Chapter Fourteen
Harry was lying on the bed in the guest room, flat on his back with hands behind his head. Hedwig was on the mattress beside him, her coal-black form almost watching over him as he stared at the ceiling. It seemed he'd been studying the patterns in the popcorn ceiling for hours. The house was quiet after his and Hermione's return from the park. He didn't want to think about what the Grangers were doing outside his earshot. He wasn't particularly interested in hearing them have a family discussion about their houseguest being an accident waiting to happen... and an accident of dangerous proportions. He was growing comfortable here; he wasn't keen to hear them talk about how unstable he was. Because everyone always did, it seemed his lot.
Hedwig nipped gently at his shirt, one of several attempts to draw him out of his mood. Harry glanced at his bird and Hedwig clicked her beak at him.
The clicking was quickly followed by a gentle knock on the door.
Harry looked over just as the door cracked open and Hermione stuck her head in. "Harry? Are you still... can I come in?"
"Yeah."
Hermione slipped into the room quietly, a heavy black book (the one she'd been reading after Harry's clothes shopping excursion) clutched to her chest like a child might cling to a teddy bear. She closed the door and turned back to Harry. "If you'd rather be alone I can leave..."
"No... come here," he scooted over on the bed to make room for her. Hedwig gave a short, rather miffed hoot when Harry bumped into her and she flew back to her cage.
Hermione sat down on the bed next to Harry, book still held to her body as her fingers played nervously with the spine and corners. She wasn't looking him in the eye, which gave Harry time to really study her expression. She looked so small, almost frail, and it was so different from the Hermione he was used to seeing.
"I'm so sorry about today," she said uneasily. "You oughtn't to have gotten in the middle of all that."
"They were making fun of you, Hermione, what was I supposed to do? Let them?"
Hermione looked up, almost in a flinch, and met his eyes. She looked like a cornered wild animal. The answer she expected was plain on her face... she'd never thought anyone was going to rescue her. That he had, that he'd stepped in, was incomprehensible in her world. For a moment, he was hurt. How could she think he'd leave her to any kind of torment, be it at the hands of a Death Eater or a pair of vapid girls? Hadn't he always come to rescue her on the rare occasion she needed it?
"Oh," Hermione mumbled and ducked her head.
Harry brought his arms down, rose up, and supported his upper body on one elbow, bringing him closer to her. "What was that all about, Hermione?"
Hermione looked warily at him.
"I've never seen you like that before. Draco's been a hundred times nastier to you than that, and you always tell him off, or hit him." Harry smiled and Hermione gave a faint smirk. Then she sighed and her brow furrowed. "I don't know, really. Never thought about it. Those two girls have been that way to me for as long as I can remember. I guess I just got used to letting them. It's stupid, I know, but..." Hermione bit her bottom lip and turned her eyes to Harry's. "Why did you tell them you were my boyfriend?"
Harry felt himself blush and he sat up fully, bringing him nearly eye-level with Hermione (the inch taller he was than she was negligible). She watched him closely as he tried to answer. "Oh... I... well, I don't know. It just seemed like the best way to make them back off of you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it; if you're angry..."
"No, of course not. I mean... thank you." Hermione gave him a shy smile and Harry's stomach fluttered. His earlier embarrassment tried to make a break for the pride camp.
"You bet." Harry, for the first time, paid attention to the book she was carrying. "What's that?"
Hermione hugged the book closer. "Oh... just a little extra reading." She looked torn for a moment, debating something, then she glanced over her shoulder toward the bedroom door. Harry, curiosity piqued, leaned forward. Hermione turned back to look at him, considered him thoughtfully, then she laid the book down in her lap and reciprocally leaned in toward Harry. For a pubescent, fleeting moment, Harry thought she was going to kiss him.
"Actually," she whispered, "I wanted to speak with you about something."
"What?" he asked, surprised by how gruff and breathy his voice was when it came out. Hermione's eyes flickered, apparently she noticed, and he cleared his throat.
"This is a book on advanced spells, charms, and potions. I've been going through it in my spare time trying to find anything that might help you."
Harry, back to the world-of-fighting-Voldemort serious, looked down at the book meaningfully then back up at Hermione.
"Of course, most of the stuff in here we couldn't do over the summer, not without getting busted for underage magic outside of Hogwarts. There are some things we might start working on once we're back in school, but I was trying to find anything we might be able to do during the summer without getting in trouble."
Harry was very interested now. "I take it you found something."
Hermione nodded. "Now, mind you, it would be difficult, in fact it's notoriously hard to do, maybe too hard for us to manage, and you might think it's a stupid idea anyway, but... what do you think about trying to become an animagus?"
