* * *
"Dumbledore's been attacked."
Harry bolted upright in bed, blinking to try and clear his vision even as his hand fumbled around on his nightstand for his glasses. Once he had them on, he took in George's pale, frightened expression. Pain struck sharply with each movement, and for just a moment he wanted to curl back in bed, duck beneath his pillow, and pretend that he had never woken up. The need passed a second later, when he heard Ron's shocked exclamation. His friend's horror seemed to bring Harry back to the present, and he quickly pushed out of bed and headed for the door, as clearheaded as if he'd been awake for hours. So determined and so panicked was the young wizard that he focused only on Dumbledore's predicament; he never stopped to tug a nightshirt over his head or slip his feet into shoes of some sort.
As Harry crossed the common room, he glanced back over his shoulder at the Weasleys, who were running to catch up with him, speaking with the steely, confident voice of someone who had seen too much tragedy in his life to not know how to handle it. He understood that someone had to be strong, and it was fairly obvious that the Weasley's weren't up to it at the moment.
"Ron, wake Hermione. If anyone hears you, tell them something inocuous to keep them from leaving the dorm. Fred and George, we're going to need Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape. I don't care who gets whom, just hurry. And keep your wands out - we don't know who might have done this. He's in the office?" He waited only long enough for a vague nod of confirmation from George before slipping out the door.
The three Weasleys stared at each other mutely for a full six seconds before the Fat Lady's sleepy grumblings jerked them into action.
"We'd better go," Ron muttered, though he couldn't quite make himself move just yet. When the twins remained still, he looked over at them apprehensively. "Is he... was he..." He broke off, unable to finish.
The twins glanced at each other grimly before George looked toward his younger brother. "We don't know, Ron. We just... don't know. We should go, though."
Ron nodded, his face devoid of any color whatsoever. As he headed toward the girl's wing, the twins hurried from the room.
Harry was trying desperately not to think as he wound his way through the corridors of the school. He wished he'd asked the twins if Dumbledore had been okay, had been alive. The thought that his mentor might actually be gone caused a soft, anguished sound to rip from his throat. He couldn't remember his last words to the Headmaster, but he recalled leaving angry. What if that was the last time he'd ever speak to him? Panting softly, he increased his pace, forcing himself to focus only on the ground. He couldn't handle his own thoughts.
His voice trembled slightly as he gave the password, and his eyes closed for a moment as he moved up the stairs into the Headmaster's office. Oh Merlin, I don't want to look, I don't want to see, please let him be okay.
A whisper of sound forced Harry to open his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. Fawkes was standing on the professor's desk, leaning close. As the bird tilted his head, Harry could see the tears slipping from the magnificent phoenix's eyes. Hope flashed within him - Fawkes was healing Dumbledore. Quickly he looked toward the formidable wizard, and felt his head spin.
The aging Hogwarts Headmaster was slumped forward on his desk, his long beard caught beneath his cheek. His arms fell uselessly at his sides, one hand covered in some dark liquid that Harry didn't want to identify. He looked...tortured. There was no other word for it. While his eyes were closed, they were red-rimmed and probably bloodshot. Lines of strain dug deeply into the man's colorless skin, and his lips were drawn back in a horrifying grimace. But the worst part was the complete lack of movement by the figure lying there. Professor Dumbledore lay utterly still. He wasn't even breathing.
Oh Merlin. Not again.
Harry stumbled forward quickly, gripping the desk tightly to keep from spilling onto the floor. A slight nudge at his left shoulder caused the young wizard to open his eyes and look down. Fawkes brushed his head against Harry's arm, and realization flashed. The phoenix hadn't been trying to heal Dumbledore.
He had been grieving.
A shaky indrawn breath seemed to steady the Gryffindor just a little, and he lifted a hand to rub Fawkes' head gently, one comforting stroke, before his gaze retruned to the professor. Licking his lips nervously, he reached out and brushed a finger against Dumbledore's cheek. Once again, hope stirred within him. The Headmaster felt warm, not cold. Perhaps there was still a chance.
Determined to help, Harry quicky moved closer, withdrawing his wand and gesturing in Dumbledore's direction, murmuring several small spells he'd learned from Hermione, who'd been training the D.A. in several simple Mediwizard methods. Nothing seemed to help, although in his shaken state he wasn't even certain if he was performing the spells correctly. Frustrated and scared, Harry set down his wand and slid two fingers against the Headmaster's neck. He became utterly still, eyes opening wide with shock. There's a pulse!
Beneath his fingers, proof that Professor Dumbledore clung tightly to the fragile thread of his own life throbbed falteringly. The movements were barely discernable, coming far apart and without much strength – but they were there. The young wizard released a soft sob of relief, though he quickly cut off the sound and looked around. He didn't know what else to do; he'd have to wait for Madam Pomfrey. His fingers trembled and he clutched his wand once more as he realized the necessity of finding out what caused the Headmaster to end up this way. Even he understood that it was often impossible to fix something if you didn't know how it had broken.
Filled again with purpose, Harry walked around the desk, his gaze searching intently for any hint of what had caused this... this nightmare. Almost immediately his green eyes fell upon the Headmaster's wand, lying uselessly on the floor. He bent, curling his fingers around the wood, and straightened again, wondering if Dumbledore had known of the danger before it struck - if he had tried to fight it. That his wand had been drawn instead of concealed within his robes suggested that the Headmaster just hadn't had time to counter the attack he'd seen coming. Harry didn't want to believe that his mentor couldn't have handled whatever it was that had done this; if Dumbledore couldn't defeat it, then he certainly couldn't. It was a terrifying thought, one Harry tried to banish quickly.
The sound of two pairs of feet slamming against stone distraced his train of thought; he'd left the door open. As Harry heard Hermione's anxious call, he inhaled sharply.
"Ron, stop!"
Perhaps the urgency in Harry's tone persuaded Ron to listen, or perhaps it was just because he was used to following Harry's direction. Whatever the cause, Ron quickly stopped and grabbed onto Hermione's upper arm, pulling her to a halt as well. She looked back incredulously, trying to pull herself free.
"Ron, let go. Harry may need us!"
"Just be quiet a sec, Hermione." Ron didn't even look at her as he spoke; instead his eyes focused on the boy who'd appeared at the top of the stairs. Almost immediately his grip on the girl's arm weakened as dread congealed in his stomach. Harry didn't look at all relieved. He looked...undone.
Hermione quickly jerked her arm free, then followed Ron's gaze. Upon seeing Harry, her skin paled and she swayed.
"Oh no. Harry, it... it can't be." Hermione's voice was barely audible.
Although he was terrified, guilt-ridden and desperate, Harry took comfort in his friends' presence. Just being around them cleared his head. It was part of the reason why he loved them so much, and why he fought so hard for control. He didn't want to scare them further.
"I don't think he's dead. He isn't moving, and he looks... well, he looks horrible. But he isn't cold, and I think I felt a pulse. I just... I just wanted to warn you. Okay?"
If possible, Ron seemed to pale even further. He just couldn't comprehend that someone may have gotten Dumbledore. It was unthinkable. Hermione, however, seemed to steady. Her shoulders pressed back and her chin lifted firmly, as if daring someone to stop her from determining for herself how bad things really were. Harry watched them solemnly, waiting until they were ready. There were no tears in his eyes. He didn't have time for them. He had to be the strong one now.
Time passed slowly until finally Hermione slipped her hand into Ron's and squeezed gently, shaking him from his thoughts to look down at her. Her gaze was unusually patient as she waited to see that he was ready. Almost immediately the young Weasley seemed to straighten with loyal courage. Both looked back at Harry, who held out his hand to Hermione when they reached the top of the stairs. The three friends walked into the room together.
***
The door flung open as if the person on the other side of it wanted to rip it off its hinges. For a moment, Fred wanted to chuckle at the dramatic show he was being treated to. Unfortunately, he was too distracted and scared for the idea to take root, and instead he merely stared at the Potions Master, jaw clenched tightly.
"Well, Mr. Weasley? I assume you wanted something other than to disturb my slumber in order to get a good laugh? Not that I don't think that beyond you, just that I believe you'd be smart enough to run very quickly in the opposite direction once I appeared at your rather emphatic summons." Professor Snape didn't look any different in the middle of the night than he did in the middle of the day. He was obviously no less sarcastic, either, despite the fact that they worked together every day for the Order.
"Harry wants you to come."
Snape's expression didn't change at all as he folded his arms over his chest and looked at the redhead through strands of his stringy black hair. "Mr. Weasley, do I look like Mr. Potter's lackey to you?"
Fred clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He was going about this all wrong, and he knew it. Remembering his training, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pushing away the desire to slam his fist into the stubborn Professor's nose. Shaking with the effort of remaining calm, he released his breath slowly before opening his eyes once more.
"George and I found Dumbledore unconscious in his office. We told Harry, and he told us to get you. You need to come, sir. Quickly."
For a moment, Fred was afraid the enigmatic professor was going to refuse to come. Just as he was preparing to scream at the man for his insensitivity, Snape disappeared from the doorway. Later, the Weasley twin would have to give the Potions Master credit; it didn't take him long to prepare. Mere seconds later, the two were moving at a near run from the dungeons. Neither noticed the figure that pushed itself away from the wall and followed them.
***
The three students stopped in front of the desk, their hands clinging tightly together. Harry's eyes returned to the dark stain on Dumbledore's hand, and he shifted a little, craning his neck to see if it went anywhere else. Ron had pressed his lips together to keep his jaw from dropping; slowly his shoulders squared as he drew on the courage that people didn't often see when they looked at the young Weasley. It was one of the things Harry appreciated most – he could always count on Ron when he really, truly needed him.
Hermione seemed to take it hardest. At first she did nothing more then stare, but she quickly became all business. She, too, tried the various mediwizard spells she'd taught herself, although it was quite obvious that this was far past any skill she had. The witch also felt for a pulse, and her lashes fluttered with relief when she, too, found the thin, unsteady beat. Unfortunately, neither of the boys realized how important it was to keep Hermione occupied when the man she put her utmost faith in was so weakened and helpless. Without something to do, unable to think of a way to help, she began to unravel.
Ron clenched his hands repeatedly, watching while Harry continued to walk around the desk, absently rubbing his throbbing scar. Hermione began to pace, her hands twisting together nervously as she commenced wearing a path in the soft, expensive carpet. When Ron finally looked up, he was shocked to see her ravaged, haunted expression.
"...Hermione?" There was no response. She didn't even look at him; she just kept pacing, mumbling softly to herself.
Ron frowned, straightening as he moved closer. "Hermione. Are you alright?" When he again received no indication of a response from his friend, Ron called out quickly.
"Harry, something's wrong with Hermione."
At the intent words, Harry lifted his head and looked over somewhat distractedly, rubbing his forehead. "Hmm? She's scared, Ron."
"Look at her."
Reluctantly turning away from his inspection and speculation at what could have caused the Headmaster to look so undone, Harry straightened and slid his green eyes over his friend. He took in her pale face, her shaking shoulders and her hands, red from being twined together and pulled forcefully apart.
"Hermione? We'll figure something out. As soon as Madam Pomfrey gets here, she'll tell us how to help him, and Professor Snape should be useful in determining what happened and creating a potion successful in fighting it. It'll be okay."
While Harry wasn't certain that what he was saying was truth – he was dealthy afraid that there wasn't a way to fix this problem – he did his best to sound confident. Ron seemed to believe him; he was nodding in agreement. Hermione, however, didn't seem to have heard at all. As they watched, she began to breathe faster, her breaths quick and shallow. Soon she was nearly hyperventilating.
Harry grimaced, his fingers pressing against his scar as he moved toward her. Ron was closer, and he put an arm around her shoulders so he could guide her toward a chair.
"Come on, Hermione. Let's sit down, okay?" The redhead's voice was abnormally soft and calming; a technique he'd developed a long time ago when trying to soothe Ginny after the twins had pulled some horrible prank. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have an effect this time. Instead, Hermione jerked back wildly, her gaze vaguely unfocused as she knocked Ron's arm forcefully away from her.
Harry bit his lip nervously. Hermione was never irrational, never out of control like this. He stepped a little closer, then stopped, holding his hand out and his palm up.
"Hermione, it's just Harry. I'm not going to touch you if you don't want me to, but you're really starting to scare us. What's wrong?"
Her only response was to take another step backward, her chest heaving as she stared at them fearfully. Harry stopped, rubbing his scar as he wished desperately that Dumbledore were here to tell him what to do. He'd never seen Hermione act this way before. It was frightening.
"Harry, your scar hurts?" Ron moved to stand next to him, inadvertently but effectively blocking Hermione from leaving the office. Harry nodded absently.
"Yeah, but it's not surprising, is it? Dumbledore..." Harry trailed off, gesturing to the professor's limp form.
Ron nodded hesitantly, then ventured softly – almost as if he was thinking aloud, though he refused to look at Harry as he spoke. "Harry... did your scar hurt yesterday? When I – when I got upset after breakfast?"
Harry's gaze snapped up immediately, his brows furrowing as he tried unsuccessfully to catch Ron's eye. "Why would it matter, Ron?"
The sound of a muffled voice muttering at the door to Dumbledore's office distracted the boys, and they moved quickly to the stairs as Professor Snape entered, immediately followed by Fred.
"Get out of my way." As usual, Snape's voice was cold and abrupt. Oddly, this seemed to comfort Hermione, and the odd hitch in her breathing slowed somewhat. She could deal with a moody, difficult Professor.
After feeling for a pulse, the Potions Master dipped a finger in the thick substance that covered Dumbledore's hand and pooled in a small puddle on the floor behind the desk. Black eyebrows knit together as he sniffed his finger lightly, then rubbed it against his thumb.
Unable to stand the silence and struggling to keep herself under control, Hermione spoke up quietly, without the typical demand that presented itself in most of her questions. "What is it, Professor?"
For a moment, Snape didn't answer , as if he had completely forgotten about the lot of them. He wiped his fingers against his black pants, then spoke up almost nonchalantly. "What do you see on the desk, Miss Granger?"
Although the question was not what she'd expected, Hermione wasn't the type to back down from a question - especially one she could answer. After scanning the desk briefly, she replied with slightly more confidence than before. "Fawke's perch, a stack of four books, another book open atop them. A black feather quill, a piece of parchment entitled 'To Do', a small dish of candy, two purple globes, a remembral and his glasses."
Snape nodded after she finished, opening his bag and beginning to take out small vials of darkly hued liquids, setting each meticulously on the desk. Fred and Ron glanced at each other, shrugged, then moved a little closer to try and read the labels on the potions. Harry merely watched Snape, his hands curled at his sides. It was so difficult to try and trust this man - especially with Dumbledore's life.
He spoke up again, sounding as if he were instructing a class. "Very good, Miss Granger. But the more important thing to note is what's not on the desk."
Harry's eyebrows raised and glanced toward the desk, and Hermione frowned in confusion. "Any number of things are not on the desk, Professor."
"Look again, Miss Granger. You're missing something important."
She frowned, staring again at the desk, though she avoided looking at the Headmaster. It scared her too much. It wasn't until Snape removed an empty vile from his things and knelt behind the desk that realization dawned.
"There's no inkpot. With a quill and parchment obviously in use, there should be a pot of ink somewhere. Is that what's on his hand?" Even as she spoke, the intelligent girl was walking around the desk, obviously looking to see if an inkpot had fallen to the floor. There was nothing there.
Harry spoke up abruptly, cutting off Snape before he could respond. "Can we solve the mystery of the stolen inkpot later and help Professor Dumbledore now?"
Hermione blushed, horrified that she'd forgotten - just for a moment - about the Headmaster's plight. Before guilt consumed her, the Potions Master spoke up once more, seeming slightly distracted, though still revealing his dislike of Harry Potter quite clearly.
"No," he drawled. "We cannot."
"Why not?" Ron interrupted fiercely, ignoring Fred's hand squeezing his shoulder.
Snape whirled around, his long cape billowing out behind him briefly as he glared at Gryffindor's 6th year Prefect. "Because, Mr. Weasley. I cannot treat an illness when I don't know what it is."
Ron's hands tightened further, and he stepped forward furiously, so his greater height become more noticible. "An inkpot won't help you with that!"
Hermione spoke up quickly, her eyes wide. "Ron, don't! It might help. It's the things that are out of order, that are different from usual, that will help us figure this out."
Harry stepped between the Professor and his best friend, briefly meeting Fred's grim gaze before speaking up. "Hermione's right, Ron. I wasn't thinking. Relax. Please."
After a moment, Ron nodded, allowing himself to be pulled backward a few steps. Harry released a breath, lifting a hand to rub his forehead lightly. Snape narrowed his gaze on the infamous Gryffindor, but said nothing. He put a stopper in a vial holding small remnants of the strange liquid and labeled it with Dumbeldore's quill after dipping it with absurd nonchalance into the small puddle that had spilled on the desk. George came running up the stairs just as Snape slid the vial into his belongings. Seconds later Madam Pomfrey hurried into the room, sputtering as she saw the Headmaster.
"My Goodness, what happened to him?" She rushed to his side, immediately feeling for a pulse as she drew out her wand with her free hand.
"We were rather hoping you could tell us." Harry frowned in as Snape spoke, thinking for a moment that the Professor was laughing at the nurse. He pushed the thought aside, pressing his palm against his forehead briefly, exhaling softly.
Snape received no response to his remark, other than a wave of her hand, indicating that they all be quiet. Minutes passed slowly as she alternately spoke spells, gestured with her wand and slid her hand against Dumbledore's forehead, wrist and throat. Hermione hunched her shoulders, arms folded protectively around her waist as she began to pace nervously. Fred, George, Ron and Harry just watched the nurse intently, their gazes fierce. Snape remained utterly still as he waited.
Unfortunately, Hermione didn't have his patience. Abruptly she whirled and stalked up to the desk. "Well? What is taking so damned long!"
Madam Pomfrey didn't even look up, intent on her work as she was. Hermione's hands slammed down atop the desk as she leaned forward menacingly. "Answer me!"
The nurse looked up incredulously even as Harry winced and stepped forward, grasping Hermione's forearm. "Herm-"
Snape interrupted smoothly. "Miss Granger, since you cannot seem to keep your mouth shut long enough to let Madame Pomfrey do her work, I suggest you head over to the library to do something productive. Research the different states of death and unconsciousness, particularly any spells or potions that would render one with a pulse but no breath. Now." His deep voice clearly expressed the statement as a demand rather than a suggestion. Surprisingly, Hermione nodded and turned haughtily, moving quickly for the stairs. Just as soon as she'd left, the Potions Master looked over at the Weasley twins. "Go. Keep her busy."
The twins glanced at each other, then nodded toward the Professor and hurried after Hermione. Madame Pomfrey harrumphed lightly before getting back to work. Ron looked at Harry, who looked back equally confused. They shrugged in unison, then lifted their heads when Snape spoke again.
"I trust that you two can manage to keep quiet, Mr. Weasley? Mr. Potter?" It was clearly a threat.
"Yes, sir," Ron spoke rather dully, not managing to meet the Professor's eyes.
Harry just nodded, rubbing his scar absently as he went back to watching Madam Pomfrey work. After a time, he began to notice the chill of the cold stone floor against his bare feet, and the brush of night air from the open window against his bare chest. Shivering a little, he moved closer to the fire, not noticing that the flames lifted slightly moments later.
Time dragged by slowly. It seemed like hours had passed before Madam Pomfrey finally stood up, rubbing her lower back wearily. Professor Snape unfolded his arms, straightening from the wall he'd been leaning against. Ron stood from the chair he'd been sitting in. Harry just stared at her, as he'd been doing for the past forty-five minutes.
"I honestly have no idea what caused this. I've never seen it before, nor have I read about it. He appears stable - his pulse has not slackened in the least. I need time."
Snape nodded as if it was nothing more than he'd already expected, then picked up one of the vials of potion he'd left out on the desk. As he pulled the stopper loose, he looked toward Madam Pomfrey. "Do you think it's safe to move him?"
She nodded. "I don't see why not, providing it doesn't affect his pulse aversively. We don't have a choice, regardless. We can't just leave him here."
"Is his mind still functioning?"
The nurse stiffened indignantly, her cheeks coloring. "I'm certain I've no idea! I don't go toying in such dark arts, Professor Snape!" Clearly she was offended by the suggestion. For an instant, Harry thought he saw Snape smirk, but he later decided it had just been a trick of the light.
"And what do you think the best course of action is?"
"Lots of rest. I have some restorative potions I can use while I determine the cause of his...condition." Harry glanced warily at Ron, who narrowed his gaze, seeming to find the comment equally absurd. After all that time, her suggestion was to let him rest? It sounded rather ludicrous.
Snape accepted her words with a nod, then handed her the vial he'd opened. "Here, drink this. It helps with memory restoration. Perhaps you've read about something like this before."
Though she was rather irritated by the suggestion of incompetence, she refused to back down before the arrogant Potions Master. Tilting her head back, she downed the bit of liquid, then handed back the vial. Professor Snape accepted it, then grabbed her shoulders, waiting until her gaze seemed to become unsteady before he spoke harshly. "You're tired, you should go back to sleep. You've been having these strange nightmares lately. You won't remember any of this when you wake up in the morning. Now go."
Too stunned to mutter a protest, Harry and Ron watched slack-jawed as Madam Pomfrey nodded vaguely and left the room. Snape didn't even look at them as he shifted through his vials once more, packing away all but one.
Finally Ron found his voice. "What the bloody hell did you do to her? I'm not taking any damned potion from you, either!"
"Just as well, Mr. Weasley, because I wasn't going to give you one. I'm so sorry to disappoint you." He smirked, then uncorked the last vial and very carefully released one drop on the small puddle of liquid on the floor behind the desk. The murky green potion immediately spread, covering the liquid in seconds before beginning to dissipate completely. In moments no trace of the potion or the strange liquid remained.
