VIII

Sorry to have Missed You

Halloween fell on a Saturday that year, meaning it coincided with the first Hogsmeade visit of the year - the third years' first in their time at Hogwarts. Hermione was of the opinion that being allowed out to wander a commercialised village they could visit any time outside of school was vastly over-hyped, but with Harry hogging their mutual second year friends for the day she had no reason to turn down invitations to go. In fact, she had instructions from a professor that she should: In their third lesson, Lupin had suggested if she couldn't find a happy enough memory to power her patronus, she should go out and find opportunities to make one.

Invitations she received in surprising number. Sally asked her to join the Gryffindor thirds in their exploration, which was expected. The Weasley twins offered to show her around Zonko's joke shop - she wasn't sure if the offer was born of pity, or an elaborate prank set up, but that one she thought best to politely decline either way. A couple of Ravenclaw girls she often bumped into the library indicated they would be happy to trawl the shelves of the bookstores in her company, which was nice of them. Hermione might have said yes, but she wasn't looking for new friends; she was still hoping to get an old one back.

The biggest surprise was Finch-Fletchley's invite. Although they had remained on good terms since the duelling club the year before, he was less of an acquaintance than the Ravenclaw bookworms. Coming out of left field as it did, the invitation intrigued her enough she agreed without really thinking about it, not taking note until later that day (and technically earlier, thanks to the disorienting power of time travel) of how nervous he was when he asked. Nor of the relief in his voice when she said yes.

As the day arrived, Hermione was wrestling with the horribly confusing feeling she had unwittingly agreed to a date.

A date with a boy she barely knew, whose father she was fairly sure was landed gentry. A boy who, if it was a date, didn't mind at all about her affliction, or else thought her worth it regardless. Would he change his mind if he knew just how badly scarred she was? Would she want him to? Her mind took that as some sort of imperative to rush off down a hundred tangents of imagination, almost invariably ending in some version of her being dumped when she finally showed him what lay underneath the silk. The most outlandish had her spurned at the altar, right after she lifted her veil.

A stupid thought, considering she wasn't even interested in the boy, or frankly boys in general yet - much to her peers' continuing amusement - but not a thought she could dislodge.

Standing near the carriages, waiting for her maybe-date to find her, she was on the brink of calling the whole thing off and running back to the tower in an illogical panic. She may have done just that, if not for the endless empathy of one Sally-Anne Perks.

"Don't worry so much," she whispered in Hermione's ear, giving her arm a squeeze. "It's just a maybe-date. Not even a definite date. And besides, Justin's just so incredibly polite, you know he won't push anything."

Hermione hadn't even considered the idea that he might push something; that he might want her too much; that he might have ideas and not want to take no for-

She hacked that thought off at the root. Justin was not Lockhart. Lockhart was the exception, not the norm. And even if Justin was similarly inclined…

"He's no basilisk," Hermione muttered to herself.

"Yeah, that too," Sally agreed, though somewhat bemused. "Although, you never know… he might have a basilisk of his own, if you know what I mean."

"Sally!" Hermione shrieked.

"What? I'm rooting for you, you dope. Every girl deserves a well hung-"

"Do you want this to be a date?"

"I dunno, I'm just saying.. Justin's a bit of a catch, you know?"

That was news to Hermione. "Do I?"

"Yeah. His dad's a lord or something isn't he? So he's rich, polite, educated…"

"So why are you not all over him then?"

"Who says I'm not?" she teased, elbow bumping Hermione so hard she stumbled. "But no… no, Justin's… You can't really daydream about Justin, cause, well, he's not much of a looker. It's the nose, I think."

Hermione scoffed at her friend's shallow approach to selecting boys, as if she knew better, then paused to process…

"Hang on. You don't think he is only interested in me because I'm the only girl who can't judge him by looks?"

"Nooo," Sally said, unconvincingly. "He's interested cause you're scary smart, scary fierce and… well, to be honest, you're kinda just plain scary sometimes. But lots of guys are into that, I hear. The whole ugly-blind match is just… I dunno? Convenient?"

Hermione didn't know how to feel about being called scary like it was a compliment, nor what to do with the idea that some people - boys - might like that. She didn't think she would like the sort of boys who saw that in her. And the ugly comment was allowed pass, because she knew Sally didn't mean anything by it. Still...

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," she snarked.

