Tea for Two
Harry stirred the hot tea with his small teaspoon, enjoying the rich warm smell that spilled from the cup and into the air. Yes, tea was something he had learnt to appreciate over his stay in Nepal. It had kept him going day after day. Harry placed his hand over the steaming liquid, letting his hand moisten from the heat. A sensation of piece washed over him. It felt good.
When he'd asked Dobby for the tea, the House Elf had quickly obliged. The Brown Betty now rested on the rough wooden table, it's spout releasing thin wisps of vapour. Harry watched it ascend until it disappeared between the heavy beams of the room. Relaxing? Very much thank you. It made him forget the sores in his joints, the slight twisting feeling he had in each shoulder from the day's training, the tickling at the end of his fingers from the last powerful spell he'd cast.
His first days back had felt tiresome, even though he was more than glad to see Ron and Hermione again. Then why was he avoiding them? Ron was probably in the Common Room, and Harry had decided he didn't want to see the crowd, feel every eye on him... and yes, feel quite insecure, he finally confessed. Hermione was maybe in the library... no, she must be in her study in the Head Girl Quarters.
At the end of class, he'd slipped away quietly, saying he had an owl to see to. Ron and Hermione had watched him leave without a word. They had waited patiently for him to tell them about Nepal, his training... everything really. But Harry felt he wasn't ready. Not yet. Not really. And he hoped they understood. He'd been away so long, while they had continued on.
He was now legally of age, a whole year had passed, cramped into one summer. However, it was under secrecy. It had been ages since he'd seen the Dursleys, heard of them, felt anger towards them. Ages since he'd seen his two best friends. He thought he felt quite empty towards them. How could that be? He was glad to see them, to have them near. But his happiness didn't seem to extend to anything else.
"The Saviour" he'd been called. Harry shuddered. He despised the name, and didn't quite forgive Aurelius for using it.
Harry, you are the Saviour of our kind. You are supreme. Harry didn't feel superior, neither did he want to be some kind of martyr. He would do what he had to do, and that would be it. It was selfish, he knew, and he really didn't care.
His fingers played with the edge of the pages from Hermione's photo album. Yes, Harry decided, he would fill this up.
He drowned the tea, not caring if it slightly scolded his throat as it went down, grabbed the album and heading out in steady strides.
He had to find Denis, Denis Creevy.
ooooo
Ron was in the Common Room, and very glad about all the attention he was receiving. He had a bottle of Butterbear in one hand, the other twitching with excitement next to the chess board, trying to decide if he should check mate now (and be over and done with) or make the game last a little longer (and still win, naturally).
"Bishop... in E4." The sturdy figure walked across the board diagonally, making a small pawn crumble in his wake. "Check mate."
There was a collective groan around him and some laughter at the poor expression Seamus was sporting, his forehead lightly beaded with sweat. Ron was grinning from ear to ear. He could feel the presence of Lavender just behind him, who was peering, over his shoulder in awe. Yes, Ron decided, he really liked the attention.
"I'm impressed," she was saying while Ron noticed the warmth of her hand against his back which she'd set there casually... well, not quite casually. And indeed, there was a knowing gleam in her large eyes.
There was a flash of light, which made Ron forget momentarily about the game; he was lightly blinded for a second. When his sight cleared, he saw from the corner of his eye a student scurry away and out of the portrait hole. He shook his head, banishing the thought away, and resumed his attention back to Seamus.
"How much was it, Seamus? Three Sickles if I won the game? It's pay time! Anyone else wants another round?"
oooo
Neville was heading back from the library, feeling very tired. The weight of his bag over his shoulder was starting to rub sorely, he could feel it throbbing in a familiar way. He'd unknoted his red and orange tie, feeling rather warm from climbing the stairs. Readjusting his satchel, he continued his way. On the Sixth floor, he was raised by loud voices. Neville gave a last look towards his Quarters where he'd been heading for before turning off towards the building tension between some Fourth Years. He sighed. Sleep would have to wait, he thought.
He wasn't surprised to find A Gryffindor and a Slytherin exchanging swear words.
"Your mother was a..." The Slytherin, who Neville recognised as Gozuin Flint, stopped in mid-sentence, finally noticing Neville approaching, but more importantly, the golden badge that shone on his chest. "..a hamster.. and you mother smelled elderflower..." He was trying to back paddle now.
The Gryffindor's eyebrows shot up at this. "My mother was what?" her words trailed off as she finally caught sight of Neville who was now standing as stiff as a statue. "Yes, a hamster. Quite true." She nodded, trying to look completely honest, but failing terribly. She glanced at the Slytherin anxiously, only to see him as petrified.
