Chapter 1
It had taken Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort to the wider wizarding world, almost five years to track down the little brat that had so derailed his plans on Halloween night in 1981. He had tried to focus on rebuilding his power, but the whispers of the so-called boy who lived were driving him mad.
It was beneath him to waste time on something so worthless, but at this point, he just needed to put paid to the whispers.
The location of the boy — Privet Drive made his skin crawl with its overwhelming muggleness, and his hand tightened on his wand.
As he walked up the pavement to the little box house, he amused himself by imagining the entire neighborhood going up in flames. Bellatrix paced at his side like a wild dog, her nose in the air. She irritated him, too, but she was at least useful, so he didn't want to burn her alive— yet.
Voldemort stopped before the boring brown door, his hands hidden in the folds of his robes to prevent any infection from touching him. Bellatrix stepped forward and knocked harshly on the door.
The door cracked open cautiously. A tall, thin woman with an unpleasant face peered through the small opening. Her muggleness radiated from her like a foul odor. Her eyes widened when she spotted them standing on the step. She pulled back and tried to slam the door shut, but Bellatrix was faster.
She waved her wand at the door, and it slammed backward. The woman was thrown back, hitting the wall with an audible crack.
A fat boy started wailing immediately in the background of the house. Voldemort grimaced as he stepped into the house and silenced him. But it gave only a brief respite to his ears before the woman took up screaming instead.
He silenced her and cut off a finger. The severed digit fell to the floor soundlessly, and blood spurted from the woman's hand. He stepped back to avoid any splatter. His skin was crawling from being inside this house; he had to get out of this place as soon as possible.. "You will answer my questions immediately, or I will chop off your fingers until I run out, and then I will chop off your arms, then your legs— you get the point—" he waved his hand airily. "— is that clear?"
Tears dripped down her face as she nodded frantically, clutching her hand. Seeing her compliance, Voldemort removed the silencing spell. Whimpers filled the room as she rocked slowly from side to side, blood all over the front of her homely little dress. Her eyes darted anxiously from Voldemort to the fat child still screaming silently in the corner. Bellatrix grinned maniacally at the scene, her wand clenched tightly as she waited for the opportunity to wreak havoc.
"Where is Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked impatiently.
The woman's fright twisted into a snarl, "I should have known this would be that freak's fault—" She broke off with a scream when Voldemort abruptly cut off another finger while Bella giggled.
"Where is Harry Potter?" Voldemort detested having to repeat himself to this pathetic Muggle. He was going to kill her for that alone.
Shakily, with the few fingers she had left on her right hand, she pointed towards the cupboard under the stairs. Voldemort left the woman to Bellatrix's care and walked toward the cupboard slowly, his wand out.
The door was locked from the outside with several latches. With a flick of his wand, Voldemort unlocked them, and the door swung open.
Inside was a small boy dressed in a tattered shirt too big for him. His black hair was messy with tufts sticking up. The boy had a solemn expression as he faced Voldemort, unmoving in the darkness of the closet. The tiny bed behind the boy rattled on its own, betraying the boy's nerves despite his solemn face.
Looking at that small, bereft face, Voldemort was reminded of his own years at the orphanage. Locked away by his caretakers, who were unable to handle his otherness.
He really was going to burn this place to the ground.
"I'm going to kill you." He told the boy conversationally and raised his wand, waiting for the wailing to start so he could shut him up.
The boy looked at him steadily, unmoving. His green eyes gleamed in the darkness of the cupboard. The boy's eyes were just like his mother's.
Even after five years, Lily Potter surfaced in Voldemort's memory with startling ease. He had despised her, of course—filthy little Mudblood—but she had been something. He fancied himself above such petty notions as attraction, yet something within him had been stirred by the fierce conviction with which she had defied him, shielding her child.
Despite Severus Snape's plea for him to spare her, Voldemort had always intended to kill her. But seeing her, reading the knowledge of her own death in her dark green eyes. He had, for reasons he couldn't even fully explain now, given her the opportunity to stand aside. To live. It had been a foolish impulse— as she had been too stupid to take advantage of his generosity anyway. And now five years later, her child stood before him with the same air of resolve. As if it knew he was meant for death at Voldemort's hands.
"Do you even understand what I said? I'm going to kill you." Maybe it was too stupid to understand. What did he know of children?
"I know." The boy said quietly. "I'm ready."
Amusement filled him at such foolish bravery. Lily Potter had bred true. Voldemort laughed and reached forward to drag the boy out of the cupboard. He'd crush him.
But as soon as his fingers brushed against the skin of the boy's neck, fire lanced through his nerve endings. Burning, cracking, and racing through his body with pain so intense, Voldemort gasped and pulled his hand back. Touching the boy felt as if he was touching fiendfyre.
"Master?" Bellatrix asked uncertainly from where she stood near the woman missing her fingers.
"We're taking the boy," Voldemort announced. He needed to find out what caused that reaction and fix the weakness or harness it to use against others. There couldn't be anything to that stupid prophecy, and if it turned out to be something — well, he could kill the boy as soon as he became inconvenient.
Bellatrix looked stupidly confused, her mouth half open. "What?"
Voldemort ignored her and gestured for the child to come out. "Tell me one reason why I shouldn't kill this woman and this fat child." He demanded of the child, pointing to the muggles.
This seemed to shake the boy from his resolve, and he looked at the muggles, slightly panicked. "Because it's bad."
Ridiculous reasoning. "There's no such thing as bad or good, only what it is in your power to do. Now, why shouldn't I kill them?" Voldemort asked again.
The boy's mouth opened and closed several times, and his eyes started to water. It filled Voldemort with satisfaction for it to behave more like he had expected in the first place.
"Avada kedavra." He said the killing curse quietly with relish. Green light shot from his wand and slammed into the little fat Muggle, flinging him backward. He landed like a broken doll, his arms and legs askew.
The boy drew in a wavering breath. The Muggle woman looked dumbfounded before she started screaming hysterically and ran to the child.
Bellatrix was quick to stop her and wrapped her in chains with a hissed incarcerous.
The boy was completely white now. "You're like me." He whispered.
Voldemort sneered at him. "I'm nothing like you, but yes, we have magic. Unlike these pathetic muggles."
"What's a muggle?" The boy asked, his eyes still on the fallen child.
"A lesser being without magic." Voldemort waved his wand, and his magic wrapped around the chained Muggle, jerking her upright. "Now, why shouldn't I kill her? Do you have a reason not to?"
The boy shook, his entire body trembling as he stared at the Muggle woman. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
With another bored killing curse, the world was free from that Muggle, too. Voldemort turned to the child. "See, now this is your fault; if you had a reason to keep them alive, maybe I would have left them alive."
Bellatrix burst out laughing behind him. She knew he was never going to leave them alive anyway.
