Chapter 5: Chapter 5Notes:In this chapter, Harry learns that there is still much he doesn't know…and I learn that house elves are incredibly fun to write.
Once again: thank you to TyrannicPuppy, Q. Elwyn. D, and TriesHardToWrite for going over this chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextOver the last few months, Harry had gained quite a bit of confidence in his learning ability and skills. Although he had always been fascinated by magic, he hadn't really tried to understand or delve further into the what, why, and how. He had been satisfied with knowing the bare minimum; if the spell worked fine, what use was there really to know any more? No one had ever outright told him, but it was rather obvious by now that he was uncommonly powerful for his age—even if his strength always seemed limited to the Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hadn't Lupin told him how rare it was for adults, let alone a third year student, to create a patronus? Wasn't Hermione always telling him that he had 'potential' even when she was miffed he was applying spells faster than her?
It had to mean something. He had to be better than this.
He had thrown the matter of the second task to the back of his mind after visiting Sirius and dedicated the next few days to learn the concept of the Fidelius with Hermione in the Room of Requirement. This time, Hermione grasped the basics much quicker than he did and Harry learned the consequences of overestimating himself when he had barely formed his foundations.
The Fidelius Charm was difficult. It was more complicated and intricate than any spell Harry had ever read about. It involved hiding a secret in the Secret Keeper's soul, a concept Harry could barely wrap his head around. Not to mention, that Harry had been coasting through Charms with an Acceptable all this time.
Harry found himself trying to make up for lost time and effort, by practicing it whenever he could, even during class. In one such History of Magic lesson, he grimaced as he traced wand movements in the air. Around him, people were either drowsing off or doodling on their parchment. Only Hermione sat ramrod straight, decisively taking notes as always.
It was a little surprising then when she pinched his knee under the table.
"Ow!" Harry hissed and then whispered, "What was that for?"
"You've been doing the same wand movements for the past twenty minutes instead of listening to Binns."
"And?" He rolled his eyes. "Half the class is asleep. At least I'm being productive and practicing."
Hermione gave him a mildly disapproving look. "Incorrectly. Check the notes I made for steps four, seven, and nine."
He did and promptly groaned so loudly that he swore even Binns paused his monologue for half a second to stare at him. Half an hour later, a gloomy Harry exited the classroom with a disgruntled Hermione hot on his heels.
"I know I was the one who raised the idea of you learning this spell, but you can't spend every waking moment on this, Harry. You still have to pay attention in class."
"God, Hermione." Harry snapped. "Spare me the lecture, will you? I just can't seem to concentrate on anything else!" At Hermione's slightly hurt expression, he groaned. "And now, I'm taking my frustration out on you. Hells, I'm sorry."
"Maybe I shouldn't have scolded you like that." She blew a strand of hair out of her face irritably. "It's just, you've been stuck on that charm for nearly a week now and no progress has been made. I can't help but wonder if we'll ever be able to make any progress by ourselves."
Harry halted in his steps. That's right. Why couldn't he ask for help? He didn't need to specifically say he was learning the Fidelius; he could just say he was trying to understand a wide variety of charms for the Tournament and bring up the topic from there.
After his next Charms lesson was over, Harry and Hermione dawdled behind.
"Professor, we were wondering if we could come to you for a bit of help outside of class related subjects," Harry said hesitantly.
"Certainly, you can!" Flitwick beamed brightly at them. "If this is about the Triwizard Tournament, I can't offer you any specific hints, mind you. But ask away if you have any general questions."
"After the first task, I realized the importance of Charms and decided to master the ones that might help me out in a pinch." Harry tried to make his voice extra sincere and pulled out his Charms Guide to further his point, watching with satisfaction as Flitwick's eyes widened.
"Oho, you've been putting quite the work into this, haven't you? I'm sure you and Miss Granger have had your hands full with this; we don't usually go into chapter one of that book until fifth year!"
Beside him, Hermione let out a pitiful sigh. "We're trying our best, Professor, but there's only so much we can learn without an expert like you guiding our way. I'm afraid we're still sorely lacking in the fundamentals."
"Nonsense!" Flitwick stood up straight, although it didn't add much to his height. "Miss Granger, you are perhaps the most diligent student I've ever had. And Mister Potter, that spellcasting you showed in the first task was impeccable! Perfect wandwork!"
Both Hermione and Harry blushed and continued to listen as Flitwick went on about how the most potent charms looked deceptively simple, but were extremely multifaceted and intricate when one actually had to cast them. They interrupted here and there to ask about specific charms or points that had been troubling them, but mostly listened; Flitwick was not only a cheerful professor, he was a very good one and Harry found many of the clouds of ignorance obscuring his progress vanishing.
In the end, he didn't even have to bring up the Fidelius. Flitwick did it for him.
"You know, Mister Potter, when you first walked into my classroom, I had wondered if you would take after your mother or your father. Oh, James passed my classes quite well, but his true talent lay in Transfiguration. I dare say, he was a genius in that regard! But your mother, she loved Charms, loved all the enchanting and thinking that went into it..."
"My mother?" Harry had heard tales about his father and the shenanigans he had gotten up to in his time at Hogwarts, but he knew dreadfully little about his mother.
"Yes, Lily! No matter what Old Slughorn said, I always felt her passion lay in this subject rather than Potions alone." Flitwick bounced on his heels. "She was a splendid student and it warms my heart to see you walking in her footsteps."
Harry hadn't known. No one had told him any details about his parents besides a few nostalgic tales about how good and noble they were. He wondered what would have happened if he had grown up listening to stories about his mother's brilliance in Charms and Potions or his father's genius in Transfiguration. Even if he had known first year, would he have approached learning those subjects with the same lacklustre attitude?
Flitwick's eyes seemed to cloud over. "What a pity, that it was the reliance on one charm that took her life in the end."
Harry jolted out of his musings and Hermione asked quietly. "The Fidelius?"
Flitwick seemed to have just realized that they were still standing in front of him. His smile drooped. "You two know about that, do you? Well, after last year with Black and all, I shouldn't be surprised the headmaster told you."
Harry felt like he had been transported back to third year, under his invisibility cloak, muffling his breathing, and listening to Flitwick forlornly describe how the Fidelius should have been foolproof, how "You-Know-Who could have searched the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window."
He fought the rising bile at the thought of Wormtail, the reason why that spell had failed, and left him an orphan. "They trusted the wrong person. But the spell itself isn't inherently flawed, is it?"
"No." The professor replied.
"I've always wondered, you know, why they chose to place their lives and mine in the hands of one charm." Beside him, Hermione found his hand and squeezed, perhaps sensing that he was no longer acting. "I hate the Fidelius for what it represents to me, but at the same time, I wish I could understand it."
"Harry." Flitwick looked into his eyes, noticeably not calling his last name. "I can't say I would have done the same in your parents' shoes, but it is truly a powerful spell and it was cast for them by Albus Dumbledore himself. I might not know their thoughts at the time, but if you wish, I can try to explain how the spell worked—why they decided to trust it above all else."
It was helpful, it really was. By the end of Flitwick's explanation, Harry felt that he could finally understand the fundamentals of casting it, but he couldn't muster any joy in that revelation. When they left the classroom, Flitwick called out to him, "Mister Potter! If you ever wish to talk… about your parents… about anything, my door is always open."
"Thank you, professor. " He managed a smile. "I appreciate it."
The walk back to their dormitories was quiet, with Hermione sending concerned glances at him every few seconds. Half way through, Harry turned to her, unable to keep it in any longer.
"Why?" He asked, not knowing who he was really speaking to. "Why didn't they just leave? Sure, the spell is powerful! Sure, the mighty Dumbledore cast it! Sure, they trusted their friends! But that was never going to be enough to protect them!"
He was so angry, so bitter, so miserable at the thought that his parents might have lived had they not taken the Fidelius as their only option. There must have been other options.
"If it was you and me, Hermione, what would you do? If Voldemort was after me and we had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I-I would run, Harry. And take you with me. Somewhere they could never find you, even if it meant we had to keep running forever. And the whole time, I would be searching for a way to fight back."
"You don't know how many times I've thanked my lucky stars you're my ally, not an enemy." He attempted to smile, but it came out twisted. "My parents had allies too—just chose to trust the worst of them. It's funny. I've had years to get used to the fact that they'll never be in my life, but sometimes, knowing what could have been if only things had gone a little differently… hurts so bloody much."
