Summary:After his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, Harry woke to a disturbing reality. The wizarding world only saw him as an expendable pawn, his carefree attitude towards studying left him struggling to survive, and he had never truly appreciated the one, constant companion at his side—Hermione Granger. It was high time for change. Gradual Grey!HHR.
Illustrations for each chapter by Arishatistic.
Chapter 1Notes:This will be a canon rewrite from Fourth Year and onwards. At the core of it, this fic will be about Harry finding answers for himself, building a home, and finding a family. There will also be a large emphasis on Harry's strengthening level of trust and bond with Hermione, his understanding and communication with Sirius in a child/parent dynamic, and his growing friendship with Dobby.
As sappy as it sounds, I just want Harry to find his own, simple happiness. There will be a lot of rough bumps along the way, but he'll get there eventually.
Warning: The majority of the Fourth Year arc will be focused on realizations, preparations, and strengthening relationships for Harry; however, by the end of fourth year things will take a more...grim turn. Grey!HHR does not mean that they'll go around on mass murdering sprees, but they are going to look out for themselves and respond to threats accordingly, characters will be called out for their actions, and trust will have to be earned.
Note: The cover art is made by arishatistic. We're going to be working together to create illustrations throughout this story—more on that at the end of the chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 1
It was getting late and almost all the students had already retired to bed. Harry fought to keep his eyes open as he flipped through the pages of yet another book on magical contracts. Underneath all his anger and frustration at being thrust into the Tournament, he felt a weary resignation that came from the knowledge that nothing would change. Nothing ever did. It wasn't like anyone had believed him anyway when he said he didn't put his name in—well, besides Hermione, of course. Somehow that was never in doubt.
He was suddenly filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire in the common room setting a pale glow on his face. That's right. Hermione was the one who believed in him even when Ron had cast his words aside. She was the one who dragged him by the ear to the library and forced him to try to find a way out of this nightmare; the one who, for the past few days, had dealt with all his moping with a firm shove forward. She was also the one currently sitting by his side when she could be upstairs in bed and far, far away from the headache Harry called his life. But she was here. By his side. Just like—
Plop. Her head landed on his shoulder and he could feel her breath on his neck. "Hermione?" No response. Harry smiled warmly but his smile disappeared once he considered just how tired she must have been to fall asleep without warning. Have I ever thanked her? Have I ever told her what she means to me? He racked his brain but couldn't find a satisfactory moment where he had expressed to her just how important she was to him. I'll tell her when she wakes up, he promised himself. In…in the morning. I'll tell her: thank you.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax. They were side by side, in that moment. Together. Just like always.
Harry didn't want to wake up. His dreams were full of bright colours of orange and yellow passing by like a mirage as little snippets of memories ran in front of him: Hermione's worried face as she watched him leave with his aunt and uncle for the summer. Snip. Hermione's overly enthusiastic, bone crushing hugs whenever they first saw each other in September that had almost become a ritual at this point. Snip. Hermione glaring at him to focus on schoolwork, but easily becoming distracted with one of those pesky, life threatening mysteries that came for him every year—the bright gleam in her eye when she made a revelation. Snip. Hermione holding back the tears in her eyes and stubbornly insisting that turning in the firebolt had been for his own good even as he angrily turned away from her.
Snip. Hermione meeting him with toast and taking a walk with him outside, saying "Well, of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself. The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name!" Snip. Hermione embracing him fiercely for what felt like the first time he had ever been held so closely and telling him what a great wizard he was: "Books! And cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and —"
And? And what? Her voice drifted and try as he might he couldn't hear what the last word was. All he could hear were mumbles. Harry. Harry. Harry. Someone was calling out to him but he didn't want to leave just yet. Here, there was nothing to fear. Here, it was warm. Here, he was comforted. Here, he felt loved.
"Harry! For goodness sake!"
The pleasant warmth in his dreams vanished as he opened his eyes only to be greeted by a frustrated Hermione, leaning close to his face and shrilly informing him that it was already morning and "If you don't hurry up, we're going to miss breakfast!"
Harry wisely chose to obey her orders with haste and freshen up in time to meet her in the Great Hall, but perhaps because of the strange dream the night before, he subconsciously avoided meeting her eyes. Hermione said nothing until one instance where he looked up from his goblet of pumpkin juice and caught her staring at him with a look of such concentration that he nearly choked and spurted the liquid out of his nose.
"Harry," she asked slowly in that careful, caring voice she reserved solely for him when he was in one of his so-called moods. "Is everything all right? You've been acting rather off this morning ever since we woke up."
Something about the way she said we had him freezing in his spot on the bench.
"Well, it's—it's nothing—not a big deal—really!" He managed to stutter out and mentally kicked himself for acting like a nervous buffoon. Hermione, for once my dreams weren't empty, showing me dying during the Tournament, or tainted with visions of Voldemort and I think I have you to thank for that. Oh, and speaking of thanks, I realized just yesterday what a giant prat I've been to take everything you do for me for granted and worse yet, never tell you how much you mean to me. For caring about me and not just the Boy Who Lived—
No, that was better suited to stay in his head. He couldn't have Hermione abandoning him too once she realized what an emotional wreck he was. As soon as he had that thought, he felt guilty for even considering it, but the fear from years of stifling his emotions with the Dursleys had him swallowing back the words of confession.
"It's just I feel guilty, that's all," he mumbled, deciding to go with the truth—just not the whole truth. "Here I am wallowing in my own despair and barely going through the motions to get through this Tournament while you spend day and night trying to solve my problems. Merlin, Hermione, look at those dark circles under your eyes! I can't believe I didn't notice earlier how much of a burden you were taking on because of me. Especially when no one else has even bothered to consider whether I'll survive past the first test. "
"Oh, Harry, that's not—"
"But it is!" He was speaking louder now, anger driving him forwards to finally let out the words in his heart. Anger at everyone who had formed their own opinions of him without ever giving him a chance, anger at everyone who stared at him with those cold, judgemental eyes, anger at himself for barely acknowledging the one person who hadn't.
He stood up from the bench, no longer feeling hungry. People from different tables were glancing over at him and whispering and out of the corner of his eye he saw Ron's sullen face with a frown directed his way. Harry let out a bitter laugh.
"None of you even consider that I never wanted to be the Boy Who Lived, you act like it's a badge I'm proud to wear and you use it to condemn me as a liar and an attention seeker. I never wanted to enter this bloody tournament either, but you're all so far up your delusions, you'll never believe that. I could die tomorrow, and you would simper and say that I brought it upon myself. And some of you…some of you I was stupid enough to call my friends."
He looked at Hermione who had also stood up and was staring at him anxiously. "Too bad, I only realized recently: I only have one of those."
Without waiting for a response, he gathered his bag and made to stride out of the Great Hall. On his way past the high table, he caught sight of the professors murmuring amongst themselves and sending disapproving looks his way. McGonagall's face was stern and her mouth set in a straight line, Sprout stared down at her plate as if unsure of what to do, Snape's mouth curled up in a sneer, and the other professors either averted their eyes or stayed silent when he looked at them.
What was he expecting? That they would jump out in his defense? Make a quick little announcement: "Harry didn't put his name in the Goblet, children! Stop harassing him now!" and what, actually, help him? Why in the world would they do that when they could sit back and watch him face ridicule and pressure from every side? Second year and the parselmouth debacle had been much the same after all.
And then, at the centre of them all, was the headmaster. Dumbledore who had admitted that he suspected someone had a reason for putting his name in, that someone might very well be using the tournament as a chance to attack him. Dumbledore who—as the most powerful wizard alive—could probably find a loophole in the wizarding laws and 'binding' magical contract easily or at least find a way where he could participate without the fear of death hanging over him at every step. Dumbledore who had decided to let events play out without interference and was now looking at him with somber eyes.
Harry couldn't bring himself to say anything; the disappointment felt like a bitter medicine shoved down his throat, threatening to choke him. He forced himself to look into the headmaster's eyes and thought, I don't need your pity.
