Ron recovered from what Malfoy had said quickly. How did Malfoy know?
Had Hermione realized what he'd said, or what it meant? He glared down at
Malfoy, his lip curling viciously,
"The only thing of worth Malfoy," he spat, "would be kicking your -"
"Ron, no!" Hermione whimpered from behind him.
Ron stared hard into Malfoy's cloudy gray eyes. Evil seemed to swirl amongst the golden flecks and to Ron's horror he noticed Malfoy's sneer turn to a grin.
"Unfortunately Weasel we're all prefects here, and if one of us says anything we'll loose our badges," Draco said pushing against the wall and standing up, "So I will take this," he grabbed the ebony wand sticking out from Ron's pocket, "And be gone."
Malfoy turned to go, but Ron reached out and grabbed his arm tightly. He listened as Hermione shifted on the ground and let out a small gasp.
"Don't ever touch her again," he snarled.
Malfoy wrenched his arm out of Ron's grip and fled from the corridor, disappearing into darkness, leaving Ron glowering.
Hermione's head was aching, she felt sick to her stomach and her hand was swollen, but none of this was on the brink of her mind.
'Do you dream of her often Weasley?'
Hermione closed her eyes, listening to Draco's retreating steps and Ron's heavy breathing.
'Best keep dreaming, pretty soon that's all you'll have left,'
Hermione's eyes flew open, and the world spun. She let out a groan and brought a cold hand to the back of her head, marking where Draco's shove against the wall had injured her.
"Hermione?" Ron asked distantly.
She watched him, rush over and fall to his knees beside her on the cold stone floor. She looked into his deep eyes that glistened in the starlight that fell softly through the nearby window. She watched, breathing slowly as he raised his hands, and cupped both sides of her face. Her eyes fluttered shut.
"Hermione?"
"Ron," she replied softly, letting him know she was alright.
"Hermione are you okay? Are you hurt?" Ron asked urgently, gently rubbing her cheek with his thumb.
Hermione looked up into his deep eyes and nodded. He was staring at her with such concern, and to think, she'd hated him. Tears filled her eyes.
"Oh 'Mione don't cry," he whispered as he wiped her tears away with his thumbs, "Don't cry."
"Ron, I'm so sorry," she sobbed as he pulled her close.
"Don't apologize, just tell me if Malfoy hurt you,"
She glanced up at him uncertainly, the last tears slowly slipping down her cheeks. She lifted her hand slowly to the back of her head. Ron followed her fingers, lightly brushing through her hair.
"Your head?"
She nodded.
"You need to see Madam Pompfrey."
"No, we'll get into trouble," Hermione cried.
"You might have a concussion," Ron explained reaching for her hands to help her up of the damp floor.
She struggled to her feet and stumbled falling into his chest. She felt the warmth from his body, his heart beat surging through her fingers, his quickened breath. She welcomed it all, having spent so long on the cold floor. Ron held her there for a moment before she gained balance.
"You sure you are all right?"
She blushed crimson and he held onto her arm as they left the dark lonely corridor.
After they'd made there way up the stairs to the main level of the castle, and Ron had turned towards the hospital wing Hermione paused,
"Could we not just head to the common room?"
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but caught the glint in her eyes, and then turned towards the Gryffindor tower. Their feet echoed sharply in the deserted hallways, the only other sounds were their breath. When they reached the Fat Lady, Ron muttered a password and they were welcomed to their haven by warm firelight.
"Come sit down," Ron said leading her to a nearby armchair.
She sat obediently. He looked over her carefully, inspecting her for any other bruises. After mending a few small cuts, Ron let out a sigh.
"I will kill him," he muttered.
"No, that will make you as foul as he is," Hermione protested, "Nothing can be done for a wizard so foul."
She paused for a moment, thinking of what Draco Malfoy had said to Ron. Should she ask him about it? Was it safe?
"Ron, what Malfoy said, what did he mean by it?" Hermione asked, as Ron pressed a cool cloth that he had conjured to the back of her head.
"What do you mean?" Ron asked not meeting her eyes.
"The part, where he said dreams were all you'd have left of me?" Hermione replied calmly.
"It was a load of rubbish, whatever it was Hermione, he knows nothing, only trying to scare you since his father is in jail." Ron comforted.
Hermione had never seen Ron like this before. His deep eyes were set hard against his pale skin; His red hair slightly aloft from the brawl. Every word he uttered was so well thought out, like he'd planned the answers, as if he knew this day would come. Ron was always quick with what he said, and never thought about what it would mean, making his sentences insensitive. Ron was sure there was no explanation for what Malfoy had said, but Hermione closed her eyes and thought hard about the skull she had seen littering Malfoy's placid skin, on a fold just below his elbow. She shuttered.
"Are you cold?" Ron asked quickly, standing to take off his own cloak.
"No, I was just," she paused, he kneeled back down, "I was just remembering the skull I saw,"
Ron looked taken back.
"Malfoy is a death eater," Hermione let out.
"What?" Ron cried, "Are you sure?"
"I saw the mark," Hermione told him quietly, as if she were afraid somebody might over hear.
Ron stared at her for a moment; realization seemed to pass over him.
"Promise me," he said looking down at his hands, as he'd done all summer when she'd entered the room, "Promise me, that even if we aren't speaking to one another you tell me if something isn't right,"
"I promise," she said with a yawn.
She shifted in her chair and rested propped her head on her hand, feeling drowsiness over take her.
"No, now Hermione, you can't fall asleep, you might have a concussion," Ron said.
She watched the concern pass through his face once more, and worry flicker in his eyes. She smiled softly.
"Thank-you,"
"Hermione, what are friends for?" Ron said, but then his eyes grew large.
"I am sorry," she whispered, "I should have respected your opinion and realized you were only trying to protect me."
"I am sorry to Hermione, I should have respected the ones you love, and if he's good enough for you he should be good enough for me as well."
Hermione suppressed a smile. This small gesture brought such beauty to her face that Ron was taken with it almost immediately. He could tell her how he felt right now, while they were here alone. He shook those feelings out of his head, and returned her smile.
"Friends?" he questioned.
"Friends," Hermione replied, leaning back in her chair.
"Well since we're in for a long night is there any chance you could help me with my Vampire essay?"
Hermione grinned in response.
The sun hit Harry's bed early the next morning. He rolled over with a groan, and squeezed his eyes shut. He'd been out so late with Ginny he wasn't sure he wanted to get up quite yet. He smiled to himself as he thought of the night before, the time he'd spent with Ginny. He thought of the smell of her long red hair, and bright eyes. He thought of the way she put him in mind of his own mother, and the comfort he felt when he was with her. In many ways she was his friend and comrade like Hermione, but in so many ways she stole his heart, and made him happy, but it was a different feeling then the way he'd felt for Cho. This was more, this was bigger. It was true, Harry was falling for her, but the familiar feeling of guilt coursed through him. Her boyfriend was lying in the room next to his and here he was thinking about her. He knew things weren't going quite as well as Ginny wished with Dean, but even still, Harry shouldn't be coveting her. It was true she'd been with him, through the trying times of this summer, when he'd grieved for Sirius.
