Harry paused just outside the doors to the hospital wing; he was suddenly struck by the fact that he had no clue what he was going to say. He certainly still felt a great deal of anger towards Ron for his recent outbursts and it seemed that as Harry had slipped silently through the corridors under his cloak, the compassion he'd first felt for Ron's predicament had slipped back into yet more frustrated anger. In fact, it almost seemed like he was now even angrier for Ron's confession and for making Harry actually feel bad for him when all Harry really wanted to do was thwack Ron about the head.
Why would Ron think he shouldn't—or couldn't tell anyone what he was going through? If he knew—knew—his actions were unreasonable then how could expect not to brass off everyone around him? Why had no one else who'd known about this told Harry?
The letter Ron had written may not excuse his behavior but it began to explain it and an explanation was a good start towards understanding. And right about now, any understanding Harry could gain in regards to Ron was the only thing that was going to keep Harry's temper in check.
Harry deftly pushed open one of the double-doors to the hospital wing and slipped through the opening before slowly letting the door close behind him again.
The hospital wing was darkened and a few torches flickered softly along the far wall. Harry couldn't see anyone immediately but could hear a low murmur of voices coming from behind a curtain at the end of the row of beds.
Silently, Harry crept beneath his cloak towards the sound of the one low, male voice that was now speaking.
"This is a new formula I haf made."
"What's in this one?" Ron's voice asked. "I don't think the tinctures helped at all. Plus, they reek and get my robes all sticky."
Harry stopped. Ron was talking with Vitkor Krum. Stealthily, Harry crept closer until he was peering through the crack in the curtains.
Ron was there, sitting cross-legged in the middle of a bed and twisting the top off of a tall brown bottle. Krum was standing with his back to Harry scratching the back of his neck as he spoke, "This is a draught. I think it's best if you try something to treat the symptoms now."
Ron gasped and wheezed suddenly after taking a whiff of the bottle's contents. "What is that cack?! I'm supposed to drink that?" He fumbled with screwing the cap back on as he held the bottle out at arm's length; far away from his face. "No way!" he said, shaking his head and handing it back.
Krum took the bottle and set it on the bedside table that was between them.
"It is based off of the Immotus Mixture we tried before," Krum said, disregarding Ron's comment.
"It never reeked like that," Ron said as he sent a wary look at the offending bottle sitting near him.
"I added more cannabis root. That, along with the Glumbumble treacle, yes, makes for a rather...strong smell." Krum actually sounded apologetic.
Ron snorted at this but before he could retort, he and Krum both jumped at the sound of a door slamming behind them.
"It's Pomfrey," Ron hissed, craning his neck towards the matron's office.
Harry could hear the approaching sound of heels on the stone floor and had to leap out of the way as Krum hastened to leave Ron. "Try that and tell me if it helps any, yes?" Krum said over his shoulder to Ron.
Ron just waved him away as the clicking heels approached from the other side of his bed. "Go!" he said as he, grimacing, shoved the brown bottle beneath his pillow.
Harry held his breath as Krum slipped past him, just inches away. He watched as Krum moved more swiftly and silently than Harry would have guessed possible, down the row of beds and out the doors of the hospital wing.
Harry turned back to spy on Ron as Madam Pomfrey's voice cut clearly into the sounds of Ron's shuffling about in his bed. "You're still awake, I hear. I thought you said you'd be falling asleep, no?"
Harry saw Ron, now leaning back on his pillow awkwardly, pull a face and reply, "Er, I'm just a bit, er, I can't sleep as yet really..."
Pomfrey immediately set upon straightening the bunched up covers at the foot of Ron's bed as she said, "Well, I'll just set you up with some Dreamless Sleep then. That will put you right to sleep. Mind you, you're best to have plenty of rest and a clear head about you tomorrow." She clucked her tongue then as went on to say, "Never should have let you talk me out of sending you to St. Mungo's for treatment. I knew you'd have a right time of handling those scars. Last time I ever consult a patient about their own treatment." She fussed about some more before announcing, "I'll be right back with some Sleep."
When Pomfrey returned a half-minute later, Ron protested he needed to use the toilet before drinking the potion and so managed to convince her to just leave it on the night table before she reluctantly left him for the night.
Harry, while Ron had gone to the toilet, slipped around the curtain and settled himself—still draped in his cloak—in the chair beside the bed. He waited until Ron returned, settled himself onto the bed and pulled out the brown bottle from Krum before yanking the cloak down from his head and asking, "Why is Krum making you potions?"
