch up on reading time which she probably would've spent snogging, or lecturing, if she were with Ron then.
"No thanks," he replied, suddenly angry and nervous.
"Fine, then. You have Care of Magical Creatures first, by the way," she informed primly, clearly annoyed by his cranky behaviour.
"Shut up, Hermione, just coz I'm not as smart as you and everyone you hang out with doesn't mean I can't figure out my own schedule." Hermione's jaw nearly hit the floor at his harsh tone.
"Be that way, then. I and my smart friends will just keep out comments to ourselves. Would that make your highness feel better?" she said, willingly infuriating Harry in hopes of finding out what the underlying matter was.
"I wanna kick you," he breathed, clenching the spoon in one hand and the edge of his chair with another.
"Tell me, Harry, why is it that you only talk to me when Ron is around? I had no idea you were that selfish. You hate me because I'm taking your best friend's attention from you?" Harry almost screamed from the stupidity of that deduction.
"Of course not!" he gasped, letting out a choked laugh in the process. "I hate you because you're paying attention to him instead of me!" he wanted to say, but that would have been really idiotic.
"Then why?!" she nearly wailed, "I've been trying to figure out so long! You're always snapping at me, and you won't tell us what in the world you're up to in those classes, what happened in that dream, what the Dark Lord is doing--" She looked absolutely distressed.
"Hermione," he began, reaching for her hand, nearly wanting to tell her. She hastily grabbed his retracting hand when he'd lost his nerve yet again.
"Tell me," she pleaded, "Please?" Harry felt weak. He had faced a feared Dark Wizard a total of six times and he couldn't muster the courage to confide in his own best friend. He had borne many Cruciatus Curses and resisted the remaining unforgivables, but he couldn't fight a few feelings in his uncontrolled mind. 'I love you!" he wanted to scream at her, but he ended up, instead, harshly pulling his hand from her warm, enticing grip.
"I've to go to class." His porridge lay uneaten and Hermione, completely dissatisfied as he grabbed his bag and rushed out of the half-filled Common Room, about half-hour too early for class.
"Heya, Harry!" Hagrid boomed, prodding something in a huge bucket. Water sloshed and splashed out of it, but Harry was not too eager to find out what was making such noise.
"Hi, Hagrid, how's Grawp? Sent him back to the forest yet?" Harry said, trying to sound cheerful.
"Nah, 'course not! What's wrong with you?"
"Oh, its just..."Harry started, formulating an explanation. Should he confide in Hagrid, his oldest friend? Would he understand? Hagrid, although, looked at him understandingly.
"When I first saw Olympe," he began, "I knew she and I was two of a kind. I loved her, but it just took a while longer for her to realize that. And when she did, she was so scared of me that she nearly hated me. But I understood. And I gave her time. And when she finally admitted it to me, we were both so happy that it all the other stuff didn't matter any more like we'd imagined it would." Harry sighed.
"Oh, I know she loves me, Hagrid, she loves everyone. But I love her more than anyone in the world, I mean, atleast I think I do, because I just...I dunno much about any of this. I want her to love only me like I do, but she doesn't! She loves R--everyone the same way. I mean what if you never even gave a second thought to Madame Olympe, what then, eh?"
"She does, Harry, trust me. As sure as I love Olympe, Hermione loves you."
"What?" Harry yelled, "I never said that I-I mean, I never meant I--to--I mean--" he was at an obvious loss for words. His face flushed and he looked down at his shoes.
"I don't love Hermione," he said defiantly, a moment later, staring so hard into Hagrid's beetle black eyes that his eyes watered.
"Of course you do, Harry, and you've already admitted it to yourself," Hagrid replied, "but the matter now is not whether you love her or not, its whether you're just going to try to keep her out of danger and keep the both of you miserable, or tell her and let things take their own course." Harry was about to say more, that the matter was not only Voldemort, but also Ron, but a few Slytherins entered the classroom, and Harry turned away. Hagrid began tending to the huge black clams spitting out at him. A sleepy Ron came in with Hermione, lecturing, right on his heels. Harry went to them.
"Hello," he said, carefully meeting both their eyes.
"Hi," Ron yawned. Hermione said nothing.
"What's wrong with you two? Look like your uncle Al's dead or summat." He yawned again, scrambling to a wooden bench. Harry and Hermione broke their staring contest, and Hagrid began talking.
***
Transfiguration came too soon for both Harry and Hermione's liking.
"Please pass me my notes," Harry said mechanically when they were commanded to transfigure a full grown pig into bacon. "Explain, in atleast five-hundred words, whether this requires state to state transfiguration, and in what level of the transfiguration the most molecular remodulation will take place."
A half-hour later, Harry was struggling with his pig, which was bacon, but still squeaked enough to have Parvati and Lavender turning both their attention fully to him.
"Do you need a little help?" Hermione murmured from beside him. Harry wanted to slap her, her bacon was so perfect. Crisp, and still bubbling.
"Of course not," he spat, and Hermione jumped slightly, and moved slightly away. Harry bit his lip and concentrated. He mumbled the incantation by the instruction and the pig suddenly stopped squeaking. He let out a breath that he didn't even know he had been holding, and unwittingly, it escaped him in the form of a frustrated sigh. McGonagall looked up from her desk.
"Potter and Granger, finished already?" she inquired.
"Yes, Professor," Hermione answered for them both. "Very well. Potter, go to the Headmaster's office. Ms. Granger, please accompany him if you wish, or get started on your homework assignment." Hermione nodded, choosing to follow Harry as he exited with his hastily packed bag. His relieved face fell as soon as he saw her following him.
