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Verse IX of the J. Alfred Prufrock Arc
By: Vain
10.7.2003 - 09.26.2004
Chapter Six I
The Body Swayed to Music
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"Behold, ye trust in lying words, that cannot profit.
Will ye steal, murder, and commit adultery, and swear falsely, and burn incense unto Ba'al, and walk after other gods whom ye know not;
And come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say,
We are delivered to do all these abominations?
Is this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your eyes? Behold, even I have seen it, saith the LORD.
But go ye now unto my place which was in Shiloh, where I set my name at the first, and see what I did to it for the wickedness of my people Israel.
And now, because ye have done all these works, saith the LORD, and I spake unto you, rising up early and speaking, but ye heard not; and I called you, but ye answered not;
Therefore will I do unto this house, which is called by my name, wherein ye trust, and unto the place which I gave to you and to your fathers, as I have done to Shiloh.
And I will cast you out of my sight, as I have cast out all your brethren, even the whole seed of Ephraim.
Therefore pray not thou for this people, neither lift up cry nor prayer for them, neither make intercession to me: for I will not hear thee."
- Jeremiah 7: 8-17
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"Will you talk to me now, Harry?"
The boy looked up at the old man, a shuttered expression on his face. After a moment, his eyes darted away again and he laid his head down on his arms on the edge of the Headmaster's desk. "Why is this so important to you?"
"Because you are important to me. Allow me to help you."
A muscle in the Gryffindor's jaw twitched, but he remained silent.
It was Tuesday. While October had gone out with bang, it seemed that November was determined to start with a whimper and, though Harry was no longer hiding in his bed, he still was not quite ready to join the rest of Hogwarts. This was partially because, despite the fact that the boy had been searching for him ever since Sunday, there had been no sign of Snape. Last night he'd even crept down to the dungeons—still without his invisibility cloak—but he stopped at the top landing and simply stared down the dark hallway. He didn't want to admit it, but he was scared. He was scared that Snape never wanted to see him again. He was afraid . . . that maybe it wasn't Malfoy. Maybe Snape really did hate him. So Harry had gone back to Gryffindor Tower with a suspicious lump in his throat and curled up in bed with Snape's cloak.
This wasn't healthy. He knew that this couldn't possibly be healthy just as well as he knew that there was no possible way he could still smell Snape on the man's cloak after two years. But it didn't change the fact that he felt awfully empty without his Professor and—to him at least—the cloak still smelled like blood and tea and roses and the thousand other things that were pure Snape.
This wasn't just a crush anymore; it had hit full blown obsession and Harry was scared and had no one to talk to. Ron and Hermione would freak. Dumbledore would be forced to sack Snape before he even got a full sentence out of his mouth. Remus might very well eat the man next moon or something. And Harry had no one else he could talk to—no one else he could trust. The thought was disheartening and the boy went from simply being quiet and studious to being depressed. What was worse, though, was that everyone just seemed to just let him go. They knew something was wrong—they had to see that something was wrong.
So why then didn't anyone want to help him?
He buried himself deeper into his arms and listened to the fire crackle. His head ached horribly. He hated Occlumency. It made him feel as though someone was hammering a knife through his scar. Slowly. And from the inside. The fire popped again and he flinched at the sound. It hurt. Dumbledore would probably end this session soon, though. At least Harry hoped so. He couldn't take much more of this tonight.
Albus sighed at his student's lack of response and sat down in his chair. "Your shields have gotten a good deal better than they were before."
"Voldemort hasn't tried anything since the end of last year. It doesn't really mean anything if I can't keep him out, does it?" He shifted unconsciously so that his scar was hidden. "And we won't know until he tries something."
"True," the old man concurred as he stroked his beard idly, "but you have shown tremendous progress."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "Can we stop for tonight?"
"The lessons still cause you pain?" Harry barely repressed a flinch when he felt a gnarled hand rest on his hair. "Even though you've been practicing and clearing your mind?"
The boy nodded without changing his position. "It feels like . . . like something's being scrambled about in my head and then trying to push out of my scar."
The hand on his head moved slightly, gently brushing back his hair, and Harry felt his headache begin to recede under the light touches. "Pushing out, or pushing in?"
"Out."
The Headmaster withdrew his hand after a moment and Harry sat up, blinking his eyes against the sudden brightness of the fire and candle light. A tin of lemon drops was held out and he took one without thinking. "Do you think it's Voldemort, sir?"
"No . . ." the Headmaster eyed him in consideration as Harry sucked on the candy. "Harry, what was the first involuntary magic you did?"
The boy swallowed the treat and his brow wrinkled in consideration. "Um . . . I once grew my hair out again after my aunt gave me a bad haircut. And I also once apparated to the top of my elementary school when my cousin was chasing me."
Dumbledore's lips thinned at the mention of such treatment, but he said nothing about it. Instead he asked, "Did you ever have odd dreams as a child, Harry?"
Harry's eyes narrowed and his frown deepened. "Dreams are just dreams, sir. Aren't they all odd?"
Blue eyes twinkled. "Sometimes. But sometimes they mean more." Harry opened his mouth, but Dumbledore waved the question away and sat up a bit straighter in his chair. "You should not still be getting headaches by this stage of your training though, child. When you first started, that was to be expected—your mind was being forced to do something new, something that it was not designed to do," he explained as the boy took another lemon drop. "Now, however, you should have become more acquainted with shielding. You have built and developed natural shields. The defenses that you have now, though good, are only your mind's reaction to the intrusion of another. A natural defense mechanism. Your shields are totally instinctive. What we need to do now is work on developing conscious, controllable shields. This pain that you seem to be experiencing is preventing you from doing that."
The teen jerked off his glasses with an angry motion and slumped in his seat, allowing his head to thump against the wood carvings along the top of the back. He made a hissing noise in frustration and scrubbed his face with his hands. "But I'm practicing; I promise I am! I clear my mind before bed every night. I study every day . . . I'm doing my very best."