Sirius, the one person Harry had cared for. He was dead. Harry cared for Ginny. Would her fate be the same? Would Voldemort play the right cards? If Harry had learned one thing over the summer and past school year it was not to be naive. Voldemort knew of the connection he and Harry shared, perhaps he should refrain for caring for anyone too much. Harry glanced at Ron lying beside him, face down on his bed. Perhaps if he distanced himself.
Breakfast was a gay affair. Hermione and Ron were once again talking. Ron was slurping back oatmeal as fast as he could while Hermione immersed herself in the Daily Prophet. Ginny and Dean talked quietly together to Ron's right, while Harry discussed the upcoming quidditch match with Neville.
Ginny was barely listening to Dean talk about himself once more. He was always talking about himself, how he was feeling, how he'd slept, what he wanted to do. He was sweet enough, but Ginny was lacking something, she was lacking fun, happiness. She needed a balance, if only she and Dean could find a balance such as the one she had with Harry. He knew how to have fun, Weasley style. She caught his green eyes from across the table, and he flashed a grin at her.
"Ginny?" Dean questioned, "Ginny are you listening?"
"Yes," Ginny said with a bored sigh, "You couldn't find your lucky socks."
Ron finished his bowl of oatmeal with ease, just as Hermione folded up the Daily Prophet. She looked around the Great Hall hopefully, and Ron knew she was looking for any late owls, praying that maybe Viktor had written to her. Jealousy pressed in the back of his mind, he pushed it aside. He watched as she reached up to the back of her head, and touched it tenderly. She caught his eye, and they shared a mutual smile. Hermione's eyebrows rose for a moment as she focused on something behind him. Ron scrunched his own eyebrows and followed her gaze. Padma Patil was fast approaching the Gryffindor table; Padma Patil was fast approaching him. She smiled at him cheerfully as she skipped over and squeezed herself between Ron and Dean.
"Hey!"
"Hi," Ron said uncertainly picking his spoon back up and dipping at his empty bowl.
"How are you?"
"Fine," Ron hated small talk.
Padma seemed to read his mind.
"Look, my little brother wants to enter a chess competition this summer," Padma began, leaning closer to Ron, he skin grazing his arm, "And I was wondering if you could show me how to play, I mean I've heard your good," She blushed, "At that sort of thing,"
"He is," Hermione said quietly from behind the book she'd pulled out from under the table.
Padma's cheeks grew pink above a tight smile.
"So what do you say Ron?"
"Um, well I have quidditch," he paused as she let out a squeal.
"Oh you are such a superb keeper,"
"Yes." Ron trailed, "And ofcourse I have prefect duties to attend to,"
"But you can fit me in can't you Ronnie," she asked with a grin.
He felt his cheeks and ears grow red, feeling conscious of those who sat before him. But Harry was in deep conversation with Neville who stared elsewhere, towards Hermione as she read her book.
"I suppose I could find some time," He told Padma who beamed.
"That's great, how about tonight? Seven O'clock in the Library?"
"He's got to do rounds at nine," Hermione said sharply, turning the page.
Padma glared at her, "Well then I guess you can walk me to my common room before hand,"
Ron nodded, smiling up at her beautiful face, "Sure can,"
"Good," Padma said standing up, brushing her body against his, "I guess I will see you later then."
She winked at him, and walked away, baring the same sway of her hips as the night before. Ron watched her disappear from the Great Hall and let out a sigh.
Hermione snorted. Ron looked up at her. The way she'd snorted it almost reminded him of Umbridge.
"Yes?" he inquired.
"You don't like her do you?" Hermione asked, rolling her eyes.
"I'm not sure," he answered as his heart fluttered, "Maybe I do,"
Bright sunlight filtered through the large framed windows of the library later on that day. Neville sat by himself at a small table, drinking in the sounds and sights of the large room. Thousands of books rested on long shelves, many which quivered or shouted when you touched them. Tall book ends in the shape of wizards, centaurs and even house elves stood at each end of the massive line of thick books, guarding them proudly. Around him many students sat in groups, whispering quietly to each other and occasionally sneaking food into their mouths. Madam Pince, a woman who appeared to have a permanent scowl, was pacing the length of the library in short, quick steps aiming to catch students doing wrong to her precious books. The familiar sound of quills being dipped into inkbottles and scratching on parchment filled Neville's ears.
A smile filled his full cheeks when his eyes dropped upon yet another familiar sight. There she was, beautiful, intelligent and calm. She was at a table not far from his with two other familiar faces. She wrote with her quill quickly, looking up once and a while to listen to what the other two girls were saying, frequently showing and explaining what it was she was writing. Neville sighed as he watched the sunlight bathe through her hair, causing it to sparkle and glimmer. She was so much like a rose, surrounded by thorny bush. She was so unmistakably beautiful and yet many avoided her, because she seemed to them, dangerous. Neville however, was not afraid of her sharp thorns.
Sometimes Neville watched, as shadows would fall over her, casting darkness into her eyes. She did not get the recognition she deserved. They held her with high expectations, and she always met them. Yet everyone beamed at those around her, the older wiser ones, the bravest of them all, and she did not utter a complaint. Though all three of the girls that sat a little ways from him had been down in the Department of Mysteries and had been brave and intelligent, she'd stolen his heart. He'd realized over the summer that they were much alike. She was sheltered, by the ones around her, like he was. She needed to prove herself, like he did. She wanted revenge. Neville wanted revenge. He felt emotions that he'd never felt well up inside of him, and he looked back down to the love note he was writing, letting out a sigh, Gryffindors where supposed to be brave, but he thought he could write it better in words.
Ginny looked between Hermione and Luna quickly. Hermione looked completely devastated, whereas Luna had a loony grin on her face.
"Isn't it obvious?" Luna cried throwing her quill down on the table, "Look my father's been saying for years that all those quidditch players are as corrupt as the Ministry,"
"Thank-you Luna," Ginny snarled, "But I'm pretty sure that's not what Hermione wants to hear."
"Hermione," Luna pushed on ignoring Ginny, "The boy is busy, preoccupied, with something other than you,"
"He does take his quidditch seriously..." Hermione trailed, sniffing softly as Luna reached up to play with her sparkling blonde hair.
"Maybe he has another girl," Luna replied softly.
"Luna!" Ginny cried.
"Well I'm only telling her the truth," Luna retorted.
Hermione looked down at her parchment as tears filled her eyes. It had been six days with no reply from Viktor; maybe he was preoccupied.
"I've thought about that possibility," Hermione sniffled.
