Author's Notes: I never, in all my years of existence (fourteen – quite a lot), expected to reach two-hundred reviews on this story (because I've been planning this out since I was born, of course). And yet here we are, a mere three reviews away from reaching that beautiful, beautiful point I like to call "The Happy Point". I know you all won't let me down.
Glad you all liked a little break from Hermione's POV last chapter to visit the fascinating world that is inside Harry's head. He was a fun little boy to write. But we've returned to Hermione know, and don't you dare complain, because no one wants Hermione to feel unloved. Especially Ron.
Lady of Ankoku: That is a very interesting and logical theory; thanks for sharing it with me! Unfortunately, Parvati does not make any live appearances in this story. But this only rejoices me; I am throwing you all so far off track. And that's a good thing.
JediPirateElfyDude: I'm afraid that I might be forced to ban you from reviewing if you don't stop being so damn perceptive. You're just going to give away my entire plot brewing up theories like that. But, thankfully, I am not to the point of banning you, so you are still able to review your heart out. =)
CrimsonEnchantress: Ahh, yet another speculation so, so far off track. You all delight me. Nice guessing, though. And I'd be glad to give you advice, I'm just not sure how… this all comes so naturally for me, I just write what comes to mind and it always turns out rather nicely. Hm. Well, if I think of any pointers for you, I will most definitely send you an e-mail.
Siriusly Disturbed: "M. Harry. Yay." Well said.
Yellow notepaper: You can become a Prefect in sixth year? Honestly? I know it came from JK herself, but how's that possible? If you're going to be one, you're chosen in your fifth year, and then you obviously finish your years at Hogwarts still being a Prefect, right? So how could they add in another Prefect in sixth year (when the choosing year is only the fifth)? Unless a Prefect got fired or something… haha, I would love to see Malfoy get fired… "We're letting you go, Malfoy, and are revoking your nice, lovely badge. Hand it over. Hand over the badge, Malfoy. Don't make us get physical." Yeah. Okay. Well, that's interesting, but explains a great deal of my confusion about your story. Now I am set on the idea of Malfoy getting fired…
Thoroughbredchickie: Personally, I love Desdemona, whether or not she is evil. And I'm not saying if she is or not.
Why the Rum is Gone: Of course Ron's idiocy is magnified a hundred times since the story is from Hermione's POV, but he is being a bit of a jerk. Guess I'm just a sucker for drama. I really must stop watching those daytime soaps…
And to everyone who commented back about Maroon 5… you rock. You freaking rock.
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE DISTRACTION
It took Hogwarts a full day to notice that The Boy Who Lived had suddenly disappeared from their midst. Hermione kept true to her promise and said not a word of Harry's mysterious departure to anyone, despite the countless times skeptical people had quizzed her mercilessly. She had all but stormed out of her fourth year Transfiguration class the second time she was hounded with questions from them; the rest of her classes were nearly as awful. The students, however, were only part of the problem. In the past, the staff room had proved to be a quiet sanctuary when Hermione was suffering from fits of irritation, but she could hardly pour herself a cup of coffee without saying, "I don't know where Harry's gone, now stop badgering me before I hex you into next week," several times to her fellow professors.
Honestly, she couldn't understand what all the hype was about. Surely professors from Hogwarts had taken quick leaves before, perhaps due to family tragedies or illnesses. It was certainly understandable. So why were Hogwarts and all its occupants so keen on such juicy gossip?
Because it's Harry Potter, Hermione had reminded herself.
Still, Hermione couldn't walk through the corridors without seeing animated students chattering loudly about Harry's absence. Even though she had a sneaking notion that McGonagall also knew of his whereabouts (particularly due to her suspicious obliviousness to the fact that Harry was indeed missing), Hermione herself remained the only one in Hogwarts who accurately knew the true story. Unimaginable rumors and theories were flying faster than Snitches around the school, and somehow the stories managed to filter into her own classroom, much to her vexation.
"Did you hear? Harry Potter wandered into the Forbidden Forest the other night –" a Ravenclaw was telling a tight knit of fellow sixth years during Hermione's first class the morning after Harry's disappearance.