"Bella, get the child, we're leaving." Voldemort directed.
"But where are you taking me?" The boy asked shakily.
At that question, Voldemort paused. He wanted to experiment on the child, but at the same time, he didn't want it close to him. "Bella, your sister has a boy child, doesn't she?"
Bellatrix grimaced. "With that pathetic dog, Malfoy. He doesn't have half his father's power; hopefully, the little brat isn't as weak as he is."
Voldemort smirked. Lucius' weakness is exactly why he liked him — that and his fat Gringotts account. "Now, now, Bella, we mustn't speak of the future Minister of Magic that way." Voldemort gestured to the child. "I want you to take it to your sister, tell her to raise him as her own until I decide to come for him."
"But— "
"Questions, Bella?" Violence oozed from his tone.
"No, my lord." With that, she took hold of the child and disapparated with a crack, leaving Voldemort with the dead bodies.
Voldemort strolled outside leisurely, observing the neighborhood again. The houses were all in neat little rows, all the same, with similar little vehicles out front. The utter unimaginative uniformity of it all was sickening. He could fix that easily.
He held his wand out, and fire began to pour from it like lava. The magic was hot and thick, growing and expanding. It took the shape of a serpent that hissed and crackled as it darted toward the house Voldemort had just left.
Voldemort laughed as he fed the fire serpent more and more power, letting the fiendfyre snake grow larger and larger— its hunger was voracious as it consumed the house the boy had been in and then ate the next — and the next one to that until the entire street was up in flames. Screams echoed but were drowned out by the roar of the flames.
It was glorious.
He burned up everything that connected the child to the boy who lived — now he would only be Voldemort's ward — to kill or keep as he so chose.
OOOOooOOOOoooOOOO
Eleven Years Later
Ronald Weasley came to get her during her revision period. Ron was in Gryffindor, and Hermione had known for years that he had a crush on her. But he had never understood that simple things like crushes weren't for her. She had more important matters weighing on her mind.
The summer before school started, there had been an election for a new Minister of Magic. Lucius Malfoy had won. Lucius Malfoy, who hated Muggles and the Muggleborn. The threat to Muggleborns was at an all-time high as Hermione started her seventh year of Hogwarts.
It was an open secret that Voldemort was the power behind Malfoy. Malfoy wasn't shy about showing off the brand on his arm that marked him as one of Voldemort's Death Eaters. The Wizengamot already had a list of pending legislation for voting that would further erode Muggleborn rights— further erode Hermione's rights.
Ron stopped by her desk, his blue eyes for once utterly serious as he stared down at her. "Dumbledore wants to see you." He practically whispered even though no one else was near.
A shiver went down Hermione's spine. On her eighteenth birthday, she had been inducted into the last resistance to Voldemort - the Order of the Phoenix led by Dumbledore.
The Order was doing its best to obstruct Voldemort's agenda, but it was hard when almost every witch or wizard of power except Dumbledore seemed eager to fall behind Voldemort. Sometimes Hermione wondered what she was even doing by trying to stay in Britain. She could run to France beyond Voldemort's power, as several Muggleborns she knew already had.
"What does he want?" She asked. Perhaps it was her own nerves, and it was something simple — something to do with school.
Ron looked around quickly, making sure no one had come any closer. "He has a mission for you."
Hermione almost felt sick at that. She wasn't ready. She didn't feel prepared enough. She was the best at everything except blasted Defense Against the Dark Arts. Briefly, the image of the boy who was the best in that class came to mind.
Harry Potter. With his cool green eyes and competent touch. An enigma wrapped in Slytherin green.
Her enemy.
Hermione swallowed, pushing out thoughts of Potter and throwing back her shoulders. She could do this— this was what she had signed up for after all. She packed up her belongings, putting them carefully into her bag, aware of Ron watching her impatiently.
When she finally slung the bag over her shoulder, he reached out to grab her wrist to pull her along. It annoyed Hermione, but she let it go— it didn't matter.
She focused inward, her mind scrambling for what she could do for the Order. Obviously, they would want her to fight. She knew the Order had done several raids on known Death Eater hangouts with recruits they had in the Auror division.
Still, she didn't have nearly as much experience as everyone else involved. Hermione was jerked out of her thoughts abruptly when someone snatched her arm roughly back from Ron.
"What are you doing, Weasley?" Harry Potter's voice was cutting as he held her arm. He looked at her, and she saw an unreasoning anger in the depths of his gaze. "Was he bothering you?"
"Mind your own business, Potter!" Weasley blustered, falling back a step. Potter hadn't done anything, but there was always something in the air around him that said he could — easily.
Potter ignored Ron, his gaze focused on her as he repeated his question. "Was he bothering you?"
Hermione licked her lips nervously and shook her head. His eyes followed the movement as his hand on her arm gentled.
"Are you sure?"
"She already said she's fine!" Ron reached for Hermione's hand again.
"Don't touch her." Potter's sharp words froze him.
Hermione's heart was pounding — something that happened frequently in Potter's presence. "I—I can take care of myself, Potter. We're going to the headmaster's office."
"Of course you can." Potter agreed easily, his eyes not leaving Ron. "But you shouldn't have to."
It was hard to hear him over the rapid tattoo of her heart. "Dumbledore is expecting us; we need to go."
Potter's face twisted almost in a sneer. "Wouldn't want to leave Dumbledore waiting."
Hermione shook her head even though she wasn't sure if it was a question. She took a step back from Potter, then another. Then another, before finally turning and walking swiftly to the Headmaster's office.
After a few seconds, Ron joined her quietly by her side. Neither spoke about the incident as they went into the headmaster's office.
Many of the members of the Order were standing in a half circle near Dumbledore's desk. Hermione walked toward them, trying to project confidence, but felt like a fake under their inspection.
Dumbledore looked tranquil and determined, but Professor McGonagall seemed upset, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, and Poppy Pomfrey looked determined, their faces set. Ron stopped next to her, and she looked over at him.
Hermione half thought he would have left. Perhaps they had a mission together. As the silence stretched, Hermione struggled not to fidget as they watched her. She threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. "You called me, Headmaster?
"Yes, Miss Granger. We wanted to discuss something with you." Dumbledore glanced at McGonagall before continuing. "Professor Snape told me there was an incident in your potions class."
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, looking for Snape, but he wasn't there. "It was nothing."
It definitely had been something.
Dumbledore gave a small smile, his gaze locked with hers, and Hermione dropped her eyes at his gently reproving look. "Professor Snape told me that Potter stepped in front of you when there was an accident, preventing you from getting burned."
Hermione said nothing.
"This isn't the first time Potter seems to have gone out of his way for you."
Ron threw a quick glance toward Hermione before offering, "Potter stopped us on the way here. He was upset because I was touching her."