"Oh Hermione," Ginny cried, putting a hand on her shoulder, "You told me this summer that you thought you loved him; don't give up on him now. I am sure he has a perfect motive for not writing you back."
"Or maybe the problem is that it isn't Viktor that Hermione loves," Luna suggested throwing Ginny a meaningful glance, "We've all been through a lot this summer, especially seeing what happened to us at the end of last term, and who has always been there for her?"
"Viktor was there for me all summer Luna!" Hermione cried.
"And so was Ron," Luna whispered looking away, "And Ginny had Harry to talk to..."
The girls stared at her as if time had frozen. The noisy library seemed muted, everything stopped. Even the tear on Hermione's cheek paused as if waiting to hear what Luna said before finishing its journey. Luna looked down.
"I just wish I would've had somebody, who knew what went on to talk to," she glanced back up at the girls who were gapping at her, probably because she never revealed anything personal, "A boy that is..."
It wasn't just any boy either. A lot of girls talked bad about his pudgy cheeks and boyish hair, but Luna had grown to appreciate both of his features. He was different; she liked that about him. She'd realized he'd been sitting by them staring at their table for quite sometime, but she controlled herself to listen to Hermione talk about Viktor. That was right; Luna Lovegood had it bad for Neville Longbottom.
"Luna, are you saying...do you like one of the boys, I mean that were with us," she gasped, "Do you like Harry?"
A moment of silence passed between the girls as a deep blush grew on Ginny's normally pale cheeks,
"Or Ron..." She added, recovering from the near fatal attempt to conceal her feelings for Harry.
Luna let out a deep sigh. It was almost as if he didn't exist. They missed him again. Who would care about poor little old Neville? She would, she had promised herself.
Ron strolled casually down the long corridor that led to the library as he held his grandfather's chessboard to him tightly. His thoughts wondered idly, drifting from his family to Hermione to Harry. He wondered where Harry had snuck off to, and if Ginny was with him. He felt his stomach flip- flop. Could you imagine, his best friend, with his sister? Didn't those two words just clash with each other?
Ron paused when he came to the entrance to the library. Several torches had been lit, as the sunset off in the distance, sinking below the edge of the lake, turning its blue waters crimson. He was here to meet Padma Patil, one whom many considered the best-looking witch at the school. He couldn't believe she wanted him to teach her to play chess, but it wasn't as though he would mind. Then he could join the circle Harry, Hermione and Ginny had joined around him. They'd left him in the middle while they'd all gone out and had experiences with the opposite sex, leaving him standing alone ridiculously. Well not anymore, he could join them now. Hermione was allowed to have a boyfriend; Harry was smitten with Ginny, so Ron could have a companion to.
When he finally spotted her approaching the library from the opposite end of the corridor, his heart fluttered. He noticed she'd left her black robes open, revealing her tight dress shirt, short skirt and very cute blue knee high socks. Her long ravishing hair seemed to suit her house, as it was as black as a raven. She'd left it to hang loosely around her shoulders.
He sputtered for words as she came closer, smiling and saying hello. He felt heat rise up into his face, and smiled bashfully at the floor. She let out a giggle and then stepped into the library. He followed Padma to the corner of the room and sat down across from her placing his tattered Wizard's chessboard down in front of her. Immediately he regretted it. He had forgotten that she came from a well a family full of wealth. Padma and Parvati were always wearing beautiful clothing, and nice robes. He looked down sheepishly at his own tattered robes, and then glanced back at his chipped and worn board. He'd never felt so conscious in his life.
Padma didn't seem to take notice of Ron's behaviour and immediately grinned at him.
"You brought the board," she smiled, reaching for it, "That's wonderful!"
"Well...you know..."
Ron watched as she opened it with her long slender hands, being careful not to chip her pink polished nails.
"I am sorry that it's so tattered," Ron muttered to the table, "It was my grandfather's and it's not like I ever get anything ne-"
"It's wonderful!" Padma cried, "I've always heard that older chess boards work better anyways,"
Ron looked up at her, peering into her eyes. Did she mean that? She smiled at him again, flashing her perfect white teeth before reaching across the table and taking his hand into hers. Ron felt relief spread through his body. She didn't care that it was second-hand.
"Show me," she whispered, sliding her other hand towards a few pawns that had rolled out onto the table, "Teach me how,"
He moved his chair closer to hers, and started explaining how the different pieces worked and how many spaces each could move. He'd expected her to stare up at him with a dreamy look, which resembled Luna Lovegood, not really listening to what he said. But she didn't. She grasped each chess piece, carefully feeling it with her fingers, while flicking her blue eyes up to meet his, occasionally asking questions. It took him a full hour to explain how it worked, and he suddenly felt smart. He was always having things explained to him, but this time he was the expert.
Padma seemed to be enjoying herself, and as the library emptied, as people rose for bed, they sat there together, and he joined Padma in her first ever game of wizards chess. Ron had figured sitting with her for so long, would have been a challenge, as he'd never known what to say to her before, but they ended up talking the night away. Maybe this girl stuff was easier than it seemed.
Harry went to bed early that night. He'd had a long day, NEWT level Transfiguration was a nightmare, especially with Hermione being quiet and Ron staring off into space. He'd hoped that the two becoming friends again would have eased the tension that always filled the room when they were together, but it hadn't. Harry began to wonder if he was imagining the tension. Maybe he was just tense because he was trying to hard to be somebody who he wasn't. Harry was the hero type, the type that stood out in the crowd, and did the right thing. But since Sirius's death he'd been reformed.
He was quiet, pale and depressed. He was trying to live up to Sirius's expectations – his father's expectations, but it wasn't happening. He felt a strong urge to prove himself; every time he walked passed Dumbledore in the Great Hall. Dumbledore took him to be some kind of kid, who couldn't understand anything. He was fragile to the Order, like a bomb in their hands, and he knew it. If he knew it, how come Dumbledore couldn't realize he knew? He was a danger to everything around him. He was waiting to explode. Perhaps it was Harry who was causing all this tension.
He needed to talk, he needed to be happy, he needed to breathe; he needed Ginny. She was the only person he could breathe around, the only person he could be happy with. Guilt hovered in the back of his mind. She had a boyfriend. He was dangerous. He couldn't fall for her. He mustn't fall for her. It would be chaos, catastrophic. Nothing could happen to her, and he wouldn't let it.
Harry did not fall asleep. He lay awake in the cold moonlight, on his hard mattress thinking about his only demise. She was beautiful and everlasting, but she would be the one to bring him down. He couldn't let this happen.
Even after Ron came in, and fell into his bed with a heavy sigh, Harry did not fall asleep. The presence of his friend, who was so closely related so intertwined to the subject at hand unsettled him. He needed out, the thoughts of the others in his dormitory had wondered freely into the air and were clouding up his mind. He decided to retreat to his favourite place to think and reflect. He decided to make his was down the stairs to his favourite armchair that rested in front of the fireplace.
