By: Destiny's Darkness
Disclaimer: Much to my disappointment, none of my presents this year were the ownership rights to Harry Potter. I know, you all are just as disappointed as I am. Oh, well, there's always a possibility that I'll survive.
Author's Note: I do want to apologize to everyone for taking so long in updating. I had some real trouble working in most of my basic ideas for this chapter, none of which could fit somewhere else. Once I got everything in order and started writing, however, one of my good friends passed away, the day before her twentieth birthday. She looked after me when she was in high school and lived just down the street, so when she died so unexpectedly, it really messed me up for a little while. Soo….This chapter is dedicated with love to the memory of Rachael Outland, who to my knowledge never read any fanfiction, but who supported me in everything I ever attempted, including that stupid horizontal toss.
(There's an important author's note at the end, by the way, with another apology.)
Chapter 5Six o'clock in the morning. The time when most people, after a restful night's sleep, rise and begin preparing for a productive day at the office. Six o'clock in the morning. The time when the famous Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, woke from the forty-five minute snooze serving as all of his rest in the past two, sleepless nights. He flipped back onto his stomach, ignoring the fact he'd already twisted the once-clean sheets into irritating knots. It didn't help that after that first of shock and irritation, Hermione—no, Mya—decided to stay away from Lupin's house all day. Or maybe her friends kept her away from him, away from the heart-breaking bastard. He rolled to his side, cradling his head on his arm. Not that it mattered why she didn't come back; all that mattered was Hermione had disappeared with only the story provided by the two "robbers" from the club. And adding to his troubles, they'd found a message from Lupin, reminding them he planned on dropping by tomorrow afternoon for a quick visit. Bloody hell, this afternoon.
Despite moping around the house the entire day before and two restless nights dwelling on the concept, Harry still couldn't grasp the idea of people he didn't know surely hating him for breaking his best friend's heart, however unknowingly. And apparently some number of times. Was he really so completely oblivious that he failed to notice when his actions hurt Hermione?
He deepened his frown, twisting and jerking his torso until his feet hung from the side of the bed. Despite searching the deepest bowels of his memory, the black-haired boy couldn't recall any actions that explained what Kylie and Dani meant by breaking her heart "again".
Maybe when he refused to listen to her back in fifth year. Hermione told him to go to Dumbledore about those horrible visions, but he had felt abandoned and surly. He shook his head. Hermione wouldn't have taken that personally, would she? She understood so much of what he was going through. Or maybe in third year, when she and Ron were fighting, and he failed in comforting her, mostly for lack of trying. Had she…did she have feelings for him that long ago? Sighing, he flipped to look over the edge of his bed at the floor.
Or…did he betray her during that last battle with Voldermort? She'd consoled him about what had happened, but her feelings had certainly been bruised by it. After all, he'd watched Voldermort throw curse after curse at his unconscious best friend, until her brown hair crackled with her caked blood, but froze when his opportunity arose and Voldermort turned his back. His moral code, the same morals which kept him from accepting any of Voldermort's "generous" offers, also kept him from casting that final blow when the Dark Lord had his back to him. One curse, that's all it would have taken to finish him off, and this time he certainly had the hatred to make the spell effective. Voldermort had been walking to drive his sword into Hermione's heart. And Harry had just watched, frozen by the absolute terror he felt for her and the odd refusal to believe this could happen in anything but his nightmares. The wizarding world had Neville to thank for the death of the monster who single-handedly terrorized the lives of men, women, and children for years. While Harry sat quivering on the floor, in pain but relatively unhurt physically, Neville snuck up, barely able to walk with his leg shattered a so many points, staying securely out of sight until the very moment when he drove the ordinary, tarnished muggle knive in the base of Voldermort's skull. No denying the irony and poetic justice in that, Harry acknowledged. One of the most powerful wizards in history brought down by a muggle weapon used in a muggle move Dean taught Neville about years before, severing the spinal cord in a place not even magic could fix.
Having lived in the limelight for these past six-and-a-half years, however, Harry instantly understood why Neville refused to take the credit, insisting that Harry pretend to have delivered the killing strike. Neville had actually sworn everyone present to tell his story with Harry as the hero. Which also bothered Harry, since at the bar, Kylie said he "had a hand" in the death of Voldermort, and then refused to clarify when they met her for lunch the next day. Refused to say much of anything of importance, actually. But had Hermione told her? Told her the true story? It could have just been a figure of speech, but something about the way she said it…
The way she said it. Bells began going off in his head. Oh, shit. Hermione, that morning in the library. Oh, bugger it bloody all. What had she said? She'd been oddly quiet, sitting in a near-daze and sneaking glances in his direction. "I love you," that's what she said. And he'd replied with some nonsense about sisters and makeup. Damn it, why did he have to be such a bloody idiot? He'd been feeling guilty again about hust watching her be tortured, and since he couldn't get it off his mind, just assumed she'd been thinking on it as well. She could, after all, always tell exactly what he was currently obsessing over.