Harry sat back, stunned. Hermione continued to watch him closely. She was, of course, serious. What did he think about trying to become an animagus? He never had thought of it before. He knew that it was supposed to be a very hard feat to manage, so difficult that few had mastered the skill. It was most definitely advanced spell-work. Take on an animal form? He'd be lying if he said it didn't have a certain allure. His father and godfather had both been unregistered animagi. He'd always felt a certain pride in his father's ability to become a stag, because it made his dad just that powerful and skilled a wizard. But he'd never thought of trying to do it himself. Could he even do it? What if he was something sissy like a butterfly?
Hermione was still waiting for his reply.
Harry leaned back in to whisper, "You think being an animagus would somehow help?"
"Well, I've been giving it a lot of thought. Kimmy's dog disguise got me thinking about it, actually. She's been out in a muggle neighborhood, at a muggle train station, and no one was the wiser she was a magical creature. Handy way of disappearing in plain sight, and frankly, in the magic world it's pretty hard for you to blend in, what with how famous you are. I imagine a spot of anonymity would be very useful."
"So you're suggesting I try it and, if I manage, don't register with the ministry?"
"Absolutely not. Dumbledore himself said we can't trust everyone in the ministry now that You Know Who's back, and besides, what kind of disguise would an animal form be if a Death Eater could infiltrate the Animagus Registry records and find out what kind of animal you were?"
"Good point."
"And something else. Sirius. He's the only person who's ever escaped from Azkaban, and he was only able to slip the Dementors because he had a canine form; it confused them, they couldn't home in on him like they would a person. I know you're brilliant with the patronus charm, Harry, but what if one day you're faced with too many Dementors to fight them all off? Retreat would be a really great option.
"And whatever animal form you took, it would be sure to have some ability superior to humans'. Breathe underwater or run faster or jump higher, maybe even fly, who knows, but anything to give us an edge, an advantage in any shape or form."
"Wait, are you... you want to become an animagus, too?"
"Well, of course. If it could potentially help you, and I want to help you, stands to reason it could help me help you, doesn't it?"
"Umm... yeah, when you put it like that." Harry stopped to give it serious thought. From what he knew of animagi, once a person achieved an animal form, there wasn't any way to reverse the newfound skill. Of course, one could always choose not to become their animal form, but it would always be there, awaiting release, ready to be tapped. It was like a cage of Cornish pixies, once opened it was nearly impossible to put them all back in. What if he was a fluffy bunny or a goat and had to live with that animal inside him the rest of his life? And what about Hermione? She was doing this for his sake, to help him... was it fair to ask her to permanently change herself for him? What if she was a shrew or a bandicoot? Would she blame him for having that kind of essence stuck in her forever?
"Are you sure you want to do it?" Harry asked.
Hermione nodded. "I've thought about it a lot, and the potential advantages outweigh the cons, in my opinion."
Then again, there was always the chance he'd end up a stag, like his father. He had a stag patronus, after all, maybe the two forms were indicative of each other. He'd really like to share that in common with his dad. And maybe Hermione would be an eagle or falcon; it would certainly give her the convenience of flying when she was so reluctant to mount a broom. It might not be bad at all.
"Well, what would we have to do?"
Hermione brightened. "So you want to do it?"
Harry nodded. As usual, everything Hermione had said had been correct. An animal form had been useful to a lot of people close to him; it could be useful to him, too.
Hermione smiled and grabbed up the book in her lap... but instead of opening it eagerly she clutched it to her chest and looked back over her shoulder toward the door. "Tonight, when my parents are asleep and Kimmy's in the closet, we'll go over the process then." She got up from the bed, "I told Mum I was coming in here to talk you into having a swim. She thinks it would cheer you up, so put your trunks on and I'll meet you by the pool. Tonight," she patted the book then hurried out of the room.
Hermione had been in a rush when she left Harry's bedroom. She flew into her own, stashed the advanced magic book, fished the shopping bag from her mom out of the dresser... then she ground to a screeching halt. Her mother had bought her a two-piece. A bikini. A cute little peach/pink top and bottom. Hermione's jaw dropped. What had her mother been thinking? Hermione had never owned a bikini in her life; she'd had one-pieces since she was old enough to swim. She wasn't made for revealing swimwear, she had a boyish frame, she was built for concealing fabric. She'd look absolutely silly in a bikini.
She pulled out her old suits from last year and tried one on, then another... her mother had been right. She'd outgrown them. She didn't think she'd grown so much, but she couldn't lift her arms in her old suits. So she was back to the bikini. She'd already told her mom she loved it, she'd professed it sight unseen. She'd never imagined her mother would buy her something like this.
