Chapter Two: Dazed And Confused

As it usually was on Friday evenings, the Gryffindor common room was crowded and humming with conversation, though tonight the noise level had been raised somewhat by a group of third-years attempting to play poker with exploding snap cards. Every so often the conversation would be punctuated with a loud 'SNAP!' and a squeak from whoever had got their fingers singed.

Ron was sitting with Hermione on large overstuffed chairs near the fireplace, attempting to interest her in a Quidditch magazine.

"Look," he said with a slight air of desperation, "Oliver Wood's in here! He's off the bench at last, playing Keeper for the Scunthorpe Sparrows!"

Hermione looked up from her book and glanced at the page containing the picture of a grinning Oliver Wood and his new teammates. "That's great," she said unconvincingly before looking back to her page.

Ron scratched the back of his head. "Are you still annoyed about the whole Mena thing?" he asked, glancing worriedly across the common room to where the dark-haired fifth year was sitting with a crowd of friends.

Hermione put down her book and looked up at him exasperatedly. "Ron, I've told you, I'm not annoyed at you! I'm just trying to read!"

Ron picked up the heavy volume and read the title, "The Theory and Practice of Trans-Substantiary Elementalism." He pulled a face and put it down quickly as if it was about to bite him, before turning back to his Quidditch Monthly. "Hopeless case," he muttered under his breath as Hermione began to read again. "Bloody hopeless."

"Full house!" shouted one of the poker players triumphantly.

'CRACK!'

There was an explosion and the table they were sitting round was enveloped in a cloud of smoke. As the smoke began to clear several sooty and slightly singed thirteen-years-olds emerged, looking bemused. One was clutching a blackened hand of cards.

"I still win, right?" he asked anxiously.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. "Shall I handle it?" asked Ron.

"Be my guest. They're more likely to listen to you anyway."

With a grin at Hermione, Ron got up and approached the third-years in menacing prefect mode.

At that moment the portrait swung open and Harry and Ginny climbed in. Catching sight of Hermione, Ginny immediately headed over, followed by Harry, who in Hermione's opinion looked a little funny.

Ginny sat down on the big squashy sofa opposite, holding Harry's Firebolt, and Harry sat down next to her.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked absently up from his Firebolt in Ginny's lap. "Hmm?"

"Er," said Ginny, and cleared her throat awkwardly. "Actually, I don't think he is."

"What's wrong?"

Ginny began to twist Harry's broom round in her hands. "Well, he had a sort of, um… turn earlier on the Quidditch pitch." She glanced sideways at him and went pink when she saw that he was staring at her. She looked back Hermione. "He went all funny and he seemed to be in pain, pressing his hands to his head and groaning-"

"Was it your scar?" the older girl interrupted, looking worriedly at Harry.

"No," said Harry quietly. "I just felt all – hot and cold, and I got this rush of blood- and then I couldn't see for a moment. It was really weird."

"Harry, that sounds serious," said Hermione. "You should go and see Madame Pomfrey."

"No!"

A few people turned to look at who had shouted. Harry blushed, and Hermione looked stern. "Harry, this could be something serious. You could have some disease. You could be feverish. Ginny, is his forehead hot?"

Ginny looked from Hermione to Harry. "Is-? Oh." Cottoning on, she gingerly reached out and touched his forehead briefly with the back of her hand. Harry tried to suppress a gasp when she touched him, but wasn't quite successful.

Hermione gave Harry a sharp look. "Did that hurt?"

"No," he mumbled, going red and looking at the floor. "It only-" he glanced at Ginny. "Nothing."

"Nothing," echoed Hermione, unconvinced. "Harry, if there's something wrong with you, why won't you just go and see Madame Pomfrey? Shouldn't he, Ginny?"

Ginny nodded mutely, at the same time shifting almost imperceptibly down the sofa away from Harry.

"But that's the thing," said Harry heatedly. "There is nothing wrong with me, not any more. There was about ten seconds where I felt funny, but now it's just-" he paused, frowning.

"Just…" prompted Hermione.

"He, er – went a bit weird after," began Ginny, blushing to the roots of her hair. "He looked at me funny, and then – well, I think he might be under some sort of – love spell."

Harry groaned in what sounded like agreement.

Hermione sat back, her eyes widening in shock. "A love spell?"

"I think so."

"And it's… towards you?"

Ginny nodded, distressed.

"I couldn't help it," burst out Harry, with a pained expression. "One minute I was fine and she was giving me my broomstick back, and the next I looked at her and just wanted to- you know. Kiss her. And stuff."

"Good Lord…" Hermione looked from one to the other, her eyes taking positively Trelawney-esque proportions. "So, you were completely fine during Quidditch? And when you spoke to me?"

Harry nodded.

"Let's look at it logically," said Hermione in a levelheaded way that almost made Harry feel a little better. "Something must have happened after you two went off, and that doesn't leave a very long time frame. Tell me exactly what you both did after you left me."

Harry and Ginny recounted what had happened in the few minutes after they'd left Hermione and Ron in the Quidditch stands. Hermione listened attentively, only stopping them when they reached the point in their story where Harry had fallen under the effects of the spell, as it was clear that neither of them was comfortable talking about what had happened.

"Alright, you don't have to give me the details," she said as they both stuttered and blushed to an awkward silence. They were at opposite ends of the sofa now, Ginny staring at the carpet and Harry staring at Ginny, a slightly dazed expression on his face. "Are you sure there wasn't anything else, Harry?" pressed Hermione. "Did you see anyone or anything strange? Did you eat or drink something unusual?"

"No," said Harry vaguely, apparently finding it hard to tear his gaze away from the girl next to him. "Nothing at all."

