FIC: Teamwork 29, WIP, H/D
Title: Teamwork 29 -- The Intruder
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Canon Compliancy: Through Goblet of Fire
Snakes and Lions: Teamwork is the sequel to Snakes and Lions.
Thanks: Thanks to sociofemme for beta work, and coconut_ice22 for Britpick.
Notes: It took much longer to get back to this than I expected, but the next chapter will be in two weeks.
Previous chapters
29 -- The Intruder
After practice, Ginny started to ask Harry about something, but then, catching herself, turned to Cornelia instead. With a nod for them both, he left the pitch and cut across the brown grass toward Greenhouse Four.
"Hi, Harry," Millicent said, as he dropped down into the tunnel. Harry thought she must have heard his approach, because she turned back to the open area right away.
"Good afternoon!" he returned, following her. "Am I late enough to miss prep?"
She snorted. "Not at all. Short practice?"
Shrugging, he started over to their work area. "Not really. But I resigned as captain, so I didn't have to stay after."
"Resigned?" Her brows furrowed. "This isn't about me, is it? Because captains have done far dumber things."
"Yeah, but I don't care as much as I should." He shrugged. "Not even enough to snub you, obviously."
"And they think you ought to do?"
"Of course they think I ought to! Look, don't worry about it, okay? I'm still on the team, and it's not my problem, now." Harry turned away to loosen the cord on the bag of fluxweed. "And while it wasn't penance, it seems to have worked that way. They were far less angry at me today."
She shook her head. "Gryffindors!"
After weeks of making the same potion, the brewing was fairly easy. Once they had set the cauldron aside to cool, Harry turned to Millicent.
"I have a new approach for glamours."
Her brows came down. "New? But I'm having enough trouble--"
"Right. So it's time to try something else. I was studying a different source, and it had a significantly different approach." The source was the book of cosmetic charms, but there was no way he was going to tell her that. "For one thing, it emphasized that it's easier to change your looks to match how you think of yourself."
She frowned even more at that. "Well, that will be useless! Half the time I can't even remember I'm a girl, Potter! If I look in the mirror when I'm tired, it startles me."
With a flick of his hand, he waved that off. "Fine. So let's start with looking like you want to. When you've got that, we'll backtrack to subterfuge, okay?"
"Oh." The lines across her brow eased as she considered that. "This will be practice?"
"Right."
"And when I'm better at it, I can do something harder."
"Like disguising yourself. Exactly!"
"Great!" Harry said, at Millicent's eighth attempt.
"Really?"
"Really. You're doing so much better. The glamour is actually on you, the way it should be."
"What do you mean, on me?"
"I mean -- before it was like you'd put the glamour on top of ... for example, your robes. So when they moved, the real cloth would show through, because the glamour didn't track. The same thing with your arm, last week. I'd see the real thing if you moved fast, as if you'd cast the charm on the air above your skin, rather than on your whole arm."
"I ... I've always thought of it like that. Like a mask." Millicent's militarily short hair gave her a stubborn look, although her voice was querulous
"Well, no." Harry found himself confused by the idea. He hadn't really thought about the nature of glamours that way before.
"But if it's not transfiguration, it can't be on the arm itself."
"But it can be," Harry protested. He thought he might be getting what she meant. This was the theory part of magic, which he hardly ever bothered with before helping Draco with Transfiguration. "Look, if I cast a Featherlight charm on this rock--" Here, he tossed a rock in the air, casting the spell before catching it-- "it's still a rock, right?" He rapped the stone against the wall, getting a nice, solid clunk. "It's not softer, or less dense." He scraped it, now, leaving a paler line along the stones beside him. "It's not transfigured, but the spell still goes all the way through the--"
Millicent grabbed his arm, panic widening her eyes. Belatedly, he processed the sound from a second earlier -- the scrape of someone opening the trapdoor without raising it far enough.
"Lift the glamour!" he hissed, fumbling in his bag for his invisibility cloak. He knew he had brought it -- he always brought it -- but he didn't set it on the top anymore.
The intruder miscalculated the last step from the ladder, landing heavily. Harry pulled out the cloak. He opened it with a snap of his wrists, tangling his wand for a second -- when had he drawn that? His heartbeat pounded. The steps were near the curve. In a quick shake, he tossed the cloak over Millicent and spun about, wand ready.
He froze.
"Harry."
It was Hermione, her face tight. Harry lowered the wand, stepping back out of battle stance. "Hi," he said.
"Where's Bulstrode?"
"Mill?" he asked, trying to look confused. Hermione stalked towards him. "Why would I know?"
Opening her hand, she held it out to him, and he saw a squat cylinder wrapped about with black hair. It was glowing all over, with a reddish tinge at the edge where it curved nearest him.
"Because she's in this room," Hermione said flatly. "Behind you."
"It's none of your--"
"Give it up, Potter," Millicent growled, pulling off his cloak. She thrust it at him as she stepped past. "Thanks for trying."
He watched her shoulders square as she focused down on Hermione. "Don't go carrying tales, Granger. It's none of your affair."
Lifting her chin, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, really?" She said tightly. "Illicit brewing in a private place? You'll excuse me if I have questions."
"It's nothing illegal," Harry said quickly. "We're not hurting anyone."
Millicent shushed him with the wave of one meaty hand. "Ask away, Granger."
Certainty wavering, Hermione looked between them. "What's the potion?"
"Stage one of a six-month sex-change regimen."
Millicent spat out the answer like a challenge. Hermione stumbled back. Her eyes widened, and Harry didn't think it was entirely from hearing Millicent use a word like "regimen."
"Harry?" she asked uncertainly. "You wouldn't--"
Millicent snorted. "Lift the glamour, Harry," she said.
Sighing, he raised his wand. "All right. Look, Hermione...."
But Hermione was backing off again, looking up as Millicent swelled three inches higher.
"Oh!" She held her hand over her mouth a moment before forcing it down. "Well, good -- because, Harry, being a girl wouldn't keep Draco."
Harry snorted. "Well, yeah. Since he's gay."
"And you're not a pureblood."
"Merlin, Granger!" Millicent exclaimed. "Issues, much?"
Hermione glared at her. "With all the time Harry spends with Slytherins--"
"Who aren't all purebloods either." Millicent gestured down her changed body. "One-eighth troll, Granger."
"How does that even happen?"
Millicent looked at her as if she were dim. "How do you think? It's not like anyone does a troll by choice."
"Oh." Hermione looked horrified. "You mean...."
"Sometimes, the woman survives, right? And sometimes, she's too soft to toss her ugly brute of a baby in the river." Millicent shrugged. "And he might be ... well, just human enough for a woman who values strength over beauty."
