Chapter 2
Sweet Tooth
Hermione was unusually quiet for the next three days. In those seventy-two hours, Harry witnessed an absolute Granger meltdown. Everyone did.
Actually, Harry had become worried about her when, by the second day, she wasn't speaking at all. She didn't seem to care much about anything; her robes were thrown on without their usual perfection, and her hair was as wild and unruly as if she'd just gone for a ride on Buckbeak. She walked slowly to classes, and hunched over, not by her usual load of books, but by an unspoken sadness.
Professors Flitwick and Sprout had pulled her aside in both lessons to see what the matter was. Ron and Harry couldn't stick around to find out, but Ron grimaced every time Harry wondered out loud, what was up. This annoyed Harry and by lunch on the fourth day of Hermione's muteness, Harry got it out of Ron.
Hermione had just passed the Great Hall, skipping breakfast again. When Harry looked back at Ron, he saw guilt on his face, plain and simple.
"Hermione's been acting really funny lately, Ron."
Ron grunted, not looking up.
"Do you know what's up?"
Ron sighed greatly. "Harry, it's my fault."
"What's your fault?"
"Hermione and I made a wager. I told 'er that she couldn't keep her trap shut for more than a class, let alone a day."
"Why on earth would you want Hermione to shut up? You know how many points she gets for Gryffindor?"
"Harry, you remember the first day? I ran after her to…," Ron caught his breath. "To er…"
"To get your Chudley Cannons book mark. Yeah, so?"
Ron looked at him questioningly. "Oh, right. Well, I caught up to her outside Professor Flitwick's office. You know what they were talkin' about?" Before Harry could even shrug his shoulders, Ron blurted out in an outraged whisper, "Charms!"
"Gee Ron, Hermione and the Charms Professor where talking about charms." Harry rolled his eyes.
"They were talking about starting a club, flobberworm! Like our— Ron lowered his voice, "D. A."
"I don't think there's any reason to whisper, Ron. Dumbledore gave permission for all clubs to be formed. Even the Dung Bomb Dodgers. Oh, that reminds me, Lee's signed us up. S'posed to be a meeting next week some time."
"Harry, d'you know what this means?" Ron looked incredulously at him.
"Yeah, Filch will be—"
"Harry, it means that if she's doin', no, worse, what if she's heading that stupid club, we'll have to go. And that's more work, mate. I mean really! She doesn't think of no one but 'erself."
"You don't have to go, you know." Harry looked at Ron and then dawning came into his face. "You bet Hermione that if she couldn't keep quiet for a day then she couldn't start the Charms club."
Ron nodded miserably, his head tilted to the left.
"Ron, what happens to you? I mean it's been more than three days. What does Hermione get now that you…um… lost."
"Give you three ruddy guesses."
"Spew."
Ron nodded, "Spew. For a whole month!"
"Think of it this way… It's better than the whole of Gryffindor knowin' that you stopped Hermione from getting us House points. Do you know how many that Slytherin girl's gotten?"
They tried, outside of Charms, to tell Hermione that the bet was off, but she narrowed her eyes and stiffened. Clearly offended, she skulked away from them.
They decided to pull Hermione off and yell at her until she spoke or cried, if only to get her to make a sound.
They were spared the job, however, in Transfiguration. Hermione had an informational explosion when Professor McGonagall asked if anyone knew how to turn a kiwi into a key. When no one answered and Professor McGonagall shot Hermione a classic arched eyebrow, she turned and started to magick the instruction on the chalkboard. Hermione, who had to sit in between Ron and Harry, started to shake. Her eyes were welling up and finally she cracked.
"The Key-Kawi is produced by a sharp swish to the right, followed by a flick to the left. It is remarkably like the Levitation Charm, because it was invented by the same man, Sir Abaka Pouffkin, during the turn of the 16th century! The reason why it is not classified as a charm is because there is no incantation necessary. The only thing a wizard or witch needs to do is concentrate on a lock in order for the right key to produce itself. If the wizard doesn't concentrate, any key will be produced, but only one key will open the lock!"
Hermione said all of this in one breath, leaving the entire class gaping, including Professor McGonagall, but only for a moment. And in that moment, Hermione, tears streaming down her face, marched up towards the front of the class, where a kiwi rested on top of an old smooth stool. She pulled out her wand and before anyone knew it, a key lay upon the stool, gleaming gold. Hermione, flushed with anger and success, handed Professor McGonagall the key and walked briskly out of the classroom, not looking at anyone.
