Post Tenebras Spero Lucem (5-6/?) (slytherin!H/Hr)
Title: Post Tenebras Spero Lucem (5-6/?)
All disclaimers can be founf in part 1.
As usual, feedback? My drug of choice.
“Lumos!”
The tip of his wand glowed brightly, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry wasn’t sure what was safer. Remaining in complete darkness, hidden but with a greater chance of things with better night vision than himself sneaking up on him, or surrounding himself in light, allowing all creatures to see him coming from a mile.
There was a reason the Forbidden Forest was off-limits for the students of Hogwarts. Things crept around in the darkness that didn’t care if you were human or not. You were a stranger. You were a trespasser. You were a meal.
Harry cursed himself for even venturing this far into the forest after hearing the screams. If the girl was thick enough to go venturing into the woods this time of night, alone more than likely, then that was her problem. Not his. And yet here he was, slowing making his way down the trail, trying not to trip over the tree roots jutting out of the ground.
“Real smart, Potter,” he growled at himself, his eyes trying to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. “You have to be a bloody hero.”
The scream came again, and he stopped in his tracks. The girl’s voice seemed to echo through the vastness of the forest. He listened hard, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to pinpoint from which direction the scream had actually come. His decision made, he turned right and off the trail, running as fast as he could.
Harry soon reached a clearing, moonlight spilling onto the forest floor from openings in the tree canopy. Firmly planted in his spot, he noticed a figure curled up on the forest floor. He continued to stand there, his breathing hard and his mind racing, until something in him clicked into place. If this was the girl, she was screaming for a reason, and that reason was probably still in the forest with them at that very moment.
He cautiously made his way over to the girl, every so often taking his eyes off her in order to scan the darkness of the surrounding forest. Her back to him, the girl was curled up in the fetal position. Her hair laid clumped together in spots from what Harry feared was blood. Harry carefully knelt down behind her and reached a hand out to turn her to face him. His pulse racing, his fingers hesitated as they brushed against her shoulder, and with a hard swallow, he gently turned the girl over--
“Potter!”
Harry groaned, closing his eyes tightly together.
“Potter, will you get the hell out of bed already?” came Blaise’s voice.
“If he wants to sleep in and miss breakfast, that’s his problem,” Draco replied.
Harry could hear shuffling about the room for a moment before the room door shut. His eyes still shut, he absently rubbed his scar and sighed.
It had been that damn dream again, but it had been different. This time he had reached the girl. He had touched her. And he had been about to put a face to the screams that haunted his subconscious when Blaise had interrupted.
Harry finally opened his eyes and kicked back the covers, hoping to catch some breakfast and forget about his dreams for another day.
----------
“What book do you have again?”
Hermione glanced down at Harry who sat on the floor between the stacks, flipping through a book. With his tall frame, he covered the entire width of the aisle-- his back against one side and his legs crossed lazily at the ankles, his feet pushing against the opposite wall of books.
“Animagi through the Ages,” he said, his eyes never once leaving his book.
Hermione frowned slightly in response before returning to her task with a quiet sigh. They had been working on this project together for the past five weeks, and Hermione was certain that between the two of them they had skimmed every book ever written about Animagi. Her gaze landed on the last remaining book on the topic that neither had read, and she smiled. It seemed their research was finally inching its way towards an end. Which meant they’d be starting their lessons with Professor McGonagall soon.
Hermione pulled the book from its place on the shelf and turned back to Harry. She raised an eyebrow at him as he continued to read from his spot on the floor. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable at a table?”
He finally looked up at her with a shrug. “I’m quite fine here actually.” He smirked at her. “Pull up some carpet, Granger, and have a seat.”
Hermione hesitated before sitting opposite him. She ignored his gaze as she situated herself on the floor, pulling her legs up under her body and modestly adjusting her pleated skirt. Quietly clearing her throat, she flipped her book open and began to read.
They sat in silence for a moment, reading, until Harry spoke. “So what do you want to be?”
Hermione looked up, confused. “I’m sorry?”
Harry chuckled under his breath. “As your Animagus form, Granger. What do you want to be?”
“Oh!” She tucked a loose bit of hair behind her ear as she finally answered his question. “A falcon.”
“A bird,” Harry smirked.
“It’s not like I’m a pigeon,” she huffed indignantly.
“No,” he grinned, “but I would pay a few galleons to see that.”
“Falcons are very powerful birds, you know,” she replied, insulted by the look he was giving her. “In ancient Egypt, they represented law and order. They’re intelligent. They’re swift. They’re perceptive--”
Harry nodded in amused agreement. “They’re also very lethal if I’m not mistaken.”
“Well, yes, but that’s only a small portion of what a falcon is.” She paused before adding, “Post tenebras spero lucem.”
Harry blinked at her. “What the hell did you just say?”
Hermione smiled. “It’s Latin. It means ‘After the darkness, I hope for the light’. Renaissance artists used to paint falcons with hoods over their eyes with that saying underneath the drawing. It represented the hope that those in darkness have to see the light again.”
“I didn’t know you spoke Latin,” he replied with the raise of a curious eyebrow.
“I don’t. Technically. It’s just one of my favorite quotes.”
“Only you would memorize a quote in Latin, Granger.”
She shook her head, blushing slightly. “What about you?”
“Sorry, but I don’t know any phrases in Latin. Or any other foreign language for that matter.”
“No, I meant your Animagus form.”
“I know what you meant,” he smirked. “I was thinking about a wolf.”
“The sinister trickster of the animal kingdom,” Hermione smirked. “How appropriate.”
“I beg your pardon, Granger, but I’ve done my homework and the wolf is more than just cunning, though I will admit that’s one of the main reasons I chose it.”
Hermione nodded. “They’re also loners.”
“They’re also considered alert, brave, and loyal in some cultures.”
“In some cultures, it’s also believed that they can be easily tamed.” She shrugged, “After all, they are only dogs in the wildest sense of the word.”
Harry scoffed, “Whatever you say, Granger, but wolves are not just wild dogs as you so graciously put it. I doubt any wolf can be easily tamed. They live to hunt and stick to themselves.”
She tilted her head at him in response. “You’re sitting in the library having a civil conversation with me. I believe that is as tamed as they come.”
Harry frowned at her before returning to his book. “I’m tolerating you for the project, Granger. There’s a difference.”
“Would you mind not calling me that?” she asked with a new level of annoyance.
He looked up at her, confused. “What?”
“Granger. That’s not my name.”
“Then what am I supposed to call you?” he asked, studying her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “how about my proper name? Hermione, perhaps?”
“And why exactly should I?”
“Because if I’m going to be forced to spend the rest of the term in your presence, I’d prefer to be called by my first name as to reduce my own personal irritation with this situation.” She shrugged. “And I’ll stop referring to you as Potter in return.”
“The only people who call me by my first name are my aunt and uncle,” he replied with a hint of a frown. “So if you don’t mind, I’d prefer Potter.”
With that, he went back to his book, Hermione watching him. Sometimes she forgot that he came from her world, that he grew up a muggle in a muggle household with a muggle family. He blended in so well with the aristocrat attitudes of his fellow pureblood Slytherins that it slipped her mind that half of him belonged to her world and the other half belonged to theirs.
He slowly looked up at her, and only then did Hermione realize she had been staring. “What?” he asked in response to her gaze.
“What?” she repeated dumbly, and then proceeded to silently scold herself for doing such a thing.
“You were staring at me,” he replied simply. “Why?”
She shook her head. “It was nothing.”
“Right,” he said, unconvinced.
“I was just remembering that you-- that you didn’t grow up in the wizarding world,” she admitted as those piercing green eyes studied her.
“Happens when both your parents get killed,” he replied bluntly.
“Sorry,” she replied quietly, dropping her gaze to the book in her lap.
“Did you kill my parents?”
Hermione looked up, confused and taken aback. She shook her head gingerly. “No, of course I didn’t.”
“Then don’t apology,” he said evenly. “You’re not the person who owes me one.”
He returned his attention to his book again, but Hermione’s mind couldn’t return to her studies just yet. Something about hearing about his parents’ deaths, about You-Know-Who, made her remember things she had read in the Daily Prophet just weeks prior.
“They say he’s coming after you,” she said, her inner thoughts becoming vocal.
Harry simply looked up at her, silent.
“You-Know-Who,” she added as if he didn’t know exactly to whom she had been referring. Hermione silently cursed Harry and his presence for suddenly making her the queen of the obvious.
“Voldemort,” he amended without even a flinch. Hermione, however, could not remain so stoic at the mention of the name, and she grimaced slightly in response. “That’s his name, Hermione. Might as well get used to saying it.”
“Well, either way, the Daily Prophet seems to think….”
“That he’s gathering Death Eaters to come and find me,” he finished for her. “Yeah, I read the paper.”
She frowned. “You seem rather….”
“Calm?” he smirked.
“Something along those lines, yes.”
“If he comes for me, he comes for me,” he shrugged.
Hermione stared at him, shocked. “You’re not afraid?”
“I’m prepared,” he replied vaguely.
Hermione continued to stare at him in disbelief and was about to ask him what “prepared” meant when her train of thought was quickly derailed by two girls talking rather loudly. She looked up just in time to see Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil approach the aisle she and Harry were sitting in and stop in their tracks.
“Oh!” Parvati managed as Harry turned to look at them as well. “Sorry, we didn’t realize someone was using this aisle.” She grinned deviously, Hermione instantly understanding the meaning behind it, as Lavender giggled quietly at her side. Parvati grabbed Lavender’s arm and pulled her away as both girls fell into a giggle fit.
Harry continued to look towards the spot the two girls had occupied as he replied, “Are all you Gryffindor girls like that?”
“No, just those two,” she frowned, knowing this meant bad news.
Lavender and Parvati loved to gossip. It had probably been them that Ginny had overheard gossiping after her first meeting with Harry, and that had only been a simple hallway conversation. Now was a bit different. Now she was sitting beside the boy in the dimly lit stacks, in one of the more secluded areas of the library at that, and seemingly in a deep conversation with him. Merlin only knew how quickly those two would be able to spread that through the Gryffindor house.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be in the library.”
Harry turned to her, a look of confusion on his face. “And why is that?”
“Because you and I aren’t supposed to be interacting in this fashion.”
He smiled, amused. “And what fashion is that?”
“Like this,” she replied in a flustered voice, a bit thrown by seeing him actually smile. “Remember we hate each other so speaking civilly and hanging out in the library together could seem… odd to some people.”
“Right,” he nodded with the same amused smile.
“Look, Potter, you don’t know Lavender and Parvati like I do. They could turn this--” She motioned back and forth between them. “--into some sordid make out session in the stacks.”
