Chapter10 - New Powers and Old Friends
Hermione never remembered this meeting taking so long during her fifth year. Perhaps it was because Harry and she didn't meet with the prefects until later in the journey but, between her discussion and McGonagall's they remained with the new prefects until the end of the trip. She also had the unfortunate displeasure of discovering how their belongings made their way from Hogsmeade to the House dormitories.
After the train cars cleared and the throng of travel-weary students made their way to the carriages Harry and Hermione completed the first responsibility of the Head students. They both made their way to the end of the train, giving a cursory glance to many of the compartments for misplaced student belongings. As they opened the door to the baggage car, Hermione couldn't contain the gasp that escaped her throat.
She looked to Harry, who disbelievingly, stared at the same scene that drew her attention. Easily sixty house elves labored in and around the baggage car. Some were tossing trunks to others waiting below while still more pushed trolleys up a long and winding path toward the castle's rear entrance. The pale light of the waxing moon shone on the tips of their ears, their bald, smooth heads, and the entire pathway looked similar to the ant farms she experimented with in her childhood muggle science lessons. As much as she knew it unnerved her best friends, she had the sudden and ardent desire, to knit a gross of elf hats on the spot. Just as she was contemplating the release of the magical creatures, one caught her eye.
"Oh! 'tis the new head girl and head boy!" He bowed so low he nearly fell over from the weight of the carpet bag he had forgotten to pass to his awaiting compatriot.
"Oh, please don't bow!" Hermione gasped as she moved to physically pull the elf to his feet. However, her sentiment accomplished exactly the opposite of her intent. Every elf within sight of the two of them began to bow repeatedly.
"She is so kind!" They bobbed up and down, going lower with each repetition.
"No!" Hermione protested as Harry pulled her back toward the doorway.
"Trust me when I say arguing with a house elf is an effort in futility, Hermione."
"But," she flung her hand toward the scene in exasperation.
"Let's just get back to the castle. The feast has likely begun by now." He smiled, wrapped his arm around her and forcibly removed her from the baggage car. Academically, she knew that Hogwarts had more house elves than nearly any other wizarding establishment, but she had never seen so many at one time.
Barbaric! Honestly! If we're going to be civilized wizards we should at least PAY the poor creatures for their labor!
She noticed Harry looking at her, lopsided grin on his face, and exclaimed, "What?" As much as she would've liked for that word to have been accompanied by a scathing glare, she found herself smiling instead.
Must be that silly grin of his.
I prefer boyishly handsome.
She looked away quickly, not knowing why she was embarrassed. One thing was certain, she needed to work on Occlumency a bit more. There are some thoughts your fiancée just doesn't need to hear.
***
Much to their relief they did not have to walk to the castle alone. A lone carriage awaited them. Hermione looked on, as Harry appeared to pat the air in front of the carriage. He muttered a few words, undoubtedly to the thestral hitched to the carriage, and turned to join her.
As they approached the Great Hall, they heard the last notes of the Sorting Hat's new song and the students erupted into applause. As they reached the door, Hermione raised her hand to push it open, only to have that hand grabbed away by Harry. Shocked, she looked to him and saw the intent in those eyes she'd come to adore.
He pulled her to the side of the corridor and quickly pressed her to the chilled stone wall. Not that the chill of the stones had much effect on her, his lips quickly warmed both her body and soul and they met for a brief, but meaningful kiss, before entering. She didn't believe Harry had any intention of keeping her there any longer than possible, but he received some encouragement.
A blaring siren resounded in her ears, followed by the unmistakable voice of Hogwarts most obnoxious poltergeist. "Snog alert! Snog alert!" They ducked just in time to dodge the pail of cold water that splashed unceremoniously against the wall where Hermione had just been.
"Go away Peeves!" Harry hissed.
"Oooo, Head Boy Potty likes to give orders!" Peeves somersaulted down the corridor and out of view.
