The fourteenth of October was a Thursday, and as was to be expected of an October day in the Scottish Highlands, it was heralded by the clear sky, and cold light that filtered in through the castle's many large windows.
The hallways were well-lit, and the chill was staved off by the magic within the castle. If she were to venture a look through the window in the girl's bathroom that sat in the wall between the rows of cubicles, she might have seen some classes out and about, tending to magical plants and creatures – alas, instead she had resigned herself to staring at her reflection in the silver mirror, and silently listing all of the things she disliked about herself.
It was a terrible thing to do, and yet, she found herself doing it anyway. For once, nobody had made a snide comment under their breath, and nothing had really prompted it – it just, sort of, well, happened.
She'd nipped to the bathroom in an effort to make herself more comfortable before the double lesson, and as she'd been washing her hands, she'd caught her reflection looking back at her. She wasn't one for vanity, though, she would privately admit that she did so enjoy that feeling of girlish camaraderie with Daphne and Tracey every now and then.
As her thoughts drifted to the pair of beautiful, raven-haired Slytherins, she couldn't help but feel rather lack-lustre in comparison. Her eyes were brown, not the ice-blue of Daphne's, and her hair had only recently become manageable – and even then, it was never in a complicated up-do like Daphne preferred, and it didn't have the same glossiness as Tracey's.
Her jaw was sharp, and her features defined, but they lacked the sharpness of Daphne's, or the natural coquettishness of Tracey's. It was all rather frustrating. She'd even attempted a smile and had quickly clamped a hand over her mouth at the sight of her two large front teeth.
Hermione groaned as she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the cool, smooth surface of the mirror, her lips pressed tightly together as her fingers gripped the basin. She counted to ten, and then to twenty, in an attempt to calm herself.
She was above such petty things – and had been for years. She was Hermione Granger – one of the two top students of her year, and a Witch. She was the first generation of her family to enter the magical world, and she had, simply put, the best friends that she could ask for.
Comparing herself to her friends was out of the question – both girls were beautiful, and while Hermione was often quite envious, neither flaunted their beauty, nor did they make any back-handed comments like the girls in her Primary School had.
When the two girls complimented her, it was genuine – she was sure of that much, at least. And the compliments weren't limited to just Daphne and Tracey, either; both Neville and Harry were often very kind with their words – flattering, even if she did think they were simply being polite.
Being complimented on her appearance was still a very new thing for her, and it had already taken some getting used to – some days, she barely recognised herself, but on others… on others, all she could see was that knobbly-kneed little girl with bushy brown hair, and a pair of front teeth that were much too large.
Today was one of those days.
She sighed as she pushed away from the mirror and resisted the urge to run her fingers through her hair – it had been a nightmare to twist it into the knot at the back of her head that morning, and she'd be damned if she undid all of her hard work for the sake of her low self-esteem. Besides, she remembered, with a fond, private smile, Harry had said it had looked quite nice.
Now, there was a boy that inflamed the best and worst parts of her. With every smile and every gentle touch, her heart would stutter in her chest, and she'd have to make a conscious effort to remember just how to breathe when he'd give her that mischievous smile, that, she would admit, showed all the influences of Sirius Black.
But he also stoked the worst of her self-doubt – or, rather, his attentions had her doubting her own self-worth. It was all terribly confusing, and uncomfortably frustrating. Why did he compliment her? What made her special? After all, she was just Plain Granger, Bugs Bunny, Bushy Granger.
She swallowed and met her own eyes in the mirror – perhaps it was the light, but for a moment, they looked dark, mysterious, and not at all the plain brown she usually saw. Her hair looked glossy, and undeniably full of volume, and her skin was smooth and without a single blemish, which was more than what could be said about half the girls in the school.
Maybe, just maybe, that's what Harry saw.
She hoped it was.
Her mind drifted to the raven-haired boy that she'd left with her bag down the corridor. She smiled shyly at herself as she thought of just how green his eyes were, and how pretty his hair was, and just how much he'd grown since that night when he'd gotten in her boat.
Back then, she'd thought him pretty, for a boy – someone who took care of themselves, rather than the delinquents that had harassed her at school. He'd always smiled at her in their first classes, and then… then he'd saved her, like a knight from one of her stories.
After that, she'd been helpless against his impossible kindness, his witty sense of humour, and that mischievous glint in those bloody eyes. Had she thought, at any point, that she would be in the girl's bathroom, sighing over the thought of a boy? No – and she could imagine the disgusted look on her eleven-year-old face at the mere thought of it.
But Harry wasn't like the other boys. He was, well, Harry.
It seemed that, whenever she attempted to distance herself from the tiny crush that had formed after the events of their first year, the more she felt drawn to him – an impossible force that she couldn't deny, no matter how much she tried. It was bad enough that she could instantly pick him out of the crowd of Hogwarts students, and borderline annoying that she couldn't go a day without blushing around him, but… it was nice.
She sighed again – she really shouldn't read as many romance novels as she did. She rolled her eyes at any thought of an 'impossible force'. Hermione Granger was a logical young woman, and she was above going stupid over a boy – no matter how charming, and thoughtful, and kind, and funny…
Hermione groaned and pushed away from the sink, folding her arms as she paced anxiously down the aisle between the cubicles, her hand still clutching at her chest, her fingers curling around the cool metal that ghosted above her skin.
Huffing a breath, she quickly tugged her tie down and undid the top button of her blouse and reached for the thin metal chain around her neck – she really did try not to smile like she'd lost her mind, but, in her defence, it was an impossible task.
She tugged it out and spun on her heel again, making her way back over to the mirror. It had been his gift to her for her fourteenth birthday – a beautiful, silver pendant of a wolf's head with emerald eyes. It had tufts of exquisitely carved fur, and its mouth was open in a silent snarl as it stared, unblinkingly back at her.
Harry had given it to her after dragging her off into the castle, his hand wrapped around her wrist as he laughed with her – by the time they'd ended up at the edge of the Black Lake, beneath an old willow tree, they'd been out of breath, but it had been wonderful.
They'd sat there, shielded from the rest of the school by the long, drooping branches of the willow, and stared out at the lake before them – the Squid had waved at them, and a trio of Familiars had soared over the water, crying out softly to one another; meanwhile, they'd been sat, nestled in the roots of the tree, hips and knees pressed against one another.
He'd gone incredibly still, and before she knew it, he was holding the pendant before her, a nervous smile on his face. Harry had mumbled something about it originally being a bracelet, but in truth, she thought it perfect. She'd thrown her arms around his neck and nuzzled the crook of his neck as tears trailed down her cheeks.
Even now, standing before the mirror, she couldn't fight off the blush that swept over her face, even as she nibbled her bottom lip in her own private embarrassment.
She'd insisted that he be the one to put it on her, and he had – his fingers had been deft and nimble; only stumbling with the clasp once, and she'd not taken it off since. She had slept with it, showered with it, and ate with it – the cool metal a reassuring presence against her skin at all times.
Hermione was not a material girl by any means – she believed that it was the thought that counted in gift-giving, and it was the people one surrounded themselves with that was what was important. Having said that, Harry's gift had privately been her favourite, not just of the day, but ever.
She'd loved Neville's gift, The Ancient and Most Noble Histories of Magical Britain – especially after she'd found out that Harry's ancestors had been Kings! Bloody Kings! What was she supposed to have done with that? She'd floundered for a few days, scouring the Library for anything she could find on the old families, and so Neville's gift had been like a lifeline to her.
Tracey's Kneazle-tree for Crookshanks had been wonderfully thoughtful – and while she enjoyed falling to sleep with the large feline, he shed like nothing else. If it weren't for the House Elves, she was sure she'd be under a mountain of the stuff by now. It also gave him something to relax on and enjoy when she wasn't in the Gryffindor Tower.
Daphne's gift had been wonderfully thoughtful – a picture of them all at Harry's birthday, framed in a simple, smooth wood that was painted black. The picture was magical, of course, and had been taken on the first of August, before they'd gone off to a stream Harry wanted to show them. That whole trip had been wonderful.
Not only had she been able to spend some time with her friends before she went on holiday to France, but, for the first time, she could tell that things had shifted.
She'd caught Harry looking at her more often, and there was always a strange expression on his face when he did so – at first, she'd thought she'd had something on her face, but then… the that tiny spark of hope had been ignited.
Hermione had always been aware that Harry was quite dim-witted when it came to girls. He never gave the appraising looks from their year-mates, and those in the year above them another thought, and acted as if they simply didn't exist, which, as loath as she was to admit it, in his mind, they probably didn't.
The debacle of Valentines Day had almost crushed her, despite what Daphne and Tracey had said to her. Something had changed, and internally, she'd rejoiced. Maybe, just maybe, there was a little bit of hope.
The gift around her neck certainly fuelled that hope, and the memory of his fingers ghosting over the back of her neck as he fastened it made goosebumps appear on the backs of her arms. She breathed in deeply and let out a quiet sigh, the smile still tugging on her lips as her hips slowly turned back and forth.
Yes, in the case of Harry Potter, she considered herself very much a lost cause.
"Hermione?" Someone called through the door – Daphne. Hermione's eyes widened as she spun to face the large wooden door, the toe of her right foot catching an uneven tile, and she stumbled into one of the cubicle doors. Daphne opened the door at the commotion and rushed over to her – thankfully, she hadn't embarrassed herself by falling over. "Gods, are you alright? What's gotten into you?"
"Oh, uh, well you see, I-" She began, licking her lips as she looked at the Slytherin girl. "I was distracted." She mumbled. "And you startled me."
"What's got you so distracted, hm?" Daphne smirked, sweeping her eyes over her. Hermione grimaced as her hand closed around the pendant against her own will, and she silently cursed her traitor body. "Oh, I see." Daphne hummed, thoroughly amused. "Someone has you all distracted."
"Shut up." She muttered, her hand unclenching as her fingers traced the pendant. "It's just…"
"Harry." Daphne snorted, rolling her eyes. "Oh, don't give me that look – who else would give you a wolf with green eyes on a necklace. Honestly, why Arcturus ever though he might end up in Slytherin is beyond me."