"I know you are," the Headmaster assured him in a warm voice, a slightly pained expression on his face at his protégé's distress. "I know. What I'm trying to say is that this block that you have may not be your fault. This could very well be something out of both of our control."
Harry blinked blearily at the man. "What do you mean?" He put his glasses back on and his gaze hardened. "Or is this one of those things you won't tell me?"
Dumbledore pursed his lips again and was silent for a moment. The he settled tiredly back in his chair and reached out to stroke Fawkes. He watched the phoenix stretch on his perch as he spoke. "Honestly, I am not certain, but I am beginning to suspect that your own magical skills may be blocking your abilities to shield, Harry. You will be a very powerful wizard when you grow older and it is not unusual for particularly powerful wizard to have their abilities manifest in various forms, particularly if their magical inclination was somehow stifled when they were young. All that power has to go somewhere, after all. This may not be something that either I or Professor Snape can teach you to get around."
Harry watched the old man in silence for a moment, absorbing what he'd just heard. "Do you have a . . . another form, sir?"
The hand petting Fawkes stopped and the man seemed to wilt a bit. When he turned to look back at his charge, his eyes were devoid of any twinkle. He folded his hands in front of him thoughtfully.
Harry watched curiously as the man seemed to gather himself.
"You were right," the Headmaster began with a heavy sigh, "when you said that I do not tell you things. But I meant what I said before: I want to protect you, Harry. Sometimes, though, I also wish to protect myself." He sighed once more, a heavy, pained sound. "I am trusting you with something, my boy, and you must understand that what I say now cannot leave this office. You cannot even tell Ron and Hermione. Do you promise me?"
The boy looked slightly surprised at the statement. He blinked and then frowned. "Maybe . . . maybe you shouldn't tell me, then . . . If Voldemort—"
"Tom knows," Dumbledore said sadly.
Harry blinked for a moment, taken off guard by the gentle interruption. Then he looked into his mentor's eyes. "I promise, then."
Albus nodded and settled back in his chair. "I am an empath, Harry. Do you know what that means?" When the boy shook his head 'no,' the man smiled slightly at the obvious curiosity shining in his student's eyes. "An empath is a person who can sense other people's emotions. They can also influence them to a certain extent. Most empaths, however, have very, very strong shields, else we would not even be able to function with all the emotions of flying about all the time. I can only influence someone's emotions when I'm in physical contact with them, and even then only to a limited extent and for very short time period."
Harry recoiled. "When you touched me just now, did you—"
The light in Albus's eyes further dimmed. "No. No, I did not, Harry. And I have never used my abilities on you. Ever. Not even when you were a child. However useful they might be to me, I am loathe to use my abilities on others and have been for several years. Ever since Tom graduated from Hogwarts, actually."
The Gryffindor frowned slightly, obviously not understanding what the one had to do with the other.
Albus steepled his fingers in front of him, elbows resting on the arm rests of his chair and a distant look clouding his normally clear eyes. "The day Tom Riddle graduated, he came to see me. He wanted to know why I had given him low marks in Transfiguration. He was angry, in a rage such as I had never seen before. Tom was always so terribly calm, so cool and collected all the time . . . it was alarming. I was concerned. I knew that there had to be more affecting him than his grade and Tom and I had never really gotten along. Tom had a . . . cruel streak in him that I did not like—a malice that I could feel no matter how strong my shields—and he knew that I was aware of his darker nature. But he came to me that day and I thought . . . I was arrogant enough to think that I could help him. So I reached out and grabbed his arm to get a clear read on him."
His eyes closed in remembered pain. "There was so much rage . . . so much hate inside him . . . I thought that it would tear us both in two. His mind was a maelstrom. I didn't understand how anyone could live like that. I reached into his mind and twisted, trying to drain some of that hate away. I thought that there would be some other emotion to fill the void. I only wanted to afford him a moment's peace, truly. But there was nothing. When I drained away his anger and hate, it created a void in his mind. He lashed out at me. The blast destroyed the entire north wall of the Transfiguration classroom and landed me in the Hospital Wing for four days."
He stopped, seemingly lost in thought. Age and guilt bent his shoulders and it seemed for a strange moment as thought the man was going to simply crumble in on himself. Then he sighed again and opened his eyes. "The next time I saw Tom Riddle was ten years later as he stood outside a muggle-born's burning house, firing the Dark Mark into the sky." He turned to stare hard at Harry. "When I first saw you sitting in the Great Hall five years ago, it seemed as though I'd stepped back in time. I did not see James Potter when I looked at you, Harry. I saw Tom Riddle. And I saw the same pain bowing your shoulders that had bowed his. But there was so much light inside you, too . . ."
He leaned forward and smiled at Harry sadly. "I suppose I saw in you my second chance. But I also saw how deeply unhappy I had made the child of James and Lily Potter, two vibrant people whom I loved dearly. I vowed then that, though I didn't dare remove you from your Aunt's protection, I would at least do everything I could to make your time at Hogwarts enjoyable. Part of that was also respecting your privacy as much as possible. I believe I have imposed quite enough on your life with intruding on your mind unnecessarily. I only wanted to make sure that you were safe and happy. If I had known then what I know now, perhaps I would have done things quite differently, but I cannot change what has been done. And for that I am truly sorry, my dear boy." His eyes closed. "Truly."
Harry closed his own eyes and could feel his nails digging uncomfortably into his palms. He looked down at his fists blankly. He forced his fingers open. "And Voldemort?"
The Headmaster looked confused at the question and Harry looked directly into his eyes. "What's his 'manifestation?'"
"He is a natural Legilimens. As is Severus."
At the mention of Severus's name, Harry squirmed uncomfortably and he found himself looking away to the fire again. "Why are you telling me this?"
"You asked," Dumbledore replied with surprising simplicity.
The boy found himself looking back at the man, somewhat startled. He hesitated for an instant, tongue pressed lightly on the edge of his two upper front teeth as though holding back whatever he was going to say. Then he smiled. "Thank you, sir."