Hermione bit her lip. She looked lost. Harry couldn't blame her, really. For a moment, he considered the possibility that Millicent was actually so brilliantly sly that she had been manipulating him all along, but he shrugged off the thought. She was playing to Hermione's sympathies, yes -- but if she always knew what she was doing, he would not have had to spend so long convincing her that he didn't need to be paid off.
"Harry?" Hermione said quietly. "Would you go, please?"
"She'll need a glamour."
"Cast it before you leave," Millicent suggested. Her voice was tight, but she voiced no objection to being left with Hermione. After meeting her eyes for a moment, Harry nodded, and he cast the charm.
"She's my friend," he said to Hermione. "Remember that."
"I will."
There was nothing for it but to go.
Harry wanted to wait for them to emerge, but it was cold to be out walking, and he was afraid he would be too conspicuous loitering by the greenhouse. Reluctantly, he returned to Gryffindor, reasoning that Hermione would look for him there.
He was right. After an agonizing half-hour, at the fifteenth opening of the portrait hole, it was Hermione who climbed inside, and she immediately set course for him. He started to gather his books before she was halfway across the Common Room.
"My room?" she said tightly.
"Yeah."
He followed her.
Once the door shut, he expected an immediate confrontation. Instead, she paused with her back almost to him, appearing to look down at the papers and books on her desk. He couldn't help remembering the last time they had stood like this. He had cursed her. Like this. When she had her back to me. When she trusted me. The thought did nothing for his anxiety.
"So," he prompted. To his relief, Hermione turned and looked at him. Her face was tight with worry.
"So," she returned. "This is what you've been hiding. You're helping him."
For a moment, Harry couldn't understand what she was talking about. He had been expecting her to ask about Millicent. She was, he realized suddenly, and dismay overcame relief before Harry quite had time to register it. "No."
"You're not helping?"
"You can't say 'him.'" Harry stepped towards her. "Really, Hermione, you can't. It has to stay a secret."
"I don't see anyone else listening."
"But you'll mess up! If a few of us know and we all do that in private, someone will mess up."
Hermione frowned. "Fine," she snapped. "You're helping her. Why?"
"I found out, and it wasn't her fault--"
"You're helping her because she's helpless?"
Harry's skull seemed to press in on his brain. "I'm helping her because she's brave!" he snapped. "She's decided what she wants, and she's doing it, even if it's dangerous and a lot of work."
Hermione's face relaxed, the tension draining from it almost as it had with the curse. "Harry," she said softly, and this time, he didn't need to feel guilty. "Is this what you've been hiding?"
"Yes." There were other things, of course, but couldn't regret his surety. This was the biggest one. This was what others cascaded out of.
"You thought I would tell?"
"I don't know what you'll do!" He stopped, struck by the truth of that. "I don't," he repeated more plaintively. "I ... I've lost it, somehow. Or I can't quite calculate how you've changed. Being out of touch all summer maybe." He turned away, unable to quell the bitter thought that she would do nothing behind his back. "Anyway, that didn't matter. It was her secret, not mine, and she didn't want me to tell you. She's afraid of you, and I can't blame her."
"Afraid?" Hermione sounded perplexed. "Why should Bulstrode be afraid of me?"
"Because you hate her!"
"I don't--" Momentary indignation was replaced by a milder tone. "I don't know what to think of her. But I wouldn't have interfered if you'd explained."
"Believe me, I'd rather have told you!" Harry exclaimed. "We have to brew every other week for hours, and I need fresh supplies every month, and I have to meet her every day to renew her glamour, and tutor her as well, and if I could tell you why I was running off to meet her, or getting yet another package from Fred and George, you'd realize I'm mostly where I should be."
"Oh." She smiled slightly as she stepped forward to take his hands. "That's why all the packages! Do they know?"
He was an absolute heel, Harry thought, even as he returned the squeeze of her fingers and gave her assumption tacit approval. "Of course not!" Rolling his eyes let him look away from her. "I've told them I started a dueling club -- most of the things we need are used in healing potions." He cocked his head, giving her a sly glance as he let go. "Have any use for several pints of Murtlap essence?"
"Oh dear!" The corners of her eyes wrinkled, betraying the smile she covered with one hand. "None, fortunately." Shyly, she glanced down. "I'm sorry I made things so hard on you. I should trust you more."
Harry froze. It was now or never, he decided. Draco's advice was probably clever, but not necessarily wise.
"I have a confession."
The words tumbled from his mouth like sand, making his throat tighten around dry pain. He didn't want to lose her.
She gazed at him, her dismay growing as she took in his expression. "Harry?"
"I panicked," he said quickly. "After the party in Slytherin. You were pressing me, and ... and I cursed you."
She stared at him, too shocked for even dismay.
"To believe me, I mean," he said. "But it went totally wrong, and you believed everything I said for days, until I managed to lift it."
She bit her lip. "Not the Imperius Curse, then."
"No. Um, it's called the Credulity curse. The book I read said the effect was mild, but Draco -- I asked him about it afterwards, when you were happily assuming that I knew more about Charms theory than you do -- said that's if you cast it on someone who distrusts you." His chest felt like he was in the coils of an anaconda. "Which I'd thought you did. And now you will, I suppose."
"Draco was fine with this?"
"Draco was furious! Don't you have any idea how protective he is of you? And he hates me doing Dark Arts, anyway, and I'd looked this up without him knowing."
Harry turned away. "I'm going to lose him," he said. "I know that. But I will whatever I do, so I feel I shouldn't worry about it, and then I try not to, and I do things that are utterly stupid."
He hadn't even known he thought that until it came bursting out. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, her chest warm and soft against his back.
"Harry." Her voice wavered, but didn't ring with the fury she was entitled to. "You know, defiance isn't always the best way to manage your conflicts with people."
He choked down an indignant denial. Wasn't that what he had been saying? Hadn't he spent the last three months trying to connect to people who didn't agree with him? But going to Snape had been half defiance, just the same.
"Why is so much harder with people I care about?"
"Because you care," she said simply. "Harry, look at me."
He turned and looked. Her eyes were starting to fill, tears pooling on the rim of the lids. He leaned forward and kissed at the edge of one eye, getting a mild shove in the chest for his trouble, just as he tasted salt.
"Don't."
"I'm so sorry."
"But that's not really enough." Lifting her chin, she stepped away, out of reach. "I don't want to get you in trouble, but I don't think I should let it go."
"Punish me yourself, then."
With a little huff, she looked away. "Draco helped you."
"Draco helped me lift it without confronting you. He insisted that I do, though -- lift it, I mean -- whether I could do it secretly or not."
"And he just happened to have researched this curse?"
Harry took a breath. "His father used it. Often. For bribery. That's why he knew it's more effective if the subject wants to believe you."
Her full lips thinned as she studied him. "I will talk to him."