Not, he thought as he finally exited the hall, when every authority figure in his life was ready to stand by and do nothing.
It felt good to let out his grievances and to erase any expectations of acceptance. After all, if there were no expectations, there would be no disappointment—he was free. Once he reached outside and his anger had simmered down, however, he began berating himself again from steering so off course from his original intention. How had he gone from wanting to thank Hermione to ranting at the entire Hogwarts population?
"Harry!" He heard footsteps behind him and turned around to find an indignant Hermione, panting and out of breath.
"You could have waited for me!" She scolded.
"Sorry," Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just couldn't stand to be there a second longer. "
"Mhm." Hermione hummed noncommittally.
They continued to walk in companionable silence and again Harry was struck with how despite her naturally curious tendencies, Hermione always seemed to know when to draw the line with him and give him the quiet comfort he needed.
He didn't know how much time had passed before she finally spoke up. "Feel better now? We should see about squeezing some time in before our first class and head to the library."
He laughed. "Aren't you going to ask me what happened back there?"
"Is there really a need to, Harry? You're a fourteen-year-old minor being forced to participate in a potentially fatal competition against your will and not only do none of the authorities try fix this idiocy, the general population decides to brand you as an attention seeking prat instead. You're only human. To be honest, I would have broken down long before you."
Harry scoffed. "Hermione, you've come a long way from the girl who ran to the bathroom because of Ron's taunts. I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for."
"Well," she sniffed. "I should hope so! All these years learning spells and gaining confidence so I could wipe the floor with anybody, least of all Ronald Weasley, had better not have been spent in vain."
Hermione didn't bring up the elephant in the room: Ron wasn't exactly on talking terms with either of them now and Harry had no idea when he would come around to see the truth. In fact, Harry was coming to doubt if he even wanted him to.
"Speaking of Ron," Harry stopped and spoke seriously. "I wasn't just being overdramatic back there. I don't think I can really consider anyone in that hall a real friend."
"Oh, Harry, no, don't say that—"
He held up a hand. "This isn't just me being bitter and taking it out on others unreasonably. You know, I haven't had the best of childhoods and I didn't exactly have a lot of friends at school. I could see early on who cared or was just pretending to care. Maybe I was so desperate for a new start at Hogwarts that I ignored the same signs here." The words just seemed to tumble out of his mouth. Why am I telling her this? He asked himself. Why ever should you not? A voice in his head responded.
She'll think I'm pathetic. Everyone would.
The voice denied him: Not Hermione. Never her.
Harry decided to trust it.
"I was willing to ignore it, I was willing to hold on to the hope that I'd do so well in the first task that everyone would welcome me back with open arms. But then I realized something last night: I don't need them by my side to be happy. Why should I care so much about people who care so little for me? I just need my real friends by my side."
He had barely begun his last sentence ("I just need you.") when he was confronted with an armful of Hermione and his mouth was muffled by her bushy hair. "Mhmph! Hermione!"
She didn't let go of him and squeezed him even tighter. "Be quiet! I am hugging my best friend in the world, and there is nothing you can do about it, Harry James Potter!"
Well, who was he to argue with that? For the second time in less than a day, Harry allowed himself to relax and surround himself with Hermione's warmth. He allowed himself to pretend everything was fine and he was safe.
It wasn't until they had reached the library and his eyelids were drooping from finishing another dry old tome about ancient loopholes in wizarding laws, that he realized he had forgotten to tell her "thank you."
After chickening out four times in a row and finding that it was just too damn awkward to randomly give a sincere thank you to your best friend after three years of taking her for granted, Harry decided he needed a different plan.
Actions spoke louder than words anyway, didn't they?
He started with little things: replacing a quill with a better quality one when she wasn't looking, taking up Hermione's usual role and bringing her toast while they walked outside in the mornings, not rolling his eyes at her obsessive lists ("How to Get Harry to Survive: Part 6," "Top 30 Methods and Spells Used by Previous Champions," "Best Ways to Treat an Injury During Life Threatening Moments," "Potential Offensive Spells to Use: Legal Version," "Potential Offensive Spells to Learn, but Hopefully NOT Use: Restricted Version") and instead rolling up his sleeves and putting his head together with hers to go over them seriously.
"—and if we manage to squeeze in one extra hour or two of practice every day, we could cross out more than half of the defensive spells on the "Fundamental Defense" list."
"Actually, Hermione… I think it's better to divide that time for sixty percent offense and forty percent defense. I know that you're focusing on keeping me alive here rather than aggressively winning, but sometimes the best defense is a good offensive front." He frowned. "And since we're on the subject, what category would evasion tactics and illusionary charms fall under?"
For a few seconds, she simply blinked at him with owlish eyes. He cleared his throat.
"Oh!" Hermione blushed awkwardly. "I was just surprised you were actually listening to me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "I listen to you all the time."
"Yes— but—I mean…" She wrung her hands a little anxiously. "You don't really. You and Ron would always just sit there and nod to my plans, but eventually space out and make an excuse to leave. I don't really mind! I know you trust me and I'm happy about that. Just, I suppose I'm used to doing all the talking when it comes to these things. It threw me a little off guard, that's all."
"So what?" Harry squared his shoulders defensively. "You'd rather I keep my trap shut?"
"What? Oh! Of course not!" She looked scandalized. "Do you know how tiring it gets talking to yourself? Two heads are always better than one and Harry—you have some really good ideas!"
"Not pulling my leg, are you?" Harry's shoulders relaxed, but he maintained a neutral expression. "I know you think I'm not as smart as you are."
"Well!" Hermione spluttered. "I certainly don't recall ever saying anything like that. I may read a lot and I may know more facts than you, but you have a sharpness of mind, Harry, that I think is truly unique. I think that if you applied yourself a little harder, you could see some amazing res—oh, very funny!"
She broke off and crossed her arms as Harry burst into laughter. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Hermione."
"I was being serious!"
"And so am I," Harry sobered. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone so often and making you feel like you had to do all this work by yourself. Especially now, when all that effort is for me. My own life is at stake; if I don't take things seriously now, when would I ever?"
His bushy haired friend signed in relief. "Thank goodness you've realized that. There really is only so much I can do for you, Harry. I try my best, but I'm worried it won't be enough!"
"Hey, what was that you said about two heads being better than one?" Harry pulled out a book from his bag and handed it to her. "We're a team now, you and me."
Hermione stared slack jawed at the cover of the book. "Where did you get this? Even Flitwick only has one limited edition copy and he won't even let students peek at it!"
He shrugged, not wanting to tell her the truth: that she had mentioned wanting this Charms Guide before the OWLs next year so many times that Harry had memorized the name and— in his quest of 'Properly Thanking Hermione'— decided to test if sending a letter to the author with the Harry Potter name would have any effect. (The owl carrying a lumpy package two days later made it clear that it did.)
"You mentioned a few days ago, didn't you?" He coughed. "That it was 'essential to expand my arsenal of simple, but powerful charms.' If I'm going to commit myself to learning, I might as well learn from the best."
Hermione squealed and was promptly glared at by Madam Pince. "Oh, Harry." She leaned in and whispered to him excitedly. "I know I shouldn't be saying this considering the situation, but this will be so much fun."
"Yeah." Harry watched her smile widen and felt a burst of happiness. I caused that.
"It will be."
Chapter 2
By the time Harry learned that the first task was dragons, he and Hermione had already progressed quite nicely through the lists and he was gaining growing confidence that he could maybe actually make it through the Tournament alive and with all his limbs intact. It was surprising at first to realize how much he liked learning magic. Hadn't that always been the case? Hadn't he always been fascinated by what his uncle termed 'his freakiness,' wondering what made him so different even at a young age? Hadn't he secretly enjoyed studying in the muggle schools, priding himself on getting better marks than Dudley even when he knew he would suffer for it? Hadn't he stayed up all night before his first trip to Hogwarts, ravenously swallowing any information he could? What had changed?
