A/N: Please, please, please, please PLEASE don't kill me!
Beta Note: And don't kill me either.
Chapter Twelve: A Bad Case of the Pansys
The first thing Harry heard was Snape's voice hissing, "Wake up, boy!"
The first thing Harry felt was pain, so bad that he couldn't take another breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on Snape's voice, which sounded so far away. "You must say the words to heal yourself. 'Salvos Ruttum; Resarcio Concidus!' Say it!" Someone moaned, someone over where Professor Snape was speaking. Harry couldn't decide why this all sounded so familiar.
"He's not responding," Madame Pomfrey said briskly. "Are you sure there's no other way?"
"Of course not," Snape snapped back, "we've been through this with Potter! Draco must say the words or he will die. Keep out of the way!"
"Now Severus," Dumbledore's voice came floating over to Harry, but he found himself unable to concentrate on the voice any longer. His arm was throbbing in time to his heart beat, each pulse sending a nauseating pain through his whole body. To keep from losing consciousness again, he focused on his raging thirst. Water . . . .
"Ginny?" Hermione was somewhere beside him on his left. Harry jerked a little, and the pain was like a wild beast clawing into his body. His breath went. "What are you doing?"
"I'm—I thought I saw Harry move," she said, close on his right side.
"Why is your wand out?" Hermione said in a weary tone. "Charlie is standing guard outside the door."
"I know that," Ginny said tightly, "but—but they were attacked by an invisible Death Eater."
"We don't know she's a Death Eater," Hermione corrected her.
From across the room came a flurry of excited voices, but Harry couldn't make them out.
"As good as!" There was a flumping sound, like Ginny had just cast herself down in a leather chair. "And she might still be around here somewhere."
"Resarcio Concidus, Draco," Dumbledore was saying . . . .
"Oh, this is horrible!" Hermione sounded truly distraught and Harry wanted to speak. His mouth was so dry and he tried to swallow. "Ron and Harry, both just laying there!"
"And Neville," Ginny said in a tight voice. "She got him, too."
Harry screwed up his face as memory suddenly flooded back. They'd been coming to his rescue. How bad had Ron and Neville been injured?
A low moan was the only sound Harry could make.
"Harry!" Ginny and Hermione were both by his side in an instant. "Are you all right?"
"Professor Dumbledore, he's awake!"
Harry opened his eyes and saw only white with a blob of brown and a blob of red bending over him. He closed his eyes, "Water."
A glass of water with a straw appeared in front of him and he raised his head forward to drink—big mistake. Agony snatched him back into the misty whiteness and it felt like two forevers before he could hear the girls' voices again. They came to him over a vast landscape of thirst as he was heated by the blazing sun of pain. He tried to pull his mind together again. Apparently, the pain in his arm was linked to every muscle in his body and he shouldn't move at all. Fine.
"Madame Pomfrey is coming, Harry," Hermione was saying in a soothing tone, "She'll fix your arm in a jiff, okay? Just hang in there."
"Why is she wasting her time on that . . . that prat!" Ginny ground out. Harry could feel her cold little hand on his forehead, cold like that time in the Chamber of Secrets. He felt guilty for upsetting her; she was usually warm and bright. Just thinking of her smile made him float along peacefully until Madame Pomfrey's strident voice broke through the reverie.
"Well, we have one patient through the woods now, though I must say, Mr. Potter, that Mr. Draco certainly doesn't have your constitution. Not at all! If he had this bad a break, he'd be screaming his—"
"The potion, Madame Pomfrey," Ginny cut her off with a terse voice.
"Right here, dear, just relax. Now, Mr. Potter, we'll have to get you sitting up a bit," she said briskly. A whispered spell took form under his back and he found himself slowly, imperceptibly shifting forward. The pain stayed steady and bearable, though he kept his eyes shut rather than risk losing control. "Very well done! Now, drink this draught. It'll do away with the pain first."
Harry obediently opened his mouth, feeling even that small action reverberate horribly in the loose bones of his arm. A chalky-peppermint taste sludged its way over his tongue and down, the first swallow jarring him somewhat. But almost immediately, the pain lessened and he took in the rest more eagerly.
After the draught was gone, he finally managed to open his eyes and found that someone had already placed his glasses on his nose. Ginny, still on his right, was looking daggers at Madame Pomfrey, her arms crossed impatiently. Hermione stood behind Pomfrey on his left, smiling hopefully at him.
"Is that better, Harry?"
He nodded and was relieved to feel no more than a corresponding twinge in his arm. "How's Ron?"
Her face fell, and she turned to look over at the bed on his left. "He hasn't woken up yet. Madame Pomfrey thinks he's got a—a—"
"Two broken ribs, a concussion and a shattered tibia," she said briskly, holding a vial before Harry's eyes. "But he'll be fine once we get in another draught of Bone-Healing Potion. We had to drip the first one in. Now—drink." Harry swallowed the foul-tasting potion and felt an immediate tingling in his arm. Madame Pomfrey whispered a spell and his arm slowly bent to a ninety-degree angle. The feel of his bones shifting was unpleasant, but not painful as it should have been.
"Good boy," the old nurse said appreciatively. "Should only take a few minutes and you'll be right as rain. Get some fluids in him, please, young ladies. That will be your task." She gave each of his friends a stern look and bustled off to tend to Neville.
Ginny looked at Harry mischievously. "I know just what to get him. I'll be right back!"
Hermione pulled a chair forward to sit beside him, her eyes liquid with tears, her lower lip trembling. As well as he knew her, he was still a bit surprised when she said nothing, but leaned over to rest her arms and face on the mattress beside him. She looked up at him, trying to smile, but started to cry and buried her face in her arms. Awkwardly, Harry used his good hand to pat her hair. A few smothered sobs came from her beneath her shaking shoulders. Harry felt terrible.
"Why did you have to go out there, Harry?" she finally gasped. "Why?" Harry's hand froze on her head and he pulled it away.
From where they were sitting, Draco's mumbled voice could barely be heard. Harry shook his head. "Dunno. I guess because he was in trouble. Serious trouble."
Snape's hissing voice suddenly caught Harry's ear. "Be thankful for what you have left, Draco. And in the name of all that is good in this world, stop feeling sorry for yourself!" The rhythmic cadence of his footfalls came near and then Harry saw the dark man go striding by, angry creases marring his face. He didn't even seem to notice the Gryffindors.
