Returning to his own bed, and to classes, after two days of boredom and exhaustion was accompanied by heavy déjà-vu for Harry. Everywhere he went, eyes were on him, and whispers started. His fight with McLaggen and subsequent breakdown had caused a flurry of rumors in the castle, but people seemed undecided if he was a dark wizard or if this was just another weird Harry Potter thing they'd all look back to in a year with some fondness.
He didn't feel fond of anything going on right now.
Nothing he'd done had helped him reign his senses in — same as with all the things Madame Pomfrey or the healer, Bryce Mallow, had tried. His head seemed to always be just a hair trigger and a missed casting of Quietus Animus away from melting down, and he was sick and tired of the pain. Or the way he was treated by the Professors, like a fragile doll.
The fact that McGonagall had even decided to cancel his planned detention in light of his condition rankled him more than it rightfully should. Harry wondered idly what would happen should Mrs. Weasley learn of his predicament. She'd probably smother him, literally, and he wasn't looking forward to his next visit to the Burrow.
He was his own man, wasn't he?
Well, that was of course a lie. Nothing he owned was really his, not in the same way it was for his peers. And his life? What measure of control did he really have, bound to a terrible fate by that blasted prophecy he learned about last year?
And then there was Hermione, and his growing obsession with her.
There really was no other way to describe it.
It was getting worse, too.
Not only was he sniffing after her like a total creep, but he had begun to fantasize about her as well. He'd done so before, occasionally, only to bury those thoughts shamefully because she was his best friend alongside Ron, and one just didn't think like that about friends.
But no matter where he went inside his mind, she was… everywhere.
Harry wasn't stupid, he knew she was gorgeous in her own way, and that they all were teenagers and how hormones could mess with them — well, him — now. Yet it felt much more intense than any dreams he'd ever had about Cho, or about Ginny. He'd never dreamed about licking their skin or bending them over the next table.
It made talking to Hermione really awkward, especially since she appeared to make an effort to accommodate him and be more open to his outlook on things. He was glad for the change because the past few months the trio's dynamic hadn't been all that pleasant, if he was honest.
His reflection was stopped by his arrival at the Charms classroom, behind all the others.
Harry steeled himself as he entered, trying not to look anywhere in particular and breathe more through his mouth than his nose, at least for a minute or so.
"Hey, mate." Ron perked up and leaned away from Lavender, who glared at Harry for interrupting. He couldn't care less, though.
"Ron, Hermione, good to see you." As he sat down, Harry noticed all the imperfections on the surface of his table, and how it was ever so slightly wobbly. He took a deep breath to tune out the sensation — only to smell Hermione, who was to his other side.
Great, just great.
"How's your head?" she asked him with a low voice, apparently reading him like an open book.
"Same as before," he mumbled. He needed a distraction, and fast. "Oh, by the way, Ron, thanks for the Honeydukes package." He opened his bag, where he'd put the remains of Ron's care package before leaving the Hospital Wing. "Much appreciated."
"No worries, but are you sure you're all right?" The redhead peered into Harry's bag. "You've barely touched anything."
"I did, but the chocolate was just too sweet to eat all of it. Did they change the recipe or something?"
He noticed that Hermione was observing him closely.
"Nah, they didn't, and I hope they never will." Ron shrugged. "It's just the best."
Harry hmm'ed and tried to not grimace. He'd known that his sense of taste was out of control as well, although not as much as his eyes or his nose. Still, he'd harbored a tiny bit of hope that it wasn't him but the chocolate being different.
That one bite he'd managed had almost knocked him out.
When Professor Flitwick entered the classroom, he was glad for the distraction.
Hopefully, he was still able to perform magic as before — other than the Quietus Animus, he hadn't cast anything in like a week.
~.~.~.o.~.~.~
"So you're telling me you have no idea what's up with… your head?" Ron appeared unconvinced.
Harry shook his head as he grabbed a jug of pumpkin juice, sniffed at it, and decided on a glass of water instead. "Not really. It all began when McLaggen hit me, but I have no idea what's going on."
"Other than that." Ron nodded at him. "What's with you sniffing at everything? Or everyone? Don't think I haven't noticed."
He swallowed hard. He really needed to work on his poker face. Fighting a blush, he lowered his head. "It's nothing. Everything is just so overwhelming."
"You're hypersensitive to smells and sounds, right?" Hermione's voice betrayed her worry. "What about your other senses, Harry?"
He glanced at her, forcing himself to not stare and to not lose himself in her appearance because he'd never live down the shame. Eventually, he nodded. "All of them," he whispered.
"What?" Ron's eyes grew large. "All senses?"
