Chapter 8: Diagon Alley
A party was held at the Headquarters that night, courtesy of the twins. They went all out, gathering as many odds and ends as they could from around the house and strung them together on a bit of rope they had found, creating a streamer of sorts that wove its way from the perimeter of the living room, through the dining room, into the kitchen, across the stovetop, through the door, down the hall, up the stairs, (where it wrapped around a snarling Mrs. Black's frame) and wandered its way through the various bedrooms to terminate in a sparkling, glowing mass on Harry's bed.
It was a hit, of course, though by the end, Harry was thoroughly worn out and in doubt of ever being able to stand up straight again. Somehow, and Harry truly didn't want to know how they'd done it, the twins had managed to get a hold of a vast quantity of Butterbeer, which they then proceeded to cheerfully pour down Harry's unwilling throat. When Mrs. Weasley had found out, she had been none too happy, and had proceeded to tell Fred and George off at the top of her lungs, aided by one Mrs. Black. (Which surprised everyone, but why should it? She was always screaming at something, and the twins had tied garland in front of her nose.)
But the damage had already been done, and Harry was well and truly trashed, his shirt untucked, and mostly unbuttoned, his belt lost hours before, as well as his shoes. His socks, somehow, had gotten stuffed into the breast pocket of his shirt and only the tips were now visible. Every now and then, Harry would glance down, to assure himself that his feet were still there – because it seemed they had gone rather numb – and would jump in fright at the sock that was lurking there…waiting.
The highlight of Harry's night, however, came after the twins had gotten themselves rather tipsy, and made yet another attempt to get Harry to consume a huge volume of Butterbeer in the space of mere seconds. Due to their inebriation, they were unable to co-ordinate their actions properly and ended up bathing Harry in the stuff, instead of getting him to drink it.
Normally, this wouldn't have been much of an issue, after all; Harry wasn't exactly fond of his cousin's hand-me-down clothes. However, Serin was still hiding in Harry's hair at the time, and as a result, consumed substantial – for a snake – amounts of Butterbeer himself. It was either that, or drown.
Consequently, both Harry, and his familiar, were drunk off their asses.
"Ssstrange humansss and their ssstrange drinksss." Serin hissed, slurring his words a bit more than usual.
"Hey, we aren't the ssstrange onesss." Harry returned sloppily. "At leassst we have legsss."
"You humanssss and your appinedegessss." The reptile snorted. "What isss ssso great about having app..app..apendig….ssshit. Legsss?"
"Harry?" Sirius asked as he stumbled over to him. "Wha'tre you do'in hisssss'n to y'rself?"
"Eh?" Harry replied intelligently. "M'not."
"Yesssu 'r." Sirius took a long pull from the bottle in his hand.
"Wazzat?" Harry asked, snatching the bottle away. Peering blearily at it, Harry read it aloud, "Firewhiskey?"
"Shhhhh!" Sirius grabbed the bottle back and tucked it under his arm, starring accusingly around the room as if to keep others away. "Don' say it so loud!" he said in a dramatic whisper. "Som'thn might happen to it."
"Legssss…." Serin hissed.
"Legs?" Harry repeated stupidly.
"Legs? No, I don' think legs'll happen to it, but maybe if you put it on the floor." Sirius glared warily at the wood planks beneath his feet before taking another long drink from the bottle.
"No legs?" Harry asked.
"Not on the floor." Sirius returned.
"Ssseee?" Serin sounded satisfied, or as satisfied as he could while he tried desperately to feel his scales enough to hold on to Harry's hair. "No legssss."
"I don't understand." Harry said, a pathetic look on his face.
"That's okay, Harry. Nobody else does either." Came an irritated, and slightly amused voice from behind him.
"Hermy?" Harry said, whirling quickly and tripping over his feet so that the person in question had to leap foreword and grab his arm to keep him from tumbling inelegantly onto the floor.
"Yes." She said with a sigh. "It's me. And you're trashed. Let's get you to bed."
"No, don' wanna." Harry said petulantly, digging in his heels.