Harry smirked. “Alright. We’ll work on the project somewhere else. Would hate for your chaste reputation to be soiled by the likes of myself.”
“I’ll ask Professor McGonagall if we can use her classroom,” Hermione replied with a nod.
“You do that,” he grinned, closing up his book. He slowly pulled himself to his feet. “I’m calling it a night, Gra-- Hermione.”
“I’m just going to finish this chapter first.” She motioned to the open book in her lap.
“Your choice. Night,” he said, turning and making his way out of the stacks.
“Night,” Hermione said to his retreating back. Once he was gone, she sighed and returned her full attention to her book. She really didn’t feel like going back to the tower at the moment.
-----------
When Hermione returned to the tower, the looks she received from a few of the girls gathered in the common room told her that her worst fears had been realized. She ignored the girls as they peeked over the edges of their books, whispering to each other, and made her way to her friends gathered by the fireplace. She held in the frown that wanted to form on her lips as she watched Ginny and Neville share a look across the chessboard set up between them.
“Hey,” she said, trying her best to sound nonchalant.
Ron, who had been watching the game, looked up in her direction. He turned to Ginny and Neville as he slowly got to his feet. “I’m going to head to bed. Neville, you can have my turn.” Without even giving Hermione a second glance, he disappeared towards the staircase to the boys’ dormitories.
Hermione watched him with a frown, turning to Ginny and Neville. Neville shifted in his seat for a moment before standing as well. “I’m gonna….” He trailed off as he motioned towards the stairs. “Night, Ginny. Night, Hermione.” He offered her a sheepish smile as he followed after Ron.
Hermione sighed loudly as she watched Ginny gather all the chess pieces. She sat down opposite Ginny, frowning. “Whatever you all heard, it wasn’t true.”
“It’s Lavender and Parvati,” Ginny shrugged, “I never take anything they say at face-value.”
“What did they say…exactly?”
“That you were hiding out with Potter in the stacks.”
“Oh,” Hermione replied, slightly stunned that the two girls hadn’t exaggerated the event.
“So you were?” Ginny asked.
“Well, hiding isn’t what I would call it,” Hermione countered. “We just decided to study in the stacks.”
Ginny nodded, returning to her task of cleaning up the chess pieces. “They also say you were snogging him. Quite a bit actually.”
Hermione groaned, frustrated. “I was not snogging him! We were talking!”
“I believe you, Hermione. Those two are all about exaggerating things.” She sighed, rolling her eyes a bit. “I tried to tell Ron that, but you know how he is.”
“He honestly believes them?”
“I don’t know if he *believes* them, but….”
“He thinks I would,” Hermione finished sadly.
“No, but….” Ginny exhaled slowly. “Hermione, you *have* been studying in the library with Potter a lot lately.”
“Because of our project,” she argued.
“A project you have yet to tell any of us about. Even when we ask.”
“Ginny….” she sighed in exasperation.
Ginny held up her hands in a sign of truce. “I’m on your side here, Hermione, but I’m just telling you how it…looks.”
“People in this school need to learn to mind their own business,” Hermione sighed, standing. “Night, Ginny.”
“Night.”
Hermione made her way to the girls’ staircase, once again ignoring the glances and whispers in her direction.
----------
The following morning, Hermione woke to silence. She opened her eyes, lazily glancing around the empty room. Normally on a Saturday morning, she would be the first awake among her roommates, but today was different. She hadn’t slept well at all, her mind on a continuous filmstrip of things she could do or say to get Ron to stop avoiding her and to get the Gryffindor house to mind their own business.
With a quiet yawn, she pulled herself from her bed. She stumbled sleepily to her trunk and retrieved a pair of muggle jeans and a sweater, hoping to catch a late breakfast.
By the time Hermione entered the Great Hall, she was in better spirits. Her optimistic side had kicked in during her shower, reminding her that today after all was a new day. There was always a chance that the troubles that had haunted her all night would be gone by now. Or at least not be as horrible.
But Hermione’s optimistic attitude faltered as she took her normal seat next to Ron at the Gryffindor table. In response, the boy excused himself from the table with a mutter, leaving behind a half-finished plate. Hermione watched him with a deep frown before turning to look at Ginny, who offered her a sad, apologetic smile.
“He’ll stop being a prat soon,” Ginny said quietly.
Hermione simply nodded.
At the Slytherin table, Harry watched with curiosity as Ron made an abrupt exit as soon as Hermione took her seat next to him. Hermione looked after the redhead, a look of displeasure on her face, and it was then that Harry realized what was going on. Harry didn’t even excuse himself as he stood--Pansy in mid-conversation with him-- and followed Ron out of the Great Hall.
“Weasley!” Harry called to the other boy as soon as he was in the corridors outside the Great Hall.
Ron turned to him with a scowl. “What do you want, Potter?”
Harry approached him, arms folded over his chest. “Look, Weasley, normally I stay out of things that don’t really concern me, but I figured I’d offer you some advice.”
“I don’t need any bloody advice from the likes of you, Potter,” he growled.
“I don’t really care what you think you need, Weasley, because I’m going to tell you anyway,” Harry replied, unfazed. “Before you go messing up probably the only relationship with a girl you’ll ever have in your pathetic little lifetime? You should probably get your facts straight.”
“Get my facts straight?” Ron asked, his face turning an amusing shade of red. “I don’t need you of all people telling me so-called facts.”
Harry sighed. “Whatever you heard about me and Granger, Weasley, was a bunch of crap.”
“Like I’m gonna believe you.”
“Fine then,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. He dropped his arms, slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Have it your way, Weasley. Granger and I were making out like two horny teenagers in the library stacks.” He smirked slightly. “Too bad Patil and Brown stopped by before I could have a little more fun with the brunette.”
At that, Ron reached for his wand, but Harry proved too fast, pulling his own from his back pocket. He quickly disarmed Ron, the redhead’s wand flying out of his hand and clattering across the floor, before he could even get a curse past his lips.
“By the way, Weasley?” Harry replied, his wand still trained on Ron. “*That* was a bloody joke.” He sighed. “Look, I don’t care one way or the other if you believe me, but if Hermione says she didn’t do anything with me, she didn’t do anything with me.”
Ron blinked. “What did you just call her?”
“Her proper name.”
Ron opened his mouth to retort but found himself interrupted by a very unwelcome voice.
“Misters Weasley and Potter,” Snape drawled as he approached them. He retrieved Ron’s wand from the floor as Harry lowered his. He sneered at the boys. “What do we have here?”
“Nothing, sir,” Harry replied dryly, slipping his wand back into the back pocket of his slacks.
“Really, Mister Potter? It seems you and Mister Weasley here were in the middle of a duel in the corridors.”
Harry smiled insincerely. “But, sir, dueling in the hallways between classes is forbidden. All students know that.”
Ron simply watched in silence, amazed that anyone would attempt to humor someone as nasty as Snape.
“Perhaps your tune will change once the Headmaster deals with you, Potter,” the professor snapped. “And twenty points from Slytherin for your mouth.”
Harry held the insincere smile, knowing that it would only aggravate Snape more. “But of course. Sir.”
“To the Headmaster’s office now, Potter,” Snape growled. He angrily handed Ron his wand. “As for you, Mister Weasley, I suggest you stay out of my sight the rest of the day, or you’ll meet the same fate as your opponent here. Fifty points from Gryffindor.”
Ron nodded silently, willing to accept points taken away in return for not being sent to see the Headmaster.
Snape turned to Harry, who continued to linger around to listen to the conversation. “I thought I told you to go to the Headmaster’s, Potter!”
“Right on it, sir,” Harry replied with a quiet chuckle. As he pushed by Ron, he hesitated a moment to whisper under his breath to the redhead. “You bloody owe me, Weasley.”
“Potter!” Snape snarled.
With another chuckle, Harry continued on his way to the Headmaster’s office, Snape on his heels.
----------
Harry sat alone in Dumbledore’s office, awaiting the Headmaster’s return from his conversation with Snape. Harry had only been in this office once before, during his second year. Draco had had the ingenious idea to hit Ron and his brothers with a bat-bogey hex in the hallways after dinner one night, but in order to do so, he needed the aid of two accomplices. Namely, Blaise and himself. Needless to say, they had been caught, and ever since that night, Harry had not found himself sent to the office again. Not that he became a perfect angel after the incident. He simply learned the art of not getting caught in the act. Until today. Seemed, yet again, that a Weasley would be the reason for his chat with the Headmaster.
Harry stroked Fawkes’ feathers as the phoenix perched itself on the arm of his chair. Quiet footsteps filled the room, and Fawkes tilted his head before flying away to his designated perch on the other side of the room. Harry sat back in the chair with a frown, preparing for the speech he was about to receive.
Dumbledore slowly made his way to his desk, taking a moment to stroke Fawkes. He sat down, clasping his hands casually across the smooth wood surface of his desk. “Would you like to add anything to Professor Snape’s account of events, Harry?” he asked serenely.
“Depends on what he said, Professor,” Harry replied simply.
“Well, perhaps, *your* version of events then.”
Harry shrugged. “I went out to talk to Weasley. Things got a bit out of hand, and I disarmed him.”
Dumbledore nodded slowly. “I don’t feel I need to remind you about using magic in the halls between classes.”
“No, sir, you don’t.”
The older wizard simply studied him in response.
“Am I done?” Harry asked, trying his best not to sound annoyed.
“With that matter, yes,” Dumbledore replied. He sighed quietly before continuing, “Have you been keeping up with recent events, Harry?”
“If this is the Voldemort thing, yeah, I’ve been informed.”
“Being flippant probably is not in your best interests with this matter, Harry,” he replied, disapprovingly.
“I’m not being flippant.” Harry folded his arms across his chest. “Since I was eleven, all I have heard is that Voldemort is looking for me, that he’s looking to off me. After six years, it starts to get a little redundant, Professor.”
“And though that may be true, Harry, I feel it necessary to warn you that this time is very different,” he said, the normal twinkle in his eyes darkening. “Unlike when you were eleven, he is now at his full strength, and you are now more of a threat to his existence.”
“The prophecy,” Harry mumbled.
“Yes, the prophecy.” He paused before continuing. “How do you feel about the prophecy, Harry?”
A slow smirk spread across Harry’s face. “You want to know if I plan to go evil anytime soon?”
“No, Harry, I asked how *you* felt about it.”
“Look, Professor, I know what everyone thinks. I know why everyone fears me, and fine, I’ll admit that having power like this over people isn’t exactly a bad thing.” Harry shrugged. “But I’m just trying to make it to graduation alive.”