In many dreams Harry had pictured his father sitting in the very same place, thinking about the way his life was headed. He pictured his father thinking longingly of the lone red head that sat feet away from him, studying carelessly. The uneasiness he'd felt upstairs in his dormitory slipped away as he realized the similarity between him and his father. They were both suckers for red heads - Suckers for deep green eyes.
The portrait hole swung open, and two people entered. Harry sank low in his chair trying to ignore them, praying it wasn't some first years that would come to ogle over him. Harry realized it couldn't be first years; the two shadowy people were much too quiet. A silence rested between them. The taller of the two bent down to kiss the other. It lasted a few seconds before the obvious female pulled away, and in the firelight Harry caught a glimpse of her red hair. Was he having a vision? Were these his parents who stood so close in the shadows?
"Goodnight Dean," Ginny whispered looking to the floor, not realizing Harry was staring at her from across the room.
He sank further into his chair. It was Ginny and Dean. Harry felt ashamed that he had somehow sneaked into such a private moment. Suddenly he felt more than shame. Jealousy spewed into his brain like ravishing waves. He gritted his teeth. Danger drew near. He took a few deep breaths. If he could control himself danger would pass. He could save her from his curse. The death curse.
He remained still as Dean walked passed him and silently made his way up to the boys' dormitories. Once he was gone Harry sat up, hoping to get a glace of Ginny as she ran up he girls stairs. She wasn't near the stairs; she was still standing where Dean had left her, only she wasn't looking at the floor anymore she was staring at him.
"Harry?" She asked, puzzled.
"Sorry Gin," Harry muttered turning back around in his chair, "I should have told you that I was here,"
"No," she replied, walking towards the fireplace, "Are you okay?"
"Just couldn't sleep," Harry explained, "Too much on my mind...you know Sirius and stuff,"
"I think about him a lot too," Ginny admitted, "And don't worry you weren't interrupting anything with Dean and I,"
"Looked like more than that to me," Harry told her, looking over at her.
She was staring into the firelight, and the flames danced in her eyes.
"No it wasn't anything more," She sighed, "You know Harry, I'm getting real sick of his 'Lucky Socks',"
Harry let out a laugh,
"Yea that's why I'm glad it's Neville in my dorm, he snores, but he doesn't talk about himself twenty-four-seven,"
Ginny's eyes darkened and she let out a low sigh. Harry wanted to reach out and take her hand. He wanted to comfort her and tell her to dump that low life prick she was dating. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her.
"Ginny," he cried.
But she'd said his name at the same time.
"You go first," he whispered, looking away and rumpling his dark, already messy hair.
Control he reminded himself, he needed to be in control.
"Harry," Ginny began again, "I am just getting so sick of Dean, I mean he's a great boyfriend, really he is."
Harry held in the urge to snicker.
"He is kind and sweet," she continued, "But he lacks, he lacks something that you have,"
Harry looked up at her.
"You understand me, I mean it's not like I can talk to him about the Order or Sirius or V-Voldemort." She shuttered.
It was the first time she'd used his name,
"You're a great friend Harry, I just wish he'd be more like you," she sighed, moving closer to Harry.
Harry bit his lip.
Control he reminded himself, but every second she seemed to be moving closer to him. Why was she doing this?
"Ginny," he whispered, licking his lips.
He felt his heart begin to race as her beautiful lips came closer to his. He couldn't kiss her, he couldn't love her; she had a boyfriend. He was dangerous.
"Ginny," he said again, this time pulling away and standing up from the armchair, "I think it's time for bed."
She looked at him, with her brilliant green eyes, and realization passed over her face.
"Yes," she said vaguely, "Time for bed."
She got up and dashed to the stairs calling out goodnight. Even in the shadows, Harry knew her face had turned bright red.
Harry threw himself back down into the protective arms of the chair. He wanted to cover himself, to hide from what she was doing to him. He let his eyes close and tried hard to think of what his dad would do, what Sirius would do. But they wouldn't know. They'd never been in his situation. They'd never been penalized for caring for someone. They hadn't been cursed since the age of one. Nobody had. He was alone.
He cringed as he heard the portrait door swing open again.
"Harry?" Hermione questioned on her way to the girls' stairs.
He listened to the sound of her feet approaching him, and sat up straighter trying to clear his mind.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, placing a soft hand on his shoulder.
"Yea, yea I'm fine," he said looking up at her, "Why are you up so late?"
"Oh you know," she sighed, sitting down in the place where Ginny had been, "I had my rounds."
"Shouldn't you have been back," he checked his wristwatch, "Half an hour ago?"
"Yea," Hermione agreed, "I stopped at the owlery,"
"Letter to Viktor?" Harry asked, his voice already becoming bored.
When she didn't reply, he looked over at her. She had shrunk into her seat, much like he had when Ginny had come through the portrait with Dean. Tears had filled her eyes.
"Hermione?"
"He hasn't written me back in over a month Harry," She sniffed.
"Oh Hermione," Harry sighed, feeling irritated that something this small would bug her when his life was in shambles, "I'm sure he has his reasons,"
Hermione nodded,
"That's a long time for Viktor, he always writes back, the longest time between his letters are a day," Hermione whimpered, "Harry, Luna reckons he's pre-pre-preoccupied,"
Harry took a moment to realize what she was trying to say,
"Look Hermione, I am sure that he has a very reasonable explanation for it, there's no point in listening to Loony Lovegood," Harry told her, "I'm sure you're just working yourself up over nothing."
He paused thinking about what Luna had said to him at the end of last year. How she had talked about the veil. Perhaps she wasn't so Loony...
Hermione's face relaxed a bit,
"Perhaps you're right, I am overreacting aren't I?" She asked, and then smiled flinging her arms around Harry, "Thank-you Harry, you're such a wonderful friend."
Harry hugged her back, but a soon as he made contact with her his scar set fire. He pushed Hermione away from his, with a Neandthal-like shout.
"Harry,"
He fell to his knees, his face was burning he knew it.
"Harry? Are you all right? Do you need Madame Pompfrey? Professor McGonagall? Dumbledore?" Hermione asked urgently.
He clutched and clutched at his scar, willing the pain to stop, but it came. It came fiercer than ever.
"Do you care for her Potter?" A dark, high voice came.
Blinking back tears of pain, Harry moved his head so he could look at Hermione hovering over him, panic rising in her face.
"Answer me!" the high voice shouted, and red cat-like eyes flashed before him.
He screamed again as his scar burst into endless pain.
"Harry?" Hermione cried again.
"Get out of here!" He screamed, still rubbing his scar, rolling on the floor, "GET AWAY FROM ME!"
He heard Hermione scamper away, as the pain took over him. It bathed over him, and he could feel Voldemort feeding on his pain. After a moment he felt himself pass into a cool darkness, where there was no pain, no Hermione, and no Voldemort.
