Animus: Quest for a Brave Heart

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling earns her credit. This is hers, scene manipulation is mine.

'The phoenix hope, can wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune's spite; revive from ashes and rise.' -- Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra.

...

2: Flint and Tinder

'Hermione… come on, we said we were sorry.'

'It's not like you did die. Even then, you wouldn't. Maybe just a few megawatts of pain, but still…'

I refuse to answer their constant whining. I am angry at them for attempting my murder. It would be illogical to forgive them.

Then again, I have no homework due in the near future and wish not for a headache with study. Harry and Ron are feverishly attempting to complete their piles of homework and both have not said a word to me since classes ended because I told them they were, for once, to write their essays themselves. The boys do not have to know that I am bitter toward their entire species because of one male's visit.

(And he does not have to know that he makes me quiver with his mere presence and the thought of him pressing an intimate, devilish kiss to the palm of my hand sends me into overdrive, into spasms of pleasure that should make me feel guilty – and yet all I want is more, and more, and more...)

I admit that I should put the twins out of their misery because I know they have been seeking me since yesterday's mishap and because today I did not show up to watch their practice (for not even Oliver could make my cowardice die so I could face death by twins). Every time they caught sight of me, absolutely begging for forgiveness, I would turn the other way.

For, at the end of third year, they had caught me crying in an alcove of the corridors after I had become hysterical from the stress of Muggle Studies and fancying a boy. They hugged me together and gave me some of their sweets from Honeydukes. This has been happening for two years, the arguments and the stress, and then the sudden forgiveness. They have become my brothers, and I love my family unconditionally. So I know that, eventually, I will keep walking toward them in the corridors and if I look at them now, my resistance will be vain.

After a long time, I lift my head from its resting position on my knees and my resolve weakens significantly because Fred and George are kneeling in front of my armchair near the fire, looking absolutely adorable with pouting lips and puppy dog eyes. They each snake a hand around one of my wrists and give a small tug, increasing their built-in weaponry of irresistible charm. They know they are forgiven.

My knees are bunched up and my head rests upon them. I roll my eyes as they grin, spectacularly unaware that they are one false move away from their own certain deaths. 'Come on an adventure with us?' George asks.

I stay silent, levelling my gaze to them for the space of three heartbeats. I sigh. 'Why me?'

'Why not you?' Fred asks rhetorically, and I am used to hearing this. I open my mouth to list the many, many correct answers to that question, but George clamps his hand over it and shakes his head. Fred pats my arm. 'Our git of a brother and the resident champion have abandoned you so we thought you might like some company because we,' Fred grins as George removes his hand, 'are not busy.'

I roll my eyes again, grumbling sarcastically, 'Ickle Ronnikins and The-Boy-Who-Vanished are on a break in their dorm practicing their romance skills.' The twins blink, throw back their heads to guffaw and start rolling around on the floor laughing. I stare at them incredulously for a moment before noticing all the curious looks from the other occupants of the common room. Immediately, I blush and mutter, 'Get up. It wasn't that funny.'

'Oh but it was! The images were magnificent!' George chokes out.

Fred sits up, trying to contain himself. 'Who would have thought you would say that?'

I notice several stares and swallow. 'Would you two shut up?' I snap, bringing my knees up again and burying my face in my arms.

Their faces are closer. I can feel their breath on my arm. I can feel their warmth but there is no fire – fire that comes from him, my absent love, only. I sigh again, suddenly morose.

They tug and I unwind myself without looking up. Before I know it, George has one arm under my knees and I am over his shoulder while Fred looks on as we make our way out the portrait door. I start kicking and punching George's back, yelling for them to put me down. Completely ignoring me, George chuckles as Fred winks and says, 'You might want to stop that unless you'd like the entire common room to see your knickers.' I halt my actions immediately and settle for glaring a hole through his head.