"Okay." He steeled himself. "And me?
"I don't know yet. I'm upset." She looked away. "It's just sinking in."
"It was awful of me, I know. And I promise--"
"Harry, no." Setting her shoulders, she confronted him. "I can't talk about this now. I'm angry, and I'm hurt, and I'm not going to be able to make rational decisions. I certainly don't want to listen to you promise. Talk to me tomorrow morning."
He bit back a protest. "Okay. Before breakfast?"
"Yes. Wait in the Common Room; I'll find you." Her eyes were filling again. "Go, Harry, please?"
He fled.
In the Common Room, sunlight was slanting in the windows. He had forgotten it was only afternoon. As always on the short weekend days of winter, the seats by the windows were favored, leaving his favorite comfy chair by the fire available. Rather than settle there, Harry headed back out and down the stairs. Near the Entrance Hall, which he knew was in range of Slytherin, he paused long enough to take out the Liber Geminus and write a quick note.
Are you free? I'd like to talk before dinner.
After writing the note, he decided to check the library. Draco wasn't at the study tables, but by the time Harry had finished looking, he had received a reply in the notebook.
I'll meet you in the Chamber.
When Harry stepped through the open entrance, Draco was already there, rising from the furry plastic sofa. He stalked towards Harry, meeting him halfway.
"What were you thinking?" he demanded.
Harry was taken aback. Hermione had spoken to Draco already? How? He must have been in the library earlier, and have left with her before he came back upstairs.
"I had to."
"Had to! You most certainly did not."
Draco's face was tight with anger, and Harry fought the urge to look down. He wasn't required to take Draco's advice on his relationships. "Gryffindor honor, you know." The words came out colder than he had intended.
"Gryffindor insanity, you mean!" Draco huffed. "You had an advantageous position -- which you worked at diligently, I might add -- and you threw it away for no fathomable reason."
"I couldn't just go on like that!" Harry snapped. "She deserved to know."
Draco stared. "To know what?"
"That I'd cursed her!"
"Hermione?" Draco's settled back on his heels, his eyes narrowing as he studied Harry. His voice slowed to a haughty drawl. "Do tell."
"What?"
"Potter." Draco stepped forward, the fingers of his hand making contact with Harry's chest. "Harry. Darling. Tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"Whom did you tell about the curse?"
"Hermione, of course. But if--"
"Are you mad?"
"If you didn't know, what were you upset about?"
Draco set his spread fingers to his forehead. "It was my understanding," he said, the precise words muted by his hand, "that you resigned the Quidditch team captaincy today?"
"Oh, that!" Harry looked away. "Oh. You know, I'd actually forgotten, with worrying about Hermione."
Draco sighed dramatically. "Dear Merlin! Come sit down and tell me what happened. It was Millicent's impression that she had Hermione's sympathy."
"Oh, she does!"
"Then why--" Draco stopped, and for a moment closed his eyes. "No. Let's start this again."
He pulled Harry down to the sofa, and after the inevitable bounce settled, into a kiss. At the first touch of their lips, Harry relaxed, and he let himself sink into a long, slow, sensual interlude, his current anxieties faded back in his mind. When they pulled back enough to see each other, he felt more composed than he had been in hours. Perhaps the kiss had done the same for Draco, for his gaze was steady, and the tense lines across his brow had vanished.
"I love you," he said earnestly.
"I love you too," Harry whispered.
Draco smirked. "I know. It makes my own loss of impartiality far more bearable. Now, dearest, how was your day?"
Harry couldn't keep from smiling. "You're manipulating me," he complained, feeling he had to make it clear that he noticed.
"I am establishing an environment more conducive to communication. My annoyance at your recklessness is genuine, but I should not give it undue prominence. After all, I knew that you were reckless before we were so much as friends, and if I expect you to maintain perspective, I should do so myself."
"So you just want me to tell you about it?"
"From the beginning, yes."
"All right."
Self-consciously, Harry began with his talk with Ron, and then went on to his meeting with the team, and Hermione's intrusion on the brewing session. By the time he got to his confession to Hermione, he was lying with his head in Draco's lap, and Draco was stroking his hair, his eyes half-closed.
"Mm. I should expect her to come looking for me then?"
Harry's looked up at Draco, surprised that he was still paying attention. He hadn't appeared to be listening. "Yeah."
"I'll plan for that." Draco smiled lazily at him. "And you really believe resigning will improve your standing in Gryffindor?"
"Yes."
"All right." Draco curled to kiss his forehead. "I'll trust that you know your own. Now, which would you rather -- supper, or me in bed?'
Suddenly aware of his position in a different light, Harry stretched back, pushing his head against Draco's lap and stretching an arm back over his thigh. "Do you have to ask?"
They left the Chamber of Secrets before dinner was due to end, so Draco could be found by Hermione. To facilitate that, he turned in at the library, whilst Harry continued on to the Gryffindor Common Room. He settled by the fire, and Ron joined him. They talked about Cornelia's development as a Beater, and what Finch-Fletchley had said in Cursebreaking, and the twins' latest tricks. Harry didn't get much done, but he was too happy to mind. When Hermione came in, he looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head and went on to her room. Ron frowned after her.
"You and Hermione having some sort of drama, mate?"
"Not a bad one, but yeah." Harry shrugged. "My fault, really."
Ron glanced around, and Harry followed suit. No one appeared to be listening to them.
"Want to go someplace else?" Ron offered, and Harry warmed with affection, despite knowing he couldn't accept.
"Nah. I think I better stay in."
Ron nodded. "Right."
Harry was up early the next morning, with the squirming feeling in his stomach that usually preceded Quidditch matches, not a meeting with a friend. In the Common Room, he saw Sajid, and Davey, and Yolanda -- who gave him a cheery wave, but didn't leave off her conversation with Evie. He was surprised how many people were about at this hour, and even more surprised when Hermione, rather than emerging from her room, came in through the portrait hole.
He immediately left off his pretense of reading, and followed her into her room, where she was once again facing away from him. When he touched her arm, she shook him off.
"No, Harry. You may not soothe me." At that, she turned to face him, but the tight disapproval on her face was worthy of Professor McGonagall. "I have a perfect right to be angry."
Biting his lip, Harry nodded. "I know. But you do know I'm sorry, right? I was immediately afterwards, I just didn't know what to do about it."
"No."
"I--"
"Yes, you were upset from the game, yes, you hadn't eaten, yes, you'd been drinking -- not that that's in any way an excuse -- but no, you cannot present this a momentary lapse in judgment. You obviously went out of your way to study this curse."
Harry hung his head. "Yes."
"Have you used it on anyone else?"
His head snapped up at that. "What? No!"
"Whom had you intended it for?" At his silence, her eyes narrowed. "Who?"