"The only thing of worth Malfoy," he spat, "would be kicking your -"
"Ron, no!" Hermione whimpered from behind him.
Ron stared hard into Malfoy's cloudy gray eyes. Evil seemed to swirl amongst the golden flecks and to Ron's horror he noticed Malfoy's sneer turn to a grin.
"Unfortunately Weasel we're all prefects here, and if one of us says anything we'll loose our badges," Draco said pushing against the wall and standing up, "So I will take this," he grabbed the ebony wand sticking out from Ron's pocket, "And be gone."
Malfoy turned to go, but Ron reached out and grabbed his arm tightly. He listened as Hermione shifted on the ground and let out a small gasp.
"Don't ever touch her again," he snarled.
Malfoy wrenched his arm out of Ron's grip and fled from the corridor, disappearing into darkness, leaving Ron glowering.
Hermione's head was aching, she felt sick to her stomach and her hand was swollen, but none of this was on the brink of her mind.
'Do you dream of her often Weasley?'
Hermione closed her eyes, listening to Draco's retreating steps and Ron's heavy breathing.
'Best keep dreaming, pretty soon that's all you'll have left,'
Hermione's eyes flew open, and the world spun. She let out a groan and brought a cold hand to the back of her head, marking where Draco's shove against the wall had injured her.
"Hermione?" Ron asked distantly.
She watched him, rush over and fall to his knees beside her on the cold stone floor. She looked into his deep eyes that glistened in the starlight that fell softly through the nearby window. She watched, breathing slowly as he raised his hands, and cupped both sides of her face. Her eyes fluttered shut.
"Hermione?"
"Ron," she replied softly, letting him know she was alright.
"Hermione are you okay? Are you hurt?" Ron asked urgently, gently rubbing her cheek with his thumb.
Hermione looked up into his deep eyes and nodded. He was staring at her with such concern, and to think, she'd hated him. Tears filled her eyes.
"Oh 'Mione don't cry," he whispered as he wiped her tears away with his thumbs, "Don't cry."
"Ron, I'm so sorry," she sobbed as he pulled her close.
"Don't apologize, just tell me if Malfoy hurt you,"
She glanced up at him uncertainly, the last tears slowly slipping down her cheeks. She lifted her hand slowly to the back of her head. Ron followed her fingers, lightly brushing through her hair.
"Your head?"
She nodded.
"You need to see Madam Pompfrey."
"No, we'll get into trouble," Hermione cried.
"You might have a concussion," Ron explained reaching for her hands to help her up of the damp floor.
She struggled to her feet and stumbled falling into his chest. She felt the warmth from his body, his heart beat surging through her fingers, his quickened breath. She welcomed it all, having spent so long on the cold floor. Ron held her there for a moment before she gained balance.
"You sure you are all right?"
She blushed crimson and he held onto her arm as they left the dark lonely corridor.
After they'd made there way up the stairs to the main level of the castle, and Ron had turned towards the hospital wing Hermione paused,
"Could we not just head to the common room?"
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but caught the glint in her eyes, and then turned towards the Gryffindor tower. Their feet echoed sharply in the deserted hallways, the only other sounds were their breath. When they reached the Fat Lady, Ron muttered a password and they were welcomed to their haven by warm firelight.
"Come sit down," Ron said leading her to a nearby armchair.
She sat obediently. He looked over her carefully, inspecting her for any other bruises. After mending a few small cuts, Ron let out a sigh.
"I will kill him," he muttered.
"No, that will make you as foul as he is," Hermione protested, "Nothing can be done for a wizard so foul."
She paused for a moment, thinking of what Draco Malfoy had said to Ron. Should she ask him about it? Was it safe?
"Ron, what Malfoy said, what did he mean by it?" Hermione asked, as Ron pressed a cool cloth that he had conjured to the back of her head.
"What do you mean?" Ron asked not meeting her eyes.
"The part, where he said dreams were all you'd have left of me?" Hermione replied calmly.
"It was a load of rubbish, whatever it was Hermione, he knows nothing, only trying to scare you since his father is in jail." Ron comforted.
Hermione had never seen Ron like this before. His deep eyes were set hard against his pale skin; His red hair slightly aloft from the brawl. Every word he uttered was so well thought out, like he'd planned the answers, as if he knew this day would come. Ron was always quick with what he said, and never thought about what it would mean, making his sentences insensitive. Ron was sure there was no explanation for what Malfoy had said, but Hermione closed her eyes and thought hard about the skull she had seen littering Malfoy's placid skin, on a fold just below his elbow. She shuttered.
"Are you cold?" Ron asked quickly, standing to take off his own cloak.
"No, I was just," she paused, he kneeled back down, "I was just remembering the skull I saw,"
Ron looked taken back.
"Malfoy is a death eater," Hermione let out.
"What?" Ron cried, "Are you sure?"
"I saw the mark," Hermione told him quietly, as if she were afraid somebody might over hear.
Ron stared at her for a moment; realization seemed to pass over him.
"Promise me," he said looking down at his hands, as he'd done all summer when she'd entered the room, "Promise me, that even if we aren't speaking to one another you tell me if something isn't right,"
"I promise," she said with a yawn.
She shifted in her chair and rested propped her head on her hand, feeling drowsiness over take her.
"No, now Hermione, you can't fall asleep, you might have a concussion," Ron said.
She watched the concern pass through his face once more, and worry flicker in his eyes. She smiled softly.
"Thank-you,"
"Hermione, what are friends for?" Ron said, but then his eyes grew large.
"I am sorry," she whispered, "I should have respected your opinion and realized you were only trying to protect me."
"I am sorry to Hermione, I should have respected the ones you love, and if he's good enough for you he should be good enough for me as well."
Hermione suppressed a smile. This small gesture brought such beauty to her face that Ron was taken with it almost immediately. He could tell her how he felt right now, while they were here alone. He shook those feelings out of his head, and returned her smile.
"Friends?" he questioned.
"Friends," Hermione replied, leaning back in her chair.
"Well since we're in for a long night is there any chance you could help me with my Vampire essay?"
Hermione grinned in response.
The sun hit Harry's bed early the next morning. He rolled over with a groan, and squeezed his eyes shut. He'd been out so late with Ginny he wasn't sure he wanted to get up quite yet. He smiled to himself as he thought of the night before, the time he'd spent with Ginny. He thought of the smell of her long red hair, and bright eyes. He thought of the way she put him in mind of his own mother, and the comfort he felt when he was with her. In many ways she was his friend and comrade like Hermione, but in so many ways she stole his heart, and made him happy, but it was a different feeling then the way he'd felt for Cho. This was more, this was bigger. It was true, Harry was falling for her, but the familiar feeling of guilt coursed through him. Her boyfriend was lying in the room next to his and here he was thinking about her. He knew things weren't going quite as well as Ginny wished with Dean, but even still, Harry shouldn't be coveting her. It was true she'd been with him, through the trying times of this summer, when he'd grieved for Sirius.
