Chapter XII: A Touchy Subject

The antiseptic aroma of the infirmary was one of Hermione's favourite smells, ranking just below freshly mown grass. It reminded her of her parents' dental practice where she had spent many an hour after school reading books in the office, and it had been the first thing she noticed waking up from the surgery that narrowly saved her olfactory nerve. It was a scent of safety and miracles, and she was, at the time, feeling a desperate need for both.

She hefted her trunk onto the bed, quietly so as not to disturb Madame Pomfrey's peace, which was almost as sacrosanct as Pince's. She took one more deep breath of calming air as she undid the latch and lifted the lid.

The contents were as she'd left them. Books, books and more books slotted together to take up half the space, and clothes making up the rest. She checked the inside pocket for her sentimental valuables - just a few photos and letters, and her mother's hair grips (which were useless on her rampant frizz, but kept as a promise to tame that wilderness one day). Finding everything in its rightful place she was very glad to be such a tidy person by nature; the few items she'd left out such as her toothbrush had not made it back to her, and probably never would. Which meant this would be the first night of her life she didn't floss. Well, the folks need never know.

The sound of cascading items behind her told her that Harry's trunk was a very different case. She didn't doubt the twins had managed to grab all his stuff; the question would not be what was missing, but how many things Harry needed to return to their rightful owners if Hermione knew the twins. She was in a generous mood towards them so she conceded to herself that the 'accidental thefts' might truly have been unintentional.

"Why is there girls underwear in here?" Harry puzzled out loud.

Or not.

Hermione wasn't usually the sort to tease for fun, or to approve of the theft of a girl's underwear, but she owed the twins a favour or three so she answered as they would have wanted. It was the least she could do, really.

"Don't worry Harry, you don't have to pretend they're not yours; I'm very progressively minded, you know. I won't judge."

"They're not mine, Hermione," he whined.

"Oh, well that's no good. If you're going to wear women's knickers you should really buy your own."

The pained groan that preceded Harry's reply was oddly satisfying. "What am I going to do with these?"

"I'd rather not know Harry, but what you should do is return them."

"I don't even know whose they are!"

"No initials on them?"

Hermione was somewhat curious. And just a little concerned that they may bare the initials HG.

"Oh. Hang on… Says GW. GW… Well they're not Geofric's I'm pretty sure."

"Harry, you're hopeless," Hermione despaired. "GW is Ginny Weasley."

Harry yelped, and a second later Hermione felt something lightly land on her shoulder. She picked it off, turned around and dangled it accusingly in front of her.

"Harry potter, did you just throw Ginny's knickers at me?"

"Umm… Sorry?"

"Really, Harry, whatever is she going to think when she hears you're throwing her very lacy underwear at other girls?"

It was an open secret in Gryffindor that Ginevra Weasley had a monster of a crush on the boy-who-lived. The only person who wasn't in on it was apparently Harry himself, which was what elevated the situation from tragic to hilariously ironic. Hermione hadn't gotten involved in such scandalous, frivolous gossip before, but there were some opportunities too perfect to pass up. The universe itself demanded that she act, and she would oblige. Merlin knows she needed a laugh.

"I… No… What?" Harry choked.

"It was awfully forward of her to slip these into your trunk, but there are kinder ways to reject a girl's advances," she admonished, barely keeping from laughing.

"I don't… She…"

"There's only one thing for it, Harry. You're going to have to return these and apologise profusely. Preferably in public so she knows you mean it."

"She didn't put them in there! It was the twins!" Harry protested.

"You know, it's almost impossible to prove a negative. The only way to be sure of that is to ask her yourself," Hermione asserted. She threw the article back at him and heard a distinct slap as it hit him, likely in the face. That was too much; she broke into a fit of giggles.

"That was mean," Harry accused after a few seconds.

"No… No Harry… That was funny. Did the twins leave you any other presents?"

"Yeah, loads… Bunch of fake coins, some fireworks, a pouch of… looks like a black powder?"

"Hand that over!" Hermione demanded. When he did so, she raised it to her nose and took a careful sniff.

Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. By the weight of the pouch, there was a lot of it; Hermione would have had to spend ten galleons to get that amount. Yet another one we owe those twins.

They went through their belongings to check for anything else missing, or unexpectedly added. Hermione was greatly relieved to find all the borrowed library books present and intact, and made sure to count her underwear, which was all similarly accounted for. For a while the two made small talk, most of which revolved around Harry trying to learn about the wizarding world and Hermione happily answering, whilst referring him to her preferred books on the subject.