"I don't care. You're going to bed." Hermione said, grabbing Harry's elbow and steering him towards the door.
"No, don' wanna…." Harry tried desperately to stop Hermione, but kept being surprised by the lurking sock in his pocket and was subsequently distracted enough for Hermione to drag him over to Fred and George. "Bye, Sirius!" Harry waved at his godfather from over his shoulder.
"Bye Harry!" the escaped convict returned, wandering off to find Tonks. Maybe she would be willing to play a game of pin-the-tail-on-the-wizard.
"Come on, you two." Hermione ordered the twins firmly.
"Aww, Hermy, you aren't crashing the party, are you?" one of them demanded. They were so drunk you couldn't tell the difference.
"I most certainly am, this is irresponsible of you, now come on." She demanded. Spinning Harry around, she placed one of his arms around each of the twins' necks. "And bring Harry with you."
Knowing better than to argue the two weaving redheads complied, and carried a sagging, and hissing, Harry up the stairs, followed by a disdainful Hermione.
After putting Harry to bed, -- the streamers were pushed of Harry's bed and onto the floor for now – and removing a wobbly Serin from where he was barely clinging to Harry's head, Hermione placed an ever-full glass of water next to Harry and closed the door, shooing Fred and George into their rooms with instructions to sleep off their inebriation. Determined to get back to her interrupted studying, Hermione headed back down the hall towards the library.
Taking a detour, she stopped by the room she shared with Ginny and informed the sulking girl – Mrs. Weasley had banished Ginny to her room as soon as the Butterbeer was pulled out – that, yes the twins had gotten trashed, and yes, so had Harry, all three were now passed out in their rooms. Ron, she was told in return, hadn't left his room for the past hour and a half and was presumed to be asleep.
Hermione had rolled her eyes at that, unsurprised. Everyone knew that Ron could sleep through an earthquake.
Closing the door again, and double-checking that Harry was asleep on his bed and not about to roam the house, Hermione turned sharply on the toe of her well-shined shoe and marched back down the stairs, intent on some real, quality time, with her school books.
ooOO00OOoo
Twenty minutes later, the house went silent, and Hermione cautiously peeked her head around the doorframe just in time to witness a peeved Mrs. Weasley shoo the last two party animals, it looked like Sirius and Tonks, though Hermione couldn't be sure, up the stairs with a strong command for the male to sober up and for the female to, "Consider her actions."
Shaking her head, Hermione emerged to help with some of the clean up and was met by effusive thanks from Mrs. Molly. Considering that it was already three in the morning, Molly told Hermione that they only needed to pick up the worst of the mess so that carpeting wouldn't stain and food wouldn't crust on dishes, the rest would wait for tomorrow.
Then the boys would clean.
Smiling evilly at the thought, Hermione had nodded and complied, only moving the dishes into the kitchen and letting them soak in the water over-night. The clean up would be done by hand, and not by magic.
After she had returned to the Library, "I'll only be up for a little longer, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione spent half an hour staring into the flames of the fireplace, once more lost in thought about the fight between Ron and Harry.
It seemed to her, though she was loath to admit it, that the split between Harry and Ron was only getting bigger, despite Ginny's and her best efforts.
Things were getting tense between Hermione and Ron as well, and she was beginning to seriously re-think the whole 'dating' idea. Things had been fine at first, so long as she danced around the topic of Harry; which had been rather easy, considering he was still living at the Dursley's at the time.
But after Harry had arrived at Headquarters, the tension had kicked up several notches, and everyone was beginning to feel it. Things had even creped into her relationship with Ron, and he'd been rather evil to her as well, demanding that she choose between him and Harry. That she, "Get her priorities straight," and realize that Harry wasn't the center of the universe.
Well of course he wasn't.
Hermione knew that, and she didn't treat Harry like he was the center of the universe, where had Ron gotten such an idea? He was however, a scared, lonely little boy, and Hermione couldn't help but feel protective of Harry. After all, Ron was Harry's first friend and, Harry was Hermione's.