"Could you try to be quiet, you absolute muppet?" Hermione glared at the redhead. "It's not like everyone needs to know, and Harry sits right beside you."
Ron looked around at the Gryffindor table and noticed the attention the trio was receiving. "Sorry."
Harry didn't intervene, although he was welcome for her defense.
"That must be unnerving," Hermione said. "I can't even imagine what that would be like."
"Headache-inducing," he quipped.
She smiled tiredly. "Is that why you did so well in Charms?"
"Yeah, mate, what was that? I've never seen someone react so fast, Flitwick is just too quick im a duel."
Harry shrugged, feeling uncomfortable sharing in this public space how he'd felt the magic brush against his skin, or how it'd built in his wand when casting spells, or in Professor Flitwick's wand. It wasn't as precise as his other senses, but it was… something.
Which made for yet another distraction he had to try and suppress most of the time because they were in bloody Hogwarts.
"I think my hand-eye coordination is just very good right now? I didn't plan to ace Charms today, but considering how my week has been so far, I'll take it."
"Man, you get all the cool stuff," Ron grunted, glanced at them sideways, and shook his head. "Didn't mean it like that, no need to glare, Hermione. But still, Harry… that sounds bloody brilliant."
"Hermione probably thinks I'm cheating again," Harry said lightly, hoping he didn't overstep the renewed bond between him and her.
She puckered her lips. "I'm still on the fence about that."
"Okay? Is that good, or bad?"
She shrugged, but there was a tiny smile playing around her lips.
Her eyes were still on him, and Harry fought hard to keep his reaction to her mouth in check. One thing he couldn't help but notice though was that her heartbeat had slowed down during the past twenty or so seconds and was now in sync with his own.
The reverberation was both comforting and a bit strange.
He tried to distract himself by looking down the Gryffindor table. He saw Ginny and Dean sitting side by side, their heads close together as his roommate whispered to her. Strangely, it didn't irritate him at all — no chest monsters or anything. Harry knew he'd be able to listen in, but didn't want it, so he turned his gaze away, toward the Slytherin table.
His eyes met Malfoy, who was staring at him.
Strange how he hadn't noticed that before.
Harry returned the stare, unbothered by the Slytherin's hateful mask. Malfoy's appearance was almost gaunt. He could see the rings under the boy's eyes, and that he'd lost weight. If he didn't know better, Harry would've said that Malfoy looked like someone under a great deal of stress.
But why? Normally, it seemed there was little that could faze the Slytherin, Harry's remarks aside.
It probably had something to do with whatever Malfoy was cooking up in the Room of Requirement. It had to, it was the only thing that made sense, considering the number of times he'd snuck up there.
Harry felt a primal satisfaction when Malfoy broke eye contact and looked elsewhere.
It was stupid, but he couldn't help but draw some level of comfort from being more intimidating. He remembered McLaggen's flinch from two days ago. Normally, even during a confrontation, people tended to laugh in his face.
Something about his demeanor must've changed.
Harry decided that this was one thing about this whole sensory overload fiasco he wasn't worried about. Feeling slightly badass was… good. Because there was plenty of stuff left to worry about.
"There's something different about Malfoy, isn't it?" Hermione's voice was low, but Harry still jumped in his seat as his senses returned to his immediate vicinity.
"Err… sorry, what?"
He looked at her and immediately felt the draw of her bright brown eyes. There were tiny golden flecks in her irises, and rings of green around her pupils.
He really was in trouble.
"I said, there's something about Malfoy," she repeated. "I think you were right. He looks… almost haunted, doesn't he? What's he up to, I wonder?"
Not believing his ears, Harry just stared at her. "What?"
Ron groaned. "Not this again! I'm surrounded by lunatics. Stop it. Who cares what that stupid git is doing or not doing?"
Hermione broke eye contact with Harry and furrowed her brows at Ron. "You can't just ignore things when they're inconvenient. I know I didn't believe Harry before, but I told you that I checked with the map and Malfoy really was gone."
"You did what?" Harry didn't know if he was upset about her borrowing the Marauder's Map or not, but compared to her complete disinterest in his theories earlier this year, it seemed very… strange to receive this level of support.
Now it was her turn to almost blush. "I may have borrowed the map when you were in the Hospital Wing," she admitted. "The first time, I mean."
Harry let that sink in. "So?"
"As I said, I believe that you're on to something. I have a strange feeling about him staring at you like that, and that he's missing so often."
He couldn't help but give Ron a shit-eating grin. "See? I'm not crazy."
"Bloody hell, of course you are! And it's infectious, too!"
"Language, Ron."
The redhead looked away, muttering under his breath.