Ron, startled so badly he nearly dropped the bottle, sprang off the bed and gasped loudly before clutching at his chest.
"Merlin, Harry! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Ron panted as he tried to catch his breath.
Harry just pulled his cloak down lower, letting it pool in his lap, and ran a hand through his mussed hair. "No," he said curtly. "I'm here for explanations." At Ron's nonplussed expression, Harry explained, "The note you gave Ginny to give to me? You did write it, didn't you?" Harry said exasperatedly.
"Oh, right." Ron looked relieved for a brief moment before a brilliant shade of red colored his face. "You...er, read that, eh?" he asked in a high voice as she scratched behind his ear.
Harry goggled at him. "Er, yeah!"
Ron laughed uncomfortably. "Oh. I, er, wasn't sure, you'd, er, want to read it."
"I didn't," Harry said coolly as he leaned back in his chair. "Ginny made me. It's the truth though, isn't it? What you wrote?"
Harry's need for Ron to have some excuse for his abominable behavior was so overwhelming that Harry wasn't sure what he'd do if Ron failed to provide one. In fact, Harry wasn't sure he even wanted Ron to have an excuse. Part of him quite wanted to be finally pushed over the edge and justified in expressing complete and total anger.
Gingerly, Ron perched himself on the side of his bed and swung his long, gangly legs over and crossed them. "Yeah," he said in barely a whisper.
The brown bottle dropped into his lap and his shoulders seemed to hunch in on himself. He looked poised to retreat within himself. Harry was reminded of how Ron said he often experienced replays when he saw Harry or Hermione now. The sudden shift to fragility surrounding Ron, eased Harry's anger back.
"Is it...is that memory replaying now?" he asked tentatively; unsure how to broach the subject now since it was plainly obvious Ron was beyond embarrassed about it.
Ron, staring down unseeingly at some spot between them, just nodded.
"Look at me," Harry said as he leaned forward; elbows on his knees. He repeated himself when Ron couldn't comply. "Look at me. I'm here now—look."
Reluctantly, Ron's eyes darted once in Harry's direction.
"Look at me," Harry repeated; this time with yet more force. In his mind, he was thinking he could hold Ron's thoughts to the here and now if he could just get him to make and hold eye contact.
Harry dragged his chair forward and leaned forward, palms now resting on Ron's bed. "Ron—look—at—me."
Ron was vigorously biting down on the inside of his cheek and, out of the corner of his eye, his gaze slid over to rest on Harry.
"I feel like a moron," Ron muttered.
"You look like one, too," Harry replied dryly.
"Hey!" Ron said glaring at Harry.
Harry caught his gaze and before Ron could look away again, Harry reached out a hand and seized Ron's shoulder. "Just—let me. Let me...see, okay?"
"Wha—what do you mean?" Ron asked warily, leaning back slightly.
Harry sighed, searching into Ron's eyes. "I want to see what you're seeing; to see what you're feeling. I think I can do that if you look into my eyes. I also think I can help keep you focused on the here and now if you'll let me try this."
Ron's brow creased with worry and Harry had to squeeze his shoulder to get him to regain eye contact.
"Please," Harry pleaded. "I need to understand why it is I shouldn't want to knock you 'round the head."
This argument seemed to work well for Ron and, forlornly, he met Harry's searching gaze full on.
Harry saw clearly then for the first time in months that Ron's normally carefree look no longer remained. It was replaced with an inner turmoil that writhed within his hazel eyes.
But why can't I see what he's thinking, Harry wondered as he narrowed his own eyes in concentration.
"Let me see," he said softly, almost to himself. "Let me in."
Somehow, his words crumbled any resistance Ron had mustered and, with a rush, images and emotions flew at Harry.
There was Ron wrapped up in the feelers of a writhing brain...alone...an unravelling brain flying out of its tank towards him...Harry's own horrified face looking on just beyond it; unmoving in any effort to stop the brain in it's flight towards Ron...tentacles like rolls of film wrapping themselves—seizing, squeezing and seeking to consume—all around him and making his heart beat wildly with fear...his chest constricting and, as fear mounted in his heart, the sight of Harry looking on, stunned...and then the sight of Harry turning away and bolting...alone...laughter...anger...fear...constricting...the sight of Harry turning away again...alone...unimportant...angry...alone...Harry's face turning away...tentacles crawling, feeling and constricting...alone...again—Harry turning and bolting...alone...consuming...Neville's face, suddenly, looking between a retreating Harry and a struggling Ron...Neville leaving--choosing to follow Harry...alone...angry about being left behind...unimportant...alone...abandoned...alone...constricting...suffocating anger...alone...