Perhaps the harshly taught lessons from childhood had been ingrained into his mind more deeply than he had thought. (Hide. Don't attract any more attention than necessary. There's no need to try your best if you just get hurt.)
Perhaps upon coming to Hogwarts, finding a safe home, and settling into an easy companionship with Ron…he had subconsciously not wanted to risk anything or try any harder than he had to. Normal was good.
Normal was safe.
As if! Harry cursed his past self. He was already the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, there was never a chance for him to be normal. Maybe if he had focused more on studying and arming himself up after first year with Quirrell, or the basilisk, or even after learning a convict was after him—granted it was Sirius, but still!—he wouldn't be so numb and terrified at the prospect of facing dragons. Dragons. Studying with Hermione had made him realize just how much he didn't know; just how vulnerable he really was in the grand scheme of things. No matter how much he crammed and practiced, a month wouldn't put him on par with a seventh year, and even they would find it difficult to survive against a dragon.
"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid." Harry slumped against the sofa and put his face in his hands.
"Who is?" At some point, Hermione had entered the common room and sat next to him.
He peered at her through his fingers and mumbled. "Me, that's who."
"What?" Hermione glared at him. "Haven't we gone over this before? You're catching on to all of these spells faster than even I am!"
"It's not going to be enough!" He exclaimed and then lowered his voice. "The first task…the first task is dragons."
He watched as the teasing expression vanished and her face turned a ghostly white; he had never seen her look so terrified. Wordlessly, she grabbed his arm and dragged him out the common room until they were outside the castle and in a secluded spot.
"Tell me everything."
And so he did. Slowly, the colour returned to her face and by the time he had finished, there was a look of steely determination in her eyes.
"Harry, listen to me." She took his hand and squeezed it tightly. "You are going to get through this. We will make sure of that."
He opened his mouth to protest, but the slight trembling of her hand on his changed his mind, and he just sighed instead. She was just as scared as he was, but she was trying her best to hide it for his sake.
"What am I going to do?"
"We'll figure it out." She raised her chin and said firmly. "Remember that you are the boy who faced Voldemort, a basilisk, a horde of dementors—and come out the winner each time. I believe in you, Harry, even if you don't. You can do this. You will survive. I promise you that."
Later, when Harry found himself dodging walls of flame on his broom, it was Hermione's words that echoed through his mind and kept him from becoming paralyzed with fear.
I promise you.
Harry swerved and narrowly missed the spiky tail headed towards his head.
I believe in you, Harry.
Sweat trickled down his brow and he felt so tired, so exhausted, as if he could slip off his broom any moment. But—he gripped his broom tighter—he couldn't fail now, not when he had to prove that her belief in him was right.
You can do this. You will survive.
He raced back to the arena, his sight on the golden egg. He could. He would.
Hermione believed he could win this; now, he only had to believe in himself.
After succeeding in the first task, Harry felt like he was walking on air and everything seemed too good to be true. Everyone wanted to shake his hand or ruffle his hair, screaming his name, and trying to throw him in the air. At one point, Ron came forward and mumbled something ("I reckon someone wants to do you in, mate!"), but Harry was too concentrated on finding Hermione to do anything but absentmindedly nod and hurriedly escape from the noise and celebration.
He found her in one of the empty classrooms they had converted into their practice room, mumbling a spell under her breath that caused brightly coloured sparks to emit from her wand in the form of letters. Harry watched with fond amusement as she painstakingly tried to get them to form the words 'Congratulations, Harry!'
"I think they're fine just the way they are," He leaned against the door and remarked as nonchalantly as he could, pushing down the slight tingle in his chest at the sight.
"Harry!" She jumped, startled. "What are you doing here and not at the celebration?"
"What would I want to do there without you?"
"Well, I just thought I'd give you and Ron a chance to make up without me there interfering." She frowned. "He has apologized, hasn't he?"
He scratched his head and avoided her gaze. "I think he did? Dunno. Wasn't really paying much attention."
She gave him such a stern look that he felt the need to defend himself.
"It just feels so hollow, you know? No one could be bothered to help me before the task. Sure, the Gryffindors were happy that I represented them but it's not like anyone came to my defense while everyone scorned me as a liar and a cheat. Ron literally had weeks to realize that he was wrong and apologize. Why is he talking to me now, only once I'm the golden boy again?" He sighed. "That's not why I left though."
At her look of confusion, he explained: "None of them were there, Hermione. They don't know what I went through to get out of the first task alive. You're the only one who does. This isn't just my victory, it's ours." He smiled. "And I think we deserve a celebration for ourselves."
"What do you have in mind?"
He pulled her out of the classroom, laughing. "Haven't you ever wondered where Fred and George steal all the food from? You told me to try and contact Dobby about wards, but he was here at Hogwarts this whole time and we sort of ended up talking about something else entirely…"
"C-can you repeat that, professor?"
"I said," Professor McGonagall peered down at him from behind her glasses, "that it is mandatory for the champions to attend the Yule Ball with a partner. You will be expected to lead the dance."
Harry groaned out loud. "I would rather face a dragon again."
McGonagall had no time for his dramatics and shooed him out the classroom. "Really, Potter. Your display at the first task was… impressive to say the least. I'm sure you will have girls lining up to go with you."
"None of which I'd want to spend ten minutes with let alone an entire evening!" He looked at her with pleading eyes. "Couldn't you make an exception—"
"No," she spoke sharply and then gave a disdainful sniff, "Besides, I highly doubt that you will have to look far for a partner."
Before, he could say anything else, McGonagall threw him a thoroughly unimpressed look and closed the classroom door in his face.
Harry grumbled his way down the hallway and was surprised to see Hermione waiting for him around the corner.
"Well?" She raised an eyebrow. "What did she say? Did you ask her for any clues about the egg?"
"The egg?" Harry's mind went blank. Oh. Right. The egg. Opening that blasted thing at the kitchens had been a terrible idea. One of the head house elves had screeched, "If Master Harry Potter does not stop the noise, Harry Potter and bushy friend will be thrown out!" before giving him dirty looks and muttering about 'stinky, coarse fish' the whole evening long.
"Completely forgot about it." He admitted. "In my defense, I was a bit preoccupied with the news that I have to attend the ball no matter what. With a partner. And dance."
"That's it?" Hermione's face was doing an impressive job of mimicking McGonagall's earlier expression. "You looked so pale and scared that I was sure she had told you something terrible about the second task! Honestly, Harry. It's just a dance."
"Maybe to you, it is." Harry replied hotly. "I've never exactly gone to any of these fancy functions before. It's not like the Dursleys ever bothered to take me to any of their family Christmas parties. I don't even know how to dance."
Something in Hermione's face softened and she reached out to take his hand, lightheartedly saying, "Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?"
Harry's days were packed: somehow grinding through his classes, tirelessly working his way through 'How to Get Harry to Survive: Part 8,' hacking away for a clue from the egg, practicing dancing with Hermione in front of an audience of house elves—
"Hermione, I appreciate you teaching me to dance. Really, I do. But why here and why in front of them?"
She pinched his arm and spoke in a low voice. "Because! Don't you feel sad that they'll be making all the preparations for the evening but won't be able to witness even one dance?"
Harry found it a little funny how as soon as Hermione had waltzed into the kitchens and proclaimed, "Harry here needs some help!" half of the elves had abandoned their duties to squeak out unhelpful criticism across the room. Master Harry is too ungraceful. Master Harry must bend his limbs. Master Harry must not disgrace Hogwarts, the finest school of Witchcraft and Wizardry with his clumsy performance!
He tried to be angry but found himself letting out a chuckle as he leaned against Hermione and whispered in her ear, "For house elves, they can be quite arrogant, can't they?"
"Oh! But that's what's so interesting!" Hermione tightened her arms around him in her excitement and Harry subconsciously stiffened. "Everyone considers them such lowly creatures, but they have such a high amount of pride and they have so much knowledge too. I'm almost certain some of them recognized the sounds of the egg too and I'm sure that if they weren't so strict about rules, we could get a few hints out of them—"
"Uh, Hermione." They were standing almost nose to nose now, still holding on to each other and Harry's face had turned a bright red. "Can't breathe. Need space."