"Harry in Slytherin?" She asked, giggling as she covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. "God, you'd eat him alive!"
Daphne hummed, and her blue eyes danced merrily. "Subtlety of a dragon, that one. Now, come on – Professor Lupin sent me to find out where you were."
"Oh no!" Hermione cried, her eyes going wide. "How long was I in here?"
"Five minutes or so – not long. He just wanted to make sure you were alright." Daphne shrugged, fastening her collar button, and straightening her tie. "Now, can I assume you got all dreamy-eyed about Harry? Okay, I'll take that particular look as a yes."
Daphne ignored her glare.
"In that case, may I suggest…" Daphne muttered, undoing the top button of Hermione's cardigan – her eyes went wide as she slapped the Slytherin girl's hands away.
"Daphne!"
"What? He had you in here torturing yourself, right?" Daphne asked, raising a single, annoyingly elegant eyebrow. "Well, torture him back." She said with a wink.
"I was not torturing myself." Hermione huffed.
"Right – like I don't know you." Daphne sighed with a roll of her eyes. "It's not like we all do the exact same thing, Granger."
Hermione blinked. "You do?" She asked, dumbly. "Seriously? You?"
Daphne rolled her eyes again and placed a hand on her hip. "Yes, even me. Trust me, nobody is more critical of their appearance than me. We all do it – I know Harry and Neville do it all the time too." Daphne leaned forward, a little grin on her lips. "Why do you think Harry's hair is so pretty all the time?"
"I thought that was because of Sirius?"
"Harry hated his hair before, even if everyone told him it was like his father's." Daphne shrugged, taking a step back and pulling her hair over a shoulder absently as she ran her fingers through it. "He'd always use the fringe to cover his scar, too."
"I saw the pictures that Sirius showed off at Blackwall." Hermione smiled, fondly, even as her eyes began to look through the girl in front of her.
"Gods, you really are gone."
"I am not!" Hermione snapped, her hands resting on her hips as she fought the childish urge to stamp her foot.
"Come on, or we'll be late." Daphne said in a sing-song voice as she glided over to the door. Hermione blinked as she disappeared, her mouth opening and closing uselessly.
"Daphne! Wait!" She called, hurrying after the Slytherin girl. The moment Hermione caught up with her, Daphne hooked her arm through Hermione's and grinned at her; her white teeth flashing brilliantly in the warm light of the corridor. "Honestly." She huffed, eyeing the Greengrass Heiress.
"Oh, don't act all put out." Daphne mock-pouted. "It's not a bad thing, you know." She said, quietly, as they passed a classroom – another of the Defence rooms, and, from the brief glance she managed through the window, it was being taught by the blonde-haired professor with the slicked-back hair. "It's… nice."
"Nice." Hermione deadpanned, turning to her friend, and levelling a look at her. "Really?"
Daphne shrugged, the left corner of her mouth twitching upwards. "You're the eloquent one, Granger. Besides, it is. If it's any consolation, I think he's just as gone on you – not that he knows it yet; he is a boy, after all."
Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. "He's just being kind."
Daphne came to a halt and held her wrist; Hermione looked at her, confused. "Okay, normally, yes – I'll admit, he's uncommonly generous and, well, bloody nice, but he's definitely been looking at you more since you woke up last year. Or are we forgetting that he was always sitting next to you when we were at Blackwall?"
"There were no other-"
"Is it true? What you told me about our first summer – did he really send you a letter with Clara?"
"What? Of course it's true!" Hermione stammered, blinking confusedly. "Why would I lie about something like that?"
"I'm not calling you a liar." Daphne sighed, her free hand returning to the hair draped over her shoulder. "Clara never handles Harry's mail – he tried to get her to send a letter after he first bonded with her; do you know what she did?"
Hermione shook her head.
"She set it on fire and had a strop for a week. Do you see what I'm getting at here?"
"Well, maybe Hedwig was busy, or…"
"Hermione, I love you, but Merlin I wish you'd have some confidence in yourself sometimes." Daphne sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. "Look – I've known Harry, to my detriment, for years. I know him about as well as Neville, Sirius, and Remus. He's a little slow on the uptake, but he'll get it eventually; like we told you last year, you just have to give him a little nudge."
Hermione felt her cheeks turn scarlet at Daphne's wink, but found herself nodding regardless. There was a beat of silence before she blew out a breath and turned to take the last steps to the classroom, pointedly ignoring Daphne's victorious grin. "Honestly." She muttered under her breath as she reached for the door.
Stepping into the classroom, she needed a moment to remember that she was, indeed, in the correct room. The tables and chairs were pushed to the sides of the room, and where Professor Lupin's desk usually sat, a tall, ebony wardrobe with silver mirrors on its front was in its place, rattling violently.
Her eyes swept to the far side of the classroom, where her classmates were all standing, staring at it curiously; Parvati stumbled back a step as the piece of furniture rattled again. Professor Lupin glanced at her from his place behind the students, a kind, curious smile on his face. She smiled at him and hurried to join her friends.
She took up a spot between Harry and Tracey, pointedly ignoring Daphne's cheeky grin, and Tracey's bemused smile. Her two boys smiled at her, though Harry's was a touch wider, and had the unfortunate side-effect of her knees feeling a touch wobbly.
Hermione smiled back, clasping her hands before her, her fingers wrapping themselves around one another as a sudden bout of nervousness overcame her.
"That's a pretty necklace, Hermione – wonder who gave it to you." Tracey whispered, leaning into her. Hermione's eyes went wide, and her heart momentarily stopped as her hand darted to the pendant that she hadn't tucked away. Tracey snickered quietly and hooked her arm through her own. "You know you'll have to tell us all about it later on, right? Oh, and he's definitely noticed."
Hermione chanced a glance at the boy beside her – he looked rather proud of himself. She felt her cheeks warm.
"Intriguing, isn't it?" Professor Lupin began from the back of the class, his voice carrying clearly over the rattling wardrobe. "Would anyone like to venture a guess, as to what's inside?"
There was a beat of silence, and Hermione took the opportunity to try and calm her racing thoughts. She lay the blame for her current state entirely at the feet of Daphne Greengrass. She had been perfectly content tormenting herself in the girl's bathroom – maybe she could find another excuse to return there.
No – she was Hermione Granger, top of the class, even if it was only barely, and she most certainly did not skive!
"That's a Boggart, that is." Dean said from the row in front, nodding his head at the wardrobe.
"Very good, Mister Thomas. Now can anyone tell me what a Boggart looks like?" Professor Lupin said, slowly making his way around the side of the assembled students.
"No-one knows." She said, silently thanking her voice for remaining even. "Boggarts are shapeshifters; they take the shape of whatever a particular person fears the most. That's what makes them so-"
"-terrifying, yes, yes, yes." Professor Lupin finished, smiling at her as he made his way to the front of the class, placing himself between the wardrobe and the students.
"Way to go, Hermione." Harry whispered, nudging her side with his elbow, and grinning at her. She blushed again – Bloody Hell!
"Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a Boggart." The professor continued, glancing behind him as the wardrobe rocked violently once again. "Let's practice it, shall we? Uh, without wands, please." He said, holding a hand out as a few in the class went to retrieve their wands. "After me: Riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" She chanted, with the rest of the class.
"Very good – a little louder, and very clear. Listen: Riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" She said, again.
"Very good. Now, so much for the easy part. You see, the incantation alone is not enough – what really finishes a Boggart is laughter. You need to force it to assume a shape you find truly amusing. Let me explain, uh, Mister Parker, would you come here for a moment, please?"
Hermione's eyes swept to the lanky form of Oliver Parker, a fellow Gryffindor, and, like herself, a Muggle-born. He had short brown hair, and, as he was pushed to the front of the class by his friends, an incredibly pale pallor.
"Hello." Professor Lupin smiled as Oliver shrugged off his friend's hands and glared over his shoulder at them. "Now, Mister Parker – what frightens you most?"
Oliver mumbled something, but despite the silence in the room, she couldn't quite strain her ears enough to hear just what it was.
"Sorry?"
"T-the dark." Oliver repeated, a little louder as his voice cracked.
Around her, the class rumbled with quiet chuckles. "Mm, yes – it can be quite the frightening thing. I want you to picture something you find truly, truly funny in your mind, and only that – do you understand?"
"Does it have to be magical?" Oliver asked, shuffling side to side.
"Not at all – I believe you're a Muggle-born, yes?" Oliver nodded, and Hermione found herself smiling slightly – it was always nice to be reminded that she wasn't the only one. "The Boggart will take the form of whatever it is that you picture, okay?"
"Yes, sir." Oliver nodded again, pulling out his wand and levelling it at the wardrobe at Professor Lupin's gentle instruction.
Hermione watched as Professor Lupin waved his hand, and the lock on the wardrobe clicked open. A quiet gasp escaped her as a black smoke flew out, engulfing the room. She felt Tracey tighten her hold on her right arm, and on sheer instinct, her left hand reached out and snatched Harry's. Within seconds, the entire room was pitch black – it was so dark, she couldn't even make out her nose.
"Go on, Mister Parker. One, two…"
"Riddikulus!" Oliver called. The darkness instantly receded, and in its place was a little figure holding a lantern. He had a cherubic face, with a red, button nose, and large, wide ears. On the top of his head sat a pointed purple hat, while the rest of him was swamped in a garish green robe, cinched at the waist by a black belt with a brass buckle.
"Merlin, what's that?"
"It's hideous!"
"Gods, it's smiling! Look, it only has one tooth!"
"Yes, yes, very good, Mister Parker. Very well done indeed." Professor Lupin grinned, clapping happily as Oliver made his way back to his spot in the class. Around him, his friends playfully nudged him, and Hermione, being the Muggle-born she was, couldn't contain her sudden fit of giggles.
"What was that thing, Ollie?"
"A Dwarf from a film."
"That was a Dwarf? It looked nothing like one!"
"Not an actual Dwarf, you tit – from a Muggle film."
"Oh… which one?"
"Snow White and the Seven Dwarves."