Needless to say, Hermione was made to go to the hospital wing until she calmed down. Though what she really wanted to do was go to the next class. Harry and Ron had a rather scary discussion with Professor McGonagall. After receiving a detention and being harangued for what felt like twenty years, they left to see if Hermione was alright.
Coming around the corner, and up the hall just outside the hospital wing, Harry and Ron got a mild surprise. The ceiling high doors of the Hospital creaked open and there was that Slytherin girl. What was her name? Amanda? No. Harry wasn't sure if he should say hi or not; Ron was no help with his obvious attempt to look the other way. It didn't really matter, though. The girl slung her pack over her head and walked in the opposite direction.
Harry, happy that an awkward situation had been avoided, led the way to Hermione's cot. She was lying with her back towards the door, still sobbing quietly.
"Alright there, Hermione?" Ron said sheepishly.
Nothing but sobs.
"Hermione look, Ron's really sorry." Harry said looking from her to Ron.
"Hermione, you won, alright. It was a stupid bet in the first place. I didn't think it would send you all manky like this. It was just for…laughs," Ron said sitting on the edge of the bed.
Hermione's shoulder started to shake roughly and her sobs became louder. Suddenly she sat up and gave Ron a start. She wasn't crying, she was laughing.
"Good. Now that we got that settled, we need to talk about the Hogsmeade flyers." She shuffled through her bag and pulled out a large stack of parchment.
Ron gaped at her, and Harry had to laugh too. Hermione had gotten them, no words to the contrary.
"Right, Hermione. I'll remember that." Ron said shaking his head at the flyers.
Hermione steadily grew back to her old self. She acquired more than a hundred points in the next two days, alone.
During Herbology, Hermione had properly named and identified all seven parts of the Red Hickle Clover. (The Red Hickle clover looks exactly like a regular clover. It's not even red. So one could only imagine how Hermione wrapped her brain around that one.) Professor Sprout was so pleased with her that she awarded fifteen points to Hermione's usual five.
Professor McGonagall was another story. She was thoroughly put out by Harry and Ron; even though Harry had nothing to do with it really, but guilt by association was a popular injustice. However, she did not excuse Hermione from her outburst. It was quite possibly the first time anyone was awarded sixty points and a detention in the same sentence.
With the first week of term almost spent, Harry looked up Friday morning to find all of his friends around him at breakfast. It was nothing special, just morning eats. Neville was being tutored by Hermione before potions; his pudgy face was already showing signs of nervous sweat. Ron and Dean Thomas were discussing the Gryffindor House Quidditch tryouts vehemently. Seamus Finnigan, at Harry's left, was going on and on about how he and Dean would make superb Beaters.
As he looked around, a startling revelation came to Harry. They all looked older. Ron's hair was longer and shaggier. Hermione's face seemed inexplicably wiser. Seamus was definitely taller and more muscular, nothing outrageous, but noticeable. Harry's mind buzzed and then he started to look around. Dean on closer inspection looked virtually the same; however around his top lip there seemed to be a faint line of hair. He looked over at Neville and had to chuckle. Neville was always a bit well fed (though a growth spurt camouflaged it a little). But something did strike Harry. Neville did seem different, and Harry found it in the way he carried himself. Neville would certainly always fear Professor Snape, but he did and said everything with a bit more vigor, now. This only made him sound normal, but for Neville, that was a very big step.
"Hi, Harry." came a genial voice to his right.
When Harry looked up, he got the very most unexpected surprise he'd had since Fluffy's first bark. It was Ginny. Harry's mouth gaped and then he quickly shut it.
Ginny, who had been avoiding all that she knew for the past week, blushed furiously.
"Madame Pomphrey says my face should go back to normal eventually."
"Don't be silly, Ginny. Your face is normal and perfectly fine." Hermione cooed. She shot Harry a menacing look; it was her McGonagall look. Harry didn't even reply on the defensive. His stomach rolled and swelled with heat. He looked at his eggs and suddenly thought another bite would cause a very bad, very embarrassing result. He pushed the food away, and looked at his watch; there was about twenty minutes before Potions. Just when he was about to make up some excuse to leave in order to gather himself, post came and Hedwig dropped a small parcel in his lap. Harry shook it and read the note attached very quickly.
Harry,
I know that your friends and several others have tried to
cheer you up over the summer. Hagrid told me about your family album,
and I thought you'd like to add these to it.
Lupin
Blood started to rush to Harry's head. He didn't even excuse himself from the table. He only heard Hermione say: No don't follow him. He'll catch up to us.