Sirius, the one person Harry had cared for. He was dead. Harry cared for Ginny. Would her fate be the same? Would Voldemort play the right cards? If Harry had learned one thing over the summer and past school year it was not to be naive. Voldemort knew of the connection he and Harry shared, perhaps he should refrain for caring for anyone too much. Harry glanced at Ron lying beside him, face down on his bed. Perhaps if he distanced himself.
Breakfast was a gay affair. Hermione and Ron were once again talking. Ron was slurping back oatmeal as fast as he could while Hermione immersed herself in the Daily Prophet. Ginny and Dean talked quietly together to Ron's right, while Harry discussed the upcoming quidditch match with Neville.
Ginny was barely listening to Dean talk about himself once more. He was always talking about himself, how he was feeling, how he'd slept, what he wanted to do. He was sweet enough, but Ginny was lacking something, she was lacking fun, happiness. She needed a balance, if only she and Dean could find a balance such as the one she had with Harry. He knew how to have fun, Weasley style. She caught his green eyes from across the table, and he flashed a grin at her.
"Ginny?" Dean questioned, "Ginny are you listening?"
"Yes," Ginny said with a bored sigh, "You couldn't find your lucky socks."
Ron finished his bowl of oatmeal with ease, just as Hermione folded up the Daily Prophet. She looked around the Great Hall hopefully, and Ron knew she was looking for any late owls, praying that maybe Viktor had written to her. Jealousy pressed in the back of his mind, he pushed it aside. He watched as she reached up to the back of her head, and touched it tenderly. She caught his eye, and they shared a mutual smile. Hermione's eyebrows rose for a moment as she focused on something behind him. Ron scrunched his own eyebrows and followed her gaze. Padma Patil was fast approaching the Gryffindor table; Padma Patil was fast approaching him. She smiled at him cheerfully as she skipped over and squeezed herself between Ron and Dean.
"Hey!"
"Hi," Ron said uncertainly picking his spoon back up and dipping at his empty bowl.
"How are you?"
"Fine," Ron hated small talk.
Padma seemed to read his mind.
"Look, my little brother wants to enter a chess competition this summer," Padma began, leaning closer to Ron, he skin grazing his arm, "And I was wondering if you could show me how to play, I mean I've heard your good," She blushed, "At that sort of thing,"
"He is," Hermione said quietly from behind the book she'd pulled out from under the table.
Padma's cheeks grew pink above a tight smile.
"So what do you say Ron?"
"Um, well I have quidditch," he paused as she let out a squeal.
"Oh you are such a superb keeper,"
"Yes." Ron trailed, "And ofcourse I have prefect duties to attend to,"
"But you can fit me in can't you Ronnie," she asked with a grin.
He felt his cheeks and ears grow red, feeling conscious of those who sat before him. But Harry was in deep conversation with Neville who stared elsewhere, towards Hermione as she read her book.
"I suppose I could find some time," He told Padma who beamed.
"That's great, how about tonight? Seven O'clock in the Library?"
"He's got to do rounds at nine," Hermione said sharply, turning the page.
Padma glared at her, "Well then I guess you can walk me to my common room before hand,"
Ron nodded, smiling up at her beautiful face, "Sure can,"
"Good," Padma said standing up, brushing her body against his, "I guess I will see you later then."
She winked at him, and walked away, baring the same sway of her hips as the night before. Ron watched her disappear from the Great Hall and let out a sigh.
Hermione snorted. Ron looked up at her. The way she'd snorted it almost reminded him of Umbridge.
"Yes?" he inquired.
"You don't like her do you?" Hermione asked, rolling her eyes.
"I'm not sure," he answered as his heart fluttered, "Maybe I do,"
Bright sunlight filtered through the large framed windows of the library later on that day. Neville sat by himself at a small table, drinking in the sounds and sights of the large room. Thousands of books rested on long shelves, many which quivered or shouted when you touched them. Tall book ends in the shape of wizards, centaurs and even house elves stood at each end of the massive line of thick books, guarding them proudly. Around him many students sat in groups, whispering quietly to each other and occasionally sneaking food into their mouths. Madam Pince, a woman who appeared to have a permanent scowl, was pacing the length of the library in short, quick steps aiming to catch students doing wrong to her precious books. The familiar sound of quills being dipped into inkbottles and scratching on parchment filled Neville's ears.
A smile filled his full cheeks when his eyes dropped upon yet another familiar sight. There she was, beautiful, intelligent and calm. She was at a table not far from his with two other familiar faces. She wrote with her quill quickly, looking up once and a while to listen to what the other two girls were saying, frequently showing and explaining what it was she was writing. Neville sighed as he watched the sunlight bathe through her hair, causing it to sparkle and glimmer. She was so much like a rose, surrounded by thorny bush. She was so unmistakably beautiful and yet many avoided her, because she seemed to them, dangerous. Neville however, was not afraid of her sharp thorns.
Sometimes Neville watched, as shadows would fall over her, casting darkness into her eyes. She did not get the recognition she deserved. They held her with high expectations, and she always met them. Yet everyone beamed at those around her, the older wiser ones, the bravest of them all, and she did not utter a complaint. Though all three of the girls that sat a little ways from him had been down in the Department of Mysteries and had been brave and intelligent, she'd stolen his heart. He'd realized over the summer that they were much alike. She was sheltered, by the ones around her, like he was. She needed to prove herself, like he did. She wanted revenge. Neville wanted revenge. He felt emotions that he'd never felt well up inside of him, and he looked back down to the love note he was writing, letting out a sigh, Gryffindors where supposed to be brave, but he thought he could write it better in words.
Ginny looked between Hermione and Luna quickly. Hermione looked completely devastated, whereas Luna had a loony grin on her face.
"Isn't it obvious?" Luna cried throwing her quill down on the table, "Look my father's been saying for years that all those quidditch players are as corrupt as the Ministry,"
"Thank-you Luna," Ginny snarled, "But I'm pretty sure that's not what Hermione wants to hear."
"Hermione," Luna pushed on ignoring Ginny, "The boy is busy, preoccupied, with something other than you,"
"He does take his quidditch seriously..." Hermione trailed, sniffing softly as Luna reached up to play with her sparkling blonde hair.
"Maybe he has another girl," Luna replied softly.
"Luna!" Ginny cried.
"Well I'm only telling her the truth," Luna retorted.
Hermione looked down at her parchment as tears filled her eyes. It had been six days with no reply from Viktor; maybe he was preoccupied.
"I've thought about that possibility," Hermione sniffled.
"Oh Hermione," Ginny cried, putting a hand on her shoulder, "You told me this summer that you thought you loved him; don't give up on him now. I am sure he has a perfect motive for not writing you back."
