Chapter XIV: Freeze Frame

Harry dutifully spent three hours in the library reading a book on third year transfiguration to Hermione. Most of it went over his head, but there was a long section on achieving the proper mindset and flow of magic to produce delicate, detailed results, which he found insightful. It seemed like the sort of thing that would be useful if taught to first years, before they learned any bad habits, and when he voiced that opinion Hermione had nodded sagely and encouraged him to reread it later and take notes. Or borrow hers that she had made several months before, when she read that passage for herself, which was when Harry realised they weren't reading that chapter for her benefit at all.

He also had a bit of a scare when, just a minute in, Madam Pince came stalking around a corner, scowling and mutteringly darkly about disturbances of the peace. When the vicious woman saw Hermione, however, her expression softened instantly. She shook her head, cast a silencing charm that encased the pair, and left without a further word. According to Hermione the old hag wasn't so bad; all it took to gain her ambivalence was to spend several hours a day in her library and respect her rules and books down to the letter. Easy.

When the three hours were up Harry was released from his duty, but the duo remained. Harry had little interest in attending the party in his honour, and Colin Creevey had offered after the match to bring a parcel of food to them, in exchange for a few photos of the Boy-Who-Lived. As much as Harry hated his fame, it was useful at times and Colin was one of the few giving Harry absolutely no trouble, so he made the deal. The lad also believed Hermione was innocent - Harry was her friend, and that was all the proof he needed.

"Hey Harry," Hermione whispered, lifting her hand from the book she was reading.

"Yeah?" he whispered back. Between the uncertainty of how long Pince's silencio would last and Hemione using a supersensory charm to help her read braille, it was better if he barely breathed his words.

"I completely forgot to ask, what with all the stress, but after the whole Mrs Norris incident… Why were you calling professor McGonagall 'Minerva'?"

"That's her name, Hermione," he said, surprised she didn't know.

"Yes, I know that," she hissed. "What I mean is, you used her first name, and she didn't mind at all."

"Well no, she's the one who told me to."

"What? Why would a professor do that? When?"

"Oh, it was a few weeks before school started. She wasn't my professor then, so…?"

"But you call her professor in class! And she is your professor now," Hermione muttered in the tone she slipped into when a tricky puzzle was eluding her.

Harry had become very familiar with that tone in the short time they'd been friends, because his friend was forever challenging herself with one thing or another. He didn't know if it was more impressive that she could work her brain that hard for so long and so often, or that she rarely found anything that defeated her. The genius of a girl was working well outside of the curriculum about which she constantly complained: Not enough healing magic; shocking lack of fundamental principles; no mathematics or English lessons; the list was exhaustive, and exhausting.

And she's probably waiting for your answer.

"Oh, right. She told me I could call her Minerva in private. Dunno why, but it's nice of her I suppose."

"Harry, that sounds like favouritism, which is generally not a good thing in an academic setting. And… And if she's going to have favourites, why you? Not that you're bad or anything" - Hermione rushed to excuse the slight, which Harry found amusing as he wasn't offended at all - "I mean- It's just that…"

"Why not you?" Harry finished for her, as it was obvious where her mind had gone. If his had made it there, hers would surely be there already.

"Exactly. I mean, I get top scores in everything, I'm always polite and attentive, she awards me house points all the time, she's offered all sorts of help with my condition," Hermione spat that word bitterly, "but she's very much 'professor' to me."

"You are quite the teacher's pet," Harry agreed.

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione beamed, "but what did you do to gain her trust like that?"

"I don't think it's trust," Harry mumbled.

"Then what is it?"

Harry had thought that question to himself many a time, going over and over his and the professor's past interactions as he lay awake at night, especially since his - Hermione's - decision not to go to her about their situation. He was fairly sure he knew the answer, but he kept searching because there was something about it he didn't much like.

"Pity," he finally said. "She pities me."

"Why would she- I mean, there's the obvious, but you're far from the only one at Hogwarts after the war."

"Yeah, it's not that," Harry said, thinking about their first meeting on the streets of Guildford. He'd put it down to being a runaway, for lack of a better explanation, but then what Hermione had said resonated; he probably wasn't the only stray either. So it wasn't that.

"Then what is it?" Hermione pressed, leaning in.

"I don't know. I really haven't the foggiest."

"Hasn't she told you? Haven't you asked?"

"I'm not sure I want to know," Harry admitted. The truth was probably going to be painful, as most things in his life were, and he was happier ignorant.

"How can you not…?" Hermione wondered aloud. Just like her, Harry thought; has she ever left a question unanswered?

"I just don't," Harry snipped, hoping to end the inquisition.

