Chapter IX: Cake and Custard

As he followed professor McGonagall, Harry's mind was in a bit of a jumble. He knew he should be upset about the day's events, but he was holding a present - for him. That was new. That it was something of his dad's was doing things to his heart that didn't feel healthy, but would be a good way to go. What was keeping his face from breaking into a manic grin was the girl beside him.

Hermione was an enigma. First she was friendly to him at the feast, then rude in Lockhart's classroom, then she was a weird-message-writing cat murderer, except she wasn't? Probably? And now she was just quiet. That, at least, he could understand; the whispers of the students they passed in the halls were making the hairs on the back of his neck tingle, even though he knew they weren't gossiping about him. In Hermione's shoes he would have completely shut down, so he was actually impressed with how composed she was.

Not that he was going to say as much, to her or to anyone. Not to her because he imagined she wouldn't want to talk about it. Not to anyone else because his Aunt's voice was incessant in his mind, ranting about how it didn't do to associate with social pariahs. As much as he wanted to disagree with Petunia on principle, she was infuriatingly good at being right in a twisted sort of way.

"Hello Harry," Luna chimed, appearing out of nowhere to fall into step - or should that be skip? - alongside him.

"Oh, hey Luna," he greeted her, fixing a strained smile. It wasn't that he wasn't happy to see her, but that happiness wasn't able to make its way through his tumult of emotions without getting lost in the chaos. Luna accompanied them for a good many paces before seeing fit to speak again.

"It's very good of you, looking out for Hermione like this."

"I'm sorry?" Harry coughed.

"Vouching for her with the headmaster was awfully brave. She is very lucky to be your friend, I should think."

"I didn't vouch for her, Luna. Dumbledore just believed she didn't do it," he corrected, "and she isn't my friend."

He felt a bit mean saying that, but it was true. This was only the third time they had met, and that made two out of three meetings he would rather have not happened.

"Are you sure about that, Harry?"

He didn't know what to say to that; he was sure, but he wasn't going to insist on it in her presence. And in the face of Luna's odd insistence, he was not as sure as he had been a minute ago. It was very hard to be sure of anything with Luna around.

"Would you share your pudding with her?" Luna asked out of the blue, a sly look slipping past her serene mask for a fraction of a moment.

"What?"

"If Hermione Granger asked you to share your pudding, would you?" she repeated, disconcertingly seriously. It didn't suit her.

Harry thought about the odd question. He imagined the scenario in his head: He was sat eating pudding - cake and custard - and Hermione was asking for a spoonful. He was looking at her, at the pudding, at her again. 'Sure', he was saying, 'I guess'. It was only happening out of politeness, but it was happening nonetheless. He was sharing his imaginary pudding with imaginary Hermione Granger.

Friendship is mostly about sharing pudding.

That can't be right, he decided. He'd share his pudding with lots of people if they asked. Not the Slytherins, obviously, nor the Ravenclaws after how they'd treated Luna. Nor the teachers, that would be weird. The 'Puffs always had plenty of their own, so they could stick to that. If the older Gryffindors asked it would remind him far too much of Dudley's lunchtime demands, and he, along with his parents, could piss right off. Harry's pudding was his, and he'd only share it with people he chose to share it with.

Like Hermione Granger.

His mind reeled at its own mental gymnastics, and he mutely nodded at Luna, who regarded him with what on her face passed for satisfied smugness.

"Hermione," Luna said, sliding over to her next victim.

"Yes, Luna?" the girl replied, polite though exhausted.

"If the nargles give you more trouble than normal, I have a spare butterbeer necklace you can borrow. No charge for the first hundred years, but it is a sickle a month after that."

"Umm… Thank you?"

"You're welcome, Hermione. Any friend of Harry Potter is a friend of mine," Luna declared, very loudly, as she split off from them to disappear down a corridor Harry was fairly sure led only to an unused wing of the castle.

Neither Harry nor Hermione spoke about any of that on the way back to Gryffindor tower. It wasn't the sort of talk you had with your head of house within earshot, which was the perfect excuse for Harry to take the time to figure out what he wanted to say about it. When they got to the tower, he still didn't have a clue. Professor McGonagall entered the empty common room with them and hurriedly ushered them into a corner, waving her wand and muttering a spell he didn't recognise.

"Children, there are a few things which must be discussed. Firstly, Miss Granger" - McGonagall paused thoughtfully - "Hermione. I am excusing you from any further lessons you may have scheduled today. Through no fault of your own your presence would be most disruptive. For most students I would advise you to spend this free time studying - in your case, I suggest you take the time to clear your head. You are undoubtedly far enough ahead that you can afford to do so."

Harry had known Hermione to be studious, but for McGonagall to tell her not to study… Just how smart was this girl?

"Harry, you may be similarly excused if you so wish."

"Why?"