"That's not — no — he just — you were pulling me— he was concerned." Hermione stuttered over the explanation.
Potter again. Her heart reacted predictably, skipping a beat. The Slytherin was dangerous — rumored to have been raised by Voldemort himself.
Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow at her. "He seems very interested in you, Miss Granger."
Not even sure how to tackle that question, Hermione remained silent, cursing Ron at her side.
When Hermione didn't respond, Dumbledore continued. "We have a mission for you."
Dread pooled in Hermione's stomach. "What mission?"
"We want you to get to know Harry Potter, get whatever information you can about the Death Eaters from him — and if possible turn him to our cause."
"What!" Ron squawked next to her.
"How am I supposed to do that?" Hermione spoke at the same time.
Moody cleared his throat. "He has a liking for you, girl, isn't it obvious?"
"But he's the enemy!" Ron blustered, and Hermione sighed. At least one person was on her side in this.
Hermione shook her head, looking to McGonagall pleadingly. "But he doesn't like me! It's just — it's—" She couldn't explain the nebulous thing between her and Potter, but liking did not come into it.
Remus Lupin interjected. "Didn't he get rid of Umbridge after she sent you to detention?"
Hermione remembered fifth year, Harry's tight hold on her as he inspected her hand before letting her go and walking away. "But— "
Dumbledore interrupted her. "This is what we need in our quiet war against Voldemort, Hermione. You know how important this is— will you help us?"
"Does my mother know about this?" Ron looked at the adults as if they were mental.
"She does Mr. Weasley. And you're here because we need a third party we can trust to keep an eye on things."
Hermione looked at Ron skeptically. They essentially wanted Ron to be her backup? They couldn't have picked someone more problematic.
"But I—" Ron stumbled in his response, looking at Hermione. She knew from the look in his eyes why he hesitated. They wanted him to back her up while she went after Harry when he had a crush on her.
It was almost as awful as what they were asking her to do.
Alastor Moody stepped forward. "You two are young, but this is war. We all have to do things we don't like and make sacrifices. Don't forget what we are fighting for — to protect the magical world from Voldemort's tyranny. How long do you think you will last in his world, girl?"
In the silence, Dumbledore spoke up quietly. "I don't ask this of you two lightly. We need Potter on our side."
Ron made some strangled sound before agreeing so quietly it was barely audible.
Then all gazes were on her. Would she really decline the first mission the Order gave to her? Of course, she wouldn't.
Hermione bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she remembered the electric feel of Potter's gaze on her. "Yes."
OOOOooOOOOoooOOOO
Hermione went through the rest of the afternoon like there was a veil between her and everything else.
We want you to get to know Harry Potter, get whatever information you can about the Death Eaters from him — and if possible, turn him to our cause.
In Charms, she traced swirls onto her parchment while Professor Flitwick's voice sounded like it came from underwater. She wrote gibberish for her notes and couldn't shake the image of Harry's green eyes from her mind.
Get to know Harry Potter. Yes, just let her pencil that in her revision schedule.
How was she supposed to talk to him when every time she was near him, she just wanted to bury her nose in the curve of his neck and cuddle up to him like a nitwit?
He smelled of freshly mowed grass and parchment — and he was so warm that heat seemed to exude from him. The one time she'd had to sit next to him in Magical History, she'd remained almost frozen the whole time, trying not to inhale and sweating.
And now she was basically the Order's honeypot.
At the end of her day, she entered the Ravenclaw common room, ignoring the few people who called her name, and went straight to her dorm — falling on the bed with a groan.
Padma Patil and Luna Lovegood, having seen Hermione storm through the common room, followed her to her dorm and sat on the bed across from her.
Padma leaned back on the bed, bracing herself with her hands behind her. "What's wrong?"
Luna looked on interestedly but said nothing as she observed Hermione.
"You were right," Hermione mumbled into the bed.
"Well, I'm always right." Padma half-teased. "But right about what specifically this time?"
Hermione sighed. "I'm right more often."
"Just because of a five-tenths difference in marks, which is negligible by the way —"
Hermione kicked her feet and groaned again. "Padma!"
"Fine. Fine. What was I right about?"
"The Order," Hermione mumbled into the pillow.
Padma, who had been about to lightheartedly, as true friends do — rub it in more about being right — stopped with her mouth open in a o. "Oh."
When the silence stretched, Hermione turned her face to Padma and found her looking a little sad. "I expected you would be happier about being right about it being stupid of me to join it."
Padma gave a slight shrug. "I was hoping I was wrong for your sake. I know you want to fight against him, and the way the Ministry is going, but I don't think the way the Order is going about it is the right way. Support is there for an alternative viewpoint, but not one that's so covert that no one knows it exists."
"It's hard to be forthright when people who speak up disappear."
"That's where protection comes in — that's where the fighting comes in — but it just can't be all in the dark."
Hermione fisted her hand in the covers. "No one would follow me if I spoke up, and I need to help fight somehow — even if you don't think it's the best way."
"What do they want you to do?" Luna asked quietly, her eyes intent on Hermione.
Hermione buried her face in her covers to prevent them from seeing how red she turned and mumbled her answer.
Padma leaned closer to her. "What? We can't hear you."
Hermione took a deep breath, lifting her face. "They want me to make friends with Harry Potter and get information from him."
"Bloody hell." Padma gave a disbelieving laugh. "And exactly how are you supposed to do this?" Hermione turned redder, and Padma jumped up. "Oh no! They are not! How could McGonagall let them ask you to do that!"
Hermione sprang up to catch her friend, shushing her. "Shh, no one is supposed to know."
"You told them no, of course."
The silence stretched as Padma and Hermione stared at each other before Luna broke it. "I don't think she said no."
Padma grabbed Hermione by her upper arms. "You can't be serious! You know what they say about him! And he already watches you." She paused. "That's why they inducted you — that's why they asked you— they're using you—"
"How can they be using me when I want to help them?" Each word Padma said just solidified Hermione's conviction. She was doing the right thing — everything she did helped fight against the regime taking over Magical Britain and helped others who were like her.
Padma dropped her arms and flopped back onto the bed. "Not to be rude, Hermione, but how are you supposed to seduce Harry Potter? When that fit Hufflepuff Cedric asked you out, you told him you couldn't because you had reading to do. Don't you think it's going to be awfully suspicious if Ravenclaw's biggest swot suddenly is simpering for Potter?"
"I know that." Hermione snapped. "I have a plan."
"What plan?"
"I'm going to ask him for tutoring."
"In what? You're the best at everything."
"Not Defense Against the Dark Arts." Luna offered, reminding both girls she was still there watching. "She's third."
"Barely!" Hermione said with a touch of irritation. Both Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had managed to disarm her during the dueling sessions. But she had disarmed Malfoy at least once. She'd never managed to disarm Potter.
"Merlin," Padma muttered. "You're really doing this?"