The elderly man offered a tremulous smile of his own. "Harry, I really don't want you to think—"
"I don't!" he interrupted. "Really . . ." He squirmed again. "I don't think you'd . . . I mean, you wouldn't have told me that if you did, would you? Because, then I'd always be wondering if you were mucking about in my head all the time."
"And you won't wonder now?" he asked, his blue eyes seeming to pierce Harry.
Harry pursed his lips slightly. "I don't know," he said honestly after a moment. He looked down and was slightly surprised to see that he was wringing his hands. He watched the fingers of his right hand worry the knuckles of his left hand. "I . . ." Green eyes rose again to meet the Headmaster's blue ones. "I don't like some of the things you do. I don't know if I can trust you . . . But I'll trust you with this. Even if I didn't, it wouldn't change anything."
Albus settled back in his seat and looked tired. "An honest answer," he observed in a strangely pensive tone. "Thank you, Harry." He steepled his hands again. "I would like you to resume your lessons with Severus."
An expression like pain twitched over Harry's face. "Severus hates me," he whispered lowly.
Albus shook his head. "Professor Snape hates himself sometimes. You, however . . . I don't think he really can hate you, and that upsets him."
Far from being comforted, Harry hunched over in his seat. "I don't want to upset him. And I don't want to hurt him anymore. I don't want to see him."
"He's your professor," Dumbledore explained in a gentle voice. "And if you don't want to see him anymore, I think that would hurt him even worse."
Harry looked up, his eyes dark. "Will you force me to do it?"
The headmaster tugged at his beard thoughtfully as he looked at his protégé. "No," he replied after a moment. "But I want you to consider it. I would like you to continue your shielding practices, but I want to take a week off your lessons while we try to figure out what could be blocking you. If it is alright for you, I'd like to invite an old friend here next Tuesday to see you. She has some rather versatile skills that may help point us in the right direction. Then, if you still do not wish to see Professor Snape, we will work something else out. Depending on what we find, you may not be able to move any farther in your Occlumency. In which case, we will simply have to look for other alternatives. Is that alright with you, child?"
Harry shrugged moodily and turned back to the fire. A gentle touch on his hand startled him and his head snapped back 'round.
"I want you to know, though," the Professor said in a quiet voice, "if you have the time, I still would like to see every Tuesday." He smiled once more. "I have found that my week seems quite empty without our tea."
Harry turned his hand so that he could grip those gnarled fingers tightly. "I would like that," he said, trying to send every bit of sincerity that he could through the touch.
Albus squeezed his fingers back and sat up a bit straighter. Fawkes trilled happily.
Harry pulled back in his chair, feeling both pleased and strangely awkward. "May I stay here a bit longer? I don't really feel like eating in the Hall tonight . . ."
The Headmaster smiled, one of his usual blinding grins that never failed to make their recipient feel better. "I'll call Dobby. Your book is in your chair by the fire."
The brunet paused in the act of getting up and shot Dumbledore a suspicious look. "Did you know I'd want to stay here, sir?"
Blue eyes danced in response as the old man removed a fresh tin of lemon drops from one of his numerous drawers and popped two into his mouth. "Hope springs eternal in the human breast, my boy." He held out the tin. "Lemon drop?"
And Harry was surprised to hear himself laugh softly.
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The trees of the Forbidden Forest rustled faintly, but there was no wind. The girl shuddered in fear and crouched down at the edge of the wards that surrounded the school, feeling for the slight tingle of magic that would tell her exactly where the wards ended. She sighed when she found it, more relieved than she had thought possible, and reached into her robe for the small golden ball he'd given her.
"Only someone with a pure purpose can pierce the wards of Hogwarts," he'd told her. "That's why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cannot breach them, no matter how strong his magic."
"But how do you know it will work? What if my purpose isn't pure enough?"
He had laughed at her when she'd said that. "Your purpose is true love, isn't it? Don't you love him? Don't you want to save him from Snape? Then you have nothing to worry about. If you really love him—truly love him and want to save him—the wards will accept this Ostium Sphere without any problem."
"And this will help him?"
"Of course it will. You've seen what's happening . . . Snape on one side . . . Malfoy cozying up to him on the other. The way things are going, he'll be taking the Dark Mark before the end of the term. And believe me, I am in a position to know a Death Eater when I see one."
"But last week—"
"Was an act. Trust me; my friends will come and talk some sense into him—show him how evil You-Know-Who is and remind him how much depends on him. He'll thank you for it. I swear it."
With a heavy sigh, she stared down at the Ostium Sphere. While she wasn't sure exactly how it would work, she knew that it would create a small hole in the wards. No one would even notice it unless they were standing right on top of it. Not even the Headmaster would know.
Punching a hole in the Wards . . . She didn't like the idea. She could be expelled if she was discovered. . . . But it would only bring his friends in, right? And then they'd help Harry. They would.
Because she couldn't.
She had tried, but she just couldn't. He was never in the dorms, never in the Common Room, never near her, and Ron and Hermione didn't even know who she was. Part of her wanted to tell them—after all, they were supposed to be Harry's best friends, right?—but they never had time for her and every single time she tried to talk to them, her tongue seemed to get all knotted in itself and her stomach fluttered. No one even saw her.
It also didn't help that the Trio never really talked to anyone but each other. They weren't rude or anything, they just didn't really seem to have any other real friends outside of one another. And the rest of the Sixth Years were too absorbed in Sixth Year things to pay any mind to her . . .
So she would do this on her own. Her brothers and her parents didn't think she was cut out for Gryffindor—didn't think she was brave enough, or bold enough, or Lion enough for Gryffindor.
"I thought for sure she'd be a Hufflepuff," she had heard her brother whisper to another Fifth Year once.
Well, she'd show them. She'd show them all and prove that she was worthy of Harry Potter and the Trio, to boot.