His alarm buzzed, both startling him and interrupting his scattered thoughts. He dropped his feet to the floor, jolting as they hit the icy surface of the hardwood, and listened to the swishing of his pants as he made his way to the door. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, he cracked it open to check for Ron's snores. Instead the noise came from the kitchen, doors opening and closing, water running. Ron must be looking for the glasses again. How long until he remembered their proper place between their sink and the refrigerator. But, on the other hand, the guy was up and moving at seven o'clock in the morning. No one would ever believe it.
As Harry made his way to the kitchen, he heard a small crash and its accompanying muttered oath. He expected to see the redhead looming over some broken cup, obviously clueless about what o do to make it go away. At least they'd escaped the horrors of the "internet" explanation; surely "vacuums" couldn't be that hard.
That being the case, the blond parked in front of the refrigerator, calmly surveying its contents while dumping the remaining shards of a small bowl in the garbage, surprised the Boy-Who-Lived. He stood in shock, just staring at the boy (no, "man"—he had to be at least twenty-three years old) who looked somehow familiar with his dirty blond hair and tall build. Had they met before? Not that it mattered. It still didn't explain why he was standing in Lupin's kitchen in nothing but black pajama pants. "Um…hello?"
The stranger spun around. "Bloody hell! I'm sorry…did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet, but the damn thing just slipped through my fingers." Absentmindedly, he put his nicked fingertip to his mouth in the age old way of soothing a hurt.
Harry whipped out the wand he'd slipped in his back pocket, despite Moody's continuous warnings, and aimed it at the center of the stranger's chest. "Exactly who are you, and what are you doing here?" he growled.
"Calm down, man. Are you threatening me with a twig?"
Indecisiveness swept through Harry's mind. Damn if he wasn't right, since Harry couldn't do magic outside of school until graduation. Without hesitating, he shoved his wand back into his pocket and grabbed him around the neck, slamming into the fridge door. The blond struggled, but the muscles Harry developed for quidditch kept him in control. "What are you doing in my kitchen?"
"Nick. My name is Nicholas." Despite the hurried outburst of his words, Nick seemed more resigned at the confrontation than nervous. "Listen, just chill out, friend. Your flatmate sent me in to scrounge up some breakfast. Okay?"
Harry's face darkened, his scar becoming more prominent, to match his voice. "And what exactly are you doing in her room at seven o'clock in the morning?"
The question stunned Nick. "Well, I've been a friend of hers for years… and to be perfectly honest, when a girl as beautiful as her beckons, you don't ask questions. You know? Wait, you two aren't … I mean… are you?"
Harry's grip tightened, almost without his knowledge. "She's not like that. Hermione's not that kind of girl."
Nick laughed. "No, no, I'm with your other flatmate." Ron? "Belle."
"Who?"
Prying off Harry's constricting hand, Nick settled back onto his heels to answer. "Belle. You know, long brown hair, big brown eyes, and …well, a body to die for," he muttered, eyeing Harry as one might look at a lunatic.
Harry studied him a moment longer before darting out the door. Nick followed, shaking his head at the destructive properties of hangovers on mental processes. Harry paused in front of Hermione's door, debated whether or not to knock, and shoved it open to step inside. He glanced at the messy floor before his gaze traveled to the rumpled sheets of the bed. Long brown hair hung nearly to the carpet, with the attached head hanging off the side of the bed, but other than that, the mountain of comforter concealed the person beneath. Surely it couldn't be…
"Hermione?"
The girl on the bed tossed her hair and burrowed deeper under the covers.
"Hermione?"
"What do you want, Harry?" she groaned, flipping onto her back and pushing herself up onto her hands. His jaw dropped, struggling to vocalize words that just weren't there. He could see it in this light, with her hair mussed and shadows under her eyes and most of her makeup rubbed away. Both of the women were there, in her face. The outspoken bookworm he'd grown to adore and treasure. But also the seductive beauty who'd ignored him while raiding his best friend's clothes. How could he have not noticed? How could he have not realized? "Harry. What. Do. You. Want?"