Hermione straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin. She could do this. She was smart and resourceful, and she could damn well bring Harry Potter to their side or at least get information that would help them wage the quiet war Dumbledore was orchestrating behind the scenes. "Harry Potter won't know what hit him."
"You better hope not. Remember Umbridge." Padma warned.
"There was never any proof Potter murdered her; there was only circumstantial evidence per the Quibbler, but of course, everyone knows he did it." Luna shot Hermione a knowing look. "The real question is why he did it when Umbridge was one of theirs."
Hermione's right hand twitched, the faded scarring only visible under the brightest of lights.
I must not tell lies.
Padma waved her hand impatiently. "Everyone hated her, I think — even her side— but the point of that being he's smart enough to kill a professor and get away with it — and that's who you're trying to get information from. What do you think he will do if he finds out what you're up to?"
Hermione shivered at the thought. "Then I guess I have to make sure he doesn't find out."
OOOOooOOOOoooOOOO
Transfiguration was one of Hermione's favorite classes, and it was one of the most challenging for her. For seventh years, transfiguration was mastery level and meant to prepare students for advanced professions.
McGonagall stood in front of the class, coolly put together as always. The uncertain older woman who had seemed uncomfortable with Dumbledore's request for Hermione was gone. There were no meaningful side glances or any other hint of what had been discussed the other day in the headmaster's office. McGonagall's desk was clear except for a plank of wood with a nail sticking out of it. "Pay attention, class." She said crisply, holding up her hand and making a fist. "True mastery of transfiguration isn't just obtaining the appearance of the element — but also the properties."
Her raised fist turned silvery as she transformed it into steel. "Steel is a harder element to mimic because it contains several elements that must be combined correctly." She brought her silver fist down on the nail, hammering it into the wood. "But a high enough mastery for your NEWTs will open many, many doors."
"Now." She shook her hand, and it turned flesh colored again. "We're going to begin with partial body transformations and move toward full body transformations." McGonagall waved her wand, and a small plank of wood flew out from the side of her desk to land neatly in front of each student. Another wave of her wand summoned the nails, which flew to land beside the wood.
Next to Hermione, Padma immediately got to work, waving her wand at her fist. Hermione picked up her wand but paused at the slight ruckus at the table next to her.
Three Slytherin students sat there, including the object of Hermione's mission. Harry Potter. He was rapidly writing on a bit of parchment with a fine black quill. Next to him, Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott were arranging their planks of wood.
"Ow!" Theo Nott dropped his wood on the table with a thunk and dramatically leaned over his hand. "I've got a bloody splinter." He gave Draco an evil glance before he shoved his finger in Malfoy's face. "Draco, suck it out."
"Mate, get your hand out of my face before I break it." Draco slapped away Theo's finger.
McGonagall cleared her throat from across the room, giving them an admonishing glance.
"But I have a splinter," Theo whined more quietly, shoving his hand in Malfoy's face again.
Draco looked over at Harry, who was still ignoring them, busily scratching on his parchment. "Why are we friends with this again?"
"Because I'm adorable, of course," Theo answered.
Next to Hermione, Padma giggled, overhearing him. Hermione knew Padma and most of the girls had a crush on Theo. Sue Li, another Ravenclaw in front of Theo, turned around and said flirtatiously. "I can help you."
"But do you suck as well as Malfoy?" Theo said with a smile, his hand still held out in Draco's direction.
"Potter, I am going to—" Ignoring Theo, Draco complained again to Harry.
Finally, Harry looked up with a sigh, putting down his quill and picking up his wand. "Accio splinter." The simple summoning charm ripped the splinter out of Theo's finger.
"Ow!" Theo said in a high-pitched tone, hugging his hand to his chest. "That hurt more than getting the splinter!"
"Gentlemen!" McGonagall had had enough. "If you cannot concentrate on the lesson, you can come to my class after hours for detention."
Draco kicked Theo under the desk as all three answered. "Sorry, Professor."
McGonagall approached their table, her hands on her hips. "Let me see your progress."
Without a pause, Harry made a fist, and silver took over his skin tone. Holding the nail on the board with his other hand, he hammered in the nail with two swift strikes.
"Hmpf." McGonagall sniffed. "Well done, Potter." Then strode back to the front of the class.
Hermione's breath caught when Harry looked at her, as if he had been aware of her attention the entire time. His lips curled up the slightest bit, and he winked at her.
Hermione's cheeks burned at his look, and she dropped her gaze to her desk. Her own plank of wood and nail lay in front of her, untouched, as she had been watching the Slytherin trio practically the entire class. Had Potter known she was watching him the whole time? Hermione wondered what he was writing so busily.
Next to Hermione, Padma leaned over, saying in a low whisper. "At least you know one thing."
"What's that?"
"You already have his attention."
Hermione's eyes darted back to Harry, only to find him watching her again. Unable to keep his gaze, she looked away. "That doesn't mean anything." She muttered to Padma.
"Don't fool yourself. You know he doesn't look at anyone else like that."
Hermione wasn't fooling herself. She knew he didn't look at anyone else like that. But she didn't think the reason was why Padma was thinking.
There was something between her and Harry; unacknowledged, unspoken of — but still there. Hermione just didn't think it was romantic. It felt too uncomfortable, every nerve ending standing on end when he brushed by her or looked her way.
It was just going to be up to her to turn it into something romantic — if she could. Hermione took a deep breath, sticking out her hand and pushing with her magic. Transfiguration was about deliberation and intent.
Which Hermione excelled at.
She could feel the change as her skin hardened, turning silvery bright. Padma murmured appreciatively next to her as the composition wavered but stayed, turning her flesh silver to the wrist.
A wave of her wand with her left hand balanced the nail above the wood, and she brought down her fist with a loud thump, smashing the nail into the wood.
She didn't look up, but she could feel his gaze on her. She'd never wanted to explore the feeling between them. But now she had no choice.
Hermione shook her hand, flexing her fingers as the metal transfiguration faded, leaving her hand stiff. She glanced at Harry from beneath her lashes.
Asking Potter for tutoring would get him away from his friends and let them get more one-on-one time. The thought of being alone with him sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn't help but glance at him again.
His head was bent over his parchment again, and a lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. The light reflected on his glasses, and he almost looked like any other student. That is, of course, if one ignored the lightning mark hidden by that lock of hair.
It was rumored he got the scar when he survived the killing curse, although no one could or would confirm it. The one time Harry had been asked about it, he'd ignored the question, and the next day the student had fallen down the stairs, breaking both their legs. Everyone else had taken it as a warning — and that had been in first year.
And now she was going to try to trick him. Hermione deliberately looked away from Harry's direction, turning to Padma.
She could do it. She wasn't about to let the Order down — or herself.
