Disclaimer: Harry Potter ain't no creation o' mine ya hear?
Notice: I don't bash. I don't do bashing. Characters will be portrayed to the best of my ability as canon to start with. A warning. I will probably dramatically diverge them as the story goes on.
Forward: Alrighty. To clarify, unfortunately as it appears I'm losing readership due to this idiocy, this story will be a Harry/Hermione fic. And damn you all for making me admit it. I HATE admitting the pairings. Its like saying, "Here's a wonderful story about the journey of a group of people and their trek across the Sahara Desert! Oh. By the way, there's a wedding between these two characters at the end, and everyone else dies.
Lame.
But since people are SO afraid that it's going to be Ron/Hermione that they can't stand a little bit of (CANON!) romance that they're actually DROPPING the story over it.
This will be a romance between two long time friends. It will be long, before that truly even becomes noticeable. It will be painful. But, by the Light and my Hope for Salvation and Rebirth, it will be true. And it will not discard Ronald Weasley like a piece of rubbish hanging down from the engine of a shitty car.
In this or the next chapter, the story will begin to diverge dramatically from canon. I do hope you can still manage to stick with me through the long haul for all of this. I love to put my characters through the ringer, as any who have read my stories before well know. What few know however, is that I absolutely cannot stand tragic endings.
This is probably a bigger spoiler than admitting the pairing but I'll come out and say it straight. Absolutely every story I have ever written has a happy ending.
For what is the world, if only tragedy and death await our protagonists? A sad sad place I do say...
In these times light is a fleeting thing. Whimsical, it appears from the heart of darkness when most needed, then just as quickly shuffles away. But when it is present, it is the greatest thing man can have. Keep it close, while it remains friends, and remember it when it is gone. For always on the horizon lies the eternal peace at the end of the little red book. "There and Back Again" as the old tale is recorded...
...All will be well.
Error of Soul
"Well there's a very simple disguise for a scar on my neck... You could just give me a hickey. A really big one."
–Hermione Granger
"So, Harry's in the hospital again," George Weasley noted. It had of course been painfully obvious, what with the Quidditch game. Ginny had taken up Harry's position, and both of them winced a little at how badly she'd done. Her first real game, but it was in the cold rain. She hadn't fared well.
"Yep." Fred replied idly, and somehow they both knew that they had best go visit him. They'd put it off till after the game, as he'd only woken up a few hours before the start on Sunday, but neither had expected the game to last so very long!
"What you reckon he did this time?" George asked, his tone indicating a bit of a laugh. It was a long running joke behind the Golden Trio's back that each time one of them –Harry in particular– was hospitalized it had to be for something more ridiculous and exceptional than the last time. The car and acromantulas in second year had spawned the game, and it had only grown from there.
"Slew a Bogart?" the other redhead suggested and George shook his head.
"Nah, too lame. Points for originality though," He replied as they walked through the hallway on their way to the hospital wing.
"Well maybe he found out Umbridge was a death eater and killed her, eh?"
"Oh thats just wishing for far too much Fred. Still, fingers crossed," George replied. Inside he did a little jig at the thought. The woman was insufferable. Though her class, the first one she'd actually taught last Friday, had been informative.
"Dementor then. He's killed a Dementor."
George raised an eyebrow. "Brother, you know its impossible to kill a Dementor."
Fred gave his brother a half lidded stare.
"Yeah. My money's on it, too."
What could he say? The idea had merit. Harry had talent for the impossible, so that was easily the best place to start.
Chapter Four
The Ties that Break
Rumor spread as it had a tendency of doing at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The air was alight with whispers, and no two mouths spoke without new beliefs joining the frenzy. As always it seemed, they surrounded the Boy Who Lived.
It had begun when an unassuming third year Hufflepuff by the name of Marlene Fairborough had spotted a very worried Dumbledore walking very swiftly down the one of the hallways, Christmas music going dead at his passing. Behind him, three floating bodies seemed to follow, each more ghastly than the last.
First had been Hermione Granger. Very well known amongst the school, the girl was the shining star of the generation. Her grades made teachers weep and students jealous from every house, but even that was secondary to what her true fame was for.
Adventure...
Hermione Granger was a pillar of strength by which at least three of the Hogwarts houses drew confidence. She was a beacon of Right, one of three that Hogwarts had produced. In the daylight, she was merely a girl genius. But in rumor, she was legend. Tales of rescuing dragons, and hippogriffs melded with stories of polyjuice spywork and weaving time to be in two places at once all swirled around her so that the lower years found themselves in awe.
She'd been behind the forbidden third floor corridor? The forbidden forest? Yes! Of course she had, she was Hermione Bloody Granger! Hell, tack forbidden on anything and you'd be sure to find Hermione there in a week! Restricted section of the library? You bet your arse, Hermione had raided it.
When Marlene spotted the girl, looking pale as death, blood dribbling from her neck, she'd been afraid. What could have done such a thing?
The next body was worse.
Hermione's polar opposite in many ways, the woman was also famous, but infamous suited her more inside the walls of Hogwarts. Everyone hated Professor Umbridge. Even the Slytherin's hated her. The inquisitorial squad, newly formed, tolerated her, but even they were exasperated with the woman's calculated method of not teaching a damn thing.
Madam Umbridge had progressively worsened everything about the school from sacking one of Marlene's favorite teachers, Professor Trelawny, to forbidding the existence of clubs without her express permission! It was maddening!
But...
The woman's closed eyes, face looking so very old...
Her arm... severed and healed into a piteous stump...