"Or maybe the problem is that it isn't Viktor that Hermione loves," Luna suggested throwing Ginny a meaningful glance, "We've all been through a lot this summer, especially seeing what happened to us at the end of last term, and who has always been there for her?"
"Viktor was there for me all summer Luna!" Hermione cried.
"And so was Ron," Luna whispered looking away, "And Ginny had Harry to talk to..."
The girls stared at her as if time had frozen. The noisy library seemed muted, everything stopped. Even the tear on Hermione's cheek paused as if waiting to hear what Luna said before finishing its journey. Luna looked down.
"I just wish I would've had somebody, who knew what went on to talk to," she glanced back up at the girls who were gapping at her, probably because she never revealed anything personal, "A boy that is..."
It wasn't just any boy either. A lot of girls talked bad about his pudgy cheeks and boyish hair, but Luna had grown to appreciate both of his features. He was different; she liked that about him. She'd realized he'd been sitting by them staring at their table for quite sometime, but she controlled herself to listen to Hermione talk about Viktor. That was right; Luna Lovegood had it bad for Neville Longbottom.
"Luna, are you saying...do you like one of the boys, I mean that were with us," she gasped, "Do you like Harry?"
A moment of silence passed between the girls as a deep blush grew on Ginny's normally pale cheeks,
"Or Ron..." She added, recovering from the near fatal attempt to conceal her feelings for Harry.
Luna let out a deep sigh. It was almost as if he didn't exist. They missed him again. Who would care about poor little old Neville? She would, she had promised herself.
Ron strolled casually down the long corridor that led to the library as he held his grandfather's chessboard to him tightly. His thoughts wondered idly, drifting from his family to Hermione to Harry. He wondered where Harry had snuck off to, and if Ginny was with him. He felt his stomach flip- flop. Could you imagine, his best friend, with his sister? Didn't those two words just clash with each other?
Ron paused when he came to the entrance to the library. Several torches had been lit, as the sunset off in the distance, sinking below the edge of the lake, turning its blue waters crimson. He was here to meet Padma Patil, one whom many considered the best-looking witch at the school. He couldn't believe she wanted him to teach her to play chess, but it wasn't as though he would mind. Then he could join the circle Harry, Hermione and Ginny had joined around him. They'd left him in the middle while they'd all gone out and had experiences with the opposite sex, leaving him standing alone ridiculously. Well not anymore, he could join them now. Hermione was allowed to have a boyfriend; Harry was smitten with Ginny, so Ron could have a companion to.
When he finally spotted her approaching the library from the opposite end of the corridor, his heart fluttered. He noticed she'd left her black robes open, revealing her tight dress shirt, short skirt and very cute blue knee high socks. Her long ravishing hair seemed to suit her house, as it was as black as a raven. She'd left it to hang loosely around her shoulders.
He sputtered for words as she came closer, smiling and saying hello. He felt heat rise up into his face, and smiled bashfully at the floor. She let out a giggle and then stepped into the library. He followed Padma to the corner of the room and sat down across from her placing his tattered Wizard's chessboard down in front of her. Immediately he regretted it. He had forgotten that she came from a well a family full of wealth. Padma and Parvati were always wearing beautiful clothing, and nice robes. He looked down sheepishly at his own tattered robes, and then glanced back at his chipped and worn board. He'd never felt so conscious in his life.
Padma didn't seem to take notice of Ron's behaviour and immediately grinned at him.
"You brought the board," she smiled, reaching for it, "That's wonderful!"
"Well...you know..."
Ron watched as she opened it with her long slender hands, being careful not to chip her pink polished nails.
"I am sorry that it's so tattered," Ron muttered to the table, "It was my grandfather's and it's not like I ever get anything ne-"
"It's wonderful!" Padma cried, "I've always heard that older chess boards work better anyways,"
Ron looked up at her, peering into her eyes. Did she mean that? She smiled at him again, flashing her perfect white teeth before reaching across the table and taking his hand into hers. Ron felt relief spread through his body. She didn't care that it was second-hand.
"Show me," she whispered, sliding her other hand towards a few pawns that had rolled out onto the table, "Teach me how,"
He moved his chair closer to hers, and started explaining how the different pieces worked and how many spaces each could move. He'd expected her to stare up at him with a dreamy look, which resembled Luna Lovegood, not really listening to what he said. But she didn't. She grasped each chess piece, carefully feeling it with her fingers, while flicking her blue eyes up to meet his, occasionally asking questions. It took him a full hour to explain how it worked, and he suddenly felt smart. He was always having things explained to him, but this time he was the expert.
Padma seemed to be enjoying herself, and as the library emptied, as people rose for bed, they sat there together, and he joined Padma in her first ever game of wizards chess. Ron had figured sitting with her for so long, would have been a challenge, as he'd never known what to say to her before, but they ended up talking the night away. Maybe this girl stuff was easier than it seemed.
Harry went to bed early that night. He'd had a long day, NEWT level Transfiguration was a nightmare, especially with Hermione being quiet and Ron staring off into space. He'd hoped that the two becoming friends again would have eased the tension that always filled the room when they were together, but it hadn't. Harry began to wonder if he was imagining the tension. Maybe he was just tense because he was trying to hard to be somebody who he wasn't. Harry was the hero type, the type that stood out in the crowd, and did the right thing. But since Sirius's death he'd been reformed.
He was quiet, pale and depressed. He was trying to live up to Sirius's expectations – his father's expectations, but it wasn't happening. He felt a strong urge to prove himself; every time he walked passed Dumbledore in the Great Hall. Dumbledore took him to be some kind of kid, who couldn't understand anything. He was fragile to the Order, like a bomb in their hands, and he knew it. If he knew it, how come Dumbledore couldn't realize he knew? He was a danger to everything around him. He was waiting to explode. Perhaps it was Harry who was causing all this tension.
He needed to talk, he needed to be happy, he needed to breathe; he needed Ginny. She was the only person he could breathe around, the only person he could be happy with. Guilt hovered in the back of his mind. She had a boyfriend. He was dangerous. He couldn't fall for her. He mustn't fall for her. It would be chaos, catastrophic. Nothing could happen to her, and he wouldn't let it.
Harry did not fall asleep. He lay awake in the cold moonlight, on his hard mattress thinking about his only demise. She was beautiful and everlasting, but she would be the one to bring him down. He couldn't let this happen.
Even after Ron came in, and fell into his bed with a heavy sigh, Harry did not fall asleep. The presence of his friend, who was so closely related so intertwined to the subject at hand unsettled him. He needed out, the thoughts of the others in his dormitory had wondered freely into the air and were clouding up his mind. He decided to retreat to his favourite place to think and reflect. He decided to make his was down the stairs to his favourite armchair that rested in front of the fireplace.