OOOOooOOOOoooOOOO
After classes, Hermione made her way outside to enjoy some of the last bearable weather before it became bitterly cold. She sat under a tree close to the black lake, intending to read, but found herself just staring out at the lake, watching the ripples as the gigantic squid that resided there moved around under the water.
It didn't make sense for her to waste any time — tomorrow, after her Defense against the Dark Arts class, she'd ask Harry about tutoring. She needed to know anyway if he was going to say no.
Intuition told her he wouldn't, but still she had to account for all possibilities, and if he did decline, she needed to come up with a new plan to get close to him as soon as possible.
A chill wind blew, and Hermione shivered, clutching her jacket close. She saw someone approaching from the school, and a familiar redhead came into view.
Ron Weasley.
He stopped when he was less than a foot away. A bit too close, and Hermione scooted up against the tree, creating some more distance between them.
He frowned, looking down at her, his hands on his hips. "Hermione."
"Ron."
"I— You—" Ron stopped and cleared his throat. He looked around again before he began in a lower tone of voice. "This thing Dumbledore wants you to do is mental. I'm going to talk to my mother again and McGonagall— there's just no way they can ask you to do this."
"I agreed, Ron. If it will help our side, then I'm doing it. Dumbledore is right — having Harry on our side would help us tremendously, not just with seeing what you know who is up to but also with influencing the Minister — he's close with the Malfoys."
Ron shook his head. "We can try other ways of influencing Malfoy and getting the information we need— it shouldn't be you prostituting yourself for it."
Heat rushed into Hermione's face. "I'm not prostituting myself for it." She gritted out. In an abstract way, she did appreciate Ron trying to help her, but mostly the way he went about it irritated the hell out of her.
"What do you think he's going to want from you?" Ron asked insinuatingly.
Hermione's jaw clenched. "Maybe friendship? Conversation?"
Ron stared at her. "You're supposed to be brilliant."
"And you're supposed to at least have a brain." Hermione snapped back. "Look, I understand what you're trying to do here, but it's not necessary. I can take care of myself. I know what I'm doing, and I stand by my own choices."
Ron didn't even blink at that. "He's going to want to sleep with you."
"I don't want to discuss this with you." Hermione started packing up her books, her outside contemplation ruined. However, when she stood to make her way back to the castle, Ron stepped in her way.
"Hermione." There was a pleading note in his voice, but it only further irritated Hermione.
"What?"
"I—I like you."
Hermione froze for a second, clutching her books. For a second, she thought she had misheard him. Surely he wouldn't bring this up now, of all times. The wind picked up again, and she shivered. Ron stared at her with an earnest expression in the silence.
"Oh." She finally managed her brain, still blank.
Ron shifted on his feet, wilting a little under her silent regard. "I mean— I've liked you for ages. I think — I think you know that."
Hermione had known that he was blatantly obvious in the way he acted around her. The issue was she'd never been interested.
"And now…" Ron trailed off before starting again. "And now you're going to go off and try to seduce Potter or whatever Dumbledore is calling it, and I just —"
"Ron." Hermione cut through his rambling. "This is about war."
"You say that like it makes it better!" His voice rose, and she glanced toward the castle. "You're acting like it doesn't matter that they're using you like that. Like you're just some pawn that Dumbledore can send to charm a snake."
"I'm no one's pawn," Hermione said firmly. "What I am is someone who is directly affected by everything going on right now— "
"So am I— "
"You're a pureblood!" Hermione heard her own voice too loud and lowered it immediately, repeating lower. "You're a pureblood; it will never be the same. You think I want to do this? You think it's fun? I'm trying to help before they kill more muggleborns."
Ron looked stricken at her harsh words, and silence fell again between them. The lake lapped softly at the shore, and in the silence, the sound of the giant squid's tentacle breaking the water was loud. The tentacle curled toward them as if it were waving before falling under the water again.
"I can help you, Hermione. Please." Ron stepped in even closer to her, their clothes brushing as he looked down pleadingly. "You don't have to do this alone - I can try to be friends with Potter—"
Hermione scoffed audibly. The two could not be more different. "That would make it worse, I think. Potter would see through it instantly."
Ron's hands curled into fists at his side. "So that's it then. You're really going to go through with this?"
"Yes." Hermione straightened her spine, holding his gaze. "Tomorrow I'm going to ask him for tutoring."
Now Ron stared at her in silence, his freckles stark against his pale skin. "There's something wrong with him. The way he looks at people — the way he looks at you."
Hermione hesitated. Unease slithered through her again, but she pushed it away. "It doesn't matter — what matters is the war." That was all that mattered.
Ron seemed at a loss in the face of her determination. The air between them seemed chillier and heavier. Hermione took advantage of his silence to step around him to go to the castle.
"You're going to regret this." He called after her.
"Maybe." She muttered under her breath as she walked away quickly. She didn't turn around to look back at him.
OOOOooOOOOoooOOOO
The professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts was new — as they were every year. This year, it was the uncle of the students in their year, Blaise Zabini. Zabini's uncle was tall, dark, and always had a serious mien.
Hermione knew some Slytherin families tried to keep their distance from Voldemort, and the Zabini's were one of them. It was curious then why Landon Zabini was their new professor when all the rest had been lackeys of Voldemort. But perhaps he was running out of less mental followers who could handle teaching students.
Professor Landon Zabini strode to the front of the classroom, his cloak flaring slightly behind him from how quickly he strode. "Good afternoon, class."
"Good afternoon, sir." The class answered in unison, except for Potter, Malfoy, and Nott, who were whispering furiously amongst themselves.
Zabini ignored them, starting his lecture. "In your seventh year, this class is a mastery level for your upcoming NEWTs; we will be focusing on practical aspects of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Our first focus will be on advanced defensive spell work. Compound shield charms, identifying and dispelling jinxes and curses, all the while in motion."
Zabini moved to the front of the classroom and began to scribble furiously on the blackboard, outlining the list of defensive spells the class was going to focus on. "Please turn to page 396 of your text for the theory behind combining defensive spell work and the benefits for magical expenditure and greater protection."
The sound of shuffling pages and low-voiced conversations filled the room as the students obediently began studying the assigned work.
"I don't know how you managed to talk me into this," Padma muttered beside her. There were so few students who had signed up to take the mastery level of Defense Against the Dark Arts that all the houses had been combined into one.
The problem with that was one Ronald Weasley, who was staring at her entirely too intently. But Hermione straightened her shoulders, ignoring his gaze as she turned to Padma. "You know we both need this."
Both Hermione and Padma had aspirations to try to get into the Department of Mysteries, which still seemed not to be too influenced by Voldemort's pureblood politics. They just wanted witches and wizards who were powerful and smart.
"Hmph." Padma made a small, disagreeable sound as she began to focus on the text, taking notes as she read.
