Chapter Seventeen: Home at Hogwarts

Snow filled the air and threatened to fall as Harry set foot back in Hogwarts for the first time since leaving what felt like years ago. His Christmas with Sirius had been one of the best of his life and for the first time since coming to the Wizarding school, he had not really wanted to return. The only things pulling him back were Quidditch, the DA and a certain Slytherin student that Sirius had been teasing him about non-stop. Umbridge was, according to Tonks and Kingseley, making it her personal mission to undo him and Dumbledore and the idea of being trapped in a castle with the vile toad didn't exactly fill him with excitement.

The only blot on his otherwise joyous holiday, had been Snape's visit and his declaration that he would learn Occlumency at Dumbledore's wishes. Harry was not sure what exactly Occlumency was, or why Snape had to teach him, but he was sure he would loathe every second he spent with the Potions master.

Sirius had not taken his leaving well, and the closer they had drawn to the beginning of term, the more withdrawn his godfather had become. Harry couldn't blame him. He knew exactly how it felt to be trapped alone in a place you hated. Still, he had promised that he would call Sirius every week, which had cheered him up a little, if not loads. Leaving him on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, nevertheless, hadn't been easy.

"Oh Harry, it's so good to see you!" Hermione beamed as he climbed through the portrait hole to Gryffindor tower that evening. Her usually pale skin was surprisingly pink, and it was only when Harry remembered that she had been skiing all holiday that understood why. "How was Christmas? Have you seen Ron? I've been back ages, mum and dad didn't want me to miss anything so I came back yesterday. Sit down, tell me everything."

Bewildered by the amount of quickfire questions, Harry let himself be guided to his favourite armchair by the roaring fireplace. Around them several of the other Gryffindors were saying hello to friends they had missed, Lee Jordan and the twins were discreetly talking to a small group of second years now that Harry had sat down with the ever watchful Hermione. One girl eagerly accepted what looked like Puking Pastilles from Fred as George winked at Harry.

"Er, Christmas was good," Harry began, trying to remember the various questions Hermione had shot at him. "I dunno where Ron is, I've only just got back. Snuffles says hello, by the way." He tried desperately to think of anything else that had happened apart from the glaringly obvious Ron-shaped event. "I'm guessing you heard about Mr Weasley?" Hermione nodded. "Well he's okay, they discharged him a week ago."

"Ron told me."

"Right," Harry continued, a little more nervously this time. "Tracey passed her Quidditch tryouts, she's doing another one with the Harpies or she's done it, she just hasn't heard back yet. I can't remember. Daph's mum hates me." Which did not help the knots in his stomach every time he thought about Daphne. "She invited Umbridge round apparently and, well, she tried to get Daph to tell her about the DA. She didn't, obviously." He added quickly because Hermione looked like she wanted to explode and cry all at once. "Apart from that, nothing really."

'Nothing really' qualified as one very particular thing about the Christmas holidays that he really did not want to tell her, no matter how much he was happy for both Ron and Tracey. Harry, for all the times Hermione had told him otherwise, wasn't completely stupid when it came to girls. He knew all too well how Hermione felt about Ron, how she had felt for years and how it'd break her heart when she realised he didn't feel the same.

"Umbridge knows," Hermione breathed, "Harry that's not good, not good at all."

"Well she doesn't know, not properly know. She just knows we met up in the Hog's Head, but that much was obvious."

Hermione didn't look convinced, "true, but we've got to be more careful."

"You sound like Daph," Harry remarked, remembering the long list of things they should change. "It's fine, we'll sort it, she can't get into the Room anyway but we can try and make it more secure. Get people to go back using doors like Daph and Tracey do, move that list of names, that kind of thing. Besides, we alternate the days all the time, it's not like we all disappear every Thursday or something."

"Okay good," Hermione said, seemingly settled by that idea. Talk of Daphne reminded Harry of the idea she had suggested to him at Tracey's tryouts, somehow he suspected Hermione would not agree with her plan. If he was entirely honest with himself, he wasn't sure that he did either. While he could see where she was coming from the idea of asking her, Neville and Susan Bones, whom he did not even really know, to put themselves in harm's way felt wrong. It was one thing dealing with it himself, it was quite another asking three people to volunteer.

He had a funny feeling that if anyone else, literally anyone else, had asked him he'd have flat out refused.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked, noticing his sudden silence.