Ron groaned beside them and Hermione jerked away, rushing to his side. Harry looked over and grimaced at the sight of his friend so pale. Every freckle stood out on his face and there was blood and dirt ground into his clothing in so many places. Harry felt a flash of anger that Madame Pomfrey hadn't had a chance to help him more because of Draco. And then another flash of anger came when he realized that none of them would be here if it hadn't been for the Prat.
"Ron," Hermione said in a horribly shaky voice, "can you hear me? Oh please, say something." Harry had never heard her sound so unsure of herself before. Ron moaned in response and tossed his head on the pillow. "He's in pain," Hermione said in a quivering voice.
"Madame Pomfrey!" Harry called out, "Ron's waking up!"
Instantly there was a glad response and footsteps hurrying their way. "Oh, those Weasleys are a hardy lot!" She was smiling as she came around the curtain that separated Harry and Ron from the rest of the ward. "Mr. Weasley, I hope you're ready to take potions, because you'll need five different ones to mend you up!"
Hermione paled considerably. "Five? That's a good bit."
"Oh, stuff and nonsense," Madame Pomfrey said cheerfully as she bustled about. "You took more than that last year to recover from your cursing, and Harry had plenty more this past summer, now didn't you, Mister Potter? Nothing to worry about, dear," she reassured her as she waved her wand and lined up the vials in front of Ron, who was just now opening his eyes.
"Harry," Ron croaked out, jerking a hand out to Hermione.
"He's fine," Hermione said with a shaky smile. Harry wanted to reassure him, but suddenly found that he had to swallow very hard.
Madame Pomfrey waved her wand and Ron tilted forward in his bed very slowly, grimacing and gritting his teeth all the way. "You've got two doses of Bone-Healing Potion, one of Blood Replenishing, one of Blood-Cleaning and one of Brain-Building, just in case."
"Where is he?" Ron asked quietly in-between pained grunts, his head locked into a slightly downward position.
"Right here, of course," Harry called across to him. "Now take your medicine, you stubborn git."
Ron broke a smile but kept his head down. Madame Pomfrey had to ease his head back for him and have the Potions tip into his mouth one at a time. When they were halfway done, footsteps came nearer and Ginny appeared at the divider, a furtive smile on her face. She glanced over at Madame Pomfrey and crossed to Harry's other side so that her back would be to the witch. Harry watched her curiously, a half-smile on her his face. Ginny was obviously hiding something. She caught Harry's eyes and grinned, pulling a bottle of Butterbeer out of its hiding place in her robes.
"The twins sent me back to school with a surprise—an Evercold Icebox with a Neverending Supply of Butterbeer! And I've decided you'll be the first recipient." She handed him the bottle after tapping it with her wand to pop off the top. "Wait!" She pulled a straw out of another pocket. "I've got one for Ron and Neville, too," her robes clanking as she moved to stick the straw in the Butterbeer.
"Thanks, Ginny," Harry said gratefully, feeling as if he'd never been more thirsty in his life than he was right now. He took a long draw of the sublime drink, feeling it cool him all the way to his toes.
"You're welcome," she hissed and motioned to him to hide the bottle on the side away from Madame Pomfrey. He positioned one knee up and hid the bottle behind the covers the hump it made on his bed. "Good! I have to go hide these! If Ron asks, tell him I'll be right back."
Harry vaguely wished her well, but was totally involved in hiding and drinking the delicious Butterbeer throughout the entire time Pomfrey was working on Ron. After the drink was gone, Harry stole his wand off the table and managed to make the bottle disappear on the first try, his summer training again coming in handy. Remus would be so proud. Harry laid back and listened to Ron complain about the potions. Speaking of potions, Harry thought drowsily, one of mine must have been laced with something, because I can't keep my eyes open. He drifted off again to the soothing voices of Ron and Hermione, low now that Pomfrey had moved away. Ron was telling Hermione what had happened.
"You try hitting an invisible target! Lot harder than it seems, I'll tell you that!"
When he next woke up, Harry thought he was dreaming. It had something to do with the fact that he heard someone whisper "Wake" in this really creepy voice before he was entirely aware of his surroundings, and also something to do with the fact that the first person he saw after he put his glasses on was Pansy Parkinson.
The thing was, he felt very awake, which was confusing, because he wasn't reacting to Pansy as he should have. He didn't roll out of bed and grab his wand. Nope. He just sat there, every sense trained on her, studying the silky, black dressing gown she was wearing, then moving upwards, noticing the glow of her blonde hair and thinking he'd never really noticed her eyes were such a lovely shape. I suppose I've never gotten beyond that horrid pug nose of hers. But he looked at her nose and it didn't look horrid now. It was just kind of short. And cute.
It was that thought that jerked him into a sitting position and he backed up against the headboard. A cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. He thought Pansy Parkinson was cute. What was wrong with him? He looked around, hoping to find help. Hermione was gone. Ginny was gone. Ron was snoring slightly.
He was about to call out to his friend when a hand touched his leg, freezing him instantly. But the shudder that went through him was only half-dread. He looked over to see that Pansy had taken off her dressing gown and was standing beside the bed, one finger lightly brushing at his leg under the covers. "Hello, Harry."
He shuddered again, her voice sending a shiver down his spine. But to his gaining horror, he found that he couldn't make himself move farther away, nor could he force himself to really want to.
"Hi, Pansy," he said in a thin, breathless voice.
Her eyelids drooped in a mesmerizing way and her smile made his entire body tingle. His mouth went completely dry. She had come to his bed in the middle of the night; she obviously wanted to get closer to him and he really wanted her to . . . .
There was something he knew he was supposed to be thinking—something that would change everything, but then—then oh—
She was walking toward him, lazily dragging that one finger up to his knee, then onto his thigh, drawing the shape of his muscle there and leaving a trail of fire behind. And she didn't stop. Harry's breath hitched and he shifted as the one finger drifted up over his hipbone and on to his stomach. . He was breathing so heavily that he was embarrassed. Then she was right in front of him and he had to look up at her face, sure she was about to say something. She looked breath-taking in the glow of the moon, her eyes violet in the shadows. Harry wanted to stand and put his arms around her—
But before he could, she bent and slanted her lips against his, her nose brushing his lightly. The kiss was hard and demanding, filling Harry's belly with heat and his mind with sheer, numbing bliss. Pansy! Pansy! He found himself crying out silently, not even knowing why. She was beautiful and captivating in that silky nightdress and she wanted him. Scorching heat licked through him at the thought and then, without warning—nausea kicked in. He fought it, but it forced him to pull his lips away from hers.