Hermione turned to her own text, focusing completely on the lesson. These lessons could save her life if it came to that in this quiet war.
She was startled when, some time later, a loud clap rang through the classroom, and she looked up to see Professor Zabini again standing at the blackboard. "Okay, let's go over some of the information in the text, and then we can have some fun with a demonstration."
Zabini looked over the students. "Now, who can tell me the main difficulty of casting compound defensive spells?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air.
Zabini gave a slight smile. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Synchronization, sir. If the spells aren't cast with the correct magical force, they could collapse or even potentially amplify the incoming spells."
"Excellent. Five points to Ravenclaw."
Hermione felt her cheeks warm. She definitely liked being right. Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked over to find Potter watching her.
Her cheeks got hotter under his intense gaze. She needed to get her reaction to him under control if she was going to try to get information from him. Although how she was going to do that she had no idea.
Just the thought of practicing alone with him made her heart beat a little too hard. But who knew if he would even say yes?
"I will," Harry said loudly, and Hermione almost fell out of her seat.
"Me too, sir." Malfoy volunteered, and Hermione realized she had missed Professor Zabini asking for volunteers for a demonstration.
"Please come to the front of the classroom for the demonstration." Professor Zabini instructed.
"Anyone want to bet a few galleons?" Theo asked in a loud whisper.
"Shut it, Nott," Zabini said with an undercurrent of steel. He didn't tolerate misbehavior in his class. "We'll start simple. One of you will attempt to cast a low-level hex while the other focuses on maintaining a compound defense of Protego and Finite. If your defense is adequate, the spell should dissolve rather than impact your defense shield."
Harry and Draco nodded, raising their wands as the classroom watched, captivated.
"Potter, you do defense. Malfoy offense. You'll switch roles after the first exchange." Zabini directed.
Draco smiled at Harry and raised eyebrows in challenge. Harry crooked his finger, telling him to get on with it.
Hermione leaned forward, her fingers gripping the edge of her desk. These two always put on a show, and she was sure now wouldn't be any different.
Both boys were still for a moment, facing each other. Malfoy moved first. "Langlock!"
Potter's wand slashed through the air. "Protego! Finite!" The two spells layered perfectly, and the spell dissolved as it hit his barrier.
"Nicely done!" Zabini and the rest of the class applauded. "Did everyone see the dispersal of the tongue jinx? By layering the spells correctly, Potter's shield did not get any impact from the jinx. Okay, Malfoy, you defend now. Potter offense."
The boys raised their wands again. This time, Potter slashed his wand through the air first. "Flipendo!"
Malfoy tried the same defense move as Harry had pulled off the first time around. "Protego! Finite!"
The shield looked different from Potter's; the spells not quite aligned— Potter's flipendo smashed against Malfoy's shield charm, causing the magic to ripple as it protected him from the knockback jinx.
"Good try. Thank you, boys, please take your seats again." Zabini strode back to the blackboard, drawing a simple diagram of Malfoy's shield. "You can see where the power levels were out of sync. This means when Potter's knockback jinx hit his shield, it wasn't dispersed and instead impacted the shield charm, reducing its effectiveness and causing Malfoy to have to feed it more power to keep it in place."
As they walked back to their seats, Potter patted Malfoy on the back, murmuring something to him too low for Hermione to hear.
Hermione's stomach twisted when she realized class was nearly over, and it was going to be time for her to approach Potter to ask for tutoring. She stared blindly at the blackboard where Zabini continued his lecture, her quill unmoving on her parchment.
She jumped when a warm hand squeezed her wrist and looked at Padma. "Get a hold of yourself. You look like you've been told you have to take flying lessons again."
"I feel worse than if I did have to take flying lessons again," Hermione whispered back. Flying lessons in first year had been a mortifying learning experience. She never knew how afraid of heights she was until she was five meters up in the air on a broomstick.
"You're going to do fine," Padma whispered, squeezing her wrist again.
When class was dismissed, Hermione packed her books quickly, not wanting to miss talking to Potter before they disappeared to their next class. She needn't have rushed, though, as the Slytherin trio was the last out the door.
All three stopped when they spotted her waiting across the corridor from the class. "Did you forget where your next class is, Granger?" Malfoy asked first.
Theo started to step forward, his hand held out. "I can walk you!" But he was cut short as Potter grabbed his robe and pulled him back.
"Um, no, thank you." Hermione forced herself to keep her hands relaxed at her sides when she wanted to squeeze them together. She could do this. "I was wondering if I could talk to Potter for a moment?"
"Oooooo—" Theo's noise was cut off abruptly as Malfoy smacked the back of his head.
"Sure, Granger." Malfoy towed away a protesting Nott, leaving Hermione with Potter, who still hadn't spoken and just watched her with dark green eyes.
"H—" Hermione coughed, her cheeks burning. "Hi."
Potter's expression didn't change, but he stepped closer to her, taking away all her air. "Hi."
"I w-was w-wondering if you— if you would perhaps tutor me in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Hermione asked, looking up at him hopefully.
"When?"
"Late afternoon? Six perhaps?" Hermione felt like she was trapped by his gaze. Had he even blinked?
Harry nodded, and she took in a relieved breath. "I know an empty classroom we can use. You'll meet me later today, then?"
"Oh, but we can use the courtyard— I see students all the time practicing— "
"I prefer the classroom, it's quieter with fewer distractions."
So she was going to die of a heart attack alone with Potter in a classroom. Great. Dumbledore would probably be nodding approvingly if he heard that saying something about it being easier to get information from him with the two of them alone.
She'd counted on having other people close as a buffer, though. Blast.
Potter took another step closer, and he was close enough that their clothes brushed against each other, and she could feel the heat of his body. "Is that okay?" He asked in a low voice that made her insides tremble.
Was what okay? Hermione felt frozen staring up at him. She was supposed to be an agent of the Order of the Phoenix— but she only felt like an underprepared teenager as she faced Potter.
His perpetually windswept hair had fallen over his forehead, hiding his distinctive lightning-shaped scar. There was a faint red on his high cheekbones, and his lips were slightly parted.
The edges of his eyes crinkled even though he didn't smile. "I'll find you after classes to show you where the classroom is, Hermione."
"Oh— I — well I'll be in the library." She was always in the library. Even for a Ravenclaw, students remarked upon it.
"Don't worry, I'll find you." He said with confidence.
"Okay."
He smirked at her. "I'll see you later, Hermione." He said as he started to walk away.
"T-thank you, Potter." Hermione cursed her tangled tongue.
Harry turned around, walking backward. "Call me, Harry."
"Okay."
He winked at her and spun around, disappearing down the corridor.
Hermione stood there staring after him so long that she was late to her next class and lost the five points she had gained in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
OOOOooOOOOoooOOOO
"Hermione, it's going to be too obvious if you go wearing makeup," Padma said exasperatedly.