He continued to stand there silently, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words capable of expressing the turmoil within. How could he ask her, let her know that this stranger…hell, he didn't even know what he was thinking. He only knew one thing. "You lied to me."
Then came the awareness that he'd been both dreading and waiting for. It flashed in her eyes first, the slightest widening of the eyelids. Hesitantly, she reached a hand to touch her silky hair and cast a quick glance around the room. And as she met his eyes, head on and directly, she realized he knew. "Get out, Harry."
"You lied to me."
"I don't want to talk about this. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand me?" She winced, seeing how much her words hurt him. "Harry, I… just not right now. Please."
Before he could decide, Nick reappeared, carrying his tray from the kitchen. He'd slipped into his clothes as well, damn him, making Harry increasingly aware of the differences between them. Harry, in his wrinkled boxers and stained t-shirt, hair perpetually messy. And Nick, in perfectly pressed slacks and a white dress shirt, a tie slung around his neck and his blond hair off the cover of the newest fashion magazines. Surely Ron had been wrong; she could have any man, this man, and she would choose him? No, never.
He watched in semi-horror as Nick navigated the bedroom floor and set the tray on the bedside table, sitting next to Hermione. "Um, okay, I know I promised you French toast, but there's no bread in the kitchen." At her seductive pout, he chuckled and put his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. "But I did make you an omelet, some bacon, and a fresh pot of coffee."
"Hmm, coffee." She murmured a hair's breathe away from his lips. "My savior." Harry found himself watching a passionate kiss between this jerk and the woman he wanted. Wanted? He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but he knew now that the only thing he needed in this world was moaning into another man's mouth, battling with another man's tongue, and obviously pleased with another man's performance the night before.
The slamming door jerked Hermione back into reality. Pulling away from Nick, she stared unhappily where Harry stood only a few moments before. "Nick-"
"Yeah, I kind of got that he didn't like me when he threatened me in the kitchen. Is there something between the two of you?"
"No! I mean, um.."
"Thought this day would never come. The day I got the beautiful and articulate Belle at a loss for words." He grinned. "Don't worry about it. I've got to get to work anyway. There's a massive meeting this morning, and I have to sound intelligent." Another kiss, this one chaste on her cheeks, and he stood, grabbing his bag and shoving his clothes they'd tossed around the room inside. "I'll see you later, and Belle? Thanks for calling me."
Her delightful laugh erupted from her throat. "No, thank you. It was fun. As usual."
It only took her a few minutes to slip into her favorite sweatshirt and the black pants he left without. Another three had the room back in some semblance of an order. The next ten she used to gather her courage, courage that always seemed to disappear when she dealt with Harry about personal issues. She found him in the kitchen, nursing a mug of her coffee and brooding by the window. "Morning."
"Did you have sex with him?"
"Why, yes, you're welcome to some of the coffee Nick brewed for me. Thank you so much for asking."
He faced her, his knuckles white on the handle. He realized he'd pissed her off, but was so furious himself that he couldn't find it in him to care. "I asked you a question, Hermione. Did you have sex with him?"
"That's none of your business, Harry."
"I want it to be my business. I want to know what you do. I mean, this." He gestured at her appearance helplessly. "When did this happen? I liked you like you used to be. Why change?" To their mutual horror, his voice broke from the effort of hiding his feelings of betrayal. "I don't understand what's going on."
She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to keep her emotions under control. There was so much she could say, so much of her life he didn't know. But despite all her secrets, she didn't know where to start. "I don't want to go spilling my life story twice."
"Twice?"
"Ron." Even as the name escaped her lips, the boy walked through the door to the kitchen.
"Hey, you guys," he announced, heading straight to the fridge. "Lousy bloody morning, isn't it? The fog's a frickin' terror. Probably a dozen crashes already this morning." With the orange juice in his hand, he turned to talk with them, sipping straight from the carton.
"That really is so nasty," Hermione muttered darkly, thinking of germs, and viruses, and backwash.
Ron replied by spewing the juice all over the once-clean floor. "Bloody hell! You're back! You can't be out of clothes already! How many outfits can Hermione go through in two days?"
"Um, Ron?" Despite his best attempts, the redhead simply couldn't tear his eyes from the newcomer to see what Harry wanted. "Ron, apparently this is Hermione."
Somewhere in Hollywood, a lonely cricket chirped.
"Ron. Ron, did you hear me?"
"I don't understand," he breathed, wide eyes beginning to look alarmingly glazed over.
Harry shrugged. "Neither do I. But now that we're both here, Hermione can go ahead and explain." Ron frowned, catching undertones of rage in the relatively calm words, but focused on the speed at which the girl before him paled. "Well, Hermione?"