Harry pulled back to stop the images and shook his head to shake off the unnerving sensation of feelers wrapping about himself and the echoing sense of feeling alone and abandoned. As Harry came back to himself, he saw Ron was still staring at him; unseeingly with his mouth agape and eyes wide.
Harry could still see, like flashes from an out-of-sync film, the play of memories swimming about just beneath the surface of Ron's glazed over eyes.
"Ron—Ron," Harry said forcefully as he shook Ron's shoulder.
With a shudder, Ron snapped out of his trance, blinked and snapped his mouth closed. Reflexively, he turned away from Harry.
"No—Ron look at me."
"I don't wanna," Ron said pushing Harry away. He shuddered again and said, "That was worse than it usually is. Usually it's just snippets," he muttered.
"I know—I mean that makes sense," Harry said. "I was trying to see it all. I need to understand."
After a few moments where Ron couldn't look up from his lap, Harry asked, "Why didn't you just tell me? And what did Pomfrey mean when she says she shouldn't have kept you from getting treated at St. Mungo's? And what is that stuff—" he jabbed a finger at the brown bottle in Ron's lap, "—and why did Viktor Krum give that to you?"
His anger returning, Harry stood up and paced in a small circle once before laughing shortly. "You accuse me of keeping secrets from you—look at you! You know you're being an arse—and then you blame me for not trusting you be able to act mature if I did tell you about things I was keeping from you!" Harry paused and paced some more; shaking his head before raking a hand through his hair. "I need some bloody good answers here, Ron," Harry said finally.
"Pomfrey said I could have had a Memory Charm that night. She wanted to give me one. Dumbledore was here and I overheard her telling him she thought it'd be best. I told them no way. I told Madame Pomfrey I didn't want it." Ron looked down grumpily as he picked at his sheets. "Wish I'd have taken it," he said bitterly. "You guys could have just filled me in one what had happened. Everything would have been perfect then."
"You can't know that," Harry said.
Ron shrugged. "Dumbledore said it was my decision. He told me I was in control of my destiny and if that was my choice, then so be it." Ron just shook his head. "No one hardly ever listens to me and this was when someone finally decides to let me make my own decisions? Brilliant."
Silence surrounded them for several minutes after this while Harry tried to imagine what Ron must be going through. Ron had a reason finally...his behavior had an excuse. Harry felt he could grant that to Ron but it wouldn't mean anything if there wasn't some resolution of the problem as it still existed.
"Why'd you stop taking the stuff that helped in the first place?" Harry asked. "Doesn't it help anymore at all?"
Ron shrugged. "Thought I didn't need it." He drew his knees up to his chest, tossing the brown bottle from Krum over to his pillow. "Pomfrey said I should keep taking it until I didn't need it, but...s'spensive," Ron muttered.
It's expensive, Harry heard though.
A few more minutes passed and Ron said, "Mum kept fretting over how much it cost. She tried learning how to brew it up herself but it takes over a week to brew and she didn't have the time."
"And that?" Harry asked as he pointed to the brown bottle lying beside Ron.
Ron shrugged. "Krum's been helping me. I...well, after school started back up, I knew I needed—that I should have still been taking the potion. After I left Potions with Snape I was really furious with myself for quitting and knew I should've stuck it out to get better and learn how to make the potion myself. Ginny mentioned once how Krum held these open-lab sessions in the evening for students to practice and I...well, he's teaching potions and all so I...you know..."
"You asked him to help you?"
Ron nodded and rested his chin on his knees. "Yeah. We managed together to create the Oblivious Unction but...well, it wasn't working." Ron went on to describe how he thought they must have been getting something wrong and kept trying to get it right. "Finally, Dumbledore talked with me at the Celebration—he said we were probably making the potion just fine but that it was too late."
Harry nodded; he'd read this in Ron's letter. "Right, he said you'd have to learn to cope and overcome it, yes? Like a Boggart, you said?" Ron nodded. "Did you tell Krum this?"
Ron glanced over at the brown bottle lying on its side and nodded. "Yeah. He's still interested in helping me, though. Don't know why. I think he hopes to make some discovery worthy of getting published. Kind of his pet project, you know?"
Harry nodded; relived to finally know what could have brought Ron and Krum together to be friends.
Ron broke the silence after a few minutes, saying, "Ginny said I might have royally screwed up with what I said earlier...about the prophecy." Harry winced; it was a reflexive action he'd developed to just about anyone bringing up the damned thing. "She said...she said I might have made You-Know-Who want to go after you even more."
