Appearances Can Be Deceiving

Chapter 11: Discoveries

DISCLAIMER: i don't own it. think that's simple enough to understand. so don't sue me!

The sun hadn't even appeared above the horizon when a weary Hermione stood at one of the owlery windows, watching the shadowy form of the owl she'd just sent flying away into the darkness.

She was still shaken from her dream. It was so vivid. Harry's screams still played over and over in her head. She could almost feel the branches tugging at her hair; smell the air, scented like pine cones and flowers, mingled with the sweet metallic taste of blood borne on the wind. The blood. She could still see it, behind her eyes. Cherry red.

The trees of the Forbidden Forest mocked her. Was it there? Was it the Forbidden Forest she'd ran through, fleeing from the laughter?

Was it there that Malfoy was going to kill Harry?

She hugged her arms tight to herself as she turned her back on the sunrise now filtering through the windows and made her way slowly back down to the common room.

What worried her almost as much as the dream itself was her thoughts on it. She was thinking about it as though what had been depicted was actually going to happen. As though it wasn't just a dream but some sort of premonition.

She shook her head, hoping to shake the thoughts away with the movement. That was impossible. She didn't believe in Seeing. As she'd demonstrated by walking out of Divination.

Even Trelawney had said that Hermione would never be any good at Divination. She hadn't put it quite that bluntly, but that was what she meant.

So why had Hermione just sent a letter to her parents asking about her ancestry?

Before she knew it she was standing outside the common room, the fat lady looking at her expectantly.

"Well?" She trilled impatiently, "Do you want in or not? I've been invited to breakfast with the dashing Sir Cadogan and if you don't hurry up and give me the password you'll make me late!"

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, turning from the disgruntled portrait and wandering off back down the corridor. She couldn't face anyone right now. Not with this uncertainty hanging over her.

Instead she headed for her sanctuary.

The library.

Which was where Ron found her, seven hours later, bent over a book on wizarding genealogy, and why some people are muggles, some are wizards, and some are squibs.

"Alright Hermione," he said simply, dropping into the seat beside her, "spill it."

"Spill what?" She murmured, lifting her head so he could see more clearly the shadows beneath her eyes and the tightness in her face.

"Come on, don't play dumb, that's my role in this friendship, you're the genius, remember?" This earned him a small smile. "You missed breakfast and lunch. How long have you actually been in here?"

"Erm," she checked her watch absently, "about six or seven hours," returning her eyes to the book she still held, she hoped he would give up and go away.

"Hermione, even for you that is excessive. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

She was touched. Not only had Ron noticed there was something wrong with her he'd actually come to find her, even if it meant (shock horror!) talking about feelings.

But how could she tell him that every time she closed her eyes she saw Harry gasp his last breath, while her heart filled to breaking point with guilt as the knowledge that it was all her fault coursed through her veins?

"Nothing's going on. I've just finished my homework and now I'm doing a bit of reading."

His concerned eyes bored into her, "Hermione, you've lost weight, you look like you haven't slept in days, and now you're avoiding everyone. I know I haven't been back long enough to piss you off that much. Yet." Despite herself she felt a small smile tug at her lips, "so there must be something going on. Is it the nightmares?"

She sighed. It was obvious she wasn't going to get any reading done, Ron had never been one to take a hint. She hadn't told Ron and Ginny the entire contents of her dreams, just that she'd been having horrible nightmares about Harry and Malfoy.

He read her face. "It is the dreams, isn't it?"

She nodded mutely and placed the book down on the table before her.

"What's so bad about them? They're just dreams, right? They're nothing like what Harry and Voldermort had? Dreams can't hurt you, Hermione." This was all uttered in the softest, most caring tone that Hermione had ever heard Ron use.

It took her two tries to get her own words out past the lump of unshed tears in her throat.

"I killed Harry." She whispered.

"I'm assuming you mean in your dream, because Harry's fine, I just left him stuffing his face in the great hall," he smiled down at her. "Why have these dreams got you so worked up, Herm?"

"I don't know. They're just so vivid and strong. I keep thinking about them. I can't get them out of my head. Especially after what Harry said…" her voice trailed off.

"Harry said something?"

"At least, I think it was Harry, it might have been Malfoy. I'm just so confused!" She buried her head in her hands.

"How can you get confused between Harry and Malfoy?" Ron was confused but Hermione had already lifted her head and moved on.

"Ron, what do you know about Seers?"

"Seers? Not a lot, really. Just that they're really rare and all weird and fluffy in the head and stuff."

