Chapter 9
By the time Harry convinced everyone that he was all right, the first rays of dawn were shining in his bedroom window.
His screams had brought all three Dursleys to his room. Dudley, hovering in the doorway, seemed to be the only one who noticed that Harry was shirtless, Hermione was unusually flushed and both were disheveled; he grinned knowingly at them until Hermione leveled her fiercest glare at him, at which point he clapped his hands over his beefy backside – Dudley retained a healthy fear of tails, even five years later – and lumbered back down the hallway as quickly as he could go.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia either didn't notice or wouldn't admit to noticing any strangeness in Harry and Hermione's appearances. Uncle Vernon was convinced they had been attempting some magic (though he of course didn't use that word, he called it "nonsense") that had gone awry. Aunt Petunia kept looking around the room as if she expected a hidden attacker to jump out, and Harry knew exactly what she was thinking: Voldemort.
After more than an hour, he convinced the Dursleys that he'd really just awoken from a particularly vivid nightmare. They reluctantly headed back to bed, leaving him to deal with Hermione, who obviously knew he hadn't been dreaming.
The last thing Harry wanted to do was discuss his scar hurting after they'd nearly made love – funny how that didn't sound mushy in conjunction with Hermione – but she acted as if they'd been having a perfectly normal conversation when he collapsed. Finally, because he knew she wouldn't stop pestering him until he told her, he admitted that his scar had hurt a few times that summer.
Then, of course, he had to admit that those times had been while he was kissing Quinn.
Hermione took the revelation in stride. "What do you think is causing it?" she asked, reaching out a concerned hand to push his hair off his forehead. In spite of himself, Harry shivered at her touch. She smiled but remained all-business. "Do you have any idea?"
Harry thought about his conversation with Dumbledore just a couple of months ago – a conversation in which Dumbledore had confirmed that Voldemort could, in fact, possess Harry. The mind of the self-proclaimed Dark Lord and the mind of The Boy Who Lived had been fused by the curse that failed to kill Harry sixteen years ago. Although he didn't tell Hermione everything Dumbledore had told him – it required a much longer explanation than he was prepared to give at two o'clock in the morning – he did tell her that he suspected his mind was more vulnerable to Voldemort when his emotions were running high.
"That's always seemed to be how it works," he finished. "I can feel him when he's really enraged or really happy. I suppose it makes sense that the reverse would be true as well, at least now that he's figured out a connection exists between us."
Hermione was nodding in understanding. "You should tell Dumbledore. The Order needs to know."
Right. Of course Hermione wants me to tell a teacher. Harry, despite his newly-discovered desire to throw her over on the pillows and kiss her until she couldn't breathe, nevertheless felt sour towards her for not recognizing his predicament. What was he supposed to say? "Professor Dumbledore, lately my scar seems to hurt whenever I'm thinking about sex. Like last night, when I almost made it with Hermione Granger…"
Somehow, Harry couldn't imagine talking to Dumbledore about sex. He didn't strike Harry as the type of person who'd ever been snogged in his entire life.
I wish Sirius were here…
The thought was so sudden and painful it took Harry's breath for a moment. Hermione's hand tightened on his wrist, where it had come to rest during their conversation; he smiled quickly to show her that he wasn't about to collapse again.
"You're right," he admitted grudgingly, because she was. "I know I need to tell Dumbledore. It's just…I'm embarrassed. About the circumstances."
To his chagrin, Hermione laughed. "Harry, don't tell him we were making out! I mean, isn't it enough that you're experiencing more severe pain than usual, and it seems to be associated with extremes of emotion? You know Dumbledore. He'll make his own inferences, he won't press you for a detailed explanation if you don't offer one."
Suddenly, Harry felt silly for not realizing that himself. "Okay," he agreed. "I promise I'll write to him first thing tomorrow – "
But Hermione was already at the desk retrieving parchment and a quill. "No, you'll write to him tonight. That way, the Order can get started on it first thing tomorrow."
He sighed, knowing there was no point arguing. They sat together on the bed as he drafted the letter – it took him three tries to feel comfortable with the wording – and then sent Hedwig out into the night with the letter strapped to her leg. For the first time in quite a while, Harry experienced a twinge of uncertainty as Hedwig soared out of sight. He wondered for barely an instant if he would ever see her again.