"What, yeah, fine." Harry said quickly, not wanting to tell her exactly what it was that was on his mind.

"It's Daphne, isn't it?" A question it maybe, but Harry didn't have to meet her eyes to know that Hermione knew exactly what she was talking about. The nerves that always seemed to flutter in his chest whenever Daphne came up these days, delated into a thick soup, settling somewhere between his heart and his mouth. This was not the conversion he wanted to be having, let alone in the middle of Gryffindor Tower. His silence, however, was enough for Hermione.

"I thought as much, you do spend an awful lot of time with her. Not that that's a bad thing," she added hastily, "I rather like her. And she'd be good for you."

"Good for me?"

"You need someone who's not just going to sit back and adore you, Harry. You know that. If you didn't, you could have anyone you wanted." She gazed around the Common Room. "Like her," she gestured at a young girl sat by the window who, until that point, Harry hadn't noticed was shooting them furtive glances every few seconds. "Romilda Vane. I heard she wanted the twins to give you a love potion."

"You're joking?"

"But you don't need a fangirl," Hermione continued, smirking at his disgust. "You need someone who'll challenge you, who'll tell you when you're wrong, but who'll support you anyway. Someone who knows what they're getting into, could you imagine the rest of this school facing Voldemort?"

He couldn't imagine most of the school carrying him bodily to Dumbledore's office, let alone being at his side against Voldemort. He didn't much like the idea of anyone being there, but he'd learned time and time again that he was hard pressed to actually stop Ron and Hermione joining the fray. Apparently he had another name to add to the list.

"For what it's worth, I think it would be good. Really good. You deserve it, Harry. After everything."

"Yeah, well, maybe," he glared into the fire, "why can't it be like Cho?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why does it have to matter if I mess it up?" It was the main reason he'd said nothing at Quidditch, why he still planned to keep his feelings to himself no matter how much the words wanted to spill out of his mouth whenever he saw her. The advice he'd given Ron about Tracey, no matter how true, was not what he wanted to hear, because Ron didn't have to fight Voldemort. Not if he didn't want to. He didn't want to drag Daphne into this, anymore than she already was. He didn't want the whole world to know he liked her, or even in the future maybe loved her, because if they did, they'd suddenly be much more interested in killing her.

It wasn't just that. It was the fact that, if he was honest with himself, he couldn't imagine not being able to turn to her. Not being able to ask for her help or see her laugh or just be with her. Would his feelings scare her off?

"It always matters, Harry. Just sometimes more than others, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

"I guess, erm, can we just… How was your Christmas?"

"Oh, it was okay," Hermione said, taken aback by the sudden change of topic but not pressing him either. "To be honest, skiing isn't all it's cracked up to be. Dad loved it but after the fifteenth time I fell over I think mum could tell I was a bit annoyed, so she let me catch up on some homework."

"Catch up?"

"Okay, get ahead then," she said, in mock irritation, a smile creasing her lips. "It is our OWL year, I thought it might be good to be prepared."

"When don't you?" It was not an attack, Harry had always marvelled at Hermione's ability to not only keep up with but be ahead of their teachers. He, as usual, had been neglecting his homework in favour of practising wordless magic and defensive spells with Sirius. His Charms work in particular had been staring at him sullenly from the bottom of his trunk and he had only taken it out yesterday, a fact he regretted almost immediately. He'd wanted to ask Daphne for help, but hadn't managed to screw up the courage to go and talk to her. It had been hard enough at the Quidditch tryouts, although thankfully no-one had seemed to notice.

"It's good to be prepared," Hermione insisted again. "Anyway, it's not like I had anything else to do. But don't tell Ron, I'm telling him skiing was great because he kept taking the mickey before I left."

"Right," Harry nodded, aware just how awkward he sounded and hating himself for it.

The conversation, happily, moved onto homework and only when Hermione was talking about the fact they really should be spending even more time in the library, did Ron finally appear through the portrait hole — apparently unable to shift the grin off his face.

"Over here, mate," Harry called, thankful for the excuse to not have to talk about work anymore.

"Alright, you two?" Ron beamed, throwing himself down onto the sofa with a contented sigh. "It's good to be back, isn't it? How are we both? Good Christmas, Hermione?"

"You're awfully cheerful," Hermione noted, suspiciously. Harry had the good grace to suddenly become very interested in Katie Bell's gobstones game, and so was able to ignore the look she shot him half a second later.