The Fat Lady does not seem at all surprised to find the twins hauling a girl out by force. She simply nods to the two and shakes her head with pity at me. I am floored. 'What did you do to her?' I almost yell and I spread my arms so much I hit George in the head. 'Sorry, George,' I apologise, almost mechanically. He shifts my position as we wait for the staircase to change and I am jostled further up by the swift lurch. I think it is for spite.

'We have been here for seven years, Hermione. Seven. She's used to our escapades.'

'Along with the odd damsel?'

He beams. 'Exactly!'

'George, put me down.'

'Why?'

'So I can thump him.'

'What do you say?' I can hear him sniggering.

'Please.'

'What was that?'

I groan, resting an elbow on George's back and retort, 'You're on thin ice, boys.' It comes out less harsh than I would have liked. It occurs to me that I am enjoying this.

Fred merely grins and says, 'George, if you will.' George sets me down carefully and I smooth out my skirt, I walk between them like a prisoner. They search the shadows for rogues and thieves and I search the people for Oliver. Is this inborn?

Our trio stops just before the stairs down to the Entrance Hall and Fred examines my flushed face closely. 'Now you promise to come quietly? No escaping into the sea.' He wags a finger at me.

'It's not as if I have a choice, Fred,' I say, smiling despite myself. I pull out my wand and point it at my hair. 'Why'd you do that?' George asks quizzically as it settles, the frizzing gone. They stand beside each other and stare.

'Because it was getting frizzy. I'm not usually…' I trail off, hoping they will understand.

They do, and, both grinning, reach forward and ruffle it up, tugging on curls, pushing some back. I try to swat them off, but Fred holds my hands still. 'There,' George says, 'much better.'

I do not want to know what I look like. Instead, I ignore them and ask, 'Are you going to tell me why I have been kidnapped?'

'We have to plan, you see,' George says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders whilst his twin goes for my waist. 'So we're off to the kitchens. We can't do that on an empty stomach, can we?' Fred looks horrified at the prospect and shudders.

I am suddenly uncomfortable with their presence, how close they are, how it has been increasing as I have allowed them closer with each passing month. I look at the two of them. 'Don't you… care what people will think if they see you, me… us, like this? I mean, everybody likes you.'

'There it is!' They look at me in delight, quickly place a kiss on each of my cheeks and reply, 'Nah!' before guiding my stunned form down the stairs as they laugh. At me, them or the situation, I am unsure. I am sure that I would almost die if it were Oliver who kissed my blushing cheeks, who unknowingly holds my cowardly, golden heart in his hand. Most importantly, I would not care. I would let go of my inhibitions, my defences, my assertions, and, for once, I would feel the freedom of perceived immaturity. I close my eyes as we turn the last corner.

When they open, my gaze immediately lands on Oliver. He is standing at the foot of the stairs of the ground floor, with his back turned, holding onto his broom. I know he is turning to face us and I know what is going to come next. I swallow, and try to steel my wits for the onslaught.

Oliver's eyes narrow upon seeing us and the twins smoothly depart from my side to travel over to his, saying enthusiastically, 'Oliver, mate! Enjoying your stay?'

'Watch out for Umbridge, ol' chap,' George teases, shaking his hand vigorously. 'She's got her eye on you.'

I stare at Oliver. The look on his face is disconcerting, unblinking. He licks his lips and his gaze is level as it meets my eyes. I shudder and hold onto the stone handrail, suddenly weak at the knees.

He snaps his gaze to George. 'What? Why? Dumbledore's happy for me to be here, help the team with Quidditch.' Fred grins. Oliver frowns. 'Oh, please.'

'Oh, I dunno. What do you think, Hermione?' George asks, challenge in his voice. 'Reckon Umbridge fancies him?'

Feeling like I am about to have a heart attack, I jump and try to hide it and shake my head, stuttering, 'N-no. She only has eyes for Fudge… a-and it seems the whole world except him knows it.'

George raises his eyebrows. I can imagine what he is thinking: Sounds familiar.

Oliver smiles at that. I must fight not to break out in hysterics as he turns to me and says, 'Hi, Hermione. I'll keep that in mind, for later.'

