"The Soul That Is Inside"
Author: Aubretia Lycania
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any part of his world. I merely attempt to exist within it, with perfect respect for J.K. Rowling's creation. I have characters of my own, and if someone tried to take credit for them, I'd be pretty cheesed off. The song, in the final chapter, is "Sk8ter Boi" by the excellent Avril Lavigne—however, I've made a few changes to the lyrics to suit the Wizarding world better, given the song's usage.
Author's Notes: Okay, this is my first completely Harry/Hermione (and kind of Ron/Luna, Ginny/Neville, as well) fic, and my first non-angst, non-dark, fluffy (shudder) fanfiction. It's something that's been in the back of my mind for about a year now, and at the prodding of a dear friend (with a fire poker), I was… um… inspired to write it down. It is dedicated to Susan Amethiene, my Beta and one of my best friends; she is known to you as both Susie Greenleaf and Susie Bones. I'm not really sure how effective I am with this kind of happy writing, so feedback is greatly appreciated, as always. Please enjoy.
December dawned hazy and bright; the falling snow sprinkled the Hogwarts grounds like powdered sugar onto a pastry, and out near the forest, Hagrid, the gamekeeper, could be seen dragging Christmas trees, as was his custom. It all seemed so very run-of-the-mill, in fact, that Harry Potter expected his sixth Christmas at Hogwarts to be the same as most before it—for lack of a better word, normal. He expected a dozen brazenly decorated trees in the Great Hall, a Weasley sweater, and the general quiet that accompanied a near-emptied castle, over which he, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville, would have rein. A general depression had fallen, as many students had left school in the chaos of warfare, their parents no longer finding Hogwarts to be safe; the Order members were all supremely busy; the DA was not so much a secret organization as a necessity, particularly for those termed "Order Brats" both in affection and in spite—those students under the care of the Order of the Phoenix, namely Harry and his friends. Christmas vacation was, therefore, a good excuse for more practice sessions, and as the term drew to a close, Harry could often be found up late each night, planning lessons and poring over his Defense books. He could not have known how very different this Christmas would be, only that, as the nights wore on, he began to detect Hermione's eye on him, for reasons he did not choose to dwell on—dismissing it, in fact, after first noticing.
The embers began dimming to a somber glow when two o'clock chimed, and Harry found himself still down in the Common Room, stiff-necked, cold, but not alone. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle at the presence of another; a presence warm, caring, and familiar, if sometimes annoying.
"You know," came the voice that so often worked as the whisper of logic and caution in his ear, speaking from the flickering shadows and causing Harry to smile, "I'm surprised at you. You and Ron used to blow just about everything except Quidditch straight out the window. But you've really been putting a lot of effort into this, Harry."
Harry squinted at the wall beside the stairway to the girl's dorms; his eyes felt itchy and tired, and his glasses didn't seem to want to work right. "What're you doing up, Hermione? Haven't you got an Arithmancy test in the morning? I know you do, the charts you were studying are still here on the table."
Hermione sauntered out of the shadows in a blue night robe, a disgruntled-looking Crookshanks clutched in her arms and a mock-scowl on her face, which had been covered with some light purple potion recommended by Ginny after she'd accidentally hexed her. Harry laughed aloud as soon as he saw her.
"Oh, ho, ho, it's all very funny to you, isn't it?" Hermione said with a playful air, plopping down beside him and pulling one of his completed lesson plans towards her. "You're the one who taught Ginny that stupid Rolling Rash Hex, and conveniently forgot the counter. And if you must know, I'm up because I can't live with myself knowing you're down here hard at work on the DA again while I'm sleeping and not helping you." She licked her lips, twitching slightly under the layer of potion. "Besides, I couldn't get a wink if I wanted to, with all this horrid stuff spread over my face. It itches something terrible."
Harry grinned. "Maybe I should make our next meeting a recount of standard counter-curses, Hermione. Then again, purple does suit you." As she swatted at him, he ducked without having to look up. "You know I'm joking. I really can't remember it; and I'm just about finished up with these, actually." He looked at her crestfallen face—in the flickering light, he could only make out its gentle curves and slopes, the slight point of her nose, the rise and fall of her long eyelashes as she blinked, the amiable, keen shape of her eyes that slanted downwards to gaze up at him, intelligence, perception, vision beyond his own. It felt particularly disconcerting, at the moment, to be examined by those eyes, and comforting at the same time—after all, those same eyes had dissected him a thousand times before as well. "But if you can't sleep, I'd be happy to stay up with you. I'm actually not all that tired."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Oh no, don't do that. I know you're tired, you're a terrible liar, after all, Harry—it wouldn't be right to keep you up just because of some potion on my face. I'll just sit down here with a book… maybe read over your lesson plans. They look good." She made a move for the other scrolls; Harry, without saying a word, shook his head, got up, and strode over to a couch beside the dying fire. Some second years had left a couple of blankets there, and Harry, sitting cross-legged on one end of the sofa, covered himself haphazardly with one. Sighing in resignation, Hermione joined him, taking up the other blanket and wrapping it around herself. The two of them faced each other comfortably, leaning against the arms.