Determined to follow through with the plan, the girl set the sphere on the ground and nudged it into the path of the wards. It pulsed once very brightly the moment it made contact with the wards, but then turned milky white before vanishing from sight. The Gryffindor exhaled, her task complete, and settled back on her heels in relief.
"Thank Merlin . . ."
A shadow suddenly fell over her and she twisted around with a startled shriek.
Strong hands caught her before she could really lose her balance, and soft laughter came from above her. She blinked against the bright shining in her eyes and frowned up at him, barely able to contain her relief. "You!"
He pulled her upright and looked back at where she had been kneeling. "It's done?"
She brushed her robes off and stared up at the Seventh Year with a frown. "Yes, I—W—what are you doing here?" Her small hands hovered anxiously over her skirt and the wind blew, sending her long black hair into her eyes.
The boy nodded, still looking at the space she'd just vacated. "When I didn't see you at dinner, I wanted to be sure you had no difficulties. Where is it?" He pushed a hand through his thick, sandy hair, pulling it out of his jade-colored eyes.
The girl walked past him and stretched out her right hand, feeling the warm swell of the wards until she found the cold space where the hole was. She waved her hand through the space, trying to feel out its perimeter. "Here," she said softly, indicating the area with a wave of her hand.
There was a sudden rending noise and she whirled around, hand still suspended in space, to see her companion ripping the Slytherin badge off his robes. She gaped as he knelt next to her to place the torn off patch on the ground.
He carefully nudged the badge to the very edge of the hole. "Tear off your badge and put it in. We need to mark the entrance."
Her hands fluttered up to her badge without thinking and she found herself tugging at the material. The Gryffindor patch came off with surprising ease, red thread snapping in protest. She handed it to him in silence. Her robes seemed strangely lighter without it.
"You should go back," the older boy said as he placed her badge on the other end of the invisible hole. "There'll be questions if we're seen together."
She hesitated, feeling rather useless now that her part was done. "You know . . ." Her robes swayed around her as she took a tentative step towards him. "I'm going to have my eye color changed over Christmas hols . . . Black. Do you think it would suit me?"
The Slytherin looked up at her, his green eyes shining curiously bright. "You know . . . I really think you're quite pretty the way you are."
She blushed a deep dusty rose color and looked at the ground, wistfully wishing that he was Harry.
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Harry sat bolt upright, glasses askew, when Ron dropped a heavy tome next to his head. He blinked owlishly in the bright overhead lights of the Library and stared up at his two best friends.
Hermione pursed her lip and looked down at the Gryffindor Seeker, her hazel eyes hard with determination. She waved her wand to cast a silencing charm and sighed quietly. "We need to talk, Harry."
Harry shifted in his seat uneasily as his friends sat down uninvited. The three of them were ensconced in a study carol at the very back of the Library, as far from Madam Pince's prying eyes and dismissive sniffs as possible. Not too many of the other students came back here anymore. Not only was it far from the stacks, it had also become unofficially known as Harry's private little corner, and—as he was apparently rather high on Snape's proverbial radar—Harry had quickly become persona non gratis outside of Gryffindor house. It actually made the study cubby the perfect place to have this type of discussion: private, and with all the exits covered. No one could approach without them knowing it, but Harry also couldn't leave without pushing past his two best friends. And they didn't exactly seem to be in the mood to let him slide this evening.
Unable to meet their eyes, Harry found himself staring down at the book he'd been reading before he drifted off. A woodcut image of a banshee stared back at him, black and white eyes glaring up through a long tangle of wild hair. He shut the book quickly and wondered how long she'd been staring at him while he slept.
Ron took the book away from him, picking it up and flipping it over to read the title. Bold black scroll print identified the brown leather-bound volume as False Parables: The Real Dark Arts by Sliverene Haagg, and Ron looked at his friend with unabashed concern.
"Dark Arts, mate?"
"No . . ." Harry's voice was soft, but honest. "Dumbledore won't let me learn them. I asked already."
Hermione made a disapproving noise in her throat and Harry's gaze hardened. "What else do you expect me to do? Do you really think that Expelliarmus will be enough against Lord Voldemort? Because it won't be—believe, me, I've tried it."
The girl's disapproval faded a bit, but didn't vanish. "Still . . ."
Harry scowled, irritated with her despite himself. "Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?"
"No." Ron pushed the book aside and leaned forward so that Harry's attention was drawn away from his girlfriend. He pressed his lips together in a hard, disapproving line and said one curt, self-explanatory word: "Snape."
All the blood drained from Harry's face and his eyes widened before he could control his reaction. He looked away quickly. "S—Snape? What about him?" As he turned away from Ron, he found himself face to face with Hermione. He couldn't avoid one's eyes without looking at the other's, so he twitched back and forth for an indecisive moment before simply looking down at the table. "What about him?" he repeated to the time blackened, polished wood. Hidden under the table, he began to wring his hands in his lap.
Hermione sat back and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "We're worried about you, Harry. You're like a ghost these days. We . . . We only want to help you. We've been talking—" Harry's eyes darted up to see Ron nod and then he immediately looked away again "—and we know Snape is involved somehow."
The brunet between them pulled back farther into his seat and placed his hands on the table. He stared at his raw, reddened knuckles with a faintly nauseous look on his face. "He—I . . ." He swallowed thickly and looked up, a strained smile on his face, and gave an odd little laugh. "He hates me. You know that. Everyone knows that." He swallowed again and wondered why he felt a burning sensation in the back of his throat.
Ron snorted and crossed his arms as he settled back in his seat. He scowled darkly at the smaller boy across from him. "Shut it, Harry. You're lying. Badly. You were a right mess last week and we want to know why. We've given you space, but enough is enough, mate. Normally you'd storm and rant or have a good row with Snape, but now you're acting like—like—like a—"
"Like he broke your heart," Hermione finished quietly.
Harry's hands clenched into fists, his nails scraping the table top with the motion.
Hermione sat up again and tentatively placed her hand gently atop on one of those fists. He didn't look up at her.