Harry looked between his friends. "Thanks," he mumbled to Hermione.
She nodded, but her eyes were focused on Malfoy. "You're welcome."
He noticed how she was absently biting her lower lip and how that drew him in like a moth to the flame. It was hopeless, really. Her heartbeat was still in sync with his, which was impossible and very distracting now that he noticed it again. With clenched fists, Harry tried hard to focus on lunch.
He would lose his mind, eventually.
No doubt.
~.~.~.o.~.~.~
For the first time in living memory, Hermione Granger didn't take notes in History of Magic.
Not that anyone noticed or cared, because she'd often been the only person to do so, at least in detail. Even the most studious Ravenclaws in class were only making cursory notes, if any, since revising Binns' so-called lessons afterward was mandatory anyway.
Yet Hermione felt like a cheat for not following along. She couldn't help herself, though.
She was making a study of Harry.
It was all she could think about, which was annoying, to say the least, and she'd reasoned with herself that this class of all classes was her only chance of doing some actual Harry-studying during the day — no matter the intensity of all the confusing emotions and intuitions she had to struggle with lately, she'd never ever do this in Transfiguration, or Charms.
Harry… was different from before his Quidditch accident. Way different.
It wasn't just the obvious stuff, such as his tendency for headaches, or full-blown migraines. Hermione suspected that nobody else had tried to think about what living with enhanced senses like that actually meant. None of the Professors at least, who had to be in the known, because that now almost legendary cancellation of Harry's detention with Professor McGonagall aside, no one made the slightest accommodation for him.
He probably found the droning monologue of their History Professor strangely comforting, compared to the avalanche of smells and scents in Potions, where he'd really struggled lately despite his blasted book. Not that Slughorn's simpering commentary had helped with that.
Right now, she watched Harry run his fingers back and forth across his table in small, repeating motions as he stared off into space. Occasionally he would stop, blink a few like a person regaining full consciousness, adjust his seating, and then continue.
A hypocritical part of her wanted to admonish him for not listening to Binns, but Hermione had little trouble pushing it aside.
She also knew, somehow, that Harry was very much aware of her observing him.
She'd seen his eyes glance toward her once or twice, unerringly finding hers every time. He hadn't acknowledged her though and quickly looked away. She had almost been able to taste the nervousness coming off of Harry in those moments, mirroring her own emotional state. It had taken her a full minute to find actual words to note this down.
Her list was growing steadily.
She didn't actually know what to do with it yet other than use it to find books and material on Harry's condition. But it gave Hermione a measure of control that she felt was sorely lacking ever since she'd run to the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night.
It wasn't as bad for her as it was for Harry, but Hermione was growing so tired of her emotional turmoil that she had to try very hard to bottle up.
"Are you making notes about… me?"
She looked up and saw Harry glancing between her and the parchment she was writing on over the top of his glasses. She bit her lip, trying to decide on an answer, but then just nodded. "Yes."
Harry's eyes focused on the parchment again. Hermione realized that he was actually reading her notes from his table, and fought the urge to cover them up with her hand.
"You are… thorough," he whispered.
"I need to make sense of all this." She tried to give him a reassuring smile. "I think you need some help with whatever this is, Harry."
He looked at her again, breathing in deeply. "Okay."
"I won't show this to anyone, I promise."
"I believe you." Now it was his turn to smile, and it helped ease her anxiety a bit. Harry had rarely smiled during the past week or so, not that she could blame him. Another tiny part of her was actually proud that he was taking all of this so seriously — not that he had a choice, really — instead of goofing around as usual.
That thought brought Ron to mind, and Hermione tried hard to stop her line of thinking from going there.
Whatever strange thing was between him and her, she could not deal with it right now. Not until she'd made a bit more sense of Harry's predicament and her own. And not before Won-Won was resolved. Glancing to her different side and expecting him to be asleep, Hermione flinched slightly as she found Ron leaning on his elbows and eyeing her critically.
He glanced toward Harry, then her again, shifted, and then stared ahead at Binns.
But she'd seen the frown on his face and knew trouble was brewing.
They would have to have a real talk soon, it seemed.
She sighed.
~.~.~.o.~.~.~
Harry had smelled lemon drops before he'd rounded the corner of the Grand Staircase's base and suspected what was coming. He squared his shoulders as he walked toward the Great Hall and saw the Headmaster talking to a Slytherin prefect.
As he approached, Dumbledore dismissed the student and turned to him. "Good morning, Harry. What a wonderful coincidence, as I wanted to speak with you today. Do you have a moment?"
Hoping that it wouldn't end with him having to be checked out in the Hospital Wing again, he nodded. "Of course."