"Is that why you were so obsessed with this spell?"
"I want to learn more about my parents' lives. The stuff they loved, what made them happy, what made them sad. Even the spell that might have ended their lives. I just want to understand. There's so much I don't know about them. Hell, I didn't even know what my mum's favorite subject was until Flitwick mentioned it!"
"About that, Harry..." Hermione looked thoughtful. "I've been looking up on inheritance laws and Gringotts for Sirius, and the conversation with Flitwick had me wondering about you too. It's bad enough you know barely anything about your parents, but you don't have many possessions from them either, do you?"
"I have my cloak and the map—"
"Both of which were never officially given to you by their will! Dumbledore gave you that cloak for Christmas and that map was found entirely by chance. What about what your parents left behind for you? Books that your mother might have read? Your father's favorite broom? It could be anything really, and not necessarily of monetary value. There should be a Potter Family Vault besides the trust fund you already have access to. Having some of their things might help you feel closer to them. That's not even mentioning that they might have left a personal letter behind for you with their will and—oh!— the Potter Manor—"
"Manor? I thought their home in Godric's Hollow was destroyed?"
"That was just a place your parents used as a hiding spot. Your father came from a respected and rather rich family, not unlike the Blacks. They had to have owned their own estate."
It was too much information to handle at once. His parents' possessions, their last words to him, their home—he wanted it all. He wanted to know.
"Why did no one ever mention this to me?" He closed his eyes, tired.
When he had first been introduced to this world, he was so happy to escape life with the Dursleys he had accepted everything at face value and never delved in deeper. But he had been a child and knew very little. Why had no one sat him down and explained things clearly? If he was going to be paraded as British Wizarding society's symbol of victory, wasn't he owed that much?
Hermione let out a growl of frustration, "I don't know and that's what keeps bothering me! What benefit was there to keep you so ignorant of it all? It's not right, no matter how I look at it!"
Her face grew redder as she spoke and when she ended her sentence with a stamp of her foot, Harry let out a chuckle. Strangely enough, seeing Hermione get angry on his behalf helped calm down his turbulent emotions.
He took a deep breath. "I'm glad you brought this to my attention, but I don't want to stress you over this when you already have so much on your plate. We can focus on it later, once we're done with the Sirius issue and the Second Task."
Hermione looked a little surprised. "Well, that's very… pragmatic of you."
"My best friend is Hermione Granger." Harry deadpanned. "Her no-nonsense disease had to spread to me eventually."
"Very funny, Harry!"
He snickered. "Besides, I can get closer to my parents in other ways in the meantime. Didn't Flitwick mention my mum being great at potions? Can you imagine Snape's face if I suddenly become the top of his class?"
It was a joke but Hermione seemed to be seriously contemplating it which just made him laugh harder
"It's possible, Harry! With a bit of work—"
Hermione prodded at him, Harry laughed, and they both bickered good-naturedly as they passed through the hallways. Harry returned to his dorms feeling much lighter than he had when leaving Flitwick's classroom.
Dobby stared at Harry with his large, orb-like eyes. Harry stared back.
"So—did it work?" Harry was skeptical.
When Harry had asked Dobby if he was willing to work for him full time, he didn't know what he had been expecting. Well, no… the part where Dobby threw the laundry basket he was carrying to the ground and seized his hands, shaking them back and forth as he repeated, "Oh, Master Harry Potter Sir! Dobby, would love to. Dobby will quit Hogwarts right now, he will!" … that he expected. The procedure to bond the elf to himself—now, that was unexpected purely because of how simple it was.
Harry had outlined a few straightforward rules and guidelines before Dobby swore an oath of fealty to him in an unrecognizable language. The air seemed to shimmer around them and he felt a warm tingle in the hand Dobby had shaken, but it only lasted a few seconds.
"That's it?"
To Harry's utter dismay, Dobby sniffled loudly and big, fat tears rolled down his knobbly little face. "Dobby is bonded to Master Harry Potter Sir! Dobby shall serve Master for life!"
"Now look here," Harry rubbed his nose self consciously. "You did read that contract Hermione wrote for you, right? There's no such thing as 'serving for life.' You have the right to come to me about any concerns you have and the right to demand a pay raise and even the right to stop working for me should you wish it."
"Dobby would never abandon Master Harry Potter Sir! Dobby is a loyal elf!"
"Yes," Harry smiled. "But you are more than just that to me. You're my friend Dobby, and you'll remain so even when you work for me."
"Dobby… Dobby is Harry Potter's friend?" The sobbing began anew.
Harry patted the elf's shoulder awkwardly. "Come on, I should be thankful you're willing to bond yourself to me. As you might have noticed, it's not easy to be my friend. Someone's always trying to kill me every year and I imagine it gets tiring rather quickly."
The elf paused his sniffles and straightened his shoulders. "Dobby will walk with his friend every step of the way. Dobby is Harry Potter's elf now."
"Didn't you dislike serving wizarding families?" He was curious. "I thought you liked being a free elf because you weren't owned by anyone."
Dobby looked at him with large, serious eyes. "Dobby does not mind work. Dobby minds being owned, not being able to say no. Being Harry Potter's elf is different; now, Dobby has a family. Dobby has a place to belong."
Harry felt a lump in his throat form. Something in the desperate way Dobby looked at him, the earnestness with which he expressed his happiness at belonging, resonated with Harry down to his core. Harry thought of his younger self, the meek little boy in the cupboard who had never thought he would find a family, let alone find someone asking to be part of his.
"Family," Harry mumbled to himself, the corners of his mouth rising unconsciously. "It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"
Harry had finally mastered the Fidelius Charm and he was eager to put it to use. Sirius had assured him that it wasn't necessary to actually see 12 Grimmauld Place in order to keep the location a secret, but Harry wasn't willing to gamble when it concerned his godfather's life. Besides, he was more than a little curious to see the place Sirius had grown up in.
"You're just bored and want to get outside," Hermione didn't even look up from her book.
"Am not!" Harry replied hotly. "There's a… purpose to this excursion. A very noble one." When Hermione glared at him, he sighed: "... and the nerves from the second task approaching might be finally getting to me. Yes, I want a break. Happy?"
She snorted. "I'm not accusing you, I want to see it too. I'm just worried about how we'll ever be able to leave in the first place. Wouldn't Dumbledore know that we've crossed the Hogwarts' wards?"
They were curled up on opposite ends of a big, comfy sofa that the Room of Requirement had conjured when Harry paced in front of it, thinking 'I just want to relax.'
A large fireplace provided the room with a cozy sense of warmth and Dobby had just brought them hot drinks and pastries from the kitchen. When Hermione asked the question, Dobby carefully put down the plate he was about to hand to Harry and revealed a proud, wide smile.
"Dobby can come and go from Hogwarts any way he wants, without Headmaster detecting! Wards are no problem to Dobby, Sir!"
"Brilliant!" Harry stood up from the sofa. "Reckon you could inform Sirius and apparate all of us there? I told Sirius we would be coming to take him to Grimmauld in the next few days in my last letter, so he should be prepared. Take my invisibility cloak too, just to be safe."
"Dobby will do so now, Friend Harry Potter, Sir!"
Harry sighed inwardly: he had somehow managed to get Dobby to stop calling him master, but Dobby was stubborn to a fault and had only replaced it with another title. At least this one was bearable.
When the elf came back and informed them that Sirius was waiting for them in the location under Harry's cloak, Harry and Hermione each held on to one of Dobby's skinny arms and tried not to feel sick as the world folded in around them.
12 Grimmauld Place was large and imposing, carrying an intimidating regality to it that shouldn't have worked so well for a three story townhouse. The rooms were luxuriously spacious and the furniture—what was left of it—was tasteful and elegant. Whoever named the house had done it a disservice by not naming it Grimmauld Palace instead.
However, Harry had to admit that there was nothing homely about the place. It was too cold. Too dark. Too dusty.
"Blasted cobwebs," Sirius muttered as he fired off another spell against one of the traps in the living room. "It's bad enough that dear old mum decided to ward the inside of this place with enough curses to kill me ten times over, but she couldn't even give that elf an order to dust the place once a millennium before croaking?"
Harry and Hermione exchanged a wry look. It had been surprisingly easy to get into Grimmauld as the aurors seemed to have given up keeping watch over the place. It was even easier to place the Fidelius over the location despite how nervous Harry had felt while casting it. Instead, the real battle occurred once they were inside and had to disable the endless traps Orion and Walburga Black had employed to protect the house in case anyone dared to sully it after their deaths.