When Pomfrey came round to 'check on her patient' and told them to quiet down for the night, Hermione cast a supersensory charm on Harry and herself so they could continue in a low whisper - after, that is, Harry spent a good minute recovering from the sensory shock and exploring his new world. He complained about the 'bleach stink' being amplified more than once. Cake and custard, Hermione reminded herself as she held her tongue.

When the conversation started to die, mostly through tiredness taking hold, Hermione decided to ask the question she'd been trying to segue into naturally the whole time.

"Harry…"

"Yes, Hermione?" he yawned.

"Can I touch your face?"

"What?"

"Can I touch your face?" she repeated.

"Why would you want to?"

"Well… I can't see what you look like, obviously. But I could feel it, if you let me."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"I know it's a bit weird to think about, but I really would appreciate it greatly," Hermione pressed on in earnest.

"That's a no, Hermione," Harry said with more force than she had expected. "I don't like it when people touch me, and that's just too far."

"Oh. Ok," Hermione pouted. She had known about Harry's particularities when it came to personal space, but had been rather hoping it didn't extend to friends - Ginny touched him sometimes from what she could gather. Maybe it doesn't, and you're just not a friend, a nasty little part of her mind suggested. "I just thought with us being friends now…"

Harry sighed. "It's not about being friends, I think. I don't exactly know why I hate it so much, I just do." - Hermione got the impression that wasn't entirely truthful - "It's not like there's anyone else I would let do that. If that helps."

Hermione thought on that for a moment. At first it didn't seem to help at all, but when she thought how it would feel if he encouraged Ginny to rub her little hands all over him and kept Hermione at arm's length, she realised it was far better than the alternative. That was basically the same as it helping, just from a different frame of reference.

"It does, actually," she said, "but if you ever change your stance, I'm at the front of the queue, alright?" She did not pose that as a question.

"Alright, Hermione," Harry agreed readily.

"Alright."

"I'm knackered. Goodnight, Hermione," Harry bid, rustling as he rolled over.

Hermione slipped her wand from under her pillow and ended their sensory charms, then shifted to get comfortable herself. The infirmary beds were firmer than the one in her dorm, but she suspected she would soon be too sleepy to care. It had been an awfully long day.

"Goodnight Harry."

In the morning Madame Pomfrey sent the pair packing with a not-so-cryptic hint that they shouldn't come back that night, or any unless actually ill, but that if a few clean sheets and pillows were to mysteriously disappear from the infirmary linen closet she would be unlikely to notice. They got to the great hall shortly before breakfast appeared on the tables and were sated and gone before anyone but the earliest of risers made it down - none of whom had any interest in school politics, mostly being OWL and NEWT year Ravenclaws with more important things on their minds like arithmancy. Then, for the better part of an hour, they were free to scout out a place to set up camp for the foreseeable.

Hermione suggested they centre their search around an area of the castle she knew best, as she'd be the one having more difficulty finding a room again. That this area was the same wing the library was in was not lost on Harry, but that was hardly a problem; not many Gryffindors made it that far from the tower so it worked for more reasons than one.

The time for getting to first lessons was looming when Harry stumbled across the perfect room. It was in a disused corridor on the fourth floor, just off from the main staircase and with a back-route to the library very few would have a need to traverse. There were a few beaten up old desks and chairs stacked in a corner but for the most part it had been stripped bare. The only upholstery in the room was the curtain to cover the massive window which looked out onto the whomping willow and forest beyond.

What really sold it was the pair of side rooms - one a storage cupboard big enough to do cartwheel in and the other a private office of sorts. Harry wasn't particularly pleased to be the one lumbered with the cupboard, as far a cry from his childhood lodgings as it was, but from the moment they discovered the ancient mahogany desk in the office that room was Hermione's. When he put up a token protest she pulled rank by age, sex, and was about to play the cripple card to boot when he acquiesced. She really liked a good desk.

Classes were surprisingly normal, especially for Hermione who was used to no-one speaking to her if they didn't have to. Harry found that Neville was still happy to whisper to him throughout Charms, but the others, including Ginny, were keeping their distance. What was most unexpected was the lack of serious harrying happening in the corridors; unable to believe the one incident had been the end of it they spent the day increasingly tense, waiting for the inevitable confrontation that grew larger and larger in the imagination.

The ostracization was clearest at dinner, when they entered the hall slightly late (someone had snatched Hermione's guide-plane from the air to mess with her) to find the whole of Gryffindor had closed ranks to leave no space between themselves. Someone had gone so far as to leave a sparse assortment of belongings on the benches, forcing them to either move something that didn't belong to them, or sit a good ten yards from anyone else.