It is nothing special except that it is actually me he is speaking to, and now I cannot say anything else except, 'Hi. Right,' in a voice that I hope does not sound quite so shocked to others as it did for me.

My two knights come to the rescue. 'Well, we best be off,' they say, opening the door to the Entrance Hall.

'So, nice to see you again, Oliver. Come to the game this Saturday, or else we'll knock a Bludger to your head.'

'Can't play for Puddlemere then can you? Might ruin your Keeper skills.'

'We'll work our magic on McGonagall to get you a seat.'

'Or Lee might be able to promise not to let his words wander.'

'Though, we can't promise that he'll be able to.'

'Nor that the other team won't open up to such insults.'

'Of course, as most of the Slytherins are trolls they can't do much about it.'

'Still, we'll get you a seat. Hermione, come with us.'

'Hermione here is helping us with some problems. Smart witch she is. Gorgeous too.'

'Don't you think so Oliver? I know we think so.'

'Wouldn't say it if it wasn't true.'

My jaw is perilously close to the floor as they finish. I almost forgot their twin talents for trouble. 'Excuse me?' Oliver and I simultaneously ask in bewilderment. I look at him at the same time he looks at me. My head drops and my shoes suddenly became very interesting as I move away nervously, banging right into George's chest.

'So, to the kitchens!' he says jollily. My instinctive squeal fills the Hall as he swings me back over his shoulder again and we set off for the kitchens. Fred waves to Oliver and the surrounding, gaping students. But I am not looking at their reactions, only at Oliver's. His jaw is shut tight and his eyes are hard with his fist clenched around the handle of his broom. I hear his stomping boots as we turn the corner and pass the Hufflepuff common room still-life painting. I have not struggled this time, opting to retain at least a scrap of my dignity. Fred is in front, darting around in the brightly lit corridor scouting for stray students. 'I was going to come quietly,' I yell. Fred spins on his heel, still continuing, and shrugs.

Internally, I quiver with excitement at a possibility: Could he be... jealous?

I ignore the portraits' gasps and giggles as much as I can for someone rocking to and fro on a seventeen-year-old's back. 'There was something wrong with Oliver,' I tell them.

They only grin and George sets me down. 'Really, Hermione, you're the lightest girl I've ever carried.'

I brush myself off again. 'I suppose you've carried many girls.'

'Yes.' Simply said. Of course. I raise my wand but remember what happened last time, and just try to pat it down. I do not mind my hair very much, only it is not especially manageable.

Fred takes one last look around before tickling the pear. I can hear its soft little giggle as it transfigures. Watching the door swing outwards, I peer in at the flood of surprising white light. 'Are we even allowed down here?' I ask. 'What about Umbridge?'

'Personally,' says Fred as he holds the door open, 'I think she's scared of the house-elves. And we're not actually allowed in the Room anyway.'

'Don't like breaking the rules, huh, Prefect?'

I wipe the smirk off George's face with a smirk and a quip of my own. 'Actually, I find it quite thrilling, thank you.' I flounce past them, feeling very smug that they are momentarily stunned. Take that, Gred and Forge!

'I think we're a bad influence on you,' George says quietly, and Fred only nods. The kitchens are as hectic as they always are. Doors upon doors line the corridor, each one leading into a new kitchen and each kitchen gracing our noses with the aroma of the coming dinner. The walls are sandstone and the doors are a deep, earth green. I have only been here a few times with Harry and Ron, only once with Fred and George, and have never stayed long enough to explore. The boys' stomachs rumble and I smile as they clutch them and moan as if they were about to die of starvation. 'Time for planning, Fred?'

'Right time it is, George.' Fred takes out his wands and taps a button I had not noticed near the entrance. An elderly house-elf appears from a far door to the left, with sunken, brown eyes and a dirty apron over his tan, wrinkly body. He bows to us and Fred and George playfully bow back. 'We need a table, Jaala. Think you can manage that?'