McGonagall - No, Minerva, they were in private - seemed disappointed as she explained: "I had thought you might want to keep Miss Granger company." Then her disapproving frown vanished and her eyes twinkled. "I have it on the good authority of one Ms Lovegood that the two of you are friends."

"Oh," Harry whispered.

The idea of an afternoon without lessons was appealing, as it should be to any boy his age. Spending that time with Hermione… Well they did have things to talk about, which wouldn't get any better by putting them off. And apparently she was his friend, so he should probably figure out what that was about; Luna would be most displeased if he didn't.

"I think that's a good idea, Minerva. Thanks."

"More importantly, I must advise you both to be mindful of your actions until such a time as this situation is resolved. Seize any reasonable opportunity to prove your innocence, and take great care not to implicate yourself any further."

"But Dumbledore said he's taking care of all that," Hermione protested.

"That he did, and is. What he neglected to mention is that the last time the chamber was opened, a student whom the headmaster knew to be innocent was arrested, tried, and expelled from the school with his wand snapped."

Hermione gasped at the word 'expelled'.

"Dumbledore's support in the matter was enough to see him spared imprisonment in Azkaban, but that is all. As far as wizarding Britain is concerned, the death of Myrtle Warren was the accidental result of her fellow student breeding an acromantula in the castle."

"An acromantula!" Hermione exclaimed, "in the castle! That's ridiculous! Why would anyone do such a thing?"

"If you wanted to know that, you might wish to go down to the groundskeeper's hut and ask him yourself."

"The groundskeeper? You mean Hagrid bred a monster that got a student killed?"

"He most certainly was responsible for the acromantula, which infest the forbidden forest to this day, but he had no involvement in poor Ms Warren's death, accidental or otherwise. The true culprit was never caught."

Hermione was shaking. "An innocent person was punished before, and now it's happening again, and I'm the one who might get expelled. And Dumbledore can't help."

"The headmaster can and will help, but his word only carries so much weight," Minerva said sharply. "You must help him to help you. Any information you have should be shared with a member of faculty immediately. If Hagrid had revealed his pet project when the attacks started, things would have gone very differently for him."

"Right, yes of course. But if it came to it, I could still testify under veritaserum, so I'm safe, aren't I?"

"Unfortunately, no. Testimony under veritaserum is not admissible as evidence."

"WHAT!?" Hermione screamed. "There's a potion that makes people tell the truth, and the one time that might possibly be a good thing, you don't use it! How can that be?"

"I could not agree with you more, dear, but it is not up to us. It is up to the lawmakers of this country, who seemingly do not wish to ever be put in a position where they are unable to lie under oath." - There was a great anger boiling under the surface of Minerva's composed features as she spoke; Harry had a sixth sense for that particular emotion - "I wonder why that might be."

Hermione dropped into a sofa, either defeated or just sinking into deeper thought – Harry didn't know her well enough to be sure. He knew he'd be the former in her place.

"I hope I will see the both of you at dinner. I assure you any trouble your fellow students may seek to start in the great hall will be swiftly dealt with. You may also wish to hear the headmaster's announcement on the issue first-hand."

Harry nodded, collapsing into the sofa next to Hermione. Minerva gave the pair a last looking over, an expression on her face that Harry was unfamiliar with, then left them to recover.

"So…" Hermione said into the uncomfortable silence.

"So," Harry answered her.

Hermione considered her next words thoroughly. Harry had hurt her by ignoring her, but truthfully not that much. The more she ruminated on it, the more she had to conclude that her abrasiveness towards him was more a product of that disastrous defence lesson than hard feelings between them. Which meant, from an objective viewpoint, that she had overreacted. And as much as she was loathe to admit her faults, Harry was positioned as a potential ally in whatever tribulations lay ahead; she needed him as a friend.

If he was willing to leave their little spat in the past, she wanted him as a friend. So she would do the difficult thing, and apologise.

"I'm sorry."

His words broke her thought process entirely and killed the apology on her own tongue. She waited for him to continue, but nothing more came.

"What for?" she prompted.

She wasn't really asking - there was only the one thing he needed to be sorry about (and doesn't that just make being angry at him seem frivolous?) - but it would be better if he specified. Clear communication was always preferable.

"I don't really know. But you're mad at me, so I must have done something, and I didn't mean to… So I'm sorry for whatever it was."

You don't really know? Hermione seethed. How could he ignore someone like that and not know they deserve an apology for it? Did he think his behaviour was fine? Did he not realise the pain he'd caused her? Was he so ignorant of the consequences of his actions?

But if he didn't realise the consequences…

… He can't have intended them. Hermione kicked herself when she realised she'd forgotten Hanlon's razor: 'Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity'. She had been working, rather presumptively, on the assumption that Harry was being nasty - not overtly, but in the same way most people were when they disregarded her feelings as unimportant.