Harry laughed. "Me? You—he'll want..." he trailed off at seeing the horrified look on Ron's face. "Er, I mean..." Harry waved his hand, "It won't matter. Dumbledore's conveniently arranged for..." for just another little part of my life to be handed over to the public.
"Harry?"
"Huh? Forget it. Nevermind. The scene from dinner tonight should be long forgotten after breakfast tomorrow morning." The look of relief that spread across Ron's face was palpable. "And Snape's gone to deal with Voldemort."
At the mention of that name, the relief upon Ron's face faltered a bit. Ron cleared his throat. "So, er, what Snape did to me...was that—"
"Legillimency? Yeah. Forced Legillimency. Not the art—like what I used before when I looked into your eyes."
Ron shuddered at the memory. "Was awful," he said. "Now I know why you hated going to learn Occlumency with him last year, at least, if that was what it was like. Every bad thought or memory I'm ashamed or embarrassed of came flying back at me."
Jealous...envious...bitter. Snape's words replayed in Harry's mind. The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing... Harry didn't want to dwell on any of that.
"Well," Harry said as he sat down, hoping to come to some sort of resolution. "What are you going to do about all this now?" Ron only looked unsure. "I want my friend Ron back but I'm not going to hang around an arse while I wait for him."
"I'm not being an arse now!" Ron protested.
"Yeah—now!" Harry shot back. He lowered his voice then and said, "You were an arse at dinner—that can't be going on. You were an arse at the Celebration. You've been awful to Hermione—awful beyond words."
Ron's' face screwed up at this. "Why'd you have to go mention her for," he grumbled moodily as he pulled a thread from the hem of his jeans.
Harry stood up again. "She was your best friend along with me not too long ago, you know," he rushed out heatedly. "She's still my best friend, my girlfriend and I'm bloody well in love with her so don't go expecting me to not talk about her or mention her! I can't very well just...just forget..." Harry paused, feeling dizzy. "I..."
His own words replayed in his mind.
...in love with her...
"I..."
"Harry?"
Harry didn't answer. He sank down heavily back into his chair and dropped his head into his hands. He felt light-headed and dizzy and his heart was beating rapidly. It was slightly euphoric and altogether unsettling, this feeling. He felt out of control and like the very blood in his veins was heating and rushing about at full speed.
Ron spoke up in answer to Harry's silence. "Er, maybe you should talk about her. I mean, I think my memories—my replays—get all muddled up when you mention her or when you're both around me. The memories of you and her get all mixed up and...crossed about. It might help, though. I mean, it can't get worse, right?"
Harry was only vaguely listening to Ron; his mind was still whirling. "I haven't told her. You know...about...you know..."
"What?"
Harry sighed. "You know," he said through gritted teeth. "Those words?"
Ron had to guess a few times before finally saying, "What? 'I love you'?" at which Harry stiffened and nodded once.
"I...I sort of freak out. I can't...I don't know. I freak."
"Well, that's messed up," Ron declared without hesitation
Harry smiled and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "Yeah, I know."
Somehow, in this brief and awkward exchange, Harry had a wistful glimpse of what it could be like; being able to have a best mate with whom he could talk openly about his girlfriend. It seemed like such a normal, teenaged thing to do. Unfortunately, with Ron being that mate and Hermione being that girlfriend, it was a rather unrealistic wish.
"So we'll work on this then, yes?" Harry asked. "Hermione will want to help. You ought to apologize to her—if for no other reason than because I want you to—but I'd bet she'd forgive you anyway after hearing about what's been going on." Harry's voice was firm and he hoped Ron understood that this wasn't merely a request.
"I'll try," Ron said heavily. He looked dreadfully at the brown bottle from Krum and said, "That stuff's supposed to help me not react to the memories. Supposed to deaden the emotion that causes the reactions now. At least, that's what Krum says."
Harry nodded. "You coming up to bed then?"
Ron made a face and said, "Er, actually, if I stay here, then I get breakfast here and can skip the Great Hall and head straight to classes."
Harry thought that didn't sound half bad but nodded, saying, "Can't blame you. I'm off to bed though. I've got the feeling I'm going to need some sleep before tomorrow."
Despite Ron's semi-pained expression, Harry only waved once; saying, "See ya," before slipping his cloak back on and heading back to Gryffindor Tower.
Back in his dormitory, Harry found his drapes pulled shut tight and concealing a curled up Hermione who was fast asleep in his bed. She had two pieces of parchment clutched in her hand as she slept; one was the Marauder's Map and the other was Ron's letter.