Hermione shook her head and exited the library, heading for the kitchen to make herself a cup of hot cocoa. Mug in hand, and having put away the makings of her chocolaty drink, Hermione once again retreated into her sanctuary. She needed to think about this, and what better place to do that than the library?
Settling herself into her favorite chair, Hermione pulled her feet up and tucked them neatly to the side of her body, fluffing her robes to cover even the tips of her toes and stared moodily into the fire.
She had always been a lonely child, smart, but very lonely. Books had always been her escape from the world, knowledge her defense against it's cruelty. Even at a young age, Hermione knew things. Things children shouldn't know.
Things like, why Sarah's mother really left her father. It was the lady across the street, she did things with Sarah's father that shouldn't be done by anyone but husband and wife. And John, well, he cut himself, Hermione knew, and that wasn't good at all. She'd turned him in to his parents and he hated her for it. Rachel's sister ran away from home to join a gang, and though everyone thought she went to a boarding school, Hermione knew better.
When she got her letter from Hogwarts, accepting her to a school of witchcraft, all the little things in Hermione's life that had been unexplained suddenly made sense. That was why she knew things she shouldn't, that was why she did things sometimes, that were impossible. But while she could blame her knowledge of unspoken things on magic, she could not blame one thing on it.
Her understanding.
No, her understanding of such things rested solely with the power of her intellect. Intelligent, and well read, Hermione knew that the lady across the street was having an affair with Sarah's father, and understood the ramifications. She knew that when John cut himself, it was purposeful, and hurtful, not an accident like a child should think. And poor Rachel, her sister had been attacked two weeks ago in a gang rape that had left her mind and body shattered. The gang had then slit her throat and dumped her body in the river.
No one would ever know.
Hermione was haunted by the knowledge of things that she should not know, and the intellect to understand them.
This was why she had stormed out of Divination two years previous. Divination was far to close to what she had been doing as a child, and still sometimes did as a student at Hogwarts. Even now, Hermione would sometimes find herself knowing things before they happened, or making leaps of logic that were not possible, even for her. She knew things, where a book was found, or what an author originally meant to say when the wording in a passage was ancient and archaic. Her power was more than simply being able to wield magic; it was knowing things as well. She discovered, in her quiet times, that the more her mind was allowed to wander, the more knowledge seeped into her brain unasked for, and it was always the kind she had never wanted. Like Rachel's poor sister.
So she built a wall, a barrier between herself and the world, to keep others out, and herself in. A wall of books and information that kept her mind occupied even as it kept others away.
But in the end, she was lonely.
But loneliness had a strength all of its own, she had discovered, and she wielded her intellect like a weapon to keep others away. She would not let them near her, and they would not touch her. She would not trust them, and the bad things that people said and did, the poison that infected them and made them do such awful things would not infect her.
She was still a nice person, or at least she tried to be, but it was difficult to be polite and still keep others at a distance.
By her first year at Hogwarts, Hermione had managed to build her wall tall and wide enough that no one could touch her. Or so she thought.
She had met Harry and Ron on the train while helping Neville look for his toad, (See? Good person. Hermione's mind said as she took a sip of her chocolate.) and had been instantly charmed by the rag-tag look of innocence on their faces. Here were two people who didn't understand the world as she did, who had yet to learn of its horrors.
Harry, she later learned, was not as innocent as he seemed: he was an abused child, yet he still managed to hold on to his belief that the world was essentially a good place. This only served to enhance her one-sided affection for the emerald-eyed sprite, and she had done all she could that year to ensure his innocence.
Hermione frowned and shifted position, dragging a blanket down from the back of her chair and wrapping it around her shoulders. She had failed, of course, and Harry had faced off against Voldemort for the first time at the tender age of eleven. He had continued on, innocence undiminished; and Hermione's protectiveness had only grown.
She had been so glad, when Harry had drug Ron to come after her that day, earlier in the year, when she was crying in the bathroom. They had saved her from the Troll that had been wandering the halls, and she had found her very first friend in Harry Potter.