Gasping for air that he suddenly needed, he shook his head to clear it. Pansy tried to tip his head back again, but he jerked away from her touch. His stomach was clenched tight now and the euphoria had faded.
She sighed. "I know. I know all about it," she said in a long-suffering voice that sounded sweet to him. "I might have an idea how to beat it. But sleep now." Harry looked up to see her smiling down at him, violet eyes narrowed. And as he watched, darkness crept in the edges of his vision until he could no longer see her shining hair. "Next time, Scarhead. Now—Sleep."
Pansy's small hands helped him settle back down into bed, and the last thing he remembered was the feel of her sharp nails gently biting into the skin of his bare chest.
Harry woke with a start, sitting up so suddenly that the world tilted around him crazily. Daylight flooded the room around him. He made a grab for his glasses, put them on and then looked down. His pajama shirt was buttoned. Pulling it out from his chest, he gasped at the small red marks on his chest. It hadn't been a dream? Or maybe he had scratched himself? He unbuttoned his shirt and studied the long scratch marks. His fingernails hadn't done that. It looked like someone had been trying to draw blood.
Harry muttered a curse.
"Mr. Potter, are you awake?" Madame Pomfrey's voice sent him scurrying to button up his shirt and get under the covers, doing a quick check to make sure that his pajama pants seemed unmolested. He lay back with relief flooding him, followed by another bout of nausea. How could he—did he really—Pansy Parkinson?
He rolled over with a groan and pulled his knees up into his chest.
"Mr. Potter?" Madame Pomfrey appeared around the curtain, dismay stretching the features on her plump face. "Whatever is wrong? Is your arm still bothering you?"
"No," Harry forced himself to answer, "just a—nightmare. That's all."
"Poor dear. I shall have to send you away with some Dreamless Sleep Potion tonight, so you can have some good rest. Is anything hurting? Are you uncomfortable?"
"Er—" Harry said as she waved her wand over him, "No. I mean, well, I just have to go to the, er . . ."
"Oh, yes, well certainly, young man. You should be able to get there on your own just fine." She smiled before walking away, and then called back over her shoulder. "Call if you need any help with your pants."
Harry pulled the covers up over his head and groaned again.
"What? It's good advice, mate," Ron called out from his bed, awake and yawning apparently just in time to catch the embarrassing conversation. "Just call me instead of her, right?" Harry rolled over and glared at him. "Like I haven't seen it before," Ron grinned, yawning widely at the same time.
"Shut it, Ron!"
"Yes, please, before I throw back up all the lovely potions I've been forced to drink," Draco drawled from somewhere beyond curtain.
Ron gave Harry an apologetic look and Harry growled. He thought he couldn't feel any more embarrassed until Ginny popped her head around the curtain.
"Oh, don't mind Draco, he's just jealous because he knows he won't get invited along." She stayed just long enough to see Harry's jaw drop before bursting into giggles. "Glad to see you're finally awake."
Draco obligingly cursed at her but stopped when she whipped around, hand on her hips. "Three words, Draco. Bag-Bogey Hex." Harry couldn't see Draco's response, but from Ginny's smile, it must have been satisfactory.
"Ginny, what are you doing here?" Ron demanded. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
"Classes are canceled until further notice," she admitted, walking over to Harry's bed and straightening his blanket. She dropped her voice. "Everyone's stuck in their Common Rooms while they do a sweep of the castle, looking for Narcissa. Hermione's there, too, doing her bit as Prefect."
Ron snorted. "They're not likely to find much, since Lucius' lovely wife is an Animagus. She could have slithered her way out anywhere." He shook his head. "A snake Animagus—she makes a bloody perfect Slytherin, eh?"
Harry couldn't help but agree. "I guess they've thought to get out the Marauder's Map?"
Ginny nodded and whispered, "Yeah. They got Seamus to take it out earlier, but I don't think it showed up anything. At least, they haven't stopped looking yet, so . . . ."
She shrugged.
Harry suddenly sat up straighter. "How's Neville?"
"He hasn't woken up yet, has he Gin?" Ron asked. She shook her head. "I was up a few times during the night and he was still out."
"He must have gotten a heavier concussion," Ginny added.
"Yeah," Ron said morosely, "I thought he jumped out of the way of the rock pile when it came down. Poor Bugger. Apparently, he jumped out of the rock pile and into the wall."
Ginny and Harry exchanged pained looks. "Poor Neville," Ginny said with a sigh, sitting on Harry's bed. The jostling reminded Harry's bladder that it was being ignored. So he excused himself, with only marginally pink cheeks.
After he returned, there was a nice, restful hour where they went over the events of the morning carefully, answering all of Ginny's questions. She was particularly interested in Dobby's return, as was Ron, but Harry kept to himself what the elf had said about only being free after Harry's death. Something in the way Dobby had said it made Harry uneasy. It too closely resembled a Prophecy. Maybe he was paranoid.
Ginny wistfully asked to be included next time something like that happened, which sent Ron over the top. Harry was none too pleased, either and that really set Ginny off.
She jumped to her feet. "You actually think I can't take care of myself, don't you? Just because I got a stupid broken ankle at the Department of Mysteries!" Her brown eyes narrowed as she looked in between them. "Just you wait until the D.A. starts up again! They'll be mopping both of you off the floor after I'm done." She stalked off before either of them could find the right thing to say and they groaned simultaneously.
"Perfect!" Ron groused. "There's Death Eaters roaming the castle and she's decided that she needs to prove herself. I'd better call Mum."
"I think that would just make things worse, besides giving your mum more to worry about."
"Where's Hermione when we need her? She could have prevented that," Ron went on morosely. "Fred and George are going to kill me and feed me to Buckbeak."
Harry looked off in the direction Ginny left, hoping she'd just gone to see Charlie and wondering if girls were always going to be a mystery to him. That put Pansy back in his mind suddenly, and he grew quiet. He felt he really should tell someone, but just couldn't stand all the embarrassing questions Ron and Hermione would be sure to ask. Just the fact that he had thought Pansy was cute was hard enough to stomach, much less the way she had made him feel. He'd die if he had to explain that. And what if it had been a dream? After all, Harry didn't have a pristine record in that department. And right now, he felt normal—ambivalent toward Pansy for the most part. So, he could probably safely wait until the next time he saw the Slytherin girl, and then take action, or tell someone—if necessary. The whole thing was completely humiliating, even if it was a dream.