"Oi, I thought you didn't even want this to be a date?" Sally reminded her.

"That does not mean I wish to feel undatable."

Even if I already do.

"Oh? Got your eye - sorry - interested in someone else, are we?"

"No."

"Someone a bit closer to home?"

"Not at all."

"Someone more… heroic? Maybe just a little bit younger? More interesting…? Mysterious…? Battle-scarred?"

"Someone who isn't even talking to me?" Hermione said to cut off that avenue.

"He'll come round. Boys just take longer to figure their feelings than us girls; that's what mum says."

"I don't know that he will," she mused, her tongue betraying her idea of not going there. "He's so stubborn someti-"

"Hermione!" Justin's voice rang out. "There you are."

Hermione dropped the conversation about dating boys other than the one about to take her to Hogsmeade, with haste and a rising blush. She hoped, and also didn't, Justin would attribute her rosy cheeks to the way he kissed her hand before helping her into a carriage. It was under the introspective gloom of the dementor patrol they passed that she realised she never dispelled Sally's impression she was looking to date Harry Potter. She just hadn't had the time, that was all.

Harry watched from the window as Justin Finch-Fletchley kissed Hermione on the hand and helped her up into the waiting carriage. His chest and stomach were telling him he felt some sort of way about that, but he couldn't figure what. Why should he care what she did with her time? Or who laid their lips on her; he'd made it quite clear where he stood in that regard.

Once again, his hand found its way to his lips. It was infuriating not knowing: Not knowing if she really had kissed him right on the lips as Ginny claimed; not knowing just what had possessed her to do such a thing; even not knowing how it would have felt had he been awake was annoying him. Not knowing if he would rather have been awake - if it was better to remember the experience, and know, or else to be blissfully ignorant and forever wondering.

He wasn't even so sure anymore he was glad Ginny had told him. How different would things be now if he had simply never known; if Hermione's secret transgression had remained secret? If he went his whole life never finding out, never feeling the pain of betrayal, would that not be a happier life? What was more important to him: Happiness, or truth?

Luna sidled up beside him and laid a hand on the back of his, just long enough to draw him back to the present, but nothing more.

"A galleon for your thoughts?"

"I think the saying is a knut," Harry absently corrected, making sure to smile so she would know he was not critiquing.

"It is, Harry, but a friend's thoughts are worth so much more than that, don't you think?"

"Do you even have a galleon on you?" Harry asked, knowing his friend tended to give other things priority in her pockets and purse.

"I have three Newt Scamander cards and a germinating sky-radish," she replied contentedly, without needing to check.

Harry thought about the stack of galleons in his own moneybag, and found he was rather jealous.

"Card for my thoughts?" he ventured, knowing Neville was missing Newt from his collection.

"You can have my spare cards just for asking, Harry Potter," she said, producing one from her left shoe. "Friends are for sharing with, after all."

Harry stashed the card and leant his back against the window, uninterested in the outside since the carriage had pulled out of sight. "I don't know what to say to her," he admitted.

"The truth is usually a good place to start," Luna advised, hopping up onto the windowsill beside him.

"What if the truth is painful?"

"Then it hurts her."

Sometimes, Harry thought bitterly, just sometimes, this girl is too straightforward.

"Or I lie to her."

"Then that hurts her even more."

"Only if she finds out."

She looked at him pointedly, and the disappointment in her eyes was damning.

"No, Harry. Better to know and suffer, than to suffer not knowing."

"You really believe that?" Harry asked, once again jealous of his friend's assured view of the world.

Luna gave a little shrug that set her radishes jingling. "Hermione does," she said, like that was all that mattered.

"How do you know?"

"It's funny, the things you can find out about someone when you talk to them. Now come along," she urged, slipping off the windowsill and taking off her other shoe to balance her feet out, "it is almost lunchtime, and I asked Mopsy to serve the normal amount of pudding."

Following a lunch at which Harry ate, and regrettably had to leave, far too much treacle tart, the gang convened at the quidditch pitch for a spot of flying. Normally time on the pitch itself was reserved for team practice or else dominated by upper years, but on a Hogsmeade day Harry's position on a team gave him more clout that any of the few upper years not in the village, so the Southern hoop set became theirs for the afternoon. The second year Hufflepuffs who had showed up were roped into making it a three versus three, and things got competitive fast.