Well, the first person she considered a friend. She had helped many people in the past with their school work, even before she had gone to Hogwarts, and all of them had considered her a friend, but Hermione had held true to herself and kept them all apart from her in her mind. Harry was the first to worm his way past her defenses and into her heart.
Truth to tell, he hadn't had to try very hard to do so, his innocence shone through his eyes like a beacon and she had known he would not taint her.
Ron, however, had taken a bit longer to get under her skin, though eventually, he, too, breached her defenses to claim the title of Friend.
For three and a half years, Harry, Hermione, and Ron had been inseparable, and had even earned the name of 'Golden Trio' from a group of fellow Gryffindors. But then Harry's name had sprung, unwanted, from the Goblet of Fire and things had begun to slowly deteriorate.
Harry had snapped and snarled when asked about the Tournament, his stress level at an all-time high, and Ron, being the jealous prat that he was, had snapped and snarled because, once again, Harry was getting the attention. Harry was special, and Harry was getting the glory.
It wasn't Harry's fault, but jealousy wasn't logical, and neither was Ron.
Hermione, however, was cursed with an ample amount of logic, and she had come to realize earlier in the day that things could not continue as they were. Harry and Ron were split irrevocably now, that was unmistakable, and Hermione could not continue to be the bridge between the two. As they moved farther and farther apart from each other, Hermione would be stretched more and more between the two, like saltwater taffy, until she broke under the strain. So, she had a decision to make.
Harry…or Ron?
Harry was kind and courteous, but he had finally lost that look of innocence in his eyes that he'd had all these years. Now he, too, was tainted with the knowledge and understanding of what the world could do. Could he keep it from infecting him and by association, her? She had worked so many years to remain pure, she couldn't give that up now.
Ron was a jealous hot-head, just like Harry had said, and while he was untainted by an understanding of how the world worked, his temper and jealousy was a poison all on its own; a poison that Hermione didn't know how to defend against.
Looking at it in those terms, Hermione began to recognize that her decision wasn't really a decision after all. Her opinions and her goals, the very things that made her, her, demanded that she pick the side that had the least chance for corruption.
That meant Harry.
The realization struck like a ton of bricks and she crumpled in her chair, her long-forgotten cup of cocoa spilling onto the floor as she realized the enormity of what she had done.
She had chosen Harry over Ron.
Friendship over Love.
For she did love Ron, as much as she felt herself to be capable, and his loss hurt her almost more than she could bear. Did this make her a bad person? Picking Harry over Ron, one friend over another, especially one's boyfriend, was that the sort of thing a good person did? Had she tainted herself?
Hermione doubled up her legs and brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and pillowing her head on her arms. Was she evil, now? Was she bad? She'd looked at the situation so coldly, and come to a conclusion, but was it the right one? There was no one she could ask, this she would have to handle on her own.
The fire crackled and sparked into the darkness, offering what comfort it could to the woman-child sobbing in the chair before it. Long into the night it burned, lighting the room and driving back the shadows; standing vigil where no one else could.
ooOO00OOoo
The rising sun shone through the thin draperies of the library and woke Hermione from a deep sleep.
Slowly uncurling from her chair, Hermione rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, seeking to unkink the muscles that were sore from sleeping in an awkward position.
The fire had burned itself into embers long ago and Hermione rose from her chair, grabbing a poker and some new logs, bringing the fire back to life. Settling herself once more, Hermione wished that all things were as easy to bring back to life as a fire was. Things with Ron would not fix themselves, nor did they lend themselves to being fixed. Harry had broken things off with Ron, and so, now must she.
Feeling no pressing desire to do so at the moment, Hermione lounged in her hiding area for a while longer, putting off the inevitable, before the smell of cooking breakfast drove her out of the library and into the kitchen.
Giving Mrs. Weasley a wan smile, Hermione rolled her sleeves up and began to help with the preparations.
"Remember, Dear," Mrs. Weasley said, pointedly ignoring Hermione's puffy eyes and red nose. "The men are going to clean up after the party, so we must be careful not to make too much of a mess with breakfast." And with a wink at the girl standing at her elbow, Molly picked up a new pan, instead of rinsing the old one, and began to fry some eggs.