Even that, he was sure would eventually be dealt with. What he was truly worried about was how Sirius seemed to flinch from the shadows of every room and seemed to grow more irritable, the worse they found the place. The condition of Grimmauld was just too depressing; it was like a fossil, a testament to the time that had gone by and the years Sirius had wasted rotting away in Azkaban. Wouldn't breathing in all the dust and mold and painful memories eventually suffocate him?
"Kreacher!" Sirius roared. "Show your sorry self!"
There was a crack and a stooping elf appeared. Unlike Dobby, he had a leathery face with deep lines of skin, a bulbous nose, gnarled hands, and bloodshot eyes that were currently squinting at Sirius with undisguised hatred.
"Ungrateful vermin is back," Kreacher moaned in a raspy voice. "Oh, how Kreacher's poor mistress hated him! Traitor to the family name!" When Sirius sneered at him but cut back his retort as Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, the elf turned his squinting eyes at Hermione and Harry instead.
"Nasty brats! Harry Potter, the boy who stopped the Dark Lord, standing there as bold as brass! Mudblood chit sullying my mistress' living room—the disgrace!"
"Don't call her that!" Both Harry and Sirius snarled.
Before any of them could say anything further, Dobby stepped forward with a glint in his eyes. "You is a terrible elf. Dobby would never treat his master like vermin; Dobby is a true elf who knows respect! And pride!"
Kreacher glared. "Youngling has come to give Kreacher a lesson?"
Dobby gave the older elf a haughty look. "Dobby has no need for ungrateful, lazy sack of bones! Dobby will take over cleaning of house himself!"
Kreacher stepped forward menacingly, "Snotty brat dares to presume authority over House Black—"
Dobby cracked his knobbly knuckles. "Old, useless weasel dares to call filthy dump a house—"
"All right! Everyone calm down!" Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared so intimidatingly that even Kreacher took a tiny step back from her. "Kreacher, I know you have no love for Sirius, but tough luck, he's here to stay!" She softened at his aghast expression. "Do you really think your mistress would hate Sirius more than the Ministry? Despite Walburga Black's … disappointment in her eldest son, the Ministry still locked away the heir of the house with no regard to House Black's dignity or Sirius' innocence. They treated a member of the family like scum! Do you think your mistress would have been happy with that?"
"Scum!? Black family is the most honourable house. Most high!" Kreacher growled. "Mistress did not like being looked down on!" A thought seemed to occur to him then as he gleefully said pointedly to Sirius, "But traitor is not true member of Black Family. Ungrateful brat was kicked out."
Hermione gave the elf a sympathetic look. "Your mistress might have told you that in a fit of anger, but by law, she never made the actual move to remove Sirius from the family. I've already checked this, but you're free to do so as well. Upon her death and by her will, Sirius was made the master of the family and inheritor to everything of House Black."
"What?" Both the elf and Sirius screeched.
"That crazy old woman," Sirius muttered, but seemed to be lost in his own little world. "I thought that at most only my personal vault would be left over. What was she thinking?"
"Mistress… Mistress would never. There is still true heirs, Mistress Cissy and Bella to inherit—"
"According to who?" Hermione snorted. "For all she might have not liked Sirius, he was still her son—her only remaining son. You would rather have a Malfoy and Lestrange sully the family legacy instead of serving wholeheartedly the flesh and blood of your mistress?"
"Kreacher—Kreacher doesn't wish to speak with Mudblood any longer!" Harry thought the poor elf looked completely befuddled as he apparated away and he threw a surprised look at Hermione.
"What was all that about? I thought the first thing you'd do would be to advocate for his house elf rights, not turn his world upside down."
She snorted. "Don't worry, Sirius and I are going to have a long chat on how to appropriately treat your elf, especially one in his old age suffering from loneliness and a mild form of dementia." Sirius cringed. "But seeing how loyal Dobby is to you has really made me appreciate the value of trust with your workers. If Sirius is going to live here, we can't take the risk of having a hostile member in the house. Besides security reasons, it's just better for both of their state of mind if they can get along without trying to kill each other."
"I suppose I'll just have to ignore the little bugger," Sirius grumbled. "But enough about Kreacher, what did your elf here mean that he'll take over the cleaning of the place?"
"Dobby is Harry Potter's elf and Paddy is Harry Potter's family so he is Dobby's family now!" Dobby gave Sirius one of his earnest, gummy smiles and even Sirius had to give him a small, uncertain one back.
"I think it's a great idea!" Harry beamed and felt the burden of leaving Sirius in this gloomy place all by himself lessen. "There's not much for Dobby to do for me at Hogwarts anyway and I can always call him through the bond if I ever need anything."
"That's decided then!" Hermione clapped, glad it all worked out in the end.
Later when they were in the kitchen and forcing copious amounts of healthy food down Sirius' throat, they heard Dobby merrily humming a tune as he cleaned the stairs.
Harry swore at one point Dobby exclaimed, "What great practice for Dobby's Potter Manor! Dobby is sharpening his skills, yes he is!"
Chapter 6
The second task was tomorrow morning.
Harry had no doubt that the him from the start of the semester would have been in full blown panic mode, probably having no idea what to expect from the task or how to even pass it. He would probably have buried himself in the library somewhere and secretly wished for a shelf to fall on him while Hermione worked throughout the night to save his sorry arse once again.
But the current Harry was different. He had not one but two solutions under his sleeve: the Gillyweed had worked perfectly in a test trial at the Prefect's Bathroom while the bubblehead charm was saved as an alternative safety measure. He had also spent the last few months using the books provided by the Room of Requirement to research the layout of underwater environments and how to use handy little spells and know-hows to navigate his way towards populous underwater areas.
He was ready. Completely prepared. He had never felt so confident in his life. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for Hermione.
Harry subtly reached out and snatched the book her face was buried in out of her hands.
"Why don't we just relax? I swear I've seen you read that book three times already."
"Harry!" She huffed. "Give it back! What if I missed something? What if it was important? What if you'll need it for the task—"
"Hermione!" He stood up from his chair "Look at me, I'm not worried. Why? Because I'm prepared, I'm ready for whatever they throw at me. You made me ready."
Her eyes darted away from his guiltily. "I know! But I can't help but worry! I doubt I'll be able to see how you're doing once you enter the Black Lake. It's such a terrible feeling, knowing that you're in danger, but not being able to do anything."
"Is that what it was like for the dragon?"
"Don't remind me." She shuddered at the memory.
"Hey, if I could survive that, this will be a walk in the park," Harry joked. When Hermione said nothing, he sighed. "I never told you, did I? During the first task, I was flying on the seat of my broom, thinking I would fall any minute or be burnt to ashes the next second. The only thing that kept me sane was remembering your words, your belief that I would win. So... you see, in a way, you were there all along—fighting that great, ugly Horntail by my side."
She seemed too stupefied by his confession to say anything, and so Harry took the opportunity to shove the stack of books by her side out of the way and pull her out of her chair.
"I'll get past this task the same way." Seeing her shoulders loosen, Harry smirked. "Now, can we please leave?"
"Ooh!" She crossed her arms and tried to fight back a smile. "You can't go around saying such unbearably sweet things to try and win against me—not when I'm such an emotional wreck. That's playing dirty."
Harry was about to respond that he didn't care if he played unfairly, as long as it stopped her from looking so damn miserable worrying over him—as long as she smiled again—but at that moment, Fred and George emerged from behind a bookshelf, saying that McGonagall was asking for Hermione.
Walking back to the dormitories alone, Harry somehow felt like his steps were getting heavier and couldn't get rid of the uneasy feeling rising within him.
She never came back.
As the hours passed in the common room, even the fire started to dwindle, with Harry's heart sinking lower and lower. She had promised that she would be back soon. Hermione never made promises to him that she failed to keep—not unless, she had no other choice in the matter.
The timing was too suspicious. She had disappeared right before the second task; surely, that wasn't a coincidence? Harry paced across the large room, the nerves in his stomach not letting him stay still. Was she safe? Was she okay? The order had come from McGonagall and there was no reason for a teacher to take her unless—
Harry felt his knees go weak. Unless she was part of the preparations for the Tournament.
The lines from the riddle ran through his brain haphazardly:
We've taken what you'll sorely miss.