Neville declared himself happier tending to a small patch of purple moss growing in the shadow of the Hufflepuff viewing tower, and Luna flitted between him and the game, which was probably for the best as it made the teams a little more even. Harry and Ginny outflew the three Puffs, but having two and a half players was quite the disadvantage. When Luna returned to play only to merrily assist the Puffs for five minutes, the scores actually levelled.

All in all, it was exactly the sort of high octane action Harry needed to keep his mind from what the day meant for him. There would be time later - far too much of it - for grieving his parents and the life they could have shared together. Until the sun set, however, Harry was resolved to live in the now, with the people he cared about. With the closest thing to family he had.

Despite the odd fleeting glance out over the valley, to where smoke rose from quaint chimneys and laughter carried on the wind, he did his best to ignore the feeling someone was missing.

After hours in the air, and to the relief of the Puffs who were unwilling to drop out first but very visibly ready to stop, Harry pulled up with a twisted wrist from catching a quaffle thrown more at him than to him. Drenched in sweat, but grinning ear to ear, he and Ginny traipsed through the castle toward the tower. Neville was busy taking a sample to Professor Sprout, and Luna had long since drifted away on a whimsical breeze, never to return; in other words, both were happy elsewhere.

It was the first time Harry had been alone with Ginny all year, and he had no idea what to do with the solitude. The exhaustion and comradery of quidditch had them walking close and joking with each other, but there was a feeling of tension lurking just below the surface. Harry knew he had been the one to put it there, and for good reason, but it was uncomfortable all the same.

For lack of other ideas, he took Luna's advice and applied it to the other girl who had kissed him. A practice run, of sorts.

"Say, Ginny…" he inserted into a lull in their aimless conversation.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you kiss me?"

The cold silence suggested Luna's advice of taking the honest approach might have been very specific to Hermione.

"I'm not trying to start an argument or anything," he hastened to assure her, "I just wanted to understand."

"Are you saying you don't know?"

"Yeah?"

"You really… you don't… do you pay any attention to me? Any at all?"

She sounded halfway between crying and screaming at him, which was only adding to his confusion.

"Course I do."

"So why do you think I did it?" she challenged, hands to her hips in a way that spelled deep, deep trouble.

"I wouldn't be asking if I knew."

"Don't turn this around on me!" she snapped, which Harry thought was rich seeing as she'd just done that to him. "Not like it isn't obvious! Only the whole ruddy castle knows."

"What? That stupid crush you had? I thought you were done being silly."

He regretted his particular choice of words at once, as Ginny's balance tipped in favour of crying, and spilled over through her eyes.

"Stupid? Stupid? Harry, you… I… and then…"

"Sorry? I just want to understand-"

"Well what about me?" she shouted, right up in his face, one eye twitching. "What about I want? Or does that not matter? Does little Ginny not get a say in anything? Those books were my childhood, Harry! They were everything! I slept with the bloody things!" she admitted, stepping back and pinching her nose.

"And then, then I met the real Boy-Who-Lived, and he was this" - she waved her hands at him like he was on display - "this shy, unloved little kid, but that was okay, I didn't mind, because that meant maybe I had a shot, you know? Maybe this Harry could stoop low enough to care about little ole' me. And then all of a sudden you're the youngest seeker in a century, which was my dream!"

Ginny punched a tapestry, then gripped its fabric to hold herself up and nearly tore it from the wall. Harry shuffled a foot as she half-ranted, half-wept into the hanging.

"But that's alright; it's something in common; it's all good. And then, then you're all heroic with the parseltongue thing, which everyone else is going about being the mark of a dark wizard, but I know better, and I never doubt you, not once, but it feels like… like you're slipping away all the same. It's all Hermione this, Hermione that, and how can anyone ever compete with her? All I've got over her is my looks, but you!" - she rounded on him with an accusing finger - "you're too damn sweet to even care who's pretty and who isn't! And then… And then you saved me."

Harry rather suspected the wistful look creeping over her face spelled more bad news for him in some way. He took a tentative step back, not that she noticed, caught up in her dreams as she was.

"There was a giant monster, and an evil wizard - the whole works - and there you were charging in to save the day, to rescue the damsel… and I was the damsel. Every dream I had of you as a little girl, all coming true, all at once. Ha! More than I could ever have hoped for! And I wanted to kiss you, like in the stories, but I wasn't sure, because I knew you might not like it, but you leaned in to me. I thought you wanted it! I thought you wanted me!"