It was past two in the morning and the feel of her there as he slipped in behind her made Harry feel quite pleased. As his arms snaked around to pull her close and he brushed back her hair so his lips could press a kiss against her neck, the words that had spilled from his mouth when talking to Ron replayed in his mind. I'm in love with her.
The memory made his heart pound. It occurred to him that it might be worth putting aside his fears to force himself to tell her. A litany of voices began to murmur their encouragement to this idea as Harry clutched her closer still. But no, he couldn't. Nothing good could come of that. It just wasn't meant for him. Sleep claimed him before his voices could protest...
He and Hermione were sliding down a ribbon-shaped rollercoaster. The ribbon then turned into a filmstrip and they dropped down into a theatre where the screen showed flickering images playing rapidly in reverse. One image showed Dumbledore twinkling and winking conspiratorially. Another image showed Ron, rocking back and forth as he held his knees to his chest and wailed, "Don't leave me, Harry! I was a good friend, wasn't I? Harry?"
"Wasn't I?" the voice changed then as the images on screen went from flickering across the screen to rushing straight at Harry. Hermione was no longer beside him.
"I was a good servant, Master," the voice whimpered again desperately. "No...please!"
Images of Ron at the Burrow flew towards Harry. He was watching on as Mrs. Weasley stood leaning over a cauldron near the fireplace and looking down. Another image of Ron, this time as he pulled his shirt up and over his head, revealing pearly white welts across his chest, shoulders and arms. Next, an image of Ron showed him tying a letter to Hedwig's leg and then letting her fly out the window of his bedroom. Other scenes from the Burrow—each from around floor level—raced at Harry. Most meaningless but each time, the images of Ron slowed before racing past.
The images swirled then to an abrupt halt, smashing into each other mere inches from his face. With a violent thrust, he shoved back at them and suddenly found himself standing above a collapsed and mewling form that was sprawled upon a worn and dusty hardwood floor.
With contempt, Harry kicked out at the robed figure on the floor, making him cry out in pain.
"You disappoint me," Harry said in a high, cold, cruel voice. He pointed then, with a long, bone-white finger as he commanded, "OUT!" The crumpled form shot from its spot on the floor across the room and smashed into the doorframe on the opposite wall with a sickening crack.
Pleased, Harry smiled to himself and flexed his fingers as he felt them tingle with a rush of warmth. With an image of a whimpering, pleading Ron, he felt a surge or power so strong he reflexively fisted his hands, trying to embrace it.
His hands clenched and one fisted into something so full and real it was almost like grasping a ripened fruit.
"Oohhh!" a voice said in front of him.
If he could just squeeze it and seize it as his; then it could no longer elude him. Finally he could crush it. He could almost feel his nails digging in and pressing into the skin, about to puncture.
"Har-ry! Stop—oh!"
Abruptly, as a searing pain shot through the back of his hand, Harry's eyes jolted open and he spit out a mouthful of bushy hair.
"Stop it, Harry. Stop!" Hermione whimpered, choking on her words.
It was her fingernails digging, clawing into the back of his hand, which was latched onto one of her breasts.
Hoarsely, and as he realised his scar was throbbing painfully, he croaked out, "Her—Hermione?"
He could feel her shaking, as her face remained buried in a pillow and her hands desperately tried to pry Harry's away from her.
Stunned he let go and she pulled away, curling up and shaking even more.
Outside the hangings of his bed, Harry heard a snicker and then Seamus called out, "I didn't know all the Prefects took turns doing bed checks!" Seamus laughed at his own joke then and Harry groped absently along the hangings above the head of his bed where his wand was tucked into a pocket.
As Seamus muttered some other lewd comment, Harry growled in frustration, "Oh—silencio, damnit!" Seamus' comment was cut off just as Harry's hand closed about his wand. He quickly flicked up an Imperturbable Charm about his bed.
He was shaking. Hermione was shaking. She was still curled up beside him, wet sobs shuddering though her body as she clutched a blanket around her.
Oh, god...what have I done?
Harry's scar throbbed again then, almost in answer to his question. Idiot! Harry wanted to curse himself—he'd gone and fallen asleep without practicing any sort of Occlumency after his talk with Ron and on a night where so much had already happened...this was totally unforgivable.
"Oh, god...Hermione," he said desperately as he reached out a hand towards her huddled form.
She merely curled away and shook in response.
The repulsive feeling of his hand clenching, squeezing; fingernails trying to puncture her skin, made his stomach lurch. He tried to tug back on the blanket she had clutched about her.