Neville woke just after Harry decided this, to great celebration. Both Harry and Ron gathered around his bed to shake his hand and thank him for his help last night. Neville smiled a lopsided and unfocused smile, wincing because of a murderous headache, which Madame Pomfrey soon fixed. They had a light lunch and all laid back down to nap, their healing bodies needing to rest. By the time Hermione came in late afternoon to report that Narcissa had escaped, all the Gryffindors were up and feeling ready for company. Hermione, of course, was feeling ready for lecturing and not even Ginny, who had seemingly forgiven the boys, could keep her from it. Harry got the brunt of the "reckless" lecture, while Ron got the remainder in the form of "better body guarding tips."
Both protested that when a House Elf ghost comes to you and tells you to do something, it's in your best interest to listen, but Hermione would have none of it. "Contact the Head of House, or at least a Prefect before you go running out of the dormitory like complete morons," she said.
"Well, we did," Ron reminded her morosely, "and he got knocked silly."
"Sorry about that," Neville said with a blush.
Hermione turned to him grimly and then, he got his lecture.
Dumbledore stopped by briefly before they were released and returned the Marauder's Map, but did not give them much more information than they already knew. Narcissa Malfoy had been inside Hogwarts, with an Invisibility Cloak and the ability to transform into an Animagus snake at will. Most likely, it was she who had tried to poison Harry, and she had blown her cover in going after her own son for revenge. The Headmaster left after answering a few questions, giving them assurance that he, Charlie and the other Professors were seeking to guard the castle against future entrance by any intruders, Animagi or otherwise. The Gryffindors exchanged looks, but said nothing. They talked quietly in the stairwell after leaving the Infirmary.
Draco had told the Headmaster he had been heading toward Gryffindor Tower in order to talk to Harry, which the Headmaster seemed inclined to accept at face value, but none of the Gryffindors were ready to do the same. Ginny, surprisingly, seemed the most ready to give him a chance.
"Well, Draco's plan wasn't all that good, was it? If he'd been trying to harm Harry, he'd come up with something a bit more clever and farsighted, don't you think?" Harry found himself agreeing.
"Quite right," Hermione said. "That's probably why Narcissa came out of hiding. She saw Draco heading for Gryffindor Tower and—"
"Threw a wobbly?" Ron suggested.
Hermione nodded. "Exactly."
"Listen to you, calling him Draco," Ron groused.
"And what else should I call him," she said primly. "He hasn't got a last name, anymore, besides which, it's childish to insist on calling him that. We're Sixth Years now; act like it."
"When he acts good enough for me to stop calling him The Prat, that's when I'll call him something else" Ron said stubbornly. "Not until then."
Harry didn't know what to call the Prat either, but he felt a twinge of sympathy for him, being put in the Infirmary by his own mother, and disowned by his father.
"He's got a pretty raw deal, any way you look at it," Neville observed, sliding his new wand through his fingers.
"Yep, and he's pretty deserving of it, any way you look at it," Ron said with a glare. "Stop wasting your time worrying about him. I'm the one who's starving. Let's go eat."
Harry followed the others as they walked down the stairs, content to let them carry the conversation. He was feeling more and more reluctant with each step. What would he do if Pansy was there? His breath hitched in his chest. He couldn't think of her now without recalling how she looked last night and how they kissed. Heat flooded him at the memory. That kiss had been nearly atomic, but it had left him just as disturbed as Susan's had. The instant nausea had ended things just as quickly as they had begun, both times. In a way, he was thankful for it, because it kept him from getting swept away, but it wasn't normal surely.
What was wrong with him? Harry felt a bit muddled and could not think it through. Something was wrong with him. Very wrong. All the same, his feet were walking quicker. Pansy might be there. A small smile lodged itself on his face and he could not get rid of the buoyant feeling that accompanied it. Not even a sudden twinge from his scar and the accompanying sickening glee did much to staunch it. As soon as the pain was gone, a silly smile was back on his face.
Maybe that was what convinced Hermione something was not right with him. Either that, or the fact that he ran into her when everyone stopped on the stairs.
"Harry, are you all right?"
"Just thinking. Sorry about that," he waved, indicating her shoulder where he'd run into it.
"Wow! Look!" Ron exclaimed, "A Ggalleon just sitting here on the steps!" He picked it up and goggled at it, a slow grin breaking out on his face. "And I know just how to spend it, too! Boyd Fletcher's new Quidditch Strategy Book! 'Really Offensive Offenses.' I thought I was going to have to wait for my birthday to get that one!"
As he and Neville walked on, Ginny fell back beside Harry and Hermione. "Odd," she ventured.
"Why do you say that, Ginny?" Hermione asked.
Ginny gave her a quick smile. "I found a Galleon in the Gryffindor Common Room yesterday." Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. It sounded a bit like someone was trying to give the Weasleys a bit of cash without owning up to it. "Harry, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"No, sorry," he said shortly. "Wrong tree."
"Wrong tree?" She asked with a slight hesitation.
"As in 'barking-up-the'," he supplied with a smile.
"Ah."
But despite his rather witty repartee, Hermione was still watching him as they walked into the Great Hall. Despite his intentions, Harry's gaze automatically went to the Slytherin table. Pansy wasn't there and his disappointment was so great that it distracted him from everything else. He was almost to the Gryffindor table before he noticed the overwhelming silence in the Great Hall. His scalp suddenly prickled and he stopped short. All of Gryffindor House was standing in his honor—not making a sound, all eyes on him.
For a moment, he couldn't think of why they would do this. Had someone leaked something about the Prophecy? Just as Harry was about to panic, Neville spoke up from behind him.
"Harry? Do you reckon they heard about the fight?"
Fight? For a few seconds, Harry drew a blank. Then he remembered Narcissa and the invisible duel they'd had.
"Blimey," Ron whispered behind him.
Harry was extremely glad that Neville and Ron were still standing with him, even if Ginny and Hermione had defected over the tables already, grins on their faces.
He sighed out a deep breath. "Come on," he said, giving the girls a glare and heading for the seats that had been cleared away for him and his mates.
"Shouldn't we, you know, say something," Ron suggested as they reached the table.