“And after graduation?”
Harry laughed slightly. “Well, after I graduate, my stance on the battle between good and evil will be null and void, don’t you think?”
“Not for me,” Dumbledore replied. “I’d hate to meet you some time down the line, and we’re on different sides of the battle.”
Harry frowned, silent.
“Voldemort *is* coming for you, Harry.” Dumbledore stood and strolled over to Fawkes. He gently stroked the bird’s feathers. “That is a fact I know without a doubt, and I promise to keep you and your fellow students as safe as I possibly can.”
“As safe as you possibly can?” Harry asked, throwing the Headmaster a cautious look.
Dumbledore glanced at Harry before turning his gaze back to Fawkes, the phoenix enjoying the attention. “When the second war comes, Harry, which cannot be a future far off, Hogwarts will not be exempt. In fact, I fear that we will be the heart of the battle.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of us both,” Dumbledore said, finally turning to face Harry. “You and I have more things in common than you realize, Harry.”
“He hates you as much as he hates me, huh?”
Dumbledore nodded with a hint of a sad smile. “That is true, but you also fail to realize the power you have in this situation. I’ve faced Voldemort myself in the past, and now it is your turn.”
“You talk as if I don’t have an option in this,” Harry replied with a quiet laugh.
“When he comes for you, Harry, you unfortunately will not. I need you prepared for that.”
Harry hesitated before nodding. “I’ll be prepared.” He shifted his weight in his chair, this conversation taking an unnerving turn he never expected. “Am I done *now*, sir?”
Dumbledore studied him for a moment before giving a nod of his head. “You are done now, Harry. Please refrain from dueling in the halls.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said, getting to his feet and quickly leaving the office. Harry didn’t dare look back as he waited for the staircase to spiral down to the lower level.
----------
Harry returned to the Slytherin dungeons, his thoughts still back in the Headmaster’s office. He knew that Voldemort would come for him eventually, would come to finish the job, but he never imagined the entire second war would be fought against him. He was prepared to take on Voldemort when the time came, but he was less certain that he could take on the wizard and his gathered army.
He ignored the looks he received as he made his way to the boys’ dormitories, but he found himself facing the same glances when he stepped into his room. Blaise looked up from his parchment he was writing on, and Draco looked up from his Quidditch book.
“What?” Harry asked, annoyed.
“We hear you got into a row with Weasley,” Blaise replied.
“It was nothing,” Harry said, going over to his side of the room. He began gathering the books he’d need for his meeting with Hermione.
“Why exactly did you get into it with Weasley anyway?” Draco asked.
His back still to his friends, Harry replied firmly, “None of your business.”
“We hear it has something to do with that mudblood Granger,” Draco snarled.
Harry tightly grasped his book and shoved it forcefully into his schoolbag. “I said it was none of your business, Malfoy, and it’d be in your best interest to leave it.”
Draco tossed his book onto his bed and walked over to Harry, his arms crossed smugly across his chest. He leaned against the wall beside Harry‘s desk, smirking. “I really hope you wouldn’t stoop to shagging Granger in the library, Potter.”
Harry shoved the last of his belongings into his schoolbag and looked up at Draco, smiling snidely. “Better than you getting a handjob in the locker room from Parkinson, Malfoy.” He draped his bag over his neck and under his arm. “What and *who* I do, Malfoy? Not really any of your concern.”
“So it’s true?!” Blaise asked from his desk.
Harry shot Blaise a look that could kill. “The same goes for you, Zabini.” He turned back to Draco. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than sit around with you lot discussing my sex life.” He smiled at the other boy and started towards the door.
“Lay the filthy mudblood if you want, Potter,” Draco replied with a dark chuckle, “but don’t forget where your loyalties lie when the second war comes breathing down your neck.”
Harry stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “What?” he asked, turning back to Draco.
“You’re one of us, Potter,” he said, walking up to Harry. “Slytherins don’t just switch sides as they see fit. So have your little fun with the mudblood, taint yourself as you see fit, but in the end of all things? Your loyalty lies here.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “My loyalty lies here?”
Draco nodded, that same smug smirk on his face.
In a flash, Harry had his hand wrapped tightly around Draco’s throat, shoving him against the wall. He pulled his wand with his free hand, pointing it in the boy’s face. Unarmed and with Harry strangling him, Draco couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.
Blaise approached them cautiously. “Potter, let him go, mate.”
Harry ignored him. “I bow to no one, Malfoy,” he growled, his grip around Draco’s neck tightening. “Not you. Not your father. Not Dumbledore. Not Voldemort. So don’t bloody tell me where my loyalties should lie. I *know* where they lie. They lie with me. Are we clear?”
Draco managed to nod, his pale face becoming red. Harry returned the nod and gave Draco’s throat one last warning squeeze before storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
----------
Harry made his way to McGonagall’s classroom, his temper still raging. If it would have been worth the expulsion, he would have cursed Draco right there in their room for having the audacity for trying to lecture him on loyalty. Harry wasn’t sure who exactly Malfoy thought he was, but he was sorely mistaken if he even for a second thought that Harry would ever bow down to him in loyalty.
Just because his family had opened their manor doors to him more times than he could remember. Just because they were both Slytherins. Just because they had some form of a twisted friendship based on irritation and one-upping each other when the chance allowed.
The only people who rightfully deserved his loyalty were dead, and without his parents, that unwavering loyalty was dedicated only to himself and his own well-being.
His temper had sated a bit by the time Harry pushed the door to McGonagall’s classroom open.
Every table was empty as was to be expected on a Saturday. Every table except one. Hermione sat at the first long table in the room, a book open in front of her as she wrote diligently on a piece of parchment. She barely looked up to acknowledge Harry as he sat his schoolbag down on McGonagall’s desk.
“Afternoon to you too, Hermione,” he said as he leaned against the desk, watching her work.
“Sorry,” she managed, looking up to greet him with a small smile. She turned back to her assignment. “I just need to finish this thought before I lose it.”
Harry watched her, curious. “How long have you been in here?”
“A while,” she mumbled at her book.
“Avoiding your housemates still?”
“No,” she said, looking up. “I can get more done here than in the common room.”
Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Right.”
“Whatever you said to Ron this morning wasn’t necessary.”
“I’m sorry?”
Hermione finally looked up from her work, slowly closing her book. “The entire school is talking about how you supposedly got into a row with Ron, and I’m quite certain that if you did, it was about me. So whatever you said to him this morning to get him to apologize to me after breakfast wasn’t necessary. I could have handled it myself.”
Harry gave a quiet, shocked laugh. “I lose house points and get sent to see the Headmaster in order to set your boyfriend straight about what’s happening here, and *that* is the response I get? Gratitude is not your strong point, Hermione.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s….” She trailed off as the appropriate words seemed to fail her at the moment. “It’s complicated.”
“Obviously,” Harry smirked.
“Look, I just don’t need you trying to fight my battles for me. I’m not some poor damsel in distress. I can handle my own.”
“Fine,” he replied, folding his arms. “Next time, I’ll simply mind my own business like a true Slytherin. That’ll save me house points and a trip to Dumbledore.”
She frowned slightly. “He didn’t give you detention, did he?”
Harry shook his head. “No. My incident with Weasley was the least of the worries on his mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted to discuss my old chum Voldemort.”
Hermione hesitated, not sure she really wanted to know the answer to the question that had been haunting her for weeks. “He knows more than the Daily Prophet is saying, doesn’t he?”
He shrugged. “If he does, he isn’t saying. He just wanted to warn me of what’s to come, I suppose.”
Hermione stood and approached him, a worried look on her face. “They’re coming here.”
“Of course they are,” he replied flippantly.
“Would you please stop doing that?” she asked, her voice filled with irritation. “Stop being so--” She motioned at him. “--about it.”
“What would you prefer?” he asked in an even tone. “Would you like me to panic? Accept my fear and allow it to completely take over me?”
“I’m sorry if I can’t be as *prepared* as you,” she frowned, “but the thought of an army of Death Eaters showing up on Hogwarts’ doorstep *does*, in fact, unnerve me.”
“And you don’t think that unnerves me as well?”
“You sure don’t act as if it does.”
Harry frowned slightly. “Just because I don’t act as if it does, doesn’t mean it has no effect on me. I *am* the one he’s coming for afterall.”
She returned the frown. “And we’ll all be caught in the crossfire.”
“Hope you’re up on your defensive spells,” he joked dryly.
“That’s not funny.”
“Hey, it’s my questionable fate in the balance, I think I deserve a bit of inappropriate humor.” He paused, studying her. “You never fail to give a straight answer to a question, Hermione, so let me ask you something.”
“Alright,” she replied, warily.
“Where do you think I fall?”
She blinked at him, confused. “Where you fall?”
“With my infamous prophecy,” he clarified. “I asked the Headmaster his feelings on the matter, and he cleverly changed the topic around so that he didn’t have to answer the question. So, let’s say Voldemort does show up, and I defeat him.” He paused, raising an eyebrow at her. “What do you think happens next?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“That’s the answer I get from the know-it-all? A ‘I don’t know‘?”
“Well, I don’t,” she replied defensively. “Personally, I don’t believe in prophecies. They’re a bunch of rubbish if you ask me.” She paused, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “So, in that case, no, I suppose I don’t believe you’ll fulfill the prophecy….”
“And yet I hear a but on your voice,” he replied, amused.
“But it doesn’t matter what I believe, or what Dumbledore believes, you’re the one in control here. If that’s the path you want to take, then none of us can stop you from taking it.” She frowned a bit. “We’ll have to kill you in order for it all to end, but we can’t make the decision for you.”
He smirked. “Like you could kill me, Granger.”
“I’d give it my best shot,” she replied, returning the smirk. The smirk fell away as she asked, “So what do *you* believe?”
He shrugged. “I believe that if it takes this much time and energy to be some grand evil wizard, then I want no part of it. I’ll find some other way to wield power over people.”
She laughed quietly. “As long as you don’t plan to go evil, I suppose.”
“Not as of yet, no.”
Hermione paused, her smile fading away. “Do you think Dumbledore will tell the students soon?”
“He doesn’t want to create a panic. Hell, I think he even believes he can handle this and keep all of us safe.”
“But he can’t. If You-Know-Who--”
“Voldemort, Hermione.”
She swallowed hard. “If Vol--Voldemort shows up with Death Eaters, the odds will be against him.”
“I won’t argue that, but he’ll tell us when he thinks the time is right.”
“Which is hopefully before Voldemort and his followers come knocking on our door,” Hermione frowned.
Harry nodded and studied her for a moment. “Are you better now that you got that little mini-panic out of your system?”