"Right." Hermione appeared to be deep in thought for a moment, before appearing to reach some sort of conclusion. "I don't think we should go to McGonagall or Pomfrey at the moment," she said, and even Harry looked round in surprise at such an uncharacteristic remark.

"You don't?" blurted Harry.

Hermione shook her head, and said carefully, "I think we should investigate just a little bit further before we do. Just to make sure."

Harry could have kissed her. Fortunately he was too busy thinking about kissing Ginny.

"It's the weekend tomorrow, so I'll go to the library and do some research. Harry, you can come and help, you know exactly what your symptoms were. Hopefully we'll be able to work out if you really are under a love spell."

"Great," he said dryly.

"There's just one problem we've overlooked, though," said Ginny quietly.

"What's that?"

She looked over to the other side of the room where her brother, red in the face, was attempting to wrest several playing cards from a stubborn third-year's grip.

"Who's going to tell Ron?"

Ginny sat on the edge of her bed, trying not to think. If she let herself think, she would remember the feel of Harry's hand, warm and rough against her cheek, and the gentle pressure he'd exerted on her waist as he pulled her towards him. She'd remember the feeling of his breath against her lips, and the fixed intensity in his bright eyes. It had been the perfect moment, her and Harry alone in the dying light, exactly what she used to dream about when she was thirteen.

But it had all been wrong.

Harry didn't want her. His movements had been against his will; had taken him by surprise as much as they had her. And his eyes had flickered with pain.

The way back to the castle had been the hardest. They'd walked in awkward silence, Ginny carrying Harry's broomstick, because he seemed to have forgotten about it. Every time Ginny glanced at Harry, he'd been staring back at her with a half-dazed, half-passionate look, like a lovesick deer caught in the headlights. Thankfully they'd only seen two people on their way: a mannish Slytherin girl skulking with a cigarette behind Greenhouse Three, and Neville, on his way to check on his Flutterby bushes. Neville had smiled and greeted the two of them, but Harry had barely noticed him. He'd been too busy looking at Ginny.

There had been a moment when he'd stumbled, when they were walking through a patch of rough grass and Harry was barely looking where he was going. She'd instinctively reached out to steady him, but the moment her hand touched his he'd snatched it away. "Sorry," he'd mumbled. "Wasn't looking where I was going."

"So what do you think's wrong with you?" she'd asked awkwardly as they approached the third floor, trying to breach the wall of silence that had sprung up between them, and then winced, because it seemed pretty obvious what was wrong with him.

He had been silent for a moment. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I don't feel wrong, not any more."

She'd stopped and turned to him, raising her eyebrows questioningly. "Come on. You don't feel like there's anything wrong?"

Harry had blushed. "Well – yes. But at the same time, no. It feels pretty right, actually." At that moment he almost looked like his normal self. Thrown for a moment, Ginny had turned and carried on down the corridor.

"Hermione and Ron will know what to do," she'd said with confidence she didn't feel.

Ginny's thoughts were interrupted by a voice. "Are you asleep, Ginny?" Hermione's head poked round the curtain, and was shortly followed by the rest of her.

"No," said Ginny miserably.

Hermione came and sat on the bed next to her. Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but was quickly hushed as Hermione pulled her wand from her pyjama sleeve and performed a Silencing charm on the heavy red drapes that surrounded the bed. "Best not to let anyone find out," she said conspiratorially.

"How did this happen?" Ginny asked abruptly. "I'm sorry, I'm just so confused. He was fine one minute, and then- I just don't get it."

"I don't know, but I'm sure the answers are there. Don't worry about it, Ginny, it wasn't your fault. It might even have been an accident, someone losing control of their wand, a spell gone wrong…"

A small flame of suspicion appeared in Ginny's mind. "Hermione, why didn't you just go straight to McGonagall about this?" she asked, her forehead puckering into a slight frown. "Because that's not like you at all."

"I told you, I just wanted to be sure." She was avoiding Ginny's eyes.

"Sure of what, exactly?" she pressed.

"All right," admitted Hermione, "I just wanted to check, check, mind, that you hadn't somehow accidentally… caused it yourself."

"WHAT?"

Looking exceedingly guilty, Hermione tried to defend herself. "I know, I know, it was stupid, and I know you'd never do something like that on purpose, but accidents do happen…"

Ginny was furious. "Accidents? How on earth do you accidentally cast a love spell? I can't believe you're actually suggesting that I'd- I'd do something to Harry like that. He's suffering because of this, I'd never wish that upon him. All right, so I used to have a thing for him, you know that better than anyone, but to suggest- to suggest- ugh!" She made a disgusted noise.

Hermione looked discomfited. "I'm sorry, Ginny! But I just didn't want to go rushing off to Professor McGonagall and find out I'd got you in trouble. But now we know it wasn't you, it means we can work out who it was."

Ginny stared. "You mean – you're not going to tell McGonagall about it?"

Hermione sighed. "Not right away, no. First we have to tell Ron. Then I thought this weekend we could research love spells and have a look round the Quidditch stadium, see if that jogs either of your memories. If we don't know anything by Monday, Harry's going to Pomfrey."

"What if he doesn't want to go?"

"This is an important time, we've got loads of work. Harry needs to start thinking about his revision timetable, too, and he obviously can't think straight in this condition. He has to go."

"What time are you and Harry going to the library tomorrow? I'd like to come."

Hermione bit her lip. "Ginny, I don't think that would be a very good idea. We'd appreciate your help, really, but the last thing Harry needs is you there to distract him.

Ginny looked down at her entwined hands. "Oh. No, that's okay. I understand."

Her last thought before she dropped asleep that night was of Harry, and what he must be going through right now.

After hours of lying awake, Harry's last thought before he finally dozed off into fitful slumber was of Ginny.