Hermione apparently took the hint, as she didn't push any further, returning her hands to her book. Harry noticed after a few minutes that she hadn't moved to a new page. Her hands weren't moving at all, in fact, but her mouth was contorted with her tongue poking out ever so slightly; it was clear she was deep in thought. Trying to figure something out about him, no doubt. Putting her brilliant mind to the task of figuring out Harry Potter's life.

If she works that mess out it'll be a miracle, because I don't have a clue.

"Merlin, where has Creevey gotten to? I'm starving," Hermione grumbled as she finished another chapter. Her study session hadn't turned up anything useful, and she was despairing that a clandestine trip or several into the restricted section would be her only hope of advancing her knowledge. Well, not her only hope, but trying to track down the wizarding world's black market as a fourteen year old girl read like the start of a true crime drama wherein she was the chalk outline on the cobbles of a dark alley. Her mood was low, and an empty stomach was not helping one iota.

"Me too," Harry agreed, punctuating it with a gut rumble. "Maybe we should go find him? I don't think I could read another book anyway."

"That isn't the worst idea you've had, but how are we going to find one person in this castle?"

"Hmm… We could just walk the route from here to Gryffindor tower. If he hasn't turned up I'll poke my head in and ask after him."

"Yes, and be immediately swarmed by a hundred rowdy lions demanding to know where you've been, then dragging you into whatever shenanigans they've contrived in the past four hours. Leaving you surrounded and me alone."

As much as Hermione appreciated Harry's general willingness, she thought he could stand to think things through just a touch more.

"Ok, umm… I'll poke my head in real quick?"

"Harry…" she said with a hint of warning that he was being dense again.

"I could just ask the fat lady if he's in?"

"That… That would work. Although I don't know what we'd do after, because if he is there then he's not out with us, and if he isn't then he's lost in the castle somewhere."

"Narrows it down though, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," Hermione agreed, then huffed, "well I don't have a better idea, so we may as well. Maybe we can get someone else to grab us something."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry murmured, "but that doesn't solve the missing Colin problem."

"I'm sure he'll show up. That's if he hasn't just forgotten about us."

"He wouldn't forget this; he's been badgering me for a picture since the first day. And… Colin's muggleborn."

"Oh," was Hermione response to that revelation. The real heir, whoever they were, hadn't taken any action since declaring their 'return', but a muggleborn first year alone in the near-empty after-dinner corridors might as well have a target painted on their back. She was suddenly a lot more worried about the boy's potential disappearance, and had a growing guilt about letting the kid put himself in that situation.

"I'm worried he's in trouble," Harry clarified needlessly.

"Let's go find him then," Hermione suggested, already starting to pack her bag. She wasn't rushing, but there was very little order to how things went in; there would be time enough for that later. Pince wasn't going to appreciate her leaving the library books on the table instead of putting them away, Hemione thought with an internal wince, though frankly that didn't matter. It's not like she does a lot other than tidy up anyway.

"He's not a friend but he's alright and I'd feel terrible if we didn't help," Harry rambled.

A distinct lack of other sounds told Hermione that he wasn't packing, just sitting there talking. Possibly panicking; they didn't have the time for that.

"Harry," she said forcefully, hoping the silencio had lasted as she raised her voice but not caring if it hadn't. "We'll find him. Come on."

"It's just I don't think he has many friends and-"

"Harry," she shouted, "pack your bag and get moving!"

"Right, right, packing," Harry said as he snapped out of whatever funk he had been falling into. Hermione lamented that her friend was so bad in a crisis, but he was doing better than Ronald 'act first, think never' Weasley, so she kept her mouth shut about it. That lesson could wait until later.

Hermione hustled Harry out of the library, not asking him to lead or bothering with a paper plane to guide her; to say she knew the route between the tower and the library like the back of her hand would be grossly overstating how well she knew her own body. It wasn't far into the trip that they found Colin Creevey.

Harry heard a commotion up ahead and slowed his pace. He wasn't eager to run into a crowd at the best of times. He didn't stop though, one because Colin hadn't turned up and two because Hermione would leave him behind if he did. Actually, she sped up at about the time Harry first heard something, and he remembered she hadn't cancelled her augmenosensus; whatever was up ahead, she'd be able to pick up everything they were saying. A soft, shocked gasp followed by another quickening of her step confirmed that, and dropped a lead ball into Harry's stomach. His concern for Colin grew hundred-fold as he rounded a corner to see a gaggle of twenty or so older students in yellow-trim robes, their backs to him as they crowded around something on the floor.

Someone in the group must have noticed him and said so, because they turned almost as one to stare at him. No - mostly they were staring at Hermione, who skidded to a halt.