Marlene had shuddered then, her eyes turning to the next...
Harry of course.
Harry. Not a beacon for the light. The Beacon. With his very birth he had dealt a heavy blow to darkness. His life was perhaps even more incredible. He slew a troll with his bare hands by choking it as his friend bashed it with its own club. He faced a shade of death in the halls beneath Hogwarts and defended the Endless Ruby. He ventured into the chamber and learned the hidden secrets, slaying monsters with a sword of light. His wand drew forth all that was good and happy and with that power turned back the might of an entire army of dementors... or so the story went. At his word, thunder struck and the seas waxed...
And yet he appeared so shy most the time... cute, even.
But Marlene knew. She knew the legend behind the boy. Seeing Harry, a hero for her in many ways, unconscious, his robes matted with dried blood...
Seeing Ron Weasley, third in the triumvirate of power trailing behind might have been the scariest of all. Ron Weasley, who personified bravery, but more so personified the belief in happiness after the story was over. While Harry choked a troll, Ron had done the bashing. Rumor placed him right beside Harry for everything. When Harry had descended into the chamber, Ron had been there.
His rumors were, of course, often tinged with comedy. Marlene personally believed that he kept the other two from going mad with all the wrong-righting they kept up to. She remembered hearing that rumor that he'd barfed slugs a few years before, and she sometimes thought she could believe it.
Seeing him now... his face ashen, eyes confused over which fallen friend to watch closer. Anxiousness warred with despair as he followed Dumbledore, seemingly unaware as he passed right by Marlene.
She wanted to reach out... tell him it was alright. He should be strong for them when they woke. But fear and awe had held her back. She didn't know why she was so nervous around them. Particularly not when silly boys like the Creevy brothers seemed to have no trouble at all riding their coattails.
Their legend had stretched beyond them.
She was certain they didn't even know...
But...
"Who are you to tread in the path of the slayer of darkness? Who are you to pretend to offer comfort to those whose lives are given to the fight against the shadow?"
Nobody. Marlene Alma was nobody...
She also suspected that she spent a hair too much time reading epic fantasy.
She ran off and told her friends. Rumor, with feet like wings, ran rampant...
Hermione had taken to wearing scarfs. Not a problem since it was the middle of winter but she was afraid of what might come whenever spring rolled around and she continued to wear them. Ron wouldn't care, and of course Harry knew but surely someone would notice that she had a very significant scar on her neck and start to think her some sort of copycat. Or worse, a fangirl.
She shuddered at the thought. Being a fan of Harry would be silly... but what else would people think when witnessing a scar like that on her neck? The last thing they would ever think was that it was real.
She'd seen it all. The killing curse, stopped a hair's width from snatching her soul. She'd felt its vicious tug on her lifeforce, freezing her into an immobile statue. She remembered the futility. The sense of despair that had crept over her in that last moment. Thoughts of Ron and how she should've fucking kissed him. Those were mitigated now by the fact that she seemed to be dating the redhead and still felt rather giddy over it. At the time though, the loss had been paralyzing. Thoughts of Harry... The Hero. The friend she'd never had, that she would always have.
"Perhaps more?"
A shiver crawled up her groin, and her body was seized by chills at the pleasurable touch.
"Dammit, Harry!" she hissed aloud, not for nearly the first time. Madam Pince glared at her, and she glared back, startling the crooked nosed bitch, before turning back to her books in fury.
Harry of course, wasn't anywhere near her. He was still in the hospital bed, seized by Master Bennet, Madam Pomfrey's replacement while she was on leave. Harry had probably not even thought about the casual graze of his bits but Hermione certainly did!
In irritation, she took her quill and stabbed herself in the arm. A jolt coursed through her, Harry's surprise no doubt, which was followed quickly by her own satisfaction.
He had no right to fiddle with her body like this!
...Perhaps she was being unfair though. It wasn't like he really had any more choice in this strange relationship that had developed between them than she did. Idly, she rubbed the mild ache in her arm, guiltily thinking that she'd been a bit hasty with the stab as indagnance fluttered through the bond.
"Sorry about that Harry."
Harry was still in the hospital, having his leg reattached. She hadn't even missed class for her ordeal! Near death on Friday and be in class by Monday! Normally she'd be overjoyed at that but the stress of Harry and her connection, added to the Avada Kedavra... She really wanted to take a Monday off. But instead she'd been released Sunday morning, just in time to go watch Ron dominate the quidditch pitch.
… and then utterly humiliate her in the most Weasley-esque bit of showboating imaginable.
Malfoy was an adequate seeker and it was raining. Adequate seekers frankly, could spend days trying to find the snitch in the rain. Ginny was worse, though, so Malfoy had caught the snitch in the end.
Too bad for him that after seven hours of continuous play, Ron Weasley had not let a single goal in.
It was being hailed as a miracle. A one in a million game. The boy, startlingly, had gained the attention of scouts within the third hour of the competition. By the fourth a veritable storm of new arrivals from all over Britain had arrived to see the young boy's unbelievable performance. By the fifth hour with a score of three hundred forty to zero, the boy was approaching a Hogwarts record. By the seventh he had already passed it.
Malfoy insulted him. Taunted him. Barbs about his poor family fell off the Weasley's skin like water sliding over glass. Casual references to his idiocy were met with an unbending grin while the boy caught the quaffle with his left hand, hanging upside down off his broom with a monkey like grace.
A debut game to shake the ages.
Rain might've made the day dreary, but Ron Weasley and the crowd of cheering Gryffindors made it seem the most lively one ever.