Ginny abruptly stormed off, but Harry hurried to keep up with her; he couldn't possibly leave things there - couldn't have two friends he wasn't talking to.

"Then she made the same mistake I did," Ginny continued, noticing his presence and growing morose. "Worse, even. And you broke it off with her like that," - she snapped her fingers - "which was fair I guess, but out went my chances with it, didn't they? If you couldn't forgive Her, what chance did I have? I still hoped, oh, sure, I hoped that without her in the picture you might give me a second shot, but now it's all about Luna isn't it? Seriously! Loony Fucking Lovegood!"

"Hey, don't call her that."

"See? See? I'm baring my soul to you here, and all you can do is defend her!"

Harry might have replied to her, but for two things. The first: He had no idea what to say. (All about Luna?) The second: His attention was very suddenly and entirely somewhere else.

Because the portrait of the Fat Lady was hanging from its frame in tatters.

Harry was beginning to dislike his visits to the headmaster's office. Partly because they always seemed to occur in the most suspicious of circumstances (with himself being the one under suspicion), and partly because the man was simply intolerable. Sure, he put across a good impression of a kindly old grandfather figure, steeped in wisdom, and it had plenty of Harry's peers, plus apparently much of the wizarding world, enamoured... but then the words coming from his mouth so often conflicted with that image.

He was not kind; he was manipulative. He was not wise; he was self-assured. He was not good; he was merely great.

There was not much Harry or Ginny could say to make the old codger listen, let alone change his mind once he had it set on fucking over Harry's life in some new and exotic manner. His latest great idea was to restrict Harry's movements, even within the castle, confining him outside of classes to safe, communal areas. That might have been reasonable, given Sirius had infiltrated the castle once already, had the interfering fool not got it in his mind that quidditch practice did not qualify as safe. Thankfully, Harry didn't have to say a word against the plan; he couldn't have got one in edgeways had he come up with one. Minerva was doing it for him.

"Ye cannae do it tae the lad!" she yelled, having already abandoned any pretence of not being a Scottish wildcat. "He has done nae wrong, and ye will nae punish him for it!"

"It is not meant as punishment, Minerva, it is only Harry's safety I-"

"Meaning be damned, it is what it is! And I shall not have it!"

"I'm afraid you have no say in the matter."

"Oh, I have plenty of say, Albus. But it seems ye have misplaced the ability tae listen!"

Harry watched the exchange with a fascinating mixture of humour, pride, and morbid acceptance. Minerva was battling valiantly, but everything about Dumbledore's composure said the matter was already decided; she was wasting her breath. He appreciated how hard she was fighting for him; for the first time since the revelation that summer, he truly felt she was firmly on his side. He perhaps did not trust her entirely, but it felt that was now more an assessment of her judgment, not her intent. Compared to Dumbledore, she was showering herself in accolades.

Compared to Dumbledore, she was doing far more to ensure his wellbeing, beyond mere safety.

"Minerva?" he interjected, not loudly, but finding his previous silence breaking drew their attention as surely as had he shouted.

"Aye, child?" she snapped, her still angered tone at odds with the fond way she looked to him.

"Do you really not have any say? I thought, as my head of house…"

"A position I assigned her to, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted, speaking as though explaining to a child.

Technically, he was, but he didn't have to sound like it, did he?

"So you have no legal authority to oppose the old twat?" Harry asked her, suggestively, ignoring the unwelcome counsel and the indignant scoff his choice of title elicited.

"If only," she sighed.

"If only," he agreed, putting all the meaning he could behind the words.

Minerva looked at him, then bent down to look through him, and raised a questioning eyebrow - the one the headmaster couldn't see. Harry gave a slight, but determined, nod. At that she stood tall once more, and called out into the empty air.

"Puntsy!"

A house elf popped into being almost immediately, mid-way through a curtsy by the time Harry's eyes could focus on the new arrival. From what little Harry knew of house elves, the one now stood before him was young, and female.

"Professy McGonagall is calling Puntsy?"

"Please go to my office desk, and retrieve the folder of documents in the third drawer down. You know the one?"

Puntsy's eyes lit up like it was Christmas, and she nodded her head vigorously. "Puntsy knows the one! Puntsy is getting it rights aways!"

Then she was gone before Minerva could thank her.