"Of course." Hermione replied, grabbing plates for serving the food and, oops, transferring the bacon onto one of the unused plates, instead of leaving it on the platter.
Time passed quickly enough, and as the women were putting the finishing touches onto breakfast, they heard the muffled sounds of steps on the stairwell as the revel maker's drug themselves out of bed and into the dining room.
Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help but think that everyone looked cute and pathetic as they slumped in their chairs, heads hanging and eyes closed.
"Good morning, everyone." She said, rather too loudly, as she placed a platter of food in the middle of the table. "Here you go."
"What's so good about it?" Fred mumbled in response.
"Well, you're awake." She said, amused.
"That's the problem." George countered.
"Well, it wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't brought that Butterbeer in here last night." Mrs. Weasley said disapprovingly as she stepped into the kitchen, her hands filled with food. "Here." She said, stetting it on the table. "Now everyone, eat up, because you all are going to clean up after yourselves this morning, and there's no use trying to do any housecleaning on an empty stomach."
"We're what?" Ron said around a mouthful of food.
"Not you dear, you weren't at the party, but everyone else," here Molly gave Fred and George a stern look, "is going to clean up the mess left in here from the party."
Just then, Sirius stumbled into the dining room, weaving dangerously. "Oh, b'lloks." He said, his voice slurred.
"Sirius," Mrs. Weasley walked over to the black-haired convict and slipped an arm around his waist to help him remain upright. "What have you done this time?"
"N'thin I don wan'a repeat." Sirius assured her, his head lolling about on his neck. "But sure wa s'fun go'n down th' stairs." Blearily, he stared around the room at all of the faces staring at him. "What chew want?" he demanded, suddenly angry. "Don' stare ame like th't."
"Calm down." Molly said, attempting to steer him towards a chair. "You just sit here and tell me what happened this morning, you should be sober."
"Yah, but smthin went wrong with the' charm." Sirius allowed himself to be walked to the chair, but balked when it came time to actually sit.
"Come on now, dear, you'll feel better if you sit. What charm?"
"Th' sob-sob…" Sirius scrunched his face up, searching for the right word before shaking his head and apparently giving up. "Th' sober'n charm."
"Oh dear." The Weasley matron said, a frown of worry upon her face. "You didn't try to cast it on yourself, did you?" She asked, taking in his still very drunk form.
"Noooo," Sirius drawled, drawing the word out with relish. "but Nymphie did, and she's soo mad now."
"Nymphie?" Molly asked before her expression cleared with a dawning of understanding. "Oh, Tonks. Here, lets put you back to bed, if she's as bad off as you and then performed a sobering charm on you, not wonder you're still as drunk as you are." Mrs. Weasley turned the somehow still upright man back towards the door he had just come through and guided him up the stairs to tuck him back into bed.
Taking advantage of Mrs. Weasley's absence, and everyone else's obviously hung-over state – Ginny had yet to emerge for breakfast – Hermione turned to where Ron was munching contentedly upon a strip of bacon. "Can I talk to you after breakfast, Ron?" She asked, her voice not betraying her nervousness.
Ron shrugged as he reached for another strip of bacon. "Sure."
ooOO00OOoo
Entering her sanctuary, Hermione closed the door behind her with a firm click and made sure to lock it before walking over to the table with a tightly controlled gate that betrayed the fragility of her emotions.
With careful motions, she opened the bag still sitting on the table and pulled out her schoolbooks and a pad of paper as well as her quill and ink. Arranging these items on the desktop had never taken so much of her concentration, nor had they ever been so exact. Each item was placed just so, and each one a certain distance from the other objects around it.
When everything was settled around her to her liking, Hermione briskly took a seat at the table and industriously flipped through the book at the top of the stack – ironically, Arithmancy – picking up her quill to begin a serious study session.