Anyone but Luna, that is; the girl was merrily perched at the far end of Gryffindor table, eating daintily with one hand while waving at them with the other. Harry guided Hermione to her and they took the seats opposite.

"Hello Harry, hello Hermione. Have the nargles been troubling you today?" Luna greeted them.

"I don't believe I've had any trouble with nargles," Hermione replied evenly.

Harry was glad she'd taken his advice not to get Luna started on her fantastical creatures. Ginny had told him none of them were real, but Harry figured he'd reserve judgement; if you'd asked him two months ago he'd have said the same about wizards. Hermione struck him as the sort to oppose anything's existence without evidence to back it up, so he was putting that potential argument between the girls off for a less stressful time.

"Me neither," he agreed, "worst I've had to deal with today was Snape."

Harry had planned to suspend his 'draw Snape's attention' campaign, but the professor had his own ideas. The situation had provided the dungeon bat with fresh ammunition and he was determined to use it whether Harry provoked him or not. The only mercy was that Snape was unwilling to issue detentions - he'd explained himself that he would not be doing so, as, in his own words, 'spending a singular moment in your presence more than is required of me would be a torture more exquisite than I am prepared to endure.'

Harry realised he had tuned out of the conversation when Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his face, alarmingly close; either she had better aim than she had any right to, or he was lucky not to have been hit.

"What? Sorry, did you say something?"

"Boys," Hermione scoffed, gesturing to Luna.

"It's alright, Harry," Luna assured him, "I was just asking if you'd like a subscription to the Quibbler. Daddy's doing a whole series of articles about the true identity of the heir; you'd find it enlightening."

"Oh, sure. How much is it?"

"For friends, two sickles a week."

"Mates rates? I'll pay the normal price," he assured her, thinking of his glittering vault.

"If you insist Harry. That's two sickles a week."

"Luna," Hermione said, "that's the same price."

"Is it? How silly of me," Luna remarked. "I suppose I should ask how you're doing. Ginny said you weren't sleeping in Gryffindor tower anymore."

"Yeah, that's right," Harry said, simply accepting the sudden change away from a topic he didn't think was finished. Luna would get back to it on her own time, and no-one else's.

"I spend some nights outside of Ravenclaw myself, but the castle does have awfully cold floors, so be sure to take your shoes with you," Luna sagely advised, lifting a leg to wiggle her foot at them. She was wearing lime green socks and distinctly muggle trainers.

"We'll, uh, keep our shoes on then."

"Oh, you don't have to wear them, just keep them nearby. Otherwise they might take themselves for a walk, you know."

"Luna, shoes don't walk themselves," Hermione asserted.

"Mine do. Last night I found them up on the seventh floor, hanging in the rafters. I never knew they could jump that high, but as daddy says, life is full of pleasant surprises."

Harry had a much more reasonable idea of how Luna's shoes ended up hanging in rafters, but he said nothing. There was a downcast look in her eyes that her smile didn't shift; he was fairly sure she knew as well as he did what was happening, but she'd chosen to make a game of it. He stifled his inner lion and let his friend have her fun, such as it was. Briefly he wished Hermione was the heir, so he could point her in the direction of certain blue-robed students.

"Well, if you're ever out in the castle at night and fancy some company, we can show you where we're sleeping now," he offered. "Right, Hermione?" he added, remembering he should really have asked her permission first.

"Obviously that would be fine. If you don't mind bunking with 'the heir', of course."

"Oh, Hermione, don't be silly. It's obvious you aren't the heir; your teeth are far too nice," Luna explained, reasonable as ever.

"How does that-?"

"This heir business is clearly another sinister plot perpetrated by members of the Rotfang Conspiracy!" Luna declared, oddly serious and very emphatic. "How it serves the purpose of bringing down the ministry I don't yet know, but I'm sure I'll figure it out soon; next Saturday probably. That'll be a nice surprise on your birthday Hermione."

"How do you know that's my birthday?" Hermione asked.

"I heard it from the blubbering humdingers. They say lots of interesting things actually; you just have to be willing to listen."

"Your birthday's next Saturday?" Harry exclaimed, jumping in before another creature of questionable existence could derail a conversation. Although Luna did get the day right… If not through the humdingers, how else would she have known? "You didn't tell me that."

"No, I didn't," Hermione primly responded.

"How am I meant to get you a present if you don't tell me in time?"

"A present?"

"Well, yeah. That's what friends do on birthdays, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," Hermione mused, "but I wouldn't want you spending anything on me. Do you even get pocket money?"

Harry chuckled, thinking again about the stacks of gold piled up in his vault. No, he didn't get pocket money; he didn't have large enough pockets for a start.