"Yes, so, um.." She stalled, desperately searching for a way out of the cell she'd erected around herself with half-truths and complete lies. "There's not really a good place to start…"
"That's all right. Why don't you start with your appearance? Why, for example, you changed it."
Taking a deep breath, she collapsed into a chair before beginning, the words spilling from her mouth in a rush. "This is actually how I look for the most part, unless I'm in disguise, which is kind of a moot point since Halloween was almost two months ago and I never get to hang out with my muggle friends anymore." She realized her babbling took both boys by surprise, but just couldn't stop herself. "I mean, hanging out with you all is fun and all, but nobody, absolutely nobody, pulls off Halloween like Kylie and Sarabeth. Anyway, you don't care about Halloween." She paused, attempted to draw oxygen into her lungs, and continued anyway. "See I'm muggleborn, right? And if it's not bad enough that Malfoy and Voldemort and all their little thugs claim I don't belong in their perfect little Wizarding utopia, they've put anti-Muggle spells up just about everywhere you go in the wizarding world. Since I'm technically a muggle with magical powers, the first ever in my bloodline according to all current records in both my family and the shelves at Hogwarts, the stupid spells go all wonky, and rebound back on me. See, if a Muggle were to stumble upon Hogwarts, the spells make the castle look as utterly unattractive to that person as possible, and since in my case I have the necessary magic to look past the charms and they have to do something, they make me look, well, unflattering. With a lot of work, I can almost pull off my normal appearance, but that's just way too much effort for everyday, and it's so bloody irritating that every time I do look nice everyone's shocked and walk around me like I'm some sort of curious alien that plopped down on earth to take a few magic lessons."
Harry, focused on understanding her mile-a-minute explanation, had begun to stroke her hand in that delightfully comforting way of his. "So you-"
"It wouldn't be so much trouble if I knew someone else with the problem, you know, someone to whine with, but nooo, I have to be the only one without any magic in their family. Plus, for some reason I don't get stuck with an illusion of hideousness, no, no, that would be to kind for the likes of Malfoy. Instead, the bloody things dry out my skin and hair, screw with my complexion, and make me gain wait. It doesn't matter how nice I look when I leave for Platform 9-and-3/4, as soon as I get near the train station, pop, there's this horrific monster standing where I used to be. And does that little trick work backwards? Of course not! I have to go home, shower, slather myself in moisturizer, and drink a gallon of water before I look even presentable again. Did you know that my parents didn't even recognize me after our first year? They were standing there at the barrier when I walked up, and they asked me if I was lost."
Ron's sharp intake of breath, hissing through his teeth, distracted her. She threw a glare in his direction, knowing perfectly well that his reaction to her 'female' problems was always laughter, but he looked horrified for her.
"Sorry, I've got a bit of tension about this subject."
"I think I got that." She smiled at him, just the ghost of a grin. Ron leaned forward, his tone contemplative. "But Dean's parents are muggles."
"Yes, technically. But with so equal numbers of wizards and Muggles in the world, it would have been nearly impossible for massive amounts of mixing to occur. Most Muggles have some magic in their history and most purebloods have a secret, non-magical ancestor of some sort."
"But you don't, so you look different in the muggle world." Ron was beginning to work things out.
"I really don't just look different; I am different. School's important to me, of course, but I don't put it before my life like I do at Hogwarts. There's no reason to, really. And I technically still live with my parents, but they trust me and Dani, so they found us an apartment in the city last summer. My older brother, Jackson, works at this club, so he used to get us in for free, and before we were old enough."
"After he tried to get Pedro--"
"Peter," Harry corrected quickly.
"--right, Peter to kick you out when you were, what, thirteen?" Her shocked and wary look delighted him. "We met this girl named Kylie, who told us all about you."
"Failed to mention that you were such a temptress, though. According to Nicholas, when you beckon, men kneel."
Ron made a noise of agreement, grinning at the blush rising in her cheeks. "Yep, and I…wait, who the hell's Nicholas?"
"Nicholas," Harry informed him carelessly, "is the man I found surveying the contents of our refrigerator this morning. By the way, I apologize for drinking the coffee he made you. The man has a gift."
"Why would he be here this early in the morning?" Ron wondered aloud. The other two just watched, practically seeing the wheels turning and sparks flying underneath that thick red hair. "Did he…surely you didn't. It's a good thing you're always perfect, Hermione; no one would believe us if we tried to tell them that you're the one who lost their virginity on our trip to London."