Harry folded his arms, frowning a bit. "So why did you give her one? Why did you tell her to forget about all of this? She'll know soon enough. Everyone will be in an uproar over what's happened to Professor Dumbledore." If Harry's voice wavered a bit when he spoke the Headmaster's name, neither Ron nor Snape saw fit to point it out.
"They're not going to know, Mr. Potter. A message was delivered to Professor Dumbledore late last night and he left, leaving a note to me to remain as Acting Headmaster." Snape's matter-of-fact tone caused Ron to shake his head in confusion.
"But why?"
"Because we don't want whoever did this to know that they succeeded." Harry replied quietly, then looked toward Snape. "It won't work, though. Professor Dumbledore always leaves Professor McGonagall in charge."
The dark-haired professor just smirked. "Do you honestly think she's going to challenge me, especially in front of students?"
Acknowledging the point, Harry continued. "Alright, but she's going to wonder." He seemed to be taunting the Professor, albeit with rare subtlety.
"Let her."
Ron frowned, but Harry just spoke up again. "You still haven't answered me. Why did you give Madam Pomfrey that potion? And what was it, exactly?"
"Memory suppression - it only works for small commands. I developed it just recently. And because I don't trust her. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have some work to do. Say nothing of tonight to anyone - relay that message to the others. I'll let you know when I've found anything useful." By the time he'd finished speaking, Professor Snape had gathered his belongings and levitated Professor Dumbledore toward the door.
"Wait!" Ron moved quickly to the door, blocking his way. "What are you going to do with him?"
The Potions Professor merely lifted a brow. "I'm going to find out what's wrong with him and fix it. He'll rest in my quarters, for the time being. Now get out of my way, Mr. Weasley, unless you're intending on using your wand for something other than waving it around like you're trying to put out a fire."
"C'mon, Ron, let's go find the others. I'd like to get some sleep tonight, and there's nothing more we can do right now." Harry nudged his friend down the stairs as he spoke, ignoring the sarcastic amusement on Snape's face.
The three left the Headmaster's office, never noticing the shadow that parted from the wall moments later.
***
"We can't not tell anyone, Harry. It isn't right! The Ministry need to know, and so does the rest of the Order." Hermione was just barely managing to keep her outrage to a whisper. A loud whisper.
Harry raked a hand through his perpetually disheveled brown hair, turning away from her to stare out the window as Ron spoke up. "We don't have a choice, Hermione. Snape said not to tell anyone."
"Since when have you advocated listening to Professor Snape, Ron?" She looked ready to throw something.
"This is bigger than us, Hermione! Bloody hell, they got Dumbledore! I'm glad to have someone else make the hard decisions."
"What has that got to do with anything, Ron? The wizarding world has a right to know that Voldemort has gone after Dumbledore - and succeded. More of them will realize how important the fight is. They'll join the Order and help us!"
Harry spoke up tonelessly. "We have no proof. We don't even know if anyone else was around. I've been thinking about it, and this time Snape's right. Telling everyone will just create panic." He turned from the window as he finished, slight purple shadows beneath his eyes.
Unable to argue with that bit of logic, Hermione focused on another topic. "Harry...you should get some sleep. You look awful."
"You're so kind, Hermione, really. Give him a break!" Ron glared at her, taking refuge from confusion in anger.
The Boy Who Lived closed his eyes and turned away from his friends, tuning out their conversation as he methodically gathered clothes for the morning. He didn't notice when they stopped speaking and just watched him silently. He didn't see them exchange a worried glance when he failed to respond to their questions. He just gathered his things and left the room, unable to keep his thoughts from straying to how he'd failed someone he loved. Again.
***
At some point in the morning, three people gathered in a dank room in the basement of Hogwarts.
"Have you learned anything new?" One asked rather hesitantly - as if they weren't certain whether or not they wanted the answer.
"I didn't bring you here for that. When I know something, I'll tell you. Until then, do take care not to pester. I've not the time, nor the inclination for it."
The other clenched a hand in frustration. "Damnit, do you have to be so cryptic? We're on the same side, here!"
"Yes, and you take your orders from me. Kindly remember that."
A third spoke up, frustration thinly veiled by weariness. "So what did you bring us here for?"
"You're going to have to work harder to keep her busy - keep them both busy - before it gets out of hand."
"We're trying-"
A hand slammed against wood. "Not hard enough! If either of them gives, we're in a lot of trouble."
A slight chuckle. "That could only be true if we weren't already."
"I've no time for your foolishness. Go on, before you're late. We'll speak later."
There was a pause, then the sound of a door closing. The last one left the area, leaving no proof that anyone had been there at all.
***
Hermione ran to catch up with Ron as he and the twins left the locker rooms after Quidditch practice. As she moved, her long, untamed hair bounced behind her and slight thumping noises could be heard as the books piled in her arms knocked together with each step.
"Have you heard anything new?" Her tone had dropped drastically, her eyes sharp with intelligence.
All three of the Weasleys shook their heads. "Not a thing, Hermione. Have you found anything noteworthy?" Fred inclined his head toward her books as he finished speaking.
A slight frown furrowed her brow as she shook her head, deliberately slowing her pace as they walked back toward the school. "Not much, to be honest. A few mentions of sleeping draughts that were intended to last years, but none mentioned a lack of breath as an effect."
She paused as the boys nodded, as if she'd said nothing they hadn't expected already. "...How's Harry?"
The question was directed primarily toward Ron, who merely grimaced and shook his head. "Not good, I don't think."
Hermione stopped walking, clutching her books tighter as she forced the others to stop as well. She craned her neck, wishing for just a moment that the Weasleys had stopped growing after third year. "I don't expect him to be all smiles, Ron - but do you think he's exceptionally distraught or anything?"
George lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "With all Harry's been through- how would you tell the difference?"
Ron exhaled softly, shaking his head a little. "You don't know Harry like we do, George. And that's just it, Hermione. He's not acting distraught. He's not...well...he's not acting like anything. He hasn't drifted off in class, but he's not super-observant, either. He did just fine on the Quidditch pitch. It's almost like last night didn't happen at all."
Once again she frowned. "He hasn't even said anything to you about it?"
Fred spoke up with a grin. "The boy's got the right idea. We don't want anyone to know what happened, remember?"
Hermione rolled her eyes skyward. "It's one thing to pretend like it's a normal day outwardly, Fred. It's quite another to convince yourself that something terrible didn't happen last night."
"Is that what you think he's doing, Hermione?" This from George, who'd finally begun to look a bit concerned.
"I don't know, I've barely seen him all day. We don't take many of the same classes anymore - Ron does, though, which is why I asked him." She turned toward Ron again, shifting the books in her arms a bit. "You're certain you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary?"
Ron paused, then shook his head. "I did, but I can't figure it out. Something's different, but I don't think it's something that happened because of last night. I've felt like this for a few days now - like there's something I don't know..." He trailed off as the twins exchanged a wary glance, then grit his teeth. "And apparently, I was right. What do you two know that we don't?"
Again Hermione shifted, her gaze somewhat accusing as she looked toward the twins, who were staring evasively at the sky.
"The Aurora Borealis is caused by gases mingling in the air," Fred stated knowingly.
Once more Hermione rolled her eyes, exhaling in frustration. "Actually, I did know that, and you know damned well that that's not what he meant!"
George spoke up quickly, looking slightly abashed. "Look, Hermione....Ron... it's just... it's not our news to tell, okay?"
"Where have I heard that before," Ron spoke up bitterly.
"Hey, you guys. You do realize that you look rather conspicuous, standing out here in the freezing cold, whispering?" Neville smiled, amusement lacing his words, though his eyes remained serious. He said nothing further as he reached over to take Hermione's books from her arms, ignoring her assertion that she could carry them herself.
"We-we weren't whispering! We were....we were talking!" Ron stammered the words out, his voice high and nervous.
Hermione just rolled her eyes, and Neville grinned once more. "I wasn't going to ask what you were talking about - I just thought you'd want to know that if you keep standing still and huddling like this, then everyone else is going to ask you what you were talking about."
George grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck once more. "Thanks, Neville. We weren't thinking." He began to walk back toward the school, motioning for the others to follow him.
"We really ought to make plans to meet up secretly each day, just to see if there's anything new." Hermione spoke matter of factly even as she wondered if she ought to try and catch up with Neville, who had tactfully moved ahead, just out of hearing distance if they kept their voices low. It had suddenly occurred to her that she didn't want anyone to see the subject matter of her studies - not if she wanted to keep Dumbledore's condition a secret. Somehow, though, it didn't really bother her that Neville might look.
"At different times, though. It would look fairly odd if we all started to disappear at the same time every night." This came from Ron, who earned himself glances of surprise and respect from his older brothers.
Fred nodded. "Tonight, then. 9:13 precisely. We'll meet at the closet right next to the portrait of that buxom blonde dairymaid. Y'know the one, right? Peeves hovers there a lot to taunt at students late for classes."
The statement was met with silent agreement, and after a moment George changed the subject. "So, Ron... what do you think about trying to teach the Chasers a modified version of the Wronski Feint as a diversion tactic?"
Hermione rolled her eyes as the three brothers excitedly discussed their favorite topic - the one thing guaranteed to bore her out of her mind. A moment later she went after Neville, disappearing back into the school with him.
***
"So are you planning on telling me what it is you're looking for, or are you just going to pretend that I didn't notice the rather odd books you're compiling?" Neville's gently prodding words caused Hermione to jerk her head up in shock.
Despite himself, Neville smiled. "You don't need to look so panicked, Hermione. I'm not going to push you." He paused, then continued, his voice dropping slightly. "However, if you tell me what you're looking for, I may be able to help. I'm not nearly as smart as you are, but I like reading and I'm not entirely stupid."
Hermione shook her head in dismay, reaching forward impulsively to cover his hand with her own. "Neville, you are not stupid, not in any way. It's just... " She trailed off, turning her head away as she slowly pulled her hand back.
Long seconds passed as Neville watched her silently, his cheeks lightly flushed with embarrassment. Finally he nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "It's alright, Hermione. I'll just leave you to your studying. See you later."
She almost let him go. She tried, she really did. It was just that he was always so helpful, and she felt so damned guilty. Just before he walked out of sight, Hermione called out quietly.
"Neville, wait." She stared at the table, unable to meet his eyes when he looked back at her over his shoulder. Silence reigned for several moments, until finally Neville just shook his head. He wouldn't beg - he'd promised himself he'd never return to being the cowardly child he was trying to grow out of. Once again he turned to leave.
"Tonight, 9:13 precisely. The closet by some portrait of a blonde dairymaid." The words were clipped and barely audible, spoken to the table she was staring so intently at.
Turning his head to hide his smile, Neville nodded. "See you then." This time he really did leave, and Hermione slumped.
"Now I just have to warn Ron," she advised herself.
Silence.
"Without setting him off."
Silence.
"Fucking hell."
***
Harry finished dinner quickly, outwardly calm and inwardly numb. He felt like he'd put his mind on pause, though his head had begun to throb with the effort of not thinking. Beside him, his friends talked with false cheer and what seemed to him to be incredibly obvious pseudo-normalcy.
As soon as he could, Harry made his excuses and hurried from the dining hall, not caring that Ron and Hermione stared after him worriedly.
Once he'd snuck back into Dumbledore's office, Harry exhaled a breath he'd been unaware of holding. He'd been waiting for this moment all day; it had been all he could do to even attend classes and meals.
Silently Harry wandered around the room, his green eyes sliding over the desk, noting the absence of anything that would indicate the incident of the previous night. Even the inkpot was refilled, sitting atop the Headmaster's desk. It didn't really surprise him; Snape was nothing if not anally meticulous.
A long period of time passed as the Gryffindor just wandered around the room, his fingers sliding absently along the various magical artifacts and amusing gadgets that had made up Professor Dumbledore's collection of treasures. He didn't shed a tear as he paced, didn't stifle a sob, didn't even look for clues or information as he should have done.
Late into the evening, Harry grieved the loss of the one person who'd watched over him throughout his entire life. Not without error; there'd been many times when Dumbledore had slipped up. But at least he'd been there, at least he'd cared.
A movement at the edge of his vision caused Harry to turn his head, and he sighed softly as Fawkes settled on his shoulder. Slowly his hand lifted, and he gently rubbed the phoenix's head, giving what comfort he could.
"Why is it that I always lose everyone I care about? Everyone who ever cared about me?" He addressed the bird contemplatively, moving to sit in the high-backed chair behind the desk. His voice was oddly matter-of-fact and conversational, without a hint of self-pity - at first.
"Is it because of Voldemort? I didn't ask to defeat him, y'know. I didn't ask to be pitted against him, to be considered the only person who could beat him. I - I didn't ask to put everyone in danger..." Harry trailed off at the persistent nudging against his neck. He turned toward Fawkes, then grimaced ruefully. "Yeah, I know. We play the hand we're dealt."
He frowned abruptly. "I have a question, though, Fawkes. If you knew his capabilities, why did you give up two feathers for two wands? Why give him the capability to do the horrible things that he does?"
The words seemed to offend the phoenix, as he turned somewhat haughtily and flew from the room. Harry sighed irritably, rubbing his suddenly throbbing scar. "It was a good question," he muttered.
Harry sat still for a bit longer, trying to ignore the pain in his head, then reluctantly pushed to his feet, speaking quietly to himself as he looked around the room one last time. "I will do what's been fortold, Professor. I swear I will."
***
"I need to talk with you." Hermione didn't look at Ron as she spoke almost inaudibly that evening in the common room.
He didn't say a word, just shifted on the couch to let her know he'd heard. Perhaps five minutes later he rose to his feet, gathering up his work and yawning. "McGonagall should be shot for assigning this much work in one week. I'm bloody exhausted."
"She's just lit up 'cause Dumbledore left Professor Snape in charge instead of her." Dean grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched. Seeing the move, Ginny reached over, continuing to read as she kneaded his shoulder with one hand.
"No kidding." Ron grinned over at Dean, then frowned abruptly. "Merlin, Ginny, you're in public!"
The girl just rolled her eyes, exhanging a look with Hermione before glancing back toward Ron. "You aren't considered 'public', Ron."
Her brother gestured around the common room at the various other Gryffindors almost incredulously. "And what would that make all them?"
Snickers were heard as the students looked up from the games they were playing and the homework they were doing, grinning in anticipation of another row between Ginny and Ron. Their variations on verbal mudslinging could get quite creative, and since the Weasleys usually ended up laughing in the end, it was pure entertainment every time.
Ginny looked around nonchalantly, then smiled sweetly at her brother. "Unlike yourself, they're not prudes."
A ripple of laughter, quickly smothered, moved through the room, and Ron glared at her. Hermione stood up, gathered her things, and left the common room unnoticed. She glanced behind her to make certain no one was watching, then darted into the boy's wing to wait for Ron.
"Just because you're an exhibitionist doesn't make me a prude, Virginia Weasley!"
"Aww, look at him, Dean. His ears are turning red. He's really embarrassed. How cute!" Ginny's sugary voice wafted into the stairway, and Hermione grinned.
Not wanting to get caught, she reluctantly left the door and moved to Harry and Ron's room. It was such a relief that they had their own room this year - she only wished she could share hers with Ginny, but the girl was too young yet.
Perhaps ten minutes later, the door opened and Ron slipped in, grinning widely. "Oh, I so kicked her ass."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "You two have entirely too much fun being mean to each other."
He just smiled at her, not denying it. A moment later he tilted his head curiously. "You needed to talk to me?"
Her smile faded and she took a deep breath, looking around wearily. She really wasn't looking forward to this conversation. "Is there any possibility that Harry might walk in on this, or that anyone's listening outside?"
"I suppose so - I've no idea where Harry is, and some of the guys have Extendable Ears."
"We need to go somewhere else, then."
Ron frowned, then nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, wait here."
He stepped out of the room, disappearing for a minute or so, then poked his head in the door and grabbed his towel, gesturing lightly. "C'mon."
They slipped through the hallway and into the boy's shower room. Ron closed the door, locking it before stuffing the towel under the door. When Hermione parted her lips to speak, he shook his head to quiet her. Though he'd checked just moments before, he again pushed open the stall doors. Satisfied that no one was around, he turned on a few showerheads to cover up their conversation and returned to her side.
"That oughta do it."
"...Why did you turn on the showers?" Hermione was looking at him rather curiously, as if he were a puzzle she needed to figure out. He shrugged briefly.
"Bathrooms tend to echo. The water will help muffle our words."
"Oh..." She trailed off, eyeing her friend with newfound respect. While she'd always known that Ron was far from stupid, it had been awhile since he'd done anything that had both surprised and impressed her.
Disconcerted by the look, Ron glanced away, rubbing idly at his wrist. "So what was it you wanted to talk about?"
Hermione bit her lip, flushing lightly and dropping her gaze to the floor. "I just wanted to... to check in."
He looked back at her, lifting a brow in amusement. "Check in on what? The interior design job on the boy's bathroom?"
She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes angrily. She was nervous, and this was no time to joke around! "No, you git. On Harry."
"I wasn't Harry the last time I checked." Ron smirked, taking a good look at himself in the mirror before shaking his head ruefully. "Nope, still not. Time for glasses, Herm?" He grinned, deliberately using the hated nickname.
"Don't call me that!" Her hands clenched at her sides. She hated that nickname. "And I don't need glasses! I know you aren't Harry, that wasn't what I meant!"
He laughed. "It's entirely too easy to provoke you, Hermione, you know that?" At her accusing glare he sobered, suddenly feeling guilty for being able to relax when Dumbledore was so ill. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. "So what was it that you did mean?"
She huffed lightly, anger provoking her into blurting out what she'd meant to take care revealing. "I'm going to tell Neville everything; I've invited him to the meeting tonight."
His sudden stillness was unnerving. "You did what?" He nearly shouted the words, pushing away from the wall angrily.
"I... I invited him to the meeting. He's got a right to know everything, Ron. Especially if something should happen to us. We need someone else to help Harry!"
"Bloody hell, Hermione, what the fuck is Neville going to do? Twitch at him?"
Her own face darkened with fury. "That isn't fair, Ron."
"You want me to be fair, Hermione? This isn't a bloody game! There's every chance that one or all of us might die when everything finally goes down."
"Merlin, don't you think I know that?"
"You sure as hell don't act like it! Neville, for Merlin's sake! Why didn't you just ask Peeves to help - he'd probably be more effective, and he's incorporeal!"
"Shut up, Ron. Just because Neville's making far more progress in the DA than you are is no reason to be such a jealous, bitter arse." Sufficiently angered to avoid pulling her punches, Hermione struck where it hurt the most - his pride and self-esteem.
Unfortunately, the bright young Gryffindor also forgot what a bad idea it was to anger Ron these days. For weeks later she cursed her own stupidity and lack of control. At the time however, she didn't notice her friend's grasp on sanity vanish. She didn't see the dilation of his pupils or the flush of color that turned his face red. Not until his strong hands closed about her throat, when it was too late.
"Arrogant, know-it-all mudblood!" Ron nearly hissed the words at her. Her eyes widened in panic, and her small hands gripped at his hands, trying unsuccessfully to pry his fingers loose. She'd screwed up royally, this time.
"Ron-" she choked out, blinking back tears as she tried to breathe.
"Shut up!" He shook her, cracking her head back against the wall. Spots blocked her vision, and she whimpered in pain. "You think you know everything, and you don't care whom you hurt so long as you get your way, you stupid bitch!"
Hermione shuddered, her eyes closed tightly as she struggled to keep calm. It was hard; she was terrified. His words hurt her almost as much as the hands cutting off her air, because she knew how irrational they were. She'd forgotten to keep him calm, and it was starting to look like she'd pay for it with her life. Stupid, really, when her goal had been to prevent just this. If only she'd asked Ginny to come.
Ron didn't seem aware of what he was doing as his hands began to tighten, his knuckles white from the strain of constricting around her throat. His eyes were unfocused, his teeth clenched. Had Hermione cared to open her eyes, she wouldn't have recognized him. Then again, she wouldn't have expected to.
"R-Ron, please..." The words barely made it past her throat. She shuddered, trying to keep from swaying. She had to do something - anything - to get past the monster that had taken over her friend. Desperately she opened her eyes, staring at the distorted face in front of her.
Later Hermione tried to analyzed how it all happened, but she couldn't quite figure it out. All she could remember was being terrified and dizzy, and then her lips were against his own.
At the first touch of her mouth, Ron only seemed to get angrier. His lips parted, his teeth nipping painfully at hers. She tried to jerk her head away, but only succeeded in receiving another fierce blow against the wall and increasing his rage. Hermione didn't notice that his hands had moved from her neck to her hair, where they held her head back in a painful, pliant position as he seemed to try and devour her.
Abruptly his mouth moved, and she panted heavily, gasping for air. A sharp yelp of pain echoed throughout the bathroom as his teeth sunk into the hollow of her throat, and her arms jerked as she fought the reflex to push him away. Fighting him wasn't going to work, she knew that instinctively.
Automatically her hands lifted to his head, stroking his hair with deliberate, choppy movements. Her loud panting began to slow and she closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the horribly violated feeling his actions induced.
"Ron - Ron, please," she whispered on a sob. Stranglely, it seemed to reach the boy somehow, for although his teeth continued to gnaw the flesh at her jawline, they gentled slightly.
Tears slid down the young girl's face as she forced her hands to ease against his skull, until her fingers threaded through his hair, massaging gently. When his mouth came down on hers again, she flinched but didn't fight him. Her lips parted beneath his own, and her tongue timidly sought his, trying to set a gentler tone than the previous invasion.