"What kind of name is that?"
"Oh, just forget it."
By the time the short back and forth was over, Hermione had buried her face into Harry's shoulder as her own trembled violently. Her stomach ached, and tears threatened to spill down her cheeks – she couldn't help but giggle a little more at the confused looks her friends gave her. She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with the backs of her fingers before waving them off.
"Alright, everyone – form a line!" Professor Lupin called, stepping past the confused-looking Boggart and up to a gramophone she hadn't noticed on one of the tables beneath the windows. Hermione shuffled into her place in the line just as the professor started the music, the quick, jazzy beat a pleasant backdrop to the class exercise.
Harry had mentioned that Remus had taught him before he'd come to Hogwarts – had this what his early education had looked like? It must have been wonderful!
"Next – Mister Weasley!"
Hermione peered around the queue of people and eyed the ginger hair of their fellow Gryffindor as he stumbled forward, his wand held tightly in his right hand. The Boggart regarded him carefully before transforming into a giant black spider.
Her hand leapt to her mouth in an instant as her eyes bugged. It was larger than a horse! It took a heavy step forward, its mandibles snapping threateningly even over the up-beat music. Ronald levelled his wand at the spider…
"Concentrate, Ron, concentrate!" Professor Lupin said.
"Riddikulus!" Ronald called, just as the spider leapt forward. It crashed to the floor as its legs splayed outwards; roller-skates had appeared on the ends of its feet, the wheels still spinning as it struggled to get a leg beneath it. Hermione laughed with the rest of the class.
"Marvellous! Absolutely, very, very enjoyable – Parvati!"
Parvati stepped up next, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail that swayed with each step she took. In a moment of pure self-consciousness, Hermione's hand gently touched the French Knot that her own hair was styled in before she dropped it with a huff.
There was a moment of silence as the Boggart regarded the Gryffindor Patil twin before it quickly transformed into a giant snake. Behind her, she heard Harry gasp, and she spun around with wide eyes to see him rubbing his forehead with a wince.
"It's… loud." He muttered, waving off her concern. She eyed him dubiously, but nodded, nonetheless.
"Riddikulus!" Parvati called, just as she turned to look back at the snake. A heartbeat later, it was a giant Jack-In-The-Box, bobbing back and forth on a huge spring with its hands held up.
Tracey was next, having secured a spot in the line toward the front – Hermione watched as one of her two Slytherin friends walked forward with her head held high, and her wand already levelled at the creature before her.
A second later, it turned into the familiar form of Daphne, which had more than a few people whispering curiously. The faux-Daphne turned around and began walking back to the wardrobe.
"Riddikulus!" Tracey called, the spell striking the Boggart in the back and sending it to the floor, sprawling. It got up in a huff, transformed, and spun on Tracey.
"What the bloody hell was that for?" It snapped, having transformed into Neville Longbottom.
The entire class laughed, and Hermione grinned at how red-faced the actual Neville had become. Behind her, she could hear a pair of girls giggling excitedly, while the boys whistled excitedly. Harry quietly snickered behind her.
As Tracey retreated from the front of the class, Hermione levelled a look at her friend and wiggled her eyebrows. She wasn't above revenge when it came to teasing, after all. Tracey rolled her eyes but grinned regardless.
As Tracey passed her, Hermione's eyes travelled back to the front of the line where Lilith Kullens had stepped up to the creature. In a flash, a pair of men were there, dressed in fine, dark clothing. Their features were refined, despite the vicious sneers on both of their faces.
Both bore a striking resemblance to Lilith herself, and one was easily old enough to be her father – she assumed, then, the younger must be an older brother; she recalled Harry briefly mentioning Lilith telling him of her disdain for her family. Were these men her family? Her chest clenched uncomfortably.
"Riddikulus!" Lilith called, viciously. In a flash, both men were in grass luau skirts and leis, arms and hips swinging in-time to unheard music, and the class erupted in laughter.
"Nice one, Lilith!" Someone called from the back.
"Your Dad's got the legs for that skirt!"
Hermione nodded at the Ravenclaw girl as she passed and offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. To have your worst fear be your own family… Hermione closed her eyes and shivered at the thought.
Neville was next, stepping up to the Boggart and levelling his wand at it – even from her position behind him, she could see the tense setting of his shoulders, and how he almost bounced on the balls of his feet.
The Boggart quickly transformed into a woman with dark, almost black hair in loose ringlets. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were wide as she grinned at the boy before her. Her clothing was also dark, with long sleeves and a skirt that flared at the waist.
"Andromeda?" She heard Harry whisper in shock from behind before he gasped. "Oh, Merlin!"
The woman cackled viciously as she wandered toward Neville, whose wand arm was trembling violently. She leaned forward and touched the tip of one of her fingers to the tip of Neville's wand.
"Itty, bitty baby wants to play, eh?" The woman cooed, sickeningly. Her eyes went wide as Neville hissed something under his breath that Hermione couldn't quite hear. "Oh, it's you!" She cried with glee, spinning away with a twirl of her skirt. She paused as she looked over her shoulder and looked at Neville. "How's Mum and Dad?"
"Riddikulus!" Neville screamed, stomping forward. The spell struck the Boggart in the shoulder and sent it careening into the wardrobe, which was promptly knocked over. Hermione glanced at Professor Lupin, who looked rather pale and seemed to be pulling himself from his stunned stupor.
"Who was that?" Hermione whispered to Harry over her shoulder.
"Bellatrix LeStrange – she and a few others tortured Neville's parents. Arcturus had her killed in Azkaban only a few months later. She's been dead for years." She watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched. "She's Andromeda's older sister."
"That's awful!" She gasped, clutching a hand to her chest. "Is he going to be alright?" She asked quietly as Neville stormed past them, his chest heaving and arms trembling.
Hermione's eyes darted back to the wreckage of wood and splinters that had previously been the wardrobe. Bellatrix LeStrange was dressed up as a clown, complete with ridiculous face-paint, with her hair dyed an array of garish colours.
Daphne was next, her wand up and at the ready as Bellatrix made to storm after Neville, though she came up short when faced with the heiress. Bellatrix disappeared in a flash, and was quickly replaced by a struggling Astoria, bound by chains to the floor. With Daphne having stepped up for her turn, it left Hermione as the next student, but even as close as she was, she couldn't make out the writing on the metal chains that Daphne seemed fixated on.
"Careful, Miss Greengrass." Professor Lupin said, gently. "Remember what it is you're facing."
Daphne nodded almost imperceptibly. "Riddikulus!" She called.
In an instant, the struggling form of Astoria stilled, the chains turning into a hundred or more brown leather leashes. On the other end of those leashes, were just as many copies of Astoria's Familiar, Piper – all were yapping and bouncing excitedly.
"Merlin, he's everywhere!" Harry groaned from behind her. "I thought the spell was supposed to make them less terrifying."
"It's all a matter of perspective, Potter." Daphne smirked, striding by the two of them with a flick of her hair.
"Very well done, Miss Greengrass – though, I find myself in quiet agreement with Mister Potter." Professor Lupin laughed, clapping his hands. "Hermione, up you come!"
Hermione nodded and blew out a steadying breath as she stepped up to the creature – it regarded her through the familiar eyes of Astoria before morphing into the towering, disgusting Mountain Troll of her first year.
Never in her life had she been struck so dumb by fear as she had that night – it had been gigantic and had seemed to fill the entire bathroom with its bulk. Behind her, she heard the faint curse that Harry let out, and, despite everything, she smiled. It had been Harry that had saved her from the creature before her, and it had been Harry that had protected her from everything since.
"Riddikulus!" She said, making sure to pronounce the word correctly. The spell struck the Boggart in the chest, and a moment later, it was clumsily performing ballet moves in a frilly pink tutu; the classroom trembled as it performed a small leap, and she stumbled backwards and fell into the arms of the boy behind her.
Her face lit on fire as she scrambled from Harry's grasp, smoothing down her skirt and cloak as she hurried off to the side of the classroom where the rest of her friends had congregated, her eyes fixed securely on the floorboards. Both Daphne and Tracey hooked their arms through each of Hermione's own and grinned at her, the noses of both girls scrunching and the corners of their eyes crinkling.
"Oh, do shut up." She muttered under her breath.
She looked up just in time to see Harry give a quick nod to Professor Lupin and step forward. The Boggart froze for a moment before shrinking to a familiar-looking man.
Hermione had thought, perhaps, it might take on the form of Ruhxu, the Basilisk, or perhaps the Troll. In all the excitement of the previous year, and the month and a half they'd been going through their current, she'd gotten so caught up in their adventures, she'd totally forgotten the defining moment of their first year.
Loud mutterings filled the room from the rest of their class.
Standing before them all, more confident than he ever had been in life, was the purple-robed, purple-turbaned Professor Quirrell. His face was set into a vicious sneer, and his eyes were flecked with the deepest red that she'd ever seen. Slowly, he raised his hands and began to unravel the turban.
Professor Lupin was there in an instant, leaping between the two of them with his arms out wide. The Boggart froze, mid-action and quickly transformed into a full moon behind a pair of dark clouds. Where Professor Lupin's wand had come from, she couldn't say, only that one moment the Boggart was a moon, and the next it was flying through the room like a balloon.
In the moments it was flying around Professor Lupin cast a quick spell at the wrecked wardrobe, and by the time the Boggart was heading in its direction, the wardrobe was fixed with its door wide open. Another flick of the professor's wand, and the door slammed shut and locked with a loud click.
"Right, well, sorry about that." Professor Lupin said, looking to the rest of the students in the class. "That's enough for today – if you'd all like to collect your books from where you put them earlier, that's the end of the lesson, thank you."
Some of the students in the class groaned, moaning about not having a chance with the Boggart, while others were conspicuously subdued – no doubt wondering just what their own fears were. A heartbeat later, Hermione rushed toward Harry and wrapped her arms around him.
"Are you alright?" She asked, pulling back, and looking him over. "Oh, we should have known it might turn into something like V-him." She said, quickly correcting herself as she darted a quick look to the retreating class. Despite the protests, not a single person argued over being let out early.