“That was concern, not panic.”
He grinned. “Of course it was.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry I can’t be as stoic as you.” She paused, frowning. “Though with recent situations, I wish I could. It seems that everyone in this school has taken pleasure in my personal life.”
“Seems we *are* the talk of the school at the moment,” he smirked.
“Yes, thanks to Lavender and Parvati spreading well-crafted stories.”
“Could be worse,” Harry shrugged.
“Please tell me how it could possibly be worse than what it presently is.”
He shrugged again. “They could think you’re evil and bent on destroying them all.”
“I think I’d rather be evil than be known as the girl who has *sessions* in the library stacks.”
Harry laughed. “Most girls would be quite honored to be part of a sordid rumor with me.”
“Then I am obviously not most girls.” Harry simply watched her with an amused smirk. “What?” she finally asked to his stare.
Before she could even process a protest, Harry reached out and took a firm hold of her arm, pulling her towards him. His free hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, tangling in her curly hair, as he brought her lips to his. Her hands flat against his chest, Hermione froze for a moment, completely caught off guard. She felt his lips curl into a smirk under hers, and she silently cursed herself for what she was about to let happen. She kissed him back fully, and all thoughts about what a horrible idea it was to make out with Harry Potter in Professor McGonagall’s empty classroom escaped her as his tongue slipped by her lips. He wrapped an arm firmly around her waist, bringing them as close together as he could; his other hand still holding possessively to the back of her neck. Her fingers forming small fists, the front of his school robes bunching up in her hands, Hermione wanted despearately to come up for air, but at the saem time, she didn’t. Because coming up for air meant stopping whatever this was that was happening, and as much as logical Hermione was screaming at her that this was a horrible idea, the Hermione that presently found herself in this embrace couldn’t seem to agree.
Both so intently focused on each other--the feels, the tastes, the sounds--neither noticed the classroom door open. Only when the loud clearing of a throat resounded through the room, did reality come crashing back around them.
Still wrapped in Harry’s embrace, Hermione quickly pulled away to see Professor McGonagall standing in the doorway to her classroom. Her arms were casually folded in front of her, and she studied them expressionless.
Hermione quickly untangled herself from Harry, feeling herself begin to blush at being caught. She gingerly placed her fingers to her lips as if she could hide all evidence of Harry on her.
“Professor,” she managed nervously.
“Miss Granger. Mister Potter,” she replied, her face still expressionless. “I was hoping to catch you in order to discuss the beginnings of your lessons.”
“Right, the lessons,” Hermione replied, throwing a glance at Harry. He simply smiled slightly at her, no hint of embarassment at being caught. She turned back to Professor McGongall with a small nod. “We’ve finished our project you assigned.”
“There’s not a single book in the library on Animagus that we haven’t had our hands on,” Harry chimed in.
Professor McGonagall nodded. “Well then, I suppose it’s time I see how hard you two worked for this privelege. We can start your lessons tomorrow night.”
Harry raised his hand. “Actually, I can’t start tomorrow night, Professor. Quidditch practice.”
Hermione threw him an exasperated look, and he simply replied with a shrug.
“Very well,” Professor McGonagall sighed. “We can start Monday evening. We’ll meet here after dinner.”
Hermione nodded. “Of course, Professor.”
Professor McGonall studied them both for a moment before returning the nod. “Have a good evening.” She turned and made her way to the door but stopped short, her hand on the doorknob. She turned back to them with a knowing look. “I do however ask that you not use my classroom for any extracurricular activities. Next time, there will be repurcussions.”
“Yes, professor,” Hermione replied, feeling herself blush again.
“Won’t happen again,” Harry replied seriously, but Hermione was sure she could hear a smile on his voice.
Professor McGonagall nodded curtly at them before leaving them alone in the classroom. Once the door was shut, Harry chuckled under his breath, and Hermione could only turn to look at him, stunned by his apparent lack of caring that they were caught.
“What?” he asked with an amused half-smile.
“What?!” she repeated, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Our professor just walked in on us kissing on her desk.”
“It could have been worse,” he shrugged. “At least you still had your knickers on.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” he said, smiling deviously.
Hermione’s lips twitched, and she silently cursed him for having an infectious smile for a Slytherin. She cleared her throat, dropping her arms. “Next time could you please warn me before doing things like that?”
“And miss the look on your face when I grabbed you?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky I didn’t punch you.”
He replied with his own raised eyebrow. “Would you have?”
“If I had been thinking properly, yes.”
“Lucky for me you weren’t thinking properly then,” he smirked.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him, reeling in the flush she felt creeping up her neck. “We have a project to finish up,” she stated simply, returnign to her seat at her desk.
Retaking her seat, she focused her gaze solely on the open book in front of her. She knew he was studying her-probably with that trademark smirk of his-and she didn’t exactly want to continue to meet his scrutinizing gaze at the moment for many reasons. One of which being that if she continued to look at him any longer, she’d be instantly reminded of the feel of her body pressed against his, his soft lips on her.
And those thoughts were not something she should have been having, especially about Harry Potter of all boys.
She heard the chair beside hers scrape against the hard floors, and she tilted her head more towards her book in hopes of avoiding even a glance of those green eyes. That move proved futile as she felt him lean closer into her.
“So,” he asked, the amusement evident on his voice, “how long do you think you can keep this up?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her gaze never leaving her safety net of text.
“Not looking in my general direction.”
At that, Hermione put on her best determined face, and finally turned her head towards his direction. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized just how close he had leaned into her. All she could see were emerald green eyes staring back at her through glasses.
He smirked at her. “I kissed you on a whim, Hermione, if that’s what you’re worried about. Won’t happen again without your consent.”
Hermione froze for a moment, an inappropriate sense of disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach. “Of course it won’t.”
Harry smiled and leaned back in his chair, retrieving his book from his schoolbag. He balanced the chair on its two back legs as he propped his feet up onto the desk, flipping the book open in his lap. Hermione watched him get settled before attemtpting to turn her attention back to her book.
That task, however, proved more difficult than she imagined as her mind kept returning to the boy sitting beside her.
Hermione finally looked up, annoyed with herself for letting one silly, insignificant kiss get under her skin like this. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “It was a whim?” she said, breaking the silence that had settled over them for a good twenty minutes.
Harry looked up from his book with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”
“You said it was a whim,” she repeated.
“The kiss, right,” he replied, dog-earing his page and closing up the book. “I didn’t plan it so by definition that makes it a whim.”
Hermione frowned slightly, still trying to wrap her mind around everything. “Why?”
Harry laughed quietly as he pulled his legs from the table and placed his chair firmly back onto the ground. He leaned forward in his seat, studying her with that familiar amused look. “It drives you insane, doesn’t it? You have to have the asnwers to everything in life, and when you don’t, it throws your entire existence off-kilter.”
“I do not have to have the answers to everything,” she replied, annoyed.
“Then why does it matter why I kissed you?”
“Because…” she started. She paused, collecting her thoughts. “Because I’d like to know what was going through your head at that moment.”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
She blinked at him. “Nothing?”
“Every action doesn’t have to have a reason behind it,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “Sometimes? I just act.”
“You have to have some form of thought before every action, even if it’s a tiny thought.”
“No, you really don’t,” he replied with a smirk. “However, for the record? If I kissed you right now? It would be to get you to stop obssessing about the first kiss.”
Hermione simply blinked at him again, and he grinned.
“Don’t worry. I may be a Slytherin, but I’m also a gentleman. When I said it wouldn’t happen without your consent, it won’t.”
He leaned back in his chair, reopening his book to his dog-eared page. Hermione watched him for a moment before turning back to her own book, silently still “obsessing” over the first kiss.
----------
When Harry finally returned to his room, night had already settled around the castle.
He had left Hermione hours ago, making a detour into the library on his way back to the Slyhterin dungeons. Another book about Animagi had been the last thing on his mind as he had browsed the aisles. Tonight, he had been looking for books about recurring nightmares.
The dream about the Forbidden Forest had stopped being on a nightly basis, but Harry still found himself waking up in a cold sweat at least twice a week. He hadn’t reached the girl in his dreams since the night Blaise had woke him just as he was about to touch her, and for him, that felt like a blessing and a curse. He feared the dreams would continue until he saved the girl from whatever was in the forest. Whatever presence was whispering and hissing orders around him, whatever presence that mocked him for the girl’s blood on his hands.
This was not a normal nightmare, and Harry needed answers.
When he returned to his room, Blaise and Malfoy were both already asleep. Harry frowned at them before shoving the book he had checked out into his schoolbag for safekeeping. The last thing he needed was his nosey acquaintances to get inside his head, to see his weaknesses. Because friends or not, they were all Slytherins first.
And Slytherins lived to exploit and make others miserable.
His book latched safely inside his schoolbag, he quietly placed the bag onto his trunk. He quickly changed out of his clothes and into his pajamas, climbing into the bed with a heavy sigh.
No nightmares, Potter, he silently told himself.
He closed his eyes, willing his subconscious to play nice for one night. He tried to force his mind to focus on different things-Quidditch practice, Animagi, Hermione.
He smirked to himself, remembering her reaction to his impromptu kiss in McGonagall’s classroom. He had spoke the truth when he had told her he had kissed her on a whim. Before he had kissed her, she had claimed that she was not like every girl, and he had felt the sudden urge to find out for himself. Honestly, he didn’t understand her simply because she wasn’t like all the other girls in the halls of Hogwarts. She was aggressive. She was smart and not at all afraid to look like a know-it-all. She was more sarcastic than one girl should have been allowed to be. And she somehow knew how to annoy the living hell out of him and yet at the same time make him enjoy her company.
He sighed, pushing away all thoughts of her so that he could finally rest. He had a feeling that if it weren’t nightmares about the forest, it would be dreams about the know-it-all brunette that would wake him in the morning.
----------
If Hermione had known that at the moment she was tossing and turning in her own bed, that Harry was doing the same-his thoughts on their unplanned kiss, she would have gladly told him “I told you so”. Every action *does* have a thought behind it, even if the thought comes hours later. However, at the moment, Hermione was too concerned with her own bout of insomnia to wonder about what Harry was thinking.
She was quite sure she’d never understand boys, no matter how much time she spent in their presence. If anyone had told her at the beginning of the term that she would find herself not only kissing Harry Potter but enjoying kissing him, she would have laughed in their face and questioned their mental stability.
And yet she had done just that.
“I *am* mental,” she muttered to herself, yanking her covers up and burying her head underneath them. She forced herself to think about her coming training to become an Animagus, hoping that would lend itself to more rest than thoughts of a certain green-eyed Slytherin.