"No, he was sleep-walking, you idiot!"
"Sorry – yeah, well, he stumbled across a nest of graphorns and –"
"Graphorns don't live in the Forest, the giants only use those things!"
"Will you shut up? Anyway, he walked right into a nest of graphorns and, well, you can guess the rest…"
Hermione had been so irked that she promptly drew fifteen points away from Ravenclaw, despite a tumultuous wave of groaning from the House, scolding the student in question for passing around such untruthful tales about a person who would never be so stupid as to 'sleep-walk' into the Forbidden Forest. Needless to say, the sixth years were unnaturally subdued the rest of the lesson.
Other ridiculous theories Hermione was forced to endure included Harry jumping out his window and running away to an island out at sea, Harry being held captive by the merpeople at the bottom of the Hogwarts lake (Hermione actually caught a group of second year girls staring worriedly into the depths of the water on their way to a Herbology lesson), Harry being abducted by a half-alien half-hippogriff mob, and the ever-popular Harry leaving to pursue a clan of Irish vampires fanatical about sucking the blood from kelpies. Hermione had trouble deciding which theory was closest to the truth.
When she wasn't busy telling gossiping students off for being disruptive, she was mulling over the nature of Harry's strange exit herself. She couldn't help but be worried, of course. Harry had been extremely vague as to where he was going and what was happening, which was exasperatingly unhelpful. He had guaranteed her that it was nothing to fret over, but she knew better than to let his mask of exuberance assure her. Something was wrong indeed, and Hermione was positive of it, whether Harry would tell her the truth or not.
But what is it? Hermione pondered incessantly. She could only hope the Ministry wasn't just calling Harry back for a nice little chat about why they hadn't been informed in detail of the continuous happenings at Hogwarts. But something told her this was not the case, and Harry had been summoned for a reason much less trivial. Could it somehow, possibly involve Dark wizards? Death Eaters? Hermione quickly brushed the thought away, not willing to believe it, and a distant, convincing voice inside her own head reassured her that if something of the sort was occurring, it would've been all over the papers.
She also feared he would never return; he seemed awfully confident that he would come back to Hogwarts in only a few days' time. But Harry was an Auror, and an Auror's work was as unpredictable as the future. He could ultimately be away for weeks, or months, or even – Hermione couldn't think that far, it was too painful. Then, naturally, there was the risk of the job, the chance that Harry would never return at all and would instead turn up dead in some swamp on the other side of the world –
"Professor Granger?" asked the timid voice of a second-year student, shocking Hermione back to reality. She suddenly took in her surroundings and remembered it was the second day after Harry's baffling disappearance, and she was standing at the front of her Transfiguration classroom with her wand pointed at a gray teacup on her desk.
"Erm, Professor, you've been – you've been pointing your wand at that teacup for five minutes. Aren't you going to transfigure it?"
Hermione drew in a shuddering breath and straightened, regaining her composure. The class was gazing at her concernedly, and unable to picture herself staring glossy-eyed at the ceiling for several minutes while she was supposed to be teaching her students basic Transfiguration, she brushed the tea cup into a drawer hastily. "I think we'll leave the lesson here for today. You may talk amongst yourselves until… until the bell rings. That is all."
Silently scolding herself for getting lost in the depths of her own thoughts during quite an important lesson, Hermione gathered her folders and books as the bell rang and her last class of the day quickly darted from the room, shooting worried looks at their professor before they fled out the door.
The halls were alive with delight at the end of another school day. Hermione passed through them swiftly, dodging students keen on racing their mates to the Great Hall for dinner. Her stomach was a bottomless pit of nothing and her throat felt as if it had swelled to five times its normal size – how was Hermione going to shove any food down like that? Quickly coming to the decision to skip dinner, she averted her path and made her way up to the staff room which, for once, would be peacefully vacant.