As her hand turned the pages however, Hermione's mind betrayed her once again and began to replay the events of just minutes before involving a certain red-head. Blindly, Hermione's eyes fixed on the tome in front of her and her hand began to copy what was written on the page, even as her eyes never truly recognized what she was seeing.
She really shouldn't be surprised he'd say that about her, she reasoned. It didn't really matter, not anymore. She'd already thought about it and come to the decision that she was right in choosing Harry over Ron, this simply confirmed what she'd thought. But it still hurt. She had known that, too. She just hadn't expected it to hurt this much.
She really had done the right thing.
But…Ron…
Ron was her first love, and how was one supposed to simply forget that? Especially since she had learned, to her dismay, that she still loved him. The argument had not been pleasant, and the things he'd said… It made Hermione wonder if he had ever truly loved her like he'd claimed he did.
Desperately, Hermione wrenched her mind off of that thought and furiously focused upon the page in front of her. Minutes later, she was again thinking about her break up with Ron and the horrible things they both had said. Ron had pulled out all the stops and used every bit of ammunition he'd had against her.
No, don't think of that. Focus. Arithmancy.
But, Hermione hadn't played nice for long and had given as good as she'd gotten, even though her voice never raised above that of a whisper. Ron, of course, hadn't limited himself to speaking civilly and she was sure that the whole house had heard him say…heard him call her… How was she supposed to face them now?
Giving up the pretense of studying, Hermione dropped her quill with a gasp and hid her face in the crook of one elbow, hot tears leaking, unwanted, down her arm to drip upon the notes she'd written.
Across the library, the fire burned once more, silently casting its warmth into the room.
ooOO00OOoo
It was Harry who finally intruded upon her self-imposed exile the following day. Moving slowly, as if not to frighten away a small, timid creature, Harry grabbed the blanket from the back of the chair by the fireplace and placed it around Hermione's shaking shoulders.
"Hermione?" He asked softly, taking the seat at the table next to her.
For the longest while, Hermione simply sat there, her arms still folded across the table and her eyes staring sightlessly at the book in front of her. Her breathing was slow and shallow, the bags under her eyes woefully pronounced, while her hair was more of a wild mane than he'd ever seen it.
"Cat?" Harry asked again, using his private nickname for her, as he gently placed one hand upon a quivering shoulder.
This time, Harry was relieved to see that he'd gotten a response, even though the response was for her to turn and stare at him for a moment before flinging herself into his arms and sobbing harshly.
"Cat? Oh, Cat, he really did a number on you, didn't he?" Harry asked quietly, gently rubbing her back in soothing circles.
When she only cried harder, Harry resigned himself to a long talk, and wrapped his arms more securely around the sobbing woman in his arms. Gently, he began to rock back and forth, murmuring insensible words under his breath as he held her.
Eventually, her flood of tears turned into a stream, which slowed to a trickle, which eventually dried up all together. Hermione pulled back slowly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling.
"Er, sorry about that." She said, her voice a little hoarse. "I didn't mean to make your shirt all snotty."
"That's okay." Harry said pulling out his wand and casting a drying charm on his shirt. "My shoulders can handle being a little wet."
Hermione gaped at him, momentarily stunned. "Harry, what are you thinking!" She cried, batting his wand away from his shoulder as if she could erase what he had just done. "You just got back from the hearing two days ago and you're already doing underage magic!"
"Don't worry, Hermione." He said soothingly. "It's not being monitored anymore, I've gotten the tracking charm removed."
"How did you do that?" She asked, dubiously.
"I found a book with a charm to remove it, and had the twins do it yesterday."
"That wasn't a very good idea, Harry. What if they'd done it wrong? What if it doesn't even work? Then you've just gotten yourself expelled from Hogwarts!" Hermione practically screamed the last part, clearly agitated. Harry blamed it on Ron.
"Relax, Hermione, calm down. Nothing is going to happen. I've had the charm off for twenty-four hours and if I haven't gotten expelled yet, I don't think I'm going to." Harry placed a soothing hand on her arm.
"But Harry, how could you trust your future to something that you found in this library? You do realize that Sirius' parents were supporters of You-Know-Who?"
