Standard Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't make money from it. Just am happy to be able to play in the sandbox she created
Chapter 12. Adorable In The Morning
Outside Hogwarts Castle, Sunrise
High above the magical towers of Hogwarts, a snow-white owl flew, enjoying the brisk morning breeze as she watched the spectacle of darkness surrendering its hold on the earth, making way to the advancing light of a bright new day. If an owl could smile, she would have, for this was her favourite time of day: a few more circuits of the grounds, and she could check if the curtains of either of two windows in a northern tower were open and she would spend the day sleeping in the room of her human or his best friend.
Or, if Harry or Hermione were in the mood, she could join them for breakfast and get some bacon or sausages in the bargain – and blinked when she realized that the windows to their dormitories were tightly closed, the curtains drawn …
With the owlish equivalent of a shrug, Hedwig adjusted her wings slightly and headed off, thinking that she might try her human or his best friend later for lunch – completely missing a window where a bushy-haired young witch was waving at her …
*
Sixth Year Boys' Dormitory, Gryffindor Tower
A ray of light from the rising sun found its way through the curtained window of the sixth-year boy's dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, the sunlight falling across the closed eyes of Dean Thomas and firing the synapses of his tired brain – exhausted from the tension and worries he'd gone through the day before, capped by a restless night of waiting for a raven-haired demon and his brown-haired witch to storm their dormitory.
They'd practiced for that contingency, of course: the moment Carolyn or Cindy screamed "NO!", Seamus would lock the door … Dean would throw open the windows while Neville would be handing out the brooms – they'd be out of the tower and on their way to Hagrid before Harry could blast their door open.
Dean sat up and stretched, hearing his muscles and bones pop as he yawned – and felt his heart stop a moment before it tried to jump out his throat, his brain wondering if the words 'he paled at the sight' applied to him as he realized that Seamus and Neville were in their beds snoring away, leaving the door unguarded and – SHITE! – unlocked.
Cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he chanced a glance at Harry's bed – and a smile blinding in its intensity broke out when he saw the neat, made up, immaculate, untouched bed. 'Harry didn't come home last night,' he thought gleefully. 'Operation Hermione's Bean is a success!'
He couldn't stop himself – he jumped out of bed with a shouted "YES!" while pumping his fist in the air – and watched, horrified, as Seamus leaped for the door to lock it, Neville grabbed a broom and threw it and –
Dean Thomas dropped to the floor with a lump on his head from the broomstick that hit him.
*
Hogwarts Hospital Wing
In Hogwarts' hospital wing, another ray of sunlight fell across a freckled face and its owner blinked his eyes open, his thoughts quickly jumping to the dinner he'd missed last night and the prospect of making up for the loss at breakfast – and screamed in surprise at seeing incandescent blue eyes staring at him unblinkingly in a golden halo of hair backlit by the sun.
Madam Pomfrey came charging out of her room: hair in curlers, wearing an old robe, wand drawn and ready for a fight – and glared: "Miss Lovegood! Visiting hours – "
"I wanted to see if Ronald was well enough to go down to breakfast, Madam Pomfrey." The soft, calm voice coming from the young witch sitting beside her patient's bed mollified the irate nurse. Luna continued, seemingly unaware that Ron had dived beneath his blankets in embarrassment, "It's best to be early for breakfast, before the Crumple-Horned Snorkack gets all the bacon, ma'am."
The mention of bacon triggered a long, loud growl from the region of Ron's stomach, causing the visitor and the nurse to blink. Madam Pomfrey's mouth quirked as she fought down a smile; shaking her head, she told the young girl, "If you can get him out of those covers, Miss Lovegood, you can escort Mr. Weasley to the Great Hall for breakfast."
She was answered by a beatific smile from Luna and a protesting groan from her patient and gave a curt nod – said action hiding the smirk that was trying to break out. She was on her way back to her room but paused as a high-pitched voice squeaked – "Luna! I don't need help with my clothes!"
Rolling her eyes, she decided to take a shower and prepare for the day.
*
And so it went as the minutes of the new day continued – in homes and dormitories, in establishments both wizard and Muggle: humans and magical beings woke and prepared for the day to come, not knowing whether the coming hours will herald joy or pain, laughter or tears – or another boring, routine day.
*
Room of Requirement (Hermione's POV)
From her window seat high in the ancient castle walls, Hermione watched the rising sun, marvelling at the thousand and one ways that this magical castle could surprise her – she who had read 'Hogwarts: A History' so many times that she felt she knew more about the place than even her teachers did. But then again, she reflected as her eyes swept over the room with its large, comfortable couch and massive armchairs in front of the now-smouldering fire, such was the nature of both magic and knowledge: there was always something to learn, something new to explore.