In many dreams Harry had pictured his father sitting in the very same place, thinking about the way his life was headed. He pictured his father thinking longingly of the lone red head that sat feet away from him, studying carelessly. The uneasiness he'd felt upstairs in his dormitory slipped away as he realized the similarity between him and his father. They were both suckers for red heads - Suckers for deep green eyes.
The portrait hole swung open, and two people entered. Harry sank low in his chair trying to ignore them, praying it wasn't some first years that would come to ogle over him. Harry realized it couldn't be first years; the two shadowy people were much too quiet. A silence rested between them. The taller of the two bent down to kiss the other. It lasted a few seconds before the obvious female pulled away, and in the firelight Harry caught a glimpse of her red hair. Was he having a vision? Were these his parents who stood so close in the shadows?
"Goodnight Dean," Ginny whispered looking to the floor, not realizing Harry was staring at her from across the room.
He sank further into his chair. It was Ginny and Dean. Harry felt ashamed that he had somehow sneaked into such a private moment. Suddenly he felt more than shame. Jealousy spewed into his brain like ravishing waves. He gritted his teeth. Danger drew near. He took a few deep breaths. If he could control himself danger would pass. He could save her from his curse. The death curse.
He remained still as Dean walked passed him and silently made his way up to the boys' dormitories. Once he was gone Harry sat up, hoping to get a glace of Ginny as she ran up he girls stairs. She wasn't near the stairs; she was still standing where Dean had left her, only she wasn't looking at the floor anymore she was staring at him.
"Harry?" She asked, puzzled.
"Sorry Gin," Harry muttered turning back around in his chair, "I should have told you that I was here,"
"No," she replied, walking towards the fireplace, "Are you okay?"
"Just couldn't sleep," Harry explained, "Too much on my mind...you know Sirius and stuff,"
"I think about him a lot too," Ginny admitted, "And don't worry you weren't interrupting anything with Dean and I,"
"Looked like more than that to me," Harry told her, looking over at her.
She was staring into the firelight, and the flames danced in her eyes.
"No it wasn't anything more," She sighed, "You know Harry, I'm getting real sick of his 'Lucky Socks',"
Harry let out a laugh,
"Yea that's why I'm glad it's Neville in my dorm, he snores, but he doesn't talk about himself twenty-four-seven,"
Ginny's eyes darkened and she let out a low sigh. Harry wanted to reach out and take her hand. He wanted to comfort her and tell her to dump that low life prick she was dating. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her.
"Ginny," he cried.
But she'd said his name at the same time.
"You go first," he whispered, looking away and rumpling his dark, already messy hair.
Control he reminded himself, he needed to be in control.
"Harry," Ginny began again, "I am just getting so sick of Dean, I mean he's a great boyfriend, really he is."
Harry held in the urge to snicker.
"He is kind and sweet," she continued, "But he lacks, he lacks something that you have,"
Harry looked up at her.
"You understand me, I mean it's not like I can talk to him about the Order or Sirius or V-Voldemort." She shuttered.
It was the first time she'd used his name,
"You're a great friend Harry, I just wish he'd be more like you," she sighed, moving closer to Harry.
Harry bit his lip.
Control he reminded himself, but every second she seemed to be moving closer to him. Why was she doing this?
"Ginny," he whispered, licking his lips.
He felt his heart begin to race as her beautiful lips came closer to his. He couldn't kiss her, he couldn't love her; she had a boyfriend. He was dangerous.
"Ginny," he said again, this time pulling away and standing up from the armchair, "I think it's time for bed."
She looked at him, with her brilliant green eyes, and realization passed over her face.
"Yes," she said vaguely, "Time for bed."
She got up and dashed to the stairs calling out goodnight. Even in the shadows, Harry knew her face had turned bright red.
Harry threw himself back down into the protective arms of the chair. He wanted to cover himself, to hide from what she was doing to him. He let his eyes close and tried hard to think of what his dad would do, what Sirius would do. But they wouldn't know. They'd never been in his situation. They'd never been penalized for caring for someone. They hadn't been cursed since the age of one. Nobody had. He was alone.
He cringed as he heard the portrait door swing open again.
"Harry?" Hermione questioned on her way to the girls' stairs.
He listened to the sound of her feet approaching him, and sat up straighter trying to clear his mind.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, placing a soft hand on his shoulder.
"Yea, yea I'm fine," he said looking up at her, "Why are you up so late?"
"Oh you know," she sighed, sitting down in the place where Ginny had been, "I had my rounds."
"Shouldn't you have been back," he checked his wristwatch, "Half an hour ago?"
"Yea," Hermione agreed, "I stopped at the owlery,"
"Letter to Viktor?" Harry asked, his voice already becoming bored.
When she didn't reply, he looked over at her. She had shrunk into her seat, much like he had when Ginny had come through the portrait with Dean. Tears had filled her eyes.
"Hermione?"
"He hasn't written me back in over a month Harry," She sniffed.
"Oh Hermione," Harry sighed, feeling irritated that something this small would bug her when his life was in shambles, "I'm sure he has his reasons,"
Hermione nodded,
"That's a long time for Viktor, he always writes back, the longest time between his letters are a day," Hermione whimpered, "Harry, Luna reckons he's pre-pre-preoccupied,"
Harry took a moment to realize what she was trying to say,
"Look Hermione, I am sure that he has a very reasonable explanation for it, there's no point in listening to Loony Lovegood," Harry told her, "I'm sure you're just working yourself up over nothing."
He paused thinking about what Luna had said to him at the end of last year. How she had talked about the veil. Perhaps she wasn't so Loony...
Hermione's face relaxed a bit,
"Perhaps you're right, I am overreacting aren't I?" She asked, and then smiled flinging her arms around Harry, "Thank-you Harry, you're such a wonderful friend."
Harry hugged her back, but a soon as he made contact with her his scar set fire. He pushed Hermione away from his, with a Neandthal-like shout.
"Harry,"
He fell to his knees, his face was burning he knew it.
"Harry? Are you all right? Do you need Madame Pompfrey? Professor McGonagall? Dumbledore?" Hermione asked urgently.
He clutched and clutched at his scar, willing the pain to stop, but it came. It came fiercer than ever.
"Do you care for her Potter?" A dark, high voice came.
Blinking back tears of pain, Harry moved his head so he could look at Hermione hovering over him, panic rising in her face.
"Answer me!" the high voice shouted, and red cat-like eyes flashed before him.
He screamed again as his scar burst into endless pain.
"Harry?" Hermione cried again.
"Get out of here!" He screamed, still rubbing his scar, rolling on the floor, "GET AWAY FROM ME!"
He heard Hermione scamper away, as the pain took over him. It bathed over him, and he could feel Voldemort feeding on his pain. After a moment he felt himself pass into a cool darkness, where there was no pain, no Hermione, and no Voldemort.