"Is that a crime?" Ron asked, innocently, before skipping past her curious look and saying. "Go on, how was - what was it - skiing?"

"It was good, very good." Hermione lied. Harry smirked, but said nothing. Neither Ron or Hermione seemed to notice. He wondered if they carried on like this he could just disappear to his dorm and avoid the upcoming argument.

"Excellent," Ron grinned, stretching out his legs and sinking somehow further into the sofa. "Glad you had a good time. Mum sends her best, by the way. Dad too."

"How is he? Harry was telling me they sent him home last week?"

"Yeah, all fine. You wouldn't be able to tell he'd been bitten by a dirty great big snake, though you should've seen mum's face when she found out he'd tried using stitches. He's lucky she didn't finish him off. Still, he's better now. Going back to work this week, I think. It's always nuts over Christmas, so apparently there's loads of paperwork to catch up on."

"At least it won't be anything too stressful," said Hermione comfortingly.

"Yeah," they appeared to be avoiding any mention of either Daphne, Tracey or Ron's mysterious happiness. If Harry could just make sure they kept this up for another few minutes, he could claim he was tired and just slip off to bed.

"How were the tryouts, by the way? Harry said Tracey might be being accepted by the Harpies, right Harry?"

Or not.

"Yeah," was all Harry could manage. Even Fred and George, who had been listening intently to make sure that Hermione did not look their way, had frozen. There were only a few ways this could foreseeably go and none of them Harry particularly liked. It had been obvious for years, loathed as he was to admit that, both Ron and Hermione had been skirting around the edge of… something. Whatever it was, clearly couldn't happen anymore.

"She might be," Ron said merrily, apparently unaware of the dread surrounding him. "She's finding out next week, still dead nervous though. Dunno why, she was amazing. You should've seen her, Hermione! She was incredible. Wasn't she, Harry?"

Desperately wishing he was literally anywhere else, Harry nodded. "Not that she'll listen," Ron continued, "that's why I was so late, just been trying to take her mind off it."

"Oh," was all Hermione said, very quietly. Unlike Ron, she was very capable of picking up on signs and what Ron had just said was the clearest sign he could give her without telling her. For a moment, her face sagged and her eyes shimmering, glassing over with unshed tears. But they were there for just a moment, she blinked and cleared her throat, dragging what was meant to be a smile onto her face. The result made Harry's heart sink.

"So are you two…" she seemed unable to finish the sentence, but once again Ron mistook her heartbreak for awkwardness.

"Sort of," Ron shrugged, "I dunno, it's weird. Like we've talked about it but not really done anything yet, I'd take her to Hogsmeade but the next trip's ages away."

"You like her, then? And she… she likes you?"

By now even Ron, with his inability to pick up on hints, had noticed something was wrong. Harry was currently wondering what he had done to be stuck in the middle of this. If there was one thing he'd learned with Ron and Hermione, picking sides was never a good idea. He had thought about how Ron would tell Hermione, but he had hoped it wouldn't be on their first day back and that he, Harry, wouldn't be sat between them. He stared into the fire. If he didn't look up, he couldn't be dragged into it.

"Yeah… I mean, she's great." He said, rather lamely. The goofy smile had gone. Hermione was visibly trying not to cry again. "Hermione listen —"

"No, Ron, it's fine. I just didn't… didn't think… and perhaps. But that's fine. Well, I hope it works out. Really." she got up hastily, sniffing quietly and clearly trying to hide the fact that there were tears running down her face now. "I should, I mean, I have homework to do. I'll see you both later."

And with that she turned on her heel and headed up to the girl's dormitories without another word to either of them. There was nothing but silence, Ron was gaping after Hermione clearly nonplussed about what had just happened. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were openly staring at them, having only started paying attention when Hermione had almost burst into tears. Lavender leaned over to Parvati to whisper something in her ear.

"What are you talking about?" Ron snapped, fiercely, his ears glowing and his temper snapped as rounded on Lavender.

"Nothing," Lavender giggled, nervously.

"Good. Keep it that way," he bit back, glaring at them. "Girl's a bloody menace, who does she think she is?" he said quietly to Harry. "Reckon Hermione's okay?"

"Honestly, no."

"I mean, I'd always wondered if maybe… but I didn't think… hope she's alright."