Moments later a shudder ran down Ron's spine, and his eyes closed tightly. Tears spiked his lashes as his kiss gentled. Tenderly his tongue brushed her lips, soothing the throbbing skin with uncommon patience. When his lips slanted against hers once more, they did so without demand or desire to force a response. Instead they offered an apology, and his hands slid slowly down her arms to thread his fingers through her own.
When the rough sobs that had shaken her body seemed to slow, Ron lifted his head and took a deep breath, his eyes closed.
"Hermione," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm so so sorry. I felt it come, but I wasn't quick enough..." He trailed off, then opened his eyes to look at her. Abruptly he flinched, pulling away immediately, all color drained from his face.
"Oh Merlin, did I do that to you?" Ron stared at the mass of bruises on her neck, starting to shake. His eyes traveled over the imprints of his fingers, the darkening skin surrounded by the rounded grip of his own teeth.
Hermioned wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, her head ducked. She couldn't stand to look at him, didn't want to think about what had occurred - especially the last bit of it. Another sob slipped from her throat, and she edged toward the door.
"Wait! Hermione, please - I won't hurt you again, I swear it. But you can't go out like that, I..." he trailed off, turning away and trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. He couldn't look at her, couldn't bear to see the marks that he'd put on her. It was unthinkable that he'd been able to hurt her.
"I - I'm sorry, I - I have to go. I didn't mean to... it's not your fault. I sh-should have..." She lifted her head suddenly, staring at him pleadingly. Ron wished he knew what she wanted. He didn't understand that she needed to be held, needed the imprint of the monster replaced with something else. It didn't even occur to him that she'd want him anywhere near her after what he'd done.
Hermione knew she couldn't stand there any longer. She could barely breathe past the rock of guilt and fear that sat in the bottom of her lungs. Unable to say another word, she raced for the door, forgetting that he'd locked it magically.
Ron almost cried when he saw her frantic tugging on the door that refused to open. He stepped closer, hating the tension that filled her frame as he drew his wand.
"Alohomora."
A soft cry of relief escaped her throat as the door jerked open. Uncaring that anyone might see her, Hermione raced out the door, disappearing down the stairs.
***
"Do you think we're doing the right thing?"
Being twins allowed the Weasley's a certain advantage; while they couldn't literally read each other's minds, they always knew what the other was thinking.
"Keeping Harry's secret, y'mean? Not certain." George frowned as he poured two drops of a purple liquid into a small jar, then cursed as the mixture turned brown instead of yellow. "Bloody damned son of a squib."
Despite the serious topic at hand, Fred grinned, looking up for a moment from his so-called Evil Sensor - which still wasn't working how he wanted it. "You're adding too much."
"I put in two bloody drops, like Snape said!"
Fred shrugged, narrowing his eyes at the contraption he was currently picking apart. "Your drops are too big."
George cursed again, then flung the dropper across the room. Fred looked up at the sound of glass breaking, then lofted a brow.
"I always thought that one was a bit of a stroppy cow, myself," he said nonchalantly of the destroyed dropper.
"Oh, shut up." George huffed, then shoved his fingers through his hair. "Why is it I'm mixing the potion when you're better at it?"
"Because I take great enjoyment watching you destroy our tools."
Fred grinned when George thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "I see your point."
Perhaps a second later a bright flash burst from the Sensor, promptly followed by a hiss and the distinctive smell of something burning. Fred yelped, jumping away from the destructive tablet.
"Son of a motherless goat! That's the fifth time today - knock it off!"
George laughed, watching his brother shake his fist at the inanimate object, then swipe it off the table. "Well, you certainly told it who's boss."
Fred just rolled his eyes, then sunk down onto the dilapitated sofa that comprised the furniture in the old potions classroom, aside from a few tables and a shelving unit. "I think we're setting ourselves up for a fall, and I really don't understand why we're doing it. Telling them everything will only help us."
George dumped out the failed potion, speaking quietly. "We're not telling them because he doesn't want us to."
"He's not being rational, George, and you know it."
Again the twin nodded, beginning to prepare the potion yet again. "I know."
"Then why are we listening to him? This isn't something insignificant that can be overlooked!"
"Because it's his life, and he's been given little control over it as it is. Because Dumbledore told us to wait just a bit longer." He paused then, his voice dropping to just slightly more than a whisper, soft with regret and resignation. "...But mostly because it may be the last thing we can do for him, Fred."
***
She almost made it out without getting caught.
Unfortunately, sneaking out of the boy's dorm was far easier when one actually cared about not being seen. Hermione wasn't thinking clearly enough to give a shit, though she cursed herself when she felt an hand close about her arm. She jerked it quickly, not bothering to look back as she raced forward, struggling not to cry.
The grip didn't give and she came to an abrupt halt, then stumbled backward, unable to stifle a small whimper of fear.
"Hermione?"
Abruptly Hermione spun and sunk against Dean's chest, clenching her teeth to stop them from chattering. His arms wrapped around her automatically, and he stared down at the girl, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Hermione never panicked like this.
"Merlin, what happened to you?"
She shook her head, forcing herself to step backward, already regretting the weak moment where she'd turned to someone else for comfort. "Nothing, I'm - I'm fine."
Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation, though his words were gentle when he spoke. "Hermione, you're shaking. Come on, you can't stay out here." He pushed the door behind him open, gesturing to his room.
Once again she shook her head, taking another step backward. "No, I...I should leave. I'm not supposed to be here. Besides, I....I...I told Ginny I'd meet her ten minutes ago!"
Despite himself, Dean smiled. "Well, you've come to the right place. She's in here. Come on."
Hermione blushed in embarrassment, but saw no help for it. She folded her arms across her chest defensively, then walked into the room, taking extreme care to avoid even brushing Dean as she walked by.
As soon as she looked around, Hermione wished she'd just stayed in bed this morning. Waking up made things entirely too complicated. Neville looked up from his homework, smiling.
"Hermione, what are you - what the hell happened?" By the time he'd finished speaking, Neville had crossed the room and gripped her shoulders tightly.
Humiliated and ashamed, the young girl ducked her head, shaking her hair forward to try and hide the bruises that marred her throat. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't mention the fact that someone decided you'd look better in purple? Who the hell was it!" He demanded in a furious tone that she'd never heard before from Neville.
"Neville!" Ginny crawled out from underneath Dean's bed and hurried toward her friend. Quickly she placed a hand atop the angry boy's. "You're hurting her, yourself. Let go. Dean, close the door."
"No one, nothing, I'm fine. Truly!" Hermione lifted her head, forcing a rather pathetic smile. She didn't realize that her eyes looked unfocused and haunted, but the others did.
"No, you're not. Sit down. Neville, go get some water from the common room. Dean, go with him." Dean lifted a brow at Ginny's demanding tone, but he understood what she was doing. He had no intention of following Neville, of course - someone had to guard the door - but Hermione didn't need to know that.
Neville didn't particularly like the idea of being forced to leave, either, but he went along when Dean gripped his arm and practically shoved him out the door. It closed behind them, leaving the two girls staring at each other silently. Hermione was the first to drop her gaze.
Ginny took a deep breath, releasing it slowly and praying for patience. She moved forward to sit next to her friend, then very carefully wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulder, holding her for a few silent minutes.
"Feel like talking about it?"
Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes tightly. She didn't want to talk about it; she was trying not to even think about it. It wasn't working, of course, but effort counted, right?
"You probably should, Hermione. Besides, if you don't tell me now, I won't stop the boys from questioning you - and something tells me that you don't want that."
The bright young Gryffindor absorbed the matter-of-fact statement without response, and her brows knit as she thought carefully about the ramifications of what she had to say. She'd made the mistake once of not thoroughly planning her strategy; she wasn't about to make the same mistakes again.
"Ginny... you're not going to like it."
The redhead shrugged blithely. "There are a lot of things that I don't like, Hermione. I already don't like this situation. You're not going to change that much."
Her nonchalant attitude irritated Hermione, causing her to completely forget her resolution just seconds before to think before she spoke. Instead, she blurted out the words, wanting to prove the other girl wrong.
"It was Ron."
Ginny paled, shook her head. "I'm sorry... say that again?"
Hermione bit her lip, wincing as she watched the color drain from the other girl's face. "I...Ron did this."
Ginny closed her eyes tightly, then stood. "I don't believe you!"
Once again Hermione winced, then simply lifted her head and met Ginny's distraught gaze. "The anger, Gin."
The youngest Weasley seemed to deflate before her very eyes. She sunk back onto the bed, then pressed her palms against her eyes. "Oh, God..."
She hadn't wanted to admit it, but she knew this was going to happen. Knew Ron would go off sometime when she wasn't around. It was her fault - she hadn't been there like she'd promised.
"Go find him, Ginny. He's in the shower room, and... he remembers, this time."
"Oh, God." The redhead paled even further, if that were possible. "I can't leave you - I'll send Dean."
Again Hermione shook her head. "No, you're his sister. You need to talk to him. I just - I can't right now, okay?"
Ginny bit her lip, then nodded reluctantly and stood up. "Don't go anywhere, okay? Stay until Dean and Neville come back. It's probably not a good idea for you to be alone, right now." She moved toward the door, then paused and looked back, her hands wringing together nervously.
"Did you want to say something, Gin?"
Again the Weasley bit her lip, then stared at some point on the far wall as she requested softly. "I hate to ask, but...it might help me with Ron. How...um...how far did it go?"
"He choked me, Ginny - or perhaps you didn't notice." Hermione literally snapped the words.
Ginny nodded, then exhaled softly. "I did. But Hermione? Your lips are bruised..."
Immediately the brunette lifted a hand to brush her fingers against her swollen lips. She ducked her head and nodded a little. "He kissed me – if you could call it that."
"I - I'm sorry, Hermione. That must've been awful, to be touched that way by a friend."
She just nodded, saying nothing more until Ginny reluctantly left the room.
"Yeah, awful."
A pause, then a soft, despairing groan.
"Too bad I liked it."
***
This wasn't happening. It just wasn't. He absolutely refused to believe that he could lose control of himself so badly. That he could hurt Hermione, of all people. Ron slid his hands through his hair for perhaps the tenth time, then grit his teeth and turned, thrusting a fisted hand into the wall. Numbly he looked down, noting the bloody knuckles with a smirk of self-disgust. At least this time he'd hurt himself. Merlin, he felt sick.
It was the last thought he had for a few minutes as he knelt over a toilet, retching violently. Nothing came up, but he couldn't seem to stop the clenching of his stomach. Finally he sat, collapsing back against the wall, his forehead beaded with sweat as he groaned softly. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he couldn't seem to rub it away. He kept seeing the horror in her eyes, the bruised look of her neck and her lips before she'd run out. Again his stomach rebelled against his thoughts, though he managed to swallow the taste of bile in his throat.
Eventually the distraught Gryffindor managed to gather himself to his feet and lurch toward the shower, dragging his clothes off as he went. Once inside, he stood beneath the powerful spray, his head tilted up to welcome the scalding hot water. He parted his lips, swallowing what he could, his arms shaking as his palms braced against the wall. Ron never knew how long he stood there, bowing his head at some point and just letting the water rush over him. He didn't notice when the shower turned cold - he was trembling just as badly when he finally turned the water off as he had been before he turned it on. An aching numbness resided in his throat, and for awhile it was all he could do to drag in air. But slowly warmth returned to his body, and with it a fierce determination. This would not happen again. He wouldn't allow something - someone - to control him in such a manner.
Ron had never been a fool. He knew that he wasn't the bravest of blokes - or the smartest, or the most talented. But he was loyal, and he had never backed down when his friends needed him. Even if sometimes it had taken him awhile to step up, he always did, in the end. This time would be no different. What he and Hermione had allowed to happen was now affecting the people he cared about in a most horrible manner, and he wouldn't tolerate it any longer.
As he dried himself off, Ron stared at his face in the mirror. He didn't look any different, but he felt different. Later he'd decide that everyone had moments in their lives where something changed drastically. They were the moments that had the power to make or break people. Ron remembered the look in Harry's eyes after he'd faced Voldemort their first year; more than that, he remembered the change that had come over his friend after the death of Cedric, and again after Sirius. Harry'd been having defining moments and growing up for years now. This time, it was his turn. It was long past time he stopped being a passenger waiting for the train to stop.
As he finished dressing, a light knock on the door lifted his head.
"Ron..? Ron, are you in there? Anyone? Beware the girl, I'm coming in!" It was Ginny.
Ron just stared at her as she walked inside, closing the door quickly behind her.
"Are you alright? You look horrible. Hermione said-" She broke off her rambling words when her brother lifted his hand. Silently her green eyes searched his own, clearly worried.
"It's okay, Gin. No, I'm not alright." He lifted his chin, his gaze narrowing when she started to protest. "But I will be, Gin. I will be. I promise."
She walked closer, resting a hand on his arm, her gaze concerned as she bit her lip, wondering just how far to push. Surprisingly, his hand shifted, his fingers linking with her own and squeezing tightly.
"It'll be okay. I'm going to fix all this. It won't happen again. But Gin, I want you to do me a favor."
"Anything."
He took a deep breath, squeezing her hand again and meeting her eyes directly. She sucked in a breath - her brother looked... old. Like... like Harry. A shiver of apprehension ran up her spine - something told her she wasn't going to like his request.
She was right.
***
"Forget it, Potter. You're never going to be able to do this right. Crabbe and Goyle learn faster than you do. I suggest you give up and accept the fact that you're worm's meat." A dry chuckle followed Malfoy's mocking words, and the blond turned and moved toward the other side of the room, wiping his arm against his forehead.
"Fuck off, Malfoy. You're just terrified that I'll figure it out and use it on you. You can't handle pain, and we both know it. Bloody hell, every time you end up in the Infirmary, you stay twice as long as anyone else with the same injury would." Even as he spat out the words, Harry gratefully lowered his wand, panting softly. Sweat dripped unhindered from his jaw as he took the moment to gather his strength. He'd been so distracted tonight - half of Malfoy's attacks had hit him dead on. Luckily, however, he'd avoided using the Unforgivable Curses. Privately, Harry thought he'd be dead by now if Malfoy hadn't arrogantly decided that there were other things he needed to learn first.
The Slytherin surprisingly reacted without anger. Instead he rolled his eyes and sank down onto a sofa, making himself comfortable as he eyed the dripping Gryffindor.
"Give me a break, Potter. The best way to find out what's happening in other Houses is through the Infirmary. All sorts of gossip is relayed to those resting there. You'd be surprised what someone can learn while faking that they're asleep."
It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Right, Malfoy. Like anyone would forget to guard their words around you. Name one thing you've learned that doesn't pass through the entire school's gossip mill."
Draco narrowed his gaze, stiffening slightly. A smirk crossed his lips, and he leaned back languidly. He watched Harry unobtrusively as he drawled slowly, "I've learned that Dumbledore wasn't called away by some mysterious letter."
The young Gryffindor whirled around, green eyes flaring wide behind his glasses. His hands fisted tightly at his sides, but he managed to choke back his reponse long enough to sound just slightly nonchalant when he replied, "...What makes you think that?"
Harry flinched lightly when Draco just laughed, idly twirling his wand through his fingers. "You suck at lying, Potter. You know full well what I'm talking about."
"I most certainly do not!"
Abruptly Draco abandoned his relaxed posture, sitting up and placing his feet on the floor, elbows resting atop his knees as he clasped his wand between his linked hands. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to, Potter? I'm a Malfoy. We're...trained, shall we say - in the ability to separate lies from truth. Don't you dare think that you - Hogwart's own Golden Boy - can even come close to me when it comes to deception." The words were almost hissed at Harry, who paled, then volleyed derisively.
"You would find that something to be proud of, Malfoy."
Draco laughed, though he didn't exactly sound amused. "You're right, I do. At least I know how to keep a secret - you give absolutely everything away."
Harry clutched his wand tightly, struggling not to react. "I have no idea what you're rambling about."
Once again the other boy laughed, then pushed himself to his feet, slowly advancing toward the Gryffindor, who held stock still.
"Of course not, Potter. That's why Fred and George Weasley - merely adequate Quidditch players - were called in to coach for an entire semester for one game. Curious, isn't it, that their father has called in to work since the night the Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban?" Draco smiled rather maliciously, folding his arms over his chest as he began to pace casually, continuing to speak with nauseating arrogance. "Then there's the Weasel's abrupt and rather obvious bout of anger in the dining hall the other day. While rash and quite stupid, he doesn't generally fly off the handle like that. Add in Dumbledore leaving control of the school to Professor Snape without any indication to McGonagall - who was clearly shocked when the announcement was made at breakfast - and things begin to look more than a bit suspicious."
He stopped, standing almost on top of Harry's shoes as he looked down disdainfully at the boy. His voice hovered just above a whisper when he finally spoke. "And then there's you, Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, who's outsmarted the infamous Lord Voldemort time and time again, coming to me for help. "
"To learn the Unforgivable Curses, which you could be locked up for even knowing!" Harry nearly shouted the words, his cheeks flagged with embarrassment as he flung up his wand arm, only to have it gripped tightly at the wrist.
"Feeling defensive, Potter?" Draco smirked knowingly as he dug his nails into Harry's skin, who opened his mouth to speak, then went abruptly silent. The Gryffindor pressed his lips together in a tight, thin line. His green eyes never wavered from the intense, mocking grey of the Slytherin.
"Well, at least you're smart enough to know that speaking at all would only incriminate yourself further." Malfoy waited another moment, silently relishing the defiant glare he was receiving. He smirked to himself. This really was entirely too easy.
The satisfaction vanished abruptly when a powerful left hook took him by surprise, quickly followed by a knee to his left inner thigh. Draco staggered backward in pain, cursing loudly.
"Son of a Muggle-born bitch, Potter! What the fuck was that for?"
Harry just stared at Malfoy, not even bothering to rub his hand. His wand remained drawn and steady, pointed directly at the other boy.
"As you said, Malfoy...I'm smart enough to know when speaking wouldn't help." The words were deadly soft, determination throbbing in each syllable. "Luckily...I'm not completely helpless without a wand, like some are."
Draco's pale skin flushed with anger. He lifted his wand quickly, and for long moments the two faced each other squarely, neither blinking. No hands trembled, no ragged breaths drew in or released in uneven rhythm. Had anyone been present, they'd have thought the sight odd at the very least. Perhaps the eerie calm would have frightened them, for such a potentially deadly scene rarely passed with such stillness.
Time passed - or didn't. Neither boy noticed or cared, until finally Harry's wand lowered, then slid in a smooth motion into his sleeve as he abandoned his position and straightened. Green eyes keenly watched the Slytherin, who had yet to sheath his own weapon.
"Perhaps you ought to tell me what it is you think you know, Malfoy." The only surprise in the sentence was the lack of malevolence attached to the tone, and it was apparently sufficient enough to allow Draco to release himself from his frozen position.
Casually the taller boy straightened, tucking away his wand and turning his back on the Gryffindor as he moved calmly to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a glass of water, kept on hand for their infrequent breaks. He swirled the contents of his glass idly, as if it were wine he intended to savor, and once more silence reigned until he seemed to come to some sort of decision. Harry watched with ill-concealed impatience, and only when his hands finally fisted in frustration did Draco take a large gulp of his water and set it aside. He fixed his gaze on Harry, then settled himself on the sofa once more.
"I believe we are at somewhat of an impasse, Potter. You see, I know better than to give away the upper hand. While I imagine you know much of what I know, you still have not connected all the dots yet. However," he paused, lifting his gaze to the ceiling as if searching for answers before allowing it to return to the other boy. "I am also aware that there are things that I do not know, and I believe that some information that you have is possibly more valuable than you might think. Normally I would never give such a thing away, however these are not normal times. I am beginning to believe that time is running out for me to attain the goal I've set for myself."
"Which is?" Harry interrupted, his voice laced with impatience.
Draco smiled briefly, then tilted his head forward a bit, as if conceding a point. "The Death of the Dark Lord, of course."
A soft gasp of shock followed the words, quickly replaced by the wary narrowing of green eyes. "What?"
"Sit down, Potter, before you further disgrace yourself by fainting of shock." Harry didn't realize he was doing as Malfoy instructed until he felt the cushion beneath his thighs.
"Why?"
"Why do I want him dead, or why am I telling you?" Draco smirked a bit as he watched Harry try to shove away the confusion. Predictable boy.
"I...both."
"I want him dead because he destroyed something of mine."
Images, dark and horrific, flashed through Harry's mind, and he looked at the other boy with sudden clarity. "Your father. He killed your father."
Draco couldn't hide his shock. "How do you know about that?"
Harry bit his lip and glanced away, shrugging lightly and speaking quietly. "I...saw it. The other night, when you..." He trailed off, suddenly horrified that he'd inadvertently intruded on Malfoy's most private memories.
"You saw... When I what?" Draco paled as he hissed the words from clenched teeth. He did not like the idea of the insufferable Boy Who Lived venturing into his private thoughts.
"Damnit!" Harry muttered the word in self-disgust, turning away and lifting a hand to rub wearily at the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, saying nothing further as he silently pondered how badly his foot was going to taste this time around. Knowing other people's thoughts was about as appreciated in the wizarding world as being a Parselmouth.
"Potter, I'm not going to repeat myself." The two boys had argued enough over the years to know the difference between a real breaking point and a public breaking point. One was mostly glitter - a show to put on because it was expected. The other was far more serious, and accounted for far fewer of their encounters. Draco's tone immediately alerted Harry to the fact that he'd not only crossed the line, he'd ventured into entirely new territory.
"Draco, listen..." It was the first time Harry had ever called Draco by his given name - and the Slytherin never noticed. Anger and pain blazed fiercely from the boy's grey eyes, and Harry flinched from the sight, lifting a hand in useless supplication. "First...try and understand... I didn't do it on purpose."