"Oh," Hermione gasped, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... I mean…"

I didn't mean to remind you your parents are dead.

"It's alright, Hermione. I'm kind of used to the idea of being an orphan by now," - not that it doesn't still hurt - "and my parents sort of left me all my pocket money in one go. Lots of it, too."

"Lots?"

"Yep," he said, popping the p. There weren't many things in his life he could feel smug about, so he was going to enjoy this one. "Glorious, gleaming galleons. Stacks and stacks of them. Must be a few thousand, not that I bothered to count."

"Thousands of… Harry, do you know the exchange rate on a galleon? That's tens of thousands of pounds!"

"I suppose it is," he said nonchalantly, sharing a cheeky grin with Luna who didn't seem at all fazed - she was holding in a giggle herself as she watched the chaos of emotion on Hermione's face.

"Harry, that's so much money! Forget I said anything, you can absolutely spend your money on me!" Hermione excitedly proclaimed, before raising a hand to her mouth. "I mean, if you want to. You don't have to, obviously."

"I'd love to," Harry assured her. He truly would; he had missed out on so much festive joy over the years that even experiencing a fraction of it through a friend was a venture worth emptying his vault for. There was just the one problem. "I can't really get to Gringotts while I'm in school though."

"Oh," she sighed disappointedly, "well. You'll just have to get me twice as much at Christmas," she ordered, nudging him playfully as she did so.

"OK then. Are you sure you'll have space under the tree for that many?"

"It'll be fine; it's not like you're buying me a pony," she jested.

"Do you want a pony? I can get you a pony."

"Harry, be serious! I do not expect anything so, so lavish!"

"I'd like a pony," Luna chipped in dreamily.

"Just a small pony then," Harry clarified, stressing the note of finality, and slightly dreading Hermione agreeing; where do you even purchase a pony?

"Do I have to forbid you from buying me a pony?"

"Unless you want to wake up on Christmas to the sound of neighing, yes."

"Harry… I…" - he could hear the pain in her voice as she spoke the next words, and found he enjoyed it just a bit more than felt right - "I forbid you… from buying me… a pony."

"Damn. Now I have to think of something else to get you. You're really inconsiderate, you know?"

"Gah!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. Luna lost her battle with the giggles halfway through a sip of pumpkin juice, which was messy.

"How am I going to come up with eighty presents if you go banning all my best ideas?"

"Eighty?" Hermione gawped, "have you lost your mind?"

"No, I'm sure it's around here somewhere," Harry drawled, greatly enjoying getting his own back for the knickers incident the night before. "Thing is, Dudley got thirty-nine presents for his birthday this year and I'm determined to make sure someone gets more than he does. Then you told me to double it up at Christmas, so… Eighty."

"Harry, you can't…"

"Sure I can. It's petty, I know, but totally worth it."

"Ruddy, obstinate Gryffindor," she mumbled. "I'm never talking you out of this am I?"

"Nope."

"Fine. You can buy me seventy nine pages of extra-thick paper for my braille quill, and one surprise," she acquiesced.

"Brilliant. Now, for the surprise; am I right in thinking that ponies and horses are very different things?"

"Harry!"

A/N

Answer to reviews time! Big thanks for the volume of response, and thoughtful inputs at that.

Stevem1: Harry forgetting to mention the voice is stupid... Yes it is, yet exactly the sort of thing that happens to witnesses of stressful situations in real life. It occurs to him that he forgot it around the time he finally calms down and starts thinking clearly again. The kid's fallible.

Brian: In canon they all believe the Boy-Who-Lived, saviour of the wizarding world, is evil just because he can talk to snakes. It has been said in many ways that the intelligence of a mob is that of its dumbest member, divided by the size of said mob. So far none of the 'intelligent' characters have expressed any belief that Hermione is the heir, only the reactionary sorts who regularly act without thinking. As for the staff noticing or not... Spoilers ;)

Dammyd: You're right; the gaze immunity is about the only thing in Hermione's favour, but it's still a gigantic, poisonous, magic resistant snake.
I did toy with the idea of them finding the RoR... Spoilers ;)

Guest: It isn't that Hermione doesn't want to tell a teacher about the voice, just that she doesn't want Harry rushing off in a way that might bring trouble. Part of her character here is caution to the point of paranoia. And then things kicked off before they got the chance.

USSRParrot: I agree with the Ron statement. He is such a bad influence.

Small note: I'm going back to 2 updates a week, rather than every 3 days. Chapter length is creeping up, but my writing speed is not. And based on my current plan, I'm looking at 200k words for CoS alone, so burn out is something I need to avoid to stand any chance of finishing what I've started.