Hermione dug into a bag full of makeup and toiletries her mother had given her that she usually ignored. "Padma, I'm not going to be able to hide it."
"What!" Padma said, her eyes widening.
Hermione's head jerked up, and she shushed her. Even though no one else was in the room with them, it didn't hurt to be careful. "Not that."
Padma frowned. "Then what do you mean?"
Hermione made a tiny whimpering sound, remembering how she had acted when she asked Potter— Harry— to tutor her. "It's obvious I — that I— "
"That you like him." Volunteered Luna, who was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling where she had painted stars.
"I don't like him!" Hermione snapped automatically. "I — feel some type of attraction that's uncontrollable. I mean, he's fit."
Padma grinned. "Very fit. Who says that you can't have a little fun while doing your patriotic duty?"
"Padma!" Hermione admonished, her cheeks burning.
"It's okay." Luna soothed. "He likes you, too."
"Does he?" Hermione said, staring down into her bag.
Luna sat up in her bed to nod emphatically, even though Hermione wasn't looking. "Yes. His colors change every time you're near."
"Oh." Luna saw auras. Hermione hadn't believed in it at first until she had read up on the ability. "What do they change to?"
"His colors are normally very dark." Luna frowned. "He's sad a lot, but when he's focused on you, it lightens and turns a little golden."
That sounded promising, although she wondered why he was sad. He didn't seem to be sad. Could she be lucky enough that he wasn't happy being on Voldemort's side?
Although she couldn't imagine anyone being happy on the side of Voldemort, the rumors were that he was quite mad from all the dark magic he practiced.
Padma smirked at Luna's pronouncement. "Well, if he turns golden for you, then not much to worry about, is there?"
"This is serious." Hermione frowned down at her lipstick options and then set them aside in favor of some gloss instead. "I'm not trying to date him. I'm trying to get information from him."
"And fall in love," Luna said dreamily, leaning back to stare at the ceiling again.
"Definitely not." She wasn't sure what to call the feelings she had when Potter was close — but love definitely didn't come into it.
Hermione heard a low meow from her feet, and she bent down to scratch at Crookshank's fur. She smiled when he started purring loudly. Crookshanks stared at her with his golden eyes, glinting as if to say, I think you protest too much.
"Shush, Crookshanks," Hermione muttered to him, sitting back in the chair as he stretched out by her feet. "Look, I don't want to mislead him like that. I'm not some femme fatale. I want to be his friend — his best friend. And then maybe he'll trust me enough to give me the information I need."
"And you need lip gloss for that?"
Crookshanks mewed as if in agreement and rolled against her leg, showing his belly. Hermione frowned but leaned down again to give him belly scratches. "It's about strategy."
Padma leaned against the bedpost, wrapping her arms around it dramatically. "Hermione, you're about to be in an empty room with the wizard that most girls in this school would die to be alone with for five minutes."
That was true — Potter was quite popular despite all the whispers about him. Brainless twits, Hermione thought scornfully.
If it weren't for the Order of the Phoenix, she would never have approached him. Hermione shook her head at Padma and straightened. Crookshanks gave an annoyed meow when she stopped rubbing his tummy.
"You're impossible." Hermione looked over at Luna. "Both of you."
"I enjoy being impossible," Luna said airily, knowing Hermione was referring to her without looking. "The possible is so tame— but the impossible…"
Hermione decided to braid back her hair so it wouldn't become absolutely unruly while Harry tutored her in dueling and Defense Against the Dark Arts. "And I enjoy being realistic. It doesn't matter what his aura does near me — it doesn't matter even how I feel toward him — what matters is who he is and who he is associated with. And all of them are bigots." Hermione finished grimly.
"I've never heard him say a word against the muggleborn." Padma offered.
"That doesn't mean he hasn't acted against us." That was important to remember. Harry Potter was the enemy.
"I don't think he'd act against you," Luna said to Hermione.
Padma turned to face Luna and put her hands on her hips. "Why does it feel like this entire conversation you've been doing your best to try to matchmake?"
Luna gave a serene shrug. "Fate sometimes takes a strange road, but in the end you'll always end up where you're supposed to be."
"And you make it sound like she's supposed to be lovey-dovey with Potter." Padma accused.
"Maybe she is," Luna added slyly. "Maybe she already has been— in another life."
Hermione groaned and pressed her face into her hands. "I'm just going to go for tutoring and get some information from him, hopefully. Not to get into any romantic entanglements."
Her wand vibrated slightly on the desk in front of her, and Hermione snatched it up. "I've wasted too much time already — I told him I'd meet him in the library."
Crookshanks made another plaintive meow as Hermione stood up, grabbed her book bag, and shoved in several books.
"Have fun," Luna called as Hermione rushed toward the door. She turned to look at Padma, and they both exchanged faint smiles.
OOOOooOOOOoooOOOO
Hermione arrived at the library with twenty minutes to spare. Padma and Luna, with their teasing, had put her a little on edge, so she was grateful for the extra time to calm down before Harry arrived.
She reached into her book bag and withdrew her history text. History was always such a calming subject. She became immersed in the text in no time and jumped when someone touched her shoulder.
"Sorry," Harry said quietly, dropping his hand. "I didn't mean to startle you." He was still dressed in his school robes, but his tie was slightly askew and his hair even more messy than usual.
As she watched, he ran a quick hand through his hair as if to try to tame the unruly strands.
"Ready?" He stepped back to give her room to stand.
Hermione nodded and put her book away, and picked up her bookbag to put the strap on her shoulder, but before she could, Harry stopped her with his hand on the strap. "That looks heavy. Why don't I carry that for you?"
"I can carry it."
"I know." Harry's hand brushed hers as he pulled the strap firmly, and a small unwelcome jolt sent heat crawling up her cheeks. "But I'd like you to spend your energy practicing dueling — not carrying a heavy bag."
"Oh, okay." Hermione stepped next to him as he slung her bag over his shoulder next to his and followed him quietly out of the library.
The corridor was empty as they made their way to the classroom Harry had picked out for their lessons. It was on the third floor, and even though there were students and professors throughout the castle, it still felt somehow isolated to Hermione.
Harry opened the door to a classroom and gestured her in. Hermione was careful not to brush against him as she passed. The classroom was large, with all the desks pushed towards the west wall, while the east wall had a row of windows that showed nightfall coming fast.
Harry placed their bags together on one desk and went to the center of the room. Hermione followed more slowly, not stopping until she was a bare meter away from him, facing him in the empty classroom.
"Did you want to practice dueling? Or go over the lesson today in compound shielding?" Harry asked, taking a step closer to her.
"Dueling."
"I'll have to get very close to you— do you mind?" Harry asked, his voice vibrating along her nerve endings.