Who. Not what. It was a who this whole time. Who in this school would he ever consider precious enough to 'sorely' miss? There was no one else, really.
Well, Harry thought, that's decided then: they've taken her beneath that god awful lake and I'm going to have to get her back.
The last two lines of the poem seemed to mock him:
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.
All the ease and confidence from before vanished like smoke, leaving him trembling on the floor with an all-consuming fear. If it was just his life at stake, he wouldn't care as much. But this was Hermione. Hermione, the only true friend he really had.
The world had taken almost every spark of happiness from his life; he would be damned if he let them take Hermione too.
The Gillyweed worked like a charm: the icy water no longer felt like the Tundra and was instead pleasantly cool against his skin, his gills passed on oxygen to his body so there was no fear of suffocating, and his flipper-like feet propelled him forward with mind-numbing speed. It was almost too much to take in for the boy who had at most played once or twice at the shallow end of the pool before being choked by Dudley. He was moving too fast, the water rushing past him, as he entered the seemingly endless depths of the lake. It was too black—the darkness seemed to want to swallow him whole.
But all those fears meant nothing to him when he remembered that Hermione was down there somewhere. Go faster, he urged himself despite his apprehension, go further into the darkness.
The scenery flashed by quickly and he came to an area of gray-lit water where strands of black seaweed and a group of grindylows were floating. He recognized the setting from one of the many descriptions in the books about magical underwater environments. He wasn't far, he only had to cross that expanse of black mud—
Faster. I can do this. Just a little faster.
When he heard the familiar singing of the merpeople, he almost wept from relief and the want to give his exhausted muscles a reprieve. But it wasn't over, yet. He had to find Hermione.
He saw the merpeople first: with their grey, scaly skin, wild hair, and sharp, yellow eyes. Some of them leered at him mockingly but he paid them no mind as he swam directly to the center of the crowd where four people were tied to a stone merman statue.
I've found you. Harry sighed in relief, even as his heart sank from the way Hermione floated there—so listless and lifeless, so much like that terrible time when she had been petrified and he hadn't known whether she would ever wake up again.
A sense of urgency seized him and he brandished his wand towards the ropes binding Hermione, whispering a spell and hoping it would work despite the bubbling noise that came from his speech instead. It didn't. He searched around for something sharp and gathered the rocks from the lake's floor, using them to saw away at the ropes. One of the jagged edges sliced his hand but he hardly noticed.
Thankfully, the ropes soon fell away and Harry hurriedly grabbed Hermione. The texture of her wet hair brushing against his face, the reassuring weight as he took her into his arms calmed him down slightly—she's here, she's safe now. I've got her.
He looked towards the three other people still tied to the statue. Cho with her head hanging listlessly downwards, a petite, silver-haired girl whose face was turning green, and a dark-haired boy who reminded him of Krum. His head swivelled, and he craned his neck to see if any other champions had arrived, but no one was in sight. What should he do? He couldn't just leave the rest of them, it wasn't right. What if the other champions didn't make it—
". . . your time's half gone, so tarry not.
Lest what you seek stays here to rot. . ."
Harry froze and his blood ran cold as he stared at the unconscious girl in his arms. Time was running out: was he willing to stay here and risk Hermione's life? For what? So he could play hero, as always?
I'm sorry, he thought as he hung on to Hermione tightly with one arm and started swimming back in the direction he had come from. If it was just me, I would have stayed. I would have saved you.
But he couldn't do that now. Having someone more precious to him than anyone else, he realized, had made him selfish.
It was slower going back with the extra weight and only one webbed hand to wade forward. Ignoring his sore leg muscles, he used his flipper feet to rush out of the darkness. His shoulders ached and even with the gillyweed, the frantic exercise was making it hard to keep his breathing steady. It made him worry about Hermione; he had taken her from the statue, how long did he have before she woke up and needed air? The thought made him double his efforts.
Finally, he saw light from above and pushed forward. As soon as they emerged to the surface, he heard a sharp inhale of breath and turned to look at Hermione blinking water out of her eyes.
The people from the stands were cheering and someone came to help them onto the stage while another wrapped towels around their shivering forms.
"You did it, Harry!" Hermione sounded ecstatic, even as she spoke through clattering teeth. "You passed the task and you're the first one too!"
"Who the hell cares about that right now?" Harry muttered under his breath before yanking her back into his arms and satisfying himself with the knowledge that she was here—wet and shivering, but safe.
"Did you know this is the first time you've hugged me and not the other way around?" She mumbled against his shoulder. "I think I should play hostage more often if this is the reaction I'd get. "
"Don't even joke about that," he groaned while inwardly thinking, Is it really the first?
He was still shaking from the cold or from something else; he didn't know. "I thought I was going to lose you. Do you know how terrified I was?"
"Oh, Harry," She didn't need to say anything else and held onto him tightly.
As she turned her head to the right, Harry caught sight of a beetle in her hair and casually flicked it off.
There was the sound of shouting and Harry looked up to see a frazzled looking Fleur dashing his way. She had a towel wrapped lopsidedly around her and there were tear tracks staining her face. "Please, 'ave you seen my leetle sister, Gabrielle? Is she alive? Is she safe? Is she 'urt?"
Harry couldn't look into her eyes, ashamed. "I saw her. She was petrified like the rest of them at the bottom of the lake... that's all I know."
Fleur broke down into sobs and Harry felt the need to apologize. "I'm sorry, I wish I could have done something—but there was so little time—I was so scared something would happen to Hermione—"
Hermione shook her head at him. "I know that must have been terrible for you. But don't worry, I wasn't in any real danger and neither should Fleur's sister—"
"No real danger?" His voice rose. "You weren't awake down there. You didn't see… the pitch-black darkness, your face turning grey and losing all signs of life, those damned merpeople surrounding us with their spears and looking like they'd skewer us at any moment."
The volume of his voice attracted the attention of the judges, and both Dumbledore and Bagman looked over at him curiously.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Your concern for your friend is admirable, but I assure you all hostages were treated with the utmost care. The merpeople and I formed an agreement so that any remaining hostages would be brought up to the surface. Their lives were never in question."
Bagman nodded and looked at Harry with sympathy, which just angered him further.
"I don't care if you took every precaution possible, you still had no right to take Hermione or any other hostage down there. None!"
Dumbledore's face remained impassive, but Harry was sure he caught a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Perhaps he thought that Harry was acting unreasonably. Maybe he was. Maybe he was an idiot for being so scared and believing the stupid riddle word for word. But that didn't make it right.
"It's bad enough that I was forced into this tournament against my will, but pulling innocent people into this? Designing a riddle that would scare us half to death? What was it all even for—some cheap entertainment factor? No one could see beneath the lake anyway!"
Hermione was pulling at his arm and he couldn't stand the silence after his words, so he turned away from the judges in frustration.
"Whoever made this task is a blithering idiot." He grumbled quietly, but perhaps not quietly enough as Bagman's face soured.
Hermione seemed to have had enough and dragged him to the edge of the platform overlooking the lake. "You can't just insult the organizer of the events like that! What if Bagman designs the last task to be even harder to get back at you?"
Harry snorted. "What else can they do to me that they already haven't?"
She groaned, but stopped scolding him when Fleur approached.
"Zank you for saying vat you did back zere, 'arry. You are right, I never signed up for zis. I can get 'urt in zis tournament, but my sister is not to be placed in danger. No one is allowed to 'urt my family."
Harry unconsciously glanced at Hermione, remembering her comatose state in the lake, and nodded his agreement.
Hermione gave up on continuing to scold him when she caught sight of his hand, which Harry had quite forgotten was wounded. "Harry, you're bleeding! Why didn't you tell me you'd gotten hurt?"
It was a little embarrassing going to Madam Pomfrey for a shallow wound when he had gotten rather used to only seeing her for life-threatening injuries. But Hermione was adamant ("You got that from saving me, I have to take responsibility.") and led them to Pomfrey who kept giving Harry secret little smiles that he had no idea what to make of.
When they made it back, they joined the audience in waiting silently for the rest of the Champions to return: Cedric emerged from the water first, looking exhausted but carrying Cho, who was coughing up mouthfuls of water, to see a healer. Next was Krum, who gave a one-armed embrace to the dark-haired boy who was likely his brother. Finally, a merperson tossed up Gabrielle and vanished with a swish of its tail; Fleur screamed and cradled Gabrielle in her arms immediately, fidgeting over her like a mother hen and hissing what Harry assumed were French curses under her breath.