Don't be stupid. You're just tired, he ordered himself.
The sun was starting to come up and both he and Hermione were pale with fatigue. "Let's sleep in a lot today," he suggested, crawling under the covers with her. It made him insanely happy that she snuggled down into his side.
"Agreed."
He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, more than ready for a good night's sleep. But Hermione had one more tentative question for him.
"Harry?"
"Mmm-hmm?"
"Are – I mean, when are you going to tell Quinn about…this?"
He smiled against her hair. Apparently, Hermione hadn't quite realized how important she was to him yet.
"Today, Hermione," he replied, and fell asleep with the feel of her broad smile against his chest.
They crawled out of bed at half-past noon the next day. Harry wasn't surprised when Hermione suggested she stay at the Dursleys' while he went over to Quinn's; he obviously wanted privacy to explain what had happened.
The walk to Number Six Privet Drive seemed like a march to his death. Harry drug his feet as his mind, now somewhat clear of the passion-haze that had lingered even during his sleep, raced through tactful ways of breaking up with Quinn.
Breaking up with Quinn…
He could hardly believe that just a few hours before he'd been walking from Quinn's to the Dursleys' wondering if he could survive without her once he returned to Hogwarts. Buoyed by his new-found romance with Hermione, he nonetheless couldn't help wondering if he was somehow being not just unfair but untrue to both girls.
Am I some kind of big jerk? Some guy who falls in and out of infatuations with girls at a moment's notice? Am I making a big mistake here?
Before he had time to sort out any answers, though, his feet had carried him to Quinn's doorstep. Heart in his mouth, he rang her bell.
She opened the door in shorts and an emerald-green tank-top that matched her eyes exactly. She looked so fresh and pretty that for one second Harry almost gave in to the temptation to kiss her hello. Fortunately, she didn't offer – his pale, drawn countenance tipped her off immediately that something was amiss.
"What is it?" she asked anxiously as he stepped into the foyer. She closed the door and motioned him into the living room, her brow creased with concern. "What's happened, Harry?"
He sat in the recliner, not on the sofa with her. He saw her eyes grow rather guarded at that. "I, uh, Quinn, I have to tell you something," he began haltingly. His cheeks were already heating up, and he willed himself not to act like a total ass.
"Harry, you're scaring me." She twirled a lock of hair nervously around her finger. "What is it? Just tell me."
Harry took a deep, composing breath. You can do this, he shouted over the inner voice that was shrieking he was making a mistake, that he was picking the wrong girl. Just tell her you're sorry, but you've fallen for Hermione. That you were already fallen and just didn't have the guts to admit it to yourself.
"Quinn, I'm really sorry about this," he started again. "I know you've had a shitty year, to say the least, and the last thing I ever wanted to do was make things harder for you somehow."
She bit her bottom lip and nodded for him to go on. The dreaded expectation in her glimmering green eyes made Harry want to sink through the floor.
He struggled on, trying to convey his sense of shame at having betrayed her trust. "First, I, uh, I need to tell you that I'm leaving in two weeks. My friend Ron invited Hermione and me to come to his family's, and we'll be there until school starts on September 1st."
Tears shone in her eyes, but she anchored them there, he suspected by sheer force of will. "Oh. Well, we always knew the summer couldn't go on forever, right?"
When Harry looked away, she sighed unhappily. "But there's something more, I take it."
"Yeah. Yes." Harry ordered himself to be a man and look her in the face. She deserved that much. "Last night, Hermione and I…we, uh, well…"
Quinn cut him off with a sharp, hollow laugh. "Oh. Right. Okay. I figured it was something like that."
He decided he would give his right arm for an invisibility cloak right about then. "Quinn, I'm really sorry. I know I'm a bloody sod for doing this to you, and I don't even have any right to apologize, but I never meant for you to be hurt."
"Nobody ever does." Two bright spots of color appeared on her cheekbones, and Harry knew she was losing the battle with her tears. He stood up when she did, not wanting to add to her pain by witnessing her cry if she wanted to be alone. "Look, it's not that big of a deal. I mean, we barely know each other, and Hermione's really great. I'm sure you'll be very happy."