Hermione had been amazed. Not a little embarrassed as well. Every other moment the boy glanced at her, as if checking to make sure she was there, she was watching, and she was his. It had made her feel special. Loved in a way she'd never felt before. Seeing that unadulterated joy in his eyes sent her blushes into overdrive.
Draco had caught the snitch in the end, grumbling about it as he lazily plucked it out of the air, before Ginny even spotted it, insinuating that he might be a lot better than he was actually letting on. He'd been hoping for his team to turn the game in his favor and regain the points needed to take a win with catching it but as goal after goal slipped through Slytherin's net, while Ron Weasley might as well have erected a fortress in front of his side, Malfoy finally gave up.
The game ended, the whistle blown, Ron had blasted across the Quidditch pitch to her seat in the stands. Ignoring her shock, he hopped off his broom, landing with a flourish and soundly wrapped her in his soaked arms kissing her openly to the catcalls and hoots of the surrounding Gryffindors.
Of course then he'd smiled and hopped back onto his broom leaving her alone to the staring questions and knowing grins of every single member of Gryffindor.
Except Harry.
Harry was stuck in the Medical ward, a soul bond plaguing him with her chill from the cold air, and absolutely no idea what to expect next.
The Soul Bond book Madam Pomfrey had given her had been destroyed, and that pained her almost as much as the new scar on her neck did. She'd idiotically carried it with her in her frantic worry for Harry, and when that... necklace had exploded, it had scorched the book to cinders, along with several desks and a good portion of the rooms stonework.
Now she perused the library, desperately hunting for references to the phenomenon. Unfortunately she'd discovered one more thing already about the Soul Bond without the aid of books. It bled emotions. It had probably been doing so all along in fact.
Late Saturday evening Harry had woken up, and Hermione had instantly been seized by worry. Harry's worry for her and Ron it had turned out. When he saw them both sitting, idly waiting for him to awaken, his relief had been so profound that Hermione had felt tears come to her eyes.
Goodness, did Harry truly feel such fear for their wellbeing? It was quite flattering, actually to know how much he cared.
Unfortunately Mediwizard Bennet would not release Harry to play in the Quidditch game. He said the injuries were too serious, which they probably were, but the man's gleaming eyes hinted that a fanboyish questioning awaited the boy who lived.
"The bloody game!"
Hermione blinked. The thought, punctuated by a strong male tone that she easily recognized as her green-eyed friend, sounded in her brain. It cracked, as if spoken through a shitty walkie talkie or perhaps a bad radio, but it was there.
"Harry?" She thought, hard. Could she hear what he was thinking?
Nothing happened. After a few minutes waiting in silence, Hermione shrugged, and returned back to scanning the rows and rows of books for something to do with Soul Bonds.
"Kissing? Hermione?"
The words startled her again a moment later, and she twisted, mildly annoyed. She was feeling anger through the bond, though of the irritable sort, and it was bleeding into her own emotions, making her irritable as well. He'd been feeling angry for quite a while actually. Frustration had pinged the back of her mind all throughout the quidditch game but it had been mild, like the feeling of an uncovered foot when trying to sleep. It was ignorable if comfy enough, and she'd been so entranced by Ron's playing –and not a little bit fond of his body whilst watching– that she'd been quite comfy indeed.
The library was much closer to the hospital wing than the quidditch pitch though. It seemed distance changed how much of his emotions she could feel. It also explained why she'd been able to feel him flying so strongly Friday night. Gryffindor tower overlooked the quidditch pitch after all, and it wasn't unreasonable to look out the window and see them practicing. The occasional bludger hitting the walls was a common occurrence in Gryffindor.
Another touch slid down Hermione's side, and she shuddered a little. If she had to be honest, she would admit that she could hardly stop feeling them now. There were so many that she hardly noticed most of them. A touch of his glasses. A rustling of his shirt. Shifting blankets. The taste of a disgusting potion had been startling but it seemed taste was mild. The emotion that came with it however –disgust of the highest order– sickened her. Even so, they were all somewhat mild. Only the truly heavy touches really seemed to have much effect on her. Touches in sensitive areas for instance often left her shuddering. Worryingly, her leg still ached from where she'd felt it severed. It had scarred, and there had been definite pain and bloodshed but it seemed no matter how close to Harry she was, she still only felt a mild version of whatever happened to him. Her leg hadn't fallen off after all.
Harry's severed limb had been fixed, though Madam Umbridge would bear her stub for the rest of her days. There was nothing the doctor could do with it, since someone had healed the stub before he could reattach the arm.
"I wonder who healed her?' she thought idly.
Shaking her head, she turned back to the row of books.
'No! This is no time to get distracted. I must find something!' Unfortunately her usual motivation for reading and studying was dead. She wanted to be rid of whatever this thing between she and Harry was, but what she really wanted had nothing to do with the Library.
'I told Ron I'd be there an hour ago. I hope he's not angry with me.'
Her eyes stopped their meticulous scanning, finger stopping on the spine of a book titled "Sold! What to Look For When Buying Damane," translated by Marli Noichin. The book was ancient. It must have been hundreds if not thousands of years old. Normally, Hermione would find herself curious at such a title, and would probably pull it out. Her thoughts lay elsewhere now, in realms more common to young women.
In her mind, she lay in a field of flowers. A small patch was covered by a soft white blanket, which she and Ron sat on, idly picking at finger foods from a lunch basket as butterflies bustled about. They spoke but the words were nothing dust in the breeze. The words didn't matter. They weren't a part of it. It was the picture, the feelings, the warmth that struck Hermione the truest, and she found herself yearning for the childish fantasy. She shuffled up to the boy and laid her head cutely on his shoulder, his arm automatically wrapping her in an embrace.