All around him, people were simultaneously crying and smiling and embracing their loved ones. It gave him a strange sense of deja-vu, reminding him of the existence of a boy who would stand alone in the shadows in such reunions. A boy who had neither someone to care for nor someone who cared for him.
Beside him, Hermione squeezed his uninjured hand and jolted him back to the present.
Now I have both, he thought as he squeezed back.
As they were heading back to the castle, Viktor Krum suddenly approached them and asked if he could have a moment alone with Hermione. Harry eyed him suspiciously as Hermione led the Dursmstrang student a small distance away to speak. At some point in the conversation, Krum glanced Harry's way and she turned a furious shade of red and shook her head. She shook her head a few more times and seemed to be talking very fast before Krum gave her a helpless smile and held out his hand. Hermione shook it amiably.
When she returned, Harry was overcome by curiosity and couldn't help but ask, "What did he say to you?"
"Nothing much," a light dusting of pink still covered her face and she seemed adamant on not talking about it so Harry dropped the subject.
They were eating breakfast at the Great Hall when owl after owl landed near Hermione's plate and dropped off a mountain of letters.
"What in the world!" Hermione exclaimed as she opened a letter, her eyes widening as they travelled along the page. "Oh, for goodness sake!"
Harry ripped open one of the letters near him: 'You are a sad, miserable excuse of a witch. Stay away from Harry Potter if you know what's good for you, muggle.'
He grabbed another.
'You think you can play the Boy-Who-Lived like a puppet. In the end, you'll be the one crying. Shameless wench!'
Another. And another. They were all the same, insulting Hermione in every way possible, mocking her looks and her heritage, accusing her of debauchery and low moral standards. Harry would have thought it hilarious in any other situation because clearly these people knew nothing about his best friend and how brilliant she really was. But Hermione kept ripping one letter after the other, her eyebrows furrowing with frustration the more she read and Harry felt his ire rising at these nameless people who had dared to put that expression on her face, supposedly for his sake.
"Ouch!" Hermione cried, as the last letter opened and covered her hands in a sickly looking yellowish-green liquid. Harry stood up in horror as large boils erupted all over her hands and tears sprang to her eyes.
"We have to go to the Hospital Wing!" He grabbed her bag and made a hand motion for her to hurry up. "Come on, before those boils get any worse."
"Harry!" Hermione protested. "I'll go by myself, you have Potions right now and Professor Snape—"
Harry proceeded to use a colorful list of words for where Snape could shove his opinions, ignored Hermione's shocked gasp in favour of gingerly grabbing her by the arm, and marched them to the Hospital Wing.
Madam Pomfrey fussed over Hermione, but she didn't seem all that surprised to have her there, and neither did she ask her any details for what had happened. When Harry asked her, she sighed and said, "I had expected something like this after reading the paper."
"What paper?"
She tutted, "Miss Granger, you are hardly in the state to worry about that right now. What you need is rest."
"How can I when people out there are talking about me and I didn't even know about it? I hate being behind on information!" Hermione begged and pleaded before Madam Pomfrey finally relented.
After the bandaging was done, she placed a Witch Weekly article in front of them and informed Harry that in no circumstances was he to allow his overly enthusiastic friend to turn the pages or use her hands for the next two hours at all.
Hermione looked at him impatiently and he rolled his eyes before squeezing on to the hospital bed and holding up the article in front of her. It said in large, bolded letters: "MUGGLEBORN WITCH TWO-TIMING THE BOY-WHO-LIVED AND FAMOUS QUIDDITCH PLAYER." Underneath that in fancy cursive was the subtitle: "Harry Potter's Secret Heartache."
Hermione's eyes skimmed it over with lightning speed. The article stated Harry was in a one-sided love with his 'plain but ambitious' girlfriend, who was merely latching on to him for his fame while she turned her eyes elsewhere.
Harry ignored both the word 'girlfriend' and the awkwardness it made him feel, choosing to focus on something more important.
"Ambitious, that I can see. But plain? I reckon Skeeter needs a new glasses prescription." He nudged Hermione who let out an unladylike snort, but couldn't quite hide her smile.
Skeeter cited that only a short while after they had engaged in a 'scandalous' display of public affection during the second task, Hermione had 'abandoned' Harry for Krum's side.
"Scandalous?" Harry sputtered. "It was just a hug!"
"Which," Hermione raised her chin smugly, "you initiated."
Harry snorted. "Are you still going on about that? How many times will I have to hug you first before you let it go?"
She nodded gravely. "You have three years of hugs to make up for, Harry James Potter. Three whole years of Harry Hugs."
Well, Harry thought as he recalled the pleasant way she had felt in his arms, that doesn't sound like much of a hardship.
Hermione was continuing her rant: "And honestly! I was standing not ten feet away from you! I would hardly call that 'abandoning!'"
The article continued to spin a tale of betrayal and heartache, inserting the fact that Hermione had been 'the person he would miss most' to spice up the tale in every other sentence. Apparently, Krum had confessed to Hermione and asked if there was a chance for him with Harry in the picture. Rita reported that she had made a 'sly move' by acting like Harry and her were 'just friends' and in refusing Krum's approach, she was only playing 'hard to get.'
'Miss Granger seems to have a very unique definition of friendship,' one line said mockingly.
"Now, that's just not right." Harry frowned, frustrated. Hermione had her own faults: she was too demanding at times, a little headstrong and stubborn, sometimes a little too bossy… But she was not a bad friend. On the contrary, his friendship with Hermione was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. It rattled him to see strangers poking their noses into their friendship and acting as if they had a right to tear it apart for entertainment.
Hermione made a sound of agreement. "Yes, I think so too! Something's not right at all. How did she know what I told you after we came out of the lake? How did she know that Viktor confessed to me? She had to have been spying somehow—either through an invisibility cloak or something else I'm overlooking!"
"Wait," Harry swiveled his head to look at her. "He actually confessed to you?"
"Yes," Hermione squared her shoulders, as if expecting to defend herself.
"I mean," Harry rubbed his neck awkwardly, "I just thought Skeeter was exaggerating things like she always does. So, Krum really did that—asked if there was something between you and me?"
"Yes—well," she fidgeted, "I set him straight on that one, but he didn't seem to believe me for some reason. Anyway, I just ended the conversation by telling him that although I didn't see myself visiting him in Bulgaria any time soon, I was flattered by his invitation and hoped we could be friends. Then we shook hands. That's it."
"That's it." He echoed.
There was an awkward silence for a long moment before Harry blurted out. "He was too old for you anyway!"
She raised an eyebrow, and he struggled for something else to add: "And too gloomy!"
Hermione giggled. "Harry, there's no need to worry. I wasn't going to say yes. I barely know anything about him! Besides, I'm too busy trying to make sure you survive to even think of anything else this year."
"Well, now I feel even more guilty."
"What for?"
"Being my friend has brought you nothing but trouble." He motioned towards her heavily bandaged hands. "And I make you too invested in my problems to the point that you worry all the time and barely have time for yourself."
Hermione snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. Need I remind you that I chose to be your friend? I think, in some twisted way, I even appreciate all these headaches you get involved in. Otherwise, how would I ever challenge myself?"
"What, plain old Hogwarts too boring for you?" Harry smirked. "You need dark lords, basilisks, dementors, and dragons to get that excitement going?"
"You face increasingly dangerous situations every year; if I don't level up accordingly, where would that leave me? There's no fun if we're not winning!"
She meant it as a joke, he knew, but it struck him at that moment how true it was. Every year he faced something more terrible. His first year he had faced Voldemort's wraith. By seventh year, would he be facing Voldemort in the flesh? He shuddered at the thought and quickly banished it to the back of his mind.
Despite Hermione's repeated assurances that she was fine and that the letters didn't bother her, Harry decided that they bothered him.
Usually, he would have gone along with her and been happy to let the issue rest; he didn't like confrontations and complicating matters if he could avoid it. But this was Hermione. What kind of friend would he be if he abandoned her to deal with the scrutiny alone?
He doubted that the lowlifes sending threatening, malicious letters to an innocent fifteen-year-old girl would be difficult opponents.
"Finally, I get to use some spells from those damned lists," Harry muttered to himself as he opened a bag of letters and arranged them in neat rows on the floor of the Owlery. He had already cast Tracking Charms on Hermione's letters and addressed the ones on the ground to each sender.
