Disclaimer: BE KIND! I never said I owned HP! Please don't kill me! MERCY!
Author's Note: OMG! This is a MAJOR milestone people! It's my twentieth chapter! The big 2-0! By my next chapter, little ickle-TOPC-ikins will be able to drink!
Right. Please ignore me. My friend and I have this thing going to see who can watch all of the movies on the American Film Institute's 100 Top Films list first, and I've had almost no sleep. Twenty-nine down, seventy-one to go.
The REAL Author's note: Okay, to reward you guys for being sooooo patient about me being totally out of it – vacation, summer job, that sort of stuff – I am giving you FLUFF. And not just fluff . . .
You'll see.
And, I have to tell you that TOPC is nearing the home stretch. I predict five or six more chapters – which I know seems like a lot, but it's so sad! sobs
Anyway, please read and review. Especially that whole 'review' part. That's important.
The Second Real Author's Note: Thank you all SOO much for all the amazing reviews. I love you guys! You're all absolutely fantastic and patient what with me and my consistent injuries – I've sprained my ankle now, but fortunately that doesn't affect my ability to type (I'm one of the strange few who type with their hands instead of their toes)– and I wanted to thank you. Hang in there!
What the hell . . . the Third Real Author's Note: Okay, this is a long chapter (to make up for the time it took to write it), and hell . . . just skip to the ending if you want something to cheer you up. Don't forget to review though!
Chapter Twenty: The Leaky Cauldron
The next morning, Hermione was still seething as she bundled herself for the cold trip to the Burrow. "Prat," she muttered furiously, stuffing her fingers into her gloves. "Why is he going to the Weasley's for Christmas?" She wiggled her left hand experimentally and discovered that two of her fingers were stuck together. Groaning, she tried again. "Doesn't the man have his own family?" she asked air.
Unsurprisingly, the air did not deign to respond.
The mirror, however, helpfully asked, "Who, dearie?"
"Nothing," replied Hermione, a little frustrated. She ran a fuzzed hand through her furiously curling hair. She had thought that the gentle waves from the beginning of the summer would last, but they reverted to hopeless curls that were, luckily, more curl and less frizz than they had been previously.
Looking around for a final time so as to be sure that she had forgotten nothing, Hermione spied a glint of silver in the open drawer of her bedside table. Frowning, she pulled the drawer open all the way to reveal the Celtic amulet she had received along with her letter in the beginning of the summer. She had taken it off the night of the furious kiss in the library and stuffed it in there.
Hermione carefully hooked the delicate chain around her neck, and crossed in front of her bed to peek into the mirror. She pulled aside the collar of her skirt, and twisted a little so the light from the French windows slid off the silver.
"Looks very nice," commented the mirror. Hermione gave it a weak smile, and turned away too finish her final look around the room.
What have I forgotten?
The nagging feeling remained with her as she positioned the corduroy bag across her body, and grabbed the tan suitcase off the bed. She wiggled her nose as she tried to remember, and when she still drew a blank, she pulled the fuzzy white hat over her crazy hair, and wrapped the threadbare striped scarf around her neck.
All the bulk may have seemed useless for the ten minute commute to the Hogsmeade train station, but the weather outside Hogwarts was brutal – the snow was still coming down in flakes the size of snitches, and Hermione had no doubt that her legs would be soaking to the knees by the time she arrived at the Hogwarts Express.
Her confused rambling about forgetting something meant that she was running a little late, and Hermione decided to run the distance to the Entrance Hall, where she was meeting Harry, Ron and Ginny.
The corduroy bag banged against her hip as she ran down the staircase and out the portrait, her tan suitcase bobbing behind. As she rounded the corner, Hermione was suddenly struck by an epiphany.
The day before, Ginny had said that Malfoy had let her into the Head dormitories on his way out . . . but when Harry and Ron had come in, they had also said that Malfoy had let them in. There was no way that Malfoy could have gone out somewhere and come back in the ten minutes between when Ginny appeared and the boys had.
Which meant someone was lying . . .
Hermione almost stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, but she had reached the Entrance Hall, and Harry, Ron and Ginny were waving from their position by the large doors. Biting her lip, Hermione stowed away her thoughts for a later time, and approached her friends.
Oliver Wood was having a nervous breakdown.
It was hardly an intentional breakdown of any kind – it wasn't as if he had sat himself down and said 'Self, have a nervous breakdown over what to get the girl you love for Christmas even though she doesn't know you love her and probably will be confused by you giving her something anyway.'
Because what kind of person does that?
As he sat in his desecrated rooms – clothes thrown all over, a few empty Firewhiskey bottles, class schedules, that sort of thing – he had a semi-nervous-breakdown over the Christmas break that was rapidly approaching.