All disclaimers can be founf in part 1.
As usual, feedback? My drug of choice.
“Lumos!”
The tip of his wand glowed brightly, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry wasn’t sure what was safer. Remaining in complete darkness, hidden but with a greater chance of things with better night vision than himself sneaking up on him, or surrounding himself in light, allowing all creatures to see him coming from a mile.
There was a reason the Forbidden Forest was off-limits for the students of Hogwarts. Things crept around in the darkness that didn’t care if you were human or not. You were a stranger. You were a trespasser. You were a meal.
Harry cursed himself for even venturing this far into the forest after hearing the screams. If the girl was thick enough to go venturing into the woods this time of night, alone more than likely, then that was her problem. Not his. And yet here he was, slowing making his way down the trail, trying not to trip over the tree roots jutting out of the ground.
“Real smart, Potter,” he growled at himself, his eyes trying to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. “You have to be a bloody hero.”
The scream came again, and he stopped in his tracks. The girl’s voice seemed to echo through the vastness of the forest. He listened hard, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to pinpoint from which direction the scream had actually come. His decision made, he turned right and off the trail, running as fast as he could.
Harry soon reached a clearing, moonlight spilling onto the forest floor from openings in the tree canopy. Firmly planted in his spot, he noticed a figure curled up on the forest floor. He continued to stand there, his breathing hard and his mind racing, until something in him clicked into place. If this was the girl, she was screaming for a reason, and that reason was probably still in the forest with them at that very moment.
He cautiously made his way over to the girl, every so often taking his eyes off her in order to scan the darkness of the surrounding forest. Her back to him, the girl was curled up in the fetal position. Her hair laid clumped together in spots from what Harry feared was blood. Harry carefully knelt down behind her and reached a hand out to turn her to face him. His pulse racing, his fingers hesitated as they brushed against her shoulder, and with a hard swallow, he gently turned the girl over--
“Potter!”
Harry groaned, closing his eyes tightly together.
“Potter, will you get the hell out of bed already?” came Blaise’s voice.
“If he wants to sleep in and miss breakfast, that’s his problem,” Draco replied.
Harry could hear shuffling about the room for a moment before the room door shut. His eyes still shut, he absently rubbed his scar and sighed.
It had been that damn dream again, but it had been different. This time he had reached the girl. He had touched her. And he had been about to put a face to the screams that haunted his subconscious when Blaise had interrupted.
Harry finally opened his eyes and kicked back the covers, hoping to catch some breakfast and forget about his dreams for another day.
----------
“What book do you have again?”
Hermione glanced down at Harry who sat on the floor between the stacks, flipping through a book. With his tall frame, he covered the entire width of the aisle-- his back against one side and his legs crossed lazily at the ankles, his feet pushing against the opposite wall of books.
“Animagi through the Ages,” he said, his eyes never once leaving his book.
Hermione frowned slightly in response before returning to her task with a quiet sigh. They had been working on this project together for the past five weeks, and Hermione was certain that between the two of them they had skimmed every book ever written about Animagi. Her gaze landed on the last remaining book on the topic that neither had read, and she smiled. It seemed their research was finally inching its way towards an end. Which meant they’d be starting their lessons with Professor McGonagall soon.
Hermione pulled the book from its place on the shelf and turned back to Harry. She raised an eyebrow at him as he continued to read from his spot on the floor. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable at a table?”
He finally looked up at her with a shrug. “I’m quite fine here actually.” He smirked at her. “Pull up some carpet, Granger, and have a seat.”
Hermione hesitated before sitting opposite him. She ignored his gaze as she situated herself on the floor, pulling her legs up under her body and modestly adjusting her pleated skirt. Quietly clearing her throat, she flipped her book open and began to read.
They sat in silence for a moment, reading, until Harry spoke. “So what do you want to be?”
Hermione looked up, confused. “I’m sorry?”
Harry chuckled under his breath. “As your Animagus form, Granger. What do you want to be?”
“Oh!” She tucked a loose bit of hair behind her ear as she finally answered his question. “A falcon.”
“A bird,” Harry smirked.
“It’s not like I’m a pigeon,” she huffed indignantly.
“No,” he grinned, “but I would pay a few galleons to see that.”
“Falcons are very powerful birds, you know,” she replied, insulted by the look he was giving her. “In ancient Egypt, they represented law and order. They’re intelligent. They’re swift. They’re perceptive--”
Harry nodded in amused agreement. “They’re also very lethal if I’m not mistaken.”
“Well, yes, but that’s only a small portion of what a falcon is.” She paused before adding, “Post tenebras spero lucem.”
Harry blinked at her. “What the hell did you just say?”
Hermione smiled. “It’s Latin. It means ‘After the darkness, I hope for the light’. Renaissance artists used to paint falcons with hoods over their eyes with that saying underneath the drawing. It represented the hope that those in darkness have to see the light again.”
“I didn’t know you spoke Latin,” he replied with the raise of a curious eyebrow.
“I don’t. Technically. It’s just one of my favorite quotes.”
“Only you would memorize a quote in Latin, Granger.”
She shook her head, blushing slightly. “What about you?”
“Sorry, but I don’t know any phrases in Latin. Or any other foreign language for that matter.”
“No, I meant your Animagus form.”
“I know what you meant,” he smirked. “I was thinking about a wolf.”
“The sinister trickster of the animal kingdom,” Hermione smirked. “How appropriate.”
“I beg your pardon, Granger, but I’ve done my homework and the wolf is more than just cunning, though I will admit that’s one of the main reasons I chose it.”
Hermione nodded. “They’re also loners.”
“They’re also considered alert, brave, and loyal in some cultures.”
“In some cultures, it’s also believed that they can be easily tamed.” She shrugged, “After all, they are only dogs in the wildest sense of the word.”
Harry scoffed, “Whatever you say, Granger, but wolves are not just wild dogs as you so graciously put it. I doubt any wolf can be easily tamed. They live to hunt and stick to themselves.”
She tilted her head at him in response. “You’re sitting in the library having a civil conversation with me. I believe that is as tamed as they come.”
Harry frowned at her before returning to his book. “I’m tolerating you for the project, Granger. There’s a difference.”
“Would you mind not calling me that?” she asked with a new level of annoyance.
He looked up at her, confused. “What?”
“Granger. That’s not my name.”
“Then what am I supposed to call you?” he asked, studying her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “how about my proper name? Hermione, perhaps?”
“And why exactly should I?”
“Because if I’m going to be forced to spend the rest of the term in your presence, I’d prefer to be called by my first name as to reduce my own personal irritation with this situation.” She shrugged. “And I’ll stop referring to you as Potter in return.”
“The only people who call me by my first name are my aunt and uncle,” he replied with a hint of a frown. “So if you don’t mind, I’d prefer Potter.”
With that, he went back to his book, Hermione watching him. Sometimes she forgot that he came from her world, that he grew up a muggle in a muggle household with a muggle family. He blended in so well with the aristocrat attitudes of his fellow pureblood Slytherins that it slipped her mind that half of him belonged to her world and the other half belonged to theirs.
He slowly looked up at her, and only then did Hermione realize she had been staring. “What?” he asked in response to her gaze.
“What?” she repeated dumbly, and then proceeded to silently scold herself for doing such a thing.
“You were staring at me,” he replied simply. “Why?”
She shook her head. “It was nothing.”
“Right,” he said, unconvinced.
“I was just remembering that you-- that you didn’t grow up in the wizarding world,” she admitted as those piercing green eyes studied her.
“Happens when both your parents get killed,” he replied bluntly.
“Sorry,” she replied quietly, dropping her gaze to the book in her lap.
“Did you kill my parents?”
Hermione looked up, confused and taken aback. She shook her head gingerly. “No, of course I didn’t.”
“Then don’t apology,” he said evenly. “You’re not the person who owes me one.”
He returned his attention to his book again, but Hermione’s mind couldn’t return to her studies just yet. Something about hearing about his parents’ deaths, about You-Know-Who, made her remember things she had read in the Daily Prophet just weeks prior.
“They say he’s coming after you,” she said, her inner thoughts becoming vocal.
Harry simply looked up at her, silent.
“You-Know-Who,” she added as if he didn’t know exactly to whom she had been referring. Hermione silently cursed Harry and his presence for suddenly making her the queen of the obvious.
“Voldemort,” he amended without even a flinch. Hermione, however, could not remain so stoic at the mention of the name, and she grimaced slightly in response. “That’s his name, Hermione. Might as well get used to saying it.”
“Well, either way, the Daily Prophet seems to think….”
“That he’s gathering Death Eaters to come and find me,” he finished for her. “Yeah, I read the paper.”
She frowned. “You seem rather….”
“Calm?” he smirked.
“Something along those lines, yes.”
“If he comes for me, he comes for me,” he shrugged.
Hermione stared at him, shocked. “You’re not afraid?”
“I’m prepared,” he replied vaguely.
Hermione continued to stare at him in disbelief and was about to ask him what “prepared” meant when her train of thought was quickly derailed by two girls talking rather loudly. She looked up just in time to see Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil approach the aisle she and Harry were sitting in and stop in their tracks.
“Oh!” Parvati managed as Harry turned to look at them as well. “Sorry, we didn’t realize someone was using this aisle.” She grinned deviously, Hermione instantly understanding the meaning behind it, as Lavender giggled quietly at her side. Parvati grabbed Lavender’s arm and pulled her away as both girls fell into a giggle fit.
Harry continued to look towards the spot the two girls had occupied as he replied, “Are all you Gryffindor girls like that?”
“No, just those two,” she frowned, knowing this meant bad news.
Lavender and Parvati loved to gossip. It had probably been them that Ginny had overheard gossiping after her first meeting with Harry, and that had only been a simple hallway conversation. Now was a bit different. Now she was sitting beside the boy in the dimly lit stacks, in one of the more secluded areas of the library at that, and seemingly in a deep conversation with him. Merlin only knew how quickly those two would be able to spread that through the Gryffindor house.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be in the library.”
Harry turned to her, a look of confusion on his face. “And why is that?”
“Because you and I aren’t supposed to be interacting in this fashion.”
He smiled, amused. “And what fashion is that?”
“Like this,” she replied in a flustered voice, a bit thrown by seeing him actually smile. “Remember we hate each other so speaking civilly and hanging out in the library together could seem… odd to some people.”
“Right,” he nodded with the same amused smile.
“Look, Potter, you don’t know Lavender and Parvati like I do. They could turn this--” She motioned back and forth between them. “--into some sordid make out session in the stacks.”