Dear Helper,
Thank you ever so much for offering your assistance in regards to my relationship with Hermione Granger. I had no idea she held such malicious intentions. You see, Miss Granger has been my constant companion from the moment I stepped into the wizarding world. Perhaps her unwavering loyalty, selflessness, and determination to be a true friend have blinded my eyes to her true colours. I am very glad that strangers who know nothing about me have decided to interfere in my life.
I am sure you will be saddened to know that the threats sent to Miss Granger had very little effect on her. Please find my consolation gift attached; it should have taken effect by the time you've finished reading this message.
Forever grateful,
The-Boy-Who-Could-Have-Lived-Without-Your-Help
A stinging hex had been attached to the parchment and was designed to activate within thirty seconds. He thought it fitting that their sharp insults would be returned back to them, sting for sting.
For the last letter, Harry had decided to use a hex that caused just as many boils and sores as the bubotuber pus, but all over the body and lasted a full day before a counter charm could be applied. Yes, it was included in Hermione's "Harmful Hexes" list, but it was fairly low on the list and, really, Harry was tired of playing nice.
"All right," Harry whistled. "Time to set off now." The owls around him one by one dropped down and picked up a letter, before setting off to the sky. Hedwig took the last one from his hand and hooted happily before leaving as well.
"Well," he said to himself, "Must have been the right thing to do if even Hedwig approves." Others might not agree with getting 'revenge' and choose the moral high ground instead, but Harry was beginning to realize that not stifling his emotions and indulging in his pettiness was quite refreshing.
I should really do this more often.
Harry's eyes ran over the list titled: 'Potential Offensive Spells to Learn, but Hopefully NOT Use: Restricted Version.' All the other lists had spells in the double digits, but this was the only list with less than ten items. Even when McGonagall had given them permission to access the Restricted Section, they had been too focused on preparing for the second task to add many spells to the list. As for the first task, once Harry had found out his opponent was a dragon, he had quickly focused on escaping rather than fighting. There had been no real need to double down on the offensive tactics.
For some reason, he kept getting the feeling that there was a need now.
Beside him, Hermione let out a small yawn and stretched her arms in the air. "There! That's the homework for this week done. Now we can start planning for the third task."
These days, they divided their time outside classes mostly between the library and the Room of Requirement. Currently, they were in the library and sitting only a few shelves away from the Restricted Section. Harry wondered if McGonagall's permission slip applied for the third task as well. If it didn't, he would have to find a way to persuade her or Flitwick to allow him access.
"I've been thinking," Harry said slowly, "We really need to expand this list."
She took the parchment from him and frowned. "What brought this on?"
"It was something you said, actually. About me facing greater dangers year after year. Always at the same time too—at the very end of the year—almost like I've been cursed."
"Don't be silly, why would anyone curse—"
"Why not? I'm the bloody Boy-Who-Lived! From the moment I survived that night, I've had a target literally carved on my forehead. All it would take is some overzealous death eater to waste powerful magic on making sure that I never make it to adulthood."
"It sounds far-fetched, but at the same time, I can't outright deny it." Hermione mused. "Every end of the year something terrible happens to you without fail."
Harry rubbed his head tiredly. "I'm not even arguing that a curse exists—just that it might as well from how consistently horrible the end of the year is for me. I know I should be glad that I've passed two out of three tasks and that I'm in the lead for points, but something doesn't feel right. Things never work out so happily for me."
"You think the third task is going to be on the same level of dangers you've faced the last three year ends?"
"I sound paranoid, don't I? I don't know if it's because the world hates me or fate doesn't like seeing me go back to the Dursleys without having a near escape from death, but the pattern is there. I might as well learn from the past and prepare early."
"You're not paranoid, Harry." She looked grave. "I don't know why I never noticed it either, but now that I have, I don't want you entering those types of situations without being ready. Voldemort in first year, the basilisk, the dementors—I know you used your own strength to face them, but there was also a heavy dose of luck involved."
His smile was bitter and self-mocking. "You don't need to mince words. I survived despite my recklessness and stupidity because I was a lucky bastard."
"What! No, you survived because you were brave, resourceful, quick on your feet and lucky. I doubt that many other people could have filled your shoes and survived. Never sell yourself short, Harry."
"Maybe that was enough then." He stared at the list, unease stirring in his stomach at the looming threat of the third task. "Somehow, I don't think it will be enough now."
Chapter 7
He had grown so close to Hermione this year—more open, trusting, and comfortable than he had been with anyone else, really—that he had forgotten what it was like to get into an argument with her. And how much he truly hated it.
It was late evening when Dobby apparated him back to Hogwarts from seeing Sirius and he nearly bumped into Hermione in his rush to enter the dormitories before curfew started.
She was standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait and blocking his way, with her arms crossed and foot tapping on the floor. "Why the rush? You've already been gone so long you might as well wait in the corridors for Filch to catch you on his patrol."
"Hermione," Harry said, exasperated. "Let me through."
"Why should I?" She turned up her nose at him. "You said you would be back to the dorms in two hours. Do you know much time has passed? Six hours. Six!"
"So I lost track of time a little—it happens!" He was beginning to get frustrated. "Padfoot was telling me some old stories of his and I just forgot, all right?"
"Just—just forgot?"
"Yeah, you know, that thing where your brain decides not to remind you of something."
"I know what it means, thank you very much. What I don't understand is how you could be so scatterbrained—"
"Oh, will you two shut it!" The Fat Lady led out a massive yawn. "What are you doing having a lover's spat while I'm trying to sleep? Get in already!"
Both teenagers glared at the other and reluctantly shuffled inside the Common Room. Only a few stragglers had yet to go to bed and Hermione dragged Harry to one of the far away, unoccupied corners before hissing, "Harry, you have got to be more responsible than this! If you disappear for such long hours at a time, someone is bound to notice and try to find out the reason why."
"Dobby already said that Dumbledore can't sense when we leave the wards, who would be able to track me? Even if I'm not seen for a while, I can just say I was studying at the library and fell asleep or something."
"Yes, but disappear often and long enough and even Dumbledore will get suspicious. I doubt he would approve of your frequent visits to Sirius. And what if it isn't Dumbledore who notices—what if it's someone who would want to do you harm when you leave Hogwarts' wards? Have you forgotten that we still don't know who put your name in the Goblet?"
"It's not like I go every day! I don't know why you're so upset about this—you could have come along too, but you said you were too busy."
"Busy with schoolwork! Busy with trying to keep you alive for the third task! It's not just me, you don't have the time to waste."
"So, it's a waste now, is it?" Harry said bitterly. "Haven't you seen him trapped in that big, old, dusty place with no one but two elves for company? He's lonely and miserable. Don't you even care?"
"Of course I care! How—how could you even insinuate that I don't?"
He snorted. "I get it, he's not your family. You have more important things to worry about."
She threw up her hands in the air and stalked away from him.
Harry avoided Hermione for the most part of the next day. Out of pure annoyance, he summoned Dobby and asked if he could apparate him to Grimmauld.
Dobby wrung his hands, looking distraught. "Dobby… Dobby can't. Dobby doesn't want Harry Potter to get hurt!"
"What?"
"Harry Potter's Miss Granger has told Dobby that it is dangerous to visit Paddy too often. Harry Potter promised that Dobby could choose to do what he wants and Dobby only wants to do what will keep Harry Potter safe!"
He stared up at Harry as if dreading him changing his request into an order—something he was loath to do anyway. He never wanted to be like Dobby's previous master who would strip away his choice of free will. No, the cause of his current state of anger was that Hermione had gone behind his back and manipulated Dobby by using the elf's concern for him.
"When did she tell you it would be 'safe' for me to go back?" He tried to keep his voice steady.
"The end of this week, Harry Potter Sir," Dobby replied meekly.
Harry spent the rest of the day fuming and refused to speak to Hermione when she tried to approach him that evening. If she was going to be like this, he might as well not talk to her at all until she realized what she had done wrong. A week… what would Sirius think of his absence without any explanation?
The next morning, he made his way to breakfast with a headache and heavy bags under his eyes. Hermione was already there at the Gryffindor's table, munching on toast and staring at the paper without much focus. She looked up and froze as their eyes met.
Harry, too, paused in his steps. Hesitating.
After what felt like forever, he walked past Hermione and sat next to Neville further down the table.