Hermione hesitantly undressed and put on the suit. She turned to her mirror with dread. It was as she suspected. She looked ridiculous. Her skin was too pale, trying to find a tan line would have been a fruitless search, her legs were too long and thin, coltish, her collar bones a little too noticeable, her arms skinny and a bit bony at the elbows, her figure barely distinguishing her as female with only faint curves at her waist, her breasts only just filling the top. She looked silly. This was the kind of get-up Grace Walters or Belinda Hernandez could wear and look stunning, the Patil twins could look good in this, Cho Chang would make Harry a drooling buffoon, but Hermione Granger... she looked liked a little sister playing dress-up. She'd never have the body to wear this.
She was suddenly mortified at the idea of Harry seeing her like this. She searched frantically for a shirt and ended up pulling a baggy T-shirt down over her body. She still felt absurdly naked underneath, but it would have to do.
Hermione fetched a couple of towels from the bathroom then went out to the backyard. Harry was already there by the pool, in his black and red swim shorts, his shirt off and in his hands. He was playing with the shirt fretfully, obviously torn between the choice to swim with it on or keep it off.
Hermione stopped short and took a good look, despite herself. It was more of Harry than she'd ever seen before. He could do with a bit of sun, of course ('pot, meet kettle,' Hermione thought), but the contrast of his torso made his black hair look impossibly dark. He actually had rather nice arms. Very trim overall; she was right that the tournament had kept him in fighting form.
The rest was the body years of Quidditch gave him. Not a hulk like Viktor, but not nearly as scrawny as his robes had made it seem. In fact, if some of the girls at Hogwarts could see what Hermione was seeing, they might fancy him for reasons beyond the name and the scar. Very respectable for a boy his age. Maybe even a little hint of the man who seemed fated to one day face the greatest dark wizard of their time.
And then Hermione looked longer and noticed the marks of Harry's misfortunes. Scars. Of course the mark on his forehead, hidden by a fringe of black locks, but the other marks, some she'd never actually seen before, drew her eyes. The knife-wound on his forearm, of course. A four-inch scar on his left shoulder-blade. Hermione remembered the Horntail flinging Harry with its spiked tail during the second task. A scar on his side, just below his ribcage, from when he'd fallen off his broom during Quidditch after the Dementor attacked him third year. He was lucky to have come away with just a scar considering the distance he'd fallen. There were others, smaller, some destined to fade completely in time, and some she couldn't place that would have to be courtesy of the Dursleys. There weren't too terribly many scars, but still too many for a boy his age.
Harry turned to look at her and Hermione shook herself. Then she blushed, remembering the outfit she had on under her shirt... and that Harry had been there when her mother bought it; he knew what she was wearing, too.
Hermione approached Harry and put the towels down on a deck chair. She couldn't quite bring her eyes up to meet his. She recalled the tense, uncomfortable way he'd passed on the suit to her. He had to have been thinking the same thing, that Hermione wasn't fit for something quite so revealing, but she knew he wouldn't say a word bad about it. He was too sweet, but she'd know he was thinking it, anyone in their right mind would.
"Hermione! Harry!"
Both turned back toward the house to see Miranda coming toward them, smiling, carrying a bottle of sunscreen in one hand and a thermos with two overturned, stacked plastic cups on top of it in the other.
"Here you two are, a spot of tea when you get thirsty. And don't forget this," she handed Harry the sunscreen. She paused and glanced at him. "Harry, not to sound like a mother hen, but we're going to need to put a bit more meat on your bones while you're here."
Hermione thought he looked fine already, even if on the thin side. Thin was just Harry.
Miranda turned to her daughter, glanced down at the shirt, and urged, "Well, come on, let's see it."
Hermione froze.
Harry fidgeted nervously.
"Oh, um, right," Hermione swallowed her pride and all sense of modesty and pulled the shirt off over her head. She felt like she may as well be standing there naked for what little she was wearing. And it truly wasn't that skimpy a bikini as bikinis went, Miranda did know her daughter wouldn't go for some string-tied affair, but still...
"Oh, good, it fits. You look lovely, dear. You two have fun, and don't forget sunscreen, if you do I'll have no sympathy if you burn." Miranda patted Hermione's shoulder and headed back toward the house.
Hermione glanced self-consciously at Harry to see him looking pointedly in any direction but hers. He was tense, probably afraid to hurt her feelings if forced to comment on her swimsuit.