Harry smirked. “Alright. We’ll work on the project somewhere else. Would hate for your chaste reputation to be soiled by the likes of myself.”
“I’ll ask Professor McGonagall if we can use her classroom,” Hermione replied with a nod.
“You do that,” he grinned, closing up his book. He slowly pulled himself to his feet. “I’m calling it a night, Gra-- Hermione.”
“I’m just going to finish this chapter first.” She motioned to the open book in her lap.
“Your choice. Night,” he said, turning and making his way out of the stacks.
“Night,” Hermione said to his retreating back. Once he was gone, she sighed and returned her full attention to her book. She really didn’t feel like going back to the tower at the moment.
-----------
When Hermione returned to the tower, the looks she received from a few of the girls gathered in the common room told her that her worst fears had been realized. She ignored the girls as they peeked over the edges of their books, whispering to each other, and made her way to her friends gathered by the fireplace. She held in the frown that wanted to form on her lips as she watched Ginny and Neville share a look across the chessboard set up between them.
“Hey,” she said, trying her best to sound nonchalant.
Ron, who had been watching the game, looked up in her direction. He turned to Ginny and Neville as he slowly got to his feet. “I’m going to head to bed. Neville, you can have my turn.” Without even giving Hermione a second glance, he disappeared towards the staircase to the boys’ dormitories.
Hermione watched him with a frown, turning to Ginny and Neville. Neville shifted in his seat for a moment before standing as well. “I’m gonna….” He trailed off as he motioned towards the stairs. “Night, Ginny. Night, Hermione.” He offered her a sheepish smile as he followed after Ron.
Hermione sighed loudly as she watched Ginny gather all the chess pieces. She sat down opposite Ginny, frowning. “Whatever you all heard, it wasn’t true.”
“It’s Lavender and Parvati,” Ginny shrugged, “I never take anything they say at face-value.”
“What did they say…exactly?”
“That you were hiding out with Potter in the stacks.”
“Oh,” Hermione replied, slightly stunned that the two girls hadn’t exaggerated the event.
“So you were?” Ginny asked.
“Well, hiding isn’t what I would call it,” Hermione countered. “We just decided to study in the stacks.”
Ginny nodded, returning to her task of cleaning up the chess pieces. “They also say you were snogging him. Quite a bit actually.”
Hermione groaned, frustrated. “I was not snogging him! We were talking!”
“I believe you, Hermione. Those two are all about exaggerating things.” She sighed, rolling her eyes a bit. “I tried to tell Ron that, but you know how he is.”
“He honestly believes them?”
“I don’t know if he *believes* them, but….”
“He thinks I would,” Hermione finished sadly.
“No, but….” Ginny exhaled slowly. “Hermione, you *have* been studying in the library with Potter a lot lately.”
“Because of our project,” she argued.
“A project you have yet to tell any of us about. Even when we ask.”
“Ginny….” she sighed in exasperation.
Ginny held up her hands in a sign of truce. “I’m on your side here, Hermione, but I’m just telling you how it…looks.”
“People in this school need to learn to mind their own business,” Hermione sighed, standing. “Night, Ginny.”
“Night.”
Hermione made her way to the girls’ staircase, once again ignoring the glances and whispers in her direction.
----------
The following morning, Hermione woke to silence. She opened her eyes, lazily glancing around the empty room. Normally on a Saturday morning, she would be the first awake among her roommates, but today was different. She hadn’t slept well at all, her mind on a continuous filmstrip of things she could do or say to get Ron to stop avoiding her and to get the Gryffindor house to mind their own business.
With a quiet yawn, she pulled herself from her bed. She stumbled sleepily to her trunk and retrieved a pair of muggle jeans and a sweater, hoping to catch a late breakfast.
By the time Hermione entered the Great Hall, she was in better spirits. Her optimistic side had kicked in during her shower, reminding her that today after all was a new day. There was always a chance that the troubles that had haunted her all night would be gone by now. Or at least not be as horrible.
But Hermione’s optimistic attitude faltered as she took her normal seat next to Ron at the Gryffindor table. In response, the boy excused himself from the table with a mutter, leaving behind a half-finished plate. Hermione watched him with a deep frown before turning to look at Ginny, who offered her a sad, apologetic smile.
“He’ll stop being a prat soon,” Ginny said quietly.
Hermione simply nodded.
At the Slytherin table, Harry watched with curiosity as Ron made an abrupt exit as soon as Hermione took her seat next to him. Hermione looked after the redhead, a look of displeasure on her face, and it was then that Harry realized what was going on. Harry didn’t even excuse himself as he stood--Pansy in mid-conversation with him-- and followed Ron out of the Great Hall.
“Weasley!” Harry called to the other boy as soon as he was in the corridors outside the Great Hall.
Ron turned to him with a scowl. “What do you want, Potter?”
Harry approached him, arms folded over his chest. “Look, Weasley, normally I stay out of things that don’t really concern me, but I figured I’d offer you some advice.”
“I don’t need any bloody advice from the likes of you, Potter,” he growled.
“I don’t really care what you think you need, Weasley, because I’m going to tell you anyway,” Harry replied, unfazed. “Before you go messing up probably the only relationship with a girl you’ll ever have in your pathetic little lifetime? You should probably get your facts straight.”
“Get my facts straight?” Ron asked, his face turning an amusing shade of red. “I don’t need you of all people telling me so-called facts.”
Harry sighed. “Whatever you heard about me and Granger, Weasley, was a bunch of crap.”
“Like I’m gonna believe you.”
“Fine then,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. He dropped his arms, slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Have it your way, Weasley. Granger and I were making out like two horny teenagers in the library stacks.” He smirked slightly. “Too bad Patil and Brown stopped by before I could have a little more fun with the brunette.”
At that, Ron reached for his wand, but Harry proved too fast, pulling his own from his back pocket. He quickly disarmed Ron, the redhead’s wand flying out of his hand and clattering across the floor, before he could even get a curse past his lips.
“By the way, Weasley?” Harry replied, his wand still trained on Ron. “*That* was a bloody joke.” He sighed. “Look, I don’t care one way or the other if you believe me, but if Hermione says she didn’t do anything with me, she didn’t do anything with me.”
Ron blinked. “What did you just call her?”
“Her proper name.”
Ron opened his mouth to retort but found himself interrupted by a very unwelcome voice.
“Misters Weasley and Potter,” Snape drawled as he approached them. He retrieved Ron’s wand from the floor as Harry lowered his. He sneered at the boys. “What do we have here?”
“Nothing, sir,” Harry replied dryly, slipping his wand back into the back pocket of his slacks.
“Really, Mister Potter? It seems you and Mister Weasley here were in the middle of a duel in the corridors.”
Harry smiled insincerely. “But, sir, dueling in the hallways between classes is forbidden. All students know that.”
Ron simply watched in silence, amazed that anyone would attempt to humor someone as nasty as Snape.
“Perhaps your tune will change once the Headmaster deals with you, Potter,” the professor snapped. “And twenty points from Slytherin for your mouth.”
Harry held the insincere smile, knowing that it would only aggravate Snape more. “But of course. Sir.”
“To the Headmaster’s office now, Potter,” Snape growled. He angrily handed Ron his wand. “As for you, Mister Weasley, I suggest you stay out of my sight the rest of the day, or you’ll meet the same fate as your opponent here. Fifty points from Gryffindor.”
Ron nodded silently, willing to accept points taken away in return for not being sent to see the Headmaster.
Snape turned to Harry, who continued to linger around to listen to the conversation. “I thought I told you to go to the Headmaster’s, Potter!”
“Right on it, sir,” Harry replied with a quiet chuckle. As he pushed by Ron, he hesitated a moment to whisper under his breath to the redhead. “You bloody owe me, Weasley.”
“Potter!” Snape snarled.
With another chuckle, Harry continued on his way to the Headmaster’s office, Snape on his heels.
----------
Harry sat alone in Dumbledore’s office, awaiting the Headmaster’s return from his conversation with Snape. Harry had only been in this office once before, during his second year. Draco had had the ingenious idea to hit Ron and his brothers with a bat-bogey hex in the hallways after dinner one night, but in order to do so, he needed the aid of two accomplices. Namely, Blaise and himself. Needless to say, they had been caught, and ever since that night, Harry had not found himself sent to the office again. Not that he became a perfect angel after the incident. He simply learned the art of not getting caught in the act. Until today. Seemed, yet again, that a Weasley would be the reason for his chat with the Headmaster.
Harry stroked Fawkes’ feathers as the phoenix perched itself on the arm of his chair. Quiet footsteps filled the room, and Fawkes tilted his head before flying away to his designated perch on the other side of the room. Harry sat back in the chair with a frown, preparing for the speech he was about to receive.
Dumbledore slowly made his way to his desk, taking a moment to stroke Fawkes. He sat down, clasping his hands casually across the smooth wood surface of his desk. “Would you like to add anything to Professor Snape’s account of events, Harry?” he asked serenely.
“Depends on what he said, Professor,” Harry replied simply.
“Well, perhaps, *your* version of events then.”
Harry shrugged. “I went out to talk to Weasley. Things got a bit out of hand, and I disarmed him.”
Dumbledore nodded slowly. “I don’t feel I need to remind you about using magic in the halls between classes.”
“No, sir, you don’t.”
The older wizard simply studied him in response.
“Am I done?” Harry asked, trying his best not to sound annoyed.
“With that matter, yes,” Dumbledore replied. He sighed quietly before continuing, “Have you been keeping up with recent events, Harry?”
“If this is the Voldemort thing, yeah, I’ve been informed.”
“Being flippant probably is not in your best interests with this matter, Harry,” he replied, disapprovingly.
“I’m not being flippant.” Harry folded his arms across his chest. “Since I was eleven, all I have heard is that Voldemort is looking for me, that he’s looking to off me. After six years, it starts to get a little redundant, Professor.”
“And though that may be true, Harry, I feel it necessary to warn you that this time is very different,” he said, the normal twinkle in his eyes darkening. “Unlike when you were eleven, he is now at his full strength, and you are now more of a threat to his existence.”
“The prophecy,” Harry mumbled.
“Yes, the prophecy.” He paused before continuing. “How do you feel about the prophecy, Harry?”
A slow smirk spread across Harry’s face. “You want to know if I plan to go evil anytime soon?”
“No, Harry, I asked how *you* felt about it.”
“Look, Professor, I know what everyone thinks. I know why everyone fears me, and fine, I’ll admit that having power like this over people isn’t exactly a bad thing.” Harry shrugged. “But I’m just trying to make it to graduation alive.”
“And after graduation?”
Harry laughed slightly. “Well, after I graduate, my stance on the battle between good and evil will be null and void, don’t you think?”
