Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom
Harry Potter rolled over into a left turn and pulled the broom around hard. Heart pumping, he snapped out into level flight, feeling it flex slightly below him. He was headed out towards the lake on the third night of the term, enjoying his broom, enjoying the feeling of being home at Hogwarts again. Crouching low over the handle, he skimmed over the moonlit water, feeling the wind in his hair and the tight excitement that came from flying like this. To think that some people we scared of this! He banked hard and headed towards the Forest, still flying low, thinking of the Quidditch season to come, thinking how good it would feel to finally chase a snitch again after two months of holiday. He flew higher, skirting the forest on his right, following its curve back towards Hagrid's hut. Suddenly he heard a leathery flapping of wings dead ahead and saw a Thestral rise above the treetops, mist billowing from its nostrils as it fought for height. Harry winced at the thought of crashing into it unseen as he might have done in earlier days – and then realised that he'd rather, much rather have Cedric back or … Sirius. The thought hit him like a brick to the head as he swerved to avoid it. He still couldn't quite believe it. The past three years had been a whirlwind as he had discovered his Godfather, had found part of his family, almost, if you counted Lupin too… and then lost him so very suddenly down in the bowels of the Ministry with no chance to even say goodbye…
His thoughts were wandering, which is why he never saw the branch. It was quite a thin branch, but it still knocked him out of trim. He was badly winded, he was heading for the ground… he wrenched the broom up and around and impacted ten yards out of the forest, rolling and bouncing over and over into the blackness looming in his mind, letting it swallow him.
He awoke to two faces looking anxiously down upon him through the haze. His head hurt, as did his shoulder. He momentarily forgot about them as pain flashed through him.
"It looks like he's finally waking up. Do you think he'll be all right, Professor?"
"We shall see. Give him time, Miss Granger; he's had a bad crash."
"I've never seen anything like it, sir. I thought he was…gone."
"It seems as though our Mr Potter is more resilient than most. And now I must be gone before Madam Pomfrey has cause to remind me once again that she permits only one visitor at a time."
With that, the man in the sky-blue cloak walked out of the room, leaving a worried-looking, bushy-haired girl behind him.
"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"
"Ugh…. Hermione, what happened? And can I have my glasses?" Harry tried to sit up, and then found that his leg was in plaster. Plaster? Since when had Madam Pomfrey ever had to use plaster to patch people up?
"Hermione, where am I? Why's my leg in plaster?"
Hermione looked sad and upset.
"Harry, that was no ordinary fall. You must have hit the ground at over a hundred miles an hour, everyone thought that you'd gone into a coma! Madam Pomfrey did the best she could but your arm was a wreck and your leg was mangled. She had to let them heal properly, magic can heal broken bones but there were so many splinters that she wanted to send you to St. Mungo's until you recovered! I…we were so scared! You've been out for two whole days!
"Two days? What happened? I remember the Thestral…. and then, nothing…."
"We all saw it, Harry. You were flying past the common room when it happened. I brought a penseive, look."
Harry looked to his left and saw a stone bowl on the table next to him. It was filled with swirling grey mist. He closed his eyes and dipped his hand inside….
Everything went black, and then he was standing in the Gryffindor common room, looking out of the window. Ron was by his side, mouth agape. Hermione was next to Ron, eyes wide open, staring at something beyond the tree line. He followed their stares and saw himself coming out of the forest in an obviously out-of-control dive. High above, a branch was twanging back and forth – the connection was plain to see. Harry sucked in his breath as his younger self approached the ground fast. By the looks of it, he'd missed all the trees, and at least he was around to see it happen again. Harry saw himself hit the ground at an angle, his Firebolt bouncing away into the darkness as he skidded and rolled and tumbled across the ground straight into Hagrid's pumpkin patch. The crowd around him gasped, and Ron, Hermione and several others dashed out of the portrait hole, but not before Harry saw Hagrid bounding up the path towards the school, holding his unconscious body in his hands. He faded out of the memory and fell back into his bed.
"You see, Harry? We thought we'd find you…."