'It really is a Room of Requirement,' she thought – and giggled as she remembered the room providing a bathroom with all the amenities (especially the toothbrush, toothpaste and floss for her nightly routine), although she had to admit that the Room's idea of sleepwear left much to be desired.
She was also quite sure that the Room had no windows – but then again, that was exactly what she was hoping to find when she woke up. Her internal clock told her that dawn was soon to break, and she had rolled out of the couch and was walking towards a wall before her lethargic, logical mind could stop her. And then she saw the window, complete with a comfortable window-seat just waiting for her to flop into so she could watch the dawn.
Sunrise had always been her favourite time of day, ever since a ray of sunlight found its way into her parents' bedroom where she had crawled in the night before, striking her face and waking her from her dreamless slumber. She cracked open her four-year old eyes ever so slightly … and gaped at the sight of her father's smiling face, his smile vying with the brilliance of the sun, and she warmed at the obvious love and affection he was showing.
"Good morning, love," David Granger said softly, and a fascinated Hermione watched as Abigail Granger leaned over her unmoving body to exchange a soft kiss with her husband – and for the briefest of moments, Hermione Granger understood what it was like to be in love.
She turned as she heard a soft groan behind her, and her eyes fastened on the young man stretching on the couch. He didn't realize that his actuations had pulled up his shirt, revealing the smooth skin of his stomach, the delectable indentation of his belly button, the shadowed lines of his hips leading to –
Hermione bit her lip as she turned away; when she looked back, Harry had lowered his arms (thus dropping the shirt) – and she couldn't help but smile as she contemplated a befuddled Harry on the couch.
He looked absolutely … adorable.
His hair was tossed from sleep, making it even wilder than usual. He had on green, white, and black boxer shorts (not unlike the red and gold one she was wearing, which the Room had provided last night), and a solid green tee that matched his sleepy eyes perfectly. He wasn't wearing his glasses and he squinted to make out his surroundings, making him look, if possible, even cuter. His clothes were still rumpled from sleep and he stared around blearily trying to make heads or tails of the situation.
He groped around blindly and Hermione stifled a giggle at Harry's slow, deliberate movements. She subdued the wave of pity that suffused her, wanting only to continue watching Harry as he groped for his glasses … smiled when he finally grabbed them off the table … felt her heart leap to her throat as his eyes, now magnified behind lightly-smudged lenses swept around and caught her looking at him … and her whole body melted when his face lit up with a smile, and his sleep-roughened voice broke the silence of the room: "Good morning, love."
*
Moving Staircase / Classroom Eleven (Minerva McGonagall's POV)
"Hmm?"
The slightly spacey reaction to her question caused Minerva McGonagall's eyebrows to quirk. She had known the Headmaster for too long – as teacher, superior and friend – not to know whether he was dissembling or not. She continued walking, letting him wonder if she had forgotten her question before repeating it, a bit more forcefully this time: "The mistletoe, Albus?"
"Mistletoe, Minerva?"
They were descending a staircase at a stately pace, following their custom of going down for breakfast together, using the opportunity to discuss school – or other – business before the day got well and truly started. A small "Hmph!" from the elderly witch, and she smiled as the old man sighed.
"The Weasleys – Fred and George," Dumbledore elaborated, "contacted me last year, asking for advice about charming a certain item … I referred them to Filius."
"I see," McGonagall encouraged. "That would be the mistletoe Remus was referring to?"
Dumbledore nodded briefly before continuing. "Apparently, they'd been having problems with the charm set for it. According to Fred, the intent was to trap someone under the mistletoe so the person couldn't move until someone kisses him or her. Unfortunately, the charms they'd tried … uhm, misfired, and so they decided to ask for help."
"Misfired?"
"Their tongues got stuck to each other."
"Ewwww!"
"Indeed." Dumbledore smirked at McGonagall's slightly green face. "I referred them to Filius; he's had a soft spot for the Twins ever since they turned a corridor into a swamp last year."
The Headmaster grinned, although his normally twinkling eyes held a depth of sadness and despondency that dimmed them. While he enjoyed the descriptions of the mayhem that the Twins let loose, those memories would always be in counterpoint to his sins of omission and commission over the course of that year. He continued descending the stairs, unaware that his Deputy had stopped, a sudden thought striking her and turning her animated face stony as she looked at her superior's descending back.
"Albus." Dumbledore blinked, and turned to see her standing two steps above him, glaring as if he were a student who'd walked into her classroom unprepared, eyes cold and unwavering. "Were you and Filius setting up Harry and Miss Granger? Is that why you and Filius had a side bet of fifty Galleons on those two becoming a couple over Christmas?"