“Not for me,” Dumbledore replied. “I’d hate to meet you some time down the line, and we’re on different sides of the battle.”
Harry frowned, silent.
“Voldemort *is* coming for you, Harry.” Dumbledore stood and strolled over to Fawkes. He gently stroked the bird’s feathers. “That is a fact I know without a doubt, and I promise to keep you and your fellow students as safe as I possibly can.”
“As safe as you possibly can?” Harry asked, throwing the Headmaster a cautious look.
Dumbledore glanced at Harry before turning his gaze back to Fawkes, the phoenix enjoying the attention. “When the second war comes, Harry, which cannot be a future far off, Hogwarts will not be exempt. In fact, I fear that we will be the heart of the battle.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of us both,” Dumbledore said, finally turning to face Harry. “You and I have more things in common than you realize, Harry.”
“He hates you as much as he hates me, huh?”
Dumbledore nodded with a hint of a sad smile. “That is true, but you also fail to realize the power you have in this situation. I’ve faced Voldemort myself in the past, and now it is your turn.”
“You talk as if I don’t have an option in this,” Harry replied with a quiet laugh.
“When he comes for you, Harry, you unfortunately will not. I need you prepared for that.”
Harry hesitated before nodding. “I’ll be prepared.” He shifted his weight in his chair, this conversation taking an unnerving turn he never expected. “Am I done *now*, sir?”
Dumbledore studied him for a moment before giving a nod of his head. “You are done now, Harry. Please refrain from dueling in the halls.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry said, getting to his feet and quickly leaving the office. Harry didn’t dare look back as he waited for the staircase to spiral down to the lower level.
----------
Harry returned to the Slytherin dungeons, his thoughts still back in the Headmaster’s office. He knew that Voldemort would come for him eventually, would come to finish the job, but he never imagined the entire second war would be fought against him. He was prepared to take on Voldemort when the time came, but he was less certain that he could take on the wizard and his gathered army.
He ignored the looks he received as he made his way to the boys’ dormitories, but he found himself facing the same glances when he stepped into his room. Blaise looked up from his parchment he was writing on, and Draco looked up from his Quidditch book.
“What?” Harry asked, annoyed.
“We hear you got into a row with Weasley,” Blaise replied.
“It was nothing,” Harry said, going over to his side of the room. He began gathering the books he’d need for his meeting with Hermione.
“Why exactly did you get into it with Weasley anyway?” Draco asked.
His back still to his friends, Harry replied firmly, “None of your business.”
“We hear it has something to do with that mudblood Granger,” Draco snarled.
Harry tightly grasped his book and shoved it forcefully into his schoolbag. “I said it was none of your business, Malfoy, and it’d be in your best interest to leave it.”
Draco tossed his book onto his bed and walked over to Harry, his arms crossed smugly across his chest. He leaned against the wall beside Harry‘s desk, smirking. “I really hope you wouldn’t stoop to shagging Granger in the library, Potter.”
Harry shoved the last of his belongings into his schoolbag and looked up at Draco, smiling snidely. “Better than you getting a handjob in the locker room from Parkinson, Malfoy.” He draped his bag over his neck and under his arm. “What and *who* I do, Malfoy? Not really any of your concern.”
“So it’s true?!” Blaise asked from his desk.
Harry shot Blaise a look that could kill. “The same goes for you, Zabini.” He turned back to Draco. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than sit around with you lot discussing my sex life.” He smiled at the other boy and started towards the door.
“Lay the filthy mudblood if you want, Potter,” Draco replied with a dark chuckle, “but don’t forget where your loyalties lie when the second war comes breathing down your neck.”
Harry stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “What?” he asked, turning back to Draco.
“You’re one of us, Potter,” he said, walking up to Harry. “Slytherins don’t just switch sides as they see fit. So have your little fun with the mudblood, taint yourself as you see fit, but in the end of all things? Your loyalty lies here.”
Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “My loyalty lies here?”
Draco nodded, that same smug smirk on his face.
In a flash, Harry had his hand wrapped tightly around Draco’s throat, shoving him against the wall. He pulled his wand with his free hand, pointing it in the boy’s face. Unarmed and with Harry strangling him, Draco couldn’t hide the fear in his eyes.
Blaise approached them cautiously. “Potter, let him go, mate.”
Harry ignored him. “I bow to no one, Malfoy,” he growled, his grip around Draco’s neck tightening. “Not you. Not your father. Not Dumbledore. Not Voldemort. So don’t bloody tell me where my loyalties should lie. I *know* where they lie. They lie with me. Are we clear?”
Draco managed to nod, his pale face becoming red. Harry returned the nod and gave Draco’s throat one last warning squeeze before storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.
----------
Harry made his way to McGonagall’s classroom, his temper still raging. If it would have been worth the expulsion, he would have cursed Draco right there in their room for having the audacity for trying to lecture him on loyalty. Harry wasn’t sure who exactly Malfoy thought he was, but he was sorely mistaken if he even for a second thought that Harry would ever bow down to him in loyalty.
Just because his family had opened their manor doors to him more times than he could remember. Just because they were both Slytherins. Just because they had some form of a twisted friendship based on irritation and one-upping each other when the chance allowed.
The only people who rightfully deserved his loyalty were dead, and without his parents, that unwavering loyalty was dedicated only to himself and his own well-being.
His temper had sated a bit by the time Harry pushed the door to McGonagall’s classroom open.
Every table was empty as was to be expected on a Saturday. Every table except one. Hermione sat at the first long table in the room, a book open in front of her as she wrote diligently on a piece of parchment. She barely looked up to acknowledge Harry as he sat his schoolbag down on McGonagall’s desk.
“Afternoon to you too, Hermione,” he said as he leaned against the desk, watching her work.
“Sorry,” she managed, looking up to greet him with a small smile. She turned back to her assignment. “I just need to finish this thought before I lose it.”
Harry watched her, curious. “How long have you been in here?”
“A while,” she mumbled at her book.
“Avoiding your housemates still?”
“No,” she said, looking up. “I can get more done here than in the common room.”
Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Right.”
“Whatever you said to Ron this morning wasn’t necessary.”
“I’m sorry?”
Hermione finally looked up from her work, slowly closing her book. “The entire school is talking about how you supposedly got into a row with Ron, and I’m quite certain that if you did, it was about me. So whatever you said to him this morning to get him to apologize to me after breakfast wasn’t necessary. I could have handled it myself.”
Harry gave a quiet, shocked laugh. “I lose house points and get sent to see the Headmaster in order to set your boyfriend straight about what’s happening here, and *that* is the response I get? Gratitude is not your strong point, Hermione.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s….” She trailed off as the appropriate words seemed to fail her at the moment. “It’s complicated.”
“Obviously,” Harry smirked.
“Look, I just don’t need you trying to fight my battles for me. I’m not some poor damsel in distress. I can handle my own.”
“Fine,” he replied, folding his arms. “Next time, I’ll simply mind my own business like a true Slytherin. That’ll save me house points and a trip to Dumbledore.”
She frowned slightly. “He didn’t give you detention, did he?”
Harry shook his head. “No. My incident with Weasley was the least of the worries on his mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“He wanted to discuss my old chum Voldemort.”
Hermione hesitated, not sure she really wanted to know the answer to the question that had been haunting her for weeks. “He knows more than the Daily Prophet is saying, doesn’t he?”
He shrugged. “If he does, he isn’t saying. He just wanted to warn me of what’s to come, I suppose.”
Hermione stood and approached him, a worried look on her face. “They’re coming here.”
“Of course they are,” he replied flippantly.
“Would you please stop doing that?” she asked, her voice filled with irritation. “Stop being so--” She motioned at him. “--about it.”
“What would you prefer?” he asked in an even tone. “Would you like me to panic? Accept my fear and allow it to completely take over me?”
“I’m sorry if I can’t be as *prepared* as you,” she frowned, “but the thought of an army of Death Eaters showing up on Hogwarts’ doorstep *does*, in fact, unnerve me.”
“And you don’t think that unnerves me as well?”
“You sure don’t act as if it does.”
Harry frowned slightly. “Just because I don’t act as if it does, doesn’t mean it has no effect on me. I *am* the one he’s coming for afterall.”
She returned the frown. “And we’ll all be caught in the crossfire.”
“Hope you’re up on your defensive spells,” he joked dryly.
“That’s not funny.”
“Hey, it’s my questionable fate in the balance, I think I deserve a bit of inappropriate humor.” He paused, studying her. “You never fail to give a straight answer to a question, Hermione, so let me ask you something.”
“Alright,” she replied, warily.
“Where do you think I fall?”
She blinked at him, confused. “Where you fall?”
“With my infamous prophecy,” he clarified. “I asked the Headmaster his feelings on the matter, and he cleverly changed the topic around so that he didn’t have to answer the question. So, let’s say Voldemort does show up, and I defeat him.” He paused, raising an eyebrow at her. “What do you think happens next?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“That’s the answer I get from the know-it-all? A ‘I don’t know‘?”
“Well, I don’t,” she replied defensively. “Personally, I don’t believe in prophecies. They’re a bunch of rubbish if you ask me.” She paused, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “So, in that case, no, I suppose I don’t believe you’ll fulfill the prophecy….”
“And yet I hear a but on your voice,” he replied, amused.
“But it doesn’t matter what I believe, or what Dumbledore believes, you’re the one in control here. If that’s the path you want to take, then none of us can stop you from taking it.” She frowned a bit. “We’ll have to kill you in order for it all to end, but we can’t make the decision for you.”
He smirked. “Like you could kill me, Granger.”
“I’d give it my best shot,” she replied, returning the smirk. The smirk fell away as she asked, “So what do *you* believe?”
He shrugged. “I believe that if it takes this much time and energy to be some grand evil wizard, then I want no part of it. I’ll find some other way to wield power over people.”
She laughed quietly. “As long as you don’t plan to go evil, I suppose.”
“Not as of yet, no.”
Hermione paused, her smile fading away. “Do you think Dumbledore will tell the students soon?”
“He doesn’t want to create a panic. Hell, I think he even believes he can handle this and keep all of us safe.”
“But he can’t. If You-Know-Who--”
“Voldemort, Hermione.”
She swallowed hard. “If Vol--Voldemort shows up with Death Eaters, the odds will be against him.”
“I won’t argue that, but he’ll tell us when he thinks the time is right.”
“Which is hopefully before Voldemort and his followers come knocking on our door,” Hermione frowned.
Harry nodded and studied her for a moment. “Are you better now that you got that little mini-panic out of your system?”
“That was concern, not panic.”
