Chapter 6
Hermione arrived at precisely 8:30 the next morning, just as planned. It was Saturday. Harry's aunt and uncle had gotten up earlier than usual to whisper darkly over coffee. When the Grangers pulled into the drive, Harry – who'd been lying awake since daybreak – raced downstairs to answer the door. He was afraid a few minutes alone with the Dursleys might dissuade Hermione's parents from letting her stay.
Hermione pecked Harry on the cheek by way of hello, making him blush. She looked very pretty in plain jeans and a white tee-shirt – though he tried not to notice.
"Glad to see me?" she asked pertly.
Harry's heart did a funny jump. Yes, he was glad to see her – more than he should have been. Forcing a natural-looking grin into place, he replied, "'Course."
"Nice shiner," she added, grinning at the bruise on his cheek.
"Long story," he replied, then took her suitcase from her and, with some trepidation, quickly introduced the Grangers to his aunt and uncle.
The greetings went surprisingly well – and fast. Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed too distracted to notice Aunt Petunia recoiling from Hermione's offer of a handshake or Uncle Vernon's suspicious questions about their dental practice (like he thought they were disguised wizards). After leaving emergency phone numbers, the Grangers kissed Hermione goodbye and hurried back to their car.
"Let's go upstairs," Harry suggested the moment the car left the drive. Nodding, Hermione started up. Harry was detained momentarily by Uncle Vernon's hissed warning to remind her of the "rules." Harry rolled his eyes. Hermione didn't need reminding to obey the rules – he, however, was uncertain how to explain their sleeping arrangements.
Hermione was petting Hedwig when he closed the bedroom door and deposited her suitcase on the bed. He couldn't help feeling nervous; being alone with Hermione in his bedroom had odd implications. Ones he hoped she wasn't picking up on.
When did she start wearing lipstick? Or are her lips always that pink?
Hold up there, Potter. That way lies madness…
"I hope I didn't make things worse for you with your aunt and uncle by coming."
Hovering by the bed, the safest distance he could put between them until he reined in his rampaging hormones, Harry attempted a natural-looking smile. "Don't worry about it. I mean, it can't get much worse between us."
"But still." She came closer, watching him curiously. "They, uh, they seemed even less friendly than usual down there."
Harry shrugged. "They hate how much more freedom I have now, that's all. Coming and going when I want, communicating with other wizards, doing my schoolwork out in the open – well, up here in my bedroom, at least." They shared a smile. "They just preferred the old way, when I slept in the cupboard with the spiders."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "You slept in a cupboard?"
Blushing, Harry laughed, hoping she'd think he'd only been joking. "Uh, listen, speaking of sleeping…You see, my cousin, Dudley, refused to share a room with me. He threw this incredible tantrum and so, ah, Uncle Vernon said that he didn't have to. Share a room with me, I mean. So, um, I'm going to take the floor, in here, and you, uh, you can have the bed."
Brilliant, Potter. Absolutely bloody brilliant. Could you have stammered a bit more? Blushed a bit brighter? Bloody hell…
His heart sank as Hermione started to shake her head. Of course – obviously she wouldn't be comfortable sharing a room with him! How ridiculous of his uncle –
"Harry, don't be silly. No one is sleeping on the floor all summer! We're practically adults. I think we can share a bed."
His mouth flopped open stupidly and his face (if possible) flamed brighter. "Uh…Are you sure?"
"Positive." She gave him such a warm, reassuring smile that Harry knew her thoughts weren't where his were – the feel of her back against his, the smell of her hair on his pillow, the brush of her hand against his cheek in the night…
Quidditch! Think about Quidditch! Or Snape! Or anything non-sexual!
Luckily, Hermione had turned to unpack her suitcase and didn't notice the embarrassing evidence of his train of thought. "But don't mention it to Ron, would you? He was upset enough that I wasn't spending another summer at the Burrow. I think he's gotten used to having me all to himself for a couple of months – well, not counting his rather large family, of course."
Surprised by her off-handedness, Harry rejoined, "So you'd noticed he sort of has a thing for you, huh?"
"Yes."
Her tone left no room for interpretation about her feelings on the subject. Harry couldn't help being frustrated by this. He did notice, though, that she rather purposefully kept her back to him as she carried an armload of clothes over to his wardrobe to hang up.
"Anyway, I know he'd like it best if he were here or we were there. The holidays are so weird, aren't they? I almost wish we didn't have them."
Harry grinned. "Yeah, imagine that, Hermione Granger wishing school went year-round."