For a long moment, they were locked in a battle of wills, eyes unblinking as they tried to stare each other down. Finally, Dumbledore broke the contest and turned away; he waved at her to join him and waited until McGonagall was beside him before answering, "No, Minerva."
He heard the sigh of relief before he continued, "It wasn't fifty Galleons … it was a friendly bet of ten only."
"Are you mad?"
This time, it was Dumbledore who paused when McGonagall took a step down – leaving the Deputy in the uncomfortable position of looking up at the icy glare of her wizarding superior.
"No, I'm not mad, Minerva," he said in a soft, cutting voice. "At least not mad as in insane, which is what you're trying to say. Mad as in angry, yes … but I was angry at myself – for having kept Harry ignorant all these years … for trying to shield him from his destiny … for dropping hints and innuendoes year after year, rather than outright telling him what he must expect – "
He broke off at the sound of approaching footsteps – breakfast, he realized, and the corridors would soon be flooded with students heading for the Great Hall. Placing an iron grip on Minerva's elbow, he pulled her with him to classroom eleven, where he knocked on the door once before entering without waiting for an answer.
Inside, he glanced around the room that had been converted to a forest clearing at dusk, and turned with flinty eyes and barely controlled fury at a fuming McGonnagal who had dared question his intentions. "We do not have time, Minerva! I have wasted far too much trying to give Harry the semblance of a normal life when everything that has happened since he stepped into Hogwarts should have told me that he will never live a normal life –
"It is time for him to learn the power that lies within him, time to understand that it will be from the strength of his love and devotion to others where the power to defeat Voldemort lies – not in the power of his magic, not from whatever pitiful collection of hexes and curses we can teach him in the months that are left to us! It will come only if he truly understands the power that Voldemort knows not – "
"And trapping him beneath a mistletoe with Hermione would teach him all that?"
That was exactly what he thought, his fiery eyes told her, but she ploughed on before he could respond, wondering – not for the first time and probably not the last – whether age had finally addled his brain: "What if he'd gotten stuck under your stupid mistletoe with someone else? What if the Weasleys trapped Harry with Tonks or Molly? What if he'd been caught with Miss Weasley, or even – Merlin help us – if Hermione had been trapped with Ronald?!"
"They would have learned the difference between infatuation and love … what separates a school crush from the deep, soul-searing passion that comes from finding one's life partner, one's soul mate – " The old Headmaster stopped to draw a calming breath and turned away, his eyes focusing on the bright light of Venus above. "Do you know what is the biggest problem, and the most wonderful thing, about people like Harry and Hermione?"
McGonagall blinked at the abrupt change in subject; before she could respond, Dumbledore continued: "They're so single-minded, Minerva. Everything is black or white, for them there can only be right or wrong. They see something and do what they can to make it right, no matter the consequence to themselves. Hermione is missing when Quirell announces the troll, and Harry goes looking for her without thought to rules. Ginny Weasley is trapped in the Chamber of Secrets, and he goes after her without fearing for his own life. He is tricked into believing that Sirius is captured and Harry doesn't give a damn as to what stands in the way: he would rescue Sirius with or without his friends, because it is what he has to do."
The old man paused. "And when they love … love for them is the grand passion. They will never take things half-way: mate for life, die in the name of love, and sacrifice oneself for your other half – "
But McGonagall would have none of it. "Who are you to say that Hermione is Harry's soul mate, Albus? True – she has been with him from the beginning; she's been with him through almost everything thrown his way, been loyal to him when others have faltered – "
"Who are we to say that she is not? They have been together since Quirrell lured the troll to distract us from the Stone – Harry has turned to Hermione for guidance at every turn. She has been his guide, his companion, his life ever since that day – as she has been his. There has been no one else in his world who has given him the friendship, loyalty and love that he needs … the trust and companionship he has been denied for years…"
Dumbledore turned away, his sins again threatening to overwhelm him and he whispered, "I have denied him that, Minerva, denied him everything that he should have learned years ago when I sought to protect him from Voldemort's followers and the consequences of his fame … "
He turned to his Deputy, and McGonagall stepped back from the aching pain that was coming from him like a physical force – and she had to fight against a quick acquiescence, the easy path of bending once again to his plots and schemes simply because she could see no other way out of the course he had set.
He had set the wheels in motion, she knew, all those years ago when he had gone to meet Sybil Trelawney in Hogsmeade. He may not have told her everything but she had seen enough, learned enough over the years to piece together an idea of what was going on – and these last few minutes had confirmed much although other things were left vague.