'You have warm hands Ron.'
She looked up to meet his eyes but to her shock she found someone else there instead. Harry of course. Ever dependable that boy was. You could always count on him to get you into trouble, and you could always count on him to get you out.
"There you are!"
Hermione jumped, as the voice of her intended daydream burst her bubble. She dropped the two books she'd unconsciously been clutching to her chest, but her wand stopped both before they hit the ground with a non-verbal 'Leviosa.'
"Ron! You startled me!" she hissed, a little offended at being pushed out of her daydream, while simultaneously, overjoyed at seeing him. He'd left his party!? For her!
"Impressive magic, Hermione. Harry'd be proud." Ron said noting her quick catch of the books. "Where've you been! I've been waiting for over an hour!"
"I... er... I'm sorry. I've just been having this problem ever since... I really need to–!"
"The scar?" he asked somberly, invading her bubble with far more bravery than he'd ever had before. As well he should. He was her boyfriend now, so that was okay.
She felt his hand lightly caress her scarf above the scar it concealed. There was no pain at all when he touched it, though any time she put her fingers near it it blared in agony. He had warm hands after all.
"Not that. It's... something else," she replied, dodging the question. Soul Bond. How well would telling him that go over? Yes, Ron, I appear to be bonded with Harry. Yep. Feel everything he feels, and he's the same. You're alright with that aren't you?
Bloody shit.
His jealousy would go through the roof. It was one of his many flaws, but it didn't matter to her. Not that much anyway. He'd been much better about it since the triwizard tournament but Hermione knew it was still there, lingering like an infection under a sealed wound. She still couldn't help but like the boy though.
"I see," Ron said. "Well, surely you could take a little time to come to the party? It's getting a bit late for reading, anyway."
Hermione fidgeted. "Well, I..."
Ron's other hand suddenly snaked around her waist to press into her lower back, pushing her pleasantly against him. "Actually, now that I think on it, It is rather nice and secluded here. Fancy a kiss?" he said with a winning smirk.
"Ron you–mmph!" she protested but her words were cut off by his lips and she melted into them quickly, her arms unconsciously draping around his shoulders. He smelled good, unlike when he'd kissed her after the quidditch match. He'd smelled like sweaty rain then, but now that he'd had time to clean, she felt her desire rise. His hand felt so nice on her neck, the other on her lower back. Both soft, robbing her of her senses and sensibility alike.
"That broom closet on the second floor is rather cozy..."
She couldn't help but think that she was... forgetting something.
Dimly at the back of her mind, far beyond the reach of her currently impaired mental capacities, an emotion of outrage and utter revulsion twanged just off her radar.
"I believe," the woman said with conviction.
Harry nodded, trying to ignore the strange feeling of pressure on his chest. Hermione often put books there, crushing them to her bosom lovingly, and while it looked cute most the time when he watched her do it, it actually felt rather annoying. The pinching and sensitivity he felt there was abnormally strong.
"About time," he replied, unable to hold back a little bit of snideness.
"It seems that... I owe you my life Harry, as well as an apology. You and... Headmaster Dumbledore," the words seemed to be ripped painfully from Professor Umbridge as if they were scraps of rat pulled from between a snake's teeth.
"You'll excuse me if I don't accept your apology very quickly," Harry replied.
The woman grit her teeth, as if barely restraining from snapping at him. Just because Harry was right about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, didn't mean she had to like him. He'd seemed like a troublemaker from the moment she'd laid eyes on him. You-Know-Who's return did nothing to change that.
"I don't care about that..." the boy replied, switching from snide to bashful in moments. But the steel returned quickly. "... all I care about is what you plan to do now that you know. Every wand that can fight him is going to be needed. The weaker they are... the more likely it will be that he takes over again."
The words sparked a memory in Umbridge.
Blackened streets. People cooped up in their homes, hidden by the strongest wards they know, fearful to come out for food or family. Wizards and Witches disappearing, snatched away like ghosts, never to be heard from again. Public deaths in the papers; an actual newspaper devoted only to those who had perished.
Starvation. Fear. Fire. Skull and Snake in the Air. Aurors trying everything stop the Dark Lord and his death eaters to no avail. Crouch... ordering her husband's death, just to appear to have some small token of success. The dark lord surely laughing as the light slew their own...
"You're right," the words were simple, but they signalled an entirely new course for Madam Umbridge. The students would be well versed. Voldemort had returned. And by god, if she didn't find a way to fell him herself the perhaps one of the students she trained would do so.
"M-Madam Umbridge, you are not fit to be–!" came the intolerable voice of mediwizard Bennet only to be cut off by the High Inquisitor's somehow dreadfully powerful "Hem Hem!"
"Master Bennet, was it? I'll be leaving your office now. I thank you for your entirely unsatisfactory care."
The man winced, partly annoyed, and partly guilty. Ever since Harry had woken up the man had been pestering him for an autograph. Umbridge had been amused by Harry's clearly unnerved attitude, but altogether completely displeased with the healer's attention. Rather, he'd spent it all on Harry, and only seemed to cursorily glance at his other patients.
"Madam Undersecretary I must insist that you stay. You lost a large amount of blood during your ordeal and–!"
"Perhaps I did not make myself clear," the toad woman interrupted, much to Harry's amusement. He had quickly come to hate the replacement mediwizard. "I am High Inquisitor of this school. You will make no more attempts to keep me here. I will not be herded by the whim of a man obsessed with getting an autograph from a twelve year old! Now get out of my way!"