Hermione sighed in defeat, decided to spare him, and tossed her shirt on top of the towels. "You're right, it's dreadful, but I can't very well tell my mum that I look like the stupidest git in England. She meant well." Hermione shrugged. "Guess it's just a good thing Ron's not here; I'd never hear the end of it if he saw me trussed up like this."
Harry cautiously looked over at her, seemed to lock his eyes on her face, then broke and tentatively glanced down at her. Hermione's insides tightened, almost as though she could feel his eyes sweep her from neck to toes and back again. He met her eyes and there was a strange intensity in them. "You don't look stupid."
Hermione swallowed and cleared her throat. "Well, thank you, that's nice of you to say." She didn't know what to do with her hands until she spotted the sunscreen clutched rather tightly in Harry's hand. "Here," Hermione held out her hand, "I'll do your back."
Harry looked frantically at her a moment, as though she'd asked him to switch suits with her, then he gave her the bottle. Like a stilted robot, he turned his back to her and froze. Hermione smoothed the cold lotion over Harry's exposed back. He was surprisingly solid (when he didn't allow himself to move the sheer sensation of mass was startling), very warm, even in the midday sun, and unexpectedly soft, too. She wouldn't think a boy would have such soft skin. Even where her fingers ran over the raised ridges of scars it was still soft on either side of the healed wound; maybe it made him scar more easily. Harry was rigid, like he'd been on the receiving end of petrificus totalus. He was clearly uncomfortable. Hermione hurried to finish his back and arms, then put a handful on her palm and started doing her front as she held the bottle out to him. Harry took the bottle, kept his back turned, dropped his shirt to the ground, and did his front.
When Hermione had finished her front she turned around and said, "Could you do my back?"
Harry didn't answer, for a moment there was no response at all, then she felt the cold touch of lotion then the span of his hand on her back. Hermione almost gasped... she should have expected it, she'd asked him to do it, but still it kind of caught her breath. She started to understand why Harry had been standing so tensely. She felt like her own muscles were taut, battling with the flipping in her stomach for dominance in making a mess of her senses.
Harry's hands were nice, soft, thorough. She pulled her hair aside to make sure he could properly do her shoulders. Harry obliged, smoothing sunscreen on her shoulders and down the backs of her arms, and Hermione dropped her head and closed her eyes. Stupidly, she was worried she'd shake. Harry's hands disappeared and Hermione opened her eyes. She saw Harry's glasses fall to the pile of towels at her left side, and she'd no sooner glanced at them when she heard a splash to her right. She turned, startled, to see Harry come up for air and tread water. Hermione smiled and rushed after him, jumping in with a splash and a laugh.
Chapter Fifteen
Original Author Notes -
A/N: I don't know if you can properly call this an author's note, but it's an observation I've made that I find very interesting. I've noticed that, in general, the readers who tend to best understand my intent in regards to the Harry/Hermione dynamic (pertaining to chapter 2 and their interactions thereafter), and who best grasp why I wrote it as I have, are the guys :) I always knew I had a man-brain, but I think this is the first time the reader response has been split between guys and chicks. I just think it's fascinating :) Not to say that there aren't a fair number of chicks out there who are following my train of thought, but I just noticed that there are more guys on that car than walking alongside the track :)
It felt strange to be sneaking around the house after dark like a criminal. She had their cover story all planned out; on her shoulder she carried her school bag with her astronomy book and her and Harry's completed astronomy homework inside. If they were caught in the back yard at night they'd simply say they were doing some checks on their astronomy homework before calling it fit to be turned in. There would be nothing odd about that. And if they were out there for school, with textbooks and parchments scattered about, neither her mother nor father would question the large black spell book among the items, either. It was rather clever, if Hermione did say so herself. Still, it felt weird to be going behind her parents' backs and lying outright. But she'd have to get used to it, used to bald-faced lies to protect her parents. They couldn't understand the likes of Voldemort, couldn't fight him, and more importantly couldn't do anything to protect her from the dark wizard. It was better not to let them worry about things they couldn't change.
Hermione slipped out the back door of the kitchen and instantly spotted Harry. He was already in the yard, sitting beside the garden with a small candle flickering on the grass in front of him. A flash of amber in the shadows, flickers of brown-gold in time with the flare of the flame, was Hedwig on his shoulder, out for her midnight prowl but obviously curious enough about her master's nocturnal venture to stick around and see what was going on. Harry reached up and pet his bird at odd intervals. He looked in Hermione's direction as she made her way across the yard to him. When she was on the other side of the candle from him she dropped her bag and sat down on the grass.