"Potter, if you don't just spit it out, I swear to Salazar I'll turn you inside out and hang you from the ramparts!" Draco was swiftly losing his control. So lost in his own guilty confession, Harry failed to recognize the severity of the situation. He blurted out his answer angrily, his own anger sparked.
"The night you went bloody mad and nearly killed me, I slipped into your mind and saw your father murdered while you stood by and did nothing, alright!"
"God damn you!" Draco's anguished, infuriated shout was followed instantly by the force of the taller boy rushing at Harry, slamming him into the wall. His head cracked back against the stone, his cry of pain cut short by the fist that snapped at his lower jaw.
Furious at the reminder of that horrid night and desperate to kill the guilt that threatened to choke him, Draco didn't really notice the damage he was doing to Harry. Again and again his fists slammed into the other boy, connecting with anything he could reach.
For Harry, the physical pain of the beating was secondary to his own guilt at having provoked it. He knew what it felt like to watch as someone died, knew how twisted Voldemort could be. How could he have been so insensitive? Appalled at his own behavior, Harry thoughtlessly allowed his wand to fall from his fingers and lifted his hands in attempt to ward off the worst of the blows.
Eventually the inevitable happened, and Harry couldn't prevent the hoarse shout of pain that lept from his throat as his rib snapped. He doubled over, cursing and blinking back tears as Malfoy finally stepped away to look down at his bloody fists somewhat incredulously.
"Shit." Draco turned his back on the other boy and walked to the water pitcher, suddenly desperate to clean his hands. By the time he'd finished pouring water over his knuckles and drying them on his shirt, his breathing had calmed considerably. Wearily he looked back at the Gryffindor, who'd fallen to his knees, arms wrapped around his chest. Guilt flooded his cheeks with color, and he grabbed the pitcher and crouched in front of Harry.
"Take off your shirt and let me see." The words were spoken gruffly, weighted by his own embarrassment, though there was enough starch in his tone to indicate that he'd not forgotten the other boy's remarks.
Harry shook his head quickly, not quite meeting Draco's eyes. "I'm fine, really. Just - ow, damnit!"
He broke off as Malfoy reached forward and grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head and causing no small amount of pain at the abrupt movement.
"Just be still, will you? Tell me if this hurts." Harry clenched his jaw as Draco began sliding his fingers along his bruised ribs, finding tender spots now and again. Carefully Draco prodded the other boy's chest, seeking the extent of the damage he'd caused, until finally Harry drew in a swift breath of pain.
Draco glanced up at the Gryffindor, noting the glazed green eyes and the unusually pale cheeks, and winced himself. "Sorry, Harry." He murmured the words thoughtlessly, missing the shock in the Gryffindor's expression.
After a bit Draco sat back on his ankles, resting his hands on his thighs as he addressed the other boy. "I broke two ribs, I think - but everything else is just bruises. You have two options; you can go to Madam Pomfrey to fix them, or you can let me do it. Your choice."
Harry stared at Draco, still trying to process his thoughts. He hadn't a clue what had possessed the Slytherin to check over his injuries. He'd thought Malfoy liked causing pain. Furthermore, Draco's used his name. While obvious that he hadn't realize that he'd done it, it was still quite confusing, and he shook his head slightly - he was missing something, and he didn't like the feeling.
"You can do it, I suppose. I really don't want to try explaining this to Madam Pomfrey right now." Harry made the excuse as nonchalantly as possible. He carefully ignored that he was beginning to trust Malfoy - it was just too much to deal with, right now.
Draco released a breath he'd not been aware of holding. He hadn't realized how much he wanted to be able to make amends for his own transgressions. Perhaps it was because he hadn't been able to before- No, damnit, forget that! Quickly he gathered his thoughts, redirecting them purposefully. Gripping his wand, he narrowed his eyes on Harry's chest, not noticing how intent his gaze was - or how much longer than necessary he stared at the lightly tanned skin, marred slightly by marks that were slowly beginning to darken.
"Malfoy." The name elicited no response whatsoever, and Harry squirmed lightly, flushing a bit under the Slytherin's inspection. To cover up his unease, he chuckled lightly. "I know I'm good looking, but there's no need to stare."
Immediately Draco flicked his eyes away, fighting embarrassment as Harry ruthlessly buried the bit of disappointment that he started to feel. Bloody hell, I'm really starting to lose it. The dark haired boy shook his head in self derision.
"I think you need to trade in your Vanity Mirror for a TruView, Potter." Draco drawled, referring to the magically enhanced mirrors that wiped away any unflattering attributes.
"Just shut up and get on with it, Malfoy." Harry grumbled irritably, trying not to fidget.
Draco rolled his eyes, but aimed his wand toward Harry's torso and gestured briefly. Long minutes later the Gryffindor leaned back against the stone, his eyes closed as he breathed quietly, feeling his bones solidify in a most painful manner. He managed to keep it under control, however, and a slight smile graced his lips when he felt the bruises fade, a sensation much like sand trickling free from a fisted palm.
The sight of the relaxed boy caused unexpected heat to flush through Draco's body, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore his panic. Quickly he tried to distract himself.
"There, it's done. And don't worry Potter, I won't tell anyone how you whimpered like a girl." He smirked, watching the anger rise in the other boy's eyes.
"That I - I did no such thing, Malfoy!" Harry stiffened indignantly, hands fisting at his sides.
Draco took one look at the sheen of fury in Harry's eyes and cursed mentally. Abruptly he pushed himself to his feet, turning his back on the other boy and gathering his belongings with forced nonchalance as he spoke derisively.
"Tell yourself whatever you have to so you can sleep at night, Potter. I'm certain I don't care. I have plans, and I'm late for them because you were such a bloody wuss, so I trust you'll excuse me." He didn't wait for a response, moving quickly for the door.
"Get back here damnit, we have things to discuss!" The words came out without thought, and as Harry replayed them in his head he winced. He'd sounded like a whining git. Damn Malfoy, anyway!
Draco turned, smirking contemptuously. "I'm flattered that you want to spend time with me, Potter, really. Unfortunately you're not high on my list of priorities, amusing as kicking your ass can be. As for the rest of it, perhaps tomorrow. If I feel like it." He turned away once more, yanking the door open with scarcely controlled haste and leaving the room.
The door closed behind him, and Harry grit his teeth. This was going to be hell.
***
"You're late," George commented mildly to the rest of the group after they'd moved away from the main staircases. They'd kept up appearances, chatting mildly when they'd met. Luckily Ginny was getting special privledges lately, what with her brother and best friend both being Prefects. She was able to stay out the extra hour that upperclassmen were allowed, so long as she was discreet about it.
"With good reason." Ginny's chin jutted out stubbornly as she glared at her brother before following Fred into the temporarily remodeled cloak closet they'd decided to hold the meeting in.
"Which is?"
Ron spoke up wearily, avoiding looking anywhere remotely close to Hermione's location. "I lost control again."
George closed the door quickly, then folded his arms over his chest. "What? Explain."
His brother shook his head, gesturing briefly toward Hermione. "I don't need to. Just look at her."
The twins flicked their gazes over Hermione, then stared in horror. Neville just clenched his fists tighter, glaring venemously at Ron.
"How could this happen? You were just reinforced yesterday!" Fred gaped at his brother in shock and just a small bit of disgust.
Unable to hold his gaze as guilt rolled through him, Ron looked away, shrugging briefly.
It was Hermione who finally spoke up. "Dumbledore did the work, and he's unconscious. Perhaps it was something he needed to continually monitor."
George raked a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell! We were counting on that protection! Is there any way to be certain?"
"I don't think so. Our main source of information is currently unreachable, and I don't know of any others who can do Occlumency, much less do it well. Save for Harry, of course."
"So why not just ask Harry?" Neville's tone was unusually stiff, and his gaze barely flickered from Ron's form.
Hermione shook her head lightly, rubbing her temples. "Because we can't. Look, everyone sit down. There are things I need to tell you."
For the first time since she'd run out on Ron, her gaze deliberately sought his own. At his nod of approval, her stomach seemed to unclench, and she stared at him as she took a deep breath, then began her story.
***
Draco flung himself on his bed, rolling onto his back and dragging an arm over his face. That had not gone as planned. He'd done some hard thinking after he'd lost control the previous night, and he'd managed to determine a goal for himself. It wouldn't matter what happened to Harry Potter, not so long as he got what he wanted: Voldemort's head on a platter. If that meant causing Potter a rather large quantity of pain, Draco was fine with it. He was even okay with the possibility of the idiot Gryffindor's death, so long as he got what he wanted in the end.
So why had he bothered to heal the little prick? For one split second he tried to convince himself that he'd only done it because he couldn't afford to lose Potter so early in the game, but he couldn't make himself believe it. Shifting his hips to get more comfortable, he stared up at the ceiling, allowing himself the distraction of the false night sky he'd created out of boredom some weeks ago. After a bit, when his breathing had eased and the tight pit of panic in his gut had finally eased, he allowed his thoughts to return to his own actions.
It seemed most likely that he'd just wanted to opportunity to gain Potter's trust. He was trying to convince the stupid git to tell him what the hell the Order of the Phoenix was up to, after all. It only made sense that he'd want the Boy Who Lived to think he was trustworthy. He'd probably succeeded, too, if Potter's frustration when he left was any indication. In fact, it was better that he'd refused to stay at the end - it wouldn't do to suddenly act supportive and trustworthy. Potter was a fool, but he wasn't that gullible.
Slightly mollified by his own reasonings, Draco allowed himself to relax. Casually he stripped free of his clothes and slid beneath his sheets. He pillowed his head on his arm, staring up at the ceiling as his hand slid absently along his abdomen, scratching lightly while his thoughts shifted.
It had felt good to hit Potter with his fists instead of with magic. Not so much because he enjoyed the other boy's pain, although he did. No, it had felt so good because it was such a release. Physical agression had not been something his father had felt was important, and because of that it had been one of the few things that he'd not had an instructor for when he was growing up. It hadn't been until his fourteenth birthday - the year his father had brought in two of the Dark Lord's lower-ranked followers to instruct him in the art of seduction - that Draco had ever physically touched anyone in any but the most casual of ways.
To Lucius Malfoy, sex was just another tool to utilize when trying to accomplish a goal. Draco felt the same way, though he suspected he enjoyed the act a bit more than his father ever had. Although he didn't consider his interludes as having any sort of bearing on his sexual orientation, Draco had been taught how to seduce and gratify both sexes, and it was something he took the opportunity to do as much as possible when off school grounds. He'd yet to utilitize his skills at Hogwarts; mostly because there hadn't been a need for them as of yet. It was rather easy to get what he wanted while at school; too many people were afraid of him, or perhaps more realistically his father - and thus, Lord Voldemort. He also didn't want to have to worry about the possibility of having any students discover he was having affairs with other students; it never pleased his father when gossip reached his ears that had nothing to do with furthering the Malfoy name. Not that he had to worry about his father's wishes anymore.
With that thought came the irritating pang of regret and guilt that he couldn't seem to shake. Anxious to think about something - anything - else, Draco returned his attention to his interaction with Potter. A smirk crossed his lips as he recalled the frustration on the prat's face when he'd left against the Gryffindor's wishes. Potter's green eyes and been vivid with frustration, his teeth clenched so tightly that a muscle in his jaw twitched repeatedly. Every muscle in the other boy's chest had been taut with anger.
It wasn't until Draco felt the hand on his abdomen lower that he realized he was aroused. And why not? He'd had power over the bloody Gryffindor, and power was a strong aphrodisiac. Slowly the Slytherin's lashes lowered until he saw nothing, and again he replayed the scene of Potter's humiliation in his head, his heart thudding as his arousal increased. When he felt the rapid beat of his own pulse beneath his thumb, Draco turned his head into his pillow to hide his shout.
The satisfied Slytherin's last thought was one of anticipation; he couldn't wait to put Potter in his place again. And this time he'd get the information he wanted. No matter what it took.
***
"After our first year at Hogwarts, a house elf named Dobby kept all our letters to Harry from him in a misguided attempt to keep him from coming back to school. When he came back and everything was sorted out, Harry mentioned that he was afraid that communication during the summer was going to be a problem. His aunt and uncle aren't really fans of magic, and I personally think that they're so terrified of what he might do that they're just absolutely horrid to him on principle." Hermione paced the room stiffly, avoiding looking at anyone.
"Regardless, we decided to try and look for another way to communicate that wouldn't involve breaking any of the major rules. It wasn't until the end of fourth year that I discovered how to create a bolthole, which is sort of like a magical storage box that can transfer small objects. You open the box, place something inside, then close it. Immediately the object is transfered to the mirror box. The tricky thing is that once they're firmly placed, even a small jolt to either box will disrupt the flow of magic and render the bolthole useless. In addition, once you open a box and find an object inside, you have to take it out. If you leave it in, it will vanish. It never returns to the box it was sent from, and as I understand it the object that was lost ends up in a 'lost and found' storage somewhere in the Ministry of Magic." She paused to take a breath, and Ginny spoke up quickly.
"Wouldn't creating these to use at home be a violation of the 'don't-do- magic-outside-of-school' rule?"
Ron grinned slightly, impressed with his little sister's intelligence but more than willing to goad her for her lack of knowledge as well. "We made them here, but didn't affix them to anywhere. It doesn't take a spell, either. The box just has to be touching wood, and we wrapped them in bubble wrap to make certain that didn't happen."
"Bubble wrap?" queried Fred.
"Muggle invention. It's packaging material, but it has the added bonus of providing hours of mind-numbing, bubble-popping entertainment." Ron grinned at his brother, who made a mental note to look into selling it in their catalogue.
Hermione grinned a little, trying to ignore the slight shiver that had travelled up her spine when Ron met her eyes to share the memory. For a moment, it felt like the incident just an hour before hadn't happened, and she was grateful. "Have I mentioned before that you're all very weird? Anyway, we put one at my house - we figured that with all the people in the Weasley household, someone was bound to move the box at some point - and gave the other to Harry. We used the bolthole partially to send messages that we didn't want to risk anyone else seeing, but mostly to send small bits of food he was craving each week. It wasn't unusual to open the box to find a note with one simple word written on it with five exclamation points." She smiled suddenly. "For an entire fortnight, I woke up to find the word 'WAFFLES!!!!!' waiting for me. But last summer, things were....different."
She trailed off and Ron straightened, continuing where she'd left it. "Harry was hard to talk to after Sirius died. We didn't know it at the time, but he'd had a talk with Dumbledore and it had made things even worse. For weeks he didn't leave anything in the box, and Hermione and I decided to just wait until he was ready to talk about it - or not talk about it, if that's what he wanted. Finally he left a brief apology in the box, promising to keep in touch. The next day we both got a letter from him by owl, and we didn't really think about the box for awhile."
Hermione interrupted quietly. "Sometime in early July I received a note in the bolthole from Harry that said he wanted to form a stronger bond between the three of us to help us fight against Voldemort. It was the first time he'd said anything that even remotely approached the topic of the Dark Lord, Sirius or anything related to them, and Ron and I were just glad that he wasn't shutting us out. I replied that I thought it would be a good idea, but I had to do some research into it. He said that he'd already done the research, and that no one would notice the small bit of magic he'd have to use to create the bond. I was afraid that if I hesitated, he'd close up again. So Ron and I said yes, and we sent him the materials he asked for."
Again the girl trailed off, and this time when she looked at Ron, her eyes pleaded with him to finish the story. She couldn't do it. The silence proved to be too much for George.
"No offense, but I fail to see what this has to do with anything."
Ron grimaced. "Harry asked for a vial of blood from each of us. Considering that he was going to perform a bonding spell, we didn't think the request unusual, so we sent it. Unfortunately, it wasn't Harry."
"What?" Neville gasped. "Then who was it?"
Again Ron shook his head, looking away. "We don't know. The day after we sent the blood, the bolthole stopped working. But we think it was You-Know- Who."
"How do you know it wasn't Harry?" This came from Fred, whose looked abnormally grim.
"Because I asked him at the start of term if the bonding spell had worked, and he clearly had no idea what I was talking about. Aside from that, however, it was only a few days after we sent the vials that Hermione and I began to notice that something was wrong."
Neville glanced around as silence hung in the room, watching as horrified comprehension dawned on the Weasley's faces, then finally shook his head. "Since I'm apparently the only one who has no idea what you're talking about, I'll ask. What did you notice?"
"I started to get angry a lot, for reasons that were rather trivial. It wasn't normal, and it was really difficult to pull out of. And I never quite remembered what had happened when I calmed down. It didn't seem like it was happening to me. When I mentioned it to Hermione, she said she'd felt the same way."
"Hermione's been getting angry a lot? I haven't seen it." Neville frowned at Ron, then looked toward Hermione, who suddenly seemed to find the ceiling incredibly interesting. Ron narrowed his gaze as well.
"...Actually, Hermione never said what exactly it was that she'd felt..." He trailed off, clearly expecting an explanation. As did everyone else in the room.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being put on the spot, the young woman folded her arms protectively around her waist, refusing to look at anyone when she finally spoke. "No. I...don't get angry, Neville."
Again the room went quiet, until finally George straightened from the wall he'd been leaning against. "You don't seriously think we're going to let you stop there, do you?"
The Weasleys all nodded their agreement, staring expectently at Hermione. She took a deep breath before lifting her head, her brown eyes focusing on Neville, as if seeking comfort. He stared at her directly, murmuring softly. "Tell us, Hermione."
A nervous tremor shook her hands, and she fisted them, dragging her gaze to meet Ron's, her breath caught in her throat. He walked forward, and for the first time since she'd run from the bathroom he touched her, his hand lightly squeezing his shoulder. His determined gaze never left her own.
"It doesn't matter if it's bad, Herm. We're going to fix it. But we can't do it if you don't tell us everything. Okay?" She searched his eyes, then nodded, finally exhaling.
Hermione felt stupid and unbalanced. It wasn't like her to be so shy. She thought about blaming it on the episode with Ron, but her innate honesty refused to accept her excuse. The truth was that she hated to confess her weaknesses. It literally scared her to admit her vulnerability, because once she said it out loud she couldn't hide from it anymore. The thought that she couldn't handle her problems on her own was frightening - but it was also the truth. She and Ron were in over their heads, and they knew it.
"I've been having problems with self-control, too - just in a different way. If a situation becomes too confusion or stressful, I get overwhelmed and I panick. Then there's this voice in my head, and it tells me that there's someone else to blame for my problems. If they were gone, everything would be better. So far it's only amounted to me snapping at people - but I'm terrified, because I never really remember everything that I said and did during that time. I'm afraid that one day I'll turn around and find I've hurt someone that my head was telling me deserved it." Her voice wavered as she spoke the last sentence, and as tears filled her eyes Ron gripped her shoulders, shaking lightly.
"No, Hermione. Stop it, it's not going to happen. We aren't going to let it. It's gone far enough. What I did... Merlin, we're lucky it wasn't worse. And I can't tell you how sorry I am, about everything. But I'll make it up to you. We're going to beat this, I promise you. Okay? You understand? We're not going to be scared anymore."
She stared up at a Ron that she'd never seen before, tears spilling slowly down her cheeks. Tactfully Ginny and the twins turned their heads away, speaking quietly amidst themselves. Hermione didn't notice that Neville didn't look away from them, though Ron did. He battled back the anger that briefly threatened, then slowly released his grip on his friend's shoulders. He wouldn't take the chance of accidently hurting her again. Finally he turned to look at his friends, his hands fisted determinedly at his sides.
"We have to find a way to stop this, and we're going to need your help. Hermione's been checking the library, and she's found nothing. We're not even sure if it was Voldemort, although it seems a good place to start."
Hermione looked up at Ron in shock. Merlin, he'd actually said 'Voldemort' without trembling!
"So what is it you need done, brother?" If anyone else noticed the accusation that colored Ginny's words, they said nothing. Ron's eyes flashed a warning to his sister, though his voice revealed none of his frustration.
"Firstly, we're going to need to look into Occulmency a bit more. Hermione and I have been counting on Dumbledore's intervention ever since we told him about our predicament before school started this year, and he's no longer available for a resource. For the time being, at least. Fred and George, if you two could try and find some sort of potion that's used to clear someone's thoughts, it might be a start." The twins nodded thoughtfully, their eyes glinting with respect.
"Ginny and Neville, Hermione and I are going to need your help. I'm afraid that if she and I look out for each other, we may end up making things worse. So between the two of you, we need to make certain that we're watched. I know I don't want to take the chance of slipping without realizing it, and I'm fairly certain she feels the same." He paused to glance toward Hermione, who nodded immediately, looking relieved. "Do you two think you can help?"
Neville and Ginny exchanged a look, then nodded simultaneously. "Of course. Anything we can do to help." This came from the youngest Weasley, whose attitude toward her brother seemed to have softened just slightly.
"Ah... I have a suggestion, though you may not want to hear it." Neville rubbed his neck a little. "I think you should talk to Harry. Not only is he your best source of information about Occulmency - which I'm not certain I even understand - but he's also your best friend. It's not fair to keep this from him. We're not kids anymore, especially Harry. Leave it to him to decide what he can and cannot handle. You might be surprised."
His words were greeted with silence until Hermione finally spoke up apprehensively, her hand dragging through the thick strands of her hair. "We'll talk about it."
Neville nodded, then glanced at his watch. "We'd better get to bed; we're out past curfew as it is."
Everyone nodded, gathering their things and heading for the door. Just before he opened the door to lead the procession into the hall, Fred paused and looked back at the small group.
"Keep a close eye on Harry, everyone. If You-Know-Who has managed to find a way to get to Hermione and Ron, there's every chance he's gotten to Harry as well. "
* * *
"Dumbledore's been attacked."