"You're basing that on Trelawney aren't you?" She said with a smile.

"Yeah." The tips of his ears turned red, "well, I don't know anything about seers, do I? Why? Do you think there's something more to your dreams?"

"Well, in this book it says that the power to See can sometimes manifest itself in – supposedly – muggle born witches and wizards when there has been a Seer somewhere in their ancestry. It's really rare for this to happen though because all of the Seers children must have been squibs, and for at least seven generations of squibs from the Seer, so even though they think they're muggle born, they're actually not."

Ron was lost but Hermione seemed to be getting into her stride and he didn't want to interrupt her.

"Because of this, the first witch or wizard born after this seventh generation can have some powers of divination. But they'll be quite weak, and it occurs only when the witch or wizard is in danger, and comes to them as dreams."

"So," Ron's face was screwed up as he tried to concentrate, he normally tuned out when Hermione started sounding like a textbook, "what you're saying is that some people who think they are muggle born witches or wizards aren't actually muggle born, they're the kids of squibs and they can have prophetic dreams?" He was getting a headache.

"Basically, yes," Hermione was so wrapped up in her theory she didn't hear Ron mutter beside her "why would anyone want to write a book about this crap?"

"And if that applies to me then the dreams I'm having are prophetic." She looked triumphant for a second, having figured out what was going on in her head. Her face soon fell, however, "which means that Malfoy is going to kill Harry." Her voice lowered to almost a whisper as she talked to herself, "but why am I dreaming about Harry being killed when the fact that I'm having the dreams means that I'm the one in danger?"

"But if you are a weakened Seer, couldn't that mean it wasn't a definite prophecy?" Ron hurried to try to make her feel better, "I mean, couldn't you change what was going to happen? It could just be a possibility and not a sure thing."

She picked up a nearby book entitled "Why Seers See." and began feverishly turning the pages, "I hope you're right."

She suddenly looked back up at him. "But what about Malfoy turning into Harry?"

"Trust me on this one, Hermione, Harry is Harry. I've just spent the whole morning with him, it's definitely our guy, still a bit moody and – apart from yesterday's fluke – he still sucks at chess."

"Yeah, you're probably right," she smiled, although Ginny's words ran unbidden through her mind, "He's Ron, isn't he? Not exactly the brightest crayon in the box."

As she looked into his deep blue eyes though, she saw so much concern for her that she couldn't stop herself from leaning over and pressing her lips softly against his.

He froze for a moment before pulling himself away from her, "Hermione…I can't do that to Harry."

Her eyes filled up with tears as she whispered "I'm sorry," and ran out of the library.

Ron watched her go, a pained look on his face. If only she'd known how much he'd wanted that to happen for the past seven years. And when it finally did she was an emotional wreck and she was dating his best friend.

Mum should have just let Great Aunt Bella curse us. It would have made things so much easier.

She didn't know how he'd done it, but Harry had managed to ensure that they had the boy's room to themselves that night.

The guilt she felt about kissing Ron burned through her, and it didn't really help that every time she looked at Harry she was filled with a wave of sadness.

She forgot everything, though, when he kissed her. She lost herself in his embrace, and felt safe and secure as he held her hand in his and led her to the bed.

He lay in the bed and watched her breathing.

God, I wish this was all over! She's hot and everything, pretty good in the sack, but she's such a weed! I can't wait till she's made the potion. Then I can just kill her and Potter and have some fun with Toni. Now she is what a girl should be like in bed. In fact…

He leaned over the side of the bed and reached to rifle through the pile of discarded clothes for the Marauders Map, intent on seeing where Toni was right now so he could have some fun.

It wasn't there.

Ginny couldn't sleep.

A book. That's what I need. A nice big, boring book. Where did Hermione leave Hogwarts: A History?

She wandered down to the common room. The book was nowhere to be seen. She did, however, notice an old bit of parchment lying at the foot of the stairs leading up to the boy's rooms.

She recognised the Marauders Map immediately. Harry loved that thing, why was it just lying about on the floor?

Picking it up, she took it over to one of the desks in the large room and turned to continue her search for a book.

Until movement on the parchment stopped her. Harry hadn't wiped it. She reached back for it to utter the words "Mischief Managed" when she noticed that the movement she'd caught out of the corner of her eye was a dot labelled Draco Malfoy.

And the dot was making its way to the Gryffindor common room from the boy's dormitory.

A sound behind her made her gasp and whirl round, panic on her face, the map still clutched in her hand.

"What's wrong, Weaslette?"