"Almost like being back at Hogwarts, isn't it?" he commented, and Hermione chuckled. "Yeah, a bit, only thing we're missing is your invisibility cloak." She dug around in her bag and began to lie out their props. Astronomy textbook, opened strategically to a labeled starscape, their homework parchments, two ink quills, scrap paper. It looked haphazardly perfect for their alibi. Then Hermione drew out the black book and opened it on her lap. Harry leaned forward and Hedwig, detecting the shift, locked her eyes attentively on the book as she might a mouse.
Hermione tracked the dancing words in the firelight and read aloud, "The first step to becoming an animagus, and by far the longest and most difficult in the multi-step process, is the retraining of the brain to connect with the natural world. This preliminary step is where most witches and wizards attempting the transformation fail. To truly harmonize oneself with their animal form, a witch or wizard must willfully and consciously abandon part of themselves to their animal instincts. Only when tokens of this union with the world transcending human experience are fully connected to the witch or wizard seeking form beyond human can one transition from the human shape of witch or wizard to the adopted form of beast. Here too lie complications, for even if one has the mental discipline to adjust their thinking, many witches and wizards are inherently incapable of accepting that they have an animal counterpart woven into their magical psychological profile. If one cannot surrender to the idea of possessing animal qualities they will never succeed in physically transforming into that animal shape." Hermione looked up and across to Harry, his eyes and Hedwig's glinting in the tiny candle's light.
"Okay... so how to do we do it?" Harry asked.
Hermione sighed in exasperation. "We have to figure it out ourselves from these clues, obviously. They're not about to give a step-by-step how-to for becoming an animagus."
Harry frowned. Hedwig, apparently losing interest in the conversation, spread her jet black wings and took off into the night in search of prey.
Harry rubbed his shoulder where his familiar had pushed off and said, "So... you don't know how to do it?"
Hermione glared faintly at him. "Harry, we can figure this out. Now, I've been thinking about what they meant by 'retraining the brain', and I think it could mean meditation."
"Meditation? Like, Buddhist monks?"
Hermione smiled. "Something like that, yes. In the muggle world there are alternative medicine theories as well as religious subgroups that suggest meditation to do very much the same thing, get in touch with nature, transcend human consciousness. I think that kind of approach is what this book suggests is necessary for the first step."
"What about tokens? What does that mean?"
Hermione looked down at the book and played with the edge of the page. "Maybe we're supposed to gather bits of the natural world. Perhaps we're meant to collect as many pieces of nature as we can, you know, as many kinds of grass, or types or leaves, or bits of animal hair from as many species we can, feathers... I don't know, but those would be 'tokens', don't you think?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck and glanced up at the stars. "Maybe we should write and ask Sirius how he did it."
Hermione didn't answer right away. "Do you think he'd tell us? Help us, I mean?"
"I think he would. He'd want to help, I'm sure of it."
"Well, we could... but Harry, is it wise to owl him with our intentions? What if our letter was intercepted, what if someone found out what we were doing? This is illegal, as we have no intention of registering our animagi forms if we succeed. And if the wrong people found out what we were doing, well, we might as well not do it at all. We're relying on the secret advantages this kind of ability would give us."
"But he's someone who's done it, and no offense, Hermione, but that book's pretty vague on how to go about it."
"We're just as bright as they were; we can figure it out, too."
"I don't doubt that you're smart, Hermione, I know you're brilliant, I just think a little help would go a long way."
"You require help?"
Both Harry and Hermione jumped when the third voice joined theirs from the darkness. Hermione reflexively slammed the book in her lap shut and Harry reached to his waistband for his wand. They sought in the darkness for the intruder and swirling mist arose from nothing and quickly coalesced into the shape of Kimmy, clad in stealthy black boxers that covered her from knees to shoulders.
"Kimmy!" Hermione yelped then fought to calm her voice. "You... startled us."
Kimmy looked deliberately from Hermione to Harry then said, "You need help?"
Harry glanced quickly at Hermione, at the book in her lap, then at their scattered astronomy things.
"Oh, um... yes, we were just doing our astronomy homework. We were thinking we might owl Ron and... ask him about... the moons of Jupiter. Quite the Jupiter-buff, Ron is."
Kimmy stared implacably at Hermione, so long that Hermione started to shift under the house elf's gaze.
Finally Kimmy moved closer to the candle and sat down. "You really shouldn't lie to Kimmy, Miss Hermione."
Hermione shot a panicked look at Harry, then looked back at Kimmy. Kimmy looked up at the girl, nonplussed, as damnably patient and expectant as Dumbledore often was when faced with a twitchy student.