Harry bolted upright in bed, blinking to try and clear his vision even as his hand fumbled around on his nightstand for his glasses. Once he had them on, he took in George's pale, frightened expression. Pain struck sharply with each movement, and for just a moment he wanted to curl back in bed, duck beneath his pillow, and pretend that he had never woken up. The need passed a second later, when he heard Ron's shocked exclamation. His friend's horror seemed to bring Harry back to the present, and he quickly pushed out of bed and headed for the door, as clearheaded as if he'd been awake for hours. So determined and so panicked was the young wizard that he focused only on Dumbledore's predicament; he never stopped to tug a nightshirt over his head or slip his feet into shoes of some sort.
As Harry crossed the common room, he glanced back over his shoulder at the Weasleys, who were running to catch up with him, speaking with the steely, confident voice of someone who had seen too much tragedy in his life to not know how to handle it. He understood that someone had to be strong, and it was fairly obvious that the Weasley's weren't up to it at the moment.
"Ron, wake Hermione. If anyone hears you, tell them something inocuous to keep them from leaving the dorm. Fred and George, we're going to need Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape. I don't care who gets whom, just hurry. And keep your wands out - we don't know who might have done this. He's in the office?" He waited only long enough for a vague nod of confirmation from George before slipping out the door.
The three Weasleys stared at each other mutely for a full six seconds before the Fat Lady's sleepy grumblings jerked them into action.
"We'd better go," Ron muttered, though he couldn't quite make himself move just yet. When the twins remained still, he looked over at them apprehensively. "Is he... was he..." He broke off, unable to finish.
The twins glanced at each other grimly before George looked toward his younger brother. "We don't know, Ron. We just... don't know. We should go, though."
Ron nodded, his face devoid of any color whatsoever. As he headed toward the girl's wing, the twins hurried from the room.
Harry was trying desperately not to think as he wound his way through the corridors of the school. He wished he'd asked the twins if Dumbledore had been okay, had been alive. The thought that his mentor might actually be gone caused a soft, anguished sound to rip from his throat. He couldn't remember his last words to the Headmaster, but he recalled leaving angry. What if that was the last time he'd ever speak to him? Panting softly, he increased his pace, forcing himself to focus only on the ground. He couldn't handle his own thoughts.
His voice trembled slightly as he gave the password, and his eyes closed for a moment as he moved up the stairs into the Headmaster's office. Oh Merlin, I don't want to look, I don't want to see, please let him be okay.
A whisper of sound forced Harry to open his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. Fawkes was standing on the professor's desk, leaning close. As the bird tilted his head, Harry could see the tears slipping from the magnificent phoenix's eyes. Hope flashed within him - Fawkes was healing Dumbledore. Quickly he looked toward the formidable wizard, and felt his head spin.
The aging Hogwarts Headmaster was slumped forward on his desk, his long beard caught beneath his cheek. His arms fell uselessly at his sides, one hand covered in some dark liquid that Harry didn't want to identify. He looked...tortured. There was no other word for it. While his eyes were closed, they were red-rimmed and probably bloodshot. Lines of strain dug deeply into the man's colorless skin, and his lips were drawn back in a horrifying grimace. But the worst part was the complete lack of movement by the figure lying there. Professor Dumbledore lay utterly still. He wasn't even breathing.
Oh Merlin. Not again.
Harry stumbled forward quickly, gripping the desk tightly to keep from spilling onto the floor. A slight nudge at his left shoulder caused the young wizard to open his eyes and look down. Fawkes brushed his head against Harry's arm, and realization flashed. The phoenix hadn't been trying to heal Dumbledore.
He had been grieving.
A shaky indrawn breath seemed to steady the Gryffindor just a little, and he lifted a hand to rub Fawkes' head gently, one comforting stroke, before his gaze retruned to the professor. Licking his lips nervously, he reached out and brushed a finger against Dumbledore's cheek. Once again, hope stirred within him. The Headmaster felt warm, not cold. Perhaps there was still a chance.
Determined to help, Harry quicky moved closer, withdrawing his wand and gesturing in Dumbledore's direction, murmuring several small spells he'd learned from Hermione, who'd been training the D.A. in several simple Mediwizard methods. Nothing seemed to help, although in his shaken state he wasn't even certain if he was performing the spells correctly. Frustrated and scared, Harry set down his wand and slid two fingers against the Headmaster's neck. He became utterly still, eyes opening wide with shock. There's a pulse!
Beneath his fingers, proof that Professor Dumbledore clung tightly to the fragile thread of his own life throbbed falteringly. The movements were barely discernable, coming far apart and without much strength – but they were there. The young wizard released a soft sob of relief, though he quickly cut off the sound and looked around. He didn't know what else to do; he'd have to wait for Madam Pomfrey. His fingers trembled and he clutched his wand once more as he realized the necessity of finding out what caused the Headmaster to end up this way. Even he understood that it was often impossible to fix something if you didn't know how it had broken.
Filled again with purpose, Harry walked around the desk, his gaze searching intently for any hint of what had caused this... this nightmare. Almost immediately his green eyes fell upon the Headmaster's wand, lying uselessly on the floor. He bent, curling his fingers around the wood, and straightened again, wondering if Dumbledore had known of the danger before it struck - if he had tried to fight it. That his wand had been drawn instead of concealed within his robes suggested that the Headmaster just hadn't had time to counter the attack he'd seen coming. Harry didn't want to believe that his mentor couldn't have handled whatever it was that had done this; if Dumbledore couldn't defeat it, then he certainly couldn't. It was a terrifying thought, one Harry tried to banish quickly.
The sound of two pairs of feet slamming against stone distraced his train of thought; he'd left the door open. As Harry heard Hermione's anxious call, he inhaled sharply.
"Ron, stop!"
Perhaps the urgency in Harry's tone persuaded Ron to listen, or perhaps it was just because he was used to following Harry's direction. Whatever the cause, Ron quickly stopped and grabbed onto Hermione's upper arm, pulling her to a halt as well. She looked back incredulously, trying to pull herself free.
"Ron, let go. Harry may need us!"
"Just be quiet a sec, Hermione." Ron didn't even look at her as he spoke; instead his eyes focused on the boy who'd appeared at the top of the stairs. Almost immediately his grip on the girl's arm weakened as dread congealed in his stomach. Harry didn't look at all relieved. He looked...undone.
Hermione quickly jerked her arm free, then followed Ron's gaze. Upon seeing Harry, her skin paled and she swayed.
"Oh no. Harry, it... it can't be." Hermione's voice was barely audible.
Although he was terrified, guilt-ridden and desperate, Harry took comfort in his friends' presence. Just being around them cleared his head. It was part of the reason why he loved them so much, and why he fought so hard for control. He didn't want to scare them further.
"I don't think he's dead. He isn't moving, and he looks... well, he looks horrible. But he isn't cold, and I think I felt a pulse. I just... I just wanted to warn you. Okay?"
If possible, Ron seemed to pale even further. He just couldn't comprehend that someone may have gotten Dumbledore. It was unthinkable. Hermione, however, seemed to steady. Her shoulders pressed back and her chin lifted firmly, as if daring someone to stop her from determining for herself how bad things really were. Harry watched them solemnly, waiting until they were ready. There were no tears in his eyes. He didn't have time for them. He had to be the strong one now.
Time passed slowly until finally Hermione slipped her hand into Ron's and squeezed gently, shaking him from his thoughts to look down at her. Her gaze was unusually patient as she waited to see that he was ready. Almost immediately the young Weasley seemed to straighten with loyal courage. Both looked back at Harry, who held out his hand to Hermione when they reached the top of the stairs. The three friends walked into the room together.
***
The door flung open as if the person on the other side of it wanted to rip it off its hinges. For a moment, Fred wanted to chuckle at the dramatic show he was being treated to. Unfortunately, he was too distracted and scared for the idea to take root, and instead he merely stared at the Potions Master, jaw clenched tightly.
"Well, Mr. Weasley? I assume you wanted something other than to disturb my slumber in order to get a good laugh? Not that I don't think that beyond you, just that I believe you'd be smart enough to run very quickly in the opposite direction once I appeared at your rather emphatic summons." Professor Snape didn't look any different in the middle of the night than he did in the middle of the day. He was obviously no less sarcastic, either, despite the fact that they worked together every day for the Order.
"Harry wants you to come."
Snape's expression didn't change at all as he folded his arms over his chest and looked at the redhead through strands of his stringy black hair. "Mr. Weasley, do I look like Mr. Potter's lackey to you?"
Fred clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He was going about this all wrong, and he knew it. Remembering his training, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pushing away the desire to slam his fist into the stubborn Professor's nose. Shaking with the effort of remaining calm, he released his breath slowly before opening his eyes once more.
"George and I found Dumbledore unconscious in his office. We told Harry, and he told us to get you. You need to come, sir. Quickly."
For a moment, Fred was afraid the enigmatic professor was going to refuse to come. Just as he was preparing to scream at the man for his insensitivity, Snape disappeared from the doorway. Later, the Weasley twin would have to give the Potions Master credit; it didn't take him long to prepare. Mere seconds later, the two were moving at a near run from the dungeons. Neither noticed the figure that pushed itself away from the wall and followed them.
***
The three students stopped in front of the desk, their hands clinging tightly together. Harry's eyes returned to the dark stain on Dumbledore's hand, and he shifted a little, craning his neck to see if it went anywhere else. Ron had pressed his lips together to keep his jaw from dropping; slowly his shoulders squared as he drew on the courage that people didn't often see when they looked at the young Weasley. It was one of the things Harry appreciated most – he could always count on Ron when he really, truly needed him.
Hermione seemed to take it hardest. At first she did nothing more then stare, but she quickly became all business. She, too, tried the various mediwizard spells she'd taught herself, although it was quite obvious that this was far past any skill she had. The witch also felt for a pulse, and her lashes fluttered with relief when she, too, found the thin, unsteady beat. Unfortunately, neither of the boys realized how important it was to keep Hermione occupied when the man she put her utmost faith in was so weakened and helpless. Without something to do, unable to think of a way to help, she began to unravel.
Ron clenched his hands repeatedly, watching while Harry continued to walk around the desk, absently rubbing his throbbing scar. Hermione began to pace, her hands twisting together nervously as she commenced wearing a path in the soft, expensive carpet. When Ron finally looked up, he was shocked to see her ravaged, haunted expression.
"...Hermione?" There was no response. She didn't even look at him; she just kept pacing, mumbling softly to herself.
Ron frowned, straightening as he moved closer. "Hermione. Are you alright?" When he again received no indication of a response from his friend, Ron called out quickly.
"Harry, something's wrong with Hermione."
At the intent words, Harry lifted his head and looked over somewhat distractedly, rubbing his forehead. "Hmm? She's scared, Ron."
"Look at her."
Reluctantly turning away from his inspection and speculation at what could have caused the Headmaster to look so undone, Harry straightened and slid his green eyes over his friend. He took in her pale face, her shaking shoulders and her hands, red from being twined together and pulled forcefully apart.
"Hermione? We'll figure something out. As soon as Madam Pomfrey gets here, she'll tell us how to help him, and Professor Snape should be useful in determining what happened and creating a potion successful in fighting it. It'll be okay."
While Harry wasn't certain that what he was saying was truth – he was dealthy afraid that there wasn't a way to fix this problem – he did his best to sound confident. Ron seemed to believe him; he was nodding in agreement. Hermione, however, didn't seem to have heard at all. As they watched, she began to breathe faster, her breaths quick and shallow. Soon she was nearly hyperventilating.
Harry grimaced, his fingers pressing against his scar as he moved toward her. Ron was closer, and he put an arm around her shoulders so he could guide her toward a chair.
"Come on, Hermione. Let's sit down, okay?" The redhead's voice was abnormally soft and calming; a technique he'd developed a long time ago when trying to soothe Ginny after the twins had pulled some horrible prank. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have an effect this time. Instead, Hermione jerked back wildly, her gaze vaguely unfocused as she knocked Ron's arm forcefully away from her.
Harry bit his lip nervously. Hermione was never irrational, never out of control like this. He stepped a little closer, then stopped, holding his hand out and his palm up.
"Hermione, it's just Harry. I'm not going to touch you if you don't want me to, but you're really starting to scare us. What's wrong?"
Her only response was to take another step backward, her chest heaving as she stared at them fearfully. Harry stopped, rubbing his scar as he wished desperately that Dumbledore were here to tell him what to do. He'd never seen Hermione act this way before. It was frightening.
"Harry, your scar hurts?" Ron moved to stand next to him, inadvertently but effectively blocking Hermione from leaving the office. Harry nodded absently.
"Yeah, but it's not surprising, is it? Dumbledore..." Harry trailed off, gesturing to the professor's limp form.
Ron nodded hesitantly, then ventured softly – almost as if he was thinking aloud, though he refused to look at Harry as he spoke. "Harry... did your scar hurt yesterday? When I – when I got upset after breakfast?"
Harry's gaze snapped up immediately, his brows furrowing as he tried unsuccessfully to catch Ron's eye. "Why would it matter, Ron?"
The sound of a muffled voice muttering at the door to Dumbledore's office distracted the boys, and they moved quickly to the stairs as Professor Snape entered, immediately followed by Fred.
"Get out of my way." As usual, Snape's voice was cold and abrupt. Oddly, this seemed to comfort Hermione, and the odd hitch in her breathing slowed somewhat. She could deal with a moody, difficult Professor.
After feeling for a pulse, the Potions Master dipped a finger in the thick substance that covered Dumbledore's hand and pooled in a small puddle on the floor behind the desk. Black eyebrows knit together as he sniffed his finger lightly, then rubbed it against his thumb.
Unable to stand the silence and struggling to keep herself under control, Hermione spoke up quietly, without the typical demand that presented itself in most of her questions. "What is it, Professor?"
For a moment, Snape didn't answer , as if he had completely forgotten about the lot of them. He wiped his fingers against his black pants, then spoke up almost nonchalantly. "What do you see on the desk, Miss Granger?"
Although the question was not what she'd expected, Hermione wasn't the type to back down from a question - especially one she could answer. After scanning the desk briefly, she replied with slightly more confidence than before. "Fawke's perch, a stack of four books, another book open atop them. A black feather quill, a piece of parchment entitled 'To Do', a small dish of candy, two purple globes, a remembral and his glasses."
Snape nodded after she finished, opening his bag and beginning to take out small vials of darkly hued liquids, setting each meticulously on the desk. Fred and Ron glanced at each other, shrugged, then moved a little closer to try and read the labels on the potions. Harry merely watched Snape, his hands curled at his sides. It was so difficult to try and trust this man - especially with Dumbledore's life.
He spoke up again, sounding as if he were instructing a class. "Very good, Miss Granger. But the more important thing to note is what's not on the desk."
Harry's eyebrows raised and glanced toward the desk, and Hermione frowned in confusion. "Any number of things are not on the desk, Professor."
"Look again, Miss Granger. You're missing something important."
She frowned, staring again at the desk, though she avoided looking at the Headmaster. It scared her too much. It wasn't until Snape removed an empty vile from his things and knelt behind the desk that realization dawned.
"There's no inkpot. With a quill and parchment obviously in use, there should be a pot of ink somewhere. Is that what's on his hand?" Even as she spoke, the intelligent girl was walking around the desk, obviously looking to see if an inkpot had fallen to the floor. There was nothing there.
Harry spoke up abruptly, cutting off Snape before he could respond. "Can we solve the mystery of the stolen inkpot later and help Professor Dumbledore now?"
Hermione blushed, horrified that she'd forgotten - just for a moment - about the Headmaster's plight. Before guilt consumed her, the Potions Master spoke up once more, seeming slightly distracted, though still revealing his dislike of Harry Potter quite clearly.
"No," he drawled. "We cannot."
"Why not?" Ron interrupted fiercely, ignoring Fred's hand squeezing his shoulder.
Snape whirled around, his long cape billowing out behind him briefly as he glared at Gryffindor's 6th year Prefect. "Because, Mr. Weasley. I cannot treat an illness when I don't know what it is."
Ron's hands tightened further, and he stepped forward furiously, so his greater height become more noticible. "An inkpot won't help you with that!"
Hermione spoke up quickly, her eyes wide. "Ron, don't! It might help. It's the things that are out of order, that are different from usual, that will help us figure this out."
Harry stepped between the Professor and his best friend, briefly meeting Fred's grim gaze before speaking up. "Hermione's right, Ron. I wasn't thinking. Relax. Please."
After a moment, Ron nodded, allowing himself to be pulled backward a few steps. Harry released a breath, lifting a hand to rub his forehead lightly. Snape narrowed his gaze on the infamous Gryffindor, but said nothing. He put a stopper in a vial holding small remnants of the strange liquid and labeled it with Dumbeldore's quill after dipping it with absurd nonchalance into the small puddle that had spilled on the desk. George came running up the stairs just as Snape slid the vial into his belongings. Seconds later Madam Pomfrey hurried into the room, sputtering as she saw the Headmaster.
"My Goodness, what happened to him?" She rushed to his side, immediately feeling for a pulse as she drew out her wand with her free hand.
"We were rather hoping you could tell us." Harry frowned in as Snape spoke, thinking for a moment that the Professor was laughing at the nurse. He pushed the thought aside, pressing his palm against his forehead briefly, exhaling softly.
Snape received no response to his remark, other than a wave of her hand, indicating that they all be quiet. Minutes passed slowly as she alternately spoke spells, gestured with her wand and slid her hand against Dumbledore's forehead, wrist and throat. Hermione hunched her shoulders, arms folded protectively around her waist as she began to pace nervously. Fred, George, Ron and Harry just watched the nurse intently, their gazes fierce. Snape remained utterly still as he waited.
Unfortunately, Hermione didn't have his patience. Abruptly she whirled and stalked up to the desk. "Well? What is taking so damned long!"
Madam Pomfrey didn't even look up, intent on her work as she was. Hermione's hands slammed down atop the desk as she leaned forward menacingly. "Answer me!"
The nurse looked up incredulously even as Harry winced and stepped forward, grasping Hermione's forearm. "Herm-"
Snape interrupted smoothly. "Miss Granger, since you cannot seem to keep your mouth shut long enough to let Madame Pomfrey do her work, I suggest you head over to the library to do something productive. Research the different states of death and unconsciousness, particularly any spells or potions that would render one with a pulse but no breath. Now." His deep voice clearly expressed the statement as a demand rather than a suggestion. Surprisingly, Hermione nodded and turned haughtily, moving quickly for the stairs. Just as soon as she'd left, the Potions Master looked over at the Weasley twins. "Go. Keep her busy."
The twins glanced at each other, then nodded toward the Professor and hurried after Hermione. Madame Pomfrey harrumphed lightly before getting back to work. Ron looked at Harry, who looked back equally confused. They shrugged in unison, then lifted their heads when Snape spoke again.
"I trust that you two can manage to keep quiet, Mr. Weasley? Mr. Potter?" It was clearly a threat.
"Yes, sir," Ron spoke rather dully, not managing to meet the Professor's eyes.
Harry just nodded, rubbing his scar absently as he went back to watching Madam Pomfrey work. After a time, he began to notice the chill of the cold stone floor against his bare feet, and the brush of night air from the open window against his bare chest. Shivering a little, he moved closer to the fire, not noticing that the flames lifted slightly moments later.
Time dragged by slowly. It seemed like hours had passed before Madam Pomfrey finally stood up, rubbing her lower back wearily. Professor Snape unfolded his arms, straightening from the wall he'd been leaning against. Ron stood from the chair he'd been sitting in. Harry just stared at her, as he'd been doing for the past forty-five minutes.
"I honestly have no idea what caused this. I've never seen it before, nor have I read about it. He appears stable - his pulse has not slackened in the least. I need time."
Snape nodded as if it was nothing more than he'd already expected, then picked up one of the vials of potion he'd left out on the desk. As he pulled the stopper loose, he looked toward Madam Pomfrey. "Do you think it's safe to move him?"
She nodded. "I don't see why not, providing it doesn't affect his pulse aversively. We don't have a choice, regardless. We can't just leave him here."
"Is his mind still functioning?"
The nurse stiffened indignantly, her cheeks coloring. "I'm certain I've no idea! I don't go toying in such dark arts, Professor Snape!" Clearly she was offended by the suggestion. For an instant, Harry thought he saw Snape smirk, but he later decided it had just been a trick of the light.
"And what do you think the best course of action is?"
"Lots of rest. I have some restorative potions I can use while I determine the cause of his...condition." Harry glanced warily at Ron, who narrowed his gaze, seeming to find the comment equally absurd. After all that time, her suggestion was to let him rest? It sounded rather ludicrous.
Snape accepted her words with a nod, then handed her the vial he'd opened. "Here, drink this. It helps with memory restoration. Perhaps you've read about something like this before."
Though she was rather irritated by the suggestion of incompetence, she refused to back down before the arrogant Potions Master. Tilting her head back, she downed the bit of liquid, then handed back the vial. Professor Snape accepted it, then grabbed her shoulders, waiting until her gaze seemed to become unsteady before he spoke harshly. "You're tired, you should go back to sleep. You've been having these strange nightmares lately. You won't remember any of this when you wake up in the morning. Now go."
Too stunned to mutter a protest, Harry and Ron watched slack-jawed as Madam Pomfrey nodded vaguely and left the room. Snape didn't even look at them as he shifted through his vials once more, packing away all but one.
Finally Ron found his voice. "What the bloody hell did you do to her? I'm not taking any damned potion from you, either!"
"Just as well, Mr. Weasley, because I wasn't going to give you one. I'm so sorry to disappoint you." He smirked, then uncorked the last vial and very carefully released one drop on the small puddle of liquid on the floor behind the desk. The murky green potion immediately spread, covering the liquid in seconds before beginning to dissipate completely. In moments no trace of the potion or the strange liquid remained.