"No," Harry groused automatically, flushing at the thought. Farther down the table, he saw Tobias, grinning with shining eyes, and Violet Hooch quietly smiling beside him. Looking around, Harry realized that some at the Hufflepuff table and a few Ravenclaws had joined in the standing silence. Those who weren't standing looked confused, and he could see others bending down to explain it to them.
The Slytherins, however, did not look confused. The older students were watching Harry with obvious smirks, as though they knew something he didn't. Harry turned his back to them and sat with a thump, disturbed. Maybe they did know something he didn't. He sighed, listening uncomfortably to the round of scraping and shuffling sounds as the students resettled themselves and slowly started up talking once more. Beside him, he could feel the pride coming off of Ron in waves, and see the small smile that wouldn't leave Neville's face. He was glad they had some reward for trying to help him. There was no way of knowing how things might have turned out if it had not been for them.
As conversation at the table turned on to Quidditch and the Gryffindor House Team, Harry did his best to be interested and hungry, as he should be. But it was a long while before he could bring himself to eat.
His insides were tense, as if he were waiting for something, and not even the steak-and-kidney pie tasted quite as good as usual. Harry settled into a dour mood and watched the doors to the Great Hall with increasing frustration. Not even Ginny could get him to talk much. He kept wondering how fast she would hex him if he told her that he was remembering how amazing Pansy Parkinson looked last night, and how great a kisser she was. He kept wondering also why his mind wouldn't stick to thinking about anything but Pansy.
"What's up with him?" he heard her ask Ron finally. "He looks like he's been force-fed bogey-flavored Bertie Botts Beans."
"Bogey-flavored Bertie Botts Beans," Seamus repeated. "Bet you can't say that five times fast."
Ginny looked at him coolly and repeated it so fast without stumbling that Seamus' mouth dropped open. Ron clapped the speechless Seamus on the back.
"She's got six older brothers, mate. She's very well acquainted with all the nasty flavors of Bertie Botts Beans. Especially earthworm."
Ginny grimaced and started to reply, but just then, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open and in walked Pansy Parkinson. Harry watched her breathlessly, feeling the tenseness in his body melt as he was caught up in the shiny blondness of her hair crowning her like a fairy-tale Princess. He was vaguely aware that someone was trying to talk to him, and he pushed away someone else who got in his line of sight. Pansy's gaze had found his and she was now walking slowly toward him. Despite himself, Harry found a smile creeping up his face, revealing to anyone who cared to look exactly how gone he was over this girl. But he couldn't help it. Just the sight of her violet eyes smiling at him made his heart pound. He was standing before he even knew it.
"Hey," Ron said loudly, jerking Harry back behind the protection of his wand, which he had whipped out and trained on Pansy. Harry reached out and knocked the wand down.
"What do you think you're doing?" he spared Ron an angry look before turning back to Pansy.
Ron was flabbergasted, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"Harry," came her beautiful voice. "Come here, Pookey."
Several gasps were heard from around the Great Hall and a swell of noise that almost immediately abated into breathless silence. Harry could feel the eyes watching him, boring into him, expecting him to do something—what he wasn't sure. But they all disappeared in the next moment, as Pansy once again smiled, and in that smile, Harry saw the promise of many more moments like last night. He took a step toward her and the Gryffindor table erupted into motion behind him.
Immediately, there were three people in his way.
"Harry, what are you—"
Shove right.
"Hey! Wait a minute—"
Shove left.
"Um, Harry? I don't—"
Glare.
Then his path was clear and he could see her again. Pansy was waiting for him, smiling. There was applause and whistles from the Slytherin corner and a furor was breaking out behind Harry at the Gryffindor table as Harry stepped forward and took her into his arms.
"Harry," she said softly, "Kiss me."
Smiling, he bent to kiss her—his whole body tingling, feeling alternately hot and cold at every point that he touched her—thinking about nothing, closing his eyes, intent on feeling every second of this kiss—
Then Pansy was torn violently from his arms, landing on the floor in a pained and confused sprawl. Cries rang out all around. Harry stared at Pansy, the incantation of a spell echoing in his ears. Then he whipped around, wand in hand, pointing it viciously at the person who had dared injure his love—pointing it directly at Ginny Weasley, who went white and stumbled back a step, slowly lowering her own wand.
A hush fell back over the crowded hall. Harry's wand shook, but he did not lower it. He gritted his teeth.
Then Ron was in his face. "Oyi!" he yelled, pushing down Harry's wand, "You backstabbing—what the bloody hell's the matter with you?"
Professor McGonagall was limping up through the crowd. "Everyone stand back!" She arrived breathlessly and irritably on the scene. "Are you all right, Miss Parkinson?" She asked first, looking over to where Milicent Bulstrode was helping her up.
Pansy was sobbing so piteously that she couldn't answer and Harry growled, casting a furious look at Ginny. Ginny lifted her chin and walked over to stand by Hermione, though her face was pale and did not back down.
"Harry," Hermione said in a shocked voice, as though she couldn't form any more words. She grabbed at Ginny's hand and they held onto each other.
"What?" Harry ground out. "Ginny attacked her for no reason. Pansy didn't do anything wrong."
There was a shocked silence for a moment. Professor McGonagall stepped closer to Harry. "Mr. Potter, are you in control of yourself now?"
"Yes, Professor, but—"
"I did not ask for your input, Mr. Potter. Put away your wand, control yourself and I will deal with Miss Weasleys' actions."
Ginny's mouth dropped open. "But he's—"
Then Professor Dumbledore's quiet voice interrupted them both. "Minerva, perhaps you might let me take a moment with the young Miss Weasley." Professor McGonagall stared at him gravely a moment, then nodded and gestured for him to go on. The Headmaster smiled as he continued. "I believe that points must be taken from Gryffindor for Miss Weasley's dangerous spellwork here in the Great Hall. Is that right, Minerva?"
Professsor McGonagall nodded grimly. "Twenty-five, or I will hear from Severus on this. And she must serve Detention tonight."
Professor Dumbledore smiled again and turned to Ginny. "Is this amenable to you?"
Ginny, her lips pressed tightly together, nodded.
"Good," the Headmaster continued. "Now—everyone please take your seats. There has been enough excitement for one day already." Harry barely heard the sounds of the Great Hall coming to life again. He was still staring at Ginny, his mind reeling from the sudden desire to hurt her as she had hurt Pansy. But this was—this was Ginny, the girl he had wanted to kiss yesterday, and it was suddenly all very confusing. What was going on? Strong arms jerked him around and he found himself face to face with a very angry Ron Weasley.