"Harry . . ." The girl bit her lip. "Look, I know we've been . . . distracted this term. And I know that you probably needed us and we weren't—"
Harry's head snapped up suddenly. "I don't . . ." He trailed off uncomfortably and turned to Ron as though seeking support, but the Gryffindor Keeper merely watched him with a look of guilty concern.
Harry frowned and looked between his two Housemates. "You two are my best friends," he said carefully after a moment. He removed his hand from Hermione's with a soft tug. "My first friends and my very best friends. More so than . . . well, anybody really." The dark-haired teen rolled his shoulders, looking acutely uncomfortable. "I ask too much of you sometimes. This . . . What I have to do . . . It's my fight. And I don't want you two to get hurt." He smiled faintly. "I'm really glad you two are together. And I don't feel left out. Not really."
If anything, Ron's scowl had deepened while Harry spoke. Once the smaller teen was done, the redhead crossed his legs, propping his left foot up on his right knee, and leaned back in his set, arms crossed over his chest. "That's all well and good, mate, and you're our best friend too. . . . Which is why we're not going to let you worm your way out of this. You're right: this is your fight. And that makes it our fight, too."
Harry simply stared back at him blankly, as though he was unable to process what Ron was saying, and the youngest Weasley son threw his hands up in the air in disgust. "Bloody hell, Harry! We've fought giant chess people, been petrified, kidnapped by merpeople, damn near eaten by acromantulas, battled Death Eaters, gone down to the Chamber of Secrets, knocked two professors unconscious, been nearly eaten by a werewolf, attacked by Dementors, gone back in time with a Time Turner, helped an escaped convict at least a dozen times, broken nearly every school rule possible—not to mention Ministry laws—smuggled out dragons, sent a professor out to be attacked by centaurs and a giant, ridden thestrals to London, battled trolls, started a secret army that was suspected of wanting to overthrow the Ministry, lost at least a thousand House Points between us, helped get Dumbledore temporarily sacked, helped save the school at least three times, and served more detentions with Snape than any other Gryffindors in the history of Hogwarts, just so that we could hang out with you." He stopped and took a deep, much needed breath, his face bright red. He looked back up at Harry, blue eyes shining in amusement. "Really, mate, do you honestly think a little thing like V—V—Vol—Voldemort—" Ron stopped, apparently startled that he had finally said the name. Then he grinned and puffed himself up slightly. "Do you honestly think a little thing like V—Voldemort is going to stop us now? Really, you must be one hell of a bloke to inspire so much loyalty."
Harry grinned at his friend's obvious enthusiasm, but then the expression melted away. "But what if it's more than Voldemort?"
He seemed to draw into himself once more and Hermione immediately jumped in. "You mean Snape?"
Harry shook his head, but remained silent for a moment. He found himself staring down at his hands again. "I mean . . . What if . . . I was different again? Different like speaking parseltongue again?"
The last of Ron's smile vanished and Hermione looked a bit lost. "How . . . different . . .? Does Dumbledore know? Is it about Voldemort? Or those muggles?"
Harry kept his eyes fixed on his lap. "I didn't ask for this," he muttered restlessly, unconsciously echoing his words from Potions last week. He looked as though he would like to be anywhere but there. "I . . ." The Potter heir swallowed hard and looked up at his friends. "Is it . . . is it really such an awful thing to . . . to fancy blokes?"
Ron's eyes widened and he sat back in his seat heavily, almost collapsing. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Hermione blinked at him, frozen, apparently at a loss for words. Harry just wanted to sink through the floor and die.
"You . . ." Ron blinked several times and shook his head as though trying to clear it. "You're a poof?"
Harry sunk down into his chair.
"All this drama," the redhead sputtered, face flushed and looking more than a bit incredulous, "because—because you're a bloody ponce!"
The ball of anger in Harry's stomach quivered and lurched. He tasted bile in his throat.
Hermione just looked at him as though he was something she'd never seen before, her brow knitted in confusion.
And then Ron suddenly exploded into gales of laughter.
Harry started, suddenly furious, as the Gryffindor Keeper fell out of his chair to the subtly red carpet, holding his side as he laughed. "You—we thought—" the teen's face was even redder than his hair "—Merlin's blood, we thought it was Sirius! Or You-Know-Who!" Tears rolled down his cheeks and he could barely talk for laughing.
Harry stood up so abruptly his chair fell over backwards. His face was flushed with rage and hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his side, but his voice was deadly quiet. "Think this is funny, do you?"
Hermione recognized the tone immediately and her eyes widened in surprise. "But that's just so normal," she blurted out.
Harry paused, anger momentarily forgotten as he stared at her in disbelief, and Ron laughed so hard he started choking.
Harry's eyes narrowed as he stared at the girl. "Normal?"
The hazel-eyed prefect stood and made a placating gesture with her hands, flushing in embarrassment as she tried to get Harry to sit back down. "Well, maybe not normal, but compared to . . . I mean . . . It's just . . . Well . . . We weren't expecting that . . ." Suddenly she turned to where her boyfriend was still chuckling and trying to catch his breath. "Ronald Weasley, get off the floor this instant and stop being a prat!"
Harry frowned at the two of them, anger and embarrassment fading, but not gone. Ron took a moment more to collect himself before pulling himself back up to his chair with a great deal of effort. Hermione sent pleading looks Harry's way until he bent down to retrieve his chair and then also took a seat. The three of them sat in an awkward silence for a few moments as Ron finished collecting himself and Harry bit at his lower lip.
Finally the redhead seemed to have recovered and he sat back in his chair more comfortably. "Really," he insisted, still looking amused, "what's going on?"
Harry shot his friend a dark look. "I'm not making this up. I . . . I think I'm gay."
Hermione was steadily shooting Ron looks that plainly said 'Don't say anything stupid!' but Ron was ignoring her. The Weasley son stared, his brows knit in confusion as he eyed Harry. After a moment he frowned slightly. "You're really not having us on, are you?"