Originally, he was going to spend Christmas break with his sister and his parents at his grandparents' home in Edinburgh. But then his parents decided to go underground, and his sister was delegated to a cousins' house. Molly Weasley extended the invitation, and he couldn't deny that Hermione had a little bit to do with it . . .
But now as he stared into the greenish embers of the dying fire in the grate, his nervous breakdown began to melt away as he remembered the tentative brush of her fingers along his forearm as she brought her arms up to wrap around his neck in that maddening occurrence in the library months before.
Goddammit, he was completely hopeless.
And this sense of hopelessness forced him to keep himself out of her way. Only once had he resorted to actually turning around and leaving when he saw her coming, and he had winced as the hurt expression crossed her face for a split second. After that, he tried his best not to be caught alone with her, worried that he might not be able to control himself if the only thing standing between them was thin air.
The desperate need to see her, to talk to her, to hear her laugh had him blindly stumbling to the owlrey the week before, sending the letter to Molly Weasley that thanked her for inviting him, and saying that he would love to visit.
And because Oliver was so preoccupied with falling in love with Hermione, he completely forgot about the mysterious DADA teacher, Vallory Every.
Which had, of course, been her original intention.
Once they had settled their things at the Burrow – strangely, there had been no sight of the much-disputed flying instructor – the Trio removed themselves to the living room. Certain they were alone, they pulled out Hermione's written copy of the Sorting Song.
After the incident with the horcrux and Hufflepuff's heir, they hadn't been able to translate a single line from the song. Sighing, Hermione spread out her neat copy, along with the list of possible horcruxes.
The first read:
Hogwarts School has many a hall
They welcome students one and all
Lessons learned and awe inspired
Great events have here transpired.
Me the hat hath listened long
And transformed my message into song
Bespoken with haste my verses are
But their words heard close and far.
Founders from past and present speak
Their warnings of havoc soon to wreak
Are spelled through me to students here
So for these moments give me your ear.
Kind Hufflepuff never knew . . . . . . . . . Helga Hufflepuff never knew
Of the grace her house hath grew . . . . . That her heir would return to Hogwarts
In it lurks the power unknown . . . . . . . . At that time the final horcrux would be revealed
Come forth bearer and power shone . . . Hufflepuff's cup would be reached by the heir
In Gryffindor bravery rises
A new daughter found within false disguises
The sword will come to those found. . . . The sword of Gryffindor (?)
Worthy and with knowledge sound.
Ravenclaw possesses
In her house a thousand guesses
And for those answers there must be
A question to be asked of thee.
Cunning Slytherin has burrowed deep
In another house a spy that'll reap
Glory and blood that follows her so
As she ravages all goodness will grow.
But ages ago these magical beings
Vested much in the power of seeings
So in a false message do seek lies
It is lost beneath the perilous ties
That must bind the separate
And appease the desperate.
The second read:
1. Diary – destroyed
2. Gaunt ring – destroyed
3. Hufflepuff's cup – destroyed
4. Slytherin's Locket
5. Something of Ravenclaw
6. Something of Gryffindor
7. In Voldemort
"Well," declared Ron, after scanning the Sorting Song, "I s'pose the beginning part is just plain useless."
Hermione rolled her eyes and replied, "Ron, none of this is useless. Why would the song put it in if it was useless, as you so put it?" She stabbed the paper with her inkless quill. "Please, can we concentrate?"
Harry grimaced weakly and pointed to In Gryffindor bravery rises / A new daughter found within false disguises. "That means you, doesn't it?" Hermione nodded, and scribbled Harry's point down quickly.
Ron scanned the piece of parchment and then, in a burst of clarity so completely unlike him that it momentarily stunned Hermione, said, "That bit" – and he gestured to Cunning Slytherin has burrowed deep / In another house a spy that'll reap / Glory and blood that follows her so / As she ravages all goodness will grow. –"The spy in the Order – does that mean her? A woman! But there aren't any female Slytherin students in the Order . . ."
Hermione didn't respond for a moment. Harry, however, said, "Ron – that's bloody brilliant!" Hermione, eyes widening in comprehension, began her scribbling again.
"She must be under a Slytherin's control – Imperious perhaps? By 'glory and blood', he must mean the dead members of the Order that she betrayed." Hermione looked up, shocked.
"A student, a female student, in the Order?" She frowned. "But Ginny and I are the only female students in the Order." She saw Harry freeze, but Ron shook his head.
"Actually, Luna is one too. And most of the seventh years that were in the DA that have parents in the Order have joined."
"So now we have no way of narrowing it down?" demanded Hermione, and she ran her fingers through her curly mass of hair furiously.