"...I'm fifteen," Harry mumbled feebly. His words went unnoticed.
"Yes, Ma'am. As you say," the words were relatively quiet but Harry sensed a soft danger from the man, as if he just barely kept from drawing a weapon. Just as quickly as he felt it though, the feeling faded. As the woman stepped around him, he muttered under his breath, "Hope you fall on your arse down the stairs, you piss-covered shrew."
A low choking laugh was barely stopped in Harry's throat. Had he been drinking something, he was certain he would have sprayed it out. Piss-covered shrew? He'd have to remember that one.
The man was tall but lanky, with a sort of mad scientist look about him. His hair seemed to spike naturally and if it were a bit longer Harry was certain it would fly in all directions like a character in a Saturday cartoon. He wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that were thicker than two pairs of Harry's. Unlike most wizards, the man wore a mostly muggle suit, which was probably one of the reasons Madam Umbridge seemed to hate him more than Harry did.
Harry's hatred was simple. The man was a die-hard Harry Potter fan. Every other second he was pandering to Harry like a house elf or begging for an autograph for his daughter, which for some reason Harry was very disinclined to give.
A few hours passed. The game had been over for a while now. Why hadn't Ron or Hermione come to tell him about it? Shrugging to himself, he fidgeted a little and idly picked at some of the potatoes delivered by a house elf.
Hermione was reading. A relatively good excuse for her. He could tell by the buzz in the background and the feeling of contentedness that spread through him. Surprisingly he found it rather comforting. Her emotions often reflected a sort of pleasant coziness and he had finally detected why. It was how she felt whenever she was reading. Since the bond between them seemed to transfer emotions as well as the sense of touch, Harry had recognized quite a few emotions that the girl had previously kept hidden.
Occasionally she had bouts of intense loathing that made little sense to Harry. He hadn't been around her when those occurred so he had no context by which to understand the emotion, but there it was. Fear had lurched in her a few times throughout the day, presumably when she'd been watching the game. He assumed that was the usual fair, worry for the players.
Stabs of annoyance cut through the buzz of her reading at regular intervals. Harry couldn't really guess at those either but he found that they weren't all that much of a bother. They were distant, all of her emotions were, and Harry got the impression that distance changed how effectively they felt each other's emotions. Probably the intensity of the feeling as well. He remembered the rising panic that he'd felt whenever Tom had cursed him. Panic that he was now certain hadn't been his own.
A sudden jolt of pain surged through his arm. His eyes widened and he jerked his hand to cover it while trying to hide the sensation from Healer Bennet.
"What the hell Hermio–"
Then he realized what he'd done to cause her reaction. He'd let his hand graze across his privates. He flushed a bit but indignation was still prevalent. It wasn't like he could really help it! It was just where your hands go when you're sitting up on a bed!
He had the decency to feel embarrassed anyway.
And suddenly he heard a voice. Small and quiet like hearing a whisper from the other side of a thick wall.
"Sorry abo... Harry."
"Harry!" Came a sudden slightly inebriated shout that often accompanied the Weasley twins as they barged into the hospital wing. "How are you, chap!?"
"Heard you've been off saving damsels again we did!"
"Indeed. What was it this time?"
"A dementor?"
"Myrtle's ghost? Tell me you saved Myrtle's ghost, I've got money on it!"
"But thats neither here nor there. What we're here for is–"
"The game! You missed the game!"
'The Bloody Game!' Harry thought irritably. Hermione had felt agitated throughout the entire thing. Each moment the emotion had become more and more prominent, and as the hours went by, Harry had started to go a little bit insane.
Luckily before he started gnawing on his fingernails and clawing at the walls with indescribable worry for something he didn't understand, it all dissolved. He knew the moment the game ended because a blazing sigh of relief had swept over Hermione.
And then even THAT was ruined as Harry felt inexplicable euphoria, and a strange sensation on his lips and lower back. That of course was followed by embarrassment. Because you couldn't trust Hermione's emotions to ever stay STILL!
It was enough to drive a bloke out of his mind.
Realizing that he'd drifted in the middle of conversation he snapped back to the twins.
"I heard. Ron, eh. Who knew?" he responded, non-committally to a blank area in the middle of them, pretending they were one entity. For a wonder, it actually worked a bit.
"Well I admit, we've always suspected–"
"–that our little brother had a streak of awesome in him!"
Harry gave a slightly chagrined smile. He was depressed, having missed the game, but definitely proud of the Weasley. Harry knew he was an exceptional flyer. But forty seven blocks? Ron must have been floating on air. What could have suddenly given him such... motivation?
"You know, its probably because of Hermione," one of them said offhand, staring avidly at one of the pictures on the walls. "After the game ended Ron flew over to her and kissed her right in the middle of the stands!
Harry blinked. It didn't take more than half a second to make the connection.
"Kissing. Hermione?"
Euphoria, followed by embarrassment...
His face went green. He suddenly felt ill. He gagged on his own air.
"Harry?" one of the twins questioned, their usual slightly arrogant tone fading to concern.
"You... warm ...ands, Ron."
Hermione's voice sounded in his mind once more. Faded.
Recovering from the disgusting thought, Harry suddenly felt a soft pressure on his lower back. A hand. Dirty thoughts crossed his mind, and heat filled his cheeks. He let out a sigh before he realized what he was doing...
"...closet on...econd floor is rath– cosy."
"Oh hell no." He hissed, his face morphing into a rictus snarl of mixed disgust and outrage.