Slowly, the tranquility of Hermione's refuge began ebbing away as the Hogwarts professors reappeared in the staff room, some merry and thankful they wouldn't have to see their wretched students for another good fifteen hours, and some gloomy and morose at the thought of spending half the night grading homework. Hermione's thoughts had once again been on Harry – this time, she had forcefully been reminding herself that Harry should have reappeared by now – but she quickly pushed them to the back of her mind and drew a thick wad of parchment from her bag, ready to busy herself in her own grading to keep the thoughts from returning.
No sooner had Hermione lowered her quill to mark the first paper did someone take the empty seat across from her. She had her wand stored inside her robes and was willing to curse her visitor if they began throwing Harry-related questions her way, but instead a calming, female voice, one Hermione was very grateful to hear, spoke.
"Are you okay?"
She looked up to see an anxious Ginny staring at her intently. She sighed but did not lower her quill, responding with, "Yes, I'm fine," while continuing to mark out the careless mistakes on the essay. Ginny, however, did not relent.
"You are not," she snapped uncharacteristically. "Don't lie to me, Hermione. I know when you're brooding over something. And it's Harry, isn't it? You're worried about him."
Hermione clenched her teeth; Ginny was sometimes too smart for her own good, a Weasley trait she had grown accustomed to. There was no use disguising her morbid thoughts to her friend. Oftentimes, she wondered if Ginny could read her mind.
"Yes, you're right," she said with a sigh, setting her quill down slowly and forcing her eyes to meet Ginny's.
"Is it Harry?"
Hermione nodded. "And the incredibly ludicrous rumors going around – have you heard the one about Harry being mauled by Acromantulas? I'm at my wit's end trying to put a stop to them all; they're really starting to get to me, really –"
"I'm sure Harry's fine," Ginny said softly, quieting Hermione and cutting off her ranting. "He would never lie to hurt you – you do know that, right? And he's a great Auror, one of the best. He isn't stupid enough to get himself killed. He knows he needs to come back to Hogwarts."
Hermione smiled. It was times like these that Ginny felt like a sister to her, and she couldn't even begin to voice how appreciative she was. It was amazing how a few simple words could lift her heart and take a burden off her shoulders. Ginny was right, after all; Harry was a grown man who could take care of himself. And besides, he had gone so many years already without getting killed, right? So what was one more mission?
And before she knew it, she and Ginny were off discussing their holiday plans – both of them had decided on staying at the school, Hermione's excuse being that she was needed to keep an eye on the remaining students, and Ginny saying that she had a mountain of papers to plow through. Hermione was wiser than to take Ginny's excuse truthfully; she knew her friend was staying to comfort her, and the gratitude in her chest swelled to a maximum.
Some time later, when the sun had set behind the trees in the distance and the fresh moon was casting a pale blue light through the staff room windows, Ginny departed for the night and disappeared up to bed. Hermione remained behind with a majority of the other professors, all of whom were scribbling away frantically in an attempt to finish some final grading before the end of the term. The Transfiguration teacher was among these procrastinators, absently reading through essay after essay, lowering her quill every now and then to mark out a misspelling or an inaccurate fact. Her eyes began to droop and she found herself yawning continuously; she strongly desired a nice cup of coffee, but feared all the caffeine she had been consuming would soon begin to take its toll on her…
"Hey, Granger," said a voice in her ear, startling Hermione and causing her to spill ink over her current essay. With an irritated growl, she quickly cleaned up the parchment with a simple spell, turning to face the owner of the voice.
Braedon Keleher, the flying professor, was sauntering around Hermione's table, his face contorted into a smirk. Hermione fought the impulse to roll her eyes; she had met Braedon one morning at breakfast following the Quidditch incident (after he had recovered from his mysterious illness) and immediately took to disliking the man. Young, good-looking, and athletic, he was the kind of person always desired for in those Muggle movies Hermione's mum used to watch – but in the end, he would always turn out to be a horrible creep. Braedon Keleher had the thought pounded into his head that he could win anything and anyone with that awful, charming smirk of his (or what he thought was charming). Everyone else, of course, knew better.
"What do you want, Braedon?" Hermione asked reluctantly. The Quidditch enthusiast's grin widened even more as he leaned against the table, pushing Hermione's stack of books aside to make room for his elbows.