"She'll be fine," Harry reassured him, and himself for that matter. But that wasn't quite true. Over the course of the next few days, Hermione was more withdrawn from the pair of them than she had ever been before. She had taken to going to the library before breakfast to get the books she needed and according to Neville, she was camped out in a spare classroom on the first floor to avoid them. Or rather, Ron.

Both he and Tracey felt awful. Harry wasn't far behind either. But as Daphne reminded them it was not their fault.

"You can't not be attracted to each other just because Hermione likes Ron," she said, exasperatedly after their third conversation on the subject that week. "If you did, she'd make a move and Ron would just pine over you anyway. So it wouldn't have worked. She'll come round."

But Harry wasn't so sure. Every time he tried to talk to her he was met with a blunt "I'm fine, Harry. Honestly." But the longer the week dragged on, the more it became apparent that she was anything but fine. She had stopped piping up in class and in Transfiguration wasn't the first to turn her feather into an armchair. Sadly though, Harry was unable to spend anywhere near as much time with her as he wanted to. Once every few days he would try and join her in her first floor classroom, but most of the time she would just leave early or say nothing the entire time. When he wasn't at practise or studying, he was under the direct tutelage of Snape. When he finally made it back, he would force his tired brain to get at least some of his homework done.

He was starting to miss sleep. He was starting to miss a lot of things. A combination of the DA, Snape and trying his best to look out for Hermione were taking up nearly all of his time. He'd barely even seen Daphne, a fact that was doing little to improve his mood. Unlike with Cho he found that simply being near her helped him to relax, helped him to think and get his head straight. Despite his heart hammering loudly and his mouth going dry, the alternative was far, far worse. And yet, that was where he was trapped, dragging his exhausted body to bed at three most mornings and desperately trying to sleep.

And even when he did finally get to sleep, the same dream of a long corridor and a locked door, much to Snape's disappointment.

"I don't get what he wants," Harry said bitterly to Daphne as they ploughed through yet another torrid Transfiguration essay. It was one of the few occasions he had actually been able to see her. Daphne, who had noticed Harry was not only starting to fall behind on work but was becoming more and more irritable, had offered to meet him in the Room of Requirement for some late night studying, no matter when Snape was done with Harry.

His scar throbbed. His body ached. Every time he closed his eyes felt like an eternity as he forced himself to lift them again. Blearily, he crossed out what he'd just been writing, realising all too late that he'd written the exact same thing a paragraph earlier.

"What exactly is he teaching you?" Daphne asked interestedly. Harry had been deliberately vague on the matter in the library and during DA meetings, thanks to Snape's request that he tell anyone who asked that he was studying remedial potions.

"Occlumency, not that I even know how it works. He just keeps telling me to 'clear my mind'. Fat lot of good that is. I'm getting worse if anything."

"I take it this is to stop the dreams, like the one you had about Ron's dad?" Daphne asked, as conversationally as she could. Harry suspected that she knew it was a touchy subject, they had not really talked about it much since the actual night, something which Harry was grateful for.

"Yeah, but it's not working." Harry spat angrily, his scar throbbed painfully again. "Sorry, it's just driving me nuts."

"Maybe I can help, dad taught me a little bit of Occlumency." The three words 'before he died' were left unsaid, but hung above the conversation like a painful spectre. "I could show you? Trust me, it's not just 'clear your mind', there's more to it than that."

Of course there was. "So why is Snape not telling me this?"

"Maybe because that's how he was taught," Daphne suggested, "or because he hates you and doesn't want you to pick it up right away. Occlumency is weird, it's unique to the person," she drummed her fingers on the desk, her lips pouting as she thought what to say next, she always did that when she was thinking. Despite the pain in his head, Harry couldn't ignore the way his stomach flipped.

"It's like building walls around your brain that people can't access. Think of it like Hogwarts, right?" She placed her inkwell in the centre of the table. "This is Hogwarts, it's a castle, sure, but there's other things too." She stacked quills and spare bits of parchment into a small exterior wall around the inkwell. "We've got magical protections all around us, wards stopping nutters walking in when they want, layers and layers of them. It's that, but for your brain."

"Right," Harry nodded, trying to picture how on earth he could get that to work for his head.

"Clearing your mind works because when someone penetrates your brain they see nothing, it's like blackness drowning everything else out."

"Like static on a TV," Harry supplied.