"Hermione...please," he pleaded.
He'd been foolish—lazy, irresponsible and reckless to not sort through his thoughts before falling asleep. And look where it'd gotten him! Hermione might never want him to touch her ever again—and he couldn't really blame her. He felt disgusted and frightened by what he'd done.
"Please...Hermione," he whispered thickly. "I...it wasn't me...I'm so sorry...please...oh, god!" His head dropped down and rested upon her shaking hip. "Please..." he trailed off as he risked one hand, splayed open, rubbing up and along her back.
He chastised himself mentally—how could I have been so stupid? What if she hadn't woken me up in time? He'd hurt her...he wondered now if she was hurt, bruised or—worse—bleeding and still in pain.
"Hermione," he pleaded again softly as his open palm still continued to stroke up and down her back. "Are you...please let me see if you're...if you're hurt? Please?" He'd lifted his head from her hip as he spoke.
She was no longer crying but her breath still came in shudders and, as she failed to reply, he laid his head down upon her hip once again. He shivered in the cold and berated himself over and over again for being utterly reckless and foolish.
Several minutes later, when he noticed her breathing was no longer coming in gasps or shudders, he tried again. "Hermione?" he whispered. "I'm an idiot. I...I never should have just crawled into bed and fallen asleep like that."
He wasn't expecting her to respond by now and so felt he should at least talk just in case she was listening.
"I'm an idiot! Please...please—I need to know if you're still hurt. I don't ever want to hurt you. Not ever..."
Yes you did, a smug, accusing voice in his head said.
"No...I didn't..."
Yes you did...you wanted to draw blood...you craved it...
"No!" Harry protested. He rolled over then onto his side and clutched at his own head. He didn't...that wasn't him...it wasn't! "No...I wouldn't...not ever..."
As the mocking voice tried to argue once more, Harry pushed it away, refusing to listen to its lies.
"No..." he whispered as his hands fisted into his own hair. That pain was right. That was pain he deserved. He was the one who deserved to be hurt. Not Hermione...not ever Hermione...
He felt the bed shift beside him and, as he realized Hermione was the one shifting, he released his hair from his hands and rolled back over to his side to curl around her. Wishing he could feel her—touch her with the reverence she deserved—one hand ran over the blanket in front of her. He heard more rustling from her and, when he felt the fingers of her hand contact his, he felt his heart elate.
Their hands laced together. Through their entwined hands, he could feel her pulse beating against his; duelling until they each slowed to beat in sync. Hermione uncurled herself and Harry moved back to allow her room. Settling back on a pillow, her other hand reached for Harry's and he leaned over her; both of their hands entwined and not a word exchanged between them.
He wanted light. He wanted—needed to see her. He needed to see if and how badly he'd hurt her. He wished he hadn't. He wished he could undo any and all of her pain.
His eyes caught the sight of his wand peeking out from beneath her pillow. But he didn't want to let go. His mind warred over wanting light from his wand to see her or wanting to never let go of her hands.
Both desires won out as tiny pinpricks of golden light shimmered into being around them, illuminating Hermione's face beneath his. The relief he felt at seeing her face glow in the light was enough to steal his breath away.
Her eyes, he was ever so relieved held nothing but trust. There wasn't a trace of accusation or fright like he'd feared. Why, he honestly couldn't fathom.
His gaze slid down from her face to her neck, her chest and her askew nightshirt. The top several buttons of the shirt were undone and the shirt was spread open to reveal a line of angry, red-tinged marks that led down beneath the line of the shirt and, he could just see, made out the shape of a handprint.
Deftly, Harry leaned down to press his lips in the center of her chest, just over her heart. She made no sound of protest and her fingers still remained entwined with his. Nimbly, he trailed a line of small kisses over to the first offending pink bruise. His mouth hovered over the mark and he touched his lips to it softly, feeling the heat rise from the mark.
His heart constricted when a flash of memory, reminding him how she'd suffered these marks, assaulted his mind. But he'd never ever meant that; he was here to undo what he'd done. His lips, so sensitive to every nuance of the skin they travelled over, told him he'd not broken any skin there. With kisses and the smallest lick of his tongue he traced the mark along its path, pushing down the collar of her shirt with his nose as he went.
From one mark to the other, Harry went, his lips speaking wordless contrition as the heat from the marks guided him along. His eyes closed as he moved along each and every spot that radiated heat and, as he kissed them, he wished he could erase each away.