"Oh." She was blushing too as she let go of him. "Guess I got a little overexcited."
"No, it's—" He regained his normal breathing—Merlin, why were his palms sweating?—only to turn around and be confronted with the sight of a dozen elves looking at him with expressions that reminded him of Aunt Petunia when she caught wind of a scandal at their neighbour's house.
"Fine." He deadpanned.
Right at that moment, Dobby apparated into the kitchens and Harry grasped his chance.
"Dobby! Please tell me there's somewhere else in the castle we can do whatever we want where," he glanced at the crowd of elves who nonchalantly went back to scrubbing pans, "no one can disturb us."
Dobby's orb-like eyes grew even larger. "Yes, Harry Potter! Dobby has a way! It is known as the Come and Go Room, sir, or—"
Or as Harry and Hermione would come to call it for the rest of their years at Hogwarts: The Room of Requirement.
Harry had been too afraid of asking Dobby about any clues for the egg in case it went against the rules he was bound to at Hogwarts. The Room of Requirement had already been a massive boon, one he felt he could never repay Dobby back for. He was sure that Dobby would never see it that way, but ever since his realization that fateful day in the Common Room with Hermione, Harry had begun a strange obsession with thanking the few people in the world who actually, truly cared about him.
It shouldn't have been surprising then when Dobby had still found a way to give him a hint. "Dobby is sorry he cannot help Harry Potter, but Dobby knows someone who can: the other Hogwarts Champion has found a way—!"
Before he could finish his words, his mouth seemed to be magically clamped shut and he shot an apologetic look at Harry as he apparated away.
Cedric knew how to decipher the golden egg? As he waited for Hermione to stop experimenting with the Room and come out, he thought about how to approach him for help.
Later the next day, when Harry and Hermione were walking outside the castle and spotted Cedric standing near the lake with Cho at his side, the tempting prospect of finally learning something about that blasted egg had Harry abandoning all his plans of subtlety and striding towards them.
"Harry!" Hermione called behind him. "Where are you going?"
"To get my answer!" He replied cheerily and stopped in front of Cedric and Cho. "Hullo. Do you think I could have a moment to speak with you alone? I have something important to ask."
Cedric eyed him warily and Cho's face turned pink. "Harry?" She asked in a timid voice.
"Oh. Hi, Cho." He glanced at her absentmindedly and smiled. Cho was nice and pretty and had wished him good luck for the first task after all. It wouldn't be right to be rude to her in his hurry. "Do you mind if I borrow Cedric for a bit?"
"Oh!" Her eyes widened and if possible, turned even more pink as she quickly walked away, leaving Cedric and Harry alone.
"Sorry about that," Harry said sheepishly. "This was kind of a spur of the moment thing and I realize I have no real right to ask you this, but have you found any clues for the egg?"
Cedric ran a hand through his—Harry somewhat bitterly noticed—perfectly tousled hair. "That's what you want to ask?" When Harry nodded, Cedric smiled. "Well, now I feel a tad guilty. I was going to tell you after the Yule Ball and pay you back for the first task, but you've beaten me to the punch."
When he went back to Hermione a few minutes later, there was a bright smile on his face. "I got it!"
Hermione stared at him, flabbergasted. "Y-you—actually asked Cho to the ball?"
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confused. "Why in the world would I ask Cho to the Yule Ball? She's a nice girl and quite pretty, but I hardly know her. Besides, aren't she and Cedric an item?"
"Of course, they are, Harry. Everyone knows." Hermione rolled her eyes and busily moved the subject back on track. "But never mind that—I thought you liked Cho! You always used to look at her way in the Great Hall and I remember you telling Ron you thought she was the prettiest girl on the Quidditch teams…"
It was Harry's turn to be flabbergasted. "How do you even remember all that? I do think she's pretty, but I haven't exactly had the chance to develop a crush this year, have I? I've been too damn busy trying to survive!"
There was an awkward silence which was promptly broken once Hermione couldn't keep in her curiosity. "So, then what did you go there for?"
Harry told her about what Dobby and Cedric had said as seriously as he could, but his mind kept replaying the hesitant smile on her face when she'd realized he hadn't asked Cho to the ball. He wondered what had made her so happy.
The prefect's bathroom was an awkward affair. First, Harry owned no swimming trunks—since he had never been allowed to go to the beach or swim in the pool, no one had ever thought he'd need them—and had to resort to an old pair of shorts. He desperately needed to buy new muggle clothes.
Second, Hermione insisted on coming along underneath the invisibility cloak despite Harry reminding her it was a boy's bathroom ("You spent hours in a girl's bathroom brewing Polyjuice potion in your second year, I don't see what all the fuss is about!"). And thirdly, Hermione did have a swimsuit and it was very difficult to pay attention to the song underwater when his best friend—who just happened to be female and revealing more skin than she had in the last three years combined—kept bumping against his shoulders in her excitement.
His torture finally came to an end when the mermaid in the stained glass winked knowingly at his reddening expression and he mumbled, "Stupid mermaid."
"That's it!" Hermione shouted. "The song is about mermaids, the ones under the Black Lake—that's where the second task will take place!"
Harry nodded, trying not to notice too carefully how different Hermione's hair looked when it was wet. Or, well—the rest of her too.
He really needed to get out of the water.
"That was brilliant, Harry!" Hermione smiled up at him and embraced him tightly. "We're finally half way to finding the solution for the second task. I promised you, didn't I? That you would make it through? Looks like you didn't need my help much after all."
And suddenly, Harry forgot all about the previous awkwardness and the strange feelings churning inside him. All he could focus on was how her fingers trembled on his back, how relieved she looked, like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Once again, he hadn't noticed how much stress she had been carrying. Once again, he bit back his words of thanks.
He buried his head in Hermione's hair and breathed deeply; the water was getting cold, but she was still so warm. Always so warm.
"That's where you're wrong, Hermione. I'll always need you."
Chapter 3
Harry was playing a game of chess with Ron when he realized he had yet to ask Hermione to the Yule Ball.
Despite Ron's abandonment of him after his name was announced and despite what Harry had told Hermione about only wanting real friends, Harry couldn't find it in his heart to cut Ron out of his life. The redhead sitting across from him was still the same boy who had similarly sat across him on the Hogwarts Express, who had fought in the tests to the Philosopher's Stone, who had faced giant acromantulas, stood on a broken leg to defend him…He was still Ron. He was still his friend.
When he had hesitantly approached Harry and asked for a game, Harry had silently acquiesced, but the carefree feeling he had felt before in Ron's presence was gone now.
Harry just wasn't sure if he was still his best friend, someone who he could unconditionally trust, someone who he could rely on above all else, someone who would care as deeply for him as Harry did for them. No excuses. No strings attached. Harry had learned that the number of people who fit that bill were alarmingly few.
"I won!" Ron slumped back on the sofa. "Blimey, Harry, this is the fourth time. Where's your mind wandering at?"
"Huh?" Harry startled. "Oh. Just…you know. Thinking about the second task."
Ron waved his hand impatiently. "You still have plenty of time to work on the task, but the Yule Ball is close by and all the pretty girls are being snatched up. That's what you should be worried about."
"Mhm."
"Don't tell me you already have a date." Ron eyed him suspiciously, "It's not Hermione, is it?"
Harry stared at him.
Ron groaned. "I can't believe it. You had all the girls in the school to pick from and you asked Hermione of all people, didn't you?"
"It's not—I haven't asked—what do you mean 'Hermione of all people?'"
"I mean," Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione: bushy haired, know-it-all, a pain in the ass when it comes to making us do work. She's our friend so of course I like her. But, she's not exactly the first girl who comes to mind when you think, 'pretty, fun girl to take to the ball.'"
A whimper sounded behind them and Harry and Ron turned around to see Hermione standing at the entrance to the common room with watery eyes.