"We'd better get inside before he comes back," Hermione said, looking skeptically down the hall after Peeves. She felt Harry's hand take hers in silent agreement and they walked to the doorway. As she pushed open the door, Harry dropped her hand as they walked in together. Inwardly, she was glad he did it first. She was not one to engage in overt displays of public affection, and thought it less appropriate for the Head Boy and Head Girl to do so. There was also Ron to consider. While things seemed to be looking up, she was always cognizant of how she acted around Harry when he was within eyeshot.
I certainly hope that gets better.
As the students sat at their House tables, essentially, in order of age, the majority of seventh year students had "graduated" to the back of the room. It afforded, if nothing else, the ability to carry on muted conversations without disrupting much of the sorting process. Ron caught their attention and waved them to the open spots on the bench across from him. They quickly took their seats and exchanged greetings.
Hermione looked up to the front of the room and gaped at the assemblage of first-year students. They had the same look on their face as every other incoming group of students, including them, sported. They appeared relieved to not have to conjure beetles from water goblets to prove their mirth, and now looked with silent trepidation as each successive student donned the sorting hat and learned their placement. She couldn't get past the fact these students looked so incredibly young.
"We can't have been this young when we came here," she muttered quietly. She felt Harry stir beside her as her voice drew him from the conversation he was having with Ron. He looked toward the front of the room and smiled in spite of himself.
"I think we were exactly that young," he said.
"You think that now! I was ready to swing the first-years from the gallows as a prefect, I can't wait to see what you'll try and do to them," Ron scoffed in disagreement. "I bet you anything I can point out the trouble-makers from here…take that tall, lanky one on the left." Harry looked across the students to inspect the student Ron was talking about. Needless to say, it drew his attention.
It was the same boy from platform 9 ¾. Harry screwed up his eyes, trying with equal success, to place where he'd seen him.
"Alright, Harry?" Ron asked, looking at him quizzically.
"Fine. I just, I feel like I have met that boy somewhere, and I can't place him for the life of me." The trio looked at the tall boy as if to determine if they'd met him together.
"I don't recognize him," Ron said flatly.
"Nor do I," Hermione added.
"It's driving me crazy, I have been trying to place him since we left King's Cross," Harry said dejectedly.
"Well, that was a waste of time, wasn't it?" Ron said chuckling. "Why don't you just wait for McGonagall to read his…"
"Shush," Harry interrupted. The boy began to fidget intensely as McGonagall raised the parchment and Helen Edwards took her seat at the Hufflepuff house table.
"Evans, Mark," McGonagall called sternly. The boy made his way to the sorting hat as comprehension dawned on Harry.
"He's the boy from the park," he whispered so quietly he hadn't realized he'd said anything at all.
"What park?" Hermione asked, still looking on as the sorting hat twitched on his head.
"The one at the end of Magnolia Crescent; Dudley used to beat that kid up after I got a bit too intimidating for him."
"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted as Mark climbed off the stood and hopped to the Gryffindor table amidst a gracious applause from his housemates.
"It certainly is a small world, isn't it?" Hermione said, as she returned to join the conversation she assumed would continue between Ron and Harry. However, Harry's eyes were squarely focused down the table at their newest housemate. She glanced to the end of the table, and noticed a curious gaze on someone else's part.
Albus Dumbledore's chair at the head table was visible just beyond the figure of Mark Evans. As quickly as she noticed the headmaster's attention focused on Harry, he blinked his eyes and returned his attention to the sorting ceremony. She looked across the table at Ron, who was quizzically staring at Harry as well. Ron and Hermione locked eyes and Ron shrugged his shoulders, appearing to have expended all the energy he intended on this subject.
"Harry?" Hermione asked quietly.
He shook his head and furrowed his brow. "It doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't make sense?"
"Er, um-nothing," Harry said, shaking the look from his face and turning back to Ron. Feeling there was a quandary she'd not been given access to, she fleetingly looked between Harry and the newest Gryffindor in some futile attempt to clear the question in her mind. It only grew more puzzling. It was now Mark Evans' eyes that were fixed squarely on Harry Potter. As soon as he realized Hermione was staring at him, he turned away and engaged in an animated discussion among his fellow first years.