"Dead? Looks like I'd have taken some of Hagrid's pumpkins with me then". Harry looked tired and pale, and his attempt at gallows humour hadn't gone unnoticed. Hermione hadn't told him how worried she'd been. It wasn't necessary. It was written all over her voice.
"I must have given you all a fright", he stated.
Hermione bit back a sob.
"Oh, Harry, you have no idea! When Hagrid came pounding up to the Hospital Wing we were all there and so was Malfoy, he'd seen it all, he was being evil and saying things like you'd never fly again, and that you'd make a good quaffle, and then everyone just went for their wands and well…. Look over there" She smiled a wonky kind of smile as her eyes came to rest on a bowl of evil – smelling, oily-looking silver substance resting on a bed in the middle of the ward. Harry choked on his own air, trying not to laugh.
"You turned Malfoy into that? But… but…."
"Well, me and the rest of the common room. He was outnumbered about forty to one".
Harry grinned at her from his sheets, his limbs forgotten for the time being.
"I suppose everyone got detention? Even you, Miss Perfect?"
Hermione blushed and then smiled at him from her chair. "Actually, I don't think they ever worked out who did the most damage. So it was a blanket one hundred points from the entire house total and no free time for a week, although after your crash, no-one seems to be keen on flying any more. Ron's even caught a few Slytherins selling Thestral Detectors; he confiscated the lot of course".
"Crabbe and Goyle?"
"They've been up here every day to check on what's left of Malfoy, but it wasn't them. From what Madam Pomfrey tells me he'll take a while to reconstitute – although it happens often enough." She smiled the smile again. Harry felt much better – and, at the same time, weak.
"Um…"
"Harry, he got hit by about thirty different spells. His body broke down at the molecular level. His mind's still there, it's just that his body couldn't take it. The spell that they use takes time, so I reckon he'll be back in about two weeks."
"Pity, he looks good like that…. Although personally I didn't think that he could get any slimier" Harry looked up, barely registering the fact that he'd told his first joke in months. He saw Hermione standing there looking anxious again.
"Oh, let him rot, I thought you'd died and Ron and I were just standing there blank with terror. Get well soon, do you hear me? Ron says he'll be up later – he has potions".
Given the current state of Snape's favourite student, Harry thought it was the funniest thing in a long time. He laughed out loud. Hermione waved as she departed for Arithmancy. Harry felt like he was flying again.
It was two days later, and Harry's leg was itching like mad. According to Mme Pomfrey this was a good sign, although Harry couldn't walk yet. Frequent doses of Skele-gro potion had left him feeling weak again, but his bones were mending faster. His skin was starting to itch under the dressings – another good sign, but irritating nonetheless. He had started to catch up on some badly-overdue homework – it was, after all, his first year of NEWTs – and was just finishing his essay on Camouflage charms when Ron stepped into the room. Harry looked up from his work that had become spread all over his knees, delighted to see his friend.
"You took your time, mate! I suppose Snape didn't let you out?" Harry silently cursed Snape – when would he let up?
"You know what he's like, and it was luck that Hermione saw you first! We were taking shifts, you know… blast, just like her to be around when you come to. Anyway Snape went mad when we gloopified Malfoy, he was ranting on about expelling all of us, but as it was a Gryffindor thing, McGonagall dealt with it. Lucky for us, otherwise we'd all have ended up as his personal slaves or something." Ron looked glum. "Still, gated…ugh. We've had to miss our Quidditch practice thanks to her, that's bad enough already." Harry, who knew that McGonagall was as keen as the rest of them to retain the Quidditch cup, and who rarely let homework get in the way of their bi-weekly practices, could only wonder at the extent of her displeasure. He sighed.
"Madam Pomfrey says that I should be out of here in a week". He tapped his bandages, fervently wishing that he could rip them off. Ron looked puzzled.
"Is that how muggles do it then? Dad's got a load of stuff that he smuggled out of St. Mungo's from last year, all sort of junk, like bits of tubes and really small metal buttons with wires coming out of them and rolls and rolls of cloth. He says that sometimes even the Healers there have to use muggle remedies, remember when he tried to get that trainee to sow his skin back on or something? Something to do with disembowelling cats, I think". Ron shrugged. "Anyway that's good news, we'll have to get a move on now with the Quidditch, Ginny's already volunteered to be your backup in case anything nasty happens."