"What d'you think you're doing, pulling a wand on my sister? Have you gone barmy?"
Harry couldn't answer.
"Oh!" Hermione's voice reached them and Harry turned to see her, pale, one hand covering her mouth, listening to something Ginny was whispering in her ear. Both of them were staring at him.
"Harry," Ron shook him slightly to get his attention and Harry focused on his face, now alight with worry. "Did she do something to you? Did that Slytherin skank do something to you?" He let go.
Pansy? Did she do something to him? Was that why he wanted to hurt Ginny? Was that why he couldn't control his own thoughts? Harry turned and saw that she was limping back over to the Slytherin table with Milicent, pausing to give Harry one more sweet look of . . . sweet look of . . .
Harry pulled his eyes away with an effort, feeling it all at once—that something was terribly, terribly wrong with him and that whatever it was, he couldn't even see it. He had to focus with deadly intent on the words or to make them come out. He looked up at Ron, swallowed hard and he choked out, "Help . . . me."
"NO!" Pansy's shriek flew across the room and pierced Harry in the heart. "Harry, come HERE!" He gasped and turned, ready to run to her, but Ron's strong arms held him back.
Professor Dumbledore stepped forward, between Harry and Pansy and raised his hands to quiet the buzzing students. "Now, Miss Parkinson, since your Head-of-House is not here, perhaps it would be wise for you to go back over to your own table. Nothing good will come of this if you interfere further, especially for you." The hard edge to his voice did not seem to escape Pansy, and she turned away to limp over to the table with Millicent, defeated.
Yet Harry watched her with a still aching heart, wanting to go to her, wanting to . . . do something for her. He tried to pry his arms from Ron's grasp, but had to leave off. There was no way he was getting free; he could tell that by the determined glint in his bodyguard's eyes.
"Harry, please stop!" Hermione begged from behind him.
Listen to Hermione, he reminded himself, rule number one. Harry stopped struggling.
Professor Dumbledore walked over, a sympathetic look in his eyes. "Perhaps you had best go back to your Common Room, Harry. I do not think you are feeling well." Harry nodded. "And Miss Weasley, perhaps you should accompany him. I believe you have an apology to make," the Headmaster said in Ginny's direction, surprising the girl completely." Ginny looked over at Harry, then back at the Headmaster. "Situations like this call for swift and decisive action, Miss Weasley, and the right amount of certain ingredients like trust and foresight. I am certain you can find the correct . . . mix to make things right. I know that your mother always did." With a decisive nod, the Headmaster turned and started walking back to the Head Table.
Ron let go of Harry and followed him out the door, to the buzz of hundreds of voices. Behind them came Ginny and Hermione, though Harry barely noticed them. Still writhing within him was the incredibly strong desire to turn back around and defend Pansy from . . . from his friends who were just trying to protect him. A cold sweat broke out on Harry's forehead as he fought for logic to come out on top. He didn't love Pansy. He didn't want Pansy. He loved—well, if he loved—if he loved anybody, it was . . .
But the words wouldn't come and Harry gave up. He saw the worried looks exchanged between his friends as they started from the Hall and had no idea what to say.
"It's all right, Harry," Hermione said in a forced-but-steady voice, "Everything will be fine."
Harry nodded and walked up the first of the staircases beside Ron. How had things gotten so out of control? The last time anything made sense to Harry was the night before his return to Hogwarts, when he went over his To-Do List for the umpteenth time in his head and felt a measure of satisfaction in the preparation he'd had over the last two weeks of summer hols. But none of that training had made him ready for this—an entire throwing over of Harry's mind all because of a girl—and not just any girl—Pansy Parkinson. But her name didn't conjure the horror it should. Instead, he felt the keen loss of having to leave her behind, and irritation at his friends for taking him away from her.
Over the very long journey to Gryffindor Tower, he had to force himself to not act on his growing anger. Ron's muttering and worried looks did not help with this. Eventually, Hermione called up and Ron stepped back to speak with her, leaving Ginny and Harry to walk the stairs alone. She was not any more anxious to speak than he was, her eyes fixed straight ahead on the passage ahead. They separated to do the password, Harry waiting behind the stunningly lifelike bronze statue of Godric Gryffindor as she whispered and was allowed to enter. Harry followed after giving the password and found Ginny waiting quietly for him inside.
"Good. You're you," she said offhandedly. "For a moment there, I was worried. Unless, of course, you're someone using Polyjuice Potion who just happens to know the password. But still, if you are an imposter, you're doing an impressive job with Harry's mood swings."
"It's me, Gin," Harry said in a low voice. "And I thought you were going to apologize."
Her eyebrows lifted into delicate arches and the brown eyes underneath flashed. "Oh, it's you all right. I've never understood how you could be so obsessed with your own problems. At least maybe this time you have an excuse. As for an apology, well, I am sorry. I'm terribly sorry that you're such an idiot!" Her voice cracked on the last word and she turned away, heading for the stairs. Just as she reached them, Ron walked in the portrait hole. "Good! Now you have another idiot to keep you company!"
"Huh?" Ron stopped up short. "What'd I do?"
"You're his bodyguard! You should have come in here first!" She yelled down the stairs at him and then whirled around to take the stairs two at a time to the top. Harry looked over at Ron, wide-eyed.
"Don't try that innocent look on me, mate," Ron replied, taking a seat on the couch. "You did pull a wand on her in front of the entire school."
Harry winced, now feeling horribly stupid. How could he have done that? He cursed and threw himself down on the couch.
Then Hermione entered and went straight to Harry's side. "Don't worry, Harry, we'll be right over there the whole time. Ginny knows exactly what to do."
Harry raised his head from his hands. "What are you talking about?"
"I think you'll just have to wait to understand," she replied, looking nervous. "Sorry, Harry." Hermione reached over and grabbed Ron's hand. "We'll be right over here." Ron shrugged apologetically and allowed himself to be led away. Harry stood, watching in amazement as they took seats at a nearby table.
"What are you going to do over there? What the bloody hell is she going to do to me?" Now he was starting to get angry.
"Don't get cranky with us," Hermione said sternly. "We're here to help. Just so no one interrupts, I've charmed the Common Room Unenterable for now from the hallway. Oh good, there's Ginny. She'll explain everything."