An hour later found them still at an impasse. Hermione's transcription of the Sorting Song was now:
Hogwarts School has many a hall
They welcome students one and all
Lessons learned and awe inspired
Great events have here transpired.
Me the hat hath listened long
And transformed my message into song
Bespoken with haste my verses are
But their words heard close and far.
Founders from past and present speak
Their warnings of havoc soon to wreak
Are spelled through me to students here
So for these moments give me your ear.
Kind Hufflepuff never knew . . . . . . . . . . Helga Hufflepuff never knew
Of the grace her house hath grew . . . . . That her heir would return to Hogwarts
In it lurks the power unknown . . . . . . . . At that time the final horcrux would be revealed
Come forth bearer and power shone . . . Hufflepuff's cup would be reached by the heir
In Gryffindor bravery rises . . . . . . . . . . Gryffindors have found a new hero
A new daughter found within false disguises . . . Another Gryffindor that had been hid
The sword will come to those found . . . . The sword of Gryffindor(?)
Worthy and with knowledge sound.
Ravenclaw possesses
In her house a thousand guesses
And for those answers there must be
A question to be asked of thee.
Cunning Slytherin has burrowed deep . . . Slytherins are controlling
In another house a spy that'll reap. . . . . . A spy in another house that's getting info.
Glory and blood that follows her so. . . . . The information she passes on kills people
As she ravages all goodness will grow. . . She destroys the Orders intentions
But ages ago these magical beings
Vested much in the power of seeings
So in a false message do seek lies
It is lost beneath the perilous ties
That must bind the separate
And appease the desperate.
Hermione sighed, and buried her aching eyes in her ink-stained palms. "We're going no where with this." Another sigh had her dropping her head backwards onto the seat of the settee she was resting against.
"Why don't we call it for the day?" suggested Ron. "You mentioned wanting to see your parents this afternoon."
"Ron and I'll go to Diagon Alley while you visit, and then we can meet up again at the Leaky Cauldron," suggested Harry. "Around four? That gives you three hours." Hermione rubbed here eyes harshly, and nodded.
The Grangers lived in a London suburb, their charming house nestled between two ones of larger volume and greater lawn space. The white house sprawled nicely, the steps up to the raised porch flanked by twin hydrangeas. As Hermione trudged up to aforementioned steps – it wouldn't do for her to appear suddenly at the door, seeing as the slow-moving neighborhood prompted nosy neighbors – she ran her glove hand on the glossy railing.
Hermione hadn't talked to her parents since the day she left for the Burrow after learning her new identity, and although she still loved her adoptive parents, there was a part of her that resented them for making her a Granger instead of letting her beginning her life as the Potter she was.
She'd sent them a curt letter that said she'd reached Hogwarts fine, but they'd never replied. Of course, Harry and Ron thought that she was chattering to them as happily as she had the years before.
Hermione sighed, dropping her hand from the railing. She was hoping to bridge the gap that she had built, and hopefully have a cuppa of her mother's cure-all peppermint tea. And – though she wasn't going to actually tell them this – she needed a few of her books for the horcrux research she, Harry and Ron had planned for later in the break.
Reaching the front door, Hermione knocked on the door. Her house keys had been what she'd forgotten back in the Head rooms at Hogwarts, and she still had no idea where she'd left them. Maybe she'd Transfigure a new set.
After a few moments of nothing happening, she knocked, louder and said, "Mum? Dad?" Ten seconds later, the door opened to a smiling Mrs. Granger, patting dusty fingers on her apron. Obviously she'd been cooking – healthy, fat-free holiday cookies, probably oatmeal and the such – and Hermione smiled.
"Can I help you?" inquired Mrs. Granger politely in the voice she always used with strangers and door-to-door salesmen. Hermione frowned.
"Mum?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's up?"
"I beg your pardon," replied Mrs. Granger with a chilly smile. "You must have the wrong house." She began to shut the door but Hermione slammed her palm against it to stop the motion. Mrs. Granger's eyes widened marginally.
"Mum? Look, I know you've read the Potter's letter, and I'm not your blood daughter, but can we talk about this?" Mrs. Granger furrowed her brow, and Hermione could see her freeze the motion of dusting her hands.
"I'm sorry, dear," she said with a great deal of sympathy, "But I've never seen you before in my life. My husband and I never had any children." She added, helpfully, "Who are you looking for?"
Hermione could feel something crawling under her skin as the horrible realization came over her. Her jaw trembled as she peeled her hand from the door, clutching it to her chest. "N-never," she managed, her breath gasping, "never mind."
She spun around on her heel and dashed down the steps, still holding her right hand to her chest, the sensation under her skin clawing its way up her body to her eyes, where burning tears began to well.