"Bloody bold of you to come back here, Granger," one of the boys accused.

"Come to gloat have you?" a girl spat viciously.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, though Harry expected she'd figured it out.

There was a body lying on the floor behind the Hufflepuffs. A small body, even for a first year, with short blond hair, red-trim robe and a camera clutched in its hands. Various food items lay scattered about, where they had fallen as Colin fell himself.

"Like you don't know," the girl scoffed. "Don't play all coy with us, we know what you are."

"Yeah, don't think you can fool us like you've fooled Potter," the boy agreed, stepping forward with a finger raised aggressively.

Harry wanted to say something to defend her, but he was lost for words. He thought of running to get Minerva, but that would leave Hermione alone. From experience he knew there was nothing he could do to protect her if the mob attacked, but it felt wrong to let her face it without him even so.

"Is… Is it Colin?" Hermione asked, her voice breaking as she did.

"Uh huh," another boy grunted. "And how'd you know that if it weren't you what did him in? Not like you can see him."

Hermione drew herself up defiantly at the mention of her blindness. Harry wondered if she had an inner lion the same as he did, because his was growling at that too.

"He was coming to find me in the library. We asked him to," she explained.

"Oh, so you laid a little ambush did you? How sneaky; Slytherin's heir indeed," the girl asserted, drawing her wand, though she kept it lowered for the time being.

"I'm not the heir! Dumbledore said so himself!" Hermione protested, shaking her head furiously.

Harry saw her hand dip into her pocket, but not the one he'd seen her stow her wand in earlier. He tensed up in anticipation of her making a move of some sort.

"He's only saying that because he doesn't want you lynched before there's evidence to have you locked up proper. Now you've attacked a student; it'll be Azkaban for you."

A harsh silence followed that threat as Harry fixed the girl with a withering glare. He'd heard whispers of the place they called Azkaban, and the fact that it was only ever whispered about told him all he needed to know of it. His hands curled into fists and started to tremble. How dare she! His chest was tightening even as it puffed out, his breathing becoming deep and ragged. His vision narrowed until the only thing in it was that nasty girl's smirking face. The growling in his heart filled his ears as they rushed with blood, and as he imagined wiping that smirk off her face it became a snarl, which made its way to his face.

Suddenly, unbidden, but with his full approval, his legs were taking him forward. He strode right up to the witch and challenged her.

"Step aside."

"Or what?" she smirked, having the absolute gall to chuckle at him.

He knew he couldn't take her on, even in a fist fight, but for all his body was aching to fight his mind was working overtime.

"Or curse me," he snapped. "Step aside, or use that wand of yours on the Boy-Who-Lived. Just remember what happened to the last person who tried."

That wiped the smirk off her ugly face. She measured him up, cautiously, and took a step to the side. As did the boy behind her, leaving a clear path to poor Colin's body. Harry approached, hoping desperately that the kid was only petrified and not dead. He knelt down beside him, thoughts of violence fast fading as the solemnity of the situation hit him. Trying to move Colin's arm he found it solid to the touch, which was reassuring as it was disturbing; as unnatural as it was to touch skin and feel cold stone, it was the same sensation as holding Mrs Norris.

Harry scooped Colin up, more easily than he expected, and turned around. The crowd regarded him with stunned expressions but parted for him without protest, allowing him to carry the body back to Hermione. He didn't stop there, though - instead he walked past her.

"Come on, Hermione," he said loudly to be sure the Hufflepuffs all heard, "let's get our friend to the infirmary. We can deal with those idiots later."

It took a lot of restraint for him not to call them far worse; not to escalate into a fight. They were reminding him of his cousin's little gang of bullies, just with less bravado; that gang would have kicked him to the floor the moment he turned his back on them, if not before. Hermione hesitated a second, then fell into step beside him.

Harry was greatly relieved not to hear any of the Puffs too close behind; just a quiet shuffle as a few of them followed, keeping their distance. Probably worried I'm helping Hermione do away with the body, Harry supposed bitterly. Well, let them follow; let them see for themselves how wrong they were. Or let them not, what did it matter? What mattered was that they weren't attacking his friend. What mattered was getting Colin to Madam Pomfrey so she could find a cure.

"Oh my word," Madam Pomfrey gasped as she opened the infirmary doors, "what happened?"

"Petrified. I think," Harry answered, struggling for breath. He had set a rapid pace, and Hermione wasn't sure how he'd managed to carry Colin the whole way without stopping. She knew from the times she'd taken his arm that he was no bigger than the other boys his age; shorter if anything, although he had a wiry strength to him. Sheer adrenaline and grit was the best explanation she could think of as her mind flitted from one problem to the next.