"Well," She said, angrily blinking back tears. "I wouldn't have gone with you even if you had asked. So, it's rather pretentious of you to even consider me, isn't it?"
She strode out of the common room and Harry was frozen for a moment, before he snapped out of it and ran after her.
"Hermione!" He caught sight of her turning at the corner of a hallway and reached out to grab her hand.
"I'd like to be alone right now, if you don't mind."
"You know that what Ron was saying was utter garbage, don't you? I don't know what the hell he was talking about."
"Don't you?" Her voice was frosty. "I didn't hear you disagreeing with him."
"Hey," He took hold of her shoulders and looked at her in the eyes. "You know that I would never think of you that way. In fact, Ron's little speech there just reminded me. I never did ask you to the ball, did I?"
"Oh, Harry." Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry for lashing out on you because of Ron. There's no need for you to go and be noble to try and make me feel better—"
"I'm not trying to be noble, I just realized that I'd always assumed we'd go together and somehow forgot to outright ask—"
"Besides, I was already asked to the ball by someone else, so there's really no need to play the hero. I'm not exactly some pitiful girl—"
They both stopped and stared at each other, realizing what had just been said.
Hermione looked like she had no idea what to think. "You assumed that we would go together?"
Harry's throat went dry. "Someone already asked you? Did you say yes?"
Hermione mumbled something about needing to sit down and Harry, who was feeling a little wobbly himself, helped her on to the floor and they sat with their backs against the wall.
"You first." She said, having found her voice again.
"It sounds really bad when I say it like this, but hear me out." Harry pinched his nose. Ugh. Terrible start. "I think after we found out about the egg and started using the Room, I've been so busy, the ball issue was thrown to the back of my head considering its level of importance. Not—not that I think asking you isn't important. I mean, the ball itself! As for asking you, somehow I hadn't even considered it? I think deep down I had already decided we would go together.
"Who else would I ask? Who else would I want to spend an evening with besides my best friend, someone who can make me smile and laugh, and turn even the worst of days into something bearable?" Oh, no. He was rambling now. Get to the point. "It was always going to be you in my mind, Hermione. I think I actually just realized that when I was talking to Ron right now—talk about terrible timing. I'm just so daft I hadn't even bothered to consider that you're not a mind reader and wouldn't see it that way."
"Oh, Harry." Hermione sighed. "I can't say I'm surprised to hear that was the case, when I think about it. You really are sort of slow when it comes to these things."
Harry made a sound of indignation but Hermione simply raised an eyebrow up at him. "Still, it is a relief to have it out in the open. Viktor asked me in the library a few days ago while you were speaking to Madam Pince and I told him I'd give him an answer soon. If you hadn't said something by today, I'd have to ask you myself!"
"Viktor? Viktor Krum?" Harry's mind spun. "Is that why he's always been staring at you like you owe him money?"
"Ooh!" Harry thought that the slight blush on her face was rather endearing. "Forget about that, you still haven't done it!"
"Done what?"
"Asked me to the ball properly, you dunce!"
They stared at each other and burst into laughter.
Harry wasn't an idiot. The first thing he had done when he found out that the second task would likely involve some sort of underwater scavenger hunt for a precious item was pace in front of the Room of Requirement and think, "I need to be able to breathe underwater" repeatedly.
The Room did not disappoint. Really, Harry mused, it was a massive cheat and rather unfair if he thought about it objectively, but this was one time where Harry wouldn't play the selfless hero. This place was his and Hermione's haven alone.
Arranged in a neat little bookshelf were various books written by wizards and witches who had studied underwater species and invented new spells to explore the world beneath the surface or tried to emulate their abilities in a way humans might find useful. Most of it was extremely complicated and Harry doubted that even Hermione could master them all. Painstakingly transfiguring parts of your body to create fins and gills while not hitting an internal organ in the process, using a bubblehead charm to breathe that appeared simple but had an intricate procedure to be cast perfectly if he didn't want to die of oxygen deprivation five minutes in, potions that if made correctly could supposedly emulate the features of merpeople and if made incorrectly could turn you into a puddle of goo upon ingestion...
"We have to pick one of these and start practicing already," Hermione closed the book she was reading with an audible snap.
He groaned inwardly. He'd been dragging the choice for days now and it would have been strange for Hermione to not notice. The problem wasn't the books or the spells, it was him. Harry didn't know how to swim.
He had never had a chance to learn. When the Dursleys went to the beach in the summer, they would leave him with Mrs. Figgs. When Dudley went over to pool parties in other kids' houses, it wasn't like he ever got invited. When Vernon decided to put an inflatable pool in the backyard, Harry was forbidden to go even ten feet near it. Something to which others was a natural, normal thing had become to him a foreign, unknown concept. There had been swimming lessons in his primary school curriculum, but the only memories he had from them was Dudley and his gang pushing his head underwater whenever the teacher turned around and his world going black around him.
Not only did he not know how to swim, he was even...kind of terrified by the prospect. But there was no way he was going to let Hermione know that.
"We can choose whichever option you think is best," Harry said and then tried to change the subject clumsily. "By the way, I noticed things are still a little awkward between you and Ron lately."
Hermione sighed. "He only apologized because you made him do it and it didn't feel very sincere that he ended it with 'why are girls so bloody sensitive?' before walking away."
Harry tried to hide his smile but didn't quite succeed because Hermione sniffed and said, "Just because you forgave him so easily, doesn't mean I have to be as generous."
"Generous?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you see Ron sitting here at this table? I accepted his apology; I didn't accept him back right away as my best friend. I think Ron could do with a little bit of growing up before that happens—trust has to be earned after all."
Hermione appeared thoughtful. "That reminds me, I've been thinking over what you said that morning in the Great Hall—about needing only real friends by your side. I think we should both try to be friendly with people outside of our usual social circles. Maybe it's because as a trio we've experienced so much together, an unintentional barrier formed between us and the rest of the students. Besides some classes with other houses or occasionally talking to people in our dormitories, we don't really interact much with others. More friends, more allies, more people you can trust and talk to is never a bad thing."
Thinking about his sense of isolation after he was named in the Tournament and his dismay when he realized how few people he could trust, he couldn't help but agree.
Harry mastered the bubblehead charm so quickly that Hermione couldn't hide her jealousy and sulked for a full day.
"It's not that big of a deal." He rolled her eyes at Hermione who was sitting across from him at the library table and steadily ignoring him.
She slammed her book shut. "You learned it in a few hours. It's been a week and I still have holes in the charm! This is ridiculous."
He had to admit, it did feel sort of good knowing that he was mastering spells faster than her, but that had more to do with the fact that it was Hermione he was subtly competing with. The smartest witch he knew. He didn't think he would have been as proud of his pace if it had been compared to any other person—and he told her so.
"Oh, Harry, why must you be so sweet when I'm acting like a jealous harpy?" She buried her face in her hands on the table. "Now, I feel terrible. I should be happy you learned it so fast; I don't know what came over me!"
"I think I do." Harry frowned, thinking seriously. "You're so used to being number one and the best at everything that you've made it part of your identity. Honestly, I think Ron and I have put way too much pressure on you in the past, expecting you to be miles ahead of everyone so we can lean on you whenever things go wrong. Now that I'm finally not lazing around like a slug and catching up with you, maybe it feels like I'm trying to usurp your role in our group?"
Hermione protested, but Harry was adamant she listen. "But Hermione, don't you see? You're always going to be brilliant—the way you understand complicated concepts at first glance, the way you research, the way you find answers to the craziest of questions… I don't think I'll ever match that. I think I'm just very good at practicals, at applying that knowledge quickly while you understand the reasoning behind the magic much easier than I do. We have different strengths."
"When did you become the mature voice of reason? My dignity as your designated nagger is crumbling." She grumbled before brightening up. "But you're right! Imagine if we combine our strengths: we could speed up and complete those lists with half the effort!"