It made more sense that he really was just ignorant, not of her but in general. Or would have, if she hadn't already pegged him as smarter than those sorts of people. With her head starting to run in circles, she bit the bullet and went to the one person who would know the answer.

"I'm mad at you for ignoring me," she curtly explained.

"When did I do that?"

She paid careful attention to his voice when he answered. Short, high pitched, punctuated. Defensive. Shocked.

He actually, honestly doesn't know.

"First breakfast. I was there for ages waiting for you firsties to come down, and you didn't even say hello," she accused, letting her frustration loose.

"Oh," he said, then groaned, "Oh!" Then he had the audacity to chuckle, which rankled her something fierce, before he continued: "Hermione, I didn't come say hello because you looked busy, what with all your books out. You didn't even look our way when we sat down."

"Well of course I didn't, I don't look at anything," she answered reflexively, before processing his excuse.

Except it wasn't an excuse; it was a reason - a perfectly good reason, if she believed it. Thinking back to that morning, she had become rather engrossed in the material, and she obviously hadn't looked his way. But for him to know that, he must have been looking at her - thinking about her. That meant, by definition, he hadn't ignored her. It also meant that from his point of view, she had ignored him.

Bollocks.

"You don't need to apologise, Harry," she told him gently as all her pent up anger fell away, or more accurately turned on herself, "I should be the one saying sorry. I was a complete jerk and I have no good reason for it."

"That's alright, Hermione. If your lesson with Lockhart was as bad as ours, I get why you were so grumpy."

He was far too quick to forgive, Hermione thought, but she wasn't about to look that gift horse in the mouth.

"Lockhart came back then?" she asked instead, moving the conversation along.

"Yeah. Kinda wish he hadn't."

"Oh Merlin, he didn't set the pixies on you firsties did he?"

"What? No, no, just some stupid quiz."

"Eugh, that quiz," she groaned sympathetically.

"Uh huh. What's worse is some of the girls in our year aced it," Harry laughed darkly.

Hermione shared in the laugh, relaxing back into the sofa. Even after the calamity of Lockhart's lessons, the other girls in her dorm were swooning over the man. 'He must be incredibly good looking' she thought, because Merlin knew he had nothing else going for him. He couldn't even write all that well; Hermione had convinced, or probably just allowed, Parvati to read a passage aloud to her the night before. The man's prose had nothing on the classics she preferred.

The pair settled into another silence, though this one felt far more companionable. Hermione wanted to keep talking, it was just that after all the stress her brain was tired and the words weren't coming. What brainpower she had was dedicated to worrying about how horrid the evening's mealtime would be - she was debating skipping it entirely.

"Oh damn!" Harry exclaimed, shattering the quiet.

"What?" Hermione squeaked.

"I never told McGonagall about the voice. I'm such an idiot!"

"What voice?"

"I should go see her!"

Hermione felt the sofa shift as Harry jumped up from it.

"Harry, calm down!" she snapped, needing to take charge before he did something reckless. Her mother told her that bossiness was one of her worse traits, but then her mother wasn't living with Gryffindors. "Tell me about the voice first."

"I should really tell a teacher…" he whined, but he wasn't moving to leave anymore.

"Harry, please," she begged, laying it on a little thick to make sure it got through his skull, "if this is about earlier, it affects me more than anyone. Don't I have a right to know?"

"Oh, sorry, I guess you're right," Harry conceded. "Alright, I'll tell you and we can go find the Minerva together."

Hermione didn't like that plan much more than letting him rush off, as it suddenly involved her leaving the safety of the tower, but she really, really needed to know what he was about do. She had no hope of controlling the situation without all the information available. Harry didn't immediately resume talking, so she pointedly crossed her legs, laying her hands on her knee and leaning forward attentively.

"So, um, right before I stumbled on you and… well, you know… I heard this voice. No-one I was with heard anything when I asked, so I ran ahead trying to find who it was."

"And the voice led you right to me?"

That was weird, Hermione thought, because she hadn't heard anything despite possibly being closer to the source and having a supersensory charm up.

"Yeah, but it definitely wasn't your voice. It was really harsh and raspy, and old."

That description didn't fit anyone at Hogwarts, except perhaps an irate Dumbledore.

"What was it saying?" she asked, seeking more clues to the identity; this might be their best lead on the real culprit!

"It said…" - he hesitated - "It said: 'Hungry. Hunt. Hunt for master.'"

"Merlin, Harry! And you didn't think to mention that before?"

"I guess it slipped my mind," he bashfully mumbled.

At least he had the grace to be embarrassed, Hermione thought, before another thought hit her - one she had to give voice.

"You heard a mysterious, adult voice ranting about hunting, and you ran towards it!? Are you an imbecile or simply suicidal?"