"I'm fine – I'm more worried about Neville." Harry muttered, looking at the boy in question. Hermione released him and chewed on her bottom lip. "You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." Neville grunted, folding his arms, and glaring at the wardrobe. "I got to send the bitch flying, at least."
"It was rather spectacular, if I do say so." Daphne hummed, stepping up to the side of Neville and offering him a one-armed hug. "Mention this to anyone, Longbottom, and they'll never find the body. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly." Neville muttered, swallowing audibly.
Neither Tracey, nor herself could contain their laughter, which served as an excellent way of breaking the tension that had fallen on the room, the other three quickly joining them.
"Are you both alright? Harry, Neville?" Professor Lupin said, stepping up to them and placing a hand on both the boy's shoulders. When both nodded, Professor Lupin turned to Neville fully, while Hermione gently wrapped her fingers around Harry's wrist. She smiled up at him when he turned to look at her.
"Neville, let me apologise profusely for not stepping between yourself and that Boggart. I'm afraid I was struck by some quite uncomfortable memories from the war."
"It's alright." Neville smiled, though, to Hermione, it looked a little weak. "Really – I just… I just wasn't expecting her, is all."
"We rarely expect our fears, I'm afraid." Professor Lupin sighed, straightening himself and clapping Neville on the arm. "Come on, I've got just the thing to set you all back to rights."
Hermione cocked her head as the professor flicked his wand into his hand and made a quick motion with his hand – instantly, the tables and chairs set themselves to rights, even flying around them as they made their way toward the curved staircase at the back of the room.
The five of them followed the professor up the stairs and stepped into his office quickly. Professor Lupin settled himself behind his large desk, while everyone settled down where they could. She and Harry slid into the small, two-seater leather sofa against the wall, next to the door; she took the cushion closest to the door, Neville perched himself on the arm on Harry's side, while Daphne and Tracey settled into a pair of chairs at the desk.
Professor Lupin opened one of his top drawers and retrieved a small stack of chocolates, of all different colours and flavours. It took only a moment for the heady aroma to waft under her nose, causing her eyelids to flutter as she breathed in.
"You alright there, Hermione?" Neville asked, amused, as Daphne tossed him a bar.
"I'm fine." She said, clearing her throat awkwardly.
"What flavour do you like best, Granger? There's an Aero, a Yorkie, a Milkybar, or plain Dairy Milk." Tracey hummed, a Milkybar held between her fingers.
"I'll have the Aero, please." She smiled, catching it easily as Tracey tossed it. She glanced to her side and smiled as Harry opened his own Aero. Neville had a Dairy Milk in hand, while Daphne was busy unwrapping a Yorkie. "I didn't take you for a fan, Daphne." She said, cocking an eyebrow at the Slytherin.
Daphne scoffed. "Because it says 'Not for Girls'? I thrive on shattering people's expectations of me. Down with the Patriarchy." She said, breaking the first chunk of the bar off and popping it in her mouth smugly.
"Vive la révolution!" Hermione laughed, doing the same, Tracey echoing the call one last time as the boys and Professor Lupin chuckled. She leaned back against the cushion, savouring the mint-chocolate bar as it melted in her mouth.
She squirmed in her seat for a moment, shifting her weight side to side as she got comfortable – that the position she ended up settling on just happened to be the one where she was leaning into Harry a little was simply a mere coincidence.
The five of them finished their bars quickly, and a moment later, Dobby appeared with a tray full of cool, refreshing drinks – she picked a goblet of chilled water and sighed as she took a sip. "Now that we're all refreshed, why don't we discuss the Erumpent in the room, hm?" Professor Lupin suggested, lacing his fingers together as he reclined in his chair. Dobby disappeared again once everyone had their drinks.
"Bollocks." She heard Harry mutter, and she gently slapped his closest thigh as she took another sip of her drink.
"I know you all know why that was Harry's Boggart, and frankly, I should have known better. I had counted on it being the Basilisk, or the Mountain Troll, like yours, Miss Granger."
"If it had been the Basilisk, wouldn't that have been worse?" Tracey frowned, setting her goblet down.
"Oh no – a Boggart possesses none of the unique traits of those it takes the form of. It wouldn't have been able to cast any magic as Bellatrix, even if it could get hold of a wand. Similarly, it wouldn't have the same deadly stare as a Basilisk."
"It could speak Parseltongue well enough." Harry grunted, quietly.
"You mean when it was Miss Patil's turn, I assume?"
"Aye – it was p-" He paused, and she smiled as innocently as possible when he looked to her. He cleared his throat, and both Daphne and Tracey snickered behind their hands. "It was vexed. Had some choice words for you, by the way."
Professor Lupin chuckled. "I'll bet. As I'm sure you're all aware of how quickly news travels within the castle, it's my job to remind you, not as your professor, that you mustn't let anyone know that Professor Quirrell played host to Voldemort in your first year."
"Of course." She nodded, while the others offered their own agreements, not that she thought any of them would do anything in any case.
"Good. Now, I believe, if you hurry to the Great Hall, you might just be able to beat the lunchtime rush – and Harry, please pass on my thanks to Dobby for his most excellent food. That pizza you suggested was marvellous."
Beside her, Harry grinned and nudged her knee with her own, making her cheeks warm. "Oh, that was all Hermione – we had it on our first day. It was brilliant!"
"Well, credit where credit is due, Miss Granger." Professor Lupin smiled. She returned the smile, somewhat shyly, and got to her feet with the rest of them. "Do enjoy your early lunch." The professor called pleasantly, offering a wave as they filed out of the door.
"Harry, Neville, we'll meet you downstairs." Tracey said, the moment the door to the office closed behind them. On either side of her, the two Slytherin girls appeared, each hooking an arm through her own. "We have to have a talk with the lovely Miss Granger, don't we Daphne?"
"We most certainly do. Run along, boys."
"I think we just got told to piss off, Harry." Neville muttered, glancing at Harry.
"I think we did." Harry sighed, though there was that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. "We'll see you girls down there. Come on, you." He said, slinging an arm around Neville's neck as they called their satchels to them.
Daphne and Tracey called their bags to them as well, Tracey slinging both hers and Hermione's over her shoulder as they watched the boys disappear down the corridor. The second they went out of sight, Tracey stopped the three of them and darted in front of her, an excited look on her face as she clapped her hands. "You have until we get to the Hall, but you just have to tell us everything!"
Hermione groaned as her head rolled back and she stared up at the ceiling. Today was going to be a long day.
A little over a week passed, and before she knew it, October twenty-third dawned. It was a chilly, overcast day, and all through the early morning, little snowflakes had wafted down from the heavens, though none lingered on the ground long enough to settle.
In truth, it was a day that Hermione had been rather looking forward to – it was the first Hogsmeade visit of the year.
Normally, Hogsmeade weekends began shortly after her birthday, in the waning days of September, however, with the presence of the Dementors, it had all been pushed back a month. It wasn't quite what she had in mind for her first weekend in the town, but she could make do.
She grinned excitedly as she hopped out of the carriage, the first of her friends to set foot in Hogsmeade and clapped her hands as she spun to face the bemused looks of Harry, Neville, Daphne, and Tracey.
Like her, all of them were bundled up warmly. Hermione had opted for a pair of warm jeans, tucked into a pair of ankle-boots her mother had bought her in the summer, a grey cashmere jumper, and her warmest, yet still flattering, coat. To finish it all off, she had her Gryffindor woolly hat on, with her hair framing her face, her Gryffindor scarf, pulled snuggly up to her chin, and matching Gryffindor gloves that were, simply put, heavenly.
Harry was the first to follow her out of the carriage, having sat between her and Neville. He was dressed in a knee-length grey doublet that ghosted over the tops of his black leather boots and was cinched at the waist with an equally dark belt. Around his shoulders sat his heavy cloak, the fur of the wolf pelt wafting in the breeze. His hair was half tied back, and already had the lightest dusting of snowflakes in it.
He squinted up at the overcast sky before looking back at her and grinning, his green eyes sparkling and bright against the pale skin of his face, and the darkness of his eyebrows and hair.
Neville was next out of the carriage, hopping onto the ground with a soft thump – like Harry, his hair was half tied back, and he wore a similar long doublet, though his was decidedly brown in colour, and complemented the tall belt around his waist; the roaring bear of House Longbottom roaring proudly. His cloak, much like Harry's, sat on his shoulders, though it looked far thicker to her eye.
A soft gust of wind drifted by them, and she fought the urge to shiver as her hair flared behind her, and it caught the back of her neck. As she looked at the two boys, a brief pang of jealousy shot through her as she eyed the cloaks.
Tracey was next, rolling her eyes at Neville as he offered her his hand, though she took it anyway, even if she did flick him on the tip of his nose afterwards. Like Hermione, Tracey wore a pair of comfortable looking boots, though hers came a little higher than her own, and a pair of black jeans that hugged the shape of her legs. A beige jumper and a brown coat finished the look, with a Slytherin scarf and gloves. Unlike Hermione, Tracey wore her hair in a high, loose ponytail that wafted in the breeze.
Daphne was last, stepping from the carriage as if she owned it, and Hermione grinned at the sight. Like always, Daphne looked simply radiant; she wore a long, form-fitting shimmering black dress with a dark bodice. Around the high collar, short tufts of soft-looking fur ghosted the bottom of her jaw, and as she stepped onto the cobblestones, Hermione caught a brief glimpse of the heeled boots beneath the long skirt. Unlike Harry and Neville, her cloak was lighter, though she would hazard a guess that it was just as warm.
Like Hermione, Daphne's hair was down, with only a simple braided crown, like the one she sometimes styled hers into, to keep it all under control.
Standing before her friends, despite her bubbling excitement, she couldn't help but feel a little under-dressed.
"She's practically bouncing on the spot." Neville grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they moved away from the parked carriages. All around them, other students of all ages hurried past them in excited groups, though she saw just as many serious-faced professors, and even a number of red-robed Aurors.