"Before you take another step in that direction, I have a confession to make." He took a deep breath. "I know we decided on the bubblehead charm because it was the simplest, but I actually have very little confidence in it. Maybe I'm letting my own fears influence my thinking. I never did tell you, but I'm not a great fan of swimming. When I was in primary school, my cousin once held my head down in the water for so long that I was coughing up water for ages. It's a terrible feeling when you don't have air, you feel like you're gagging on the water and you can't even scream. I keep thinking: I can perform the spell perfectly fine right now, but what if in the moment it matters most, I make a mistake? Also, I don't have any swimming finesse to speak of, so how would I even make my way around in the first place?"
"Don't take this the wrong way. I'm very glad you told me this, but I can't think of anything right now besides how badly I want to go over to your cousin and blast him with a stinging hex." Hermione's eyes narrowed menacingly. "I would have to do it very subtly and I would be breaking a few wizarding laws, but it would be worth it!"
"Coming from the girl who feared expulsion over death, that means a lot."
She scoffed at him, but quickly grew grave again. "Harry, it seems like you have a lot of pent up worries. If there's anything you're stressed about, no matter how trivial, you know you can come to me."
Harry hesitated. "I was also reading over the charms guide and there was this portion that really stood out to me: spells can change just based on slight change in incantation or intention. Especially for something like the bubblehead charm that needs to be absolutely concrete, that's a big deal. I tried experimenting with changing my intention slightly and it was so easy to accidentally change the gas from oxygen into something like carbon monoxide or nitrogen dioxide or something equally as toxic! And—why are you smiling?"
"Huh?" Hermione snapped out of it. "I'm just not used to talking science while working with magic. I'm sorry! Here you are legitimately worried and all I can think of is how many doors this opens for us." She clapped her hands. "Can you imagine how many innocuous spells could be altered into a weapon if we get a little creative?"
He struggled not to smile and instead said as seriously as possible: "Looks like we'll have to make a new list."
Harry was nervous. Dean, Seamus, and Ron were still lazily getting ready, but he had already spent a good ten minutes pacing in his bottle green dress robes and the next ten fighting a losing battle with his hair in the mirror and wearing such a fierce scowl that even Neville noticed something was off.
"Hey, Harry. You all right?"
"No. Yes. No." He threw his hands up in resignation. "I just don't like the idea of dancing in front of a massive crowd. Or dancing. Or crowds in general."
Neville guided him to sit down on a bed and patted him on the shoulder. "Just think of it as a nice break from the Tournament. I know I'm going to have a blast no matter what. Finally, all those dancing lessons Gran forced on me are going to be of use. Finally, something I'm actually good at!"
For the next five minutes, he went on about both traditional Wizarding dances and the new wave of muggle inspired trends. Neville was going to the ball with Ginny, but with the way his face lit up when he mentioned his 'forced' lessons, Harry rather thought that he would have attended the ball even if he had to dance to the tune of an imaginary partner. Harry smiled at his eagerness, but at the same time felt a little guilty that he knew so little about the hobbies of someone he had been sharing a room with for almost four years now.
"You sure know how to pick your hobbies," Harry remarked and then hastily added when Neville's face turned downcast. "Really! It took me ages to get a handle on this dance stuff and I can still barely pass the standards. And speaking of being good at something, you're probably better at Herbology now than I will be in ten years."
"I'm not that great. Can't be compared to someone like you, facing dragons and fighting in a deathly Tournament to represent your school."
"I didn't exactly choose that, Neville. Even after the first task, everyone seems to forget that." Harry sighed, convinced that he had ruined the mood of the conversation and moved to get up.
"Wait!" Neville said, panicked. "That's not what I meant. I know... I know you didn't put your name in the goblet. It was obvious from the start. You're not the kind of person who likes being at the centre of attention, are you? You just always end up in the spotlight anyway."
At Harry's surprised expression, Neville shamefacedly explained. "I watch people a lot, you know, and I notice these things. I'm sorry for never speaking out and defending you. I didn't think I had the courage, but ever since you called us out in the Great Hall, I've regretted it, Harry."
Harry was quiet. "Thank you," he said at last, "for telling me. You don't need to apologize though; I haven't exactly been a great friend to you either."
Neville shook his head. "Harry, I've considered you a friend since first year when you took off after Malfoy for my remembrall. I know we aren't that close—but, you can come to me if you ever want to talk. My gran tells me I'm a pretty good listener."
Maybe it was the nerves for that evening, maybe it was the fact that this was probably the longest conversation he had held with Neville ever, maybe it was because it was the first time someone besides Hermione had insisted that putting his name in for glory just didn't match his character… but Harry felt strangely emotional at that moment.
"How could I possibly refuse such a glowing endorsement?"
Chapter 4Notes:Was sick with the flu for the past few weeks, but I'm back now. This chapter was fun to write, especially the start.
Thanks to TyrannicPuppy, Q. Elwyn. D, and TriesHardToWrite for going over this chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextHarry had thought that he knew everything about Hermione.
He knew that when she received an Outstanding on an assignment her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled widely. When she found a particular paragraph confusing she would lean in until her nose hit the page and her eyebrows were scrunched up like bushy caterpillars. When she fell asleep, she looked so carefree and innocent—finally free of the semi-permanent worried crease on her forehead. When she ate her food, it was cut into delicate portions beforehand and eaten absentmindedly as she perused a newspaper. When she was hurting, she would cross her arms defensively and blink rapidly as she maintained an iron expression.
When she comforted someone, she would embrace them with her arms wound tightly around them, her voice whispering soothing reassurances in their ear. When she walked, it was always with brisk, steady steps that showed she had a purpose and a destination to get to. When she laughed, she would do so deeply and loudly, holding nothing back.
Sometimes Harry thought he knew Hermione better than he knew even himself.
Why was it then that he had been standing still, gawking for who knows how long as she came down the stairs, as if he was seeing her for the first time today?
"Harry!" Hermione smiled. She always smiled at him like that, but why had he never noticed how radiant it was? And her teeth—had they always looked like that? "Those robes bring your eyes out quite nicely. You look very handsome."
Harry blushed furiously. "Thanks. So do you—look very pretty, I mean!"
Hermione didn't wait for him to hold out his hand and simply linked their arms directly. A strand of her silky hair fell out of her carefully coiled updo and Harry felt an irrational urge to put it back into place.
As they entered the Great Hall, Harry tried to distract himself with how magnificently it had been transformed into a Winter Wonderland ballroom. It didn't work for long since his eyes kept travelling back to the way Hermione's periwinkle robes flowed down her form and the string of pearls she wore on her neck, and—
"The Yule Ball will begin with an opening dance from our Champions."
And before Harry knew it, he was leading Hermione onto the floor, praying that he wouldn't miss a step and desperately hoping she wouldn't notice his sweaty palms. He could do this. All he had to do was pretend they were in the Room of Requirement, practicing like usual, just her and him. The more he concentrated on Hermione—on the way she felt in his arms, the flowery scent when he pulled her close, the delighted little smile she sent his way whenever he twirled her around—the more he forgot about the audience and started to truly enjoy himself.
He barely noticed that the dance had ended until Hermione tugged his hand and led them off to the side. "You were brilliant, Harry!"
"It was actually sort of fun," Harry admitted. "I can't believe I only stumbled once!"
Hermione gave him a triumphant, 'See! I told you so!' expression and Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "What do you say about going for another round?"
"Already?" She sounded surprised. "I thought you might like to sit down. You know, you don't have to push yourself for my sake."
"Hermione, I asked you to come with me so we could have fun together, not so you could stand guard as I sulk in the shadows somewhere." Now he was really laughing. "Besides, if I don't make use of my newfound skills this evening, all that practice will have been for nothing!"
So they went to join their fellow students on the floor for another dance. And another. And another. At one point, Viktor Krum came forward and very politely asked if he could have Hermione for one dance. Hermione took the chance to dare Harry to ask another girl to be his partner during that time and Harry surprised both her and himself by approaching Fleur Delacour and was even more shocked when she said yes.
"I 'ad been zinking zat you are just a boy, but you faced ze dragons impressively," Fleur commented, sounding a bit put out.