Still –
"You can't ruin love, Headmistress. You can test it and try it; you can hurt those you love – just as they can hurt you. But you can't ruin it. Stop tormenting yourself."
The deep, baritone voice came from within a stand of trees and the Headmaster and his Deputy gaped as Firenze emerged from the shadows. "My apologies," the centaur said. "I did not mean to interrupt. As you know, I – my kind – would prefer that we keep away from the insignificant and inconsequential affairs of humans. But there are times … "
McGonagall bit back her anger, realizing that they had committed a breach in etiquette by barging into the centaur's classroom without permission. She looked up to apologize and saw the centaur's blue eyes boring into her.
"I have met Harry Potter outside the classroom, Professor McGonagall. And, though I have not had the chance to be formally introduced to his ma – friend, I do know of her." For the briefest of moments, the centaur's eyes clouded as his mind wandered to a gloomy night years before: of charging the indistinct shape heading for the boy … the decision to help Harry Potter even against his herd's oath not to set themselves against the heavens … the cry of "Harry! Harry, are you all right?" from a young girl tearing down the path, unheeding of anything and everything but the boy on his back, and he knew that Harry's safety and destiny lay with the worried girl who was looking at him with wide eyes, shifting from one foot to another, unsure of how to approach him and the rattled Harry on his back but ready and willing to do something – anything – to protect her friend.
Firenze shook his head, and once again locked his astonishing blue eyes with the Deputy Headmistress: "There is a bond between them, Professor McGonagall – a bond forged through actions and words said and unsaid, of experiences shared and time spent together. That link is there for all to see, but being human" – and McGonagall wondered if the centaur had smiled – "they are blinkered and fettered by the limitations of your kind."
McGonagall nodded, surprising herself – in spite of her well-known apathy towards the woolly subject of Divination, whether by human or centaur standards, she was in agreement – and whispered, through a throat suddenly tight with concern, "The question, of course, is whether they will be able to see what they have."
Firenze turned away from her as he said, "There is that, of course."
*
Room of Requirement (Harry and Hermione's POVs)
'This,' Hermione Granger thought, 'is perfect:' Seated in Harry's lap, hearing the slow beat of his heart, relishing the feel of his arms around her and his chin on the crown of her hair. She'd felt vulnerable from the moment he greeted her this morning, using words so precious to her – those words she had dreamed of, hoped for, wished for someone to say as the sun rose on a new day …
"Oh, Harry…" she'd whispered, her tears spilling out – and he was on her before she could say another word: wrapping his arms around her, pressing her head on his chest as he held her to comfort her, leading her towards the window seat … A moment later, she felt his hand on her chin and her eyes focused on fields of swirling green and she completely forgot whatever it was she wanted to say – unaware that Harry was drowning in pools of brown flecked with gold – and there was only the warmth of air mingling on their lips –
She turned away to hide her heated face, feeling her cheeks burning in embarrassment as her mind insisted on parading the many times she'd turned teary eyes on her best friend – and blinking at the thought that this was the first time he had ever comforted her …
'No it isn't,' her hyperactive mind protested – 'there was last night' … and her cheeks burned even more at the memories: of his arms around her as she broke down outside the Common Room … the ill-thought Summoning Charm to stop him from murdering his dorm-mates … his panicked face as he tried to rouse her …
'He said he loved me,' she thought – not just once, but four times that she could recall – but her rational mind started jeering, asking if it was something that he honestly, truly felt and not a declaration from his testosterone-fuelled brain. She held on tighter as the doubts assailed her, hugged him closer as if there were to be no tomorrows, wanting only to stay with him in this quiet cocoon where they'd shared so much last night – this peaceful room where there was no Voldemort or Dumbledore, no Death Eaters or Order of the Phoenix, this tranquil place with no one but each other – unaware that Harry was thinking the same thoughts as he breathed in her scent, a smile of sheer contentment on his face.
For the first time in a really long while, Harry Potter felt secure … safe … content – here in this room with Hermione in his arms. He sighed as he realized that only three nights before, he'd been working on his potions assignment – and bitten into that singular bean which had set this chain of events into play.
He brushed his lips on the soft hair of his best friend, and grinned at the thought of his dorm-mates running into a very angry witch. He wished he could have been there when she started hexing them into oblivion and, in the next moment, wondered if they were all right. He hadn't been to their Common Room or his dorm since the day before, and, with everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, he wondered if the world outside this room had changed –
At that thought, he glanced outside the window – and his Seeker's eyes spotted the Ravenclaw Quidditch team engaged in an early-morning practice. His eyes and brain easily tracked their movements – part of his brain wondering if they were following an established playbook or developing their own … another part tracking the players as they went through their paces – and he smiled.