"Morning, Harry." Neville eyed him curiously. "Rough night again?"
He rubbed his forehead wearily. "You could say that."
One day passing hadn't done anything to lessen the frustration at his best friend and worry over his godfather, keeping him awake that night. For some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about third year and that time Hermione had gone behind his back to McGonagall about his broom. It had been about his safety then too, and yes, she had been right after all, but her apparent lack of trust in him had rankled him then and it rankled him now.
Neville glanced at Hermione, but wisely chose not to say anything.
Harry, too, looked over at his best friend who had her shoulders hunched and was staring down at her hands. He felt a surge of guilt rising within him, but somehow managed to squash it down.
He ate as quickly as he could and exited the Great Hall, feeling a strange emptiness grow inside of him as he stood motionlessly in the hallway. Usually, he and Hermione would take a short walk outside or leisurely make their way to their first class as they discussed their plans for the day. There was still time until class and Harry found himself at a loss for what to do in between.
"Oh, good. You're still here." He turned around to find Neville, panting slightly and holding out a school bag to him. "You forgot this."
Harry cringed as he realized the bag was his and awkwardly said his thanks.
"Don't mention it. I could tell you were distracted about something." Neville gave a faint smile. "I don't think it's about the Tournament or breathing underwater this time, so I won't be of much assistance."
Ever since that night when Neville had mentioned the gillyweed to him, Harry found himself speaking more often to the soft-spoken Gryffindor. There was something so unassuming and open about him, that made it easy for people to relax.
"No, not the Tournament this time." Harry still didn't feel comfortable talking directly about Hermione. "What would you do if someone you care about showed a lack of trust in you?"
Neville winced. "Have you met my grandmother? She didn't trust me to be alone with a wand until I was already on the Hogwarts Express."
Harry suddenly had an absurd image of Hermione wearing a stuffed vulture hat and holding a bright red handbag as she stared down at him disapprovingly, and couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter.
"See?" Neville shook his head self-mockingly. "I don't know how to deal with the trust issue myself, but whatever problem you're having simply can't be as bad as my gran. Cheer up."
Well, that's certainly one way of looking at it.
Classes went by uneventfully. It wasn't as bad as Harry thought it would be, especially while sitting next to Neville. Sometimes the boy stuttered and when he couldn't muster up a topic of conversation, he almost always resorted to droning on and on about Herbology. But he also surprised Harry with his occasional dry humour and random tidbits about the Wizarding World.
During the evening, Harry caught sight of Hermione making her way to the library and at the spur of the moment started walking in the opposite direction, deciding that he might as well drop by Hagrid's Hut. It had been a while since his last visit.
He was a little taken aback when Neville followed suit.
"Um, Neville," Harry started to say awkwardly. "Classes are over."
"I know."
"I'm just going to go some—"
"I'll come with you! I've got nothing else to do!"
Harry groaned. It seemed that his little bout of depression that morning had caught Neville's attention and the usually meek, uncertain boy was oddly determined to keep Harry company.
By the time they arrived at Hagrid's Hut, Neville looked a bit apprehensive.
"It's just Hagrid," Harry said.
"I know that," Neville whispered, "but he's looked so down this last month. Are you sure he'd want visitors?"
It was true that after Rita Skeeter's article exposed his giant blood, Hagrid had taken it very badly—barely speaking to anyone and hiding in his hut whenever he didn't have to teach his class. It wasn't until Harry and Hermione knocked some sense into him and assured him that no one would think less of him just because his mum was a giantess, that he had come out from seclusion and tried to go back to normal. However, Harry knew all too well the power of gossip, scornful stares, and poisonous words and he was concerned that Hagrid might relapse into a bout of self-doubt and depression.
He need not have worried: Hagrid opened the door with a large grin on his face and heartily welcomed them in.
"If it isn' Harry! An' Neville—this is a surprise!" He patted the two on their shoulders and Harry chuckled when he saw Neville jump at the enthusiastic greeting.
Hagrid's smile faltered as he looked behind them. "Hermione didn' come with yeh?"
Harry looked down at his feet, not sure if he should tell the truth—poor Hagrid was already so confused at the rift that had developed between him and Ron—but Neville spoke up in his place: "I saw her heading to the library."
That answer seemed to satisfy him for they were soon settled on the table and Hagrid rummaged for cakes and tea to feed them.
Harry had always been aware of the candor and easy-going nature Hagrid had in the trio's presence compared to other students, but it was especially apparent now as Hagrid awkwardly stumbled with his attempts to engage Neville in conversation.
The shy boy responded with one-word answers until Hagrid said: "So—er—Neville, Professor Sprout tells me yer a prodigy at Herbology."
That was all it took for the dam to burst. Neville lit up and began talking at length about a new plant he was studying that was the main diet of one of the creatures that had been introduced in their last Care of Magical Creatures class. Hagrid stroked his chin in thought and started firing off questions while Harry sipped his tea, content to watch their exchange with amusement.
Once the conversation paused, Harry noted the large smile on Hagrid's face and remarked with heartfelt sincerity: "It's good to see you like this, Hagrid. I'm glad you're doing better."
"Better?" The giant man seemed confused before he thumped his knee in understanding. "Yer talkin' about Skeeter? Bah, I won' give her any more attention."
"Forget about me," Hagrid waved a hand, "What about Hermione? Heard she got some nasty letters."
"Oh. That...I took care of it." Harry shrugged and began to explain how he had given those letter senders a taste of their own medicine.
"That's brilliant!" Neville said with a look of awe on his face. "Did any of them reply back?"
Harry smirked. "Hedwig did bring me back some letters with their signature magical trace, but I threw them in the fireplace. Couldn't be bothered to read."
"And what did Hermione have ter say about this?"
"Don't tell her about this," Harry said, panicking slightly. It would be so awkward if she found out now, while they were in the midst of an argument. What if she thought he was trying to get back into her good graces? Worse...what if she looked down at him for it? He didn't want her to know yet of that darker part of him—the one that had rejoiced at the retaliation, in getting some small revenge.
"I—I didn't do it to gain any sort of recognition. I know it probably wasn't the most mature thing to do, but I was just so furious and it felt right, as strange as that sounds."
Hagrid appeared confused but Neville just gave him a long look and said nothing.
He kept his silence until they had left Hagrid's Hut and were walking back to the castle, where he suddenly blurted: "I know it's not any of my business."
"What?" Harry paused in his steps.
"About you and Hermione—obviously, you're having some sort of argument with each other. It's not my place to tell you what to do, but I just wanted to say...she looked rather lonely today."
Neville looked down at the grass.
"And so did you."
After a while, it became clear that Hermione was avoiding him just as much as he was avoiding her. Harry was tired and frustrated—with himself, with Hermione, with Neville for telling the damn truth. Still, he didn't want to be the one to break.
He was initially hell-bent on keeping his silence, but it got harder and harder as the days went by. The first day he almost sat next to Hermione in the Great Hall instinctively. The second day, he had to stop himself from calling out her name when he saw her in the corridor. The third, he looked beside him after finishing up his assignments in the library only to realize there was no one there to offer him the smile he had become used to. A few times he bumped into Hermione in the Common Room or during classes and they would both open their mouths only to close them and turn away awkwardly. By the end, his resolve had almost completely crumbled and he was operating on sheer stubbornness alone.
He missed her.
When the day finally came where Dobby felt it 'safe' to take him to Sirius, Harry expected to be faced with a miserable godfather and an earful of complaints about his absence. Instead, Sirius' face looked fuller and brighter than ever and he greeted Harry with cheer.
Harry had eaten less that morning so that he could eat with Sirius to his heart's content—his godfather was never satisfied unless he left the dinner table completely full— and was thus a bit surprised to see that the meal was lighter than usual.
Sirius noted his puzzled gaze and explained, "Turns out my body isn't well suited to eating large amounts of heavy food just yet. According to my nutritionist, I have to strengthen my body first and start small."
"Your nutritionist?" Harry's fork paused in midair.
Sirius frowned. "Did I mispronounce it again? I swear Hermione said I was saying it right."
"Hermione?"
"Didn't she tell you? She pointed out that although I can't enter wizarding society no matter what disguise I put on, the same risk doesn't apply to muggles. All they know is what I looked like in that wanted poster and a decent disguise plus a few charms can pass me off as a normal muggle pretty easily."
"So… she had you go to a nutritionist?" Harry was still trying to wrap his head around the concept of hearing that term associated with someone besides his obese cousin.