Hermione considered the situation as Ron and Harry discussed Quidditch ad nauseum. Having come to no great conclusions, she partook of the welcoming feast as the others did. It wasn't long before she noticed the seventh years' conversations all seemed to lack the quality she was used to. With a heavy heart, she looked among the friends she'd grown to know, and care for, over the last seven years. She wasn't sure why she suddenly felt nostalgic, but it robbed her of her appetite completely.
Ron, who was eating a bit less than usual, looked around the table and back to Hermione. "What's the matter, Hermione?"
"Nothing. I'm just being sentimental I suppose," she looked back to her plate and lazily stabbed a potato with her fork.
"I know," Ron said quietly.
"Me too," Harry added.
She looked between both boys disbelievingly.
"Our last welcoming feast," Ron whispered. Hermione was clearly impressed. That was what she was thinking, but never thought Ron, the self-proclaimed poster child for insensitivity, would have picked up on that.
She looked up to Harry who merely shrugged his shoulders and added, "I imagine we'll have loads more moments like this one over the next year."
"I guess so," Hermione replied sullenly. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to hold onto the feast and their time together. She wanted to remember every minute, every conversation, every look and laugh that graced the table. She wanted to savor the time they had remaining at Hogwarts. Understanding, in her mind, that after the summer came, their lives would change drastically. Her life had been so totally interwoven with the lives of the two young men sitting with her, she couldn't imagine a life outside of Hogwarts. She couldn't imagine a life without the two of them.
Under the table, she absently played with the ring on her left hand. She would still have Harry of course, but that relationship was bound to change as well.
I'll be his wife. Gods, what does that mean? I don't know how to be a wife? I'll only be seventeen? Will we have a house? What will he expect? When will we have children? Children!
Suddenly, Hermione felt her stomach flop. The air became thick and she felt queasy, even though she'd barely touched her dinner. She laid her head into the palm of her hand that was supported by the elbow she propped on the table.
This was not an usual feeling for Hermione. She'd experienced it nearly anytime she had a sudden thought regarding marriage, children, and the rest of her life with Harry. It's not that she wasn't thrilled at the prospect…scared to death was a better definition. It was also the reason why she had never been so giddy as to pick up a single "bridal" magazine or give thought to anything as concrete as gowns, flowers, or the like.
It purely scared the hell out of her.
She felt out-of-control and that was a position Hermione Granger avoided at all costs. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if that was the same reason why Harry had never mentioned the particulars of a wedding either. They asked and accepted the proposal, they referred to each other (privately of course) as each other's betrothed, but the subject of wedding planning was a conspicuously avoided topic of discussion.
Maybe he changed his mind and he just doesn't have the heart to tell me.
Hermione was so lost in thought she hadn't noticed the students leaving the Great Hall to return to their House common rooms. A soft hand upon her shoulder roused her from her thoughts and she turned her face to its owner, fully expecting to see the caring green eyes of Harry Potter looking back.
"Professor Dumbledore!" she yelped, completely surprised she hadn't noticed him approach. Harry was standing next to him, smiling contentedly at Hermione as if they'd just exchanged an entire conversation at her expense. Come to think of it, they probably had. Harry waved at Ron as he left the Great Hall and Dumbledore's soothing voice addressed Hermione.
"As I was saying Ms Granger, I would like to meet with you and Harry in my office. I shall be with you momentarily." Harry extended a hand to Hermione. She took it willingly, and he pulled her from the bench. Dumbledore swept back toward the head table as Harry and Hermione headed out of the Great Hall toward the headmaster's office.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked quietly.
Hermione considered the question for the moment. She listened to the quiet echo of their harmonized footsteps as they traversed the corridor together. She didn't know how to respond. She didn't want to tell him the prospect of marrying him generally left her feeling nauseated. She wasn't sure why it did. She loved him. She knew that. She wanted to be with him. She knew that too. But, she had felt bombarded by emotions she never knew she had after last year. She had been a mess throughout the entirety of the summer holiday, and much to her dismay, that didn't seem to be improving upon their return to Hogwarts.