"Splendid." Dumbledore looked him up and down. "I see that you've applied the Charm again. Is your increased sensibility still ongoing?"
"Yes." Harry felt exposed and vulnerable. How had the Headmaster seen that so easily? Was he wearing a warning sign on his head? He fought the impulse to look the older man in the eyes, knowing he'd run the risk of zoning out.
"I see. Well, that is unfortunate and you have my sympathies, Harry. Is there any way I can help?"
"Did Healer Mallow find out anything after he returned to St. Mungo's?"
"Not as far as I'm aware, but I can contact him later," Dumbledore offered, and Harry nodded approvingly. From what Mallow had told him, his condition didn't have an official name or anything and was apparently a complete mystery.
"Good. I hope being able to read other student's homework from across the room isn't too much of a temptation?" There was a twinkle in the older man's eyes, but Harry fought a blush because of course he'd done that — a bit at least.
He felt as if he was standing in a bright spotlight. "I… "
"Don't mind me, Harry, it was just an idle thought." Dumbledore stopped for a moment as a group of students passed them by on their way to breakfast. "Now, are you feeling well enough to continue our 'lessons'? There is still much I want to show you."
Lord Voldemort hadn't played a prominent role in Harry's thoughts as of late, but he knew that despite his lack of enthusiasm, he should take up Dumbledore's offer, now that he was finally getting some answers. It just felt though as if, right now, he wanted to ask the Headmaster a very different series of questions.
Yet his gut was telling him not to, and he was inclined to listen.
"I would like that," he answered neutrally. "When?"
Dumbledore seemed to relax slightly. "Can you see me next Tuesday, at 8 p.m. as usual? I will talk to Professor McGonagall to excuse you for the evening."
"Yes, of course."
"I'm looking forward to it." The older man nodded.
He looked around when another wave of early risers passed them by. "Was there anything else, Headmaster? I… I need to talk to my friends."
"No, please, don't let me stop you." Dumbledore nodded. "Stay safe, Harry."
"Yes, Headmaster."
Harry didn't need to look back as he entered the Great Hall to know that Dumbledore had vanished from his spot as soon as he'd turned. Something about their conversation felt… off.
Maybe the next lesson would bring more clarity.
~.~.~.o.~.~.~
"Harry, what's up? Is the Prophet going at you again for some reason?"
He put the paper down. "No, thankfully not. It's just… the weirdest thing."
"What?" Neville leaned closer to have a look himself. "That break-in?"
"Hm."
Hermione looked up from her homework. "What is it, Harry?"
"There was a break-in in St. Mungo's, yesterday. Someone vandalized a few offices and took several files before leaving without a trace. And one of the healers is missing."
"Oh." She held his gaze, which he tried his level best to not get distracted by. "What does that have to do with you or us?"
After making sure they weren't overheard in the Common Room, Harry leaned closer. "Bryce Mallow, the missing healer, was the one who examined me."
She blanched, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was thinking.
"Do you suspect it has something to do with you?" Neville asked.
Harry nodded. "It's just too much of a coincidence, isn't it? I mean, Mallow couldn't help me, really, since whatever is wrong with me apparently is a unique case. But Dumbledore told me the other day that they'd begun to look into my case at St. Mungo's."
"But who would've known?"
Hermione sighed. "Plenty of people could've seen Mister Mallow enter the Hospital Wing with the Headmaster that day. It would be easy to track him down after that."
"When you put it like that… " Neville leaned back. "Do you think Malfoy or one of the Slytherins told their parents?"
"I bet." Hermione exchanged another look with Harry. "Everyone has been talking about what happened during that blasted Quidditch match, and after. There's a lot of speculation, even though nobody really knows the truth right now."
"Or so we hope", Harry added. Hearing Hermione talk about truth made him conscious about the fact that he was still hiding a lot from his friends, and it didn't feel great.
Despite his obvious curiosity, Neville didn't ask for them to elaborate, which he was really glad for.
They continued reading or staring off into space.
Harry tried to calm his sense of vulnerability and impending doom by listening to Hermione's heartbeat, which was in sync with his again. He knew he would also have to bring that up eventually, but not this evening.
~.~.~.o.~.~.~
After consulting with Professor McGonagall and Madame Hooch, it'd been decided that Harry would return to Quidditch practice on Friday. He was looking forward to it, despite his worries that the yelling and sometimes violent motions would overwhelm him — the prospect of flying was just too promising to let it pass, though.
McLaggen hadn't brought up Harry's attack on him, or anything Quidditch-related, which in itself was a small wonder but another thing Harry worried about.
There was no way that the git would let go of that incident so easily.