"You're so blasted stubborn," Hermione said after a moment of sleepy silence, during which an ember popped, sending little red sparks through the grates like tiny fireworks that died upon the hearth. Harry stared at them as though entranced. Moments like these came to him—when he'd realize just how many times he'd been tickled, caressed, gripped, by the hand of death and escaped it. The everyday things suddenly took on an otherworldly feel, an incredible feel—where clouds swimming drunkenly above the pitch suddenly became castles in the sky too wonderful for words, then faces in the heavens, where the shapes changed from the countenances of the living to those of the dead… Fred, Ron, Hermione, to James, Lily, Sirius… And what was the most real he couldn't be sure. If only he could fly that high… but everyone said if he tried it, he'd run out of air…
Hermione watched her best friend calmly for a long while, nestling herself tighter in the blanket. Harry's eyes had fixated on a spot just beyond her, watching something she knew wouldn't be there were she to look. She decided, after allowing him to wander for some time, to try and get a conversation going again.
"I suppose I might already know the answer to this, but how are things with Cho? You haven't really said much about her lately."
Harry's expression suddenly grew rather bleak and guarded. "Oh… there isn't much, really… I haven't been too interested in her since fifth year—you know that. Ron tried to get me to ask her out again a few months ago."
Hermione waited; Harry and Ron had obviously "forgotten" to tell her a few things. "And?" She felt an odd tingle of something in her stomach, akin to nervousness, as before a particularly difficult exam or before one of the Gryffindor Quidditch games when danger would certainly be involved—that kind of unpleasant, cold, squeezing feeling somewhere in the midriff that is hard to soothe away.
Harry avoided her gaze pointedly. "Nothing happened. It was stupid—I shouldn't have asked, anyway."
"Harry…" Hermione reprimanded in a stern, mothering sort of way.
"How're things with Krum?" Harry said abruptly, obviously fishing for a change of subject, and quite bluntly so.
Hermione felt herself blush, wondering why on earth Harry would choose Krum, of all things, to jump to. "Actually, there really aren't things with Krum, Harry. My parents aren't particularly thrilled with the idea of my dating a twenty-one year old Bulgarian who's constantly on the move for games and practice, and I must say I agree with them. Besides, he's still absolutely convinced I've a… well, deeper relationship with you. I told him we're best friends, housemates over the summer, do just about everything together, including nearly getting killed by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but aren't dating. He thinks it's a bit fishy… can't imagine why."
Harry merely snorted, evidently wandering into his own mind again. Out of the mist, he said, very suddenly and quietly: "I don't think I fancy Cho too much anymore, actually. She's quite like her friend, Marietta, these days… she's a bit of a trick, if you get me," and would say no more. Hermione blinked, feeling at once both very worried and very relieved, but retained a calm silence.
The embers gradually died and the light extinguished from the room entirely, and Harry and Hermione said little more, until at last both fell asleep at opposite ends of the couch, their legs tucked up and blankets half-kicked off, looking the part of two children who'd dozed off in the living room awaiting Santa Claus.
The second-to-last Saturday before the end of term saw Harry and Hermione disheveled and half-asleep to breakfast, where Ron had already sat himself down to several tubs of cereal, shared with an equally ravenous Ginny—both of whom little noticed their friends' exhausted state. Harry spent a good part of his meal alternately grinning tiredly at Hermione and glaring at a troublesome kipper in front of him, which he knew he should eat but had no desire to do so. Halfway through it, a tumult of familiar giggles somewhere around the Ravenclaw table made him wince, and Hermione looked over at the source, a scowl crossing her face.
"Hmmm. Cho Chang's entourage, it seems. Bunch of giggling ninnies, don't know why any girl would debase herself by acting like that."
Ron's head swung upwards, his half-lifted spoon full of soggy cereal forgotten on its journey to his mouth. He looked urgently at Harry, who stabbed aggressively at his kipper, cleared his throat, and excused himself with the reason of having to remind Neville about something having to do with the DA… Hermione sniffed and glared at Ron.
"What happened with Cho that you two aren't telling me about? Why is Harry calling her a trick? I know he's not crazy about her anymore, but they still get on friendly enough."
Ron shoveled another bite of cereal into his mouth, seemingly using the chewing motion to ponder his answer. Ginny looked at them curiously, before shrugging and digging into the large bowl again, battling her brother's inactive spoon.
"Well…" Ron began, watching the soggy cereal in the bowl and not looking at Hermione. "I told him that maybe he should try asking her out again, you know, just to give it another shot and see how it'd go—stop dwelling on… things… I finally talked him into it, after a while, but the idiot went up to her in front of all those stupid friends of hers—they're like a pack, you know, he couldn't really get her alone—big Fudge-supporters, all of them, never quite got over what the papers were saying last year. You should've seen the lot of morons laughing at him, it was sad—at everything, the fact he's a Parselmouth, calling him crazy and too much of a freak to go out with Cho—and she just stood there and let them do it, didn't have the guts to tell them to leave off. I guess Harry was too embarrassed to tell you. I don't think he would've told me, if I hadn't seen the whole thing happen."