She stuck her tongue out at him. Harry laughed, relieved that the earlier tension (of all kinds) seemed to have dissipated. It was just Hermione now, his good friend Hermione, with no awkward subtext.
Well, not much, anyway.
After they hung up her clothes and put her school trunk next to his at the foot of the bed, Harry tried to think of a diplomatic way to bring up Quinn. It seemed rude to rush her right over to a stranger's house when she'd only just arrived. Since he'd already asked about her grandmother and immediately intuited that she didn't want to talk about it, he settled for the other burning question on his mind: "Have you talked to anyone in the Order lately?"
"Not other than Lupin, no. And he's not exactly a fount of information."
Hermione settled onto the end of his bed, sitting cross-legged. Harry sat with his back against the headboard, elbows braced on his knees, toes nearly touching hers. He ordered himself not to think of physical contact with her as she went on, "But I've been getting the Daily Prophet and the whole wizarding world is terrified over Voldemort's return, now that it's common knowledge. And of course the school letters didn't help."
"School letters?" Harry felt a weird tightness in his chest, like he'd been running a long ways. "What school letters?"
Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Your aunt and uncle didn't get one?"
He shook his head. "No. I mean, they didn't mention it. And trust me, if a Hogwarts letter came for Uncle Vernon, he'd definitely tell me about it. It'd be all I'd hear about for weeks, probably."
Hermione looked perplexed and a little distressed. "But Harry, they must've gotten one. Dumbledore had a letter sent to every Muggle-born student's parents, explaining about You-Know-…I mean, about Voldemort's crimes, and what his return means to our world. I know your parents were wizards, but your aunt and uncle would have been sent one, I'm sure of it. Professor McGonagall said the Board of Governors thought every parent had the right to be informed, so they could decide whether to send their children back to school in September."
The tightness turned to an icy coldness encircling Harry's heart. Not only was the thought of parents removing their children from Hogwarts unthinkable – and he imagined as many wizarding parents as Muggles would seriously consider it in light of Voldemort's return – but the tension between his aunt and uncle was starting to make a weird kind of sense.
Voldemort had slaughtered his parents specifically to get to him, Harry. Dumbledore had sent him to the Dursleys specifically because they were his family – his blood – and therefore afforded him a certain amount of protection while he was in their home. But, and even the magic-hating Dursleys would have deduced this, that same protection didn't extend to Vernon, Petunia, or Dudley.
He was putting them in danger by being in their house. He supposed this had always been true; surely in the letter Dumbledore left on the doorstep with him 16 years ago he had explained the horrific nature of Voldemort and his followers. But at the time Voldemort had been practically destroyed, too weak to hurt anyone. Now he was back in business - and followed by a cadre of dark wizards who loved hurting Muggles.
Did the Dursleys want him out of their house, as far away from them as possible? Or – and this was the part that froze his blood – were they afraid he'd be killed if they sent him back to Hogwarts?
For the first time, Harry was torn between wanting the Dursleys to wish him ill (and thus send him back to Hogwarts on the first train) and wanting them to care enough about him to keep him on Privet Drive.
Hermione looked as if she suspected at least some of what he was feeling. "No one's mentioned it at all?" she prompted. "They haven't talked about you leaving or not leaving?"
Rather numbly, Harry shook his head. "Not a word. And you? How'd your parents take it?"
A strange smile played on her face. Twisting a raveling from his bedspread around her pinkie, she answered, "They were frightened at first. I mean, I've told them about Voldemort and things that have happened at school, but I didn't exactly go into great detail about the more dangerous situations." They grinned knowingly at one another. "When they first got the letter I thought they might not let me go back. I was really upset about it. But…Then McGonagall came to my house."
Once more, Harry's mouth flopped open. "No way! Really?"
"Yeah." Hermione turned slightly pink. With a gulp, Harry realized for the first time how pretty she looked when she blushed – quite like Quinn, actually...
Quidditch, Potter, his inner voice howled. Think about Qudditch!
He forcibly tuned back in as Hermione went on, "She had tea with my mum and dad and told them that I'm…well…She said I was 'gifted' and it would be a shame not to finish my education."
Know-it-all or not, Hermione wasn't a braggart. Harry, however, was undeniably impressed. "She's right," he insisted, surprised (and a bit embarrassed) by how huskily sincere his voice sounded. "You really are incredible."
In a split second, the atmosphere of the room went from comfortable and friendly to super-charged and crackling. Hermione's dark eyes crashed into his; feeling his face heat up (and the rest of him, too), Harry struggled for the self-control not to spring forward and capture her mouth under his.