Harry squirmed slightly, but remained silent.
"Oh . . ."
"Well, um . . ." Hermione leaned forward to try and capture one of Harry's hands again, but he moved. Undeterred, she continued. "Well, there are wizards and witches who . . ." She seemed to flounder for a moment.
"Play Beater for the same team," Ron interjected, earning himself a nasty look from his girlfriend.
"Right!" the prefect continued gamely, looking as though she was just starting to warm to the subject. Her eyes took on the distant look they always did when she began to think of books. "In fact, I saw this book at Flourish and Botts that was all about homosexuality and homosexual witches and wizards. Did you know that there are spells that can only be done by them? And Bonding Spells—things like Soul Bonds and Fidelity Bonds—don't care what preference a participant has: if your Soul Mate is a man, he'll be chosen for you regardless of whom you're attracted to . . . Binding spells are the ones that deal in preference . . ." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And, if memory serves me, I believe that there was some speculation about Merlin himself being bi-sexual . . . Latent attraction to King Arthur and all, but that's only fringe theory and rumor, nothing substantial. And then there was Ptolemy . . . But ancient peoples were much more lax about sexuality. The Spartans actually had institutionalized homosexuality in their military—they found that the warriors were more likely to be fiercer if they were fighting along side their lovers. Though, they did try to discourage it, as it was bad for procreation. I think it was only after Judeo Christian ideologies began to spread that people started to really clamp down on it . . . But then there was always Islam and Africa, not to mention India and Asia. I actually don't know about India and Asia; I'll have to do more research . . . But in the Ottoman Empire—"
"Hermione!"
The girl jumped suddenly as Harry's voice cut through her thoughts. She blinked several times before focusing on the two boys and then blushed faintly when she saw them staring.
Ron still looked somewhat bewildered, but she didn't know if that was because of her or Harry. "We called you three times," he said, exasperation leaking into his voice.
Her cheeks burned. "Sorry."
Harry laughed softly, a strangely sad, humorless sound, and buried his head in his arms tiredly. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the position squished his glasses into his face in a way that couldn't have possibly been comfortable. His friends traded worried looks and then frowned at him in concern. Ron fidgeted, plainly unsure what he was supposed to do or how to react. Hermione leaned forward in her chair and hesitantly ran a hand through Harry's hair in a gesture of comfort. When Harry didn't shift or protest, she sighed and scooted her seat closer so that she could lean down and rest her head on his back. His heart sounded dull and distant in her ears.
"I'm sorry," the boy murmured after a moment.
Hermione shook her head, still resting it on his back. "For what? You've nothing to be sorry for."
Ron nodded even though Harry couldn't see it, and rested his head on the table as well, using his arms for a pillow. "She's right, mate," he urged, still looking and sounding just a touch off balance. "I mean . . . It's weird . . . I just—I mean I never even considered . . . But if that's what makes you happy, then that's what makes you happy. I guess." He frowned and his forehead wrinkled. "It's just weird," he repeated. "But I'll get used to it."
Hermione lifted her head so that she could smile at Ron and Harry shifted before slowly pushing himself upright. He looked relieved, but no less tired. Hermione scooted back away from him to give him room and the Potter heir looked back and forth between his friends.
He scrubbed a hand over his scar thoughtlessly, as though pushing something away, and squinted a bit behind his glasses. There were livid-looking reddish marks where they had pressed into his face. "You don't . . . think there's anything wrong with me then? It's not a bad thing?"
Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully. "It's not a bad thing Harry . . . But some people won't like it. The Wizarding World in general tolerates homosexuals, but some muggleborns might not. Opinions are mixed. And, well, you're Harry Potter. If people find out—even if it isn't their business—they're going to make it their business, and a lot of the people who are going to make the most noise will probably be the ones who don't like it."
Harry's lips twisted in a dark smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe we can just keep it a secret?" he suggested a bit hopelessly.
Ron's expression darkened slightly at the bleak look on his friend's face. "Well, we can certainly try, mate. And you know 'Mione and I can keep our mouths shut, but things like this have a way of getting out. People will have to find out sometime. Unless you want to just stay celibate and the like." The idea seemed to perk Ron up considerably and he straightened, eyes shining with a strange eagerness. "You don't, do you? Because that would be brilliant!"
Harry gave the redhead a black look, quickly squelching his apparent happiness, and Ron slouched again. He hunched over slightly, once more resting his chin on his arms, and glared at the table top. "Well, you needn't look at me like that. You really are a good friend and all, Harry—you're practically a Weasley. So you can see why I really don't know want to know about you taking it up the ar—"
Hermione's eyes grew round as teacups. "Ron!" Her voice came out as a squeal and she blushed scarlet.
Harry also turned bright red and once again hid his face in his arms.
Ron sat up and crossed his arms, looking personally affronted. "Well, I don't! Merlin! That's like—that's like some bloke messing with Ginny. Really, mate, I think I'd have to hurt him." His blue eyes flickered between the two of them as though daring him to challenge him.
Hermione glared at her boyfriend. "You didn't seem to feel that way about Cho," she stated, a warning plain in her voice.
"That's different," the Weasley boy replied, his tone implying that the answer should be obvious. "Cho is a girl."
"Really?" his girlfriend all but purred. "Why is Harry having sex with a girl different from Harry having sex with a boy?"
Still hidden in his arms, Harry's face was so red that he was amazed that he wasn't sweating blood.
Ron frowned, oblivious to Harry's discomfort or the thin ice on which he seemed to be walking. "Well . . ." He floundered for a moment and looked around for help. "Well . . . Harry's never shagged a bloke before!" Suddenly, he blanched and gave his best friend an absolutely horrified look. "You haven't, have you?"