He grinned. “Of course it was.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry I can’t be as stoic as you.” She paused, frowning. “Though with recent situations, I wish I could. It seems that everyone in this school has taken pleasure in my personal life.”
“Seems we *are* the talk of the school at the moment,” he smirked.
“Yes, thanks to Lavender and Parvati spreading well-crafted stories.”
“Could be worse,” Harry shrugged.
“Please tell me how it could possibly be worse than what it presently is.”
He shrugged again. “They could think you’re evil and bent on destroying them all.”
“I think I’d rather be evil than be known as the girl who has *sessions* in the library stacks.”
Harry laughed. “Most girls would be quite honored to be part of a sordid rumor with me.”
“Then I am obviously not most girls.” Harry simply watched her with an amused smirk. “What?” she finally asked to his stare.
Before she could even process a protest, Harry reached out and took a firm hold of her arm, pulling her towards him. His free hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, tangling in her curly hair, as he brought her lips to his. Her hands flat against his chest, Hermione froze for a moment, completely caught off guard. She felt his lips curl into a smirk under hers, and she silently cursed herself for what she was about to let happen. She kissed him back fully, and all thoughts about what a horrible idea it was to make out with Harry Potter in Professor McGonagall’s empty classroom escaped her as his tongue slipped by her lips. He wrapped an arm firmly around her waist, bringing them as close together as he could; his other hand still holding possessively to the back of her neck. Her fingers forming small fists, the front of his school robes bunching up in her hands, Hermione wanted despearately to come up for air, but at the saem time, she didn’t. Because coming up for air meant stopping whatever this was that was happening, and as much as logical Hermione was screaming at her that this was a horrible idea, the Hermione that presently found herself in this embrace couldn’t seem to agree.
Both so intently focused on each other--the feels, the tastes, the sounds--neither noticed the classroom door open. Only when the loud clearing of a throat resounded through the room, did reality come crashing back around them.
Still wrapped in Harry’s embrace, Hermione quickly pulled away to see Professor McGonagall standing in the doorway to her classroom. Her arms were casually folded in front of her, and she studied them expressionless.
Hermione quickly untangled herself from Harry, feeling herself begin to blush at being caught. She gingerly placed her fingers to her lips as if she could hide all evidence of Harry on her.
“Professor,” she managed nervously.
“Miss Granger. Mister Potter,” she replied, her face still expressionless. “I was hoping to catch you in order to discuss the beginnings of your lessons.”
“Right, the lessons,” Hermione replied, throwing a glance at Harry. He simply smiled slightly at her, no hint of embarassment at being caught. She turned back to Professor McGongall with a small nod. “We’ve finished our project you assigned.”
“There’s not a single book in the library on Animagus that we haven’t had our hands on,” Harry chimed in.
Professor McGonagall nodded. “Well then, I suppose it’s time I see how hard you two worked for this privelege. We can start your lessons tomorrow night.”
Harry raised his hand. “Actually, I can’t start tomorrow night, Professor. Quidditch practice.”
Hermione threw him an exasperated look, and he simply replied with a shrug.
“Very well,” Professor McGonagall sighed. “We can start Monday evening. We’ll meet here after dinner.”
Hermione nodded. “Of course, Professor.”
Professor McGonall studied them both for a moment before returning the nod. “Have a good evening.” She turned and made her way to the door but stopped short, her hand on the doorknob. She turned back to them with a knowing look. “I do however ask that you not use my classroom for any extracurricular activities. Next time, there will be repurcussions.”
“Yes, professor,” Hermione replied, feeling herself blush again.
“Won’t happen again,” Harry replied seriously, but Hermione was sure she could hear a smile on his voice.
Professor McGonagall nodded curtly at them before leaving them alone in the classroom. Once the door was shut, Harry chuckled under his breath, and Hermione could only turn to look at him, stunned by his apparent lack of caring that they were caught.
“What?” he asked with an amused half-smile.
“What?!” she repeated, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Our professor just walked in on us kissing on her desk.”
“It could have been worse,” he shrugged. “At least you still had your knickers on.”
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” he said, smiling deviously.
Hermione’s lips twitched, and she silently cursed him for having an infectious smile for a Slytherin. She cleared her throat, dropping her arms. “Next time could you please warn me before doing things like that?”
“And miss the look on your face when I grabbed you?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky I didn’t punch you.”
He replied with his own raised eyebrow. “Would you have?”
“If I had been thinking properly, yes.”
“Lucky for me you weren’t thinking properly then,” he smirked.
Hermione rolled her eyes at him, reeling in the flush she felt creeping up her neck. “We have a project to finish up,” she stated simply, returnign to her seat at her desk.
Retaking her seat, she focused her gaze solely on the open book in front of her. She knew he was studying her-probably with that trademark smirk of his-and she didn’t exactly want to continue to meet his scrutinizing gaze at the moment for many reasons. One of which being that if she continued to look at him any longer, she’d be instantly reminded of the feel of her body pressed against his, his soft lips on her.
And those thoughts were not something she should have been having, especially about Harry Potter of all boys.
She heard the chair beside hers scrape against the hard floors, and she tilted her head more towards her book in hopes of avoiding even a glance of those green eyes. That move proved futile as she felt him lean closer into her.
“So,” he asked, the amusement evident on his voice, “how long do you think you can keep this up?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her gaze never leaving her safety net of text.
“Not looking in my general direction.”
At that, Hermione put on her best determined face, and finally turned her head towards his direction. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized just how close he had leaned into her. All she could see were emerald green eyes staring back at her through glasses.
He smirked at her. “I kissed you on a whim, Hermione, if that’s what you’re worried about. Won’t happen again without your consent.”
Hermione froze for a moment, an inappropriate sense of disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach. “Of course it won’t.”
Harry smiled and leaned back in his chair, retrieving his book from his schoolbag. He balanced the chair on its two back legs as he propped his feet up onto the desk, flipping the book open in his lap. Hermione watched him get settled before attemtpting to turn her attention back to her book.
That task, however, proved more difficult than she imagined as her mind kept returning to the boy sitting beside her.
Hermione finally looked up, annoyed with herself for letting one silly, insignificant kiss get under her skin like this. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “It was a whim?” she said, breaking the silence that had settled over them for a good twenty minutes.
Harry looked up from his book with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”
“You said it was a whim,” she repeated.
“The kiss, right,” he replied, dog-earing his page and closing up the book. “I didn’t plan it so by definition that makes it a whim.”
Hermione frowned slightly, still trying to wrap her mind around everything. “Why?”
Harry laughed quietly as he pulled his legs from the table and placed his chair firmly back onto the ground. He leaned forward in his seat, studying her with that familiar amused look. “It drives you insane, doesn’t it? You have to have the asnwers to everything in life, and when you don’t, it throws your entire existence off-kilter.”
“I do not have to have the answers to everything,” she replied, annoyed.
“Then why does it matter why I kissed you?”
“Because…” she started. She paused, collecting her thoughts. “Because I’d like to know what was going through your head at that moment.”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
She blinked at him. “Nothing?”
“Every action doesn’t have to have a reason behind it,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “Sometimes? I just act.”
“You have to have some form of thought before every action, even if it’s a tiny thought.”
“No, you really don’t,” he replied with a smirk. “However, for the record? If I kissed you right now? It would be to get you to stop obssessing about the first kiss.”
Hermione simply blinked at him again, and he grinned.
“Don’t worry. I may be a Slytherin, but I’m also a gentleman. When I said it wouldn’t happen without your consent, it won’t.”
He leaned back in his chair, reopening his book to his dog-eared page. Hermione watched him for a moment before turning back to her own book, silently still “obsessing” over the first kiss.
----------
When Harry finally returned to his room, night had already settled around the castle.
He had left Hermione hours ago, making a detour into the library on his way back to the Slyhterin dungeons. Another book about Animagi had been the last thing on his mind as he had browsed the aisles. Tonight, he had been looking for books about recurring nightmares.
The dream about the Forbidden Forest had stopped being on a nightly basis, but Harry still found himself waking up in a cold sweat at least twice a week. He hadn’t reached the girl in his dreams since the night Blaise had woke him just as he was about to touch her, and for him, that felt like a blessing and a curse. He feared the dreams would continue until he saved the girl from whatever was in the forest. Whatever presence was whispering and hissing orders around him, whatever presence that mocked him for the girl’s blood on his hands.
This was not a normal nightmare, and Harry needed answers.
When he returned to his room, Blaise and Malfoy were both already asleep. Harry frowned at them before shoving the book he had checked out into his schoolbag for safekeeping. The last thing he needed was his nosey acquaintances to get inside his head, to see his weaknesses. Because friends or not, they were all Slytherins first.
And Slytherins lived to exploit and make others miserable.
His book latched safely inside his schoolbag, he quietly placed the bag onto his trunk. He quickly changed out of his clothes and into his pajamas, climbing into the bed with a heavy sigh.
No nightmares, Potter, he silently told himself.
He closed his eyes, willing his subconscious to play nice for one night. He tried to force his mind to focus on different things-Quidditch practice, Animagi, Hermione.
He smirked to himself, remembering her reaction to his impromptu kiss in McGonagall’s classroom. He had spoke the truth when he had told her he had kissed her on a whim. Before he had kissed her, she had claimed that she was not like every girl, and he had felt the sudden urge to find out for himself. Honestly, he didn’t understand her simply because she wasn’t like all the other girls in the halls of Hogwarts. She was aggressive. She was smart and not at all afraid to look like a know-it-all. She was more sarcastic than one girl should have been allowed to be. And she somehow knew how to annoy the living hell out of him and yet at the same time make him enjoy her company.
He sighed, pushing away all thoughts of her so that he could finally rest. He had a feeling that if it weren’t nightmares about the forest, it would be dreams about the know-it-all brunette that would wake him in the morning.
----------
If Hermione had known that at the moment she was tossing and turning in her own bed, that Harry was doing the same-his thoughts on their unplanned kiss, she would have gladly told him “I told you so”. Every action *does* have a thought behind it, even if the thought comes hours later. However, at the moment, Hermione was too concerned with her own bout of insomnia to wonder about what Harry was thinking.
She was quite sure she’d never understand boys, no matter how much time she spent in their presence. If anyone had told her at the beginning of the term that she would find herself not only kissing Harry Potter but enjoying kissing him, she would have laughed in their face and questioned their mental stability.
And yet she had done just that.
“I *am* mental,” she muttered to herself, yanking her covers up and burying her head underneath them. She forced herself to think about her coming training to become an Animagus, hoping that would lend itself to more rest than thoughts of a certain green-eyed Slytherin.