His mouth was dry. "You," he admitted, "and professors and such."
Rather than exploding, she deflated, nodding. "That's really what you see me as now, isn't it?"
"What?"
"That was Draco's feeling. That since we'd been out of contact, and then I was Head Girl, I'd moved into that sphere of distrust that you reserve for anyone who might claim authority over you."
"I--" Harry stopped. He couldn't deny it. "You do such a good job of it," he said instead.
"So I'm no longer a friend?"
"You are," he insisted. "It's just -- you're so principled, I can't count on it mattering to you."
"But it's always mattered to me!" she exclaimed, dismayed. "And you were appealing to me as a friend yesterday."
"I don't really have any other options, do I?" he asked bitterly. "It's not like I'll put you under Imperius."
"Why not? You've demonstrated a willingness to suppress my free will with Dark Arts."
"If I'd realized what it would be like, I never would have tried it!"
After his explosion, the only sound was their breathing.
"Good," she said finally.
"What are you going to do?"
Sighing, she turned more squarely towards him. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's a quandary. You say you didn't know what it would be like-- but Harry, it's Dark Arts. That means something, and you should know that."
She leaned back against her desk, hands gripping the edge by her hips. "What do you think I should do?"
"Me?" Harry hadn't been expecting that. He knew what he wanted her to do -- say everything was forgiven and let it drop -- but that was hardly realistic. He had done something horrible, and he had abused her trust, and really, Draco was right to say he'd stopped treating her as a friend. "I don't know. I don't think you should tell Dumbledore, though. Even if we both manage to keep from mentioning Mill -- which would make me look worse -- she's more likely to be caught if I'm being watched."
She nodded. "Right. Of course, I could take over for you, but I'm not comfortable with her, and I doubt the twins will ship me whatever collection of potion ingredients they're sending to you. However, do you see that I can't let it go, either?"
"You could," Harry argued. "I'm not sure punishments have ever improved my behavior."
Again, encouragingly, she nodded.
"I think the Dursleys left you more or less immune. It's a problem with people who were abused as children--"
"I wasn't abused!"
She sighed. "Let's not get caught up in labels. You would agree that punishment was a random event, which you could not avoid by behaving well?"
"Well, yeah, but it wasn't like they beat me or anything."
"That doesn't matter. The point is that you never established any association between how you act and how people treat you. Fortunately, you're essentially nice, because you're impossible to rein in by normal means."
That made sense, although he still wanted to argue with the word "abused." He had noticed, when he was at the Burrow, that if Ron, or the twins, or Ginny was being punished for something, it was always for something that they had actually done, and he would feel sympathetic, but seldom indignant. Unable to admit to even that much, he shrugged.
"You agree that part is true?"
"I suppose."
"So, with those two points in mind, what should I do?"
With an annoyed huff, Harry turned away. There was obviously something he was supposed to come up with here. So far, they had agreed that she shouldn't tell, which was a relief, and that punishment had no effect on him, which he supposed meant she wouldn't drag him in here to write lines. What was she actually trying to accomplish, then? It sounded like she had given up on retribution. He glanced back over his shoulder.
"What's your goal?" he asked.
"What do you think?"
"Hermione! That interrogation technique is really irritating, do you know that?"
She actually smirked. "I'm so terribly sorry," she mocked. "Now answer the question."
"Well, I don't think you'd mind making me feel miserable for a bit, but you don't seem set on it. I suppose you mostly want me to not do it again."
"To do what again?" she prompted.
"Attack you," he answered. "Go around you." From her expression, he obviously wasn't giving the answer she wanted. "Oh. Dark Arts?" That made him feel better, although he knew it probably shouldn't. It was easier to think about than emotional complications. "You should probably make me go see the Quiris with you, then, at the beginning of next term, which will be as soon as I can, if I don't do anything else."
She nodded. "And regularly thereafter. That was my decision, as well. And I've discussed it with Draco, and we think one of us should always know where you are."
Harry realized he was scowling and tried to school his expression. That plan left him unable to get tutoring from Snape, which Draco had seemed determined to prevent.
"Between the two of you, I suppose you probably can," he admitted grudgingly.
"Can, yes," she said grimly. "Now, I want you to admit we have a right to." While he was still trying to absorb that, she took a quick breath. "No. An obligation to, as people who love you, and don't want to see you ruin yourself."
Quite suddenly, she was crying, and after a moment of ineffectively fluttering his hands near her hair, Harry steeled himself to set his arms around her. It didn't stop the tears, but she laid her head against his shoulder, and if his shirt was getting wet, that at least meant she still felt safe with him this way.
"I'm fine," he whispered, and she shook her head, pressing it against him. "Really."
"You'd make such a stunning Dark Lord," she choked out, almost laughing.
"Don't be silly. I like people far too much."
"Oh, but that can change. Draco's clear enough on that. He says Professor Snape barely manages it, and he was never that deep in the action, and has been out of it for months."
Harry couldn't keep from thinking of the way Snape sometimes seemed to like him -- a cool, almost mocking approval, with just a touch of connection. Draco, also, had his father's shifts to remember. Harry wondered suddenly if Draco was afraid of losing him that way.
Hermione wiped away the tears that hadn't yet soaked into Harry's robe, and blew her nose. "Sorry," she said, shoving the handkerchief back into her pocket. She would have pulled free, but now he didn't want to let her go.
"It's okay," he said, and she relaxed into him again. For a long time, he listened to her breathing steady.
"You need to realize," she said finally, "that you can't expect me to trust you when you're being untrustworthy."
"It's occurred to me," he admitted, mostly to her hair. "And I miss telling you everything, really I do."
"Tell me, then."
He sighed. "I have two other secrets," he said, squeezing her in recompense. "Draco knows both. One's a war thing, though, and you're better off not knowing."
"And the other?"
"The other one isn't entirely mine. We've been discussing telling you, but there are other people we need to talk to first."
She sighed. "Slytherins?"
"Some." He could hint, he realized. "Less than half. I certainly need to clear it with Parvati and Padma."
Her eyes shot open as she pushed back from him. "And other people with beaded jewelry?"
"Maybe," he said coyly.
"I'd love to know," she confessed, "and I hardly think it can be bad, if you've got all of them involved." From her desk, a soft tone sounded, and her hands flew over her hair and robes.
"Oh no! It's time to start down to class, and we haven't had breakfast, and my eyes!" Looking in the mirror, she cast a quick charm that cleared the redness from her eyes and made the lids flat -- though they did, Harry noticed, look slightly bruised. Turning quickly, she pulled two Muggle snack bars from a drawer and handed one to him.
"Here. It's a women's formula, but extra calcium won't hurt you. We need to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Harry walked very close to her in the hallways, and sat beside her in the classroom. To his great relief, she stayed.