"You think we ought to ask her?" Harry finally asked, breaking the tense silence.
Kimmy looked to Harry and silent approval, like a praise of 'right answer, my boy', was in her glittering green eyes.
Hermione whimpered and sent her own look Harry's way... a look of 'are you completely spare?', but when she looked down at the elf again she couldn't think of a way to avoid it now. Kimmy knew they weren't doing astronomy, and if they begged off telling her what they were up to there was no guarantee she wouldn't report to Dumbledore. They were stuck, they had to tell Kimmy.
Hermione, her better judgment screaming resistance all the way, slowly reopened the book to the correct chapter and eyed the elf a long moment. Dumbledore trusted Kimmy with Harry's safety; Hermione tried to decide how far they could go in relying on that explicit trust from the headmaster.
"Kimmy... you know about the return of You Know Who."
Kimmy shivered and tugged her boxer shorts higher up her body as though to ward off a chill. She nodded, causing the tips of her ears to wiggle. "Oh, yes. Bad, bad times."
"Very bad. And Headmaster Dumbledore told you You Know Who has it out for Harry."
Kimmy looked toward Harry with sorrow and affection. "Yes, yes... Kimmy was told." Harry gave a lopsided, sorry smile in recognition of Kimmy's concern for him.
Hermione paused to consider her words. "Well, you see, now that You Know Who's alive again, I wanted to think of everything I could that might help Harry. And I think... I think if Harry and I were animagi, well, that could be very useful to us. Might even save his life. I checked this book out from Hogwarts library before I left the castle, there's an extensive chapter on the animagus..." Hermione tried to gauge the elf's reaction. "And we're trying to figure out how one goes about becoming an animagus. That's what Harry meant we ought to ask you. Do you know how to do it, Kimmy?"
Kimmy regarded Hermione very closely, not saying a word. Hermione winced and glanced fleetingly at Harry.
"Hermione thinks," Harry added, "that to 'retrain one's thinking' refers to meditation of some kind, trying to get in touch with nature. And she thinks 'tokens' means we're to collect things, like leaves and feathers."
Hermione had never felt under scrutiny by a house elf until now. Kimmy was overbearing in her gaze, much the way Professor McGonagall could browbeat anxious students without uttering a single word.
Then, after an unbearable silence, Kimmy said,
"Miss Hermione is indeed a very bright witch."
Harry and Hermione exchanged hopeful, disbelieving looks.
"You... you know how to become an animagus?" Hermione asked.
"Yes."
"Would you teach us?" Harry asked.
Kimmy paused, looked uncertain. She tugged at the bottoms of her boxers and shook her head. "It's not allowed."
"We know," Hermione confessed, "but if it could help save Harry's life... isn't that why you were sent home with us, to make sure Harry's safe? Maybe being an animagus won't save his life someday, but maybe it will. We have to try everything, don't we?"
Kimmy worried the hem of her boxers, clearly torn about what she should do. Hermione held her breath. If Kimmy refused she'd probably relay their intentions to Dumbledore.
Eventually, Kimmy lifted her head and looked directly into Hermione's eyes. "You have to tap into the magical imprint inside everything in nature. That's what you have to retrain your brain to do, reach the magic in this blade of grass," Kimmy picked a blade from beside her and held it up, "and know its magic, connect with it, and then it's your token." Kimmy dropped the blade of grass and watched it flutter away in the breeze.
Hermione held back a gasp. "You mean... that's what we're meant to do?"
Kimmy nodded. "But listens, Miss Hermione and Mister Harry Potter, where most fail is to think like a human too much. So you retrain your brain, you learn to find the magic in everything, but not everything's magic can be your token. So this leaf has magic, so? Every leaf has magic, part of the living essence of the tree, you see, but not everything with magic is for you. So maybe this leaf doesn't give token to you, but maybe that one will. You can't take a token that's not yours, you can't ignore one that picks you. Collect what's yours for the final incantation, but only yours. If it's not your token it will sour the spell. Because it doesn't belong, see? Many witches and wizards try to force their tokens, and that's not natural, is it? A wizard thinks this rock should be a token, because rocks are nature, so he takes it, but it didn't token itself to him, so he thought like a human and the animal in him doesn't like that. It won't join with him for lies. Your animal won't join with you if you try to trick it."
"Honesty, fidelity," Hermione mused.
Kimmy beamed. "Yes! Just that, Miss Hermione! Honesty. Yes. Fidelity. Yes, yes. That's what you must do."
"And how do we meditate to reach this magic in leaves and grass?" Harry asked.