Harry folded his arms, frowning a bit. "So why did you give her one? Why did you tell her to forget about all of this? She'll know soon enough. Everyone will be in an uproar over what's happened to Professor Dumbledore." If Harry's voice wavered a bit when he spoke the Headmaster's name, neither Ron nor Snape saw fit to point it out.
"They're not going to know, Mr. Potter. A message was delivered to Professor Dumbledore late last night and he left, leaving a note to me to remain as Acting Headmaster." Snape's matter-of-fact tone caused Ron to shake his head in confusion.
"But why?"
"Because we don't want whoever did this to know that they succeeded." Harry replied quietly, then looked toward Snape. "It won't work, though. Professor Dumbledore always leaves Professor McGonagall in charge."
The dark-haired professor just smirked. "Do you honestly think she's going to challenge me, especially in front of students?"
Acknowledging the point, Harry continued. "Alright, but she's going to wonder." He seemed to be taunting the Professor, albeit with rare subtlety.
"Let her."
Ron frowned, but Harry just spoke up again. "You still haven't answered me. Why did you give Madam Pomfrey that potion? And what was it, exactly?"
"Memory suppression - it only works for small commands. I developed it just recently. And because I don't trust her. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have some work to do. Say nothing of tonight to anyone - relay that message to the others. I'll let you know when I've found anything useful." By the time he'd finished speaking, Professor Snape had gathered his belongings and levitated Professor Dumbledore toward the door.
"Wait!" Ron moved quickly to the door, blocking his way. "What are you going to do with him?"
The Potions Professor merely lifted a brow. "I'm going to find out what's wrong with him and fix it. He'll rest in my quarters, for the time being. Now get out of my way, Mr. Weasley, unless you're intending on using your wand for something other than waving it around like you're trying to put out a fire."
"C'mon, Ron, let's go find the others. I'd like to get some sleep tonight, and there's nothing more we can do right now." Harry nudged his friend down the stairs as he spoke, ignoring the sarcastic amusement on Snape's face.
The three left the Headmaster's office, never noticing the shadow that parted from the wall moments later.
***
"We can't not tell anyone, Harry. It isn't right! The Ministry need to know, and so does the rest of the Order." Hermione was just barely managing to keep her outrage to a whisper. A loud whisper.
Harry raked a hand through his perpetually disheveled brown hair, turning away from her to stare out the window as Ron spoke up. "We don't have a choice, Hermione. Snape said not to tell anyone."
"Since when have you advocated listening to Professor Snape, Ron?" She looked ready to throw something.
"This is bigger than us, Hermione! Bloody hell, they got Dumbledore! I'm glad to have someone else make the hard decisions."
"What has that got to do with anything, Ron? The wizarding world has a right to know that Voldemort has gone after Dumbledore - and succeded. More of them will realize how important the fight is. They'll join the Order and help us!"
Harry spoke up tonelessly. "We have no proof. We don't even know if anyone else was around. I've been thinking about it, and this time Snape's right. Telling everyone will just create panic." He turned from the window as he finished, slight purple shadows beneath his eyes.
Unable to argue with that bit of logic, Hermione focused on another topic. "Harry...you should get some sleep. You look awful."
"You're so kind, Hermione, really. Give him a break!" Ron glared at her, taking refuge from confusion in anger.
The Boy Who Lived closed his eyes and turned away from his friends, tuning out their conversation as he methodically gathered clothes for the morning. He didn't notice when they stopped speaking and just watched him silently. He didn't see them exchange a worried glance when he failed to respond to their questions. He just gathered his things and left the room, unable to keep his thoughts from straying to how he'd failed someone he loved. Again.
***
At some point in the morning, three people gathered in a dank room in the basement of Hogwarts.
"Have you learned anything new?" One asked rather hesitantly - as if they weren't certain whether or not they wanted the answer.
"I didn't bring you here for that. When I know something, I'll tell you. Until then, do take care not to pester. I've not the time, nor the inclination for it."
The other clenched a hand in frustration. "Damnit, do you have to be so cryptic? We're on the same side, here!"
"Yes, and you take your orders from me. Kindly remember that."
A third spoke up, frustration thinly veiled by weariness. "So what did you bring us here for?"
"You're going to have to work harder to keep her busy - keep them both busy - before it gets out of hand."
"We're trying-"
A hand slammed against wood. "Not hard enough! If either of them gives, we're in a lot of trouble."
A slight chuckle. "That could only be true if we weren't already."
"I've no time for your foolishness. Go on, before you're late. We'll speak later."
There was a pause, then the sound of a door closing. The last one left the area, leaving no proof that anyone had been there at all.
***
Hermione ran to catch up with Ron as he and the twins left the locker rooms after Quidditch practice. As she moved, her long, untamed hair bounced behind her and slight thumping noises could be heard as the books piled in her arms knocked together with each step.
"Have you heard anything new?" Her tone had dropped drastically, her eyes sharp with intelligence.
All three of the Weasleys shook their heads. "Not a thing, Hermione. Have you found anything noteworthy?" Fred inclined his head toward her books as he finished speaking.
A slight frown furrowed her brow as she shook her head, deliberately slowing her pace as they walked back toward the school. "Not much, to be honest. A few mentions of sleeping draughts that were intended to last years, but none mentioned a lack of breath as an effect."
She paused as the boys nodded, as if she'd said nothing they hadn't expected already. "...How's Harry?"
The question was directed primarily toward Ron, who merely grimaced and shook his head. "Not good, I don't think."
Hermione stopped walking, clutching her books tighter as she forced the others to stop as well. She craned her neck, wishing for just a moment that the Weasleys had stopped growing after third year. "I don't expect him to be all smiles, Ron - but do you think he's exceptionally distraught or anything?"
George lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "With all Harry's been through- how would you tell the difference?"
Ron exhaled softly, shaking his head a little. "You don't know Harry like we do, George. And that's just it, Hermione. He's not acting distraught. He's not...well...he's not acting like anything. He hasn't drifted off in class, but he's not super-observant, either. He did just fine on the Quidditch pitch. It's almost like last night didn't happen at all."
Once again she frowned. "He hasn't even said anything to you about it?"
Fred spoke up with a grin. "The boy's got the right idea. We don't want anyone to know what happened, remember?"
Hermione rolled her eyes skyward. "It's one thing to pretend like it's a normal day outwardly, Fred. It's quite another to convince yourself that something terrible didn't happen last night."
"Is that what you think he's doing, Hermione?" This from George, who'd finally begun to look a bit concerned.
"I don't know, I've barely seen him all day. We don't take many of the same classes anymore - Ron does, though, which is why I asked him." She turned toward Ron again, shifting the books in her arms a bit. "You're certain you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary?"
Ron paused, then shook his head. "I did, but I can't figure it out. Something's different, but I don't think it's something that happened because of last night. I've felt like this for a few days now - like there's something I don't know..." He trailed off as the twins exchanged a wary glance, then grit his teeth. "And apparently, I was right. What do you two know that we don't?"
Again Hermione shifted, her gaze somewhat accusing as she looked toward the twins, who were staring evasively at the sky.
"The Aurora Borealis is caused by gases mingling in the air," Fred stated knowingly.
Once more Hermione rolled her eyes, exhaling in frustration. "Actually, I did know that, and you know damned well that that's not what he meant!"
George spoke up quickly, looking slightly abashed. "Look, Hermione....Ron... it's just... it's not our news to tell, okay?"
"Where have I heard that before," Ron spoke up bitterly.
"Hey, you guys. You do realize that you look rather conspicuous, standing out here in the freezing cold, whispering?" Neville smiled, amusement lacing his words, though his eyes remained serious. He said nothing further as he reached over to take Hermione's books from her arms, ignoring her assertion that she could carry them herself.
"We-we weren't whispering! We were....we were talking!" Ron stammered the words out, his voice high and nervous.
Hermione just rolled her eyes, and Neville grinned once more. "I wasn't going to ask what you were talking about - I just thought you'd want to know that if you keep standing still and huddling like this, then everyone else is going to ask you what you were talking about."
George grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck once more. "Thanks, Neville. We weren't thinking." He began to walk back toward the school, motioning for the others to follow him.
"We really ought to make plans to meet up secretly each day, just to see if there's anything new." Hermione spoke matter of factly even as she wondered if she ought to try and catch up with Neville, who had tactfully moved ahead, just out of hearing distance if they kept their voices low. It had suddenly occurred to her that she didn't want anyone to see the subject matter of her studies - not if she wanted to keep Dumbledore's condition a secret. Somehow, though, it didn't really bother her that Neville might look.
"At different times, though. It would look fairly odd if we all started to disappear at the same time every night." This came from Ron, who earned himself glances of surprise and respect from his older brothers.
Fred nodded. "Tonight, then. 9:13 precisely. We'll meet at the closet right next to the portrait of that buxom blonde dairymaid. Y'know the one, right? Peeves hovers there a lot to taunt at students late for classes."
The statement was met with silent agreement, and after a moment George changed the subject. "So, Ron... what do you think about trying to teach the Chasers a modified version of the Wronski Feint as a diversion tactic?"
Hermione rolled her eyes as the three brothers excitedly discussed their favorite topic - the one thing guaranteed to bore her out of her mind. A moment later she went after Neville, disappearing back into the school with him.
***
"So are you planning on telling me what it is you're looking for, or are you just going to pretend that I didn't notice the rather odd books you're compiling?" Neville's gently prodding words caused Hermione to jerk her head up in shock.
Despite himself, Neville smiled. "You don't need to look so panicked, Hermione. I'm not going to push you." He paused, then continued, his voice dropping slightly. "However, if you tell me what you're looking for, I may be able to help. I'm not nearly as smart as you are, but I like reading and I'm not entirely stupid."
Hermione shook her head in dismay, reaching forward impulsively to cover his hand with her own. "Neville, you are not stupid, not in any way. It's just... " She trailed off, turning her head away as she slowly pulled her hand back.
Long seconds passed as Neville watched her silently, his cheeks lightly flushed with embarrassment. Finally he nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "It's alright, Hermione. I'll just leave you to your studying. See you later."
She almost let him go. She tried, she really did. It was just that he was always so helpful, and she felt so damned guilty. Just before he walked out of sight, Hermione called out quietly.
"Neville, wait." She stared at the table, unable to meet his eyes when he looked back at her over his shoulder. Silence reigned for several moments, until finally Neville just shook his head. He wouldn't beg - he'd promised himself he'd never return to being the cowardly child he was trying to grow out of. Once again he turned to leave.
"Tonight, 9:13 precisely. The closet by some portrait of a blonde dairymaid." The words were clipped and barely audible, spoken to the table she was staring so intently at.
Turning his head to hide his smile, Neville nodded. "See you then." This time he really did leave, and Hermione slumped.
"Now I just have to warn Ron," she advised herself.
Silence.
"Without setting him off."
Silence.
"Fucking hell."
***
Harry finished dinner quickly, outwardly calm and inwardly numb. He felt like he'd put his mind on pause, though his head had begun to throb with the effort of not thinking. Beside him, his friends talked with false cheer and what seemed to him to be incredibly obvious pseudo-normalcy.
As soon as he could, Harry made his excuses and hurried from the dining hall, not caring that Ron and Hermione stared after him worriedly.
Once he'd snuck back into Dumbledore's office, Harry exhaled a breath he'd been unaware of holding. He'd been waiting for this moment all day; it had been all he could do to even attend classes and meals.
Silently Harry wandered around the room, his green eyes sliding over the desk, noting the absence of anything that would indicate the incident of the previous night. Even the inkpot was refilled, sitting atop the Headmaster's desk. It didn't really surprise him; Snape was nothing if not anally meticulous.
A long period of time passed as the Gryffindor just wandered around the room, his fingers sliding absently along the various magical artifacts and amusing gadgets that had made up Professor Dumbledore's collection of treasures. He didn't shed a tear as he paced, didn't stifle a sob, didn't even look for clues or information as he should have done.
Late into the evening, Harry grieved the loss of the one person who'd watched over him throughout his entire life. Not without error; there'd been many times when Dumbledore had slipped up. But at least he'd been there, at least he'd cared.
A movement at the edge of his vision caused Harry to turn his head, and he sighed softly as Fawkes settled on his shoulder. Slowly his hand lifted, and he gently rubbed the phoenix's head, giving what comfort he could.
"Why is it that I always lose everyone I care about? Everyone who ever cared about me?" He addressed the bird contemplatively, moving to sit in the high-backed chair behind the desk. His voice was oddly matter-of-fact and conversational, without a hint of self-pity - at first.
"Is it because of Voldemort? I didn't ask to defeat him, y'know. I didn't ask to be pitted against him, to be considered the only person who could beat him. I - I didn't ask to put everyone in danger..." Harry trailed off at the persistent nudging against his neck. He turned toward Fawkes, then grimaced ruefully. "Yeah, I know. We play the hand we're dealt."
He frowned abruptly. "I have a question, though, Fawkes. If you knew his capabilities, why did you give up two feathers for two wands? Why give him the capability to do the horrible things that he does?"
The words seemed to offend the phoenix, as he turned somewhat haughtily and flew from the room. Harry sighed irritably, rubbing his suddenly throbbing scar. "It was a good question," he muttered.
Harry sat still for a bit longer, trying to ignore the pain in his head, then reluctantly pushed to his feet, speaking quietly to himself as he looked around the room one last time. "I will do what's been fortold, Professor. I swear I will."
***
"I need to talk with you." Hermione didn't look at Ron as she spoke almost inaudibly that evening in the common room.
He didn't say a word, just shifted on the couch to let her know he'd heard. Perhaps five minutes later he rose to his feet, gathering up his work and yawning. "McGonagall should be shot for assigning this much work in one week. I'm bloody exhausted."
"She's just lit up 'cause Dumbledore left Professor Snape in charge instead of her." Dean grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck as he stretched. Seeing the move, Ginny reached over, continuing to read as she kneaded his shoulder with one hand.
"No kidding." Ron grinned over at Dean, then frowned abruptly. "Merlin, Ginny, you're in public!"
The girl just rolled her eyes, exhanging a look with Hermione before glancing back toward Ron. "You aren't considered 'public', Ron."
Her brother gestured around the common room at the various other Gryffindors almost incredulously. "And what would that make all them?"
Snickers were heard as the students looked up from the games they were playing and the homework they were doing, grinning in anticipation of another row between Ginny and Ron. Their variations on verbal mudslinging could get quite creative, and since the Weasleys usually ended up laughing in the end, it was pure entertainment every time.
Ginny looked around nonchalantly, then smiled sweetly at her brother. "Unlike yourself, they're not prudes."
A ripple of laughter, quickly smothered, moved through the room, and Ron glared at her. Hermione stood up, gathered her things, and left the common room unnoticed. She glanced behind her to make certain no one was watching, then darted into the boy's wing to wait for Ron.
"Just because you're an exhibitionist doesn't make me a prude, Virginia Weasley!"
"Aww, look at him, Dean. His ears are turning red. He's really embarrassed. How cute!" Ginny's sugary voice wafted into the stairway, and Hermione grinned.
Not wanting to get caught, she reluctantly left the door and moved to Harry and Ron's room. It was such a relief that they had their own room this year - she only wished she could share hers with Ginny, but the girl was too young yet.
Perhaps ten minutes later, the door opened and Ron slipped in, grinning widely. "Oh, I so kicked her ass."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "You two have entirely too much fun being mean to each other."
He just smiled at her, not denying it. A moment later he tilted his head curiously. "You needed to talk to me?"
Her smile faded and she took a deep breath, looking around wearily. She really wasn't looking forward to this conversation. "Is there any possibility that Harry might walk in on this, or that anyone's listening outside?"
"I suppose so - I've no idea where Harry is, and some of the guys have Extendable Ears."
"We need to go somewhere else, then."
Ron frowned, then nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, wait here."
He stepped out of the room, disappearing for a minute or so, then poked his head in the door and grabbed his towel, gesturing lightly. "C'mon."
They slipped through the hallway and into the boy's shower room. Ron closed the door, locking it before stuffing the towel under the door. When Hermione parted her lips to speak, he shook his head to quiet her. Though he'd checked just moments before, he again pushed open the stall doors. Satisfied that no one was around, he turned on a few showerheads to cover up their conversation and returned to her side.
"That oughta do it."
"...Why did you turn on the showers?" Hermione was looking at him rather curiously, as if he were a puzzle she needed to figure out. He shrugged briefly.
"Bathrooms tend to echo. The water will help muffle our words."
"Oh..." She trailed off, eyeing her friend with newfound respect. While she'd always known that Ron was far from stupid, it had been awhile since he'd done anything that had both surprised and impressed her.
Disconcerted by the look, Ron glanced away, rubbing idly at his wrist. "So what was it you wanted to talk about?"
Hermione bit her lip, flushing lightly and dropping her gaze to the floor. "I just wanted to... to check in."
He looked back at her, lifting a brow in amusement. "Check in on what? The interior design job on the boy's bathroom?"
She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes angrily. She was nervous, and this was no time to joke around! "No, you git. On Harry."
"I wasn't Harry the last time I checked." Ron smirked, taking a good look at himself in the mirror before shaking his head ruefully. "Nope, still not. Time for glasses, Herm?" He grinned, deliberately using the hated nickname.
"Don't call me that!" Her hands clenched at her sides. She hated that nickname. "And I don't need glasses! I know you aren't Harry, that wasn't what I meant!"
He laughed. "It's entirely too easy to provoke you, Hermione, you know that?" At her accusing glare he sobered, suddenly feeling guilty for being able to relax when Dumbledore was so ill. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. "So what was it that you did mean?"
She huffed lightly, anger provoking her into blurting out what she'd meant to take care revealing. "I'm going to tell Neville everything; I've invited him to the meeting tonight."
His sudden stillness was unnerving. "You did what?" He nearly shouted the words, pushing away from the wall angrily.
"I... I invited him to the meeting. He's got a right to know everything, Ron. Especially if something should happen to us. We need someone else to help Harry!"
"Bloody hell, Hermione, what the fuck is Neville going to do? Twitch at him?"
Her own face darkened with fury. "That isn't fair, Ron."
"You want me to be fair, Hermione? This isn't a bloody game! There's every chance that one or all of us might die when everything finally goes down."
"Merlin, don't you think I know that?"
"You sure as hell don't act like it! Neville, for Merlin's sake! Why didn't you just ask Peeves to help - he'd probably be more effective, and he's incorporeal!"
"Shut up, Ron. Just because Neville's making far more progress in the DA than you are is no reason to be such a jealous, bitter arse." Sufficiently angered to avoid pulling her punches, Hermione struck where it hurt the most - his pride and self-esteem.
Unfortunately, the bright young Gryffindor also forgot what a bad idea it was to anger Ron these days. For weeks later she cursed her own stupidity and lack of control. At the time however, she didn't notice her friend's grasp on sanity vanish. She didn't see the dilation of his pupils or the flush of color that turned his face red. Not until his strong hands closed about her throat, when it was too late.
"Arrogant, know-it-all mudblood!" Ron nearly hissed the words at her. Her eyes widened in panic, and her small hands gripped at his hands, trying unsuccessfully to pry his fingers loose. She'd screwed up royally, this time.
"Ron-" she choked out, blinking back tears as she tried to breathe.
"Shut up!" He shook her, cracking her head back against the wall. Spots blocked her vision, and she whimpered in pain. "You think you know everything, and you don't care whom you hurt so long as you get your way, you stupid bitch!"
Hermione shuddered, her eyes closed tightly as she struggled to keep calm. It was hard; she was terrified. His words hurt her almost as much as the hands cutting off her air, because she knew how irrational they were. She'd forgotten to keep him calm, and it was starting to look like she'd pay for it with her life. Stupid, really, when her goal had been to prevent just this. If only she'd asked Ginny to come.
Ron didn't seem aware of what he was doing as his hands began to tighten, his knuckles white from the strain of constricting around her throat. His eyes were unfocused, his teeth clenched. Had Hermione cared to open her eyes, she wouldn't have recognized him. Then again, she wouldn't have expected to.
"R-Ron, please..." The words barely made it past her throat. She shuddered, trying to keep from swaying. She had to do something - anything - to get past the monster that had taken over her friend. Desperately she opened her eyes, staring at the distorted face in front of her.
Later Hermione tried to analyzed how it all happened, but she couldn't quite figure it out. All she could remember was being terrified and dizzy, and then her lips were against his own.
At the first touch of her mouth, Ron only seemed to get angrier. His lips parted, his teeth nipping painfully at hers. She tried to jerk her head away, but only succeeded in receiving another fierce blow against the wall and increasing his rage. Hermione didn't notice that his hands had moved from her neck to her hair, where they held her head back in a painful, pliant position as he seemed to try and devour her.
Abruptly his mouth moved, and she panted heavily, gasping for air. A sharp yelp of pain echoed throughout the bathroom as his teeth sunk into the hollow of her throat, and her arms jerked as she fought the reflex to push him away. Fighting him wasn't going to work, she knew that instinctively.
Automatically her hands lifted to his head, stroking his hair with deliberate, choppy movements. Her loud panting began to slow and she closed her eyes tightly, trying to ignore the horribly violated feeling his actions induced.
"Ron - Ron, please," she whispered on a sob. Stranglely, it seemed to reach the boy somehow, for although his teeth continued to gnaw the flesh at her jawline, they gentled slightly.
Tears slid down the young girl's face as she forced her hands to ease against his skull, until her fingers threaded through his hair, massaging gently. When his mouth came down on hers again, she flinched but didn't fight him. Her lips parted beneath his own, and her tongue timidly sought his, trying to set a gentler tone than the previous invasion.