"Is that what it's called? But yeah, that stuff, the thing is there's other ways to do it too. Say before you go to sleep, instead of clearing your mind you think of something that really relaxes you. Some people call it a 'safe space' others a 'retreat', somewhere that you can go where you'd be so relaxed you wouldn't think about the stuff that people want to see. So for you it could be flying, for example.

"Imagine just flying, no game, no Snitch, just flying because you can. An empty sky, all the space in the world and just you. The wind of your face, warm sun on your skin. Maybe you hear birds, if you're into that. If not, fine, scrap the birds. Whatever works, just be relaxed."

"Flying?" Harry asked, a little sceptically.

She smirked, "Trust me. Try it, just close your eyes and think about it."

"We're meant to be working," Harry protested slightly, but did as he was told when his objections were met with a blank stare. Reluctantly, and trying not to feel foolish, he closed his eyes and pictured being on his firebolt, just flying into nothingness. At first it was hard not to think how ridiculous he felt just sitting in front of Daphne with his eyes closed, painfully aware of how stupid he must look, but the longer he thought about it, the more he forgot she was there.

He was flying into the horizon, beneath him was nothing but endless grass and trees. The sky was almost clear, with patches of cloud here and there. A soothing wind on his face. He felt his heart slow and his breathing become more regular. This was… peaceful. There was no other word for it. Thoughts evaporated from his mind like steam from a kettle. The stress of Hermione and Ron's weakening relationship, his own whatever it was with Daphne, Occlumency with Snape, the corridor, everything, fading away into nothingness.

"That's how you clear your mind," Daphne said, a smile in her voice as Harry's tranquillity was suddenly shattered. He opened his eyes to see the very grin he had heard pulling at the edge of her lips. "There's more to it, obviously. Way more. But that's the basic idea. We haven't even got onto defending your subconscious, it's really tricky, but it's doable."

"And what about when Snape is trying to look inside my head?" Harry asked, more eagerly this time.

"He's using legilimency?" her voice was calm, but something in her eyes was more fiery than she let on.

"Yeah, for hours. It's kind of draining."

"That's because he's battering your mind, no wonder you're still seeing things." Harry didn't bother asking how she knew he was still having dreams. He had come to realise that Daphne saw far more in him than he let on sometimes, in the same way that Hermione had been able to do for years. "Protego would do the trick, but I don't really think you'll want to see inside of Snape's head. Merlin only knows what you'll find in there. I'll see what I can dig up, I'll ask my uncle if he can help too. He's the one that gave dad a load of books in the first place."

"The Unspeakable?"

"Yeah," Daphne smiled, "nice to see you pay attention."

"Course, you're my friend." A strange look crossed her face, just for a second, so fast that he wasn't even sure what it was, or in fact if it had even been anything.

"Well, we'll see what he says. If I can help, I will, Harry. But I'm no expert."

"You've got to be better than Snape."

"Not an exceptionally high bar, but I accept your challenge." Daphne said sarcastically. "Now, shall we try and get you to the end of that essay, or do you fancy staying up 'til four AM again?"

"That was one time," Harry said, defensively, and though he didn't really fancy diving back into the mind-shattering world of academia, his watch informed him that they were slowly creeping up on midnight and that he really probably should. For his own sake.

They didn't leave for another two hours. Daphne pointed him in the right direction, while she continually sought his help on her Herbology essay. The two worked well together, and Harry was beginning to wonder what he had done without her. Hermione would often just take his work off him, exasperated at how slow he was on the uptake and give him the right answers without really explaining why they were right. Daphne preferred to talk it through with him, trading information rather than throwing it at him willing. The process was longer, but both of them were noticing their grades improve. Apart from in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but that was basically impossible with Umbridge's supposed tests. The woman wouldn't recognise a duel if it bit her on the arse.

The dormitory was quiet when Harry finally returned that night. Instead of climbing straight into bed and the welcome embrace of sleep however, he found himself drawn to the window. Staring out into the night sky he began picturing what it would be like to fly amongst the stars, Hedwig by his side. The snowy white owl almost shone in the deep blackness of the night sky, and even in his daydream she was incredible to watch flying alongside him. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but when he finally let himself fall into bed, the vision continued to play in his brain.

For the first time that night, dreams of a long corridor did not haunt his sleeping brain. Instead, he was in the Room of Requirement with Daphne, a dream he was far happier with than any long corridor.