"Holidays are coming up, you know," he said smoothly. "The students will all be gone… the castle will be empty… what do you say to a drink in the Three Broomsticks Christmas afternoon, on me?"
"I'm dreadfully sorry," Hermione replied, marking out half the essay with furious hand movements while keeping her voice sickly sweet. "But I believe I would rather spend Christmas in the company of a particularly hideous troll."
Desdemona, who was sitting in the corner, let out a conspicuous snort.
Braedon appeared completely unfazed and edged slightly closer to Hermione. She could smell the repulsive cologne on his neck and attempted to choke down a gag.
"Oh, come now, Hermione," he murmured, plucking the quill from Hermione's hand and tossing it across the table. "What better way to spend such a jolly holiday than with me? A stroll through Hogsmeade, just the two of us, no brats around to spoil our fun…"
"Those brats are expecting graded essays tomorrow," Hermione said flatly. "Kindly give me back my quill."
"You work much too hard," Braedon said quietly, having no intention on handing back Hermione's quill. "Such a shame, really. Someone needs to teach you how to lighten up a bit, and I think I'm just the person you've been looking for. Lucky you."
It was Hermione's turn to snort; she could hardly believe the words coming out of this desperate, foolish man's mouth. Nearby professors were completely neglecting their work, inclining their heads towards Hermione's table to catch the conversation. Hermione couldn't suppress a grin; as insolent as it was, she got an odd satisfaction from seeing Braedon Keleher publicly humiliated by a woman.
"Yes, lucky me," she muttered sardonically. Either Braedon was extremely sly or extremely thick, Hermione didn't know, but he beamed nonetheless and clapped his hands together gleefully.
"So that settles it, then?" he asked, edging ever closer, a grin plastered across his flawless face. "We're on for a little date Christmas afternoon? Now, tell me –" To Hermione's utter horror, he reached out a hand towards her hair. "Was it my exceptional good looks that won you over, or my persuasive fluency?"
"No, it was your stupidity, you moron," interjected an angry voice.
Hermione and Braedon both jerked their heads around, Braedon looking crestfallen at being interrupted so rudely. Ron had suddenly appeared behind Hermione, his arms laden with books and papers and his eyes narrowed fiercely in Braedon's direction, who jumped up, backing away from the table. Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest; Ron, whether intentional or accidentally, had just come to her rescue, saving her from spending a dreadful Christmas day with an even more dreadful person.
Wait a moment, piped up a diminutive voice in the back of Hermione's head. Ron?
"Ex – excuse me – I don't believe I heard you correctly," Braedon said smoothly, quickly disguising his shocked countenance with one of obliviousness.
"Yeah, you did," Ron replied, shoving Braedon towards the staircases leading to the dorms. "And so did the rest of the room. Now get out of here and don't you ever harass anybody like that again." Like a puppy with his tail between his legs, Braedon skidded across the room and flew up the stairs.
"And the date's off!" Ron roared after him, only to be answered by the distant yet perceivable slam of a door. He turned back to the silent and still staff room, all of the professors having totally disregarded their work by now. There wasn't a single pair of eyes not watching him and Hermione.
"What are you all looking at? Your papers aren't going to grade themselves!"
With much grumbling and shuffling of parchment, the professors returned to their own work, casting curious glances at Ron every so often. Some even looked rather frightened. Hermione glanced to her right and found Desdemona grinning broadly back at her.
Ron threw the bundle in his arms onto the table and seated himself in Ginny's vacant chair across from Hermione, who was absolutely at a loss for words. Ron's ears were a bit pink but otherwise he paid Hermione no attention, mumbling to himself about complete idiots taking advantage of women.
"Erm – thanks," were the only words Hermione could force out of her mouth. She was too flabbergasted by Ron's sudden change of character to form a sensible sentence but felt the need to thank him all the same.
"Yeah, that bloke's a prat," Ron grumbled. "McGonagall must've had a bit too much sherry when she hired him."