Moments later a shudder ran down Ron's spine, and his eyes closed tightly. Tears spiked his lashes as his kiss gentled. Tenderly his tongue brushed her lips, soothing the throbbing skin with uncommon patience. When his lips slanted against hers once more, they did so without demand or desire to force a response. Instead they offered an apology, and his hands slid slowly down her arms to thread his fingers through her own.
When the rough sobs that had shaken her body seemed to slow, Ron lifted his head and took a deep breath, his eyes closed.
"Hermione," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm so so sorry. I felt it come, but I wasn't quick enough..." He trailed off, then opened his eyes to look at her. Abruptly he flinched, pulling away immediately, all color drained from his face.
"Oh Merlin, did I do that to you?" Ron stared at the mass of bruises on her neck, starting to shake. His eyes traveled over the imprints of his fingers, the darkening skin surrounded by the rounded grip of his own teeth.
Hermioned wrapped her arms tightly around her waist, her head ducked. She couldn't stand to look at him, didn't want to think about what had occurred - especially the last bit of it. Another sob slipped from her throat, and she edged toward the door.
"Wait! Hermione, please - I won't hurt you again, I swear it. But you can't go out like that, I..." he trailed off, turning away and trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. He couldn't look at her, couldn't bear to see the marks that he'd put on her. It was unthinkable that he'd been able to hurt her.
"I - I'm sorry, I - I have to go. I didn't mean to... it's not your fault. I sh-should have..." She lifted her head suddenly, staring at him pleadingly. Ron wished he knew what she wanted. He didn't understand that she needed to be held, needed the imprint of the monster replaced with something else. It didn't even occur to him that she'd want him anywhere near her after what he'd done.
Hermione knew she couldn't stand there any longer. She could barely breathe past the rock of guilt and fear that sat in the bottom of her lungs. Unable to say another word, she raced for the door, forgetting that he'd locked it magically.
Ron almost cried when he saw her frantic tugging on the door that refused to open. He stepped closer, hating the tension that filled her frame as he drew his wand.
"Alohomora."
A soft cry of relief escaped her throat as the door jerked open. Uncaring that anyone might see her, Hermione raced out the door, disappearing down the stairs.
***
"Do you think we're doing the right thing?"
Being twins allowed the Weasley's a certain advantage; while they couldn't literally read each other's minds, they always knew what the other was thinking.
"Keeping Harry's secret, y'mean? Not certain." George frowned as he poured two drops of a purple liquid into a small jar, then cursed as the mixture turned brown instead of yellow. "Bloody damned son of a squib."
Despite the serious topic at hand, Fred grinned, looking up for a moment from his so-called Evil Sensor - which still wasn't working how he wanted it. "You're adding too much."
"I put in two bloody drops, like Snape said!"
Fred shrugged, narrowing his eyes at the contraption he was currently picking apart. "Your drops are too big."
George cursed again, then flung the dropper across the room. Fred looked up at the sound of glass breaking, then lofted a brow.
"I always thought that one was a bit of a stroppy cow, myself," he said nonchalantly of the destroyed dropper.
"Oh, shut up." George huffed, then shoved his fingers through his hair. "Why is it I'm mixing the potion when you're better at it?"
"Because I take great enjoyment watching you destroy our tools."
Fred grinned when George thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "I see your point."
Perhaps a second later a bright flash burst from the Sensor, promptly followed by a hiss and the distinctive smell of something burning. Fred yelped, jumping away from the destructive tablet.
"Son of a motherless goat! That's the fifth time today - knock it off!"
George laughed, watching his brother shake his fist at the inanimate object, then swipe it off the table. "Well, you certainly told it who's boss."
Fred just rolled his eyes, then sunk down onto the dilapitated sofa that comprised the furniture in the old potions classroom, aside from a few tables and a shelving unit. "I think we're setting ourselves up for a fall, and I really don't understand why we're doing it. Telling them everything will only help us."
George dumped out the failed potion, speaking quietly. "We're not telling them because he doesn't want us to."
"He's not being rational, George, and you know it."
Again the twin nodded, beginning to prepare the potion yet again. "I know."
"Then why are we listening to him? This isn't something insignificant that can be overlooked!"
"Because it's his life, and he's been given little control over it as it is. Because Dumbledore told us to wait just a bit longer." He paused then, his voice dropping to just slightly more than a whisper, soft with regret and resignation. "...But mostly because it may be the last thing we can do for him, Fred."
***
She almost made it out without getting caught.
Unfortunately, sneaking out of the boy's dorm was far easier when one actually cared about not being seen. Hermione wasn't thinking clearly enough to give a shit, though she cursed herself when she felt an hand close about her arm. She jerked it quickly, not bothering to look back as she raced forward, struggling not to cry.
The grip didn't give and she came to an abrupt halt, then stumbled backward, unable to stifle a small whimper of fear.
"Hermione?"
Abruptly Hermione spun and sunk against Dean's chest, clenching her teeth to stop them from chattering. His arms wrapped around her automatically, and he stared down at the girl, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Hermione never panicked like this.
"Merlin, what happened to you?"
She shook her head, forcing herself to step backward, already regretting the weak moment where she'd turned to someone else for comfort. "Nothing, I'm - I'm fine."
Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation, though his words were gentle when he spoke. "Hermione, you're shaking. Come on, you can't stay out here." He pushed the door behind him open, gesturing to his room.
Once again she shook her head, taking another step backward. "No, I...I should leave. I'm not supposed to be here. Besides, I....I...I told Ginny I'd meet her ten minutes ago!"
Despite himself, Dean smiled. "Well, you've come to the right place. She's in here. Come on."
Hermione blushed in embarrassment, but saw no help for it. She folded her arms across her chest defensively, then walked into the room, taking extreme care to avoid even brushing Dean as she walked by.
As soon as she looked around, Hermione wished she'd just stayed in bed this morning. Waking up made things entirely too complicated. Neville looked up from his homework, smiling.
"Hermione, what are you - what the hell happened?" By the time he'd finished speaking, Neville had crossed the room and gripped her shoulders tightly.
Humiliated and ashamed, the young girl ducked her head, shaking her hair forward to try and hide the bruises that marred her throat. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't mention the fact that someone decided you'd look better in purple? Who the hell was it!" He demanded in a furious tone that she'd never heard before from Neville.
"Neville!" Ginny crawled out from underneath Dean's bed and hurried toward her friend. Quickly she placed a hand atop the angry boy's. "You're hurting her, yourself. Let go. Dean, close the door."
"No one, nothing, I'm fine. Truly!" Hermione lifted her head, forcing a rather pathetic smile. She didn't realize that her eyes looked unfocused and haunted, but the others did.
"No, you're not. Sit down. Neville, go get some water from the common room. Dean, go with him." Dean lifted a brow at Ginny's demanding tone, but he understood what she was doing. He had no intention of following Neville, of course - someone had to guard the door - but Hermione didn't need to know that.
Neville didn't particularly like the idea of being forced to leave, either, but he went along when Dean gripped his arm and practically shoved him out the door. It closed behind them, leaving the two girls staring at each other silently. Hermione was the first to drop her gaze.
Ginny took a deep breath, releasing it slowly and praying for patience. She moved forward to sit next to her friend, then very carefully wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulder, holding her for a few silent minutes.
"Feel like talking about it?"
Hermione shook her head, closing her eyes tightly. She didn't want to talk about it; she was trying not to even think about it. It wasn't working, of course, but effort counted, right?
"You probably should, Hermione. Besides, if you don't tell me now, I won't stop the boys from questioning you - and something tells me that you don't want that."
The bright young Gryffindor absorbed the matter-of-fact statement without response, and her brows knit as she thought carefully about the ramifications of what she had to say. She'd made the mistake once of not thoroughly planning her strategy; she wasn't about to make the same mistakes again.
"Ginny... you're not going to like it."
The redhead shrugged blithely. "There are a lot of things that I don't like, Hermione. I already don't like this situation. You're not going to change that much."
Her nonchalant attitude irritated Hermione, causing her to completely forget her resolution just seconds before to think before she spoke. Instead, she blurted out the words, wanting to prove the other girl wrong.
"It was Ron."
Ginny paled, shook her head. "I'm sorry... say that again?"
Hermione bit her lip, wincing as she watched the color drain from the other girl's face. "I...Ron did this."
Ginny closed her eyes tightly, then stood. "I don't believe you!"
Once again Hermione winced, then simply lifted her head and met Ginny's distraught gaze. "The anger, Gin."
The youngest Weasley seemed to deflate before her very eyes. She sunk back onto the bed, then pressed her palms against her eyes. "Oh, God..."
She hadn't wanted to admit it, but she knew this was going to happen. Knew Ron would go off sometime when she wasn't around. It was her fault - she hadn't been there like she'd promised.
"Go find him, Ginny. He's in the shower room, and... he remembers, this time."
"Oh, God." The redhead paled even further, if that were possible. "I can't leave you - I'll send Dean."
Again Hermione shook her head. "No, you're his sister. You need to talk to him. I just - I can't right now, okay?"
Ginny bit her lip, then nodded reluctantly and stood up. "Don't go anywhere, okay? Stay until Dean and Neville come back. It's probably not a good idea for you to be alone, right now." She moved toward the door, then paused and looked back, her hands wringing together nervously.
"Did you want to say something, Gin?"
Again the Weasley bit her lip, then stared at some point on the far wall as she requested softly. "I hate to ask, but...it might help me with Ron. How...um...how far did it go?"
"He choked me, Ginny - or perhaps you didn't notice." Hermione literally snapped the words.
Ginny nodded, then exhaled softly. "I did. But Hermione? Your lips are bruised..."
Immediately the brunette lifted a hand to brush her fingers against her swollen lips. She ducked her head and nodded a little. "He kissed me – if you could call it that."
"I - I'm sorry, Hermione. That must've been awful, to be touched that way by a friend."
She just nodded, saying nothing more until Ginny reluctantly left the room.
"Yeah, awful."
A pause, then a soft, despairing groan.
"Too bad I liked it."
***
This wasn't happening. It just wasn't. He absolutely refused to believe that he could lose control of himself so badly. That he could hurt Hermione, of all people. Ron slid his hands through his hair for perhaps the tenth time, then grit his teeth and turned, thrusting a fisted hand into the wall. Numbly he looked down, noting the bloody knuckles with a smirk of self-disgust. At least this time he'd hurt himself. Merlin, he felt sick.
It was the last thought he had for a few minutes as he knelt over a toilet, retching violently. Nothing came up, but he couldn't seem to stop the clenching of his stomach. Finally he sat, collapsing back against the wall, his forehead beaded with sweat as he groaned softly. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he couldn't seem to rub it away. He kept seeing the horror in her eyes, the bruised look of her neck and her lips before she'd run out. Again his stomach rebelled against his thoughts, though he managed to swallow the taste of bile in his throat.
Eventually the distraught Gryffindor managed to gather himself to his feet and lurch toward the shower, dragging his clothes off as he went. Once inside, he stood beneath the powerful spray, his head tilted up to welcome the scalding hot water. He parted his lips, swallowing what he could, his arms shaking as his palms braced against the wall. Ron never knew how long he stood there, bowing his head at some point and just letting the water rush over him. He didn't notice when the shower turned cold - he was trembling just as badly when he finally turned the water off as he had been before he turned it on. An aching numbness resided in his throat, and for awhile it was all he could do to drag in air. But slowly warmth returned to his body, and with it a fierce determination. This would not happen again. He wouldn't allow something - someone - to control him in such a manner.
Ron had never been a fool. He knew that he wasn't the bravest of blokes - or the smartest, or the most talented. But he was loyal, and he had never backed down when his friends needed him. Even if sometimes it had taken him awhile to step up, he always did, in the end. This time would be no different. What he and Hermione had allowed to happen was now affecting the people he cared about in a most horrible manner, and he wouldn't tolerate it any longer.
As he dried himself off, Ron stared at his face in the mirror. He didn't look any different, but he felt different. Later he'd decide that everyone had moments in their lives where something changed drastically. They were the moments that had the power to make or break people. Ron remembered the look in Harry's eyes after he'd faced Voldemort their first year; more than that, he remembered the change that had come over his friend after the death of Cedric, and again after Sirius. Harry'd been having defining moments and growing up for years now. This time, it was his turn. It was long past time he stopped being a passenger waiting for the train to stop.
As he finished dressing, a light knock on the door lifted his head.
"Ron..? Ron, are you in there? Anyone? Beware the girl, I'm coming in!" It was Ginny.
Ron just stared at her as she walked inside, closing the door quickly behind her.
"Are you alright? You look horrible. Hermione said-" She broke off her rambling words when her brother lifted his hand. Silently her green eyes searched his own, clearly worried.
"It's okay, Gin. No, I'm not alright." He lifted his chin, his gaze narrowing when she started to protest. "But I will be, Gin. I will be. I promise."
She walked closer, resting a hand on his arm, her gaze concerned as she bit her lip, wondering just how far to push. Surprisingly, his hand shifted, his fingers linking with her own and squeezing tightly.
"It'll be okay. I'm going to fix all this. It won't happen again. But Gin, I want you to do me a favor."
"Anything."
He took a deep breath, squeezing her hand again and meeting her eyes directly. She sucked in a breath - her brother looked... old. Like... like Harry. A shiver of apprehension ran up her spine - something told her she wasn't going to like his request.
She was right.
***
"Forget it, Potter. You're never going to be able to do this right. Crabbe and Goyle learn faster than you do. I suggest you give up and accept the fact that you're worm's meat." A dry chuckle followed Malfoy's mocking words, and the blond turned and moved toward the other side of the room, wiping his arm against his forehead.
"Fuck off, Malfoy. You're just terrified that I'll figure it out and use it on you. You can't handle pain, and we both know it. Bloody hell, every time you end up in the Infirmary, you stay twice as long as anyone else with the same injury would." Even as he spat out the words, Harry gratefully lowered his wand, panting softly. Sweat dripped unhindered from his jaw as he took the moment to gather his strength. He'd been so distracted tonight - half of Malfoy's attacks had hit him dead on. Luckily, however, he'd avoided using the Unforgivable Curses. Privately, Harry thought he'd be dead by now if Malfoy hadn't arrogantly decided that there were other things he needed to learn first.
The Slytherin surprisingly reacted without anger. Instead he rolled his eyes and sank down onto a sofa, making himself comfortable as he eyed the dripping Gryffindor.
"Give me a break, Potter. The best way to find out what's happening in other Houses is through the Infirmary. All sorts of gossip is relayed to those resting there. You'd be surprised what someone can learn while faking that they're asleep."
It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Right, Malfoy. Like anyone would forget to guard their words around you. Name one thing you've learned that doesn't pass through the entire school's gossip mill."
Draco narrowed his gaze, stiffening slightly. A smirk crossed his lips, and he leaned back languidly. He watched Harry unobtrusively as he drawled slowly, "I've learned that Dumbledore wasn't called away by some mysterious letter."
The young Gryffindor whirled around, green eyes flaring wide behind his glasses. His hands fisted tightly at his sides, but he managed to choke back his reponse long enough to sound just slightly nonchalant when he replied, "...What makes you think that?"
Harry flinched lightly when Draco just laughed, idly twirling his wand through his fingers. "You suck at lying, Potter. You know full well what I'm talking about."
"I most certainly do not!"
Abruptly Draco abandoned his relaxed posture, sitting up and placing his feet on the floor, elbows resting atop his knees as he clasped his wand between his linked hands. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to, Potter? I'm a Malfoy. We're...trained, shall we say - in the ability to separate lies from truth. Don't you dare think that you - Hogwart's own Golden Boy - can even come close to me when it comes to deception." The words were almost hissed at Harry, who paled, then volleyed derisively.
"You would find that something to be proud of, Malfoy."
Draco laughed, though he didn't exactly sound amused. "You're right, I do. At least I know how to keep a secret - you give absolutely everything away."
Harry clutched his wand tightly, struggling not to react. "I have no idea what you're rambling about."
Once again the other boy laughed, then pushed himself to his feet, slowly advancing toward the Gryffindor, who held stock still.
"Of course not, Potter. That's why Fred and George Weasley - merely adequate Quidditch players - were called in to coach for an entire semester for one game. Curious, isn't it, that their father has called in to work since the night the Death Eaters escaped from Azkaban?" Draco smiled rather maliciously, folding his arms over his chest as he began to pace casually, continuing to speak with nauseating arrogance. "Then there's the Weasel's abrupt and rather obvious bout of anger in the dining hall the other day. While rash and quite stupid, he doesn't generally fly off the handle like that. Add in Dumbledore leaving control of the school to Professor Snape without any indication to McGonagall - who was clearly shocked when the announcement was made at breakfast - and things begin to look more than a bit suspicious."
He stopped, standing almost on top of Harry's shoes as he looked down disdainfully at the boy. His voice hovered just above a whisper when he finally spoke. "And then there's you, Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, who's outsmarted the infamous Lord Voldemort time and time again, coming to me for help. "
"To learn the Unforgivable Curses, which you could be locked up for even knowing!" Harry nearly shouted the words, his cheeks flagged with embarrassment as he flung up his wand arm, only to have it gripped tightly at the wrist.
"Feeling defensive, Potter?" Draco smirked knowingly as he dug his nails into Harry's skin, who opened his mouth to speak, then went abruptly silent. The Gryffindor pressed his lips together in a tight, thin line. His green eyes never wavered from the intense, mocking grey of the Slytherin.
"Well, at least you're smart enough to know that speaking at all would only incriminate yourself further." Malfoy waited another moment, silently relishing the defiant glare he was receiving. He smirked to himself. This really was entirely too easy.
The satisfaction vanished abruptly when a powerful left hook took him by surprise, quickly followed by a knee to his left inner thigh. Draco staggered backward in pain, cursing loudly.
"Son of a Muggle-born bitch, Potter! What the fuck was that for?"
Harry just stared at Malfoy, not even bothering to rub his hand. His wand remained drawn and steady, pointed directly at the other boy.
"As you said, Malfoy...I'm smart enough to know when speaking wouldn't help." The words were deadly soft, determination throbbing in each syllable. "Luckily...I'm not completely helpless without a wand, like some are."
Draco's pale skin flushed with anger. He lifted his wand quickly, and for long moments the two faced each other squarely, neither blinking. No hands trembled, no ragged breaths drew in or released in uneven rhythm. Had anyone been present, they'd have thought the sight odd at the very least. Perhaps the eerie calm would have frightened them, for such a potentially deadly scene rarely passed with such stillness.
Time passed - or didn't. Neither boy noticed or cared, until finally Harry's wand lowered, then slid in a smooth motion into his sleeve as he abandoned his position and straightened. Green eyes keenly watched the Slytherin, who had yet to sheath his own weapon.
"Perhaps you ought to tell me what it is you think you know, Malfoy." The only surprise in the sentence was the lack of malevolence attached to the tone, and it was apparently sufficient enough to allow Draco to release himself from his frozen position.
Casually the taller boy straightened, tucking away his wand and turning his back on the Gryffindor as he moved calmly to the opposite side of the room to pour himself a glass of water, kept on hand for their infrequent breaks. He swirled the contents of his glass idly, as if it were wine he intended to savor, and once more silence reigned until he seemed to come to some sort of decision. Harry watched with ill-concealed impatience, and only when his hands finally fisted in frustration did Draco take a large gulp of his water and set it aside. He fixed his gaze on Harry, then settled himself on the sofa once more.
"I believe we are at somewhat of an impasse, Potter. You see, I know better than to give away the upper hand. While I imagine you know much of what I know, you still have not connected all the dots yet. However," he paused, lifting his gaze to the ceiling as if searching for answers before allowing it to return to the other boy. "I am also aware that there are things that I do not know, and I believe that some information that you have is possibly more valuable than you might think. Normally I would never give such a thing away, however these are not normal times. I am beginning to believe that time is running out for me to attain the goal I've set for myself."
"Which is?" Harry interrupted, his voice laced with impatience.
Draco smiled briefly, then tilted his head forward a bit, as if conceding a point. "The Death of the Dark Lord, of course."
A soft gasp of shock followed the words, quickly replaced by the wary narrowing of green eyes. "What?"
"Sit down, Potter, before you further disgrace yourself by fainting of shock." Harry didn't realize he was doing as Malfoy instructed until he felt the cushion beneath his thighs.
"Why?"
"Why do I want him dead, or why am I telling you?" Draco smirked a bit as he watched Harry try to shove away the confusion. Predictable boy.
"I...both."
"I want him dead because he destroyed something of mine."
Images, dark and horrific, flashed through Harry's mind, and he looked at the other boy with sudden clarity. "Your father. He killed your father."
Draco couldn't hide his shock. "How do you know about that?"
Harry bit his lip and glanced away, shrugging lightly and speaking quietly. "I...saw it. The other night, when you..." He trailed off, suddenly horrified that he'd inadvertently intruded on Malfoy's most private memories.
"You saw... When I what?" Draco paled as he hissed the words from clenched teeth. He did not like the idea of the insufferable Boy Who Lived venturing into his private thoughts.
"Damnit!" Harry muttered the word in self-disgust, turning away and lifting a hand to rub wearily at the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, saying nothing further as he silently pondered how badly his foot was going to taste this time around. Knowing other people's thoughts was about as appreciated in the wizarding world as being a Parselmouth.
"Potter, I'm not going to repeat myself." The two boys had argued enough over the years to know the difference between a real breaking point and a public breaking point. One was mostly glitter - a show to put on because it was expected. The other was far more serious, and accounted for far fewer of their encounters. Draco's tone immediately alerted Harry to the fact that he'd not only crossed the line, he'd ventured into entirely new territory.
"Draco, listen..." It was the first time Harry had ever called Draco by his given name - and the Slytherin never noticed. Anger and pain blazed fiercely from the boy's grey eyes, and Harry flinched from the sight, lifting a hand in useless supplication. "First...try and understand... I didn't do it on purpose."