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Chapter Rating: PG-13
Canon Compliancy: Through Goblet of Fire
Snakes and Lions: Teamwork is the sequel to Snakes and Lions.
Thanks: Thanks to sociofemme for beta work, and coconut_ice22 for Britpick.
Notes: It took much longer to get back to this than I expected, but the next chapter will be in two weeks.
Previous chapters
29 -- The Intruder
After practice, Ginny started to ask Harry about something, but then, catching herself, turned to Cornelia instead. With a nod for them both, he left the pitch and cut across the brown grass toward Greenhouse Four.
"Hi, Harry," Millicent said, as he dropped down into the tunnel. Harry thought she must have heard his approach, because she turned back to the open area right away.
"Good afternoon!" he returned, following her. "Am I late enough to miss prep?"
She snorted. "Not at all. Short practice?"
Shrugging, he started over to their work area. "Not really. But I resigned as captain, so I didn't have to stay after."
"Resigned?" Her brows furrowed. "This isn't about me, is it? Because captains have done far dumber things."
"Yeah, but I don't care as much as I should." He shrugged. "Not even enough to snub you, obviously."
"And they think you ought to do?"
"Of course they think I ought to! Look, don't worry about it, okay? I'm still on the team, and it's not my problem, now." Harry turned away to loosen the cord on the bag of fluxweed. "And while it wasn't penance, it seems to have worked that way. They were far less angry at me today."
She shook her head. "Gryffindors!"
After weeks of making the same potion, the brewing was fairly easy. Once they had set the cauldron aside to cool, Harry turned to Millicent.
"I have a new approach for glamours."
Her brows came down. "New? But I'm having enough trouble--"
"Right. So it's time to try something else. I was studying a different source, and it had a significantly different approach." The source was the book of cosmetic charms, but there was no way he was going to tell her that. "For one thing, it emphasized that it's easier to change your looks to match how you think of yourself."
She frowned even more at that. "Well, that will be useless! Half the time I can't even remember I'm a girl, Potter! If I look in the mirror when I'm tired, it startles me."
With a flick of his hand, he waved that off. "Fine. So let's start with looking like you want to. When you've got that, we'll backtrack to subterfuge, okay?"
"Oh." The lines across her brow eased as she considered that. "This will be practice?"
"Right."
"And when I'm better at it, I can do something harder."
"Like disguising yourself. Exactly!"
"Great!" Harry said, at Millicent's eighth attempt.
"Really?"
"Really. You're doing so much better. The glamour is actually on you, the way it should be."
"What do you mean, on me?"
"I mean -- before it was like you'd put the glamour on top of ... for example, your robes. So when they moved, the real cloth would show through, because the glamour didn't track. The same thing with your arm, last week. I'd see the real thing if you moved fast, as if you'd cast the charm on the air above your skin, rather than on your whole arm."
"I ... I've always thought of it like that. Like a mask." Millicent's militarily short hair gave her a stubborn look, although her voice was querulous
"Well, no." Harry found himself confused by the idea. He hadn't really thought about the nature of glamours that way before.
"But if it's not transfiguration, it can't be on the arm itself."
"But it can be," Harry protested. He thought he might be getting what she meant. This was the theory part of magic, which he hardly ever bothered with before helping Draco with Transfiguration. "Look, if I cast a Featherlight charm on this rock--" Here, he tossed a rock in the air, casting the spell before catching it-- "it's still a rock, right?" He rapped the stone against the wall, getting a nice, solid clunk. "It's not softer, or less dense." He scraped it, now, leaving a paler line along the stones beside him. "It's not transfigured, but the spell still goes all the way through the--"
Millicent grabbed his arm, panic widening her eyes. Belatedly, he processed the sound from a second earlier -- the scrape of someone opening the trapdoor without raising it far enough.
"Lift the glamour!" he hissed, fumbling in his bag for his invisibility cloak. He knew he had brought it -- he always brought it -- but he didn't set it on the top anymore.
The intruder miscalculated the last step from the ladder, landing heavily. Harry pulled out the cloak. He opened it with a snap of his wrists, tangling his wand for a second -- when had he drawn that? His heartbeat pounded. The steps were near the curve. In a quick shake, he tossed the cloak over Millicent and spun about, wand ready.
He froze.
"Harry."
It was Hermione, her face tight. Harry lowered the wand, stepping back out of battle stance. "Hi," he said.
"Where's Bulstrode?"
"Mill?" he asked, trying to look confused. Hermione stalked towards him. "Why would I know?"
Opening her hand, she held it out to him, and he saw a squat cylinder wrapped about with black hair. It was glowing all over, with a reddish tinge at the edge where it curved nearest him.
"Because she's in this room," Hermione said flatly. "Behind you."
"It's none of your--"
"Give it up, Potter," Millicent growled, pulling off his cloak. She thrust it at him as she stepped past. "Thanks for trying."
He watched her shoulders square as she focused down on Hermione. "Don't go carrying tales, Granger. It's none of your affair."
Lifting her chin, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, really?" She said tightly. "Illicit brewing in a private place? You'll excuse me if I have questions."
"It's nothing illegal," Harry said quickly. "We're not hurting anyone."
Millicent shushed him with the wave of one meaty hand. "Ask away, Granger."
Certainty wavering, Hermione looked between them. "What's the potion?"
"Stage one of a six-month sex-change regimen."
Millicent spat out the answer like a challenge. Hermione stumbled back. Her eyes widened, and Harry didn't think it was entirely from hearing Millicent use a word like "regimen."
"Harry?" she asked uncertainly. "You wouldn't--"
Millicent snorted. "Lift the glamour, Harry," she said.
Sighing, he raised his wand. "All right. Look, Hermione...."
But Hermione was backing off again, looking up as Millicent swelled three inches higher.
"Oh!" She held her hand over her mouth a moment before forcing it down. "Well, good -- because, Harry, being a girl wouldn't keep Draco."
Harry snorted. "Well, yeah. Since he's gay."
"And you're not a pureblood."
"Merlin, Granger!" Millicent exclaimed. "Issues, much?"
Hermione glared at her. "With all the time Harry spends with Slytherins--"
"Who aren't all purebloods either." Millicent gestured down her changed body. "One-eighth troll, Granger."
"How does that even happen?"
Millicent looked at her as if she were dim. "How do you think? It's not like anyone does a troll by choice."
"Oh." Hermione looked horrified. "You mean...."
"Sometimes, the woman survives, right? And sometimes, she's too soft to toss her ugly brute of a baby in the river." Millicent shrugged. "And he might be ... well, just human enough for a woman who values strength over beauty."