"It would appear that way, Mr Potter," Pomfrey agreed in her stern business tone. "On the first bed then, I'll have to check him over to confirm."

Hermione followed as Harry staggered a few steps into the room, then dumped Colin onto a bed with a creak. A second later he was toppling back into her as his legs gave out; she hooked an arm under his just in time to catch him, but he shrugged her off irritably and dropped unceremoniously onto his arse. Even his grunt of pain was tired.

"Are you quite alright, Mr Potter?" Pomfrey inquired, sounding distracted as she no doubt focused on Colin.

"Uh huh. Tired. He's heavy."

"Very well. Ms Granger, would you help your friend off the floor and to a bed to lie down, while I see to my patient?"

"Of course, madam. Come on Harry."

Harry growled as Hermione placed a hand on his head - she'd been aiming for his shoulder and not realised how slumped he was. His irritability was not what she needed right at that moment, and she wasn't about to indulge it.

"Harry, get up. That floor isn't any good for resting on; you'll get awfully sore."

"I'm fine."

"No, Harry, you're in the way," Hermione griped, switching to a new approach, "and Madam Pomfrey can't treat Colin properly with you under her feet, so you're moving. For his sake."

That got Harry up, although he grumbled as he did so and refused her offer of a hand. She was getting rather annoyed at his Gryffindor flaws coming out, but she didn't hold it against him; the whole way to the infirmary the Hufflepuffs had been muttering not so quietly about the pair of them: Speculating on how she had bribed or tricked him into helping her attack Colin (some of their suggestions were far too mature for her comfort); discussing unpleasant ways to get Hermione out of Hogwarts; even trying to goad the braver among them into cursing her in the back, an endeavour which was thankfully unsuccessful. They were still there as she guided Harry to the next bed, standing at the doorway with their vile tongues and idiotic theories.

"Everyone not currently in a bed, leave at once!" Pomfrey commanded. "Not you, Granger," she added when Hermione was turning reluctantly to leave.

"Madam?" she asked, wondering why she was allowed to stay. Pomfrey was notoriously stringent on visiting rights.

"You can help me with Mr Creevey."

"I don't know what I can-"

"-hush child, and come here," Pomfrey shushed her, with such intensity that Hermione did as she was told at once.

She didn't see how she could possibly help. Second years barely learned any magical medicine, and though her extracurricular delving into the field was extensive she had never even seen mention of petrification treatment. Besides, she wouldn't trust herself to attempt half the spells she did know, if they had been applicable. There was a reason younger students were discouraged from trying their hand at treating injuries, and of all the policies at Hogwarts that was the one she most heartily agreed with. Mistakes could be life-altering. Still, she would assist however she could.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Cast an episkey on his head," Pomfrey ordered.

"What injury am I fixing?" Hermione asked as she drew her wand. It was important to the casting to direct some intent into the healing, beyond 'heal the subject'.

Madam Pomfrey did not answer for a moment, but Hermione chose not to press her. She was busy, and anything she was relying on Hermione to fix must not be urgent. Her parents had taught her that distracting a medical professional in the middle of treatment was a very bad idea - shortly after their receptionist had caught her about to barge into their theatre as a patient was having teeth out. The infirmary doors slammed shut, and she finally spoke.

"Nothing, Ms Granger. You can put your wand away now."

"Okay?" Hermione said, questioning what Pomfrey was up to. She didn't have to wonder for long.

"Ms Granger, whilst I am not a fan of worrisome fools disturbing the recovery of my patients, I am far more averse to throwing innocent children to the wolves. I fear if I had sent you away with the rest of them, you would have ended up a patient of mine in scant minutes."

"Thank you, Madam," Hermione gushed, impressed once again by the matron's subtle yet powerful compassion. "But, what about the episkey?"

"No need to thank me for reducing my workload, dear," Pomfrey chuckled, "and as for that request… The last thing your peers saw before I shut the doors on them was you treating Mr Creevey here. Hardly the actions of the one who attacked him, hmm?"

"That's brilliant! You're brilliant!" Hermione exclaimed, breaking into a grin for a few moments before the severity of it all crashed down on her again.

"I'm aware," Pomfrey replied nonchalantly, "now, I need to work. If you'd care to be helpful, go keep Mr Potter out of trouble."

"Yes, madam," Hermione said, taking her leave of Colin's bedside to move to Harry's.

She took several steps before Harry called out softly, "over here," his voice coming from her left. She was rather embarrassed to find she'd been completely turned around, and that she hadn't picked up on his breathing despite her heightened senses. Senses which were getting very uncomfortable as the cold shivers in her skin were amplified; she cancelled her charm as she joined Harry, perching on his bed.