Nothing was making sense to Hermione anymore; first Harry disappeared from Hogwarts on a vague mission he wouldn't speak of, then Braedon Keleher had disgustingly asked her on a date, and now Ron was defending her and speaking to her as if they were two old acquaintances, not two people that both shared a very deep hatred of the other. Was there a possibility that she was dreaming? The real world would have to make more sense than the world she currently found herself in.
For a moment, all seemed right; she was sitting casually at a table with Ron as if the past six years had never occurred. Alarms were screaming in her head that this was not right, this was not logical, but Hermione didn't care. All she wanted was to live in the moment. But then –
"You must have some idea where Harry's gone to," Ron remarked airily as if he didn't care one way or another, but the look on his face clearly stated that he did.
Hermione snapped. She groped around for a very heavy object and clenched her hands around a rather thick Transfiguration volume – not a moment later, she had chucked the book through the air and at Ron's head.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?"
The book came in contact perfectly with Ron's head, sending him toppling backwards off his chair and to the floor. After several thuds and a strangled yell, the entire staff room had turned averted their attention to the scene that had interrupted their flawlessly serene environment. Sprawled out on the ground, Ron massaged the top of his head on which, to Hermione's satisfaction, had grown quite a large bump. He stared up at her wildly before blurting angrily, "What was that for?"
"You tell off Braedon for – for hitting on me, and you call him a prat, but you're the prat, Ron!" Hermione screeched, now standing. More alarms were ringing in her head, alarms warning her that nearly the entire Hogwarts staff was present and watching their new, cool, collected colleague lose her head. Alarms warning her that she was once again sacrificing the self-control she had worked so hard for just so she could have a few moments' pleasure from getting the better of Ron. But Hermione completely and whole-heartedly ignored the stupid, annoying alarms and shut them off for good, glowering furiously at the grown man lying at her feet. She had wanted to do this for quite a long time, and here was the perfect opportunity.
"What the – so you throw a book at me?" Ron asked incredulously, beginning to laugh and pushing himself up to stare Hermione down. If Hermione had another weighty object in hand, she would have chucked that at him too for taking it all as a joke. But she didn't want to waste too many of her valuable possessions on her intent to crack Ron's skull.
"I thought you were doing me a favor," Hermione began shakily, keeping her boiling anger beneath her skin until she saw fit to release it. "I thought you were being a gentleman telling Braedon off for me. Yes, I knew it was a bit odd, but perhaps you had turned over a new leaf and realized what a complete idiot you'd been acting like. But no," she said, her voice rising to a shriek. "You were – were softening me up so you could ask about Harry, like every other bloody person in this school! What do you take me for, Ron?"
A contemplative look passed over Ron's face for a moment before he responded, "You really don't want me to answer that."
"My, my, look at the time!" Desdemona suddenly exclaimed loudly, glancing down at the invisible watch on her wrist. She gave each professor a significant look with wide, round eyes, before continuing on, "I do think we should all head up to bed. If I fall asleep in the middle of a lesson one more time and wake up to find my class taking turns jinxing me, I think I shall have to murder someone. Night," she called cheerfully to Ron and Hermione, rising from her chair and exiting the staff room. To Hermione's astonishment, the rest of the staff followed suit, hastily stuffing books and papers into their arms and fumbling over their feet for the staircases. A very short two minutes later, the once filled room was completely devoid of human life, save for the two adults standing near the fireplace, staring towards the dorms incredulously.
Ron found his voice before Hermione and, with a hint of anger still lingering in his tone, grumbled, "I know Harry's told you something, and I have a right to know, too. So out with it – where is he?"
Hermione clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides, mentally counting to ten in her head and taking deep, agonizing breaths. She calmly sat herself down at her table and, pulling her discarded quill towards her, began grading papers again without actually taking in what she was reading.
"I haven't a clue what you're talking about."
With a yell of frustration, Ron kicked a leg of Hermione's table, jerking Hermione's quill to make a long, bold slash across the parchment she was poring over. She pretended to pay no notice to the mark and grabbed another essay, furiously reading line after line, determined not to look up and meet Ron's eyes.