Harry frowned at the appellation. "You know, Cat, you really should consider using Voldemort's name. Dumbledore says that not using his name only increases your fear of him."
"That isn't the point here, Harry." She scolded lightly.
"Yeah, I just thought you should know. Anyway, yes, I know they were supporters of him, but that doesn't change that this spell works. And I felt like I had to risk it. I can't afford to be defenseless because our Minister of Magic is a moron." Harry stated vehemently.
It was a testament to how much she agreed with him that Hermione did not correct Harry in his lack of respect for their dear Minister Fudge.
"So, Hermione," Harry started awkwardly, unsure of where to begin. "How…are you?"
Immediately, Hermione's eyes began to shine, though no tears were shed. "Not very good, at the moment." She said honestly.
"What happened? What did he say? All we could hear was a bunch of yelling." Harry asked, concerned.
"Oh, Harry. It was awful….." Hermione leaned foreword and began to speak.
ooOO00OOoo
After Harry and Hermione had their heart-to-heart in the library, they found themselves spending more and more time together, their friendship deepened by Ron's betrayal of them. The twins, of course, were not to be left out, and the four of them formed a type of unholy alliance that kept the inhabitors of Grimmauld Place on their toes, if nothing else.
Their trip to Diagon Alley was lots of fun, despite the tension of remaining in a group. Dumbledore had informed the members of the Order, and Harry as well, that there was an investigation going on at the Ministry concerning the actions of the Dementors and exactly why they had been on Privet Drive on the first place. They had to have been sent there, and since the Ministry claimed to have control of all the Dementors, that meant someone from the inside had it in for Harry.
Which meant staying in a large group when they went to Diagon Alley.
Of course, as they day had worn on and no attack had been forth coming, the whining had begun by the group. Fred and George wanted to sneak off and look for a place to set up their eventual trick shop while Ginny wanted to go to the sweet shop down the way. Everyone had their own places to be, and they wanted to be there yesterday.
It was with some reluctance that Mrs. Weasley had finally allowed the group to disperse, calling after them amidst their whoops of joy, "Now take care, and be safe, all of you! We'll meet back at the Leaky Cauldron in two hours!"
Hermione had her own plans for the day and had immediately grabbed Harry's hand and drug him back the way they came, through the spelled archway and out the door of the Leaky Cauldron with barely a wave at the barkeep, Tom.
She hadn't stopped until they reached a rarely-visited corner of London, cooling their heels momentarily in front of one particular store.
"Hermione, are we where I think we are?" Harry asked, eyeing the shop in front of them.
"Depends on where you think we are." She said cheekily, giving Harry a wink over her shoulder before pushing the door open and stepping inside, the little bell over the door chiming merrily to announce her presence.
"I'll be there in just a minute!" A voice called from the back of the shop.
"Take your time." Hermione responded, casually walking up to one of the walls and studying the images displayed there.
The bell above the door chimed again and Harry came up from behind her to look at the pictures as well.
"Aren't they beautiful?" Hermione asked, studying a picture of an intricately drawn rose. The detail was exquisite, with light shining from an unknown source and making the petals look almost alive. There were drops of dew on the petals and leaves, so realistic, that you felt as if you could almost touch them and bring your hand back wet.
"Well, yes, I'd say that they're pretty." Harry responded, looking about him anxiously. "But, Hermione, what exactly are we doing here?"
"Can I help you?" A man emerged from the back of the store, drying his hands on a towel.
Hermione turned to Harry with a wicked smile on her face. "Isn't it obvious, Harry? I'm going to get a tattoo."
Which is how Harry had found himself standing in a tattoo parlor with a blush on his face and Hermione across the room from him with her trousers around her knees and her shirt lifted up to show an alarming amount of skin.
Harry blushed even harder as he realized what train his last thoughts' had taken. Turning his head, Harry desperately tried to de-rail his thoughts. How do I get myself into these messes? He thought desperately. Turning to walk away, he was met by the sharp voice of Hermione Granger.