"Oh, leave her alone, Longbottom. Who can blame her? We've been looking forward to this for years." Tracey grinned, shoving the Longbottom heir away with her elbow before hooking her arm through Hermione's, and resting her head on her shoulder.
"It's been two." Harry chuckled with a roll of his eyes.
"Exactly – that means plural." Tracey grinned, releasing Hermione's arm, and hurrying in front of their little group, her arms spread wide. "We've finally made it to Hogsmeade!" She laughed, gaily.
"Who do you think is more excited now?" Neville chuckled, causing Harry to snort. Hermione grinned at her friends, noticing how the tips of their noses had turned pink in the cold.
"Oh, Daphne. There's no doubt."
"Bite me, Potter." Daphne muttered, wrapping her cloak around her a little tighter. "It's too cold." She harrumphed.
"This was your idea." Neville said in a sing-song voice as they left the arrival area.
Hermione marvelled at the buildings as they stepped into the High Street. The buildings on either side of her were made of grey stone, and their roofs were tall and triangular. Stone benches punctuated the wide, cobblestone street, and the warm lights from the large shop windows cast wonderfully warm light on an otherwise frigid day.
"It's-" Tracey began, excitedly.
"-Beautiful!" Hermione breathed, grinning. "Oh, isn't it wonderful?" She asked, turning to her friends. Harry looked bemused, though equally taken with the sight before them, and Neville seemed to be enjoying Daphne's discomfort more than the magical view before them.
"So, what's first?" Tracey asked, side-stepping enough for a small group of sixth year Ravenclaws to hurry past them, each of them whispering excitedly to one another among the hubbub of the street. "It's only, what, ten?"
"Something like that." Neville nodded, rubbing his arm with a wince after a quick slug from Daphne. "Anything anyone wants to do first?"
"Get out of the cold?" Daphne huffed, childishly. "Flay Longbottom, perhaps?"
"So mean." Neville sighed with a despondent shake of his head. "Here, what happened to that boy that asked you out the other day?"
Daphne shrugged her shoulders. "Not a clue." She paused and narrowed her eyes at Neville. "Why?" She asked, suspiciously.
"Oh, no reason." Neville hummed, happily.
Hermione was just about to open her mouth to suggest they start their trip at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop – she'd heard wonderful things about the quality of their parchment – when the familiar form of Professor Lupin appeared, adjusting the straps of his cloak.
"Ah, there you are – sorry about that; bit of a commotion at the carriages, I'm afraid." He apologised, smiling. "Decided on your first stop yet?"
"Not yet." Harry answered with a shrug. "Any suggestions?"
"Well, James and Sirius always enjoyed Zonko's, but I was always partial to Honeydukes, myself." Professor Lupin sighed, wistfully. His hands disappeared behind his cloak, though he didn't seem too bothered by the cold.
Hermione shuffled her feet and chanced a glance around the street once more. She took in the warm shopfronts, tall, pointed roofs, and large grey bricks all over again, but her eyes began to trail over to the many, many red-robed Aurors that were stationed all over the street. All had their wands in their hands, serious faces, and looked tense.
"Professor, why are there so many Aurors? It's not usually like this, is it?" She asked, looking at the Professor again.
"For today, I insist on you all calling me Remus." Professor – Remus – said. "As for the Aurors, well, yes, you're right in that it is most unusual. I can't say much as to why they are here, but I will say that it's simply for your protection."
Hermione hadn't missed the way his eyes had darted to Harry at that last bit. Was Harry in danger? God, if he was in danger, why had they even come here? He needed to get back to the castle, where it was safe, secure, and-
"Hermione?" Harry asked, looking at her curiously. "You're making that face you do when you're thinking too hard."
"I do not think too hard!" She huffed, glaring at him. Behind him, Neville snorted. "Something funny, Neville?"
"Definitely not!" Neville was quick to say, holding up his hands.
A hand fell on her shoulder, and she turned to see Prof – Remus – standing there, amusement written all over his face, while his other hand was on Harry's back. "Come, why don't we start at Zonko's – if for nothing other than it being the closest. I'm sure we could all do with getting out of the cold; Miss Greengrass especially."
Daphne sniffed and lifted her chin as she swept past them in the most dignified hurry Hermione had ever witnessed. Tracey snickered and hooked her arm through Hermione's before dragging her toward the store.
"Let the two of us handle Neville today – you just enjoy yourself." Tracey whispered, leaning into her. Hermione blinked and looked at the raven-haired girl, whose hazel eyes were practically dancing.
"Huh?" She managed after a heartbeat; though she winced at how dumb she sounded to her own ears. "What do you mean?"
"You and Harry, of course!" Tracey answered with a roll of her eyes as she tugged on Hermione's arm.
"What do you mean?" She hissed, narrowing her eyes. "There's nothing going on." She added, quickly glancing over her shoulder at the boy in question, who was a few steps behind, talking with Remus and Neville. She smiled, despite herself as he offered a little wave.
"Merlin, you're a disaster." Tracey huffed, stomping her way up the steps. "Neither of you are hardly subtle."
"I got all of this from Daphne the other week, you know." Hermione huffed, tugging her gloves off, and shoving them in her coat pockets. The shop was large, with shelves upon shelves of various goodies that were designed for all manner of pranks and mischief. She fought the urge to scrunch her nose at the sight.
"Oh, I know – she told me all about it." Tracey hummed, hands in her pockets as she wandered into the store. Hermione's eyes widened before she hurried after her, tightly wrapping her arm around her friend's.
"Tell me what she told you. Now." She demanded, a sickly-sweet smile on her lips – courtesy of Daphne, in first year. Honestly, the amount she'd learned from the two Slytherin girls terrified her at times; however, she wouldn't be denied – not now, not when so much was on the line.
"Well, aren't you just adorable when you try to be threatening." Tracey laughed, stepping around a pair of Hufflepuff boys and sliding up to Daphne, who was peering into a glass case curiously. "Hermione here wants to know what you told me the other week."
"Oh, I told her everything." Daphne shrugged; her eyes focused on the glass.
"Daphne!" She squeaked indignantly, stomping her foot.
"What?" She asked, looking at her finally, while Tracey laughed into the palm of her hand. "It's hardly a secret."
Hermione glared, and looked away with a huff. She released Tracey's arm and crossed her arms over her chest, while her teeth worried at her bottom lip. "Is it really not a secret?" She asked, her voice quiet and timid.
"Not to us." Tracey shrugged. "We haven't heard anyone else talking about it though, and Neville's too thick to cotton on just yet."
"Neville is not thick." Hermione said, glaring at the girl. Tracey held her hands up in surrender, but snickered, nonetheless.
"He isn't – just unobservant when it comes to these things. Believe me." Daphne sighed, rolling her eyes as she stepped away from the case. "I'll bet Sirius, Remus, and Amelia know, by the way."
Her eyes flew open, and she spun on the spot, where she eyed Remus pointing out a few products to the boys; Harry, strangely, seemed particularly interested. "God, please tell me they don't – that's so embarrassing!"
"At least you didn't have them and your parents offering you as a bride to Harry." Daphne shrugged, pulling her cloak a little tighter around her as a cold gust of air blew through the store as the door opened and closed.
"That's awful."
"That's how it is." Tracey hummed, picking up a spherical thing that was clicking and whirring. "That's how the old families have made alliances and the like for, well, ever. Nothing makes things more official than a wedding."
"When would you have married?" Hermione blinked, looking at Daphne.
"Sixteen, probably. That when he comes into his title – at sixteen, Harry will be the most powerful wizard in Britain. Politically, I mean."
"It's a bit of a shit deal, if you ask me." Tracey said, putting the product back on the shelf with pursed lips. "We won't even be out of school then. Could you imagine having to get ready for N.E. and manage your estate and do your Lordly duties?"
Hermione frowned, her eyes travelling back to the dark-haired boy across the shop, who was looking wide-eyed at something that Remus was talking quite animatedly about. For the first time, in, well, for as long as she could remember, she was struck by just how young they all were.
"He won't be alone, you know – Neville will be Lord at the same time." Daphne said, glancing over her shoulder at the two of them when Hermione looked at her. "As crass as it is to say it, his parents are considered as good as dead as far as the Wizengamot is concerned."
"That's barbaric!" Hermione scowled, her hands clenching in her coat pockets. "Neville must feel terrible about it all."
"He doesn't really say, and we don't really talk about it. He still visits them, you know. Augusta, his Gran, used to take him once a month – used to take them a box of his Dad's favourite chocolates, but with school…" She trailed off as her fingers ghosted the surface of the display cabinet she was standing in front of. "Well, it's not as often – I think that's helped him a little, you know?"
"He's more confident." Tracey nodded, pressing her lips together. "Oh, don't give me that look, Granger." The girl grinned. "I enjoy getting a rise out of him, but I have zero intention of becoming the next Lady Longbottom." Tracey's eyes danced as she tapped a finger to her lips. "Although Tracey Potter has a certain ring to it."
Hermione's eyes narrowed at her friend as she felt her face flush from embarrassment.
"At least you'll both have the same initials." Daphne smirked, bumping her shoulder with her own.
"Shut up." She mumbled, focusing her eyes on the toes of her boots.
"Who'll have the same initials?" Harry asked from behind, causing her to let out a short shriek as she practically leapt into the air, her chest pounding and breathing ragged as she spun to see Harry, Neville, and Remus all behind them, quite amused by her outburst. "Alright there, Hermione?"
"Yes, yes – fine, you just – you just startled me, is all." She managed, clutching a hand to her chest.
"So, who's going to have the same initials then?" Neville asked, curiously. He rocked back and forth; his hands clasped at the small of his back beneath his cloak. Hermione caught sight of a small bag beneath his robes – that would likely spell disaster down the line for someone; probably her.
"Oh – Tracey and Terry Boot. They'd both have the same." Daphne said, quickly, her face remarkably impassive. Hermione glanced at Tracey and watched, slightly in awe, as she didn't so much as hesitate before nodding solemnly.
"It's true – remarkably convenient after the wedding. Us girls have to take these things into consideration when thinking of wizards, you know."
"Really?" Neville asked, scrunching his nose. "That sounds like a hassle."