Hermione bit her lip. She looked lost. Harry couldn't blame her, really. For a moment, he considered the possibility that Millicent was actually so brilliantly sly that she had been manipulating him all along, but he shrugged off the thought. She was playing to Hermione's sympathies, yes -- but if she always knew what she was doing, he would not have had to spend so long convincing her that he didn't need to be paid off.
"Harry?" Hermione said quietly. "Would you go, please?"
"She'll need a glamour."
"Cast it before you leave," Millicent suggested. Her voice was tight, but she voiced no objection to being left with Hermione. After meeting her eyes for a moment, Harry nodded, and he cast the charm.
"She's my friend," he said to Hermione. "Remember that."
"I will."
There was nothing for it but to go.
Harry wanted to wait for them to emerge, but it was cold to be out walking, and he was afraid he would be too conspicuous loitering by the greenhouse. Reluctantly, he returned to Gryffindor, reasoning that Hermione would look for him there.
He was right. After an agonizing half-hour, at the fifteenth opening of the portrait hole, it was Hermione who climbed inside, and she immediately set course for him. He started to gather his books before she was halfway across the Common Room.
"My room?" she said tightly.
"Yeah."
He followed her.
Once the door shut, he expected an immediate confrontation. Instead, she paused with her back almost to him, appearing to look down at the papers and books on her desk. He couldn't help remembering the last time they had stood like this. He had cursed her. Like this. When she had her back to me. When she trusted me. The thought did nothing for his anxiety.
"So," he prompted. To his relief, Hermione turned and looked at him. Her face was tight with worry.
"So," she returned. "This is what you've been hiding. You're helping him."
For a moment, Harry couldn't understand what she was talking about. He had been expecting her to ask about Millicent. She was, he realized suddenly, and dismay overcame relief before Harry quite had time to register it. "No."
"You're not helping?"
"You can't say 'him.'" Harry stepped towards her. "Really, Hermione, you can't. It has to stay a secret."
"I don't see anyone else listening."
"But you'll mess up! If a few of us know and we all do that in private, someone will mess up."
Hermione frowned. "Fine," she snapped. "You're helping her. Why?"
"I found out, and it wasn't her fault--"
"You're helping her because she's helpless?"
Harry's skull seemed to press in on his brain. "I'm helping her because she's brave!" he snapped. "She's decided what she wants, and she's doing it, even if it's dangerous and a lot of work."
Hermione's face relaxed, the tension draining from it almost as it had with the curse. "Harry," she said softly, and this time, he didn't need to feel guilty. "Is this what you've been hiding?"
"Yes." There were other things, of course, but couldn't regret his surety. This was the biggest one. This was what others cascaded out of.
"You thought I would tell?"
"I don't know what you'll do!" He stopped, struck by the truth of that. "I don't," he repeated more plaintively. "I ... I've lost it, somehow. Or I can't quite calculate how you've changed. Being out of touch all summer maybe." He turned away, unable to quell the bitter thought that she would do nothing behind his back. "Anyway, that didn't matter. It was her secret, not mine, and she didn't want me to tell you. She's afraid of you, and I can't blame her."
"Afraid?" Hermione sounded perplexed. "Why should Bulstrode be afraid of me?"
"Because you hate her!"
"I don't--" Momentary indignation was replaced by a milder tone. "I don't know what to think of her. But I wouldn't have interfered if you'd explained."
"Believe me, I'd rather have told you!" Harry exclaimed. "We have to brew every other week for hours, and I need fresh supplies every month, and I have to meet her every day to renew her glamour, and tutor her as well, and if I could tell you why I was running off to meet her, or getting yet another package from Fred and George, you'd realize I'm mostly where I should be."
"Oh." She smiled slightly as she stepped forward to take his hands. "That's why all the packages! Do they know?"
He was an absolute heel, Harry thought, even as he returned the squeeze of her fingers and gave her assumption tacit approval. "Of course not!" Rolling his eyes let him look away from her. "I've told them I started a dueling club -- most of the things we need are used in healing potions." He cocked his head, giving her a sly glance as he let go. "Have any use for several pints of Murtlap essence?"
"Oh dear!" The corners of her eyes wrinkled, betraying the smile she covered with one hand. "None, fortunately." Shyly, she glanced down. "I'm sorry I made things so hard on you. I should trust you more."
Harry froze. It was now or never, he decided. Draco's advice was probably clever, but not necessarily wise.
"I have a confession."
The words tumbled from his mouth like sand, making his throat tighten around dry pain. He didn't want to lose her.
She gazed at him, her dismay growing as she took in his expression. "Harry?"
"I panicked," he said quickly. "After the party in Slytherin. You were pressing me, and ... and I cursed you."
She stared at him, too shocked for even dismay.
"To believe me, I mean," he said. "But it went totally wrong, and you believed everything I said for days, until I managed to lift it."
She bit her lip. "Not the Imperius Curse, then."
"No. Um, it's called the Credulity curse. The book I read said the effect was mild, but Draco -- I asked him about it afterwards, when you were happily assuming that I knew more about Charms theory than you do -- said that's if you cast it on someone who distrusts you." His chest felt like he was in the coils of an anaconda. "Which I'd thought you did. And now you will, I suppose."
"Draco was fine with this?"
"Draco was furious! Don't you have any idea how protective he is of you? And he hates me doing Dark Arts, anyway, and I'd looked this up without him knowing."
Harry turned away. "I'm going to lose him," he said. "I know that. But I will whatever I do, so I feel I shouldn't worry about it, and then I try not to, and I do things that are utterly stupid."
He hadn't even known he thought that until it came bursting out. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, her chest warm and soft against his back.
"Harry." Her voice wavered, but didn't ring with the fury she was entitled to. "You know, defiance isn't always the best way to manage your conflicts with people."
He choked down an indignant denial. Wasn't that what he had been saying? Hadn't he spent the last three months trying to connect to people who didn't agree with him? But going to Snape had been half defiance, just the same.
"Why is so much harder with people I care about?"
"Because you care," she said simply. "Harry, look at me."
He turned and looked. Her eyes were starting to fill, tears pooling on the rim of the lids. He leaned forward and kissed at the edge of one eye, getting a mild shove in the chest for his trouble, just as he tasted salt.
"Don't."
"I'm so sorry."
"But that's not really enough." Lifting her chin, she stepped away, out of reach. "I don't want to get you in trouble, but I don't think I should let it go."
"Punish me yourself, then."
With a little huff, she looked away. "Draco helped you."
"Draco helped me lift it without confronting you. He insisted that I do, though -- lift it, I mean -- whether I could do it secretly or not."
"And he just happened to have researched this curse?"
Harry took a breath. "His father used it. Often. For bribery. That's why he knew it's more effective if the subject wants to believe you."
Her full lips thinned as she studied him. "I will talk to him."
"Okay." He steeled himself. "And me?