Harry hid his smile and said that it was all luck at the end; he would never do it again, not for all the gold in the world. Fleur, no doubt thinking of her burns, heartily agreed. It had been a spur of the moment thing to ask her, but once the dance ended and they both wished the other luck in the second task, Harry was left with the impression that the Beauxbaton student was nothing like the simpering individual he had thought she would be.
Two dances later, Harry decided to get back at Hermione and dared her to ask someone, but immediately regretted it when she went to Cedric and he ended up with Cho as a partner. He still thought she was very pretty, but really, didn't she talk about anything besides Cedric?
Tired of switching partners, Harry decided he wanted Hermione to himself for the rest of the night and Hermione looked a little too ridiculously pleased when he told her so.
"Your ego is getting too large nowadays, Herm—ow! What was that for?"
Between the dances, they would talk about anything and everything: Hermione wondering about what spell was used to transform the ceiling ("I'm positive this was Dumbledore's handiwork, it's much too detailed and precise to be anyone else!"), Harry asking Hermione how she had ever learned to dance in the first place and Hermione telling him about all the extra-curricular lessons she had been obsessed with as a kid ("You did ballet?"), both of them 'people watching' with Harry making snarky comments and Hermione elbowing him to stop being such a gossip, but smiling all the while ("That poor boy just spilled pumpkin juice all over his date's robes and I think she's about to hex him—Harry! Don't laugh so loudly!").
Everything seemed to go by so fast in a swirl of colour, and warmth, and Hermione's soft laughter. They took a few breaks to sit down and find some refreshments—during which Harry noticed Ron slouching at a table as his partner glared at him—but Harry always found himself whisking her back to dancing.
As the last, slow dance of the night was coming to an end, Harry decided that he didn't regret coming. Hermione's face was buried in his chest, his chin rested on her forehead, their arms hung closely around each other, and even their breaths seemed to be in tandem.
There was something so right about having Hermione in his arms like this. It was, he mused, like she had always belonged there.
He didn't want the moment to end.
After the Yule Ball, Ron had been extra sulky. Apparently, he felt that Harry and Hermione had abandoned him by going together and 'being in their own little world' while Ron had been left to 'rot in the shadows.' Hermione had called him overly dramatic and ridiculous, saying that he had his own partner whom he had pointedly ignored the whole night and that it was no one's fault but his own that he hadn't had fun. Ron had responded that she was a disloyal friend and only cared about Harry, then proceeded to insinuate that Harry had only gone with her to the ball out of pity. Harry's fatigue from all the dancing and dealing with Ron's nonsensical temper tantrums from the last few months had led him to telling Ron point-blank that he needed to 'grow up' if he wanted to remain friends with them.
Harry would have regretted being so short with him if he hadn't already decided that without maturity and trust, whatever friendship he had would be fragile at best and too prone to collapse at the worst of times. It would be nice if Ron would take this chance to change, but with the way his bed curtains were currently tightly shut and without even so much as a goodnight from him in the last few weeks, he wasn't holding his breath.
In any case, he was already swamped with worries and stress from all sides and had no patience to deal with anymore drama. Was he really going to rely on the bubblehead charm to pass the second task? What precious item would be taken from him? What had Karkaroff meant in Potions by telling Snape that his dark mark was burning? Were his ever constant nightmares about that old man and the manor and that voice a mere consequent from his scar or did they actually mean something?
He must have sat there motionless for a while, because he heard a rustle from one of the beds and Neville's drowsy voice calling out to him from the side bed. "Can't sleep, Harry?"
"Sorry, did I wake you?"
Neville rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "You've been sitting there like a statue for ten minutes now."
"Really?" Harry startled. "I was just...thinking."
"I meant what I told you the night of the ball, you know. You can talk to me about anything, especially if it's something keeping you up at night like this."
"Unless you know the details about the dark mark and death eater methods of communication, the meaning of strangely specific nightmares, or how to both breathe underwater and gain a decent swimming proficiency overnight… it would just frustrate you to listen to the problems in my life."
"Well." Neville scratched his head. "Dunno about the rest, but the underwater and swimming problem… I might know a thing or two."
Harry had regretted complaining about his scar hurting in his letter to Sirius when his godfather had decided to instantly return to Britain. No matter how much he had reassured him that everything was fine, Sirius saw through his ruse. Harry hated to think that his godfather was putting himself at risk because of him, but at the same time, he felt comfort from knowing that he was somewhere nearby. Besides Hermione's companionship, Sirius' letters had been one of the only things keeping him sane during the Tournament.
Usually, Harry would have tightly leashed his yearning to see Sirius and talk to him face to face. However, Hermione's frequent reassurances that it was necessary for him to have people he could trust and open up to had slightly lessened the guilt he felt in offhandedly remarking in his last letter that he would like to meet him in person sometime soon. One exuberant reply from Sirius later (ending with "bring some food!") resulted in Harry and Hermione spending their next Hogsmeade weekend carrying bags of packed lunches and dinners from the kitchen to the location Sirius had specified.
A shaggy black dog met them at the end of the road in the countryside surrounding Hogsmeade and scattered off to lead them up a rocky mountain. Hermione and Harry exchanged secret smiles at Sirius' obvious happiness at seeing them, but as they climbed up the mountain and finally entered the damp, tight cave, Harry's smile disappeared.
Buckbeak was standing in one of the corners, still as sharp-eyed and majestic as ever. But Sirius who had transformed back… he looked even worse than he had during third year. He still wore those horrid grey prisoner robes, his long hair was a tangled, matted mess, and even the large grin he gave his godson seemed out of place on his sallow, scarily thin face.
"You don't know how glad I am you asked to see me," Sirius said, hungrily eyeing the containers Hermione carried in her arms. "I thought it would take another month or two before I could safely bring the topic up without you refusing."
"Refuse? Even if I worry about you getting caught out here, I wouldn't outright be against meeting up." Harry eyed the dingy, cold cave with an uneasy feeling growing in his chest. "Not when you've come so far just to be close to me."
"Well, of course I came." Sirius puffed up his chest. "What kind of godfather would I be if I hadn't?"
Hermione unwrapped a piece of chicken and handed it to him sympathetically, but couldn't help but scold him. "Forget the danger involved in case you were sighted, I can't imagine it's easy living here! What made you think this would be a good idea?"
He took a ravenous bite of the chicken. "Not what. Who. We've been in contact and once Harry mentioned his dreams, Dumbledore thought it best I stay somewhere close by his side. This cave he suggested isn't so bad: it's out of the way and if I ever do want some sun, I just go outside and pretend to be a lovable stray. Granted, the food supply is woefully limited to rats, but we can't have everything we want."
"Dumbledore suggested this?" Hermione asked, perplexed.
"Rats?" Harry's head spun.
"It's an acquired taste. Mind you, I won't miss it now that you've brought some actual sustenance with you."
"Why didn't you tell me you were living like this?" Harry's voice trembled with rage. "This cave is barely fit for Buckbeak, let alone a human! You look like a sack of bones—Sirius, I can count your ribs from here! Rats? Even I was fed better at the Dursleys this summer! What—" There was a lump in his throat and his eyes started to blur. "What would my parents say if they saw you now? What would they say to me?"
Hermione unceremoniously dropped the bags of food onto the cave floor and rushed over to him. "Harry, you need to breathe."
Breathe? He was breathing. Harry couldn't understand what she was saying.
His chest felt tight and the world spun around him as he slowly lowered himself to the floor. No, no. He was fine: it was the people around him who weren't. The people who cared, few as they were. His parents had loved him and where were they now? Sirius had offered to be his family and Harry had rejoiced, not knowing that a year later that same man would be living like a dog in order to be close to him. Hermione said she was happy to be his best friend, but how happy was she really to be dragged to death's door every year by his side? Everyone who had ever cared for him suffered and just like his previous revelation about Hermione, he had been too embroiled in his own misgivings to even consider what they were going through for his sake.