"Oh," Hermione said, lamely, the event truly hitting her right in the stomach. "Trick" wouldn't be a word she'd use for Cho and her little flock—hers would be quite a bit nastier and certainly not fit for the ears of first and second years. She was about to open her mouth and say so, when Dumbledore stood up at the head table and clapped his hands together, calling the students' attention. Harry, who'd been standing beside Neville somewhere down the table and talking, straightened and returned to his seat beside Hermione, his eyes hooded. He gave her a sidelong glance, as though sensing she was now privy to the terrible and embarrassing secret. Attempting to comfort, Hermione patted his hand gently under the table; without meaning to, Harry twitched, surprised by the sudden contact.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please," Dumbledore's both powerful and weary voice sounded through the hall, his hands gracefully upraised. He looked around, his sparkling eyes seeming to smile at each individual student in turn. "These are dark times we live in, and myself and your teachers all realize how difficult the holiday season, on top of the normal studying and everyday stress of the war, can be, with so many families torn asunder. For those who will be staying with us over the holiday, there will be a small festivity dance here in the hall—not a grand production, but smaller and more intimate. Hopefully we can put trouble from our minds this Christmas at Hogwarts, and see some smiles on all these young faces." Dumbledore's eyes found Harry in particular, and hovered there for an extended second, before sitting down and allowing the normal hubbub and excited whispers to commence.
Harry felt a great weight descend upon his stomach—he had hated, with a passion, the stress of the Yule Ball in his fourth year, and at least then girls were queuing up to go with him; this time, even the girl he'd dated last year he wouldn't dare approach, for fear of further humiliation. It seemed another night of bothersome dress robes and sitting stubbornly at a table with Ron, who had looked more like his date last time that Parvati had. Harry caught Ron eyeing Ginny and making sharp gestures with his head in Harry's direction—she however, looked down the table at Neville, her eyebrows raised at him in a kind of sign language. Moments later she returned gaily to her very soggy cereal, a smile on her face.
Harry and Hermione both laughed, and the former poured Ron some pumpkin juice, relieved his best friend wouldn't be playing matchmaker between himself and Ginny, who now felt much like a little sister to him. "Well, it's got to be better than Dean, hasn't it?"
Ron snorted disconsolately and slurped his pumpkin juice, making Hermione shake her head.
"Hello, Ronald," said a misty, dreamy voice. Harry turned on his bench and grinned at Luna, who had wandered, as she commonly did, away from the Ravenclaw table to join them. "Excited about the dance? I didn't get to stay for the last one—I was a third year, and nobody asked me. I was far too shy to ask someone myself."
"Uh… yeah, I guess," Ron said, looking slightly alarmed that Luna had addressed him in particular, and slurping down more juice. Harry and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances, both biting their lips.
"Well, since we're all staying at school this year, perhaps the six of us can go as a group," Harry suggested. "Ginny and Neville already seem to have set up a date," he finished with a slight snigger. Ginny kicked him playfully under the table.
Luna gave Harry a dreamy smile. "Yes, that sounds quite fun. Good, too, because I was just about to ask Ronald here if he'd like to go with me. I've heard there are to be Sickle-Winged Imps out in the gardens this year. Dad will want a full report. I just know you'll enjoy them, Ronald."
"Ronald," however, was spewing a mouthful of pumpkin juice back into his goblet and staring in turn at all of his friends with wide eyes. He lowered the goblet slowly, now fixated on Luna. "Y-you mean—g-go—as… a couple?"
Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all kicked him beneath the table, making the dishes skip slightly with a tinny clatter; Luna, however, did not seem to notice. "Well, not so much as a couple, since we're all going together. But we are friends, aren't we, Ronald? We'll have fun."
Ginny was chortling, watching her brother's face go slightly red—right to the tips of his ears, while Harry and Hermione both fought with themselves not to laugh at the evident struggle going on about Ron's face.
"W-well… yeah… I guess… yeah. It's not a big thing. We're all going together… sure, Luna."
Luna beamed a dazzling smile, quite unlike her normal dreamy expression. "Wonderful. Dad bought me some really brilliant dress robes for my birthday—purple with these great little lime-colored parakeets perched on the arms, and a crimson burette. I'm saving it just for the occasion. Bye Ronald. Harry, Hermione, Ginny." She nodded to each of them in turn and returned to the Ravenclaw table and her breakfast of kippers with blueberry jam.
Ron watched her go with a blank and rather sickly expression, as though, as in second year, he was about to start coughing up slugs. Instead, after seeing Luna pour hot chocolate into her pumpkin juice, he simply dropped his head directly down into a pile of toast with a soft groan. Harry quietly excused himself, covering his mouth, with Hermione hot on his heels, her face burning; they rushed from the hall as in need of an abrupt bathroom break—once outside the door, however, both broke into furious and tumultuous laughter.