No … things haven't really changed. Classes will resume, assignments handed out, Gryffindor will beat Ravenclaw, and Hermione will be in the stands, alternately cheering or cringing as the game goes on like she always does – and gaped as he saw someone with long red hair down her back wearing Ravenclaw practice robes race between two Chasers – intercepting the Quaffle they were passing between them and tearing for the goals where she proceeded to pump-fake the waiting Keeper from his position and score.
"Ravenclaw's got a new Chaser," he thought – and gave a start as he realized that he'd spoken the thought out loud. He drew a sharp breath as the girl in his lap shifted to take a look out the window, closed his eyes in pain as blood seemed to pool in his pelvis – bit hard on his lip as Hermione shifted again to take a better look, and tried desperately to think of something, anything other than tire irons or snakes … praying that Hermione hadn't noticed and he screwed up his face when her bum brushed the front of his shorts – unaware that Hermione had felt it and had bitten down on her lip to stop a searing scream of pain from her wounded soul …
Hope and dreams were the narcotics of a lonely heart, lulling one into believing happiness could actually be attained. Hopes and dreams were all that sustained Hermione through the solitary days of her childhood, growing up as the only child of well-to-do dentists, granted a formidable brain and a know-it-all mouth through the workings of the Cosmic Dice – complicated by unexplainable things happening around her, the initial signs of her magical potential breaking through …
It was her hope, her dream, her belief that some day, some one would pause and look beneath the bushy hair and intelligent eyes, go beyond that formidable brain and acerbic mouth – see the person within who needed approval and friendship as much as the next.
She'd hoped that Hogwarts would provide an answer – and shook as she remembered the horror of her first months: the searing pain of Ron's words after their Charms class, hiding out and crying her eyes out … the raw fear at confronting the mountain troll but feeling the beginnings of an inner peace as her mind whispered that death would be an escape because her dreams were dead –
Only for hope to be rekindled with the entrance of Harry into the comfort room – and she had a reason to live, and friends to share with … a life to hold on to …
But there was always something missing. Her heart kept insisting on that, even as her brain reviewed her daily schedule, asserting that there was no room in her life for more …
She'd caught a glimpse of what was missing when she saw the look of admiration in Krum's dark eyes and Harry's stupefied reaction at the Yule Ball … felt its emptiness in fifth year when Harry went to Hogsmeade with Cho … felt her heart soaring that fateful night beneath the mistletoe in Grimmauld Place, only to be dropped back into bleak despair when she saw Dean's graphic rendition of Hermione as she truly was: gangly, lanky, awkward Hermione …
She had responded irrationally to the mockery, only to be brought soaring again last night – not so much by the burning, bruising kisses she'd exchanged with Harry, but in the deep comfort of sleep with Harry's arms around her, capped with Harry's completely unexpected greeting when he woke up – saying those words that meant so much to her and then having him wrap her once again in his comforting arms …
Only for the outside world to intrude – in the person of that Ravenclaw Chaser with fiery hair like Ginny's, high-fiving her accomplishment with Cho as they sat on their brooms – and she bit down on her lip as she felt his reaction to the sight through the green, gold and black boxers he wore …
She jumped off his lap, blinking back the tears pooling in her eyes as the make-believe world of this room crumbled, knowing that her time with him was over, that they would soon emerge from the room and face the world, his world, with all those people waiting for him: Cho with her athletic body and straight black hair … Padma and Parvati with their exotic faces and calm demeanours … Ginny with her red hair and Bat-Bogey Hex … the Ravenclaw Chaser and so many others …
Rita Skeeter with her acid-green quill just waiting for an opportunity to slash and humiliate her by focusing on all those other girls and making fun of her: lanky, gangly, awkward Hermione, all arms and legs and bushy brown hair –
She didn't see Harry expelling the air he wasn't aware he'd been holding in – and biting his lip as he felt the blood surging from his pelvis to his brain, knowing that his face would be redder than his Mum's hair at what had just happened, cursing his teenaged hormones and traitorous brain, wondering how long he could keep this up – his blood surging from pelvis to head and back again – wishing that it would just stay in one place but cringing at the thought of walking around Hogwarts with his blood permanently pooled in his shorts …
He opened his eyes to apologize – and felt his blood draining into some black hole he didn't know existed when he saw Hermione's defeated shoulders and drooping hair, her bent-over head as she stood up, facing away from him. He was after her before she could take a step, and he spun her around to face him only to take a step back at the sight of her tear-stained cheeks – and all thoughts of blood-engorged snakes or bloody tire irons fled his brain as he croaked, "What's wrong, love?"