They were back at her front door. Harry hesitated, wishing he could say something, anything, to fix the mess he'd made of things.
"I didn't mean for this to happen. I really didn't."
It sounded flaccid in his own ears. Quinn smiled tightly at him – a smile that didn't reach her eyes. In spite of the day's warmth, Harry was abruptly chilled.
"Don't worry about me, Harry. I've gotten pretty good at taking care of myself. Tell Hermione I said hello."
With that, she closed the door in his face, and Harry had no choice but to walk away.
When he returned to the Dursleys', Hermione immediately suggested they go for a walk. He was relieved she didn't press him to talk about what he said to Quinn, about his scar hurting or about what happened between them last night. Instead, she kept up a steady stream of comments about their homework assignments, questions that might come up on their fast-approaching N.E.W.T.s, and the school supplies she needed to pick up while in London.
She didn't seem to mind that Harry hardly spoke. He appreciated her consideration.
After a couple of hours at the pool – he kept a wary eye out for Quinn, but she didn't show – Harry felt much calmer and ready to talk about the new developments in his life. Hermione readily agreed when he suggested they go for ice cream.
He paid for their chocolate malts and joined her at an umbrella-shaded outside table. "So," he began, concentrating on stirring the thick ice cream with his straw, "are you, uh, okay with what happened last night?"
Hermione's cheeks turned pink but she regarded him steadily, as if determined not to be embarrassed. "I am. Very much okay. And you?"
"Yeah. Very much okay."
They grinned at one another. After a few moments of sipping their malts in silence, he went on, "I just didn't want you to think it was a one-time thing, or anything like that. I mean, I don't want it to be just that," he added quickly, with the sudden horrible thought that maybe she wasn't interested in a relationship with him.
Her blush deepened but her grin also widened, which Harry took as a positive sign. "No, me neither. I mean, I don't want it to have just been that one time." She laughed, so clear and bright he couldn't help but join in. "Listen to us! It's like we've forgotten how to speak."
She reached across the glass-topped table and placed her hand over his. Harry went tingly right down to his core.
"I really care about you, Harry," she said solemnly, her voice half a breath above a whisper. "I guess I didn't realize how much until these last couple of weeks, but I've kind of had a crush on you since our first year. And I would really, really like to be your girlfriend, if that's what you want."
Since our first year? Oh yeah…
Harry couldn't help feeling smug. He hoped his smile didn't look goofy; his face felt unnaturally stretched, yet he couldn't seem to control the grin. Hermione giggled, but it was a nice sound, not as if she were laughing at him.
"That's what I want, too," he said, surprised that his voice barely shook at all since his insides had turned to jelly.
"Well, good then. That's settled." Hermione took a long sip of her malt, smiling to herself. "But you know, I think Rita Skeeter is going to be a little full of herself when she finds out. She's been saying for years that you were in love with me."
They both laughed, remembering the article that caused Hermione so much hate-mail for supposedly breaking Harry's heart. Feeling much more at ease, he decided to tell her about Quinn's reaction. "She seemed okay," he concluded, after giving her the high points of their talk. "I think she was pretty pissed at me, but she has reason to be, I suppose."
Hermione's face darkened somewhat. "You know, last night, before…everything, we were starting to talk about Quinn. Do you really think she only lied to me to warn me off from you?"
Harry shrugged. Truthfully, he couldn't think of Quinn as devious or manipulative, but perhaps he wasn't the best judge of her character considering how infatuated he'd been with her. And although he suspected Hermione thought it was possible, he really didn't see how Quinn could be connected to Voldemort, or any Death Eater for that matter; she was Muggle through-and-through, he'd stake his life on it.
Funny you should phrase it that way, he thought darkly, but quickly shook it off. He was determined not to be paranoid about Voldemort's schemes. Without proof, he couldn't convince himself that Quinn had any other motive than keeping Hermione away from him when she lied about them having sex.
"Whatever the reason, I don't think it really matters now," he replied honestly. "After two weeks I probably won't ever see her again. I mean, she'll be away at her boarding school, so the only time I'd even be around her is in the summers, and I'd, uh, I'd kind of like it if we could make you visiting me a yearly occurrence. Kind of makes Privet Drive easier to take."