"Oh no you don't, Harry Potter. You come back here and hold my hand. Tattoo's hurt like hell, and you are here for moral support." She instructed him while the owner of the shop, a bald-headed man with body art covering every inch of his skin, carefully laid out and sanitized his instruments.
"Eh, Hermione, I'm not sure.." Harry trailed off at the stern look she was giving him and walked reluctantly over to her side where she lay stretched out on a padded table.
Harry took her hand just as the owner turned around, a piece of paper in one hand and a needle in the other. "Now, just tell me one more time, to avoid mistakes, where you want the design and how big."
"Right here." Hermione gestured with her free hand towards the front edge of her left hipbone. "And about two inches tall."
"Right." The man said, all business. Laying the piece of paper with Hermione's drawing on it next to his elbow, the man placed his hands against her skin and looked up at Hermione. "Brace yourself, this is going to hurt."
ooOO00OOoo
"Hermione." Harry asked later, when the two of them were carefully closed up behind locked library doors. "What was that design anyway?"
"You mean this one?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of her hip.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. It looked like a rune."
"That's because it is." She said with a smile. "Glad you've learned something being around me so much."
"Yeah, well." Harry said ruefully, running a hand through his hair only to find himself impeded by the hissing of his familiar. "Er, sorry about that Serin, didn't mean to wake you up."
"Well, if you'd sstop trying to run your hand through your fur I wouldn't wake up, now would I?" Serin said peevishly.
"Yeah, sorry." Harry said, turning his attention back to a giggling Hermione as Serin wriggled about, searching for a good position to resume his nap. "So?" he asked.
"It is a rune." She repeated. "It means 'trust'."
"'Trust'?" Harry echoed, perplexed. "Why trust?"
"Because it's something that has always played a large role in my life." Hermione answered, settling down more comfortably in her chair. "I didn't trust anyone for a very long time. You and Ron were the first, and since he's broken that trust, I wanted a reminder of it." She gently stroked the outline of the gauze pad that had been placed over the tattoo with the tip of one finger.
"What is it going to remind you of, though." Harry asked. "To trust or not to trust?"
Hermione giggled. "That's the question." Harry rolled his eyes, and she continued. "No, really, it is. I still don't trust people easily, and I'm not sure I ever will, I'm a bit of a loner…"
"I noticed." Harry said under his breath.
"…and I like it that way," she continued with a glare in his direction. "I just…wanted a reminder that trust is something precious, something not to be given easily or lightly, but also as something that should be given to those deserving people." She continued with a sad, soft smile, "I don't want to shut myself off because Ron hurt me."
Harry leaned foreword in his chair and gently placed one of his hands over the two that were bundled together in her lap. "I think that's wonderful, Cat." He said softly. "Although," he continued with a teasing grin, "a little warning would have been nice."
"Probably," she agreed impishly, "but I couldn't resist, seeing that look on your face was priceless."
"I'll bet it was." Harry said, leaning backwards with a laugh. "You got me good. I never would have imagined you with a tattoo. Much less where you got it." He finished with an awkward cough.
"What, think I'm too stuffy?" Hermione asked with a sniff.
"Noooo," Harry drew the word out uncertainly.
"Don't worry about it." Hermione said, waving him off. "Not long ago I would have been. But I've decided that I'm tired of hiding behind my books. Not," she told him when she saw his eyes widen, "that I've given up on my studying, it's still very important I'm just….I want to live a little, you know? This thing with Ron has made me see that life is so short, too short to waste on these things. I'll still study my ass off, but," she said with a smile. "I'm going to have fun too."
Harry couldn't help but smile at that.
ooOO00OOoo
Ha! Finished! And much better quality than Chapter seven, if I say so myself. So, what did you all think? Hermione got a tattoo! Oh, I love it. Ok, hope you had fun. Tootles!
P.S.: you are sooo lucky I didn't end this chapter with Hermione saying "isn't it obvious? I'm going to get a tattoo." It was very tempting to be evil and leave that as a cliffhanger but, alas, I could not do that to you.