"Seems fair enough to me, I guess." Harry shrugged. "You guys getting anything?"
Hermione shook her head quickly, her eyes briefly darting to the bemused Remus standing behind the two boys, and suddenly, her heart was in her throat – somehow, he knew. A cold pit of dread filled the bottom of her stomach, similar to her brief exposure to the Dementor on the train.
"Well," Harry said, slowly. "We've got a few things – thought we'd try and get the twins back for that prank of theirs."
Hermione blinked, remembering the incident – Harry had been in an absolute uproar over it all. Shortly upon their return to Hogwarts, the bathrooms in the dungeons had all mysteriously disappeared, and no-one, not even the professors had been able to remember where they had been.
Days later, Percy Weasley, the eldest of the siblings at the school, and the current Head Boy, had apprehended those responsible – his younger brothers, Fred and George. The two had been in detention for a week before attempting to get even with their brother, and had, like the bathrooms before, hidden his book bag away.
Truthfully, Hermione wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but at some point, Harry's bag had also been hidden, though with the professors of the school aware of just what spell had been used – no doubt the boys had been interrogated in detention with Professor McGonagall – Harry's bag had been returned promptly, at the end of the very next day.
The return of his bag hadn't stopped him from stewing in his anger for a few days; he'd missed handing in a Potions essay because of it and had received a detention himself.
"You're taking on Fred and George?" Tracey blinked. "You're brave."
"You're forgetting I grew up with Padfoot and Moony." Harry scoffed, shooting the adult – who was doing a remarkable job of looking innocent – a look over his shoulder.
"Well, don't come crying to me if it all blows up in your face." Hermione sniffed, attempting to take on the roll of the sensible one.
"If it all goes to plan, it'll be blowing up in their face." Harry grinned, and, once again, she found her knees trembling at the sight of it. She cursed herself, silently, and took a deep breath.
"So, are we done in here? I was thinking we could all get a drink before going to the next shop – might be nice to beat the lunchtime rush."
"That's our Hermione – there's a reason you're the top of the year." Neville grinned, winking as he hurried toward the door.
"And why you're not, always thinking with his stomach." Daphne muttered, following the boy.
"Hey, it's not just Hermione at the top of the year, you arse!" Harry called after the departing Gryffindor before blowing out a sigh. Despite herself, Hermione found herself grinning shyly at him as he stepped up to her – Tracey quickly hurrying after Neville and Daphne.
"So, what did you get?" She asked, pointing to the little bag she could see poking out from inside his cloak. As they walked toward the door, she wriggled her hands into her gloves, and tightened her scarf as she braced for the cold air.
"Now, Miss Granger, that would be telling." Harry smirked, though he offered her his arm, which she took – though she hoped it hadn't been as quickly as it had looked.
"And you're okay with this?" She asked over her shoulder, her eyes looking at Pro – Remus – sceptically. "Seriously?"
"As a Marauder, it's my solemn duty to encourage the next generation into mischief. As a professor… I can hardly keep an eye on my students all of the time."
The cold air greeted her as the door opened, and Hermione clutched at Harry's arm a little tighter, ignoring just how nice it felt, not to mention the knowing looks from both Daphne and Tracey – Neville just looked impatient for food.
"Besides," Profe – Remus – continued as they made their way down the short, stone steps. "The best pranks are excellent examples of practical learning, wouldn't you say, Miss Granger?"
Harry chuckled, and gave her a lop-sided smile. Her heart fluttered in her chest.
"Well-" She began, uncertainly, her bottom lip between her teeth. "I suppose, in theory, but-"
"Excellent!" Prof – Remus – grinned, clapping Harry on his other shoulder as he offered a conspiratorial wink to the two of them. "In that case, I feel absolutely no guilt in declaring my belief – as a Marauder – that Harry and Neville will excel in pranking the twins. I quite look forward to collecting my winnings from Sirius, after all."
"You bet on Harry's prank?" She cried; eyes wide as she stumbled her footing. "I can't believe it!"
"Oh, they bet on everything." Harry sighed at her side – he looked up at the sky before looking at her. "Remus is on a winning streak of twenty so far. It's a personal best."
"You can't help those who never want to learn from their mistakes, Harry. I'm quite looking forward to increasing that number." He added, grinning wolfishly as Profess – Moony – met her wide-eyed gaze. She suddenly had a terrible, terrible feeling.
Had they bet on her?
The days following Hogsmeade had passed quickly – the castle had returned to its usual routine, even if the constant chill of the distant Dementors was a constant presence in the backs of everyone's mind.
In her quiet moments alone, Hermione revelled in the memories of her first trip to the nearby magical town. The Three Broomsticks had been lovely and cozy, reminding her of the nearby pub to her own house, which served the most wonderful fish and chips – for as long as she lived, she didn't think she'd ever forget the little pub, with its climbing frame and slide outside.
The Three Broomsticks had tickled that distant memory, of sitting at the table with her grandparents after a trip out somewhere on the weekends, bouncing excitedly in her seat, with her little legs kicking back and forth. Like that Muggle pub, The Three Broomsticks served the most delicious food, and, as she'd looked around at the many tables, chairs, and secluded booths, she had almost been able to picture her grandparents, sitting there with her at one of the far tables, sipping a small Gin and Tonic, and her scrunching her eyes at the too cold ice cream she'd eaten too quickly.
Harry had noticed her daydreaming, of course – he always seemed to notice when she was distracted, though, annoyingly, he never seemed to be aware of when he was distracting her; Valentines had been an eye-opener at the obliviousness of one Harry Potter.
Still, it had been pleasant. Professor Lupin had sat with them in their little booth, Daphne and Tracey next to him, while Neville had been on the far side of Harry. He'd spun tales of his years at Hogwarts, and the mischief they had managed under the leadership of James Potter. His smile had been fond and consistent throughout it all, and the longer he spoke, the more she thought she might have liked James.
She did, after all, quite like his son.
Harry had smiled throughout it all, though he remained silent and picked at the black and gold oval-shaped label of his Butterbeer – the small pile of shredded paper forming a small mountain between his hands.
Their meal had been wonderful and filling when it had arrived, and the fish and chips she'd ordered had been a close second to that wonderful dish in her memory. Perhaps, one day, she might bring her Grandma to the pub – they could order fish and chips and eat ice cream.
After that, they had returned to their shopping, dipping in and out of each store and purchasing little things here and there. She hadn't paid much attention to it all, honestly – she'd been too swept up in the fun of it all, though she had made sure to buy a dashingly jet-coloured scarf with little trimmings of silver along the edges. The moment she'd seen it, she could think of no-one that would wear it better than Harry.
He'd been stunned by the gift, though he'd immediately wrapped it around his neck, despite the already warm cloak he'd worn about his shoulders, and her chest had felt lighter than a feather, even as her heart beat a mile a minute at the action.
Later on, she'd finally been able to drag everyone into Scrivenshaft's, and had gotten a taste of her own medicine. It had been in a little alcove of stationary accessories, but it had immediately caught her eye. It was a delightful organiser, made of fine russet-coloured leather. Fine, golden patterning was embossed on both covers, and her fingers had traced them reverently.
Inside was enough room for her to keep all of her sheets of parchment, and there were even little tags on the side for her to manage what she wanted. However, despite how much she had yearned to buy it, she'd slid it back onto the shelf with a quiet, mournful sigh and gone on to browse the various inks that were on sale.
It had come as quite the surprise, ten minutes later, when she'd turned and spotted Harry at the counter, handing over a handful of coins for that very same organiser. He'd grinned at her stunned expression, and offered it to her with a hopefully smile, his eyes dancing with nervousness – as if she would ever – could ever – refuse that boy.
That wonderful, thoughtful boy.
They'd returned to the castle an hour later, piling into the carriage, discussing what they'd bought, what they had enjoyed the most, but it had all passed in a blur to her. Her gloved hands had clutched the organiser to her chest, and she'd leaned her head on Harry's shoulder, the fur making her nose twitch.
Harry was a generous boy – that she knew well enough. He was generous not only in deed, but in word as well; always quick to say a kind word to her, to compliment her hair, or the way she wore her uniform, though it was always the same, regardless of what he said.
He had been generous the day he had leapt on the back of that Mountain Troll, of trying to save the scared little girl that had been so jealous of how quickly magic came to him that she'd been rude to him for weeks – he hadn't cared about that, though. All he'd cared about was that she was safe. It had felt humbling to try and offer that same thing in return – to read to him while he recovered from injuries that, by rights, she would have endured.
That he'd been the one to hold her as she faced her fear of heights after crossing the gorge had meant the world to her, even then. He'd not said a word as she sobbed into his shoulder and had waited calmly until she managed to control herself.
Then, there had been the whole thing with the Basilisk. She'd barely been able to follow behind Professor Cantrill with the others that had suffered from the creature. The moment she had seen Harry, the boy who had rescued her, again, well, she'd barely been able to stop herself. That kiss on the cheek had been the first she had given, and she could remember, with no small amount of smugness, the dazed look that had been on his face right after. It was a point of pride for her.
Any way that she looked at it, the boy currently sat next to her, with his head propped up by one hand as he idly read the page of the book in front of him, was her hero, her very own knight in shining armour. Some days, it was hard to imagine that she wasn't dreaming.
That wasn't to say he was infallible, like some believed him to be. He was, after all, a boy – a thirteen-year-old one at that. He could be thoughtless, brash, impulsive, and he had a certain streak of mischievous disregard for the rules, though she would admit that a similar streak ran through her too. She tried not to smile crookedly at the sight of Professor Snape's cloak catching fire.
She turned to regard Harry; he was sat on her right, the two of them nestled amongst their books at their little table in the Library – Neville had been hoodwinked into helping Tracey and Daphne with something or other, no doubt part of their little plan, though what that plan was remained a mystery.
Harry's brow was furrowed in thought, and his eyes darted back and forth – he was a quick reader – while his lips pressed tightly together. There was a tenseness in Harry that had been building for the entire week, and it broke her heart.