"What….?"
"Slytherin won't be too happy with what we've done to their darling little seeker, will they? And you can bet your life that when Malfoy gets his act together…" They both sniggered "…he's going to be even more pissed off than Snape. In fact, Hermione and I have put our heads together and come up with a little plan to keep you safe until you're on the pitch. Failing that….. I wonder how much more damage I could do without getting suspended? It'd keep him off his feet, but first match is four weeks away and he's due out in two…pity, I heard they put in Goyle's little brother as a replacement seeker". Ron cast a sad glance over to the basin and fingered his wand "It'd make life so easy….."
Harry choked on a chocolate frog from the huge pile of sweets beside his bed. "You'd better not let Hermione hear you say that!"
"Yeah…. Pity I'm a prefect…." Ron absent-mindedly buffed his badge with his sleeve.
"I can imagine….. "RONALD WEASLY….etc.etc.etc" I doubt if even McGonagall could make it worse" Harry grinned at the scared look on Ron's face.
"Blimey, Harry, you don't know the worst of it. Nobody will ever tell the teachers, but Hermione must have been so angry. You know she was there when Malfoy came out with all those things, right?
"Yeah, but the way she said it, everyone started chucking hexes about the moment he opened his mouth".
"That bit's true enough. What she didn't tell you is that she threw the first one. I wasn't far behind, but believe me, if you'd seen her face just then… she was scary, Harry, I've never seen anything like it, I thought she was going to use the Cruciatus curse or something."
"What did she use?"
"The Reductor curse. She blew his wand to matchwood, that's why he didn't have a chance to fight back. She was aiming for his throat at one point. I hit him with a Full Body Bind and after that he didn't have a chance. We left him oozing down the stairs." Ron grinned at the happy memory. Harry tried hard to imagine the scene, and then picked up his quill. "I suppose I'd better get on with this then", he said gloomily "It was due in yesterday but between Dark Arts and Transfiguration I haven't had a chance to actually finish it. What's the new teacher like anyway?" Ron's face lit up in a cheeky smile. "I think I'll let you find out for yourself". He looked at the clock on the wall and let out a gasp. "Harry, break's nearly over. Oh bloody hell, and it's Muggle studies next too! See you later!
Harry stared after his best friend, more questions buzzing in his mind. Hermione, magically attacking Malfoy? What was going on? True, she'd punched him in the face in their second year, but apart from that she'd almost never used force against him, preferring stone-cold stares and crossed arms to hexes and jinxes. He looked across the Penseive that Hermione had left behind. Presumably they were so swamped with work that their visits were confined to one every couple of days or so, which had left him alone with it for the moment. Had she been defending herself or Harry's name when she'd blasted Malfoy? What had actually happened? Why had she gone overboard in such a spectacular way? The answer, he was beginning to suspect, was the simple fact that she was changing and growing up, reacting to threats more forcefully. Ever since the Ministry incident in June she'd been more wary, more…yes, more maternal. Harry had almost missed the change, thinking simply that she'd reverted to her more bookish, bossy self for a while. It had taken him half of the summer to realise that she was actually looking out for all three of them, making sure that they didn't do anything too daft or dangerous, or indeed anything that exposed them too much. Harry had drawn the line at her insistence that he stop playing Quidditch outside The Burrow, leaving her worried and cross. Even Ron had seen it.