Kimmy blinked at him. "One cannot teach the how, but Kimmy can tell the what. Stop thinking like a human. Be part of the leaves and part of the grass, be the magic in you that connects to the magic in the leaves and the grass. That's what you must do. How is what you must do."
It was a baffling riddle to Harry, but Hermione was relieved. "Thank you so much, Kimmy. We'll work really hard, but we won't think really hard."
Kimmy clapped. "I do think Miss Hermione gets it!"
"Well, I'm glad someone does," Harry mumbled.
"Oh, you'll do it, Harry. It's about gut instinct, if I understand Kimmy correctly, and you're very good at going on instinct."
Kimmy was bouncing up and down on her bum in excitement over Hermione's grasp of the concept.
"Think of it this way, Harry... when you're catching the snitch, how much are you actually thinking?"
Harry blinked and the first whisper of understanding shot through him. "Hardly at all."
"That's it, Mister Harry Potter! Stop that thinking! That's the key to it."
"I don't know how we can thank you, Kimmy."
"It's to protect Mister Harry Potter, yes?"
"Absolutely."
"Then it's what Kimmy should do. But Kimmy wouldn't object to a nice new pair of boxer shorts."
Hermione laughed. "You'll get them, Kimmy, I'll get you a real nice pair of boxers."
Kimmy beamed merrily and jumped up from the ground.
"Kimmy!" Hermione called out and the elf, bringing up her hand to snap back to the house, paused. "You're not... you won't tell anyone what we're trying to do, will you?"
"No, no, no, Miss Hermione. Kimmy won't tell your secret. Nor can I help you any more than I already have, from this it is yours alone to do."
"We understand. Thanks a bunch, Kimmy."
With a snap the house elf disappeared and Harry and Hermione were left alone again. Without the elf's talkative presence the night seemed to rush back inward to close around them. Hermione was on the high of achievement, of figuring out a problem, though Harry still looked dubious.
"I really think we can do this, Harry. Let's start now. Come over here," Hermione closed the spell book and stuffed it in her bag. Then she shoved their astronomy work to one side to make room on the ground.
"Hermione, I don't think..."
"Good, you shouldn't. Not for this." Hermione saw the doubt in Harry's expression, the hesitancy in his movements, and she reined in her bubbling enthusiasm. He didn't share her confidence and throttling him with hers wouldn't help him reach the state of mind they'd both need. "Let's just try, Harry. I really do think we can manage, in fact, I think you might do better at this than me."
Harry gave her a strange look and Hermione said bashfully, "Well, you're so much better at going on instinct than I am. You know me, I over-think everything, and for this thinking can ruin it all on the very first step. Maybe we'll get it, maybe we won't, it is very hard to do, but we should at least try, shouldn't we?" Harry gave up and shrugged. "All right," he said and crawled on his hands and knees around the small candle to sit beside Hermione. "Now what?"
Hermione laid back on the grass and patted the spot beside her. "Lay back."
Harry paused then wordlessly did as told, stretching out beside her. Hermione resisted the urge to look over at his starlit profile, because already she was trying to clear her mind of thought. She tried to grab the emptiness between stars and let it fill her mind.
"Okay... now what."
"Just try to lie there and not think of anything."
"What if I fall asleep?"
Hermione chuckled. "Then you fall asleep. No big deal. If it doesn't work tonight, we'll just try some other time. I don't expect us to 'token' anything our first go out."
"Then why are we²"
"Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't imagine we should talk. We should concentrate."
"On nothing."
"Yes."
Harry sighed. "Okay, then," he said in a relenting voice, then he fell quiet.
Hermione opened her senses to the yard, the hard ground beneath her, the smell of the grass near her head, the sound of crickets and owls ('probably Hedwig... no, stop, don't think about it'), the cool air on her face, the stars a heavy blanket of eternity stretching to forever above her. Even if it didn't work, it was a profoundly peaceful moment in time. Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in, filling her lungs with the clean night air. She heard Harry breathing next to her. In and out, slow and steady... slower, deeper. ('He's falling asleep... don't think about it.') She couldn't help the way her thoughts were sliding to her right. Harry's body supine beside her, his long limbs lax, his chest rising and falling, his eyes closing, his mouth relaxing, his hair fluttering in the breeze, his hands, his stomach, his hips, his feet. ('You're doing way too much thinking!') Maybe if she were just a bit closer she could catch his scent on the air. Maybe a hand straying over just a bit would touch the boundaries of his body heat.
Hermione knew she wasn't going to token anything tonight. She stopped trying and instead enjoyed lying under the stars, Harry asleep beside her, and her own worries slipping away as she, too, surrendered to sleep.