"Nutritionist. Psychol—a muggle mind healer, I think. And an exercise trainer. I told her a few potions from St. Mungos and I would be as good as new but she insisted on doing it the 'proper way.' Dunno how she convinced Kreacher to go to Gringotts and exchange for muggle pounds, but he did and I have a fake identity to boot now. Can't wait to buy one of those motorcycles again and tinker with it since Hagrid has my old one."
Harry didn't know what to think. He hadn't seen Sirius so happy and bubbly since, well… ever. "When did she do all this?"
"The beginning of the week? She came bloody early in the morning too—I was still half asleep!"
Harry's heart sank. So the morning right after their fight. Was this what she had been trying to talk to him about? So he wouldn't worry as much about Sirius?
"Now," Sirius turned sharp eyes to his godson, "how come you had to hear this from me and not your best friend?"
He mumbled and grumbled but somehow managed to tell his godfather that they had argued. Sirius was baffled at the reason why.
He ran his hand through his long black mane exasperatedly. "Harry, while I appreciate how much you think for my sake, you know that she was right, yeah? I've been so happy with your regular visits that I didn't even think of the consequences. Thank god Hermione was there to knock some sense into us. I don't want anyone to find out about our arrangement just yet."
"For one, if it's Dumbledore, he might not approve of you travelling out of Hogwarts' wards. And remember that the one who put your name in the Goblet might still be out there, still watching, still waiting. What if this is the opportunity they need to catch you off guard?"
"That's not to mean I don't understand your side too. She definitely should have spoken to you about it instead of going behind your back. But I just want to say—" Sirius sighed and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "I can't be the reason you get hurt, Harry."
"I wasn't thinking. I—" Harry choked out. "I just didn't want you to be alone."
Like I was.
His godfather enveloped him in a tight hug and Harry closed his eyes for a moment, wondering what he should do next.
"How about this? You and Hermione can visit me once a week. I don't mind if you do it together or individually, but the next visit, you two better have kissed and made up."
Harry groaned when Sirius winked at him.
"I also don't want to be the reason you're distracted from preparing for the third task. What do you say about rummaging through those nasty curse tomes in the Black Library and seeing if we can find something useful for you?"
Harry agreed, but his mind was occupied elsewhere.
He was scared. What if he apologized and she told him that she'd already decided she was better off without him? She was there in the Common Room, frowning at her books and taking notes. Harry noticed that she had heavy bags under her eyes and her expression was weary. Did I cause that? He wondered and felt his chest tighten painfully.
He should have walked up to her then, but his courage failed him at the last moment and he ended up sitting on a sofa a fair distance away from her, pretending to read his Potions textbook. Great cover, he mocked himself, like she won't see through that right away. Contrary to his expectations, Hermione didn't look up even once and Harry unwittingly dozed off.
He woke to an empty common room and startled at seeing Hermione missing from her spot. He let out a sigh of relief when he spotted her sitting cross-legged on the carpet near the fireplace, gazing at the flames and lost in thought.
Harry walked over to her and sat down, his back facing hers.
"Hi." He said in a barely audible voice.
She flinched and was silent for a moment before asking, "Harry?"
"It's me." He stuttered: "Don't—don't get up, all right? Listen to what I have to say. Please."
He was relieved when she leaned against his back and continued, "Before I apologize, I figured I should try to explain why I was so angry in the first place. I wasn't thinking straight—I didn't really want to. Maybe having not just the opportunity to visit, but having someone to visit felt like such a novelty I got carried away. But at the core of it, I really just didn't want Sirius to be lonely. I know what it feels like—to be trapped in a house with no one who cares about you—and I didn't want that for him. I didn't want the loneliness to eat him alive."
"So when you said it was a waste, something just snapped inside of me. If you didn't care about Sirius and what he was going through, what would you say about me? I thought that you didn't understand—that you couldn't or wouldn't want to. Because there are more practical things to worry about, like rules and schedules and who cares about useless, overdramatic feelings anyway?"
"Harry, I would never—"
"I know."
Harry reached behind him and grasped her hand; Hermione didn't pull away and instead squeezed back tightly.
"Like I said, I wasn't thinking straight. By morning, I regretted the argument. But then… then I went to talk to Dobby and found you had reached him already. It really rubbed me the wrong way to know that you had used his loyalty and concern to turn him against listening to me. It felt like last year when you went behind my back to report my Firebolt to McGonagall. Maybe if you had talked to me in advance about limiting the visits to once a week when I had calmed down, I might have listened to you. But you didn't even try! You went ahead and made the decision yourself!"
He paused and took a big breath, trying to calm down and center himself. Harry turned his head and stared into the crackling flames in the fireplace, wishing he could find the right words to say. Wishing that he was a bit better at this whole communicating thing.
"All my life, I've been controlled and restricted and manipulated, with people taking away my right to a choice. And I know that was never your intention, but I can't have that with my friends too. As much as I respect and care for you, I can't have you making my decisions for me. We can make them together. Haven't I grown this year enough to prove that?"
"How was I supposed to know?" Hermione burst out, her voice rising in volume. "I'm so used to you going off on your own, being reckless and rash, getting yourself into danger and me having to bud in and save you somehow! That's practically my role in this school: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's brainy, bossy friend! Three years of habit is hard to break. How was I supposed to know that you wouldn't just ignore my advice and do whatever you wanted anyway like—like with third year?"
She suddenly sounded miserable, all the anger draining from her voice.
"I know my faults. I'm too used to being independent and taking charge, of wanting my own way. It hasn't been a problem as much until now because you and Ron didn't care about planning and the burden of that was always left to me. Yes, burden. It always felt like it was my responsibility to stop you from doing stupid things and keep you both alive; it sounds funny when I say it like that—like it's a job—but I took that responsibility very seriously. Maybe that's why I went ahead and just dealt with the problem myself."
"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Harry, or made you feel like I don't value your right to a choice. It's only because for so long, I've been valuing your life more than anything else. It's the same reason why in third year, I went to McGonagall even though I knew you would hate me for it."
"I never hated you—"
"You didn't speak to me for a month! A month, Harry! You and Ron ignored my existence because I wanted to check a suspicious item when an alleged killer was after you. Imagine if Sirius hadn't been innocent and really was a Death Eater like the Ministry had reported; you would be dead the moment you sat on that broom. How was I supposed to know that you wouldn't be as stubborn and irrational as you were then?"
"Back then, you tossed away my advice and my friendship for a broom. With the Scabbers issue, you went with Ron while I was thrown to the side for months. I was second best then too. What now when it was me against Sirius—your family?"
Harry felt her tremble against him and turned around, forcing her to face him. There were tears glistening in her eyes and his heart constricted with the knowledge that it wasn't Ron or some other git who had put them there, but himself. He had made her— his best friend— cry; Harry had never hated himself as he did at that moment.
He forgot about keeping a distance or reasonably explaining why he had been angry as he gathered her in his arms and pressed her teary face into his shoulder, murmuring, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Hermione," over and over again.
All that mattered now was that she stopped crying.
When she stopped sniffling, she miserably said, "Oh, I've made a terrible mess of your shirt…" and made a movement to leave Harry's arms. He pulled her right back in.
"Stay," He commanded. "You are going to listen to me and remember this well, Hermione Granger. There are two people who matter to me the most in the world. Yes, Sirius is my family and he's one of them. But the other is you. You will never be second best in my life. Not now, not ever."
For a long moment, Hermione looked like she didn't know what to say.
"I don't want you to think that I don't trust you and—oh, I know I shouldn't have gone behind your back like that!" She took a shaky breath. "Not when—not when you're one of the most important people in my life too."
He felt she was owed the truth, no matter how embarrassing it was. "You don't know how miserable this week has been. I've come to a realization: we may have more arguments and fights in the future, but I never want to be separated from you again. It just—it feels—"
Hermione supplied the answer: "It feels wrong."
They looked at each other, the corners of their mouths turning up slowly.
"Are we friends, again?" Harry asked tentatively. "I really am sorry, you know."
"I know. I'm sorry too," Hermione said. "But I would never stop being your friend, Harry—not even in the worst of times."
He blinked rapidly, not knowing why his eyes felt prickly all of a sudden. All he knew was that Hermione Granger was his best friend once more and they were together—both of them wearing the same giddy smiles on their faces—and everything in the world was right again.