So pretty. So delicate. So smart. So caring. That's Hermione – my Hermione.
He prayed those thoughts weren't written across his face. The moment held interminably, a live-wire of unexpressed emotion stretching between them. Finally, when he knew he couldn't possibly go another second without blurting out everything he felt towards her – although, to be honest, he wasn't exactly sure what he was feeling – Hermione blinked and looked down.
"Well, she didn't use that word – 'incredible,' I mean. But it meant a lot to me that she came."
Blood still pounding in his ears, Harry managed calmly, "And your parents agreed to send you back?"
"Actually, they said it was up to me." A note of pride rang in her words. He couldn't blame her. The Grangers had always struck him as wonderful people, and apparently, they were truly remarkable parents as well. "I promised them I'd be careful, but I also told them that Hogwarts is where I belong. I barely even know how to function in the Muggle world anymore."
Harry drew in a deep breath. The little voice inside he was coming to rely on so was whispering that he'd never find a more perfect segue into introducing Hermione to Quinn. Besides, considering the strange moment that had just passed between them, he knew he needed to apprise her of his romantic status fast.
As conversationally as possible, he said, "Yeah, I know what you mean. I usually live for September. This is the first summer I've even really left the house. But, uh, I actually, sort of, this summer I've…met someone. A girl someone, I mean."
Did he imagine the flicker of distaste in her eyes? Or that her upper lip curled in slightly around a sharp intake of breath?
"So…you and Cho are totally over, then?"
Cho? She thinks I still want to be with Cho?
Trying not to be disappointed by her blasé reaction to his girlfriend news, Harry worked the irritation out of his voice before answering. "Oh, yeah. Completely. That was too complicated. In a lot of ways."
She nodded. While her words were pleasant enough, she still seemed guarded. "So tell me about her. The 'girl someone,' I mean."
Leave it to Hermione to be inscrutable when he most wanted to read her feelings. Frustrated with her for being unreadable and with himself for still caring how she felt, he tersely filled her in on meeting Quinn, concluding with, "She thinks Hogwarts is a regular boarding school. I hate lying to her, but I can't tell her the truth."
Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears. She looked as if she were weighing her words carefully. "Have you, um, mentioned her to anyone else? Like Ron? Or Lupin?"
"Not Ron. I sort of did to Lupin. He saw me with her."
"And…Lupin thought everything was okay?"
Ah, of course.
Harry couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to think Hermione's reaction had anything to do with her feelings about him - or lack thereof. She wasn't upset about him having another girl in his life; she was worried about him trusting a stranger.
Sighing, He snapped (a tad more harshly than he intended), "She's not a Death Eater, Hermione. I know it might seem like a miracle, but somebody could be interested in me without it having anything to do with Voldemort."
Hermione looked shocked. "Harry! You know I didn't mean – "
"Whatever." He drug a hand through his hair and glared obstinately at her.
You should have known, his inner voice chided. Hermione's your friend and only your friend. She doesn't care who you date. She doesn't see you as smart or handsome or interesting – you're just Harry to her.
Well, fine. But he wasn't about to submit to a lecture on the possible dangers of being Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, now that Voldemort had made his return debut.
Hopping off the bed, he informed her brusquely, "I told Quinn I'd bring you over to her house once we got you settled in. It's fine if you don't want to go, but I want to see her."
"No, it's okay." The quiet sadness in Hermione's voice sliced through the biggest part of Harry's anger. She kept her eyes averted as she stood up and smoothed her hair into place. "I'd like to meet her."
Stop being an ass, Potter! She's your friend, she's seen some pretty awful things courtesy of Voldemort, of course she worries about you!
Not to mention her grandmother is dying…
Softening, Harry instinctively reached out and squeezed her hand. Eyes over-bright from threatening tears, Hermione looked up at him and said, "I didn't mean – "
"I know." His hand was tingling from the contact with hers, much as he tried to ignore it. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…I mean, I know what you meant. But I can't live my life like that, Hermione, thinking everyone I meet might be out to get me. They have special padded rooms for people like that."
"I understand. I really do." She blew out a shaky breath and smiled bravely. "All right. Enough of that. Let's go meet your girlfriend."
It was only later that Harry would realize Hermione never let go of his hand until they reached Quinn's front door.
Author's Note: Hope this was worth the wait. My fantabulous betas saved me from falling into a plot-hole from which there was no rescue! If you're considering hitting the precious purple button named "review," I'm worried about my pacing. Is this too slow? Too fast? Are you bored or confused? Criticisms always welcome! Love to you all, my dearies!