Peripheral awareness of the world around him danced at the edges of his senses. He had some sense of the brisk night air on his exposed skin, seeping through his clothes and giving him goosebumps. He could feel the hard ground, he certainly felt that more than the rest. He could feel blades of grass, itchy and rough against the back of his neck and his arms. The essence of darkness, untempered night, thick beyond his eyelids. The pure sense of openness, of unending sky above him, the flavor of freedom he knew from broom-riding, swelled around him. He was cold, chilly everywhere...except in one patch on his left side where there was a blossom of warmth. There was a pocket of warmth, a patch of softness, a section of very comfortable in a wholly uncomfortable situation.
That place at his side was enough to keep him where he lay rather than seek better accommodations. He wouldn't move lest it make that piece of warmth go away. But the rest was beyond ignoring.
Harry startled when something moved to engulf him.
He flinched awake, eyes desperately searching the darkness for danger as he turned to the side, into the warm spot, and brought up his arm to shield Hermione from the swallowing presence.
Until he realized it was a blanket being laid out over them.
"Kimmy?" Harry mumbled at the miniature figure palely outlined by the stars.
"Sorry to wake you, Mister Harry Potter. Kimmy thought you and Miss Hermione might get cold." Kimmy continued to drape the blanket over the pair, undeterred by Harry's surprise.
Harry didn't move from his spot, half-leaning over Hermione, his arm around her. It was as though it refused to register. When it did he looked down quickly, in panic, at Hermione's face. He let out a breath of relief to see that Kimmy's gesture had not woken her.
For a moment, he couldn't help but watch her. She was curled on her side, turned into him, her arm bent and pillowing her head. Her hair was spilling out around her shoulders, fanning across the grass, strands moving faintly in the small breeze. Her expression was one of peaceful repose, almost unearthly lovely in the moonlight. She was so completely, purely Hermione, and so amazingly perfect in that moment for being just that. Harry found he was fighting the impulse to smile, to touch her face, her hair, and he froze when he realized that was what he wanted to do. He felt it jolt through his body, down his spine, and he jerked his arm back as though to leave it where it was a moment longer would invite untold dangers.
Kimmy was putting away the astronomy text and their homework parchments in Hermione's bag.
Hermione shifted beneath the blanket in her sleep, repositioned her head on her arm, and sighed into Harry's chest. Harry's stomach lurched and his heart lodged in his throat. What was he supposed to do now? Just lie back down with her under the blanket Kimmy had brought them? Sleep beside her under the stars in her backyard until dawn? Steal back to the house and leave her alone... no, he wouldn't do that. Might be wiser, but he wouldn't leave her. Then what, wake her and get them both off to bed in their separate rooms? Part of Harry really, really didn't want to do that. The appeal behind just settling back down with her was almost too tempting. Dare he play with that kind of fire? Oh, how some dark, wild part of him (that terrified him just a bit) longed to.
Then he thought of the morning. He tried to imagine waking up with her, her waking up with him. Not a good idea. In fact, a really bad idea. If recent, annoying 'trends' held true to form, and he had a dreadful feeling they would, any circumstance that left Hermione pressed to him when he woke in the morning was guaranteed to be horrifyingly embarrassing. Best call a strategic withdrawal.
"Hermione?" Harry softly called her name and touched her shoulder. He gently shook her. "Hey, Mione."
Hermione took in a breath, the corners of her mouth curved in the ghost of a faint smile, and she languidly stretched out against him. Separate bedrooms was definitely the right call. Harry shifted fractionally away from her and took the risk of moving his hand to her face. He brushed back her hair and said louder, "Come on then, Hermione, wake up."
Hermione groaned protest, low and deep in the back of her throat, and Harry could almost think she was doing it on purpose. She opened her eyes and at first stared ahead, right into his chest, without registering where she was. When she did she started and tracked her eyes up to his face. "Harry?"
Harry gave a smirk. "Errr... yeah."
Hermione frowned, still confused.
"Doesn't look like we're going to get anywhere with the animagus thing tonight, best head back inside, don't you think?"
Hermione processed his words, understanding finally caught up with her, and she rolled over on to her back. Harry tapped down the rush of disappointment when the warm spot went with her. "Oh, yes... I suppose so." She stretched again and Harry quickly got to his feet.
Kimmy had already vanished with Hermione's book bag of things. Hermione looked around for them a few seconds then trusted they were in safe hands since Harry wasn't worried.
"Come on," Harry extended a hand down to Hermione and she took it. He hauled her to her feet and a little awkwardly they went back to the house together.