Jaala nods and beckons us to follow him through the first archway to the right. Three circular tables sit near the fireplace with wooden stools and pitchers of water in the middle, large enough for me to assume that students are a regular sight in the kitchens. Jaala motions for us to sit, strangely silent. 'Can we get an early dinner? Please Jaala?' George begs, his eyes innocent and imploring. 'We're ever so hungry. Are you hungry, Hermione?' I shake my head, unwilling to ruin my appetite. 'Not for food, I see. Two small meals?' I scoff silently, willing to bet that the average male's version of small is very different to the average female's version of small.

Jaala seems to regard them suspiciously for a moment, before nodding, bowing and bustling out the room. 'Thank you!' I call as I watch him go, my mind already on S.P.E.W. track. I turn to the twins. 'Does he ever talk? Is he all right?'

'Just wait,' is all they say, smirking so much I think their faces might crack.

Within seconds, the quiet bustle of the kitchens is interrupted by an incredibly loud, screeching voice resounding off the pots and pans horrendously. 'Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Sandwiches!' My eyes are bulging out of their sockets, my mouth hanging agape and Fred and George are crying with laughter at my astonishment. 'Now! Now! Now! Now!' The insane house-elf continues yelling, even adding in a few profanities, for a good five minutes before the kitchens are once again quiet.

When Jaala finally comes back, the twins have still not stopped laughing and all I can do is stare at the small, grubby and half-way stooped house-elf walking toward us. He snaps his fingers, the crackle of golden sparks initiating the conjuring of the food. He bows stiffly and leaves and I am too stunned to say thank you. 'Bloody hell…' I breathe, still staring at the door. How could something so small be so darn loud?

Fred and George have sobered and are tucking into their sandwiches. My subconscious is thankful that they have slightly better table manners than their younger brother; even going so far as to swallow before observing, 'He has anger management problems.'

'Yes,' I say, nodding slowly. 'I think I will opt for Dobby next time.'

George shrugs. 'Being the head of this kitchen is a stressful job. His word is law here.'

'You're being a great help by giving him more work.'

'Keeps him on his toes,' Fred says with a grin. I open my mouth to reprimand him, but Fred is one step ahead, 'No Spew talk,' I glare at him. S-P-E-W – How hard can it be? 'We're here on business.'

'Right,' George says seriously, 'here are the facts: you fancy Oliver. And, if our great matchmaking intuition is correct—'

'—As always.' Fred interjects. I roll my eyes at their self-assurance.

George nudges his brother to signal agreement before continuing. 'Oliver fancies you too.'

'He does not!' I have an idea as to why they are rolling their eyes. I sigh and slump my shoulders, shrugging. 'Well… do you have any proof?'

'From him or us? Because, for as long as we've known Oliver, he can drop hints, but he's never actually acted without force. It is rather fun forcing him…'

'We, however,' Fred goes on, 'have quite a few secrets to share with you. For instance—'

'Wait.' I hold up a hand. 'Are they yours to tell?'

They share a glance. 'Well, they're not exactly secrets.'

'He hasn't actually told us anything—'

'—but we happen to be very observant.'

'Anyone could know if they looked hard enough—'

'—and that's how we discovered your "secret."' I suppose they've got me there. I wave a defeated hand for them to continue, pouring three glasses of water.

Fred speaks and drinks as George takes another large, very large, bite out of his overflowing sandwich. 'For instance, he gets immensely jealous whenever any bloke touches you. I think we might have helped a bit there.' I nod, remembering his hard, stone gaze. 'That episode with the Bludger – we really are sorry about that one. Not one of our better ideas... Well, you may not have seen it, diving for your life and all, but we saw Oliver. Never seen him so white, not even after Harry's fall from the Dementors. Like a ghost, poor chap. Quickly covered it up, though. Bit angry at that, weren't we George?'

'Yeah,' George agrees, swallowing, ' since I was half expecting him to try and save you right off the bat like the bloody good Keeper he should be – you know, steal Ron's broom, zip on over – play the hero and win the damsel sort of situation. But the sneaky git decided that you were okay and turned his back, like the absolute—' I frown.