"I don't know yet. I'm upset." She looked away. "It's just sinking in."
"It was awful of me, I know. And I promise--"
"Harry, no." Setting her shoulders, she confronted him. "I can't talk about this now. I'm angry, and I'm hurt, and I'm not going to be able to make rational decisions. I certainly don't want to listen to you promise. Talk to me tomorrow morning."
He bit back a protest. "Okay. Before breakfast?"
"Yes. Wait in the Common Room; I'll find you." Her eyes were filling again. "Go, Harry, please?"
He fled.
In the Common Room, sunlight was slanting in the windows. He had forgotten it was only afternoon. As always on the short weekend days of winter, the seats by the windows were favored, leaving his favorite comfy chair by the fire available. Rather than settle there, Harry headed back out and down the stairs. Near the Entrance Hall, which he knew was in range of Slytherin, he paused long enough to take out the Liber Geminus and write a quick note.
Are you free? I'd like to talk before dinner.
After writing the note, he decided to check the library. Draco wasn't at the study tables, but by the time Harry had finished looking, he had received a reply in the notebook.
I'll meet you in the Chamber.
When Harry stepped through the open entrance, Draco was already there, rising from the furry plastic sofa. He stalked towards Harry, meeting him halfway.
"What were you thinking?" he demanded.
Harry was taken aback. Hermione had spoken to Draco already? How? He must have been in the library earlier, and have left with her before he came back upstairs.
"I had to."
"Had to! You most certainly did not."
Draco's face was tight with anger, and Harry fought the urge to look down. He wasn't required to take Draco's advice on his relationships. "Gryffindor honor, you know." The words came out colder than he had intended.
"Gryffindor insanity, you mean!" Draco huffed. "You had an advantageous position -- which you worked at diligently, I might add -- and you threw it away for no fathomable reason."
"I couldn't just go on like that!" Harry snapped. "She deserved to know."
Draco stared. "To know what?"
"That I'd cursed her!"
"Hermione?" Draco's settled back on his heels, his eyes narrowing as he studied Harry. His voice slowed to a haughty drawl. "Do tell."
"What?"
"Potter." Draco stepped forward, the fingers of his hand making contact with Harry's chest. "Harry. Darling. Tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"Whom did you tell about the curse?"
"Hermione, of course. But if--"
"Are you mad?"
"If you didn't know, what were you upset about?"
Draco set his spread fingers to his forehead. "It was my understanding," he said, the precise words muted by his hand, "that you resigned the Quidditch team captaincy today?"
"Oh, that!" Harry looked away. "Oh. You know, I'd actually forgotten, with worrying about Hermione."
Draco sighed dramatically. "Dear Merlin! Come sit down and tell me what happened. It was Millicent's impression that she had Hermione's sympathy."
"Oh, she does!"
"Then why--" Draco stopped, and for a moment closed his eyes. "No. Let's start this again."
He pulled Harry down to the sofa, and after the inevitable bounce settled, into a kiss. At the first touch of their lips, Harry relaxed, and he let himself sink into a long, slow, sensual interlude, his current anxieties faded back in his mind. When they pulled back enough to see each other, he felt more composed than he had been in hours. Perhaps the kiss had done the same for Draco, for his gaze was steady, and the tense lines across his brow had vanished.
"I love you," he said earnestly.
"I love you too," Harry whispered.
Draco smirked. "I know. It makes my own loss of impartiality far more bearable. Now, dearest, how was your day?"
Harry couldn't keep from smiling. "You're manipulating me," he complained, feeling he had to make it clear that he noticed.
"I am establishing an environment more conducive to communication. My annoyance at your recklessness is genuine, but I should not give it undue prominence. After all, I knew that you were reckless before we were so much as friends, and if I expect you to maintain perspective, I should do so myself."
"So you just want me to tell you about it?"
"From the beginning, yes."
"All right."
Self-consciously, Harry began with his talk with Ron, and then went on to his meeting with the team, and Hermione's intrusion on the brewing session. By the time he got to his confession to Hermione, he was lying with his head in Draco's lap, and Draco was stroking his hair, his eyes half-closed.
"Mm. I should expect her to come looking for me then?"
Harry's looked up at Draco, surprised that he was still paying attention. He hadn't appeared to be listening. "Yeah."
"I'll plan for that." Draco smiled lazily at him. "And you really believe resigning will improve your standing in Gryffindor?"
"Yes."
"All right." Draco curled to kiss his forehead. "I'll trust that you know your own. Now, which would you rather -- supper, or me in bed?'
Suddenly aware of his position in a different light, Harry stretched back, pushing his head against Draco's lap and stretching an arm back over his thigh. "Do you have to ask?"
They left the Chamber of Secrets before dinner was due to end, so Draco could be found by Hermione. To facilitate that, he turned in at the library, whilst Harry continued on to the Gryffindor Common Room. He settled by the fire, and Ron joined him. They talked about Cornelia's development as a Beater, and what Finch-Fletchley had said in Cursebreaking, and the twins' latest tricks. Harry didn't get much done, but he was too happy to mind. When Hermione came in, he looked questioningly at her, but she shook her head and went on to her room. Ron frowned after her.
"You and Hermione having some sort of drama, mate?"
"Not a bad one, but yeah." Harry shrugged. "My fault, really."
Ron glanced around, and Harry followed suit. No one appeared to be listening to them.
"Want to go someplace else?" Ron offered, and Harry warmed with affection, despite knowing he couldn't accept.
"Nah. I think I better stay in."
Ron nodded. "Right."
Harry was up early the next morning, with the squirming feeling in his stomach that usually preceded Quidditch matches, not a meeting with a friend. In the Common Room, he saw Sajid, and Davey, and Yolanda -- who gave him a cheery wave, but didn't leave off her conversation with Evie. He was surprised how many people were about at this hour, and even more surprised when Hermione, rather than emerging from her room, came in through the portrait hole.
He immediately left off his pretense of reading, and followed her into her room, where she was once again facing away from him. When he touched her arm, she shook him off.
"No, Harry. You may not soothe me." At that, she turned to face him, but the tight disapproval on her face was worthy of Professor McGonagall. "I have a perfect right to be angry."
Biting his lip, Harry nodded. "I know. But you do know I'm sorry, right? I was immediately afterwards, I just didn't know what to do about it."
"No."
"I--"
"Yes, you were upset from the game, yes, you hadn't eaten, yes, you'd been drinking -- not that that's in any way an excuse -- but no, you cannot present this a momentary lapse in judgment. You obviously went out of your way to study this curse."
Harry hung his head. "Yes."
"Have you used it on anyone else?"
His head snapped up at that. "What? No!"
"Whom had you intended it for?" At his silence, her eyes narrowed. "Who?"