How do I tell him I'm an emotional basket case without sounding like some detestable half-wit protagonist from one of those cheesy muggle romance novels mom used to hide in her bedside table?
"I'd like to help," Harry added quietly. Hermione wasn't entirely sure if that would good timing on his part, or if he had "heard" her thoughts again and merely responded verbally. She looked at him quizzically as the great stone phoenix leapt to the side and they rose up the spiral staircase together. They were quite surprised to see Dumbledore seated before them as they entered his office.
"Please, sit down. Would you care for a confection or two?" Dumbledore said brightly as he pawed through a box of assorted candies. Harry recognized most of the contents as former passwords to his office.
"No, thank you," they chimed together and took their seats across from the Headmaster.
"What did you want to see us for, sir?" Harry inquired.
"We need to discuss the special lessons you will require this year," he answered without looking up from the box.
"Lessons?" Harry fidgeted in his chair. Hermione felt quite confident that after last year's success with Occlumency he would not be subjected to it again. Honestly, she wasn't sure how much good it would do him anyway. She was rather confident in his abilities as an Occlumens at this point. He appeared to be having the same thoughts and looked ready to put all of this into a rather malformed rebuttal when Dumbledore interrupted.
"Not for you Harry, for you," he said as he placed the box on the side of his desk and looked at Hermione. Her stomach dropped to her knees. The prospect of Occlumency with Professor Snape was more than her frazzled nerves were willing to handle at this point.
"What kind of lessons," she asked, dreading the answer that would undoubtedly come.
"Let me first put you at ease Ms. Granger. I understand that you and Harry have spent quite a lot of time working on Occlumency together. I have no intention of having you continue in that exercise." She noticed Harry's head jolt up. He appeared not only as confused by the statement, but as easily aware of the emphasis Dumbledore placed on the word "you." She gave a hesitant glance and thought to ask the obvious question, but Harry jumped in before she could.
"Sir, don't you think, given the connection Voldemort made with her last year, Occlumency would be necessary?"
"I don't believe Voldemort made quite the connection you believe he did Harry. I wasn't entirely sure of that until after the summer came." They stared at him disbelievingly. "Your theory was that Voldemort was connected to you, you were connected to Hermione, and thus Voldemort to her."
They both nodded in agreement.
"Logically, that theory seemed plausible to me as well. However, after coming to understand the connection between you both, I think that assessment may be slightly erroneous."
"I don't understand," Hermione asked, her face ruffled in confusion.
"Ms. Granger, I won't ask you to tell me about your summer. I have been in much greater contact with your parents than I think you realize. They kept me well-informed of your progress. I came to understand the connection between you from speaking with Remus Lupin among others. Although you've not mentioned it to anyone, I believe I am correct in assuming that you have forged some telepathic connection since the episode in the Hog's Head last year." Hermione shot Harry a concerned gaze. They hadn't truly discussed their ability to communicate non-verbally with anyone.
"While that may be true Professor, I think that's all the more reason for her to study Occlumency," Harry said pointedly.
"Occlumency serves to shield the mind from others, I do not believe that's what Ms Granger needs in this case," Dumbledore continued.
"But, if I can get into her head using Legilimancy, how would Occlumency not help?" Harry was beginning to show some signs of frustration.
"Harry, I'm not sure how to say this gently. You're not the Legilimens you believe yourself to be. Professor Snape explained early in your training, that Legilimancy is not so trite as to be considered 'mind reading.' A Legilimens can tell when people are being deceitful. They can catch glimpses of memories and emotions. Logically they can weave those into close approximations of what the other may be thinking or feeling. But they cannot, by virtue of Legilimancy, communicate with explicit telepathy. While your rudimentary abilities in Legilimancy are helpful to your cause, the ability for the two of you to communicate telepathically is not coming from your power, it's coming from Ms.Granger's."
Hermione was floored. "Me? What are you talking about?" she demanded, all pretense of respecting authority flying out the window.