In his mind, he was mapping out the route his mouth had taken and finally, the only heat he felt reflecting off of his lips was that where her bud of a nipple jutted out stiffly. It caught upon his lower lip as his mouth ran over it and his tongue lapped out at it once, swirling around before his mouth latched on and kissed the bud until it was stiffer still.
The first sound to come from Hermione's lips since she'd awoken Harry from his dream was a moan as her back arched into Harry's mouth. Desire coursed through Harry at this reaction from her and he only reluctantly pulled his mouth away as her hands tugged his upwards.
As he met her face, Hermione leaned up to brush her lips against his. He leaned forward then, across her chest, as his lips ghosted over, across and upon hers. Her lips played with trying to catch at his before his could catch hers.
Harry's heart fluttered about happily in his chest at this and, as he paused, leaning their foreheads together, he felt emotion well up within; warm and radiant.
I'm in love with her.
The words ran through his mind as he lost himself looking down into her eyes, which sparkled with dancing reflections of the tiny pinpricks of light shimmering above them.
The words were right there in his mind. His mouth was somehow connected to his mind, he was sure of it. If he could only get it from one place to the other...but, wait.
No.
He'd just considered telling her this very same thing just before he'd fallen asleep; right before all this had happened.
No.
It was clear he'd ventured too close already to some line he knew he couldn't dare to cross. He needed to keep her from getting hurt. She was the one thing he couldn't stand to lose.
He pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered, "You should probably go back to your dormitory." He rolled over onto his side, their faces still together. "I...I can't fall asleep yet. You should get some sleep." He kissed her lips once more before she pulled back and nodded. "We'll talk in the morning," he said as she sat up, their entwined hands finally breaking apart.
He reached over and under his bed to pull out his Invisibility Cloak and then handed it to her. "Here."
Hermione finished buttoning up her nightshirt before taking the cloak. With a palm, she caressed the side of his face from forehead to jaw and pressed a kiss upon his scar. Just as Harry was thinking about his scar not hurting at all anymore, she whispered, "I love you," before throwing the cloak about her shoulders and disappearing into the night. Harry was left alone in the dark, feeling his heart clench painfully in his chest.
The next morning, Harry awoke early after only a few sound hours of sleep. He awoke before anyone else in his dormitory and he showered and dressed quickly before slipping down to the Common Room.
Hermione was already there, stuffing an incredible number of books into her Notably Toteable Library Satchel, which had a Featherweight Charm on it, good for up to ten stone.
"You're up early," he said as he leaned over the back of her chair to whisper in her ear.
Hermione nodded, "I was thinking you'd likely want to go to breakfast early in case you wanted to then leave early." She gave him a knowing look.
Today's Daily Prophet.
Harry had spent nearly a full hour awake last night (or early this morning) just trying to steel himself for whatever today's edition of the paper would bring.
As a few other early-risers descended the stairs, Harry leaned over and asked, "How are you? Do you need anything?"
Hermione tucked a strand of hair behind an ear and smiled at Harry as she cocked her head to the side. "I'm fine, actually. Fine. But how about you?"
"Me?" Harry snorted. "Angry with myself—really angry." Harry shook his head. He didn't want to dwell on this if Hermione didn't. "Come on, let's head down. I'll tell you about my talk with Ron."
As Hermione had already heard an explanation of Ron's affliction from Ginny and also found the letter to Harry on his bed, she had pretty much put together a clear picture of what he was facing. The fact that Krum had been helping Ron with potions, however, completely floored her.
"I can't believe it!" she said, shaking her head. "I'm astounded that Viktor would be the one helping Ron after Ron loathed Viktor for so long. I...I'm, well," she laughed shortly, "I'm surprised to say the least."
She was just as stunned at Ron's ambition to work on making a potion to help himself get better, so much so that she never noticed all the teachers enter and be seated at the head table all at once, just moments before the first flapping of wings announced the arrival of mail.
Harry, however, did notice that one professor in particular was missing from the progression to the head table; Snape. As Harry's gaze travelled over the assembly of professors, he noticed an unusual amount of eyes met his and were looking his way.
Dumbledore, however not unusual, was also one of these and Harry knew at once that the reason all the teachers had been called together to meet before entering the hall, was more likely to discuss him.
If he hadn't already donned an ironclad layer of calm and cool about him, Harry would have been fuming at Dumbledore. As it was, he merely turned back to finish off his tea and move a pitcher of pumpkin juice swiftly out of the way just before a tawny owl landed in its place.
Hermione exchanged a look with Harry as she tucked some coins into the owl's zippered leg-pocket. He had half a mind to tell her to just fold it away and not read it all but asking that of Hermione would likely take more than the Imperius Curse.