Harry turned and tried unsuccessfully not to glower at Ginny as she walked down the stairs. She had a bottle of Butterbeer in her hands, and a strained look on her face. Harry narrowed his eyes but Ginny seemed not to notice as she walked right up to him.
"Thirsty?"
"No, thank you," Harry said through clenched teeth.
Ginny faltered, then threw a tense look over at Hermione. "Fine," she said to Harry, setting the bottle on the table. "Have a seat, Harry. This won't be easy to hear."
He didn't sit. Suddenly, before his eyes, he saw Pansy as she had been sprawled across the floor in the Great Hall, put there by Ginny's curse. Hot fury boiled up in him and he wanted to lash out at the girl in front of him. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, finding it hard to breathe.
"Ginny," Hermione said uncertainly from where she sat.
"I know," Ginny snapped, her tone so deadly serious that Harry opened his eyes again. "Pansy somehow managed to give you a Love Potion, Harry. Those feelings are not yours, they were forced upon you and you have to fight them. Do you understand me?" Harry's jaw had fallen open. "Use your Occlumency shield if you have to, but fight them!"
Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Love Potion? Love Potion? These feelings weren't his own, then. They were manufactured, forced upon him by someone else—by Pansy, the very one he adored. Harry sat down very suddenly, not even feeling the couch beneath him. He stared at the fire, trying to get rid of the empty ache in his chest that told him Pansy was too far away. And before he could stop it, his mind conjured the image from last night, from that wretched, wonderful moment when she had appeared to him in the Infirmary, all glowing beauty and softness . . .
"Harry?" Ginny was already sitting beside him and he jerked before turning to her, his vision a bit blurry. He felt nauseous and horrible. He couldn't stop himself.
"Help me, Gin. Please."
"I will, I promise. I just want to explain first. All right?" Her brown eyes were bright with concern, and she was holding a vial in her right hand. Once he nodded, she went on. "Mum warned me about this, that they might try a Love Potion on you. She's had six sons, Harry, and she knows what weakness girls can be for some boys. It's not that she thought you would be like that, but she thought it likely that Tom would at least try getting at you that way. So, she sent me back with a supply. You see," and here, she didn't quite meet Harry's eyes, "the only way to break this kind of spell is to give your heart conflicting desires. I have to give you the potion again, make you—spell you so that you fancy me, and then the two spells will cancel each other out. You see?"
"You're going to give me a Love Potion in that Butterbeer?"
Ginny seemed to crumple in on herself. "Not because I want to, Harry. I hate this, but now that Pansy's done it, it's the only way. And . . . I'm the only safe person to do this with."
"Hermione could do it," he said stubbornly, not really sure why he was resisting.
A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "I don't think Ron wants to chance it. Sorry."
Harry glared over at Ron, but couldn't keep it up very long. He didn't honestly want to fall in love with Hermione, either. He needed to be able to count on the two of them and complicating things would be stupid. But then again, forcing himself to fall in love with Ginny? Was that really a good idea? He didn't want to be in love with Ginny, not when he was already in love with Pansy.
Harry groaned and put his head in his hands.
"Oh, Harry. It's for your own good. Drink this, please."
"No! I'm not taking some stupid Love Potion, Ginny. There's got to be another way."
Ginny's voice suddenly took on a growling tone that made Harry look up in surprise. "There is not another way and you are taking this, you stupid git! Don't you see how much danger you're in? Pansy will hand you over to Voldemort the first chance she gets!"
"Harry, she really might have had you by now," Hermione said shakily, "only she decided to put you through your paces in front of everyone and it backfired."
Harry's mind was reeling. Slowly, he sat back on the couch, eyes drawn to the fire. For a long moment, he watched the flames dance hypnotically, his mind grappling with and trying to put off the inevitable answer. But after a long pause, he whispered, "I know she's dangerous. I just . . . don't really care."
"Then I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny whispered back, her voice breaking a little, "but I love you too much to watch this happen."
He turned to look at her in surprise and saw that her wand was out. Panic surged through him and he—
"Obliviate," she whispered.
A brilliant flash of light washed out the world around him and he felt as if he were speeding on his broom, faster and faster, into a void of breathless silence. Behind him, a dark roar was approaching, a chaotic frenzy of images and sounds that finally overtook him and then, with a jerk, everything grew still.
Harry looked around. He was in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron and Hermione were nearby at a table. Ginny was sitting beside him on the couch. Harry stared at her. He couldn't for the life of him remember what it was they had been talking about.
"Here you go, Harry. You said you were thirsty." He took the bottle from her with a smile and noticed that her eyes were red.
"Thanks. You all right, Gin?"
Her eyes went wide and grew suspiciously wet before she turned away. "Yeah, I'm fine." She stood and walked over to the fireplace. "The Butterbeer is from Fred and George. They sent me back this term with an Evercold Icebox and a Neverending Supply of Butterbeer." She gave a choked laugh. "I think they want me to become an addict."
"Right. I remember," Harry said after taking a long draught.
"Remember what?" She turned to him, looking confused.
"Er—that Fred and George had given you the icebox and Butterbeers," Harry complied, wondering if this was a test of some kind. When Ginny frowned at him, he went on. "You said so last night, the last time you gave me a Butterbeer, remember?" he added, his half-smile dying as she lurched to her feet, a hand over her mouth. She looked like she was about to be sick.
"I didn't," she said, sending a lost look at Hermione.
"Didn't what?"
"Give you a Butterbeer last night," came her faint reply.
Harry sat up straight. "Yes, you did," he insisted, unable to think in any other direction. "You gave me one right after I woke up. Remember, Hermione?"
As Harry turned, he was stunned to see how ghastly Ron looked, as though frozen in stone, and Hermione had both hands clapped over her mouth. Slowly, she pulled them away, obviously striving to remain calm. "I never saw any Butterbeer, Harry. If I had, I would have asked you where you had gotten it. Ginny," she said, pausing to swallow, "when Harry first woke up, you were standing there with your wand out and—and I asked you what you were doing. Remember? It would have been right after that."
But Ginny was slowly shaking her head and her words came out haltingly. "I wasn't—I wasn't there when H—Harry woke up." Hermione gasped, hands over her mouth again. Ginny didn't even seem to notice as she went on, her voice distant and trembling. "I went out because it suddenly occurred to me that the Marauder's Map would be the logical thing to use to find Narcissa Malfoy. I ran all the way there before I remembered that the new wards meant I couldn't go in Harry's room at all."