Blushing prettily, Hermione acquiesced to his evaluation. "Okay. I don't know. Maybe it was just seeing the two of you together," Harry felt himself grinning smugly again, "but I never trusted her. I'll be glad when we're back at school and away from her."
"And the Dursleys," Harry added. "They're a trip, aren't they?"
"Bunch of bloody nutters," Hermione agreed, but she suddenly sounded somewhat absent. "Hey, isn't that your cousin and his friends?"
Glancing up, Harry saw Dudley's massive form moving slowly down the sidewalk, with Piers and his other two gigantic cronies in tow. "Why don't we go," he suggested. He didn't want a run-in with Dudley and friends to ruin what was turning out to be a very nice day. "We could pick up some books and go to the park to read – "
"Isn't that Quinn?" Hermione was still squinting down the sidewalk toward Dudley.
Harry followed her gaze and did a double-take. Sure enough, Quinn was standing in front of the record shop, one hand on her hip, the other resting flirtatiously on Piers' shoulder.
Harry instantly quashed the flare of jealousy. More than likely that was what Quinn was after anyway. Linking his fingers through Hermione's, he said firmly, "It doesn't matter. She's free to talk to whoever she wants, and I'm not going to play some stupid jealousy game. I'd rather spend the day with you."
Hermione bestowed a dazzling smile on him and, after a moment's hesitation, leaned across the table and sealed his lips with a long, lingering kiss. Harry's head was swimming by the time she pulled back and tugged him to his feet.
"You're really good at that," he told her, as they started toward Privet Drive.
"You're not too bad yourself," she laughed.
As they strolled along, Harry thought of another possible complication of their new-found romance that neither had broached yet. Reluctantly, he decided it was better to get it over with early than have it hanging between them. "Hey," he said, aiming for casualness, "have you thought about what to say to Ron?"
Her shoulders stiffened slightly. "I have. Thought about it, I mean. So far I haven't come up with anything I can actually imagining saying to him." She glanced sideways at him. "You?"
"No. I mean, like you said, everything just sounds wrong, even in my head."
"Well, I don't think a letter is the way to handle it. And we can't say anything right away, because that'd be in front of his whole family." Hermione sighed, pushing her hair behind her ears. Harry realized he was starting to pick up on her quirks – when she was nervous, she played with her hair. "I guess when we get back to the Burrow we'll just have to get him alone and tell him."
"Should we do it together or, you know, separately? Like, maybe I could talk to him first."
So you won't be there to see him clock me, he added silently.
Hermione shook her head. "If we do that, I think I should tell him."
Harry arched an eyebrow. "Yeah," he said doubtfully, "because you and Ron get on so well."
She swatted at him, and he laughed, enjoying the intimacy. "Ron and I understand each other. It's just that no one else understands how we understand each other."
"I do. You fight a lot," Harry teased, earning him another swat. This time, he pulled her around in front of him, ignoring her squeal of protest, and kissed her. Her lips were cool from the ice cream but her skin was warm from the day's heat; the combination made him slightly dizzy.
"Wow," Hermione breathed when he released her. "I really have no idea what we were talking about."
"Something about you not telling Ron about us because you two fight enough as it is." Harry slipped his arm around her shoulders as they turned the corner onto Privet Drive, feeling so elated he could have been walking on clouds. Even the problem of how to salvage their friendship with Ron couldn't puncture his happiness. "Maybe the best play would be to – "
But Harry never got to finish that sentence because Hermione had stopped dead in her tracks and was staring at Number Four in mute horror. Following her gaze, he felt his stomach drop into his shoes: The Grangers' car was parked in the driveway. Their unexpected arrival could mean only one thing.
He tightened his grip on Hermione's shoulder, concerned by her sudden pallor. "Grandma," she whispered, and then broke into a run for the front door, followed closely by Harry, whose elation had abruptly deflated.
Author's Note: Okay, don't hate me, but this chapter really is the Beginning of the End. All good things must come to a close! I don't want to drag this on past its logical conclusion, and like summer romances, a story about a summer romance can't go on forever. (I say this because I'm jealous of you awesome writers out there who write novel-length fics! Damn you!) I hope you enjoyed this chapter and more will be coming very soon!