The Daily Prophet's headline was a scrolling and rotating series of announcements ranging from: "Junior Undersecretary Weasley Found Guilty of Crimes Against the State", "Wizengamot Rules and Rolls Out New Policies", "Evidence Unearthed Connecting Former Minister Fudge to You-Know-Who's Closest Servants", to the one Harry was fearing most, reading, "Legendary Myth of The Prophesised Boy Who Would Live Confirmed: Albus Dumbledore Admits He's Been Training Harry Potter as His Apprentice All Along".
Harry could barely coordinate his movement enough to nudge Hermione and mumble, "Library—let's go."
As they left the Great Hall, Harry could hear a rising murmur from the tables beneath Colin Creevey shouting out, "Hey, Harry! Did you see? The Prophet finally used one of the photos I sent in of you! Did you see, Harry? Did you?"
Once they were away from the eyes of the Great hall, Harry muttered, "I can't believe Dumbledore...Can you believe him?"
"Harry!" Hermione said, surprised. "You honestly don't believe that everything Dumbledore has done, he's done with your best interests in mind?!"
Harry couldn't meet her eyes. He didn't have to think too hard to come up with any number of things he wished had been different throughout his life and quite a few of these, Harry felt, could be traced back somehow to Dumbledore.
Hermione's hand intertwined with Harry's as they sat at their usual corner table in the library. She didn't let go.
"Harry, Professor Dumbledore simultaneously holds the positions of Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards! Well, with a few short stints where he was removed from his positions, but—we both know what that was about.
"Harry—I don't think you realise all that he does and has been doing. Why do you think he's still been holding onto these positions?" Hermione looked earnestly into Harry's eyes. "I'll bet you anything that Dumbledore's been keeping his hand in everything he could just so he was around if you needed him to be. You can't fault him for his trying to make things easier on you!"
Hermione turned then and dug into her satchel. After a few minutes of rooting around, she pulled out a square, thin, silver book. "Here," she said placing the book on the table.
She muttered some words and the silver turned into a mirrored surface and the sharp corners rounded out into a circle. Across the front, in smoke letters, the book read, Mysteries of a Prophesy.
"Read this," she said as she flipped through delicate silvery pages until she found just the one. "Here."
Harry looked down at the text where her finger was pointing.
It read:
The stimulus for the generation of a true prophecy has long been the source of scholarly study. It is clear, however that the generation of a prophesy is neither random nor inducible. Consistently, prophecies are seen to be resultant from a trine between two major planetary influences, one gifted with Sight and the presence of a catalysing beneficiary.
The beneficiary, or one to whom the prophecy is given, is fated to assist in the execution of the prophesy as told. For centuries, chosen beneficiaries tried to fight or change the destinies foretold to them. Almost always, beneficiaries are opposed to the prophesised fates to which they are chosen to bear witness. Equally as often, the beneficiaries are unable to change these fates.
"Don't you see, Harry?" Hermione said after he read the silvery page.
Harry didn't see.
Hermione looked at him intently. "Harry, I think Dumbledore knew he was fated somehow help bring the prophesy to fruition and that he couldn't change it just because he knew it; in fact, he was the one person who couldn't change it. He knows that no matter what he does—he will still somehow catalyse prophesy events.
"I don't think you can blame him for how things concerning this prophesy have played out. Look—" she flipped several delicate, shiny pages and pointed, "—there are even instances where some beneficiaries have tried using Time-Turners to undo what they caused and, unlike most events when using time-manipulators, beneficiaries could never change prophesised events. Even if the how and when changed; the what was always unavoidably going to be caused by this one person."
Harry just looked at Hermione. He felt numb enough as it was and now he had to try to comprehend this?
"I checked this out last night,"; Hermione said, taking the book back and replacing the Concealment Charm on it. Whispering conspiratorially, she added, "Actually, I stole it from the library here. After I heard what would be in the Prophet today, I wanted to make sure no one else could check this out."
Harry just started at her; incredibly amazed that Hermione Granger of all people had stolen a library book.
After she shoved the book back into her satchel, she beamed and commented, "I've been researching Madam Pince's spells since third year. About time it paid off."
REMINDER: You can find chapter files, a discussion forum, and other dedicated and outrageously Potter-obsessed readers at my Yahoo group for this fic. There is a link on my bio page to the group. The Yahoo group name is: HPAoF. Cheers!
Oh, oh!! And I finally got the song file from Chapter 18 to load. It's in the group's File section.