"Potter, if you don't just spit it out, I swear to Salazar I'll turn you inside out and hang you from the ramparts!" Draco was swiftly losing his control. So lost in his own guilty confession, Harry failed to recognize the severity of the situation. He blurted out his answer angrily, his own anger sparked.
"The night you went bloody mad and nearly killed me, I slipped into your mind and saw your father murdered while you stood by and did nothing, alright!"
"God damn you!" Draco's anguished, infuriated shout was followed instantly by the force of the taller boy rushing at Harry, slamming him into the wall. His head cracked back against the stone, his cry of pain cut short by the fist that snapped at his lower jaw.
Furious at the reminder of that horrid night and desperate to kill the guilt that threatened to choke him, Draco didn't really notice the damage he was doing to Harry. Again and again his fists slammed into the other boy, connecting with anything he could reach.
For Harry, the physical pain of the beating was secondary to his own guilt at having provoked it. He knew what it felt like to watch as someone died, knew how twisted Voldemort could be. How could he have been so insensitive? Appalled at his own behavior, Harry thoughtlessly allowed his wand to fall from his fingers and lifted his hands in attempt to ward off the worst of the blows.
Eventually the inevitable happened, and Harry couldn't prevent the hoarse shout of pain that lept from his throat as his rib snapped. He doubled over, cursing and blinking back tears as Malfoy finally stepped away to look down at his bloody fists somewhat incredulously.
"Shit." Draco turned his back on the other boy and walked to the water pitcher, suddenly desperate to clean his hands. By the time he'd finished pouring water over his knuckles and drying them on his shirt, his breathing had calmed considerably. Wearily he looked back at the Gryffindor, who'd fallen to his knees, arms wrapped around his chest. Guilt flooded his cheeks with color, and he grabbed the pitcher and crouched in front of Harry.
"Take off your shirt and let me see." The words were spoken gruffly, weighted by his own embarrassment, though there was enough starch in his tone to indicate that he'd not forgotten the other boy's remarks.
Harry shook his head quickly, not quite meeting Draco's eyes. "I'm fine, really. Just - ow, damnit!"
He broke off as Malfoy reached forward and grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head and causing no small amount of pain at the abrupt movement.
"Just be still, will you? Tell me if this hurts." Harry clenched his jaw as Draco began sliding his fingers along his bruised ribs, finding tender spots now and again. Carefully Draco prodded the other boy's chest, seeking the extent of the damage he'd caused, until finally Harry drew in a swift breath of pain.
Draco glanced up at the Gryffindor, noting the glazed green eyes and the unusually pale cheeks, and winced himself. "Sorry, Harry." He murmured the words thoughtlessly, missing the shock in the Gryffindor's expression.
After a bit Draco sat back on his ankles, resting his hands on his thighs as he addressed the other boy. "I broke two ribs, I think - but everything else is just bruises. You have two options; you can go to Madam Pomfrey to fix them, or you can let me do it. Your choice."
Harry stared at Draco, still trying to process his thoughts. He hadn't a clue what had possessed the Slytherin to check over his injuries. He'd thought Malfoy liked causing pain. Furthermore, Draco's used his name. While obvious that he hadn't realize that he'd done it, it was still quite confusing, and he shook his head slightly - he was missing something, and he didn't like the feeling.
"You can do it, I suppose. I really don't want to try explaining this to Madam Pomfrey right now." Harry made the excuse as nonchalantly as possible. He carefully ignored that he was beginning to trust Malfoy - it was just too much to deal with, right now.
Draco released a breath he'd not been aware of holding. He hadn't realized how much he wanted to be able to make amends for his own transgressions. Perhaps it was because he hadn't been able to before- No, damnit, forget that! Quickly he gathered his thoughts, redirecting them purposefully. Gripping his wand, he narrowed his eyes on Harry's chest, not noticing how intent his gaze was - or how much longer than necessary he stared at the lightly tanned skin, marred slightly by marks that were slowly beginning to darken.
"Malfoy." The name elicited no response whatsoever, and Harry squirmed lightly, flushing a bit under the Slytherin's inspection. To cover up his unease, he chuckled lightly. "I know I'm good looking, but there's no need to stare."
Immediately Draco flicked his eyes away, fighting embarrassment as Harry ruthlessly buried the bit of disappointment that he started to feel. Bloody hell, I'm really starting to lose it. The dark haired boy shook his head in self derision.
"I think you need to trade in your Vanity Mirror for a TruView, Potter." Draco drawled, referring to the magically enhanced mirrors that wiped away any unflattering attributes.
"Just shut up and get on with it, Malfoy." Harry grumbled irritably, trying not to fidget.
Draco rolled his eyes, but aimed his wand toward Harry's torso and gestured briefly. Long minutes later the Gryffindor leaned back against the stone, his eyes closed as he breathed quietly, feeling his bones solidify in a most painful manner. He managed to keep it under control, however, and a slight smile graced his lips when he felt the bruises fade, a sensation much like sand trickling free from a fisted palm.
The sight of the relaxed boy caused unexpected heat to flush through Draco's body, and he shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore his panic. Quickly he tried to distract himself.
"There, it's done. And don't worry Potter, I won't tell anyone how you whimpered like a girl." He smirked, watching the anger rise in the other boy's eyes.
"That I - I did no such thing, Malfoy!" Harry stiffened indignantly, hands fisting at his sides.
Draco took one look at the sheen of fury in Harry's eyes and cursed mentally. Abruptly he pushed himself to his feet, turning his back on the other boy and gathering his belongings with forced nonchalance as he spoke derisively.
"Tell yourself whatever you have to so you can sleep at night, Potter. I'm certain I don't care. I have plans, and I'm late for them because you were such a bloody wuss, so I trust you'll excuse me." He didn't wait for a response, moving quickly for the door.
"Get back here damnit, we have things to discuss!" The words came out without thought, and as Harry replayed them in his head he winced. He'd sounded like a whining git. Damn Malfoy, anyway!
Draco turned, smirking contemptuously. "I'm flattered that you want to spend time with me, Potter, really. Unfortunately you're not high on my list of priorities, amusing as kicking your ass can be. As for the rest of it, perhaps tomorrow. If I feel like it." He turned away once more, yanking the door open with scarcely controlled haste and leaving the room.
The door closed behind him, and Harry grit his teeth. This was going to be hell.
***
"You're late," George commented mildly to the rest of the group after they'd moved away from the main staircases. They'd kept up appearances, chatting mildly when they'd met. Luckily Ginny was getting special privledges lately, what with her brother and best friend both being Prefects. She was able to stay out the extra hour that upperclassmen were allowed, so long as she was discreet about it.
"With good reason." Ginny's chin jutted out stubbornly as she glared at her brother before following Fred into the temporarily remodeled cloak closet they'd decided to hold the meeting in.
"Which is?"
Ron spoke up wearily, avoiding looking anywhere remotely close to Hermione's location. "I lost control again."
George closed the door quickly, then folded his arms over his chest. "What? Explain."
His brother shook his head, gesturing briefly toward Hermione. "I don't need to. Just look at her."
The twins flicked their gazes over Hermione, then stared in horror. Neville just clenched his fists tighter, glaring venemously at Ron.
"How could this happen? You were just reinforced yesterday!" Fred gaped at his brother in shock and just a small bit of disgust.
Unable to hold his gaze as guilt rolled through him, Ron looked away, shrugging briefly.
It was Hermione who finally spoke up. "Dumbledore did the work, and he's unconscious. Perhaps it was something he needed to continually monitor."
George raked a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell! We were counting on that protection! Is there any way to be certain?"
"I don't think so. Our main source of information is currently unreachable, and I don't know of any others who can do Occlumency, much less do it well. Save for Harry, of course."
"So why not just ask Harry?" Neville's tone was unusually stiff, and his gaze barely flickered from Ron's form.
Hermione shook her head lightly, rubbing her temples. "Because we can't. Look, everyone sit down. There are things I need to tell you."
For the first time since she'd run out on Ron, her gaze deliberately sought his own. At his nod of approval, her stomach seemed to unclench, and she stared at him as she took a deep breath, then began her story.
***
Draco flung himself on his bed, rolling onto his back and dragging an arm over his face. That had not gone as planned. He'd done some hard thinking after he'd lost control the previous night, and he'd managed to determine a goal for himself. It wouldn't matter what happened to Harry Potter, not so long as he got what he wanted: Voldemort's head on a platter. If that meant causing Potter a rather large quantity of pain, Draco was fine with it. He was even okay with the possibility of the idiot Gryffindor's death, so long as he got what he wanted in the end.
So why had he bothered to heal the little prick? For one split second he tried to convince himself that he'd only done it because he couldn't afford to lose Potter so early in the game, but he couldn't make himself believe it. Shifting his hips to get more comfortable, he stared up at the ceiling, allowing himself the distraction of the false night sky he'd created out of boredom some weeks ago. After a bit, when his breathing had eased and the tight pit of panic in his gut had finally eased, he allowed his thoughts to return to his own actions.
It seemed most likely that he'd just wanted to opportunity to gain Potter's trust. He was trying to convince the stupid git to tell him what the hell the Order of the Phoenix was up to, after all. It only made sense that he'd want the Boy Who Lived to think he was trustworthy. He'd probably succeeded, too, if Potter's frustration when he left was any indication. In fact, it was better that he'd refused to stay at the end - it wouldn't do to suddenly act supportive and trustworthy. Potter was a fool, but he wasn't that gullible.
Slightly mollified by his own reasonings, Draco allowed himself to relax. Casually he stripped free of his clothes and slid beneath his sheets. He pillowed his head on his arm, staring up at the ceiling as his hand slid absently along his abdomen, scratching lightly while his thoughts shifted.
It had felt good to hit Potter with his fists instead of with magic. Not so much because he enjoyed the other boy's pain, although he did. No, it had felt so good because it was such a release. Physical agression had not been something his father had felt was important, and because of that it had been one of the few things that he'd not had an instructor for when he was growing up. It hadn't been until his fourteenth birthday - the year his father had brought in two of the Dark Lord's lower-ranked followers to instruct him in the art of seduction - that Draco had ever physically touched anyone in any but the most casual of ways.
To Lucius Malfoy, sex was just another tool to utilize when trying to accomplish a goal. Draco felt the same way, though he suspected he enjoyed the act a bit more than his father ever had. Although he didn't consider his interludes as having any sort of bearing on his sexual orientation, Draco had been taught how to seduce and gratify both sexes, and it was something he took the opportunity to do as much as possible when off school grounds. He'd yet to utilitize his skills at Hogwarts; mostly because there hadn't been a need for them as of yet. It was rather easy to get what he wanted while at school; too many people were afraid of him, or perhaps more realistically his father - and thus, Lord Voldemort. He also didn't want to have to worry about the possibility of having any students discover he was having affairs with other students; it never pleased his father when gossip reached his ears that had nothing to do with furthering the Malfoy name. Not that he had to worry about his father's wishes anymore.
With that thought came the irritating pang of regret and guilt that he couldn't seem to shake. Anxious to think about something - anything - else, Draco returned his attention to his interaction with Potter. A smirk crossed his lips as he recalled the frustration on the prat's face when he'd left against the Gryffindor's wishes. Potter's green eyes and been vivid with frustration, his teeth clenched so tightly that a muscle in his jaw twitched repeatedly. Every muscle in the other boy's chest had been taut with anger.
It wasn't until Draco felt the hand on his abdomen lower that he realized he was aroused. And why not? He'd had power over the bloody Gryffindor, and power was a strong aphrodisiac. Slowly the Slytherin's lashes lowered until he saw nothing, and again he replayed the scene of Potter's humiliation in his head, his heart thudding as his arousal increased. When he felt the rapid beat of his own pulse beneath his thumb, Draco turned his head into his pillow to hide his shout.
The satisfied Slytherin's last thought was one of anticipation; he couldn't wait to put Potter in his place again. And this time he'd get the information he wanted. No matter what it took.
***
"After our first year at Hogwarts, a house elf named Dobby kept all our letters to Harry from him in a misguided attempt to keep him from coming back to school. When he came back and everything was sorted out, Harry mentioned that he was afraid that communication during the summer was going to be a problem. His aunt and uncle aren't really fans of magic, and I personally think that they're so terrified of what he might do that they're just absolutely horrid to him on principle." Hermione paced the room stiffly, avoiding looking at anyone.
"Regardless, we decided to try and look for another way to communicate that wouldn't involve breaking any of the major rules. It wasn't until the end of fourth year that I discovered how to create a bolthole, which is sort of like a magical storage box that can transfer small objects. You open the box, place something inside, then close it. Immediately the object is transfered to the mirror box. The tricky thing is that once they're firmly placed, even a small jolt to either box will disrupt the flow of magic and render the bolthole useless. In addition, once you open a box and find an object inside, you have to take it out. If you leave it in, it will vanish. It never returns to the box it was sent from, and as I understand it the object that was lost ends up in a 'lost and found' storage somewhere in the Ministry of Magic." She paused to take a breath, and Ginny spoke up quickly.
"Wouldn't creating these to use at home be a violation of the 'don't-do- magic-outside-of-school' rule?"
Ron grinned slightly, impressed with his little sister's intelligence but more than willing to goad her for her lack of knowledge as well. "We made them here, but didn't affix them to anywhere. It doesn't take a spell, either. The box just has to be touching wood, and we wrapped them in bubble wrap to make certain that didn't happen."
"Bubble wrap?" queried Fred.
"Muggle invention. It's packaging material, but it has the added bonus of providing hours of mind-numbing, bubble-popping entertainment." Ron grinned at his brother, who made a mental note to look into selling it in their catalogue.
Hermione grinned a little, trying to ignore the slight shiver that had travelled up her spine when Ron met her eyes to share the memory. For a moment, it felt like the incident just an hour before hadn't happened, and she was grateful. "Have I mentioned before that you're all very weird? Anyway, we put one at my house - we figured that with all the people in the Weasley household, someone was bound to move the box at some point - and gave the other to Harry. We used the bolthole partially to send messages that we didn't want to risk anyone else seeing, but mostly to send small bits of food he was craving each week. It wasn't unusual to open the box to find a note with one simple word written on it with five exclamation points." She smiled suddenly. "For an entire fortnight, I woke up to find the word 'WAFFLES!!!!!' waiting for me. But last summer, things were....different."
She trailed off and Ron straightened, continuing where she'd left it. "Harry was hard to talk to after Sirius died. We didn't know it at the time, but he'd had a talk with Dumbledore and it had made things even worse. For weeks he didn't leave anything in the box, and Hermione and I decided to just wait until he was ready to talk about it - or not talk about it, if that's what he wanted. Finally he left a brief apology in the box, promising to keep in touch. The next day we both got a letter from him by owl, and we didn't really think about the box for awhile."
Hermione interrupted quietly. "Sometime in early July I received a note in the bolthole from Harry that said he wanted to form a stronger bond between the three of us to help us fight against Voldemort. It was the first time he'd said anything that even remotely approached the topic of the Dark Lord, Sirius or anything related to them, and Ron and I were just glad that he wasn't shutting us out. I replied that I thought it would be a good idea, but I had to do some research into it. He said that he'd already done the research, and that no one would notice the small bit of magic he'd have to use to create the bond. I was afraid that if I hesitated, he'd close up again. So Ron and I said yes, and we sent him the materials he asked for."
Again the girl trailed off, and this time when she looked at Ron, her eyes pleaded with him to finish the story. She couldn't do it. The silence proved to be too much for George.
"No offense, but I fail to see what this has to do with anything."
Ron grimaced. "Harry asked for a vial of blood from each of us. Considering that he was going to perform a bonding spell, we didn't think the request unusual, so we sent it. Unfortunately, it wasn't Harry."
"What?" Neville gasped. "Then who was it?"
Again Ron shook his head, looking away. "We don't know. The day after we sent the blood, the bolthole stopped working. But we think it was You-Know- Who."
"How do you know it wasn't Harry?" This came from Fred, whose looked abnormally grim.
"Because I asked him at the start of term if the bonding spell had worked, and he clearly had no idea what I was talking about. Aside from that, however, it was only a few days after we sent the vials that Hermione and I began to notice that something was wrong."
Neville glanced around as silence hung in the room, watching as horrified comprehension dawned on the Weasley's faces, then finally shook his head. "Since I'm apparently the only one who has no idea what you're talking about, I'll ask. What did you notice?"
"I started to get angry a lot, for reasons that were rather trivial. It wasn't normal, and it was really difficult to pull out of. And I never quite remembered what had happened when I calmed down. It didn't seem like it was happening to me. When I mentioned it to Hermione, she said she'd felt the same way."
"Hermione's been getting angry a lot? I haven't seen it." Neville frowned at Ron, then looked toward Hermione, who suddenly seemed to find the ceiling incredibly interesting. Ron narrowed his gaze as well.
"...Actually, Hermione never said what exactly it was that she'd felt..." He trailed off, clearly expecting an explanation. As did everyone else in the room.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being put on the spot, the young woman folded her arms protectively around her waist, refusing to look at anyone when she finally spoke. "No. I...don't get angry, Neville."
Again the room went quiet, until finally George straightened from the wall he'd been leaning against. "You don't seriously think we're going to let you stop there, do you?"
The Weasleys all nodded their agreement, staring expectently at Hermione. She took a deep breath before lifting her head, her brown eyes focusing on Neville, as if seeking comfort. He stared at her directly, murmuring softly. "Tell us, Hermione."
A nervous tremor shook her hands, and she fisted them, dragging her gaze to meet Ron's, her breath caught in her throat. He walked forward, and for the first time since she'd run from the bathroom he touched her, his hand lightly squeezing his shoulder. His determined gaze never left her own.
"It doesn't matter if it's bad, Herm. We're going to fix it. But we can't do it if you don't tell us everything. Okay?" She searched his eyes, then nodded, finally exhaling.
Hermione felt stupid and unbalanced. It wasn't like her to be so shy. She thought about blaming it on the episode with Ron, but her innate honesty refused to accept her excuse. The truth was that she hated to confess her weaknesses. It literally scared her to admit her vulnerability, because once she said it out loud she couldn't hide from it anymore. The thought that she couldn't handle her problems on her own was frightening - but it was also the truth. She and Ron were in over their heads, and they knew it.
"I've been having problems with self-control, too - just in a different way. If a situation becomes too confusion or stressful, I get overwhelmed and I panick. Then there's this voice in my head, and it tells me that there's someone else to blame for my problems. If they were gone, everything would be better. So far it's only amounted to me snapping at people - but I'm terrified, because I never really remember everything that I said and did during that time. I'm afraid that one day I'll turn around and find I've hurt someone that my head was telling me deserved it." Her voice wavered as she spoke the last sentence, and as tears filled her eyes Ron gripped her shoulders, shaking lightly.
"No, Hermione. Stop it, it's not going to happen. We aren't going to let it. It's gone far enough. What I did... Merlin, we're lucky it wasn't worse. And I can't tell you how sorry I am, about everything. But I'll make it up to you. We're going to beat this, I promise you. Okay? You understand? We're not going to be scared anymore."
She stared up at a Ron that she'd never seen before, tears spilling slowly down her cheeks. Tactfully Ginny and the twins turned their heads away, speaking quietly amidst themselves. Hermione didn't notice that Neville didn't look away from them, though Ron did. He battled back the anger that briefly threatened, then slowly released his grip on his friend's shoulders. He wouldn't take the chance of accidently hurting her again. Finally he turned to look at his friends, his hands fisted determinedly at his sides.
"We have to find a way to stop this, and we're going to need your help. Hermione's been checking the library, and she's found nothing. We're not even sure if it was Voldemort, although it seems a good place to start."
Hermione looked up at Ron in shock. Merlin, he'd actually said 'Voldemort' without trembling!
"So what is it you need done, brother?" If anyone else noticed the accusation that colored Ginny's words, they said nothing. Ron's eyes flashed a warning to his sister, though his voice revealed none of his frustration.
"Firstly, we're going to need to look into Occulmency a bit more. Hermione and I have been counting on Dumbledore's intervention ever since we told him about our predicament before school started this year, and he's no longer available for a resource. For the time being, at least. Fred and George, if you two could try and find some sort of potion that's used to clear someone's thoughts, it might be a start." The twins nodded thoughtfully, their eyes glinting with respect.
"Ginny and Neville, Hermione and I are going to need your help. I'm afraid that if she and I look out for each other, we may end up making things worse. So between the two of you, we need to make certain that we're watched. I know I don't want to take the chance of slipping without realizing it, and I'm fairly certain she feels the same." He paused to glance toward Hermione, who nodded immediately, looking relieved. "Do you two think you can help?"
Neville and Ginny exchanged a look, then nodded simultaneously. "Of course. Anything we can do to help." This came from the youngest Weasley, whose attitude toward her brother seemed to have softened just slightly.
"Ah... I have a suggestion, though you may not want to hear it." Neville rubbed his neck a little. "I think you should talk to Harry. Not only is he your best source of information about Occulmency - which I'm not certain I even understand - but he's also your best friend. It's not fair to keep this from him. We're not kids anymore, especially Harry. Leave it to him to decide what he can and cannot handle. You might be surprised."
His words were greeted with silence until Hermione finally spoke up apprehensively, her hand dragging through the thick strands of her hair. "We'll talk about it."
Neville nodded, then glanced at his watch. "We'd better get to bed; we're out past curfew as it is."
Everyone nodded, gathering their things and heading for the door. Just before he opened the door to lead the procession into the hall, Fred paused and looked back at the small group.
"Keep a close eye on Harry, everyone. If You-Know-Who has managed to find a way to get to Hermione and Ron, there's every chance he's gotten to Harry as well. "
* * *