Today was October thirty-first, the anniversary of his parent's death, and it was a Sunday. She had dragged him to the Library in an attempt to find a quiet place away from all the bubbling excitement in the castle, and for the most part, they had been successful. The Library was usually quiet on a Sunday, and their table was nestled deep within the Library, away from the most prying of eyes.
He glanced up at her, his eyes catching the sunlight through the window – for as long as she lived, she didn't think she'd ever forget his eyes. They were just so… full in their intensity, and Merlin, she'd put money on the bet that he wasn't even trying!
"Is there something on my face?" He asked, voice rough and hoarse as he sat up. He wore only a long, baggy tunic with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and his hair was tied back.
"No." She murmured, quietly, breathlessly, even. "I just-"
He blinked quickly, and her fingers knotted themselves on the open book before her. She took a deep breath. "Is everything alright?"
"No, I mean, yes, everything's fine, I just… are you alright?" She asked, her leg bouncing beneath the table. "You've been quiet since everyone left, and…"
"Well, it is the Library." He chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the room around them. "I don't think Madame Pince, or any of those assistants of hers let us get away with having a chat."
"Oh, stop it – you know what I mean." Hermione sighed, swatting his hand lightly. "It's just… I know how difficult today is, and-"
"And you want to help." He smiled, sadly. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and rubbed at his face with the base of his palms. "I don't deserve you." He muttered.
"What?" She gasped, eyes widening. "Why would you say something like that? Harry you're the kindest person I know!"
Harry snorted and stretched. "You can think what you want, but I think that about you. I've been miserable to be around all week, and here you are, trying to make sure I'm alright."
"You're my best friend." She said, instantly.
"I beat Daphne?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow as a crooked smile swept across his lips.
"You're in a league of your own, Potter – now, don't change the subject." She grinned, bumping his knee with her own. She licked her lips and slid her fidgeting hands under her thighs.
"Honestly – everything you've done this week has been wonderful. All of you. I've never really… handled today well. That's how I ended up in that bathroom in first year, you know."
"You said." She smiled, fondly.
"That's what I get for running off for the day, I guess." He shrugged, as if it were something as simple as stubbing a toe, and not having been thrown against a wall by a Mountain Troll. "Worked out pretty well in the end, I'd say."
"Yeah, me too." She squeaked, ducking her chin. There was a moment of silence between the two of them before the sound of approaching feet had them glancing at each other, curiously. Almost nobody came through here on a Sunday.
As the one closest to the aisle, with Harry between herself and the exterior wall, she took it upon herself to glance down the row of bookshelves – a twang of fear made itself known at the startling realisation that it could be Madame Pince, coming to throw them out for being too noisy.
When she looked, however, it wasn't Madame Pince at all. Instead, it was that Ravenclaw transfer student – Cai Griffin; she'd seen Harry share a few words with him every now and then, though she'd never tried to listen in. They seemed to know one another to an extent – perhaps they knew one another through Sirius or Remus.
"Ah, Harry – I thought I'd find you in here." The older boy smiled, his hands clasped smartly at the small of his back as he stopped at their table. He was dressed much the same way Harry used to in their first and second year, with a smart, well made doublet with the sigil of his House on his breast – a leaping, blue Kelpie.
"Cai – what can I do for you?" Harry asked next to her. She noticed how he sat a little taller in his chair, and how he sat forward, clasping his hands together on the table.
Cai's eyes darted to her, and his jaw twitched. She tried not to let it bother her. She should have known there were others like Malfoy's lot in the castle. She began to gather her things. "I'll leave you two to it." She said, quietly.
She stilled the second she felt Harry's hand on her wrist, though when she looked at him, his eyes were entirely focused on the older boy across from them. Cai Griffin shuffled anxiously from foot to foot. "I take it that this is House business, and that you didn't just mean to imply what my friend here thought you did."
Cai blinked, confused. "I'm sorry – have I offended you?" He asked, looking directly at her. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his hair fell to his shoulders and shimmered blue in the sunlight from the window. Cai bowed low, his hand darting to his chest. "If I've done so, I meant no offense. My intention was merely to talk to my Lord."
"Y-your Lord?" She blinked, owlishly. She darted a look to Harry, who nodded once. "I thought it was because I'm a Muggle-born." She said, quietly.
"I don't judge based on blood, Miss Granger. It would be hypocritical of me." Cai grinned, charmingly, as he straightened. "I'm a Morgen, a half-breed. Your Ministry would class me as a creature – luckily, I was born into privilege. I'm luckier than most."
"You know my name?" Hermione managed; eyes wide.
"Oh yes – Harry has been singing your praises every chance he gets."
Hermione felt her cheeks flush as her head spun to Harry, who, she noted, was blushing rather furiously himself. "Oh, thank you." She said, quietly. "I'll, uh – I'll leave you to it, then."
"No, it's okay – whatever he has to say, I'm sure he'll be able to manage it in front of you. Unless…" He trailed off, giving Cai a strange look – it was brief, and for a moment, she thought she'd almost imagined it.
"Nothing like that, Lor- I mean, Harry." Cai breathed out, heavily, catching himself on the use of Harry's title. She knew how much it bothered him to be referred to by it around Hogwarts – in the early days of their first year, a number of students had insisted on calling him by it until he'd managed to get it into their heads that he was a student, just like them. In the first week, before her jealousy had taken root, she'd even been one to refer to him as that, after hearing some of the others do it. "I just came to see how you were doing, since…"
"It's that day." Harry muttered, falling back in his chair again. "Family Magic?" He asked, looking at Cai with pursed lips.
Cai shrugged. "Partly. I also happen to think you're tolerable."
"I'm sorry," She said, biting her lip as Cai and Harry looked at her. Her shoulders hunched on reflex as she willed the chair to swallow her whole. "But what's a Morgen? You mentioned it, and I've never heard of it before, and, well-"
Harry snorted, and she sent him a glare, while Cai was busy grinning at Harry when she turned to look at him again. "That took longer than you said it would."
"You didn't!" Hermione cried, spinning to look at Harry. "That's terrible!"
Harry held his hands up in surrender. "I said you were curious, and frankly, Morgen aren't very well known. That's all." She turned away from him with a huff and folded her arms across her chest.
Arse.
"A Morgen is similar to a Veela, in a way. We just happen to be very uniquely linked to water; every Morgen is an Elemental. We don't turn into birds when we're angry though – though, we might douse you with water." Cai smiled, rocking back and forth on the heels of his boots. "So, I assume you're alright, Harry?" He asked after she nodded and made a small note to research at a later date.
"I'll be fine – I have excellent company." Harry said, kindly. "I'll survive, I think."
"Alright then." Cai nodded. "I'm always available to you, of course. My Lord, Miss Granger."
The two of them watched, silently, as Cai bowed and walked back the way he came. "Rumour-mill has it, several of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff girls are quite charmed by him, you know." Harry hummed as he settled back in his chair, the index finger of his right hand idly tapping the wood of the desk. "I have it on good authority."
"Oh?"
"Lavender and Parvati."
"They're hardly reliable." She scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Possibly. After all, he might have just charmed his first Gryffindor."
"I wasn't charmed." Hermione denied with another huff. "It takes more than that to charm me, Mister Potter."
"Good." He murmured, quietly, and even as she stared at her organiser and the sheets of parchment that she had organised meticulously, she could still feel the weight of his gaze on her. Heat crept up her neck. "I might have had to challenge him to an Honour Duel."
Her eyes widened at the memory of Draco's sorry attempt at a duel last year. Her leg began to bounce anxiously, and her palms suddenly felt clammy. "Speaking of duelling," She squeaked. "Is the club going to continue this year, do you know?"
"Sirius said the third, so… Wednesday? Should be easier, with more professors this year, too." He said, slowly. "I'm looking forward to it – I've been practicing since last year."
"Practicing?" She asked with a raised brow as she began clearing away her things. She'd brought her bag, while Harry hadn't.
"At Arpton – what, did you think I'd just sit on my arse while I was there?"
She paused, her organiser half-way into her bag and pursed her lips. "I actually don't know what I think, honestly. You never talk about it – not with me, anyway."
Harry winced as he got to his feet and flicked his wand, the books on their table that they had pilfered from the nearby shelves quickly flying back to their proper places. Normally, she'd scold him for not putting the books back himself, but in that moment, their close proximity was made abundantly clear. She swallowed thickly and stepped out of the way as he shimmied around her.
"Sorry – you know I don't do it on purpose." He said, handing her the last book on the table – it was one of the ones he'd purchased on her behalf during the whole Heir of Slytherin disaster last year. "I like you not really knowing that side of me – does that make me selfish?"
She shook her head slowly and quickly put her bag on her shoulder. Harry offered her his arm, and she took it gladly, weaving her arm around his – it had become almost routine after Hogsmeade; a wonderful, wonderful routine. "Not at all." She said, quietly as they made toward the entrance to the Library, quietly meandering through the silent rows of the tall bookshelves.
"I think it does, sometimes." He murmured, his lips pressed together in a tight, but sad smile. "I had an idea, actually, for this summer – I thought you might want to clear it with your parents before I mention it to the others and to Sirius."
"What is it?"
"Well, the Quidditch World Cup is happening over the summer, and we'll be going as official guests – all the families get an invitation. It's as much a political event as it is for the sport. I thought you might like to come, as my, uh, personal guest?" He asked, his voice growing shakier the longer he spoke. Hermione flushed and ducked her head.
"I'd love to."
She felt Harry's shoulders drop in relief. "Well, that's something good on this awful day, at least."
"And spending time with me in the Library wasn't good?" She asked, archly. "Careful how you answer, Potter."
"That's a nasty trick you got from Daphne." He grunted as they approached the doors, which, thankfully, were open. "Of course it's been good. It's been the most tolerable Halloween of my life, honestly."
"I'm glad." She said, squeezing his arm with her own.
Just as they turned the corner out of the Library, the pair of them came face-to-face with Luna Lovegood and Arlo Reyes, the Ravenclaw duo Harry had introduced them to at the start of the year.