The relaxation of his dreams, unfortunately, did not extend to his waking moments. Umbridge was ramping up her bid to find out more information about the DA. Neville and Dean both said they were sure that someone was following them to one of the sessions, while Hannah Abbott said she was worried her mail was being tampered with. Only Luna Lovegood seemed calm, but that was normal for Luna.

It was becoming more and more obvious that something had to be done. Daphne, to her credit, had not brought up the plan she had suggested over Christmas. The longer it went on, the more Harry knew that they either had to disband the DA or try and force Umbridge out of the school. Neither option was perfect. The DA was one of the few things getting him and the others through her presence at Hogwarts, but getting rid of her wasn't guaranteed. The others could be putting themselves in harm's way for nothing. Or worse, expulsion.

Ron would say it was worth it if it got rid of the old hag, Sirius too would be for it. Lupin and McGonagall would advise caution. Dumbledore, well, he had no idea what Dumbledore was thinking these days. Harry found himself wanting to seek the advice of the one person who was avoiding him and everyone else.

So, after a particularly gruelling Quidditch session, he and Ron trapsed back from practice, their brooms over their shoulders and dripping the cold January rain across the Entrance Hall. Ron was talking about the amount of saves he'd managed to pull off, despite Angelina insisting he not get too big for his boots, but Harry wasn't really paying attention. They had climbed the stairs to the first floor, where Hermione had set up camp and were about to head to the second when he found himself pausing, his foot halfway to the stair.

"Listen, Ron, I'm gonna go see how Hermione's doing," he said, abruptly, cutting across the story of how Ron had managed to save from his furthest hoop, despite being upside down in the middle hoop when the Quaffle was thrown. "I'll join you later, alright?"

"Yeah, sure," Ron muttered, he did not like talking about Hermione and Harry knew he felt a rather large slice of guilt for the fact she had forced herself into exile. "Have you —"

"No, not much." Harry said quickly, knowing what the question would be. "You?"

"Not since I told her. She goes with Ginny and Luna in the DA these days, doesn't she? Just do me a favour, make sure she's okay?"

"Sure, I'll see you later."

And with that he headed down the corridor and to the empty classroom that Hermione had made her own. It used to belong to the old Muggles Studies professor, Professor Douglas, but had since been disused for years. Hermione had asked Professor McGonagall for permission, and the Transfiguration professor had forced Hermione to have a very long and detailed conversation about exactly why she wanted to use it. Neither Ron nor Harry knew exactly what had been said, but the outcome had been that Hermione had spent the last two weeks inside it.

"Mind if I join you?" Harry asked, as he knocked the door and let himself slightly inside. Hermione was hunched over an essay, so long that the parchment was spooling over her desk and dragging along the floor. She jumped slightly and looked round, relaxing when she saw Harry by himself in the doorway.

"Oh, Harry, it's you. Of course, come in." She looked rather tired, her hair was lank and her skin was much paler than usual. The redness from skiing had long since vanished.

"Thought you'd have taken the teacher's desk," Harry commented as he pulled up a chair next to her, setting his Firebolt onto one of the many desks at the back of the broom.

"We both know I'm a better student," she said, a little sadly. They were silent for a long moment. Harry had no idea what to say, every single time he'd tried talking to her she'd just snapped at him. He wanted to tell her he was there, that she could tell him everything, that he should've done it sooner but didn't know how. But that was just it, he didn't know how. The words couldn't come and so instead he simply looked at the desk, taking great interest in how the wood twisted and knotted.

"I'm sorry I've been so distant." Hermione said eventually, her voice quiet. "I shouldn't keep telling you I'm fine, when I'm really not. So, I'm sorry. I really am. I want to study with you all. It's just…"

"Difficult?" Harry supplied, awkwardly. He still hadn't looked up from the desk, unable to look her in the eye. It shouldn't have taken him two weeks to pluck up the courage to talk to her, he knew that, but he had. It was almost like the reverse of his summer. He had been desperate to talk to everyone, anyone, while Hermione was now so keen on isolation that she had locked herself in a classroom.

"Yeah," Hermione admitted, laughing slightly. "I just never thought he'd… not with someone else. I'm happy for him, of course I am. Tracey's lovely, she'll be good for him, I just wanted to be good for him too. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"No, no, don't be stupid. Course you can."