Harry sat upright as though he'd been bitten and the flush staining his face crawled down to his neck. "I haven't shagged anyone!" he squeaked in an embarrassingly shrill voice. His embarrassment suddenly faded when he remembered the expression on Severus's face last week and he slumped. "And it doesn't look like I'll be doing it anytime soon, either." He frowned at Ron, his former ill-humor remembered. "And even when I do, I hardly think I'll give you a blow by blow account or anything."
At the word 'blow,' Ron paled even further until his freckles stood out in painful contrast to his hair.
Harry couldn't help but snicker at the nauseous look on his face. He smiled at his beleaguered friend. "Relax, Ron. I haven't changed. Not really. And I'm hardly going to start running around and touching up every boy I see. Anyway, most of the boys at Hogwarts aren't all that great. Probably why it took me so long to notice, actually."
Ron seemed to be staring at nothing. "I didn't need to know that. I really didn't need to know that."
"You're the one who keeps talking about me shagging people," the other boy pointed out.
"Just promise me you won't start on Malfoy soon or anything." Ron shuddered violently. "I mean, Malfoy . . ."
Harry snorted. "Malfoy's a rodent." He wisely neglected to point out that, however much of a prick the blond was, Malfoy had a nice arse. It would have probably sent Ron in fits.
Hermione groaned, unable to fully squelch her own blush, and dragged the two other Gryffindors back to the point. "True, but Ron's right about one thing, at least. People will find out somehow. This kind of thing does have a way of getting around.
Her eyes narrowed in thought before refocusing on him. "We can try to keep it under wraps, and of course Ron and I would never say anything, but . . . Well, this isn't something that will stay buried long if you decide to start seeing someone. Opinions will vary. But it will probably blow over soon enough. Anyway, there are fairly common spells and potions that help homosexual witches and wizard have children together and everything. You can even buy them in Diagon Alley and in Hogsmeade. Plus, some of those spells that I mentioned that only homosexuals can do are really useful. As far as I know, they all fall under Sexual Magic and Ritual Magic, but they're still powerful and are used in lots of places. The Founders were even said to have employed such spells when Warding the grounds."
Ron wrinkled his nose. "Why?"
"Some Sexual Magic spells have extremely powerful protective properties, particularly if the copulation is between two people who love one another," Hermione responded in her 'teacher' voice. "Sexual Magic is not only the harnessing of raw magical power, but—the White Magic spells, at least—also have strong benevolence and pleasure overtones. The Founders wanted Hogwarts to be a place of love, joy, safety, and life; all of which are very prominently displayed by White Sexual Magic." She eyed her boyfriend with a severe expression. "It's all in Hogwarts: A History, you know."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course it is. What isn't in that bloody book?"
Hermione's expression immediately became thunderous and Harry suddenly found himself chuckling at the two's antics. It seemed like it had been a long time since he felt this . . . normal.
Hermione switched her glare to Harry and he raised his hands in defense, still smiling. "I'll put it on my reading list," he offered with a wry smirk.
Ron snorted.
The girl eyed her friends mutinously, still ruffled. "It's a perfectly marvelous book," she sniffed. "Full of loads of useful things."
Harry waved his hands through the air dismissively. "No one's better at finding information than you, Hermione." She flushed and Harry leaned forward a bit to draw his friends' attention back to what he was saying. "Actually, since I've started on all this studying for class and everything, I've really started thinking."
He paused as though unsure how to continue. Hermione leaned forward slightly to coax Harry to continue and the Seeker cast an uncertain look at Ron before shifting his shoulders uncomfortable.
Harry cleared his throat unnecessarily. "Hogwarts is a target, no matter how confident Dumbledore is in the Wards. I haven't spoken to him about it because I wanted to see what you two thought first, but I want to start up the D.A. again."
Ron frowned slightly, but Harry hurried on before the other teen could speak. "I remember the Department of Mysteries and how the fighting was down there. We need to know more. And I need help. Reading all these spells is all well and good, but I need to practice them and Dumbledore doesn't want to know what all I'm studying. He made it clear that if he had official knowledge that I was 'misusing' my pass, he'd have to revoke it. Plus, I don't know anything about tactics or strategy and some of these books I've found are getting really advanced and I feel a bit lost." He pressed his lips into a firm line. "I want everyone else to be prepared, too. Dumbledore's been saying lately that this war could drag on for years . . . that it could be worse than the first one—a lot worse. I can't help with the Order until I have a better grip on Occlumency, but I don't just want to sit around, either. Will you help me? I mean, like I said: Hermione, you're the best when it comes to research, and no one can beat Ron at strategy. There's a lot you two could teach me, and—with all the studying I've been doing—I think we could make the D.A. loads better than last term." He smiled wanly. "Especially since we don't have to hide from Umbridge." He took a deep breath and looked at them expectantly.
Both Ron and Hermione were blushing again, but this time it was with pleasure, not embarrassment. Hermione's eyes fairly glowed.
"Well, I'm definitely in! I was taking to Susan about it during Ancient Runes the other day and apparently a bunch of students feel the same. They were just worried about bothering you because you've looked so busy and Ron and I have been . . ." here the blush increased slightly ". . . distracted."
Ron scratched the back of his head. "I'm in, too. Neville was making noises about his D.A.D.A. grades and I'm getting a bit worried, too. Professor Whistlemeel may not have it in for you, Harry, but her tests are a lot more difficult than the class. There was stuff on that last one that we didn't even cover."
"She tests two chapters ahead in the book," Hermione interjected absently.
Ron stared at her. "You mean, you've been listening to me complain all last month about those exams and you didn't tell me that before?"
"I was hoping that you'd take it upon yourself to actually do your homework," the girl replied in a tart voice. She turned back to Harry. "You'll talk to Dumbledore, won't you? Ron and I will talk to others." The idea of re-starting the club seemed to have energized her once more.
Harry nodded and began to gather his books. "You two had better get going. It's almost curfew and Snape'll have kittens if he catches a Gryffindor out of bed."
Ron stood up and stretched. "Didn't you hear?" He handed Harry a book as he spoke. "Snape's gone."