She didn't answer but kept her eyes fixed on her toes, allowing her hair to do its job of hiding her face and her rampaging emotions from him. There was nothing she wanted to do at this moment but turn and walk away from him, but she jumped when she felt his warm hand lifting her face and she blinked at the worried face and troubled eyes of her best friend, silently begging her to explain what was going on …
Her brain wanted to ask nonchalantly, "What now, Harry?" – but her aching heart stepped on her brain's feeble protests and asked a question before she could stop it: "Do you love me, Harry Potter?"
*
First Floor Corridor (Minerva McGonagall's POV)
It was a sight so bizarre that the portraits (who had seen and heard so many strange and magical things pass or happen in the ancient corridors) had to shake their heads. A handsome, palomino-coloured centaur was walking the corridor, flanked on one side by an elderly wizard with flowing white hair wearing purple robes with dancing silver stars and planets – and on the other, by a not so elderly witch in tartan green, head bowed and focused on the ancient stones of the castle corridor, half-listening to the centaur and the wizard as they conversed in low voices.
'When had he become so manipulative?' Minerva McGonagall asked herself. They'd been friends for close to a century – and in those long and sometimes bloody years, she had learned to trust the old man with her life, simply because he had never wavered from a singular principle: unwavering dedication to the cause of the Light. It was his mantra … his pledge … the tenet he lived by.
And yet, she had to wonder, how many had he sacrificed on the altar of righteousness?
She blinked as Dumbledore's words broke through her seeming funk: "I have never been able to understand – or accept – that Muggle saying, Firenze." She turned her puzzled eyes on him as he continued, "The good die young."
"Albus – "
Dumbledore turned tired eyes on her as Firenze dropped back a pace to allow the two old friends to talk. "You know how old I am, Minerva … but even you cannot know how old I truly feel. I have survived the rise and fall of one Dark Lord – and seen the rise, fall and subsequent resurrection of another. After all these years, I cannot help but ask myself – if the good die young, then why am I still here?"
The corridor was silent; even the paintings straining to listen to the conversation in their hallway – but there was no answer. McGonagall had no answer to give, for she felt the same way – while she, unlike Hermione Granger, had not been at Dumbledore's side in his many battles for the Light, she had lost too many friends – many of them young – and she understood exactly what he meant.
'Survivor's guilt,' Lily called it when McGonagall was visiting the Potters, scant days before the family went into hiding. The older witch found Lily in a disheartened mood, the latter having learned of the death of Dorcas Meadowes at the hands of Voldemort, and she had expressed the same sentiment as her old Headmaster … except that, in Lily's case, she was wondering why it had to be Dorcas who'd died and not her.
Thoughts of Lily brought her mind to Harry, and she shivered. Would that, she wondered, be another instance of the good dying young? She hugged herself tightly at the thought. After a moment, she shook her head and looked up – surprised to see that Dumbledore and Firenze were waiting for her, their sad, sympathetic eyes with a wealth of understanding but little comfort to give.
And then the centaur whispered, his deep voice somehow vibrating with suppressed power:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
The wizard and the witch gaped, but the impassive centaur seemed deep in thought as he continued his stately way to the Great Hall and entered – and stopped, his eyes focused on something at one of the tables even as he ignored the sudden silence that greeted his entrance. Surprised, Dumbledore and McGonagall hurried after him and stared, mouths agape, at the spectacle before them – all three completely missing the sighs of the female – and some of the male – population of Hogwarts at seeing the reclusive centaur in their midst.
*
Room of Requirement (Harry's POV)
"Do you love me, Harry Potter?"
For a beat of time that felt as if eternity held its breath, Harry Potter stared at Hermione Granger. Of all the things to ask, he thought – why that? Hadn't he shown what he felt for her? Hadn't he proven the depth of his feelings for her? Hadn't he, time and again, done his level best to protect her from every danger that came by being associated with The-Boy-Who Lived?
The easy protestations died on his lips as his eyes probed the swirling pools of Hermione's eyes – and he knew that the easy answer would not suffice, not here, not now … In Hermione's simple question lay a depth of profoundness that he was unable to answer honestly, and his heart ached … because he wasn't sure where the differences lay in wanting to defend her because she was his friend – and wanting to protect her because she was something more to him.
If love were defined by protecting someone with body and soul … yes, he did love Hermione. He had gone after her when he realized she didn't know about the troll in first year – as he had gone after Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets … after Ron into the tunnel leading to the Shrieking Shack … after Sirius in the Department of Mysteries …
True, he had protected her from danger far more than the others – placing his arms and his body around her to shield her from Dementors and Grawp's enormous hand … pulling her with him in their flight from the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries … but was that really love for her above all others – or just the circumstances they'd found themselves in?