"I didn't want to put you in the middle of this, that's why I've been so short, why I've been avoiding you. Both. I thought if I did I could get over it and come back when I'm ready, but to be honest, I don't know when that's going to happen."

"We're still friends, Hermione. You can tell me anything, you know that."

"I know, but you're their friends too."

"Nothing says I can't be both," he pointed out, finally looking up. She smiled a watery smile and he suddenly felt even worse for not doing this sooner. He'd let her push him away for weeks because of work, Quidditch and occlumency. Everything had been so on top of him that when he tried to speak to her she had been able to just bat him away with ease. Well not anymore, he promised himself, he couldn't let this happen again. Especially not to Hermione.

"The thing is I don't want him to not be happy," Hermione continued, "I just can't stop thinking that I could've been the one to make him happy."

"Maybe," Harry shrugged lamely, he really wasn't any good at this. "But maybe not. You can't think in what ifs and maybes, it'll kill you. Trust me. I spent enough time doing it with Cedric." It was the first time he and Hermione had really spoken about Cedric. "When I was at Privet Drive I'd constantly wonder if I'd done something different, if we'd got that portkey sooner, maybe he'd still be alive. And maybe he would, I don't know, maybe Pettigrew would've just jinxed us sooner. The thing is I can't ever know that for sure, I've just got to accept what happened, happened. It's tough. Some days I do, some I don't. Some I still wish I'd just nicked that cup off him when he offered it to me."

He blew out a long sigh, trying not to think about Cedric's cold, empty eyes looking up at him from the ground in that graveyard.

"Harry, I had no idea —" Hermione began, looking stunned and guilty in equal measure. Not quite what he'd been going for at all.

"It's fine, I'm fine, don't worry. That's not what I'm saying. My point is, you've got two choices. You either let it eat you up or try and move past it. Either way, you're not on your own. I know Ron wants to be here too, he really does. I just think he doesn't know what to say."

"When does he ever?" Hermione asked sarcastically, giving a tiny, slightly hollow laugh. "Thanks, Harry. You aren't either, I promise."

"I know, I couldn't get rid of you even if I wanted to."

"Quite right too," Hermione smiled, and this time it was less watery, though there were still some small tears running down her face. There was an awkward moment, then Harry extended an arm and he felt Hermione lean against him. She was shaking. Not for the first time, he really had no idea what to say, so he just kept hugging her and hoping that it was somehow enough.

She went to apologise again, but Harry insisted she had nothing to apologise for. After that they sat in a shared silence, relieved to be together again but unsure what came next. At the back of his mind, Harry could feel the nagging need to talk to her about Daphne's plan, which he had quite forgotten when he saw her sitting there alone. As nine o'clock neared and curfew marched towards them, he finally spoke.

"Listen, Hermione, there's something I need to talk to you about." And with that he told her everything that had happened. Umbridge's visit to Greengrass Manor, Snape's failed occlumency lessons and above all Daphne's plan to get rid of Umbridge. Hermione never interrupted once, letting him get everything out and once he was finished she regarded him with a strange look. A mixture of agreement and confusion, which perfectly summed up exactly how he was feeling.

"It could work," she said eventually, "but we'd have to be careful, Harry. Really careful. If Umbridge gets wind of what we're doing, it won't just be the DA we have to worry about."

"But what about, you know, actually going through with it."

"At least they'll know what they're letting themselves in for," Hermione said, a little sadly. "It's better than what you had, and you'd have got into trouble again if it wasn't for Daphne."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Harry muttered, remembering the conversation they'd had in Gryffindor Tower. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is do we do this? Should we even try and do this?"

Hermione, who loved teachers, who valued authority and rules and regulations, who was the first to tell him off for his reckless behaviour and even his hatred of Snape, considered this. Eventually, after what felt like years, she nodded.

"It's worth a try, isn't it?" she said, "I mean, we've tried everything else and if she doesn't go soon I dread to think how she'll try and get rid of Dumbledore and Hogwarts needs Dumbledore, Harry. And so do you."

Harry bit back the retort that sprang almost immediately to his lips. He wanted to snap at her, say that Dumbledore wasn't exactly bothering with him much at the moment and that the Headmaster might as well have forgotten he existed for the good it did him. A few weeks ago, he would have done, but there was no point. Hermione, loathed as he was to admit it, was right. The castle was safer with Dumbledore and he, Harry, too benefitted from being under the Headmaster's protection. After all, it had been Dumbledore who had saved Mr Weasley. Dumbledore who had told the world about You Know Who and Dumbledore who had shown them how to save Sirius two years previously.