False Parables: The Real Dark Arts slid limply out of Harry's hands and landed on the table with a thump. Pale, Harry looked up at Ron, his eyes round and haunted. "He quit?"
Hermione looked over at the dark-hair teen sharply, a suspicious frown wrinkling her brow. "No . . . Professor Kettleburn said that he had family business to attend to and would resume teaching again next week. Are you okay, Harry?"
He shook himself slightly and resumed gathering his books. "I'm fine," he told the tabletop. "You two had better go, though." He looked up with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "We may have gotten rid of Snape, but Filch is still out there."
Ron waved his wand to disperse the Charms they'd cast around themselves. "Finite Incantum." He frowned at Harry. "What about you?" he asked in a near whisper.
"I have to put these away. Anyway, one of us stands a better chance of getting up to the dorm unseen than three of us, and I've been doing this all year. I promise I'll be right up, but you need to go." He flipped his hand at them, waving them towards the door to emphasize the point.
Ron still looked reluctant. "A half an hour, mate, and then we come looking for you, got it?"
Harry nodded, busying himself with packing his bag.
Hermione took a slow step towards him, her eyes clouded with suspicion. "Harry, about Snape—"
"It's nothing," the boy interrupted. "Now go."
"You're certain there's nothing to tell us?" she pressed.
Harry's head snapped up and he looked at her with a dark look she'd never seen before. His eyes were so intense that she took a step back instinctively. Ron started at the expression in the other boy's eyes.
For a moment Harry held the eye contact and then looked away. He stared down at the battered quill in his hand. "No," he responded with a shake of his head. His voice sounded strangely distant. "There's nothing there. Snape hates me. He really hates me."
Hermione looked at him for a moment before nodding slowly in understanding. She took a step towards him and gently squeezed his forearm in support. "Hurry back. You know Professor McGonagall will have a fit if you're out after curfew."
He nodded without looking up.
Ron came forward and grabbed Hermione's free hand in his own and pulled her away. "Half an hour, mate," he reminded before they departed.
They didn't speak until they were out of the Library.
Hermione removed her hand from Ron's and popped the knuckles on her right hand as they headed towards the stairs. "You shouldn't have reacted that way," she chided softly. "After what Myrtle said—"
"I didn't think about it," he interrupted, suddenly looking a bit freaked out again. "I mean . . . Well . . . When do you honestly think you're best friend's gay? It's too weird." He looked a bit green. "Weird," he repeated.
The girl was starting to think that was going to be Ron's favorite word regarding this latest development.
Ron became quiet for a moment. "He was lying about Snape, though." The redhead bit his lip and his mouth twisted in disgust. "He fancies him." He shuddered violently. "He fancies Snape and the greasy bastard not only molested him, but then he said all those awful things in class last week . . ."
Hermione stopped and gripped his wrist, recognizing the signs of Ron's temper.
Ron jerked to a halt and looked down at her, startled. Then he frowned. "We have to report him to Dumbledore. Professors shouldn't be messing with students. Anyway, Harry might not even be gay. Snape's just got him all confused and—"
"He'll be sacked," Hermione hissed.
She cast a quick glance around the hall and then hauled Ron into an isolated alcove. There was a young man in a portrait who snorted himself awake when they entered the little corner and began making kissy noises. Ron glared at the man and made a threatening gesture until the man sniffed, insulted, and left the portrait. Ron turned his attention back to Hermione.
"He deserves to be sacked! he whispered back furiously. "Harry was mess because of him. The entire school's in an uproar. Merlin, we haven't even snogged in three days because of this mess!"
Hermione blushed, but was not deterred. "Ron, think! Snape is a spy. The Headmaster cannot get rid of him. Besides, Professor Dumbledore has tea with Harry every week and they practice Occlumency. Do you really think he doesn't know? Something else has to be going on here. Anyway, if we went to the Headmaster or Professor McGonagall, Harry would be furious. He'd think we betrayed him. Hopefully the D.A. will distract Harry enough so that he can work this out, but right now the best thing we can do is wait. If we approach Snape, who know what he'll do, and Harry's not going to give up any more than he already has."
"So that's it? We just wait till that student-molesting, slimy bastard does something else? We already know he hit Harry. Maybe next time he'll put him in the Hospital Wing!"
"No." Hermione's eyes darkened slightly at the memory of the look on Harry's face last week. "No. This time we watch. We know what to look for now, and D.A. will give us more of a chance to watch Harry. We'll have to start studying together again to teach D.A. and he said he wants our help anyway. And if Snape does anything else to Harry, we'll find a way to deal with it ourselves without getting Snape sacked and without Harry finding out. He has enough to worry about as it is."
Ron paused and then smiled down at his girlfriend. He laughed softly. "Brilliant, but scary," he murmured.
Hermione blushed and tried to duck her head, but Ron caught her chin and pulled her up into a gentle kiss. A shiver ran up her spine and she parted his lips beneath him, unable to stop herself from clutching at his forearms when she felt the tip of his tongue flicker against her bottom lip. Feeling shaky and breathless, she pulled away.
"We'll be caught," she whispered into his shoulder.
"No fun at all," her groused. But then Ron kissed the top of her head and pulled away with a long-suffering sigh.
Hermione extracted herself from the corner and straightened her uniform unnecessarily. "Come on. Ms. Norris will be on the prowl."
Ron joined her, fussing with his tie grumpily. "Must you always be so proper?"
The girl sniffed in distain and began to head up towards the stairs once more with surprisingly rapid steps. "Yes, I must. I'm a prefect. So are you, I might add. Anyway," she continued, pausing to look over her shoulder, "if we're caught, then we'll hardly have any private time at all in the boy's dorm before Seamus, Neville, and Justin barge in. So hurry it up."
Ron blinked, stunned at his girlfriend's words, and found himself entranced by the all-too-rare light of mischief sparkling in her hazel eyes. She laughed at him and he suddenly found himself hurrying, all other concerns momentarily forgotten.