His mouth was dry. "You," he admitted, "and professors and such."
Rather than exploding, she deflated, nodding. "That's really what you see me as now, isn't it?"
"What?"
"That was Draco's feeling. That since we'd been out of contact, and then I was Head Girl, I'd moved into that sphere of distrust that you reserve for anyone who might claim authority over you."
"I--" Harry stopped. He couldn't deny it. "You do such a good job of it," he said instead.
"So I'm no longer a friend?"
"You are," he insisted. "It's just -- you're so principled, I can't count on it mattering to you."
"But it's always mattered to me!" she exclaimed, dismayed. "And you were appealing to me as a friend yesterday."
"I don't really have any other options, do I?" he asked bitterly. "It's not like I'll put you under Imperius."
"Why not? You've demonstrated a willingness to suppress my free will with Dark Arts."
"If I'd realized what it would be like, I never would have tried it!"
After his explosion, the only sound was their breathing.
"Good," she said finally.
"What are you going to do?"
Sighing, she turned more squarely towards him. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's a quandary. You say you didn't know what it would be like-- but Harry, it's Dark Arts. That means something, and you should know that."
She leaned back against her desk, hands gripping the edge by her hips. "What do you think I should do?"
"Me?" Harry hadn't been expecting that. He knew what he wanted her to do -- say everything was forgiven and let it drop -- but that was hardly realistic. He had done something horrible, and he had abused her trust, and really, Draco was right to say he'd stopped treating her as a friend. "I don't know. I don't think you should tell Dumbledore, though. Even if we both manage to keep from mentioning Mill -- which would make me look worse -- she's more likely to be caught if I'm being watched."
She nodded. "Right. Of course, I could take over for you, but I'm not comfortable with her, and I doubt the twins will ship me whatever collection of potion ingredients they're sending to you. However, do you see that I can't let it go, either?"
"You could," Harry argued. "I'm not sure punishments have ever improved my behavior."
Again, encouragingly, she nodded.
"I think the Dursleys left you more or less immune. It's a problem with people who were abused as children--"
"I wasn't abused!"
She sighed. "Let's not get caught up in labels. You would agree that punishment was a random event, which you could not avoid by behaving well?"
"Well, yeah, but it wasn't like they beat me or anything."
"That doesn't matter. The point is that you never established any association between how you act and how people treat you. Fortunately, you're essentially nice, because you're impossible to rein in by normal means."
That made sense, although he still wanted to argue with the word "abused." He had noticed, when he was at the Burrow, that if Ron, or the twins, or Ginny was being punished for something, it was always for something that they had actually done, and he would feel sympathetic, but seldom indignant. Unable to admit to even that much, he shrugged.
"You agree that part is true?"
"I suppose."
"So, with those two points in mind, what should I do?"
With an annoyed huff, Harry turned away. There was obviously something he was supposed to come up with here. So far, they had agreed that she shouldn't tell, which was a relief, and that punishment had no effect on him, which he supposed meant she wouldn't drag him in here to write lines. What was she actually trying to accomplish, then? It sounded like she had given up on retribution. He glanced back over his shoulder.
"What's your goal?" he asked.
"What do you think?"
"Hermione! That interrogation technique is really irritating, do you know that?"
She actually smirked. "I'm so terribly sorry," she mocked. "Now answer the question."
"Well, I don't think you'd mind making me feel miserable for a bit, but you don't seem set on it. I suppose you mostly want me to not do it again."
"To do what again?" she prompted.
"Attack you," he answered. "Go around you." From her expression, he obviously wasn't giving the answer she wanted. "Oh. Dark Arts?" That made him feel better, although he knew it probably shouldn't. It was easier to think about than emotional complications. "You should probably make me go see the Quiris with you, then, at the beginning of next term, which will be as soon as I can, if I don't do anything else."
She nodded. "And regularly thereafter. That was my decision, as well. And I've discussed it with Draco, and we think one of us should always know where you are."
Harry realized he was scowling and tried to school his expression. That plan left him unable to get tutoring from Snape, which Draco had seemed determined to prevent.
"Between the two of you, I suppose you probably can," he admitted grudgingly.
"Can, yes," she said grimly. "Now, I want you to admit we have a right to." While he was still trying to absorb that, she took a quick breath. "No. An obligation to, as people who love you, and don't want to see you ruin yourself."
Quite suddenly, she was crying, and after a moment of ineffectively fluttering his hands near her hair, Harry steeled himself to set his arms around her. It didn't stop the tears, but she laid her head against his shoulder, and if his shirt was getting wet, that at least meant she still felt safe with him this way.
"I'm fine," he whispered, and she shook her head, pressing it against him. "Really."
"You'd make such a stunning Dark Lord," she choked out, almost laughing.
"Don't be silly. I like people far too much."
"Oh, but that can change. Draco's clear enough on that. He says Professor Snape barely manages it, and he was never that deep in the action, and has been out of it for months."
Harry couldn't keep from thinking of the way Snape sometimes seemed to like him -- a cool, almost mocking approval, with just a touch of connection. Draco, also, had his father's shifts to remember. Harry wondered suddenly if Draco was afraid of losing him that way.
Hermione wiped away the tears that hadn't yet soaked into Harry's robe, and blew her nose. "Sorry," she said, shoving the handkerchief back into her pocket. She would have pulled free, but now he didn't want to let her go.
"It's okay," he said, and she relaxed into him again. For a long time, he listened to her breathing steady.
"You need to realize," she said finally, "that you can't expect me to trust you when you're being untrustworthy."
"It's occurred to me," he admitted, mostly to her hair. "And I miss telling you everything, really I do."
"Tell me, then."
He sighed. "I have two other secrets," he said, squeezing her in recompense. "Draco knows both. One's a war thing, though, and you're better off not knowing."
"And the other?"
"The other one isn't entirely mine. We've been discussing telling you, but there are other people we need to talk to first."
She sighed. "Slytherins?"
"Some." He could hint, he realized. "Less than half. I certainly need to clear it with Parvati and Padma."
Her eyes shot open as she pushed back from him. "And other people with beaded jewelry?"
"Maybe," he said coyly.
"I'd love to know," she confessed, "and I hardly think it can be bad, if you've got all of them involved." From her desk, a soft tone sounded, and her hands flew over her hair and robes.
"Oh no! It's time to start down to class, and we haven't had breakfast, and my eyes!" Looking in the mirror, she cast a quick charm that cleared the redness from her eyes and made the lids flat -- though they did, Harry noticed, look slightly bruised. Turning quickly, she pulled two Muggle snack bars from a drawer and handed one to him.
"Here. It's a women's formula, but extra calcium won't hurt you. We need to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Harry walked very close to her in the hallways, and sat beside her in the classroom. To his great relief, she stayed.
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