There was also a feline-ness about her that neither of them had really seen before. It was true that she'd filled out over the summer a little. Her legs had – suddenly, it seemed – had become more shapely under the fabric of her jeans and her robes now hid a definite bulge in the chest region. Harry himself was still the same slim, ruffle-haired boy that he'd always been, but both he and Ron were conscious of the fact that they had started to put on muscle. But it wasn't so much the physical changes that Harry had noticed. No, what he'd seen was a gradual change from girl to woman, in many different ways. She'd started looking after all of them, certainly, but he was almost sure that he was the object of most of her attention. He'd caught her at it often enough, but then he could be wrong…
Hermione toyed with her soup, not really engaging in the conversation around her. She was worried. Worried about her two best friends, certainly, but mostly worried about Harry. He'd come out of the ministry having duelled with Bellatrix Lestrange and having faced Voldemort in direct combat for the second time in as many years. He was hollow-eyed and listless for a few weeks after Sirius's death, and she'd made a real effort to talk to him. Gradually, he'd opened up about life at Privet Drive and the indignities he suffered there every summer. His uncle had seemed to let off for a few days this time, no doubt a direct result of having been warned directly by the Order. Their knowledge of Harry's home situation, however, hadn't helped. Harry had had to perform his tasks as usual, even if he was now allowed unfettered access to his magical items and supplies – a specific order from Alastor Moody. He was still treated like an object, and it was only his evacuation to The Burrow in the third week of the holidays that had saved him from an all-pervasive funk. Hermione could see something else, though. It was in his eyes, she thought, those lovely green eyes that had previously held hope and determination. It was the look of an animal that knew that it was being hunted, that was trying to prepare for an attack, but without any idea of the nature or size of it. It was fear, not for himself, but for the future. That was what she saw. She'd spend ages looking into his eyes while he was distracted elsewhere, trying to find a clue to what it was that he feared so much. It must have been something specific, not just the fact the Voldemort was now back and gathering power once more. That was a more general evil; she sought details and so far she'd drawn a blank.
By the time Harry crashed, she was no closer to an answer. But she had made up her mind about a number of things. Harry was, in some way, a marked man. That much had been obvious from the day he had received that scar, but now it was far more pronounced. He deserved to be protected by whatever means necessary from any harm. He needed something to take his mind off whatever it was that was the cause of such pain in those wonderful eyes. Hermione Granger looked up, and their gazes locked for an instant. They both froze, spoons halfway to their mouths. Harry's eyes had that exact look. Her eyes widened in shock at the recognition and the fact that she'd been caught staring, or so it would seem to Harry. Whatever happened, she couldn't get involved with him. It would cause far too many complications.
Harry eyed the Penseive, remembering the time he'd been caught in Snape's memories, and the time before that, at Barty Crouch's trial down in the bowels of the Ministry – a room that he'd seen with his own eyes the summer before. There was no doubt that the Penseive was a powerful tool, but if Hermione's memory of four nights ago wasn't in there, then using it would be a waste of time. He looked at the surface closely, watching the thoughts swirl round in a spiral, trying to pick out anything that looked like the hospital wing corridor, anything that would help him get his bearings and lead him to the fight.
It was then that he saw the lettering around the very rim of the bowl. They were gibberish, it seemed, but with a certain sense to them. Intrigued, Harry peered closer. They read:
Forthosew hos eekt het houghtsi nside,
Whof indw hato therst ryt ohide,
Bes uret oa rmy ourm entals elf,
Her ethought sar elaido uto nas helf,
Bewarey ourf eelingss tayy ourh eart,
Ih avec ausedl ivest of alla part,
Therea ren of actsn ora bsolutes,
Youk nowt hisi fy ous eekt het ruth,
Ia mn omer ethough tbow lsee,
Youc annoth idey ourt houghtsf romm e
Ise eth ememoriesi nside
Ise eth etrut hbehin dal llies
Soh eedt hisw arningb eaware,
Perparet ohav eal lthing slaidb are,
Buti fy ouw ouldp roceedb egin,
Ag entlet apw ill ety oui n.
In a flash, Harry saw what he had to do. He groped for his wand and tapped the letters very lightly. They started to glow blue, and the thought-stuff speeded up inside. He concentrated hard on Hermione, Malfoy and the fight. All of a sudden the letters shifted to a dark, foreboding red and the direction of spin reversed. The image settled on Hagrid pounding through a very familiar-looking door. Harry plunged his head into the bowl. A familiar falling sensation enveloped him, and he landed hard on the stone floor of the corridor outside just as a crowd of people in red and gold-trimmed robes rushed past.
She was at the front, hair flying, robes a mess as she dashed through the door. Ron was right behind her.
"Miss Granger, NO! You will leave right now! No visitors!" a sharp voice said. The door slammed shut with such force that the rest of the group jumped. Out in the corridor fragments of argument could be heard. The words "badly hurt" "best friend" and "right to know" filtered through, but after thirty seconds she stalked out, face streaked with tears and white with rage. Ron, holding onto her arm, looked ashen.