Rising, he utterly ignored the squawks of Medi-wizard Bennet, his eyes glowing in anger. He strode past the twins without another word and out of the hospital wing, slamming the door behind him.
"Right cheery chap, inn'he?" Fred summarized the scene.
Harry opened the door, almost limping by the time he finally reached it. His face was flushed, and his emotions were running high. He was almost heady with the effects of Hermione's euphoria but the cause, the obvious cause, sent so much disgust through him that it was enough to destroy every good feeling that Hermione had sent.
What he found behind the second floor broom closet was almost enough to make him retch right there. He probably would've if he weren't so goddamn angry.
"Who the bloody– Harry?!" Ron's surprise echoed out from the back of the closet. He shut up very quickly upon seeing the pure undiluted rageboiling under the raven-haired boy's glasses.
Hermione squeaked, pushing herself apart from Ron like he was infested with the plague.
Harry just stood there, growling like a bear, unable to voice his anger. Hermione grasped the situation rather quickly actually. She was snogging Ron in a broom closet. Harry of course, felt the effects and was suitably disgusted.
Hermione was horrified.
"Oh, gods, Harry! I... uhm... I forgot–! I'm so sorry! I..."
Harry's gaze snapped to her at her words, his eyes flaring. She flinched, visibly folding in on herself, wringing her hands in guilt. Her cheeks were still flushed and a small trail of sweat fell down her face. They were both still fully clothed, if a bit ruffled. Thankfully.
Unfortunately, Harry had trouble staying mad at Hermione when she was looking so damned apologetic. Unwilling to give up his anger though, he snapped his eyes back to Ron, and shuddered almost visibly. His glare intensified, anger warring with disgust.
Of course he couldn't rationally be angry with Ron. He had no idea what was going on. But Hermione!? How could she do this to him!? God he felt so fucking sick. Still, the sheer guilt wafting in over the bond was doing wonders to calm him.
"I'm sorry." Hermione tried again. "Look I..."
"Save it." Harry interrupted, relief trailing in over his heated face, now that the... feelings weren't there anymore. And the touches. God the touches. Blegh. "I get it." He couldn't help a slight glare at Ron though.
Ron idly noted that Harry's breathing was every bit as labored as his and Hermione's were. Worriedly, he realized that there might've been more between Hermione and Harry than he'd ever guessed. Hermione had said yes to being his girlfriend. She'd kissed him back! But...
"Mate. Was there...? You and Hermione I mean? I-I... of course I'll step out of the way if you two were..."
Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "No! No...! Ron I very much want to be your girlfriend, and I'm sure Harry has no problems with that." She said with an inquisitive look at Harry. He seemed to be calming down, now that the flush in her own cheeks was fading.
"I'm happy for the two of you. Just keep me bloody out of it!"
Ron quirked an eyebrow. Keep me out of it? What did he mean by...?
Puzzle pieces... a picture began to coalesce in Ron's mind.
Hermione, as always, was quick to try and fill in the gap. "Harry and I have a bit of a... problem. Ron we can't do things like this. Not yet, at least. Its... complicated."
Not so complicated. Ron's mind trailed back to the book on Soul Bonds that Hermione had been reading. Dredging up memories of Soul Bonds he found himself recalling a half remembered conversation with his mother about how they destroyed friendships and ended marriages.
The details weren't exactly high on his list of things to know, but purebloods always heard their parents talking about a soul bond developing between a few lifelong friends. And then pushing them apart. Magic, deciding that the two were so in tune that they needed to form a bond. Magic was not sentient. It did what it thought was necessary.
Even when it was disastrously wrong.
It was almost obvious now that Ron thought on it...
"You two have a Soul Bond. Don't you?"
The two froze.
"H-How did you...?"
"R-Ron! I meant to tell you but...!"
Ron couldn't stand it. He grit his teeth in anger, reaching for the wall to steady himself against it as he fully disengaged from Hermione, raging not at the two in front of him but at magic, fate, and the world in general.
"You do, don't you? Fuck!"
"W-we..." Harry tried to sooth the red-head unsure how he had become the apologetic one in this mess. 'Sorry, mate, I can feel when you touch your girl's bum? God, how did we get into this.' Right. Real smooth. But that was the first thought that came into his mind.
Hermione choked, turning to Harry, her jaw hanging open a bit. "H-Harry? What did you just... say?"
"How can you both be so bloody calm! You have a fucking soul bond! Stop sitting here! Hermione! Get to a library and figure this out before...! Before...!"
Harry, having seen that Ron might actually know something about what a soul bond really was, jumped on his words like they were a the only buoy in the middle of an ocean.
"Before what!? Ron, what is a soul bond!"
Ron's jaw dropped. "Y-You don't know! No... of course you wouldn't."
'No more golden trio,' he thought, trying hard not to start sobbing in the middle of the hallway. 'Why... of all people why did it have to be my two best friends...? What am I going to do?'
"Ron...?"
Ron searched inwardly, trying to remember everything he could about soul bonds. His parents spoke of them in hushed tones, and he'd heard conversations about them at dinners with other families, rare though that might be. Every occasionally one of those sad stories cropped up, and the parents all spoke with sad faces and broken hearts. Usually they happened to older people though.
Apparently Harry and Hermione just hadn't run into anyone yet who knew about them, being raised by muggles and all. It was a bit of a taboo topic.
Much like funerals.
But... maybe that was a good thing!
Hermione... god she was beautiful. Oh, what he wouldn't give to see his first year self's expression after hearing him say that. But then, Hermione had come a long way from the buck-toothed know-it-all she'd once been. She was brave. Smart. Funny.