"How are you?" she asked; her words echoed his as he asked her the same.

"Crap," Harry said, answering first. Hermione hadn't the heart nor verve to chide his language. "It's like I'm just not allowed a good day. How'd it go from winning a game to this?"

"Tell me about it," Hermione agreed fervently. "I knew my birthday wouldn't be much but this absolutely takes the mick."

"Oh, Hermione!" Harry gasped, "I completely forgot it was your birthday! That sucks… Not to mention it's you they're blaming for - for Colin. I feel bad complaining now."

"Don't, Harry. They say misery loves company, so we may as well be miserable together. But thank you for acknowledging that I totally win in terms of moping rights."

"I don't think it's a competition," Harry yawned, shifting on the bed - probably laying himself down.

"Oh, so now I can't even win at being unhappy? Cheers," Hermione snapped, though her anger wasn't aimed at him. She hoped he understood that.

"Fine, fine, you win. Want a trophy or something?" Harry snipped back.

"At least then someone would have given me something on my birthday," she grumbled, and immediately wished she could take it back. She didn't mean to insinuate anything to Harry, not after he'd been so absurdly generous, albeit delayed until Christmas. Moreover, her lack of any other friends close enough to give presents was not a topic she intended to talk about. Talk about lowering the mood further.

"Did… Did no-one get you anything?" Harry asked cautiously. Please, can we not?

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Not even Luna?"

That had surprised Hermione a little herself. As much as she barely knew the girl, the necklace round her neck (she had worn it every day since getting it, partly out of dutiful gratitude and partly because, having found nothing on nargles in 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them', she had a healthy wariness of what they might be capable of) was an indication that the girl considered her a friend. Receiving a present before her birthday, but not on it, was a puzzle she had yet to solve. It was like Luna had forgotten her birthday altogether; as if she never knew when it… Hermione Granger, you are an idiot. She realised she had never told Luna her birthday was coming up. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"I, umm… Oops?" Hermione meekly offered as she continued to scold herself. She held her mind to a higher standard than such imbecilic slip-ups!

"You forgot to tell her, didn't you?" Harry queried knowingly. The boy was pretty astute when it was annoying for him to be so.

"Maybe," she said, in that drawn out way that means 'yes'.

"Yeah, I haven't told her mine either. Way too much stress for little things like that I guess."

"Harry… You don't have to tell her when you were born. Boy-Who-Lived, remember?"

"Eugh, don't remind me," he whined, throwing himself back against the bed which shook alarmingly.

"Too late. I'm amazed you ever manage to forget, frankly. Don't all the idiots staring jog your memory?"

"You know, nobody stares at me anymore. Except for… Except for Colin," Harry stopped for a while, and Hermione let him take his time. "It's like they spent a decade worshipping the idea of me, then I show up and they all forget it ever happened."

"The intelligence of a mob can be determined by dividing the lowest IQ present by the number of people in the mob," Hermione quoted, citing John MacDonald though she was sure he wasn't the first to have such a thought.

"Do you have a quote for everything?" Harry wondered.

"If only," she scoffed. "Point is… Well, I don't honestly know if there is a point where public perception is concerned. Just be glad they aren't giving you the old fashioned messiah treatment and nailing you to a cross."

"I think it's you they're planning that for," Harry quipped.

Hermione winced at the mental image, driving her fingernails into her palms. Some of the things the Puffs had been whispering were almost as bad, so she did not appreciate the comment. Surely talking things through with a friend was meant to drive such thoughts from the mind, not shove them back in?

"Sorry, shouldn't have said that. Wasn't funny," Harry hurriedly apologised.

Thankfulness for the apology was far outweighed in Hermione's mind by annoyance that he couldn't have realised that a second earlier.

"No, it wasn't," she spat. "You know, this isn't helping. Get some rest, Harry."

"I am sorry you know?"

"I know," Hermione bit back, then let her frustration out in a deep, exasperated sigh. "Just… Let's leave it for now."

"Sure, Hermione. So what-"

Harry was interrupted by the sound of the infirmary doors slamming open.

A/N

Wie immer: Dankeschön, reviewers.

Some mention of characters being bitchy, to which I can only say... Yep. These ain't perfect people. I'm aiming to keep to the flaws they exhibit in canon, but then Hermione's affliction has changed her worldview a fair bit.

The biggest change is probably Ginny not being a nervous wreck around Harry, which I think works because she isn't seeing him as a student a year above her as well as her hero, making him more approachable to her.