He fell deathly silent for a moment, not even breathing, before breaking into a nervous chuckle. The chuckle quickly grew into full bodied laughter, but not the pleasant sort; it was the sort that acted purely as a coping mechanism to stave off shock. Through the snorting and gasping, he managed to squeak out a reply.

"I think… around… here, th-they… call that… Gr-Gryffindor."

Hermione's head dropped into her hands despairingly. Just when she'd started to see Harry as a prospective friend again, he went and proved that he was every bit the reckless fool, acting before thinking just like the rest. Still, he was only young, and impressionable; there may be hope for him yet. He just needed someone to teach him a better way.

"That was highly irresponsible of you, Harry," she lectured, "you could have gotten yourself very badly hurt, or even killed."

Harry was too busy bringing his breathing back under control to respond.

"We'll go see McGonagall once you've got a hold of yourself, but no running off in search of danger on the way, you hear?" she instructed, but thought better of it as the words left her mouth. "Actually, no. The corridors aren't all that safe, especially for the two of us right now, and I doubt there's anything the teachers can do with this information right away. We would be better to wait until dinner."

"Hermione, she said we need tell a faculty member immediately."

"What we need is to be smart about this, Harry," she stressed, "not go charging off without thinking. That's how people get hurt."

"Is that how you got hurt?"

"We are not talking about that," she barked, shutting him down instantly.

That was not a topic she felt comfortable speaking about, even to the few people she trusted. If Harry wanted to know about that, he'd have to ask Hogwarts' rumour mill and piece the truth together for himself, if such a thing were possible. She had impressed the importance of discretion onto the few who knew the tale first-hand, and to her knowledge they had all kept mum. If they knew what was good for them, they'd continue to.

"Sorry," Harry winced, exhibiting a modicum of good sense for once.

"It's alright, Harry. Just… don't go there."

"Ok," he answered, before thankfully changing topic. "So, if we're stuck here 'til dinner, what are we gonna talk about?"

"Who said we'll be talking?" Hermione snipped, not quite over his unwelcome question yet.

"That's what friends do, isn't it?" he cheerfully remarked, throwing Hermione for a loop.

"Who says we're friends?"

"Luna."

Hermione couldn't argue with that statement. She could have argued with the logic (or lack thereof) behind it, but did she want to? She weighed the desire to be correct with how nice it could be for Harry to call her a friend again, and the scale, rather infuriatingly, balanced. So she hedged her bets as best she could.

"Do you think we'd make good friends?" she asked, trying not to show her nervousness of how he may answer. If she came across a little coldly as a result, that was something he'd have to deal with. A good friend wouldn't be put off by it.

"I don't know, but we could try it and see?" Harry hopefully replied, apparently not put off at all.

"We don't have much in common," Hermione argued.

Stop arguing, idiot! You're the one who wanted to befriend him in the first place!

"Do we need to? I mean, I have quidditch in common with my friend Ginny, and all that's done is make her annoyed at me," he grumbled.

Hermione had heard about that. She didn't follow Quidditch - it was a mathematically ridiculous sport, and absurdly dangerous to boot - but word of a first year making the team as seeker was impossible to ignore. Ginny's indignant complaining about it at every meal was equally so.

"Maybe," Harry continued when Hermione took too long thinking, "being friends is about how you go together, not how similar you are…"

Hermione was astounded at the emotional depth behind his statement. Doubly so since it usually seemed that one of the requirements to be an average Gryffindor was the emotional range of a teaspoon.

"…like cake and custard," Harry finished, reminding Hermione that she was speaking to a twelve year old.

"Cake and custard?"

"Yeah. Like, the cake is all spongey and light, and the custard's thick, but then they go together brilliantly."

Hermione begrudgingly admitted that there might be something to the boy's childish analogy. She didn't admit it out loud though - rule one of dealing with a Gryffindor was to never stoke their ego. She voiced her other thought instead.

"So, who gets to be the cake?"

"I was gonna call dibs on custard."

It seemed they couldn't even agree on which was better. Talk about nothing in common. And yet… If she wanted to be cake, and he picked custard, they would both get what they wanted. Because both parties were different, both parties were happy.

Ridiculous as it sounds, this just might work.

A/N

Chapter 9, in which Hermione outthinks her way into making a friend. I was hesitant to have these two make up so soon, because angst, but in a story where this friendship is the driving force and central to the theme it needed to happen. Thank Merlin for Luna. Now the challenge is making sure it isn't all sunshine and roses. Oh, and coming up with some kind of plot arc I guess, because I can't ramble on aimlessly forever... Or can I?

And how weird is it that Harry is the one wanting to run and tell a teacher, with Hermione disagreeing? I didn't appreciate that role reversal until proofreading it for upload. Seems the butterfly flapped its wings pretty hard on that one.

As always thanks for reviewing, following, favouriting and shouting my praises from the rooftops. You guys all do that, right? Right?