'Anyway,' Fred interjects quickly, turning my glare to him, 'it's obvious. Nothing usually gets passed his defences. Must have been pretty strong. Lucky girl, aren't you Hermione?'

I ignore that comment and remember about Harry's disappearance. 'About that day, do you know where Harry was? I didn't see him the whole time.'

'I'm sure you saw only one thing that whole time.'

'Oh, nonsense,' I scold, withholding the truth of his quip. 'Did you?'

'Can't help you with that one. Must have been after the Snitch,' Fred muses. 'Though, you're right. He did seem to disappear.'

'Right,' I say, filing the problem away for later. 'Anything else?'

George, who has finished his sandwich, pushes his plate to the side and drinks some of the water. 'Yeah, the plan: We shove you and Oliver into a cramped, darkened room and keep you there until you start snogging each other.'

I pause while drinking and regard him over the rim of my glass. 'That borders on the immoral and stupid, George.'

He grins. 'But it would work.' He shakes his head and puts down his glass. 'Plan B is where we show you this photo we took. You see that, and then we shove you in the cramped, darkened room.'

'Again, I would hex you.' Fred almost chokes on his sandwich and shakes his head.

'Without your wands,' George continues, winking. 'Wanna see the photo?'

Slowly, hesitantly, my shoulders hunch and I nod.

George winks again. 'You've got it, haven't you, Fred?' Fred stops eating and shakes his head. 'Well I haven't got it.' George is patting his pockets and shakes his head too, the red hair falling into his eyes.

'You lost it?' A horrible thought strikes me, and I set down my glass with a soft thud. 'Where is it?' George blinks twice and a rock forms in the bottom of my stomach.

'Maybe we could summon it?' George tries, squirming under my glare.

'And have the whole school see it? I don't think so!' I yell. If that got in the wrong hands… Ron's, Malfoy's… or Oliver's.

I imagine the disgust on his face. Despite what Fred and George have said, I know that deep down I can never force myself to believe it. I cannot do that to him, break his defences, burn him with a glance. He would be unconcerned, or worse, horrified by the picture.

We are all standing up now. When did we get up? 'Hermione, calm down. I'm sure no one's got it. It's with our joke stuff, positive. With the order forms.'

I start pacing. George stands behind me and I run into Fred. Sandwiched between, their obstructive bodies will stop me tugging agitatedly at my hair. My hands reach as if trying to rip out the truth but they never make it. Just like me and my wretched love life. 'Can we go find it? I don't want to be the mockery of the school.' I mumble and know I sound pathetically childish, but I am so scared of what will happen if Oliver finds it. I already know that romance with boys is bad news, thanks to Viktor, especially the other end of it.

They nod and we flee the kitchens.

-x-x-x-

Comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading.

AN: What is Oliver doing at Hogwarts? He is visiting the Gryffindor team for their match against Slytherin. As they only won two years previously – remember, there was no Quidditch during the Triwizard Tournament – Oliver may believe that his presence will increase team morale and Gryffindor's chances of a healthy win. He requested and was granted official authority to stay in a visitor's room – as I assume Hogwarts caters for guests every now and then (such as during the Tournament) – and interact with the students. One may assume that his friends in Gryffindor let him in, whether he is allowed to access the common room or not. Currently, he is employed with Puddlemere United as a Reserve team member and does not attend Hogwarts as a student.

An amendment: It has been brought to my attention by flossiepots that the Room of Requirement does not provide any sort of food to the students. Thank you for this. In the main text, I have removed this error, yet, for the sake of clarity, it will be replicated here:

"Fred takes one last look around before tickling the pear. I can hear its soft little giggle as it transfigures. Watching the door swing outwards, I ask, 'Why not the Room of Requirement?'

'Because the Room of Requirement doesn't have such good food,' they say together, rubbing their stomachs. 'Rather bland.'"

Thank you again. Please do not be afraid to clarify or ask any questions.

-AA-