"Go away, Hermione," he snarled, "I thought you loved to do Homework!" he accused, swinging the bag behind him and beginning to walk faster.
"No." Hermione replied stubbornly. She sprinted to catch up with him, her own bag trailing precariously behind.
"Why hello, Prefect Granger!" Dumbledore said cheerily, startling them both out of their argument. "And Mr.Potter," he added as an afterthought. They looked around.
"I suppose you can't see me?"
"Where are you, Professor?" Harry asked him confusedly.
"Right behind this wall! Well, it's hard to explain. I'm kind of walking through the wall, so you can't see me. There's rooms on the other side that are quite comfortable."
"Oh," said Harry, "I wondered how to get in those." Hermione looked at him and the wall in turn. "I got the Map back, didn't I tell you?"
"No," Hermione replied pointedly. Harry looked uncomfortable. Luckily, Dumbledore said, "On to the office, then, you two, the password's "Earphones" for this week. They obeyed him and went up to the gargoyle, where Dumbledore appeared magically from the wall.
"Earphones," said Harry, and the gargoyle jumped open. They climbed the stairs and a tiny, near naked and chirping Fawkes struggled up to Harry, who caught him in his cupped hands before he fell. Hermione looked at him in awe.
"Harry!" she cried, "Phoenixes are really hard to communicate with."
"Sure, Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted before Harry could retort with a sharp retort, "But I'm sure you know Harry has a particular connection with this one?" Hermione nodded, understanding. She eyed Harry with something that resembled jealousy. "That and Fawkes is so tired of my company over the years that he'd befriend almost anyone." His eyes twinkled.
Harry, in a rare moment of warmth (to Hermione) looked up at her.
"Hold out your hand," he instructed her.
"Oh no, Harry-I-I couldn't!"
"Hold them out," he persisted. She stuck them out obediently. Fawkes flew into her open hand.
"Ease up, Hermione," Harry said, "he's getting irritated."
"Take a seat, just waiting for Mr. Longbottom," said Dumbledore.
"Hello, Potter, Mudblood," Phineas Nigellus called down from his frame to them. Hermione jumped at his voice.
"Phineas!" Dumbledore reprimanded sharply, "don't be rude!"
"Whatever, Headmaster, sir. I still don't see why you told that boy if his part in the Prophecy is over, Albus," Phineas said.
"You told him?" Harry asked, "I suppose he does deserve to know, but poor Neville he's already having so much trouble with classes, and his grandmother, why put that extra pressure on him?"
"I have my reasons, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore answered curtly, and Harry suddenly felt very rude and small.
"Wait," he heard Hermione's voice say, "What did it say about Neville in the Prophecy?"
"Would you like to tell her or shall I?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry reluctantly turned to her, frowning.
"He was supposed to be the one defeating Voldemort, but Voldemort heard it wrong and marked me instead so I have to do it now." He looked away promptly, not particularly wanting to think about the one whole moment that he existed for. His life had no point, just the end of it. He saw that Dumbledore was frowning, and Hermione was glancing at them both expectantly.
"For someone so smart, you do catch on quick, don't you?" Harry spat, hating to see that dependent look on her face that oddly made him want to hold her in his arms.
"Harry!" Dumbledore chastised. There was a knock at the door.
"Come in!" Phineas called. Neville stumbled in, his face pale and his expression wary. He greeted Harry and Hermione with a smile.
"Sit down Neville. He gestured to the sofa where the two were seated, and Neville joined them.
"Now, I'll keep this short. We want you three to do some work for the Order, you Mr. Potter, because you have to, you Mr. Longbottom, because you can help, and you, Miss Granger, because it seems that you play a part in the prophecy which Trelawney did not mention." He glanced at them for their response, but their were still listening avidly, "We think that it maybe that you, because of your skill fit the part of the motivation. You've crossed Voldemort's path sometime in your life, but you've chosen Harry over him for some reason, so now you are bound to his quest. Is that clear to all of you so far?" They nodded.
"I'm going to send you to the Black House for training for the Order for two weeks now, and then during Christmas, Easter, and Summer. I know you may want your vacations very badly, but this is absolutely necessary. Mr. Longbottom, you will be briefed by Nigellus here," he gestured behind him to the portrait. Phineas gave a large, evil grin and Neville shrunk back, intimidated. "And you two will inform Mr. Weasley, and only him, and go pack your belongings. Hurry. There isn't much time, the others will be here to get you in about half an hour."
Harry and Hermione rushed out of the gargoyle but stopped as soon as they were out of Dumbledore's range of shooing. They stopped in the middle of the hallway.
"Harry, Why didn't you tell me you had to kill Voldemort?" Harry's eyes hardened. "Please, stop being so distant, because frankly it's very childish. I'm trying to put up with your stupidity because I suppose your going through something now, but I really can't understand what--"
There was complete silence for about ten seconds, and as soon as it registered in both their minds what they were doing, kissing, Harry pulled away from her like a shot through his spine.
"I-I'm sorry! Hermione, I really didn't mean to, please don't be angry with me, forget I did it okay, and don't tell Ron, please?" he begged, his eyes still wide. Hermione was still dazed, and so said nothing. "I'm really sorry, It's just that--" Harry tried again, failing. Suddenly, he began walking rapidly down the corridor, his eyes down and his ears pink.
"Angry? With you?" Hermione said quietly, when he was well down the hall. She ambled robotically down to her dormitories, making no attempt to catch up with him.