"I was hoping to get to bed soon, and what do I find instead?" Neville asked. "A meaningless row between two Houses. Really, is this is necessary? Besides, you are both over curfew. You deserve detention, the both of you, and fifty points off both of your Houses. How is Professor Snape," he said eyeing the Slytherin "and Professor McGonagall," he continued looking at the Gryffindor, "going to take this?"
The two Fourth Years gulped. There was small flash from the top stairway.
Neville fingered his badge, trying to suppress a grin. He knew exactly what to do, a picture of Snape appearing in his mind. "Get back to your respective Common Rooms, both of you. I'll talk about this to Filch, see if he's willing to waste his time with you for an hour of detention. Understood? I'll see about points later."
They both nodded, and walked away in opposite directions, without meeting each other's eyes.
"Oh, and Flint," Neville spoke up before he had time to disappear. "A hamster?"
The Slytherin shrugged and left.
Neville looked up above him to the next moving stairs. Whoever had been there had disappeared, besides, he wasn't feeling like going after the rogue student. He would let Mrs Norris catch that one.
oooooo
Hermione was writing at her desk, the tip of her quill travelling smoothly across the parchment, her forehead wrinkled by concentration. She eyed her muggle multicoloured pen with desire. If only the teachers would let her write on paper, it would be so much easier. She resisted the urge to go and complain and brought her attention back to her essay after have dipped her quill in the black angular inkpot that rested next to her right hand.
Her hair had been quickly swept up in an untidy bun, so it wouldn't fall over her eyes and need to push it back behind her ears, or let it drip in the ink. A couple of hours had passed without her really realising time ticking away. The sky was now dark, and the only light that was left came from the fireplace Hermione had lit to keep warm, and the candle that floated over her head.
A tower of books stood on one side of her desk, the ones she'd received earlier that day from Flourish and Blott's.
Hermione sat back in her chair, turning her wrist slowly, trying to ease away the cramp that had crept up by writing for such a long time. The side of her little finger of her right hand was pink from the pressure her hand had exerted onto the parchment. She rubbed it slightly, deciding that maybe she should call it a night.
She eyed her work carefully. There was only a paragraph left, maybe she could finish it now so she wouldn't need to worry about it later. She found it was a good idea and did just that.
She hadn't heard the passageway open, or someone creep up into her study, too absorbed in what she was doing.
There was a sudden flash of light making her jump. Her quill went flying from her hand in surprise.
"Harry! What do you think you're doing!" she hissed after have regained her composure. She sat up from her chair to meet him.
Harry stood looking down at the wizard camera in his hands, gazing at the photo it had just produced, a small smile playing on his face. "You look..." he didn't how to put it. He watched the picture playing: Hermione rubbing her wrist and then going back to work, her mind completely set on it. Studious was the best word to describe her. The fire lit her face while the rest of the room was nearly plunged into darkness. The wood of the polished desk shined at a certain angle, leaving a long trace of white across the photo.
Hermione snatched it from his hand and scanned it quickly, analysing the details. A small 'Oh' escaped her lips. "That's quite good, you know," she told him, forgetting completely to be angry with him for have frightened her out of her wits. She turned back towards him, letting him take the picture back.
"You think so?" Harry asked, curious.
Hermione smiled.
She'd been frightened that Harry had actually been trying to avoid Ron and her ever since term began. She had recognised Denis's camera straight away, and felt rather proud that Harry was actually taking photos.
She gently took the camera away from his hands and took a couple of steps back, putting it up against her eye and aiming the lenses at Harry.
"You are out after curfew, Mr Potter. What can you say in your defence?" she asked, laughter on the edge her words. Harry went to answer, but before he could say a word, Hermione had pressed the button with her thumb with a small click, taking a shot at him. The picture quickly fell out of the camera. Harry came beside her to have a look.
His hair was as messy as usual, his green eyes shining in the firelight behind his glasses. His picture smiled slightly before his mouth opened as if he was about to say something.
"I have nothing to say in defence," Harry finally answered. "I'm truly guilty. But aren't you meant to be in bed? It's nearly midnight, young lady." He grinned, knowing that this would only serve to irritate her.
Hermione pushed him away playfully. "You sound like my dad! Give me that!" She shook Harry's hands away as he tried to take to the camera back. She was quickly shooting more photos of him as he tried to catch her.
"Hermione! I hate having my picture taken!" he complained as he followed her up the winding staircase up to her room, while photos flew out of the camera. This only fuelled her delight. She walked steadily backwards, taking more.
"It's only fair!" she told him. "You get to sneak in my study and scare me. I'm getting my revenge!" She retaliated with more shots before running up the rest of the stairs, laughing at the top of her lungs.