Harry... good ole' Harry. Never was there a more trustworthy friend. Hell Ginny would be dead if not for him, not even including what he'd done for the wizarding world as a whole. Or... what he'd done for Ron. This last year had been a struggle to stop himself from being the jealous prat he'd once been. But for the first time, he found himself truly and direly ecstatic that he wasn't Harry Potter.
Because in a few short months, Harry and Hermione would bloody hate each other.
That's what soul bonds do. Reveal all your secrets. All your thoughts. Everything. And relationships... they don't stand very well in the face of that.
And yet...
"I think its best if you don't know," Ron replied candidly. "There's no known cure but distance. Stay away from each other long enough, and the bond will dissolve, but it'll take years if you already feel what the other does. So... I'm not going to tell you. If you don't know what's coming, maybe you'll be able to weather it better than if you already know what to expect."
"But if we don't know about it, how are supposed to get rid of it!?" Hermione protested.
The boys, for once, ignored her. To Harry, it made sense. And he trusted Ron. That was all there was to it. Harry stared at his friend. The boy was near to tears as he looked back and forth between them, but Harry just simply couldn't relate. How bad could something called a soul bond actually be? But... Ron was acting like it was the end of the world.
Ron stepped around Harry and out of the closet, looking back to him sadly. "I really am sorry about that. Didn't know, honest. It won't happen again until you two are... cured. Or..." 'Until you two are living on opposite sides of the world.'
Now Harry felt guilty. "Er... Sorry too, Ron. I don't mean to step between you two," He gave Hermione an apologetic look as well. "But I don't really have much choice. We'll figure this out."
Hermione glared. "Harry! He knows! Ron, I demand you tell us everything you know about the soul bond, right now!"
Ron smiled.
"Lay off Hermione. Don't you trust him?"
"He's got all the answers right here! How can you just–!"
Ron surprisingly, interrupted her, his words cutting to the bone. "Sometimes, Hermione, there are things that are better left unknown. Please... even when things get really bad, remember that you two are friends? Thick as thieves you two. I wouldn't know what to do without either of you."
With that, the boy walked away down the hall.
"Hey Ron!" Harry called after him, and he turned back while subtly wiping at his eye. "Great game this morning."
Ron barked a laugh. He'd forgotten all about the game. And the party still going on in the Gryffindor common room. He no longer felt much like partying. "Thanks Harry."
He rounded the corner and was gone.
"Oh not Ron too! Dammit all Harry, why can't we figure this out?"
Harry was silent, turning towards her. For the first time since walking in on the two he actually took note of her state of dress, and barely suppressed a flinch as she pushed herself off the closet wall. His eyes widened a fraction at what he spotted. She didn't hear the next words to come from his mouth as her eyes trailed after where Ron had been. But the words he spoke next were simply unfathomable.
"Is that a lace bra?"
Her eyes widened and she turned to find Harry staring at her chest. Just as suddenly she realized that her shirt was still slightly unbuttoned down the front. He started, face whipping up to her eyes, but the damage had already been done.
Her hand met his face so hard that the boy tumbled to the floor in a heap.
"What. The hell. Harry?"
"W-What!? What was that for!?"
"And that reminds me. I was sharing your dream last night, you pervert! What in the world are you doing, thinking of Cho like that!?"
Harry flushed deeply. "I... err... ah..."
Hermione flushed deeply in turn feeling Harry's emotion once again.
"Aggh! What's the point in scolding you if I'm the one who feels scolded! I can't stand this! Incendio!" she bellowed, the inferno blasting into the impenetrable walls of Hogwarts in a satisfying bit of stress relief. Magic flowed out of her in waves not unlike how they had done in Flitwick's charms class a few days before.
Breathing hard, staring at the satisfying blackened stone on Hogwart's second floor wall, Hermione truly felt a little bit calmer. The walls began repairing themselves before her eyes, stone bubbling out in places it had melted and recoloring as it did.
"S-Sorry Harry. I know its not your fault."
Harry tried to accept the apology gracefully but his face throbbed and stung as if the flesh had been exposed to a beehive.
Hermione flinched, feeling a milder image of the pain in her own face. "Ahh.. really sorry. I didn't know I could hit that hard."
"Me neither..." the green-haired boy joked.
'Looking at my breasts. Honestly Harry. And when Ron was acting so serious, like he'd just found out we both had cancer or something."
Harry heard every word. His response, unvoiced, could not be unsaid in his mind.
"You shirt was unbuttoned and they're pretty! Its not my fault!"
This time, Hermione's arms covered herself in a very flattered way and her cheeks reddened. "Th-thank you Harry."
Abruptly something clicked. The two of them stared at each other. Stared for a bit longer. Eyes widening.
"Harry, are we hearing each other's thoughts?"
Harry nodded, dumbly.
"Yeah... thought so." Hermione finished lamely.
Harry sighed, rubbing his face tenderly and lay back on the ground, heedless of the fact that he was in the middle of the hallway. No one was around, and miraculously this hallway was free of paintings. "One thing after another with this soul bond."
"I could really go for a butterbeer."
"I'd take one firewiskey. And maybe something stronger."
"Cheers..."
"Ah! There you two are, I've been looking all over for you. I don't suppose you've seen mister Weasley nearby?" Mistress McGonagall's voice flitted in over the silence the two of them had created through their mental conversation.
"I always thought she looks exactly like what a witch should look like in the fairy tales. Her nose a tad crooked. Face wrinkled. Old. Except her personality is the exact opposite."