Harry's strength lasted him just long enough to reach his dorm. The ache in the back of his throat and quiver of his chin broke the moment the curtains of his four-poster were closed.
He knew what was in the box. It was smiles. It was shining eyes and happy faces. It was ignorance of the future. It was gone. He was gone. That ache in Harry's chest, the one that kept him up long summer nights, was back. Tears welled and rolled, leaving crystal clear beads on top of Harry's raven black robes. He watched as the cloth soaked up the liquid, and the numbness started to set in.
A rustling just outside the hangings startled Harry. He quickly wiped his eyes and pulled the curtains back. Hedwig was perched on the stone sill of Harry's window. She had another package with her and a note. Not wanting to, but forcing himself, he removed the items and read the note. It was not headed, but simply said:
In case you forgot.
There wasn't even a signature. However the message became clear when Harry opened the box and saw several small, oval, yellow shapes. Lemon drops.
Harry suddenly fell backwards on his pillow and sighed deeply. One other person had mentioned lemon drops to him over the summer. It was almost as cryptic as the box of candy.
During the summer Harry spent most of his days hiding away in his cell of a room. He didn't speak more than twenty words to Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon and barely even noticed Dudley. He didn't want to admit it and perhaps he never would, but most nights he would cry silently to sleep. Then he'd wake up dark eyed and tearful once more, because the night's dreams were of things never to be.
All his close friends wrote to him, almost two letters a week and he weakly kept replying. Hagrid wrote to him about the time when his father died. It wasn't any help because Harry couldn't read it for the giant splotches where Hagrid's tears blurred his already sloppy script. Harry's replies became redundantly 'fine.' However, Hermione and Ron was not fooled one bit. By the time summer was ending, they were beginning to wonder, like Harry himself, if he would ever be happy again. They told him this in several letters, where Hermione's handwriting was mostly dominant. Finally around two weeks before returning to school Harry got a letter that was no more than a note.
Dear Harry,
I am really quite partial to lemon drops, wooly socks, and Fawkes.
Professor Dumbledore.
At first Harry just crumpled the parchment into an insignificant ball and threw it across his room. He missed the trashcan, and was too lazy to pick it up again. But it started to gnaw on Harry's mind. Finally late one night, it came to Harry what Dumbledore was saying. And that night he dreamed of flying on his Firebolt and of the dark warm halls of Hogwarts. For the first time in over two months, Harry woke up with a smile on his face. But it was not until his Birthday that he truly understood the full weight of lemon drops, wooly socks, and Fawkes.
Harry had gotten the usual gifts from the usual people. Hagrid sent his stone cakes and Mrs. Weasley sent loads of mincemeat pies and homemade fudge. Even Fred and George sent a box of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Hermione and Ron sent a brown parcel about the size of a very thin book and a short letter.
Harry,
Happy Birthday! I wrote to Professor Dumbledore about an idea Ron and I had for you. He seemed to think it was alright, and got this back to us the very same day. I –We hope you like it and can't wait to see you on the train in a week.
Love, Hermione.
Harry, it's Ron. Happy Birthday mate!
Harry had opened his eyes and saw the red hangings still drawn. He wiped his eyes once more and reached around to his trunk. He opened it and pulled out a thin rectangular object. There in his hands, was a signed framed picture of the entire D.A. club. Everyone was present, from Ron and Hermione to Neville and Luna. Everyone smiled and waved, even Harry himself. On the left hand corner was a scrap of paper. It said:
Professor Dumbledore got this from the Room
of Requirement (or Headquarters if you like)...Read the back.
Harry didn't have to take out the photo to know what was on the back by now. He'd memorized it already. He carefully removed the photo and gazed at the underlying message anyway.
Sadness holds no power in the company of friends.
And our friends never truly leave us.
Never have I seen such loyalty in those so young.
I thank you.
The penmanship was unmistakable and Harry guided his fingers across the elegant motion of the letters. He felt better again. He knew that he'd still have mornings like this, but he knew he'd be alright. Harry lost his smile last summer. It was lost. He was lost. But he found himself again in the joys he overlooked.
Looking back at the picture, he found his smile again, too. The memories washed over him, washed away the weight of his chest. He could breathe again.
He put every thing away, and pocketed the lemon drops. He didn't look at the pictures, not yet. He wasn't ready.
With a drop dissolving between his cheek and tongue he headed out of the common room. On his way to Potions he realized that he was rather partial to lemon drops himself.