"We'd better get back," he said, instead. Shouldering his Firebolt and offering to help Hermione pack her things away, which she accepted gratefully. They made their way quickly and quietly back to the Tower, aware that any minute the clock would strike nine and Filch would be itching to put them both in detention.

"What are you going to do about Ron?" Harry asked in a hushed voice as they scurried up the stairs to the seventh floor and headed to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, mournfully. "I'll talk to him, I think."

"Just remember they've both been worried about you," Harry told her, "we all were." He left out the fact that Daphne had taken a rather laissez-faire approach to the whole situation. It wasn't worth stirring the pot anymore than he already had. "He wants you to be okay, he just doesn't really know how to say it."

"Me too, you're right, Harry. I can't let this go on forever."

"No," said Harry, simply. After all they had been through too much together to let a relationship, or whatever Tracey and Ron were to one another, come between them. They were friends through everything, Voldemort, tournaments, dirty great big snakes, everything. It would be stupid to lose out on that, and regardless of what was said Harry promised himself he'd be there for the pair of them.

They were greeted by Ron when they arrived, who was looking rather dishevelled by the fire. Most of the Common Room had disappeared to their dorms, a group of girls were chatting by the window and Colin Creevey was talking to his brother Dennis about photography. Something stirred in Harry's mind at the sight of the camera, but he shelved it as Ron and Hermione came face to face for the first time in weeks.

"You alright?" he asked, awkwardly and by way of greeting and conversation starter all at once. Knowing better than to be here for this, Harry quickly made his excuses and hurried to bed. Ron joined him about an hour and a half later, and given that he was looking relieved, Harry assumed that it had gone well.

They fell into a kind of rhythm again, Tracey, Daphne and Hermione would often be found in the library — sometimes with the addition of Ginny and Luna Lovegood, who had tagged along clearly to make sure Hermione could handle it, and Daphne's sister Astoria — while Harry and Ron were at Quidditch practice. News of the Azkaban breakout broke that week too and sent the school to uproar, with whispers following those affected by the Death Eaters crimes around like a weird kind of shadow. What with Quidditch, Occlumency and studying, it was impossible to get Daphne alone in private.

It was only after a DA session that Harry and Hermione managed to get Daphne alone to discuss the plan. Ron and Tracey had been left out of it, the fewer people involved the better Harry and Hermione reasoned.

"I think we need to make some changes," Hermione said after she and Harry had confirmed they agreed to the idea in principle. "Madam Pomfrey should see to the scars, Harry's going to have a word with Colin Creevey about taking photos so that we've got evidence, but none of you are going to want to have whatever she forces you to write with that disgusting thing on your hands forever."

"And it's going in the Quibbler," Harry added. It was this that caused Daphne's eyebrows to shoot up into her fringe line more than Hermione's request for medical care. The Quibbler was everyone's favourite dish rag, according to Hermione and was taken about as seriously as a clown running for Muggle Prime Minister.

"It's the only place that'll take the story that Fudge won't hear about. Luna's already agreed to ask her dad to put it in for us and Hermione reckons she's got someone who can write the story." For Hermione point blank refused to tell him exactly who, and though he had a funny feeling he knew he did not want his suspicions confirmed. "And they'll be entirely independent after the board sack her, it'll be the best place to get our voices heard so the Prophet can't do a cover-up."

"And it'll need to be something other than Voldemort that gets them into detention." Hermione added quickly, so that Daphne could not object. "Something that'll really upset Umbridge but that looks like Susan and Neville did it of their own accord. That way she won't think Harry had anything to do with it. She'll assume it was his fault, of course, and no doubt she's dying to show you who's boss after that stunt she pulled showing up at your home.

"If we manage to do all that, it might work. Might. But we're taking a huge risk here, so if Susan and Neville aren't comfortable, I don't think we should try it with just you. You're right, it needs every angle covering. I just don't know how we're going to get her to fall for it."

"How about this?" Daphne said, speaking for the first time and pulling from the depths of her page an out-of-date copy of the Daily Prophet. A copy that Harry and Hermione knew all too well. Somehow, inadvertently, Voldemort had given them the answer they so desperately needed.

"That could work."