"Madam Pomfrey says no visitors at all, and no presents either!" she hissed between gritted teeth. "She won't say how bad it is."
Someone at the back said "How bad can it be? I mean… it's not as if she's ever… you know… failed…"
Hermione sniffed back more tears. "There's blood everywhere, and worse… I don't know, I just don't know." She buried her face in her hands and started to push through the throng when a cold voice laced with positive delight drawled:
"Well now, what have we here? It seems as though Potter's finally got what's coming to him."
"HERMIONE, NO!" yelled Ron as she surged forwards. He grabbed the back of her robes to restrain her. "We can't, we're supposed to show an example, we're prefects, remember?"
Malfoy looked delighted. "I'm glad you've come to your senses, Weasel. After all, you wouldn't want either of you to lose your precious badges, would you?"
"The same goes for you, you evil sod. Get lost." Hermione sounded dangerously close to losing control.
"Such words, mudblood. He'll never fly again, you know. Still, I suppose he'd make a good Quaffle, from what I hear he's half skinned already, the little fool…"
Ron let go of Hermione as he dashed forwards, but she beat him to it. Harry found himself standing halfway between his two best friends, who had both taken out their wands, and Malfoy, who was looking at them, apparently amused at the sight of them both. Time seemed to slow, and suddenly Harry heard Hermione's voice echo inside his head.
"No, you bastard, not this time. I won't let you get away with it this time, you've done enough damage already."
Harry jumped. Was this what the poem had been talking about? The ability to hear a person's stored thoughts?
Draco spoke again. "Going to attack me, Weasel, Mudblood? What good could that possibly do?
"It would stop you from hurting him again." Hermione said in a freezing, quiet voice.
"Oh, such concern for one's friends. How…touching. You must be in love, Mudblood. How sad, that he's never reciprocated."
"I resigned myself to that long ago, you shit. I don't care anymore. I'll still look after him, even if I have to face every foul thing along the way."
"After all, look at you…. Pffft."
"You'll never know, Malfoy. You'll never know how much he means to me. You'll never know how much I love him. I doubt that you even know the meaning of the word."
"How could he love an ugly bookworm like you?"
"I still love him, you evil, crawling thing."
"Lost for words, Granger? Hmm?"
"No." "REDUCO!" For Harry, everything went into slow motion.
He saw the spell erupt from her wand at the same time that he saw her face. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling slightly, looking peaceful.
"Harry, this is for you. I don't care about the rules anymore. Not if I can't protect you."
Malfoy never had a chance. He could only watch Hermione's spell smash into his wand and blow it into powder. Such was the force behind it that he was lifted off his feet, and he slammed into the stone balustrade behind him. All at once the crowd fanned out, wands pointed at him. Ron stepped forwards.
"Now we'll see how tough you really are."
"You've done enough damage here." His voice was ice. "Petrificus Totalus!" Malfoy froze, slumped against the balustrade, unable to move.
"Hermione, come with me. We have no place here. You others…" He turned to face the rest of the crowd. "Give him hell".
They walked off down the corridor as spell after spell hit the immobilised Malfoy, turning the area around him into a glowing, coruscating display. Harry was torn between watching his worst enemy get turned into sludge and finding out what would happen to his two best friends. He looked over his shoulder: already Madam Pomfrey was out of the door, with Hagrid close behind her. Minerva McGonagall stood a little way down the hall, face aghast, mouth working in horror at the sight before her eyes. It was savage. Malfoy had turned sliver and was starting to melt, streams of liquid flowing down the stairs to one side of him. She seemed to come to her senses and whipped out her wand.
"FINITE INCANTATEM!", she screamed above the noise of magic. Everything stopped. Everyone stood stock still. The only sound came from what was left of Malfoy's body. It was making a sort of plinking sound, like metal when it cools down from very high temperatures.
McGonagall walked towards the group with murder in her eyes. "What, exactly, is going on?"
Harry felt it was high time to leave. He felt a hand upon his shoulder.