"That's not fair play," he shot back.
He found Hermione sitting on her bed smiling widely, bushy hair trying to escape her bun. "Now, who's feeling threatened?" she asked.
Harry came and sat next to her on her bed. She handed him the camera willingly, feeling a little guilty for have wasted most of the film. The small indicator on the side declared that there was only one picture left. Harry didn't seem worried about it. "I'll get Denis a new one," he told her.
Silence fell over the duo as they watched the discarded photographs on the floor, Harry's face staring up from every one of them with different expressions. He soon let himself fall backwards down on the mattress, while his legs still dangled over the side of the bed. Hermione watched him rest and finally decided to join him down on the bed.
Hermione was itching to ask him to tell her about Nepal, about how he decided it was the best. But she kept quite this time. It was still too early. She watched Harry turning the camera in his hands, his head bent over it. He looked up from it and back at Hermione.
"I've got an idea."
Hermione frowned. What was this about?
She kept still as Harry slowly slid his arm under her head, letting it rest on his arm. Her eyebrow arched, as if to ask him what he was playing at. She glanced around and soon noticed the nose of the camera pointing down at them, hanging from Harry's stretched arm. Her smile broadened. Another quick glance assured her that Harry looked quite... expectant, in a nice kind of way. His green eyes searched hers before his own lips curled into a smile. Hermione ignored how close they were, even though she could feel Harry's warm breath on her cheeks. If she had felt something more than pure companionship for Harry, she might have felt the urge to kiss him. But this was no the case, and so forth...
But Hermione did noticed something: Harry's eyes. They were different, Harry was different. He looked tired. The angles of his faces were painfully sharper, his skin maybe a little darker than the last time she had seen him. But the eyes: they had definitely changed. They told a story to which she felt alien to: pain. She blinked, tore her gaze away from him and back at the camera. There was a flash, and it was over. But Harry made no move to leave her side.
Instead he leant his head down against her shoulder, closing his eyes. "You smell like lemon-weed," he commented. Hermione didn't answer, deep in thought. Harry didn't know how those words affected her deep down.
"I've missed you," he finally confessed to Hermione.
And yes, Harry finally did feel something, something half way between satisfaction and joy. His worries seemed to ease a little.
"Would you like some tea?" Hermione suddenly proposed. She had whole collection of her own: The traditional Darjeeling, Earl Grey, Russian tea... and of course her favourite: a tea she had nicknamed Poet's Tea, a mixture of spice and orange. She would usually drink up to five cups when she worked hours in a row, keeping her awake and sharp when she needed. The smell would easily ease away any headache as well, like the one she had now from her earlier work.
Harry's eyes snapped open. Tea sounded good.
oooooo
It's slick surface gleamed in the light.
In the photo on the right, Ron was facing Seamus across the chessboard, a grin spread over his face. That evening he was wearing one of Molly's brown jumpers from Christmas, a whole under his arm visible as he lifted his hands, waving them naturally to accompany his silent speech. His hair was like a bright splash of red, impossible to miss at first glance. Seamus smiled, unusually sheepish, trying to decided which pawn he should move next. The Common Room around them was still full. Lavender was just beside Ron, hand on the back of his chair, looking more interested in Ron himself than the game, while Ginny had obviously picked up on the bit of flirting that was going on. Dean was trying to spirit Seamus to win, doing wide gestures towards the chessboard, then at Ron as if saying: "Do something! Anything!"
If you turn the page, you come face to face with Neville, his serious appearance dissolving into a mischievous smile that is rather rare in Neville's case. He seemed a little tired back then, his tie was unknoted and dangled at each side of his neck. Neville never really lost his round cheeks that held a charming pink tinge; when he smiled, large dimples would form. He shakes his head lightly before leaving the frame of the photo.
On the other side, Hermione was studying late at night. It was a typical photo of Hermione, really. She was surrounded by parchment and books: it was a world of it's own, organised in different hemispheres, only Hermione knew it's ways and was capable of mapping it correctly. To an exterior onlooker, it looked like a uniform sea, Hermione could distinguish the different islands. Potions Island was devised into different state/categories (meaning offensive, defensive, animal or vegetal based, arranged by the moon cycle they were meant to be brewed under… the list went on and on).
Behind you can find a picture of Harry and Hermione looking happy. Hermione's head rests on Harry's arms in a friendly manner. They look at each other meaningfully before turning their gaze back towards us. Hermione tilts her head gently towards Harry, feeling comfortable.
The photos are full of meaning, hints to future plot (if I ever get around to it). I invite you all to send a review with constructive criticism!
Oh, and find the quote from the Holly Grail you must!