Was that love, or merely the steadfast loyalty he felt towards her, after all the years of shared adventures and all the help she'd given him without question?
Harry felt a cold worm of doubt niggling in his mind as her question bored into him – and found himself wondering about the passionate kisses they'd shared beneath an enchanted mistletoe and again in this room last night: was that really love or merely the release of teenage lust? They had never bothered to question the Weasleys about their enchanted mistletoe – too embarrassed were they about what had transpired, as well as being far too afraid of what they might learn to probe too deeply.
But what about last night? Was it really an expression of their deepest feelings for each other, or a simple bit of madness inspired by a bean which, as subsequent events had shown, may well have been planted amongst thousands of others with a singular, evil purpose in mind?
As the doubts assailed Harry's mind, he felt something stirring from deep within, groping much as he did every morning as he searched for his glasses … but this was something else, something that had been buried deeply by the years of fear and loneliness in the loveless household where he grew up, something that had been denied him in those years of verbal abuse by Vernon and Dudley's physical bullying: that unique connection to another human being that defies definition, but is so common to human understanding that poets and writers and composers have tried to capture it for centuries – and that even Harry, growing up without love and with a surfeit of fear, knew he had been looking for.
As he sank deeper into Hermione's eyes, he realized that it was that singular need for connection to someone that made him accept Hagrid's offer on the Hut-on-the-Rock … that made him reject the hand offered by Draco Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express, even as he'd embraced the friendship offered by Ron …
And it was why he'd gone after a bushy-haired know-it-all who he didn't even think of as his friend – gone after her and risked his life without thinking because she was in danger … but how was that different from all the other times, and all the other people, when his 'saving people thing' had kicked in?
He almost jumped when he felt his sweaty fingers wrapping themselves around something – but felt his mind eased as he realized that he'd entwined his fingers with Hermione's in a gesture so familiar that it often happened without conscious thought on their parts – and he felt that something stirring in him grow stronger …
He could feel her pulse through his sensitized fingers – knew that her blood was rushing at a heightened pace in time to his own – and he realized, as if a bolt of lightning had flashed through his mind, that it was this seeming connection to her which defined the difference between Hermione and everyone else in his life …
He'd gone after her in first year without thinking of anything except that she was in danger – not that she was his friend, which she definitely was not – but because she, Hermione Granger, was in danger.
With others, there was a sense of obligation – with Ginny because she was Ron's sister, with Ron because he was his first friend after Hagrid, with Gabrielle because Fleur was unable to effect her rescue … with Sirius because he was Harry's godfather and dear friend of his father … with Ginny, Ron, Luna and Neville in the Ministry of Magic, because he'd allowed them to join him in what was ultimately a futile quest …
But Hermione … Hermione was the constant in his life, even before she became his friend: pushing herself in his face during the flying lesson and later in the Common Room before the midnight duel, her acidic remarks when he received his Nimbus 2000 – it has always been Hermione …
She was his Hermione even then.
Hermione and her loyalty, her faith in him to do what was right …
Was that why, in their confrontation with Malfoy and Lestrange, it was Hermione's location he was most aware of? Why, in the chaos of escaping the Death Eaters, it had been Hermione he'd grabbed without thought for the others until much later? And finally, the turbulence of his mind when she went down from Dolohov's curse became clear: it was his fear of losing his connection to her that had torn at his soul.
It wasn't until he was in danger of losing her that he recognized it for what it was – but even then, the events of his extremely abnormal life conspired to submerge that singular realization – until he found himself trapped with Hermione beneath an enchanted mistletoe, and then biting down on that never-to-be forgotten bean …
And he realized that there was no need for understanding to capture what it was that others had been trying to describe or portray.
It simply is.
His connection – their connection – had always been there. They had always communicated on a level which left others agape but he'd never realized, never understood what it meant – never acknowledged what it was that they'd been building together, one step at a time over the years … simply because he never knew it was there.
His feelings for Hermione may have come from the same wellspring of caring and concern that he had for others in danger, but his feelings for her ran deeper and more intensely than anything he had ever known or felt for anyone – because of that unique connection and distinctive bond that tied her to him and – he now hoped with every fibre of his being – that also tied him to her.
He heard himself whispering, the words coming to his ears as if from a great distance, because they were coming from the deepest part of his being: "I don't love you … Merlin help me, I don't love you."
In the split second before she could tear herself away, he whispered words he now fully understood and accepted … mind, body and soul whispering in a single voice, "I'm in love with you … I am totally, completely in love with you."