Who was he even angry at? Sirius for not telling him what kind of awful situation he was in? Dumbledore for not only knowing, but encouraging Sirius to languish in this state? Or was it at himself for never even bothering to ask? "It's my fault." He gasped.
A strong pair of arms came around his shoulders and patted his back. "It's all right, Harry. This isn't your fault. Breathe now."
Harry hadn't even realized he was crying until Hermione carefully wiped something wet off his cheek. He looked over her shoulder to see Sirius standing stock still, his mouth open, and a half-eaten chicken leg hanging loosely in his hand.
"I-I'm so sorry, Sirius—"
"No! Harry, I don't know what's going on, but I'm the one who—"
"Oh, would the both of you stop! No one should be apologizing here and no one is at fault. Harry, sit back down and lean against my shoulder. Sirius, come over here and throw away that chicken leg, for goodness sake."
The two dumbly followed her instructions. "Now, I think it's about time we had ourselves a nice, long chat."
According to Hermione, he had just had a shock to his system and the emotional distress from seeing Sirius in such a state had led to hyperventilation. Both males nodded mechanically at her explanation and at Hermione's urging began to speak.
"Harry, I realize this isn't the best of conditions to live in, but you've gotta give your godfather more credit than that. I survived twelve years in Azkaban and another year as a fugitive; I can sure as hell survive a year in this little cave. "
"But don't you see?" Harry exclaimed. "You shouldn't have to! Hermione and I, we turned back time so we could save you, Sirius. So you could be free! This isn't Azkaban where no one believes in your innocence, this isn't third year where you had no one to turn to, this time you have people who care about you. You have me."
Sirius looked a little ashamed. "Doesn't feel right, asking for help from my godson. I'm here to help you, not the other way around."
Hermione sighed. "Why don't both of you help each other? That's what a family is for, you know. It's a joint effort."
The word family seemed to jolt both Harry and Sirius.
"I've never had a family," Harry muttered, rather embarrassed. "Dunno how to go on about that, really."
Sirius put an arm around Harry's shoulder. "You're not alone there, kiddo. Never felt like I had one either, not until your dad came around."
"But you let him help, didn't you? You told me when you ran away from home, the Potters took you in. They gave you a home. That's all I want for you."
"I appreciate the sentiment, I do, but it's a little different when I'm supposed to be the adult here. I have my own pride to consider. Besides, I always thought I'd be the one giving you a new home, Harry." Sirius smiled wryly.
"Well," Hermione pondered. "Why can't you?"
"Dumbledore said—"
"Yes, yes, something about Harry's mum putting up a protection for him with his closest blood. But Harry hasn't spent all his time with the Dursleys in the past: sometimes he leaves early to go to the Burrow or the World Cup like this summer. And he doesn't spend all day cooped up in the house, does he?" Harry nodded. "I'm sure he goes outside the neighbourhood too. Why couldn't he spend that time with you?"
"I suppose I just took Dumbledore's words at face value and never thought any further."
Hermione was on a roll. "And! Both you and Harry would benefit from having a place to call your own! From what I researched about the Black family in third year—" Here, Sirius let out a snort and called her a little snoop. "You definitely shouldn't be lacking in money or estates!"
"That's right!" Harry sat up straight. "You bought me a firebolt, but you can't afford better clothes or food for yourself?"
Sirius ran his hand through his matted hair and sighed before explaining. Yes, he was technically rich and yes, he technically owned land as the heir to the Black Family. However, the only reason he had been able to buy the firebolt was by using Harry's name and specifying the Gringotts' vault number as his own in his order to the Owl Office; presumably, the goblins hadn't cared about a single withdrawal from a very small portion of the Black Vault, but he couldn't be sure they would have the same lax attitude if the withdrawals continued or if the Owl Office would notice something was off if he kept sending anonymous requests with the same vault number.
As for the estates he owned, places like the cottage in the countryside or the small apartment from when he was in his muggle phase, would already be well known by the Ministry and regularly watched. The only place that still had wards and anti detection protections working was the ancestral Black home, 12 Grimmauld Place, which had been made unplottable and very difficult to find even for wizards.
"That sounds perfect!" Harry blurted. "Why aren't you living there?"
Sirius looked abashed. "I… don't really have the best memories of that place. My childhood there was pretty dark and not something I'd like to revisit." Harry thought about 4 Privet Drive and how he would never go back there if he had the choice. Perhaps he had been silent for too long because Sirius hastily added. "But that's not all! I could get over it if that was it. The Ministry still knows about that place too and without something foolproof like the Fidelius Charm protecting the location, I don't want to take the risk."
"Well, why not just use the Fidelius Charm, then?" Hermione asked in a isn't-the-answer-obvious voice. "You just need a secret keeper, right?" She pointed at Harry. "There you are."
"Hermione," he spluttered. "I don't know how to do that charm!"
"Yet." She sounded smug. "Oh, Sirius, we haven't even told you anything of what we've gotten up to these past few months!"
She proceeded to go on about how Harry was 'finally applying his strengths,' their very long lists of spells, the Room of Requirement and how they had already made good progress for the second task.
Here, Harry interrupted and told the both of them about the solution Neville had suggested: gillyweed apparently not only had the ability to help the user breathe underwater, it also imprinted on the user the instincts of an underwater creature that would let them easily navigate the environment.
"I was thinking of letting Dobby go to Diagon Alley and pick up the order I placed; for some reason, the herbologist doesn't do owl deliveries in case the purchases are 'damaged.' While he's there, I'll ask him to buy one of those magical tents too—like the ones the Weasleys had at the World Cup! During the time it takes me and Hermione to learn the Fidelius, I won't let you stay in this state. At the very least you need a bed to sleep on and regular meals. I'm sure Dobby could make daily visits here to bring stuff from the kitchens."
"It sounds like a sound plan, Harry, but are you sure you can trust this elf?" Sirius frowned. "If he's a Hogwarts elf, his loyalty doesn't lie solely with you."
"He told me he was only taking Hogwarts as a part-time job. " Harry shrugged. "Apparently, he missed doing work and the shiny coins he gets are a plus."
"P-part time?" Sirius was stupefied. "My family has a house elf too, and from my experience, I can assure you that those creatures are fanatically loyal to their owners and a bit off in the head. Elves don't do part-time jobs."
"Dobby is a free elf." Hermione sniffed and launched into a tirade about how elves were 'horribly mistreated and deserve rights too!' By the end of it, Sirius looked overwhelmed by her passionate speech, but had at least gotten the gist of the loyalty Dobby felt towards Harry for freeing him.
"Well, if he's as loyal as you say and if he helped you find that Requirement Room, then you really should consider bonding with him, Harry. It would make things much easier for everyone involved." He hastily added when Hermione gave him a pointed look, "Of course, there would have to be wages!"
"I'll consider it." He had been relying on Dobby way too much lately; maybe making things official really was the right step.
"Hmm. So, Sirius' living conditions are momentarily solved. We can discuss more options about fully accessing your vault later, once I've looked into it more." Hermione tapped her chin thoughtfully. "There isn't much left to prepare for the second task and you two have finally sat down and discussed your feelings. What's next on the agenda?"
Sirius raised an eyebrow at Harry and mouthed 'Is she always like this?' while Harry struggled to hide his smile.
They ended up moving on to Harry's dreams and the conversation he had overheard from Snape and Karkaroff at Potions.
Sirius was extremely wary about both. "Those dreams of yours aren't normal, Harry. Neither is the dark mark burning in a way that even death eaters are troubled. You need to be careful. I can't shake the feeling off that whoever put your name in the goblet is still out there, planning… waiting. I don't know if any of these occurrences are connected, but you can never let your guard down, do you understand me?"
He nodded seriously, but couldn't help the warm, tingling feeling growing inside him. So this is what it feels like to be worried over, to be cared for.
He looked at Sirius's uncharacteristically stern expression and the tense lines on Hermione's forehead and tried to reassure them. "We can get through this. At the very least, I have you two helping me, don't I?"
I'm not alone. Not anymore.