At least Ron was in high spirits to have him back and even stopped feeling so inadequate, at least when talking about Quidditch in the Common Room.
Harry smiled as he half-listened to Ron prattle on about a new strategy to try out as they were walking down from the seventh floor. Jimmy, Richie, and Dean seemed really interested, though, and asked a lot of questions. Behind them, Ginny and Demelza were giggling about something, he'd overheard the words 'stud' and 'fit' and not bothered to listen in more closely.
Which left him in the back, with Hermione, who'd announced she'd accompany them and watch the training for a bit.
Ron had needled her about that for a bit, but, surprisingly, a few acerbic Won-Won comments had seen him shut up. Harry had noticed that his friend had given him a dark look afterward as if he was to blame for Hermione's assertiveness.
Right now, he was just glad that things seemed to smooth out at the start of the weekend.
"Harry, I've been to the Library and made a list of books we should look at," Hermione said beside him. "No matter what that missing healer said, I believe you're not the first one to suffer from this condition."
"That's great, thank you." He really was glad to have her on his side, both regarding Malfoy and his strange condition.
Being so close to her, he could actually hear blood rushing into her cheeks as she slightly blushed. This, in turn, caused her warm skin to emit more of her unique scent, and he felt slightly woozy. Harry tried hard to look ahead to his friends and not stumble over his own feet.
"I thought we could begin tomorrow?" she asked. "Unless you have other plans."
"No, I don't, other than enjoying a bit of quiet if possible. And the Library sounds like a good place for that."
As she smiled, he could hear a tiny crack as her lips opened and parted.
Merlin, he was in so much trouble.
That nice, warm feeling in his chest was interrupted by a sudden spike of adrenaline, though, and he stopped mid-stop.
Something was wrong…
… there was danger.
He tried to make sense of what his senses told him, noticing that Hermione had stopped also. "Harry?"
He listened to her voice, to the voices of the others as they slowly walked away, and tried to isolate that one thing that didn't belong. He didn't know what it was though — a scent, a sound, or a sight?
"Harry? What's going on? Did you hear something?"
Hermione put a hand on his arm, and suddenly everything fell into place.
Thousands of impressions fell away from Harry's mind and slotted themselves back into the general background, leaving only one thing — a heartbeat that didn't belong. No, two heartbeats!
They were coming from somewhere between him and Hermione and the rest of the Quidditch team. Whoever they were, they must've Disillusioned themselves, and done so very well because Harry was sure he was able to detect an ordinary casting of that Charm by now.
Or maybe not.
Then, he heard a familiar sound of wands being drawn.
Magic was stirring, somewhere in front of him.
It was all happening so fast.
"Watch out!" Harry yelled as he raised his own wand, only half aware of what he was doing as he stepped in front of Hermione. "Expelliarmus!"
Someone gasped and there was a sound of a body being jammed against the wall, but a wand appeared out of nowhere to land in Harry's outstretched hand.
But before he could do anything else, the second ambusher reacted. "Finite Incantatem!"
Harry felt the spell hit his chest…
… and the whole world dissolved into screeching noises, blinding colors, and overwhelming scents. He gasped for air as he felt his legs buckle underneath him. It was too much, way too much at all, to experience the world without Quietus Animus so suddenly.
He'd made a grave mistake, relying solely on that Charm.
As he began screaming, Harry noticed that someone else was casting spells. Then, his entire mind was drowned in waves of agony, and he writhed on the floor, hoping for the mercy of unconsciousness. His muscles spasmed, and he tasted blood in his mouth because he'd bitten his own tongue.
This time, though, there was no darkness to take him away.
Instead, there was a hand on his cheek.
His skin burned as if the very air was a blanket of thorns raked over his body — yet the gentle hand soothed him. Warmed him, cooled him, nurtured him. It was an anchor, one that Harry wasn't afraid to hold onto with what little power was left in him.
A sweet caramel scent washed over him, and then there was a voice.
Harry noticed that the voice had been there the entire time, he'd just been unable to hear it.
To hear her.
"Tell me what to do, Harry, please. What can I do to make it stop hurting?" Hermione begged him in a hoarse whisper as she caressed his cheek. "Please, help me help you."
He tried to move his mouth, which felt as if he was chewing glass. All he managed was a mumbling gurgle, which made him cough.
Pain spread everywhere, yet Hermione's hand made it bearable.
"Harry, what did you say?"
He tried to swallow. "Don't stop," he whispered.
When the hallway dissolved into chaos as yet more people and voices arrived and Professors ordered students around, Harry pressed his head into her touch, unwilling and possibly even unable to let go.
Her… guidance was all that held him together now.