She managed to make her snort sound regal. Harry couldn't quite help being impressed. "Ron, yes, I slept with him last night, but I didn't lose my virginity."
"Right. We're not idiotic enough to honestly believe you looked like that and he didn't touch you." Smug, Ron looked to the black-haired boy for confirmation. But Harry looked shocked, considering the meaning of her words.
"Gods, Ron, I lost my virginity, not that it's any of your business, over two-and-a-half years ago. And no, not to Victor Krum. He's a good guy, and I trusted him with my life, my heart, and…well, you don't need details." She studied their pale faces nervously, knowing full and well the extent to which she'd screwed up. By never telling them about this other life she led, she told them how little she trusted them, and how little they meant to her. Which was nonsense. "Listen. I know I should have told you about all this, about what I'm really like. But you always seemed to scorn girls like me. I'm a lot more like Lavendar and Parvati then you realize. They can be idiots, but they… I mean, I make fun of them because it makes me nervous not to. I like the way you guys treated me, even though at fourteen years old, the last thing any girl wants to be is one of the guys. But.. Harry, you know what it's like, to walk into a room and know at least one of the conversations being hushed is about you. And Ron, you've had girls doing incredibly stupid, annoying things in the hopes that you'll notice them. It 's nice not to worry about that." She exhaled slowly. "Did any of this make sense?"
Harry made a face. "Then who's Mya? We thought she was you."
"Mya, me? Oh, hell no. Mya is one of my friends from Durmstrang, who I met through the Tri-Wizards Tournament and who generally has horrible taste in men. I had the pleasure of threatening her latest bastard yesterday afternoon." Her face lit up at the memory, vividly reminding Harry and Ron that this devious new side of her was something they'd have to get used to. "Most people call me Belle. It's been my nickname for years, almost longer than I can remember."
Harry nodded mutely, glancing at Ron to see him doing the same. Suddenly the redhead perked up. "From what you've said, and what Kylie told us, you're really good friends with that Dani girl. Best friends. So tell me," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, "is she seeing anyone?"
The laughter was a welcome reprieve from the last subject of conversation. "No. No, she's not seeing anyone."
"Which doesn't make any difference, Ron, cuz she's way out of your league," Harry interrupted, chuckling.
"Besides," Hermione continued, "Danielle doesn't have boyfriends. She has dates, and attractive ones." He made a face.
"Hermione Book-Worm Granger is really a party girl." Harry mused. She winced a little, but agreed. "This stands to reason that she knows a lot of great places to party." Another pause. "So why don't we have someone show us around London, the Londoner's London?"
She grinned delightedly. "Ever had sushi?"
Author's Note (2): So sorry to any Draco fans upset because I lied about him being in this chapter. He will be in the next one! There was just no way to make that transition without cutting out some of the explanation bit, and having received so many reviews with readers confused by my "little trick", I felt a full explanation was necessary. I forget that not everyone can read my mind, and therefore sometimes people may be confused by things I completely understand since I came up with them. I'm really sorry and I hope you understand it better now, but yes, Belle and Hermione are the same person. Mya is a friend of hers (theirs?). If there's any more confusion, please review and let me know, so I can address that in the next chapter.
Also, I need some help. I do have a few more surprises, which ought to up the originality factor, so there will be a few more chapters (after all, I still have to bring in our beloved Draco Malfoy, and hook her up with someone). But I don't know whether to continue this back to Hogwarts. Thus, a vote. Do you want it to end with them going back to Hogwarts, or at Hogwarts? I do have a cute scene already written if they go back, but there won't be much of a plot left to warrant having those chapters. I'm thinking I'm gonna have Hermione get together with Harry, Ron hit it off with either Kylie or Dani, and Draco fall for Mya (who will make an appearance even if they don't get paired up). But review and let me know what you think or if the pairings should be different. Any suggestions are welcomed; they may not be used, but you'll get credit if I do or if they inspire something.
Also, I've notice a lot of authors going back and rewriting their stories to better fit the sixth book (which I both loved and hated, for obvious reasons). Since I wrote that Voldermort was killed at the end of sixth year, it's pretty much evident that I already deviated from the wonderful J.K. Rowling's storyline. That means this story is gonna pretend the sixth book didn't happen. Any question? Let me know. And don't forget. Reviews feed authors, make them all excited to write and see what people think of the next installment. Feed me! (Please and thank you!) Finally, kudos and an acknowledgement to anyone who can figure out where I got the line about Dani's boyfriends and dates. TTFN.
Destiny's Darkness
August 4, 2005