"Where's Harry gone?" Ron demanded, rounding Hermione's chair and leaning on the table as Braedon had, only in a much less flirtatious fashion. "Does he have a lead on something? Did the Ministry call him? Has he done something stupid? Where is he?"
"I just told you," remarked Hermione coolly, crossing out another misspelling. "I don't know where Harry is. Perhaps if you decided to grow ears, you would've heard me the first time."
"Don't play games with me, Hermione," Ron growled, gritting his teeth together. "Stop thinking you're better than the rest of us because you know something we don't. It isn't being noble, it's being pig-headed."
"I am not pig-headed."
"Only a pig-headed person would say that."
Hermione snapped the quill she was holding shakily in two rather forcefully. With a jolt of surprise, she stared at it for a moment as if expecting it to repair itself, but then tossed it across the table and drew out a second one from her bag. She pulled another roll of parchment towards her, ignoring Ron's previous comment.
"What do you want from me, Ron?" she asked quietly but purposefully.
"Eh?"
"I don't have a problem with you being here," she continued in a very firm manner, "what with our… history, and all. Even though, in light of the current circumstances, we are being forced against our will to work together, I am not going to be the last to admit I would rather keep a distance between us."
"What are you getting at?" Ron asked skeptically. He still hadn't budged from leaning on the table in what he thought was an intimidating position.
"Unlike you, I have a job to fulfill at Hogwarts," said Hermione. She was still scribbling feverishly on the parchment – of course, the grading could have very well waited until the following evening, but it proved to be a rather nice distraction from meeting Ron's eyes. "Not only is McGonagall expecting me to aid you and Harry, she is expecting me to teach the students like any other professor would, with no distractions. Their academic careers are in my hands, and I would hate to feel responsible for their failure in the future. Some people, however, are too idiotic to think of anybody except themselves –"
"What the hell are you talking about?" said Ron, gazing at Hermione as if he had finally decided she was barking mad.
"You are being a distraction to me. You show up in the middle of my lessons, leaning against my door, snickering at the way I teach my students and offering to share your very fascinating adventure stories. You glare at me in the halls, whisper to Harry behind my back – who, in case you haven't noticed, Ron, is once again speaking to me, so you can stop trying to recruit him back to your side – and you never pass up an opportunity to make some sort of snide remark."
Hermione detached her eyes from the less-than-interesting essay and chanced a glance at Ron. With a pang of satisfaction, she found him looking slightly guilty and abashed, but the overruling emotion was still, quite visibly, anger. He obviously had no idea where her calm, serene lecture had come from, and where it was headed.
"So unless there is something you would like to say to me," she concluded, beginning to gather her papers and stuff them unceremoniously into her bag, "then I suggest you tell me now, because I have nothing more to say to you, Ron."
With a tug of her bag, Hermione pushed back her chair and stood to face Ron, who was still leaning against the table half-heartedly. He pursed his lips, as if he was actually about to say something, but instead gave her a good, strong glare, and marched across the room growling. He flung open the door to the staff room and disappeared into the darkness of the outside corridor. And suddenly, Hermione was left all alone feeling very emotional and – though she wouldn't admit it to herself – very disconsolate.
Her conscience felt considerably lighter, as if a great load of bricks had been lifted off her chest. She had finally spilled to Ron what she had wanted to say to him since he arrived at Hogwarts (well, most of it – the important parts, at any rate). Her cheeks were glowing with pleasure and she carried herself with satisfied poise, but yet why did she feel so empty and melancholy inside?
An hour later, when Hermione was still lying awake in her four-poster contemplating a wide variety of feelings, there was a sudden, unwavering knock on her door. Feeling groggy and baffled, she pulled herself out of her bed, stowing her wand in her pocket just for good measure. One could never take too many precautions.
She threw open the door and, as her eyes began to focus in the darkness of the corridor, she took notice of a tall, resolute figure standing in the shadows two feet from her threshold. Then a deep voice quivering in apprehension spoke out, "I need to tell you something."
It was Harry.
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Author's Notes: Yeah, how's that for a nice, healthy cliffie?