"Who was that?" inquired Mr. Granger from the living room as he read his newspaper. Mrs. Granger followed the stumbling process of the strange girl across their yard before closing the door.
"I don't know," she replied. "She looked strangely familiar. Seemed to think I was her mum."
"Teenagers these days," huffed Mr. Granger, turning to the next page in his paper. "Take that girl who cleaned our attic last year. Left all her things here. Had to send someone else to get them – remember him? Dotty, with that awful suit, always smiling; Dumbly-something."
"I remember that," mused Mrs. Granger. "Strange. Very polite, but strange." She moved her gaze to the mantle over the fireplace, which was graced with a single picture – her wedding photo – and sprinkled with Christmas decorations.
The once tumultuous assemblage of photos of family vacations, with a grinning, bushy-haired girl at front stage, had disappeared into the abyss of things that the Grangers would never know existed.
Hermione turned the corner from her parent's house, tears trembling from the bottom of her chin, the salty streaks leaving discolorations on her rosy cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted as she huffed for breath, almost unable to comprehend what she had just seen.
Her parents . . . had forgotten her.
She regretted, so harshly that it made her cry harder, her former uncharitable thoughts about the couple that had raised her. How could she resent them? They had loved her and cared for her even though she wasn't their daughter.
And now they didn't even know who she was.
Hermione, trembling, found a secluded corner and Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry and Ron wouldn't been there for another two and a half hours, and Hermione, ignoring the few customers inside, found her way to a table in a deserted table and dropped her head into her hands, and began to silently sob.
The tears splashed onto the grimy table, creating a little puddle of grief and mud that Hermione didn't notice. She also didn't notice Oliver Wood until he was offering her a handkerchief he had just pulled out of the tip of his wand.
She accepted it thankfully, wiping away at her eyes to no avail.
"What's makin' you cry like that?" asked Oliver, sitting in an empty chair next to her, his accent soft and comforting.
Hermione had yet to prepare a convincing lie – she needed one for Mrs. Weasley, she knew – and her head ached from her crying; thus, she had a completely justifiable momentary brain lapse and told him the truth.
Repeating the horrifying experience had her crying again, turning his handkerchief into a soggy mess that she dropped onto the table top. As she finished, she blew out a shaky sigh and rubbed the tears from her eyes, unable to meet Oliver's brown eyes that were drawn together in sympathy.
She moved her head so she could look at Tom, positioned at the counter, without getting a crick in her neck. She could feel the burn of embarrassment highlight her neck and face; why did she tell him what had happened?
A second later, she could feel warm, calloused fingers gently latch under her chin and turn her face to his. She swallowed the tears that clogged her throat, and met his eyes. He said, slowly, gently, as if not to frighten her away, "You didna do anything wrong."
Hermione didn't know how, but he had managed to find the very root of her fear. She felt that she had done something – pushed them away – that had made her easy to forget. That there must've been something that she'd done to make them happy to get rid of her.
"Thank you," she replied breathily, her voice husky from the tears. In place of reply, Oliver smiled. When he did so, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled slightly, and Hermione found herself staring, quite rudely, at his eyes.
Chocolate eyes floating above her.
Her lips parted with a small 'ooh'.
She'd had her suspicions, of course, but she'd never really considered them.
And at that moment, Hermione stopped considering things and leaned forward to press her lips softly against his.
His fingers still hooked under her chin slid over her shoulders to the back of her neck, their rough pads deliciously scratching the delicate skin there. For a moment his hand stopped, waiting, and when she didn't move, he pressed her lips tighter to his own.
Hermione's brain fizzled, all functions ceasing except for her nerve endings. It seems that the billions of nerve cells that had once been position all over her body were centered in her lips, which were parting under his. She didn't even notice when her hands moved from the table to his shoulders, using his body to move herself even closer. She registered, for a millisecond, the soft, curling hair at the base of his head, before all her attention was once again focused on the scratch of his teeth on her sensitive lower lip.
It was Oliver.
Oliver was the one who had woken her up with a storybook kiss in the hospital; who had accosted her in the library . . . and he was the one who had given her the first, terrifying, broom flight of her life, and gotten her hypothermia, and who was currently kissing her as if there nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing.
Hermione smiled into his lips. She was falling rather hard for Oliver Wood.
Author's Note: I've done it! I've finally revealed to Hermione who her prince is! Unfortunately, I'm telling you now that this doesn't mean smooth sailing here on out – although, next chapter I'll give you guys a totally hot protective!Oliver.
Meanwhile . . . reviews would be nice. Reviews would be TOTALLY nice. Because I know how much all of you love being nice to me . . .