"No, that's fine." Hermione took a deep breath to control her breathing as he stepped closer to her and then around, so he was at her back. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
"I've seen you duel."
She sucked in a breath when he touched her arm.
"We need to work on the way you hold your wand."
"What's wrong with the way I hold my wand?"
"You grip it too tightly and you lose some of the fluidity in casting, it slows you down— and that fraction of a second can be very, very important in battle." His hand slid down her arm until he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. "You're very tense here— your execution is technically perfect, but it lacks…" He trailed off, thinking. "Passion."
Hermione scoffed and turned to face him. "Passion? How would that help me in battle? I don't see you being passionate while dueling Malfoy."
Harry grinned at her. "I think you misunderstand. I didn't mean romantic passion but energy, intensity, and commitment."
Hermione wished she could melt into the floor. Damn, Padma and Luna. "Sorry— yes, I see now… but I'm not sure how exactly…"
"Cast a protego."
Hermione took out her wand and began the movement for the spell. "Prot—"
"Stop." Harry stepped around and grasped her wrist again and shook it a little. "You're too tense. Relax." Then he slowly made the spell-casting motion with her. "This is what I want to see. You feel the difference?"
His touch was soft but firm, and it was a struggle to stay relaxed with him so close. Hermione swallowed then nodded, trying to stay focused on his lesson.
He released her wrist slowly, his thumb trailing along the inside of her wrist. She sucked in a breath as he moved around her, watching her with an unsettling level of focus.
"Try again."
She concentrated on keeping her wrist loose as he'd shown her when she cast again. "Protego."
The shield shimmered into existence, the smoothness of her casting was apparent in the energy it took to cast the shield — normally, she had to force power into the shield, but it seemed like her magic just flowed better, casting Harry's way.
With passion.
"There," he said softly. "That's already better."
Hermione smiled at him. "I can feel the difference when I cast. I didn't realize the style mattered so much when I cast it accurately."
Harry nodded and stepped closer to her, her shield giving a shimmering barrier between them. "The tension gets in the way of the magic doing your will.- You've got to work with your magic."
Harry smiled and raised his hand to press it lightly against her shield. Little sparks of light emanated from where his hand made contact with her magic. "You're very powerful already, but this will help."
"Thank you." His praise made warmth rush through her. The air seemed charged as they stood there for a moment, facing each other too close with only the thin shield of her protego between them.
The silence stretched as he stared at her, his hand still pressed against her magic. "Can I ask you a question?" He said, finally.
"Yes?" Hermione waved her wand, and her magic fell between them, leaving them facing each other.
Harry's hand dropped, but his eyes didn't waver from hers. "Why did you ask me to tutor you?"
Hermione took a slow breath, fighting to keep her muscles relaxed and not tense up. "I wanted more practice — to do better in class."
She couldn't read his expression as he stared down at her. There were shadows in his eyes.
"Is that the only reason?"
Hermione hesitated, studying him, trying to figure out what he was after. Could it be possible that he knew something? There was an edge to his voice— or was she imagining it?
The silence stretched as he watched her, unblinking. His muscles were loose, and there was no wand in his hand, but she'd seen him duel and knew how fast he could move.
There's no way he could know anything. Padma and Luna's teasing had simply set her on edge.
Licking her lips, she took a chance. "You know I'm muggleborn, I need to be better — like you. It's dangerous for people like me."
Harry's eyes narrowed, and his hand came up to grasp her upper arm. "Is someone bothering you?"
Her throat felt tight, and it was a struggle to get out the words. "No! It's just how the world is."
"If you ever need help, you can come to me."
Hermione gave a tentative smile. "I think I knew that— it's why I asked you for tutoring."
He softened, his lips curling upward. "Okay, let's test your reflexes, and I'll attack while you defend."
Hermione nodded determinedly.
Harry squeezed her arm once before letting go and striding to the other end of the room. "I won't hit you with anything strong— just be ready to block."
She barely had time to tense before he flicked his wand, and a small blue light shot toward her.
"Protego!" Her shield snapped up, and the magic splashed harmlessly against it.
"Too tense. Try again."
Hermione dismissed her shield charm, trying to be more conscious of how she held her wand. Don't clench it — keep your wrist relaxed, she thought.
Harry watched her for a moment and twirled his wand with his fingers. She knew he was testing her, waiting for her to tense up again, but she focused on her breathing and stayed relaxed.
His second spell zoomed toward her even quicker than the first, but she felt it when she cast her shield charm — she'd done it right.
Harry lowered his wand and grinned boyishly at her. "Excellent."
She'd never seen that expression on his face before. She remembered what Luna had said about Harry's aura turning golden when he was around her.
Her pulse fluttered. "I think I understand now."
His grin changed into a softer expression, more devastating to her heart rate. "Let's keep going then again— until it's instinct."
By the end of the first lesson, her wand work was graceful in a way it never had been. Hermione was already planning to use these techniques in her other classes.
As her shield faded one final time, Harry walked toward her slowly, his wand twirling in his hand, his eyes fixed on her.
The closer he got, the smaller the room felt. It was close to curfew, and the windows showed it was already dark outside. They needed to hurry on their way back to their common rooms, but Hermione stayed still while he approached her.
He stopped entirely too close again, "Let me walk you back to the Ravenclaw rooms."
Hermione tucked a stray curl back behind her ear. "It's close to curfew, I don't think you would have enough time to walk with me and then get back to the dungeon before Filch starts searching for students out after curfew."
Harry gave a cocky smile. "He'll never catch me."
"I—"
Harry raised his hand and tucked her curls back on the other side. His fingers stroked along her cheek, and Hermione forgot where she was for a moment as she stared up into his dark green eyes. "Let me walk you," Harry repeated softly.
Hermione felt exposed under his gaze, as if he could see every thought, every moment she'd spent thinking about him when she shouldn't.
She opened her mouth, not even knowing what she'd say, and shocked herself by agreeing and slipping her hand into his.
His hand was warm, and when he closed his fingers around her hand, his hold felt unbreakable.
"I can't tutor you tomorrow because I have Quidditch practice — but next week— we have another lesson on Thursday?"
"Yes."
He nodded firmly. "It's a date."
Hermione inhaled so quickly she coughed, and Harry gave a small chuckle, patting her back. "I meant tutoring session. Are you okay?"
"You did that on purpose!" She accused. First, he talks about passion, and now a date?
"Maybe." He said teasingly.
Hermione wasn't sure how to respond to Harry like this. She looked away from him, pulling her hand from his grasp. "We should go." She said, walking towards her bookbag.
She wasn't surprised when he got there first and picked it up for her. Harry was quiet on the way back and handed her her bag on the outside of the Ravenclaw entrance.
"Good night, Hermione."
"Good night, Harry."
When she entered the Ravenclaw dorms, she went directly to the showers and took a very, very cold shower.