*
The Teacher's Table, Breakfast in the Great Hall
"It gives a new meaning to the words 'other half,' don't you think?" The teachers were once again at their table, talking behind the magical barrier that prevented the students from eavesdropping – and all of them trying their level best to maintain a calm and stoic face while watching a redheaded, freckle-faced wizard and a blonde, blue-eyed witch eating at the Gryffindor table: Ron's left hand holding a fork, Luna's right hand holding a spoon – their other hands nowhere in evidence. It was obvious, however, that those hands were below the table where – McGonagall fervently hoped – they were merely holding hands and not something else.
She watched, amazed, as Ron speared a sausage and fed it to Luna as he answered a question from Dean on his left; turning away from the latter in time to open his mouth when Luna shovelled a spoonful of scrambled eggs even though she was facing Ginny, who was sitting in front of her …
It was an awesome display of coordinated dining.
"I'd'a thought eatin' tha' way would keep Ron from stuffin' his face," Hagrid remarked to no one in particular. "It looks like nothin' can stop his appetite."
The other teachers smirked into their plates or goblets at the rightness of the statement – except for Professor Sinistra's mordant voice saying, "Shouldn't someone stop them before someone pokes out an eye?"
The teachers (especially Flitwick) turned baleful eyes at the Astronomy Professor and temporary head of Slytherin House, but Firenze's baritone voice stopped them: "I would have liked to reward them for that performance, Professor Sinistra. It isn't often that one sees such physical … coordination, especially among two people who are not, apparently, bonded."
"Ye've never seen 'arry an' 'ermione, Firenze," the genial Hagrid said. "They may not 'ave the coordination thing down like those two" – nodding towards Ron and Luna – "but their minds…" and he tapped a finger against his temple as he shook his head.
"Indeed?" The centaur's eyes roamed the Hall, studiously ignoring the soft sighs and muffled moans from the female students when he ignored them, and turned back to Hagrid. "I do not see Harry Potter out there."
"The students are not required to be here during meals, Professor Firenze," McGonagall said. She cast a furtive glance at the Headmaster, who gave a minute shrug in return. Hagrid's booming voice effectively stopped her next thought: "If 'arry's still looking for 'ermione's bean, I'd best be talkin' to tha' lad – "
The glare that the professors gave Hagrid should have turned him into toast, no matter his bulk; as it was, the genial giant's suddenly blazing face generated enough heat that the centaur had to move away from his mumbled, "I shouldn'ta said that!"
The others snickered, except for Minerva McGonagall, whose blistering glare was directed at the smirking Albus Dumbledore, an idea jumping full force into her head, and her harsh voice lashed out: "You weren't successful with the mistletoe, were you, Albus? If you were, we would have known about it when the students returned after the New Year … "
The teachers – even Firenze – gaped at the stern visage of McGonagall, who looked, for all the world, like an ancient battle-axe come to life as she asked, "Did you have anything to do with a Hermione-flavoured bean, Albus?"
Dumbledore's response was to do an impressive imitation of a flopping salmon in a fishmonger's stall – an image that would have lived in the minds of the students in the Great Hall, had they not been distracted by the arrival of the morning owls bearing letters from home, gifts for those with birthdays, free copies of the Quibbler and the Daily Prophet for the teachers and paid copies for those with subscriptions.
McGonagall had her answer, however: the shocked look in Dumbledore's eyes combined with the inarticulate opening and closing of his mouth brought home the truth – he had nothing to do with Hermione's Bean. Such an idea never even passed his scheming, manipulative mind, she thought. He may have participated in the making of the Weasley's trick mistletoe but a Hermione-flavoured bean, with all the randomness it entailed, was beyond him.
Although, McGonagall reflected as her eyes narrowed to pinpricks of bright steel, she would not put it above him to take advantage of the opportunity offered, remembering his cavalier attitude towards the Gryffindor boys in Hagrid's hut the day before.
Before either could speak – Albus to deny the accusation, Minerva to ask another question – a feral howl was heard in the Great Hall: a scream all the more shocking as they turned and saw that it came from the mild-mannered Dean Thomas, corded veins on his neck and forehead, shaking hands tearing the freshly-delivered Daily Prophet to shreds. The surprised teachers glanced around and a small melee occurred as they grabbed for their free copies of the wizarding newspaper, Dean's words echoing in their ears as it bounced around the hall: "I'M GOING TO KILL THEM!"
Author's Notes: Those who are familiar with this story from portkey dot org will recognize that there is more to the story. I actually split the chapter into two - the next (and hopefully, final) chapter will be the first real piece of creative writing that I've attempted for some time.
In the meantime, thank you for those who've reviewed, added this to their Favorite Stories lists, and subscribed to story and author alerts. My deepest gratitude to you all!