Hermione had spoken briefly with Luna since then – while she didn't believe in the same animals as the Ravenclaw, and often found some things she said confusing, but beneath it all, there was a rather intelligent girl hidden behind all of the whimsy.
"Oh, hello Harry." Luna smiled widely; her hands clasped before her as she rocked on her heels. Arlo, at her side, smiled and nodded politely at the two of them.
"Off to do some reading?" Harry asked, his gaze falling to the bags on each student's shoulder.
"Research project." Arlo sighed, adjusting the strap of his bag. "This one wants to see if there's anything to help the Thestrals in the forest." He said, hooking a thumb at the blonde.
"Sounds like a great idea." Hermione smiled – Harry had mentioned the creatures a few times now, and she'd had to spend an evening in the Library, but she'd finally managed to understand just what it was that he'd been seeing. Her heart broke for the boy next to her all over again – to have witnessed death so young…
"Would you like to join us, Harry?" Luna asked softly. "I'm afraid everyone is quite wrapped up in the celebrations."
"Oh no, I'm fine, thanks – Hermione and I were just going to go for a walk. Get some fresh air before it gets dark."
"We were?" She asked before she could stop herself – Arlo snickered behind his hand.
Harry nodded, but leaned a little closer to Luna as he dropped his voice to a whisper. "There's a really good table out of the way in the back left corner beneath the widow, against the partition of the Restricted Section. Should be perfect for your project."
"Gracias, Harry." Arlo smiled. "Enjoy your walk!" He grinned, slapping Harry happily on the arm as he stepped around the two of them.
"I hear the lake is rather pretty around this time. Careful of the Dementors, Harry – they're quite mean." Luna smiled, stepping around the two of them and hurrying after Arlo.
"So, we're going on a walk, are we?" Hermione asked, trying her best to sound nonchalant as the two of them watched Luna hurry into the Library. "Do you want to go get Neville, and I'll go get the girls?"
"No, I-" Harry paused and swallowed. "I want to show you somewhere."
"Okay." She said, slowly. Her free hand played with the strap of her bag before she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, we still need to go back to the Tower, and-"
Harry's quiet chuckling cut her off. "Clara!" He called into the empty corridor, the flaming bird appearing a moment later with a brilliant burst of light. "Dobby!" He called after grinning at the curious bird; the little Elf appeared with a crack and bounced on the balls of his feet.
"Master Harry Potter Sirs be calling Dobby? The Elf asked, his voice squeaky and excited.
Hermione smiled as she watched Harry get down on his knees to look the Elf in the eye. "Can you take something back to Hermione's room for me, and fetch two cloaks from mine?" The Elf nodded so quickly his ears made little flapping sounds.
She slid the bag from her shoulder, and carefully handed it to the Elf, who took it easily. When Dobby disappeared with a crack, she tilted her head curiously at Harry – he'd asked for two cloaks, and she was smart enough to understand that he intended for her to use one of them, but she was curious as to why one of her own coats wouldn't have been just as good.
When Dobby reappeared, he was holding the two fur-lined cloaks in his arms. Harry took the top-most one and wrapped it around her. She made sure to duck her head into the gap between the wide leather straps that criss-crossed the chest and winced as they pressed down uncomfortably against her. In front of her, Harry winced and offered a quiet apology, which she waved off.
With the cloak settled as comfortably as it was going to get, she couldn't help but feel swamped by the mass of fabric. It was thick, and just as heavy as it looked, but so warm. She had thought with the open front, it might be airy, but in reality, it felt wonderful. It also smelled very much like the boy who was quickly settling his own around his shoulders with practiced ease. There was just a hint of citrus and honeyed beeswax.
With his own cloak sorted, Clara took to the air, leaping from the flagstone floor with practiced ease as she flapped her powerful wings. She felt Clara's familiar magic wash over her, and a moment later, the three of them were standing atop a cliff overlooking the Black Lake.
Her breath left her in a rush at the sheer height, and she stumbled backwards into Harry, a surprised shriek escaping her lips. Only Harry's firm grip on her arms kept her standing upright. "It's okay. I've got you." He breathed, squeezing her arms slightly.
"What are we doing up here?" She asked, hating how her voice trembled. Above her, the clear sky spread far and wide, not a single cloud in sight, and a brisk wind whipped her hair about her face mercilessly. "What about the Dementors?"
"If they get too close, Clara will take us back. I wanted to show you where I was; before I found you in that bathroom in first year."
"You were up here?" She cried; eyes wide as she looked around her frantically.
"Aye. In this exact spot, I'd reckon – only, I was sitting down. Do you want to sit?" He asked over the wind. She nodded, numbly, as her legs gave out beneath her. "I thought you might be able to wrap up a bit more with the cloak. It's not too uncomfortable, is it?" He asked as he helped her to the stone beneath them. She gripped his hand tightly and almost dragged him down with her.
She shook her head. "It's fine." She said, inching closer to Harry. The closer she was to Harry, the further she was from the edge. Harry meant safety… most of the time. "I can see why you like it up here, though. It's quite nice, despite the, well…"
"The height?" Harry chuckled, wrapping his cloak tightly around him as best he could with her hand gripping his own. "If anything were to happen, Clara would catch you."
"If anything does happen to me, I'm holding you responsible, Potter." She grumbled, giving his hand a bit of a squeeze despite herself. In truth, it was quite lovely on the rock, with the sun falling behind the western mountain-range, and the pinks and purples that tinged the sky. Hogwarts looked simply breath-taking, with hundreds of little pinpricks of light dotting its walls – it looked, quite frankly, magical.
The two of them were quiet for a time, content to simply enjoy the view. Every now and then, Harry would squeeze her hand, as if to reassure himself that she was there with him – she never hesitated to return the squeeze.
"Tell me about them?" She asked, leaning into him, and resting her head on his shoulder. It fit quite nicely, she thought. "James and Lily, I mean."
"I… don't know much about them. Besides second-hand stories and the occasional notebook here and there." He said after a moment. "I thought I knew my father, as best I could, I guess, before coming here, but…"
"What changed?"
"Little things. Things that went against what I thought I knew; the blanks I'd filled in, you know?"
"I think so." She offered, squeezing his hand, and smiling to herself as they watched the Squid break the surface of the water with a tentacle before slapping it down loudly. "I can't imagine what it must be like. None of us can, I guess."
"Neville has an idea – a few others around the school too, but it doesn't really help. They're just…" He paused and heaved a sigh. "Not there. Meanwhile, everyone's in that Hall having a good time. Neville managed to suffer through it – he always had the thicker skin. Augusta made sure he was the big brother." He grinned a little at those last words, and Hermione found herself grinning with him.
"What is it he calls you?"
"Little Wolf."
"When did that start?" She asked, folding her legs beneath her in an effort to get more comfortable.
"I don't know, honestly. He's called it me that as long as I can remember." Harry shrugged, and as Hermione looked at him, his eyes stared off somewhere in the distance. "He was a lot bigger than me, when we were little, I mean. I had a bit of a growth spurt around eight and caught up to him."
"He loves you."
"Aye, he does." Harry smiled fondly, glancing at her. "Did I ever tell you about what I saw in the mirror?"
Hermione shook her head. "Not properly. Just bits and pieces."
She felt, rather than heard, the deep, shuddering breath he took. "I was at Arpton – there's a garden there, sectioned off like a heptagram, with this ancient oak tree in the middle of it; the roots make this tall arch, almost as tall as Sirius. Anyway, I like to sit on the roots and enjoy the peace and quiet – I guess that's what I was doing in the dream."
Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together; already the tip of her nose stung, and she was positive it hadn't got anything to do with the chilly wind.
"I know it wasn't real, now, I mean, but… I had a brother; his name was Rob. He had red hair, like my mother, but it was short and stuck up everywhere. He played Quidditch professionally and had a son and two daughters. He was married to Daphne." He grinned, bumping his shoulder with hers and wiggling his eyebrows. "She was much nicer." Harry added with a little whisper that made her shoulders shake silently with laughter.
"Rob had a twin sister – Jasmine. Red hair and green eyes, and, unfortunately, married to Neville – the two of them had a few kids too. My parents were there as well, older than they were, obviously, when they, you know."
She nodded silently, a pair of silent tears tracking down her cheeks. She wouldn't wipe them away. She refused.
"Sirius and Remus were there too, obviously. Astoria was bullying Rob, and Clara was watching everything going on from the oak. It was… nice." He breathed out a huff and squeezed her hand tightly, his thumb idly tracing back and forth against one of her knuckles. "I think I miss the idea of them more than anything, which sounds, well, awful."
Hermione bit her lip. She wanted to say that it didn't sound awful – he'd been nothing more than a baby, and he'd had his parents stolen away from him. He didn't know what it was like to have a mum and dad, not like she did, or Daphne, or Tracey, or hundreds of others in the school. He had Sirius and Remus, he'd had Arcturus – he'd had a family, a real one, a tangible one.
As much as she hated to think it, James and Lily Potter were stories to their only son. It was tragic.
"I visit them." He said after a moment, his gaze focused on the castle so far below them. "I had them moved to Arpton after I went there a few years ago. They were buried at Godric's Hollow, not far from, well, there. I visit them when I arrive, and when I leave."
"What do you do?"
"Light candles and talk to them, really." He sighed with a shrug. "It's weird, talking to statues, you know? But kind of nice, at the same time. It's always hard to leave." His last words were choked, the raw emotion that had slowly been creeping into his voice clear as day.
Hermione leaned into him and wrapped her free arm around her best friend as the sun began its final descent beyond the horizon. She squoze with all of her strength and felt her shoulders tremble as Harry wrapped his own arms around her in return. Beneath her arm, she felt Harry's chest lurch with a barely restrained hiccup.
"It's okay." She managed to whisper over the wind. "Just let it all out. I'm here."
Like a dam, the violent, wracking sobs burst forth, and as the witching hour of October thirty-first, nineteen-ninety-three crept ever closer, Hermione Granger held onto her dearest friend, Harry Potter, as he wept for his lost parents, for the lost opportunities, the lost touches, and smiles.
Hermione wept for the boy he would never be.