"Documents?" Dumbledore asked, sounding unsure of himself for the first time in the meeting. "What is-"

Puntsy's prompt return cut him off - rather deliberately, Harry thought, given that the little elf had appeared with a far louder pop than the first, and was stood proudly on the headmaster's desk, showing her back to him as she proffered a folder to Minerva.

"Puntsy is being needed for anything else?" the elf asked hopefully.

"That will be all, thank you," Minerva dismissed her, but the elf lingered, shuffling a foot.

"Puntsy is being allowed to stay?" she requested, averting her eyes and trembling lightly.

No-one, save Harry, was paying any attention to Puntsy anymore. They shared a glance, and Harry added a little wink. That was apparently all the permission Puntsy needed, as she sat cross legged on the desk and beamed at him. Then Harry clicked that no-one was paying attention to the elf because all eyes were on him instead.

"Are you certain?" Minerva asked, again, as she passed the contents of the folder into Harry's hands.

"Not really," he admitted, "but lesser of two evils, right?"

"As much as it pains me to be considered in such a light… I can only agree."

"What evil do we now speak of?" the headmaster inquired, his interest finally piqued above false concern.

"Negligence, Albus," she snipped, which shut him up for a while.

Harry took the quill she conjured from nothing and skimmed to the end; he had read the document through enough times, he just needed to check it was the same. Not that he expected Minerva to pull as switch on him, but…

Finding all in order, he signed his name. His signature was a horrid scrawl, nothing like the flourishes of the purebloods, but Minerva seemed perfectly satisfied as she took the document back. It occurred to Harry how absurd it was to be able to change one's guardianship with a single stroke of a quill.

Something else seemed to be occurring to Minerva, as she stood stock still, staring at the parchment she held, her grip crumpling the edges.

Dumbledore broke the moment. "If I may inquire-"

"To Gringotts, please," Minerva spoke over him, handing off to Puntsy, who curtsied and popped away with glee.

"-as to what you have just had the boy sign?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore, you shall not be restricting the movements of Mr Potter without good disciplinary cause."

Dumbledore sighed deeply and rubbed his face. "Minerva, enough. My mind is not for changing."
"In that I am unsurprised. Well, Harry, as your head of house, I can only apologise for the headmaster's decision making. Still, I am sure he will be consulting your guardian before enforcing any action."

"I do not expect the Dursleys will object."

"They are not the guardian of which I was speaking."

Dumbledore tilted his head forward to peer over his spectacles, his grandfatherly act abandoned in favour of cold menace. "What did you have Potter sign?"

"I fail to see why-"

"As the boy's magical guardian, I have the right to know."

"Had," she snipped, smugly. "You had the right."

"What have you done?"

"I have done that which you seem incapable of: I have taken responsibility for my failures. Fully ratified responsibility, I might add. Madame Bones herself was more than happy to assist in the application after I explained the situation to her. In detail." - Dumbledore tried to say something, but Minerva was back in full swing and not to be stopped - "Now, it has come to my attention, through your deputy headmistress no less, that my charge is to be unduly detained under the laughable pretence of increased security. Is this something we might resolve here and now, or must I go to the board of governors to have such a farce prevented?"

Dumbledore sat back in his throne of a chair, every year of his age showing in the defeat on his face.

"You did not have to do this."

"Actually, I think I rather did. Harry, Ms Weasley, I trust you can find your way safely back to Gryffindor tower without oversight? I have more words to discuss with the headmaster - words which children should not be hearing."

They both nodded and, full of relief, made themselves scarce from the office. The door was barely closed behind them when Minerva's voice rose once more, and Harry discovered that, as harsh as Professor McGonagall could be, Guardian McGonagall made her a sound a kitten by comparison.

For the first time since his falling out with Hermione, he felt there was someone in Hogwarts he could rely upon to have his back, come what may.

Hermione returned from a pleasant outing to a castle in chaos, the rumour mill spinning so fast it was close to exploding. Sirius Black in Hogwarts? The Fat Lady attacked? Something about Harry and Ginny being involved?

There was too much information, and too much of it clearly false, flying about for her to make heads or tails of it. Only two consistencies stuck in her mind with any sort of certainty behind them: Sirius Black had snuck into Hogwarts and tried to get into Gryffindor tower; and Hermione hadn't been there to stop him. She had promised herself she would have his back, come what may.

Another promise broken.