The thoughts were not like words. They were not spoken, but rather came in one intense burst of feeling that conveyed meaning perfectly. Instantly. Thoughts are not the same as sentences. A thought could come a billion times faster, with more clarity than words.
At first, Harry felt indignant. The old woman was soft hearted when you really got down to it, and Harry was offended that Hermione thought that of the old witch. Then after thinking about it for a moment, he silently agreed.
"Wicked witch of the west wing of Hogwarts, with a heart of gold."
Hermione burst out laughing. Gasping, she crushed her hands over her mouth in an effort to stem the slightly rude laughter and come up with a reply. "Ah... er. He just went down that way, Professor."
After an odd moment in which the Headmistress stared at them both she continued on as if nothing had happened.
"Alright. I'll have to catch up with him. You two though. The headmaster would like to see you in his office. And its so good to see you out of bed so quickly for once Harry. Master Bennet must be an exceptional healer."
Harry smirked. "I couldn't say. His lips are still firmly glued to my arse."
Again Hermione was forced to hold back sputtering laughter. Tears of mirth helplessly streamed down her down her eyes.
McGonagall couldn't help but feel the two were having a laugh at her expense, but for the life of her she could not discern why.
Minister Fudge was comfy.
As Minister for Magic this was particularly unsurprising. He sat in a plush red leather chair that had been wonderfully broken in to accommodate his aging back and every time he sunk into it he felt the worries of the day start to drain away.
Curious as that was, since most of his worries were generated from the desk the chair occupied, Fudge still found it to be one of the most soothing places he frequented. If the desk and the papers that filled it were going to be such a bloody headache then the chair had damn well better ease the burden. Nothing about being Minister for Magic was easy. Nothing. So thank Merlin for the wonderful chair. At least he had that small comfort.
"Minister?" Weatherby mumbled quietly. "You have an appointment with the Head of House Fuertome in half an hour. Should I relocate it to your office or will you still be going to the grand sitting room?"
Ah Weatherby. Such a fine young lad. Always knew exactly what he needed that one did. The minister made a mental note to actually call him by his real name for once at some point in the day. He really was a dedicated young lad. Probably would make a good minister himself one day, with the proper guidance.
"Ah... please Mr. Weasley. Relocate the meeting to my office. I'm dreadfully tired. I must say I'm feeling older and older by the day. Hair's gone completely grey, completely grey since I became minister!" He bragged. Pleased with himself, he picked up and munched on a cookie from the corner of his desk. He hated the similarity between himself and Albus Dumbledore but he found that he could not kick the habit. Sweets were a wonderful thing.
"Now. I'll need to see a report from that finicky witch over in international relations. You know, the one dealing with the Irish Trading companies. Also, get me the logbooks from the department of Agriculture. I heard something about the irrigation spells acting up. Wouldn't want the muggles getting spooked and start finding ghosts in their... masheens. They'd stop growing all our favorite foods, and then where would we be? No. Best nip that problem while its still fresh. Finally–"
"Minister." Came a quaint voice, interrupting his monologue, but Fudge found the voice entirely pleasant.
"Ah! High Inquisitor Umbridge!" he grinned as he announced the title, like sharing a private joke turning from Weatherby to face the woman. "What brings you to my– Sweet Merlin your arm! Delores what happened!?"
The woman approached the desk with sort of quiet dignity that Fudge had always liked in the woman. She was a good person to have at your back against the drove of idiots who often wandered through his ministry. She caught his slips and corrected them often before he even noticed he'd goofed up. Competent. Confident. And very rarely wrong.
None of that consciously passed his mind as his jaw hung open and he stared dumbly at the stub of an arm she now supported.
"I cut it off," she replied susinctly.
"W-Why!?" Fudge sputtered, spitting all over the important documents splayed out on his desk. Percy Weasley was bug-eyed staring at her with worry. His jaw hung open a little.
"I refused to be given the Dark Mark. It'll have to end Minister. Your campaign against Dumbledore."
"P-Preposterous! Are you implying that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has, in fact, returned from the grave? Preposterous!" he repeated standing from his comfortable red chair. "I won't have this nonsense placed before me! Madam Umbridge you've been duped by Dumbledore! That must be-!
"Minister," her word cut him off mid-tirade and her hard, cold eyes transfixed him. "I find Dumbledore contemptible. He is a half-wit old geezer who has held his positions for far too long. But in this he is not wrong. Minister, if you care for your position, you must immediately begin warning the people."
He spluttered for a few moments more. "A-and... what would... what would you have me say, Undersecretary?"
"Simply this. We were wrong. You-Know-Who... lives."
END CHAPTER
Author's Notes:
I just got back from a vacation to America. And on a sad note, I'm now single so I guess you can infer that my proposal idea didn't work out. Didn't even happen actually. Ah well.
Even so, there are always silver linings. The visit with all of my family was a smashing good time! Great to be able to sleep in my own bed though.
Sorry for the slightly shorter chapter but I feel like it hits with infinitely more oomph. I can't think of a better scene to end the chapter on.
The secrets of the soul bond have been revealed, and are not all that much different than you might expect. Hearing thoughts. Feeling emotions and the sensation of touch. I hope my take on the particulars of what a soul bond would actually do to a pair of individuals will really impress you though. Let me know if you feel like I'm getting anything terribly wrong, but I feel pretty confident.
Had to rewrite that scene in the broom closet like four damn times to get it to feel right though.
Anywho. Feel free to Leave a Review!
Till Next!
MB