"Alone?" Ron choked out.
Ginny ignored him. "When I got back to the ward, Charlie asked me why I was coming and going so much. I thought he just was . . . teasing me."
Harry felt very muddle-headed. He knew that he should be as horrified as the rest of them, but for some reason, all he could make himself think was that if it hadn't been Ginny giving him the Butterbeer, then it must have been Pansy looking like Ginny, and that was okay, right? Or maybe it had been Narcissa? Whoever it had been, the Love Potion must have been in the Butterbeer the false Ginny had given him. Damn. Harry's head began to swim. He wished Pansy were here, and that just made him feel worse. Looking at the Butterbeer bottle in his hand, he let out a lopsided laugh.
"How do I know this Butterbeer isn't laced with Love Potion, too?"
Ginny looked at him steadily. "Do you trust me, Harry?"
"Are you really you?" He countered with ease.
"That's a fair question. Let's see, the first time I met you was at a train station, the second time was at the Burrow, where I stuck my elbow in the butter dish," Ginny began as if reciting a memorized poem. "I stood up for you in Flourish and Botts, when Draco and his father were being such prats. I ransacked your room to find that horrible diary and you ransacked Tom's lair to rescue me, which I still think was one of the bravest things I've ever heard of. In my second year, I didn't say two words to you, nor truly, my third. But last year, I wouldn't let you leave me behind and you stepped in front of me rather than let them torture me. I think that what you did in the Department of Mysteries, the way you handled Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them—that was the bravest thing I've ever seen."
Harry had tried stopping her at several points throughout her speech, utterly convinced it was her, but she seemed determined to recount everything, as though it had all been weighing on her mind recently. Now her cheeks were covered with a slight blush.
"Just drink the stuff, mate," Ron called over hoarsely to him.
Harry nodded and leaned back against the couch cushions, glad to have simple instructions. He heard an exchange of muttering over by the study tables, but couldn't bring himself to care what they were saying. The firelight was mesmerizing and the Butterbeer was good.
He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there with an empty bottle when Ginny came back. She sat beside him and there was an instant jolt in his body. He turned to look at her in awe.
"That's never happened before," he managed to get out. Ginny shook her head, staring at the fire, her chin quivering. She looked so beautiful—the way the firelight caressed the crimson and dark auburn tones of her hair and sent waves of flickering light over her smooth skin. He adored every freckle on her nose and on her cheeks, and it occurred to him that he had before; he always had.
"Ginny?"
"Yes, Harry?" Her voice sounded pinched and odd. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the misery out of her voice.
"You are so beautiful." She gasped and held her breath. His gaze was drawn to her mouth and he couldn't look away. "I want to kiss you. Can I—May I kiss you?"
She didn't answer him. Instead she turned haunted brown eyes to his, giving permission. Harry's breath hitched and he reached out to hold her gently by the shoulders. Ginny closed her eyes, seeming awfully stiff. Harry hesitated. Didn't she want him to kiss her?
Then she huffed out an impatient breath and leaned into Harry. They lips touched and Harry felt his whole body shudder in response. As she moved against him and her mouth rhythmically caressed his, a pool of liquid fire ignited deep inside him. He grasped at her arms, pulling her closer. He couldn't get close enough, and he couldn't breathe and he started to pull her into his lap but—
"Oy!" Ron's voice froze both of them. Harry found that Ginny was trembling against him, her face buried into his neck, and he thought it was possibly the most fabulous thing he'd ever felt in his life. Parts of him agreed, though his stomach was starting to roil in that familiar way.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Ginny mumbled into his neck and stood.
Harry blinked up at her. Had he done something wrong? He saw her tears with a sinking feeling. He was no good at this! He stood and touched her on the arm gently, wanting nothing more than to fix whatever it was. "Ginny, what's wrong?"
"P-Pansy," she choked out and turned away.
The name hit him like a bludger to the gut. Pansy? His mind conjured the vision of her from last night, the blond goddess with the cute, short nose and husky voice and he loved her. But no—he didn't love her. He loved Ginny. Again, he saw an image, but this time, it was of laughing, shrieking Ginny, riding her broom and Chasing in a Quidditch match so fast that she was breathless and windblown. She was beautiful. He loved her.
No.
He loved Pansy.
No! Ginny!
His knees gave way. His whole body trembled and broke out in a sweat.
He loved Ginny. But—
Harry balled his fists and shoved them into his eye sockets. Tidal waves of intense, punishing force were ripping through him, in two directions at once. A guttural cry began in the back of his throat.
"Use your Occlumency, Harry," Hermione said, suddenly beside him. "You can do it."
Harry felt Ron's hands on his shoulders, giving him strength. Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled up the screen of Occlumency and felt a marvelous easing of the turmoil for a moment. But it was not enough. The spells warred within him, not without and they simply reached up inside the screen to continue his torment. Pansy! The vision of her splashed across the screen. Then just as quickly, the image of Ginny as she sat beside him on the couch, face to the firelight, barraged him. Ginny! Harry gritted his teeth.
How could he protect himself from his own mind?
Suddenly, he remembered an earlier instinct, a desire to wrap himself up in the dove-gray iridescence that formed his shield. If there was ever a reason to try it, this was it. With focus born of sheer desperation, Harry concentrated on the shield, forcing it to become malleable, stretching it around himself just as he would his father's Invisibility Cloak. He imagined it sealing off at the edges, forming an impenetrable barrier. Every crack of light, every whisper of magic was shut out.
It was completely quiet.
Harry found himself nestled in a place of rest and comfort, far away from the ravages of the spells, the uncertainty of his life, and the pain of what he confronted daily. His heart ceased to cry out for either girl and he knew complete and utter peace. It was so different—so amazing—that he simply rested and soaked it up. Here, he was invincible; nothing could touch him and there was no need to strive for . . . anything.
Then exhaustion hit him and he was almost unconscious before he realized it. But what better place to sleep than his own mind? A niggle of doubt wormed its way in, something vague about what Hermione would say—that maybe this could be dangerous.
Harry didn't know; he couldn't tell. But it didn't feel dangerous. It felt wonderful and he wasn't ready to give it up. He needed to sleep. While he was sleeping, the spells would die out, hopefully, and he would wake to a much less confusing world.
Yes, for now, he would sleep . . .