"It's a power that rarely shows until late adolescence. Although you are a bit behind the curve there, it's not uncommon for a Gryffindor. We see it in Slytherins first, Ravenclaws second, Hufflepuffs are usually third, and by matter of their personality, Gryffindor's almost always manifest this power late in their adolescence."
"What power?" Hermione's heart was racing.
"You're an empath, Ms. Granger,"
"What?!" Hermione shouted far louder than she intended.
"We weren't entirely sure until after your experience last year. I dare say when Voldemort possessed you it was the first time you ever truly focused on yourself. You were entirely focused on your own body, your own emotions, and your own mind. I should say you had a difficult time, 'turning it off' after that." Although it was phrased as a statement, Dumbledore seemed to be asking a question more than anything else.
Hermione, eyes still wide from shock, said sheepishly, "I've been completely out-of-control since then." For the first time since entering the office, Harry physically tuned toward her and took her hand in his. She looked at him gratefully and saw that he had no intention of speaking. It was clear he was there for moral support. That was probably what Dumbledore intended the entire time.
"There is nothing to be ashamed of Ms. Granger. In fact, this is a rare, and special gift. If you learn to control it, it can be immensely useful. You've shown many of the qualities of an empath throughout your stay at Hogwarts. Correct me if I am mistaken, but among the three of you, you are always the one who notices when someone is upset, hurt, or deep in thought. You have always had the ability to empathize with your classmates and feel a bit of what they are feeling. I might add that's one reason why your 'disagreements' with Mr. Weasley are as heated as they are. Knowing Molly so well, I'm quite certain her progeny are just as apt to throw every emotion they have into an argument. An empath, especially one who hasn't learned to control such a bombardment of emotion is likely to manifest it herself. Think back to the summer, when others were happy, you became happy. When your father was furious, you actually shattered plates in the cupboard." He smiled at her response. "Yes, your parents told me about that as well."
Hermione looked lost. She thought back to the time after her possession and realized the multitude of times her mood mimicked those around her. In her heart she knew Dumbledore was right, but she also knew nothing of being an empath. She'd never read a book, she'd never studied about them, she had no knowledge of anything and that was a position she loathed more than anything.
Dumbledore looked to her kindly. He seemed to understand what she was thinking, if not feeling. His response served to help her more than anything she'd heard yet. "Ms. Granger, you will be taking special lessons with Madam Pomfrey. She, like many outstanding healers, is also an empath. You will meet with her every Monday at seven in the evening. She will teach you how to shield yourself from the emotions of others, as well as how to use your gift to your own benefit. I am quite certain we will need every power we can muster this year."
Harry and Hermione both looked to the Headmaster with quizzical expressions. Before either could speak, he finished the conversation.
"I should expect you are both very tired. While the rumors persist among the lower classes that Head Students have their own tower and common rooms, I am rather sorry to inform you there is no such thing. I like for our head students to remain among their classmates so as to not distance themselves from those they would direct. I'm quite sure the house elves have prepared your beds for the evening."
Silently, Harry and Hermione rose from their seats and bade the Headmaster good night. They walked in silence down the corridor that led away from the imposing stone phoenix for several minutes. She slowed her gate and finally stopped in front of an arched window that overlooked one of many interior gardens. She looked out, among the palette of color that signaled the changing season, and finally turned to Harry. It seemed obvious to Hermione, from Harry's demeanor, that he had no idea what to do to help her. She didn't feel the need to use words to explain it. She silently extended her arms in a pleading request. He complied immediately and held her until she stopped crying.
***
As if the exorbitant number of textbooks didn't hint at the coming year, the first two weeks of classes certainly drove home the point. They had entered their last year at Hogwarts. An eerie familiarity accompanied every class they stepped into. Teachers began their mantras concerning the N.E.W.T. exams and piled on even more homework than they had faced two years previously. Harry had no excuse to fall miserably behind this year. Unlike his O.W.L. year, Umbridge was gone, and as Head Boy detentions were far less likely. But the sheer volume of assignments effectively buried the entire trio in an unending avalanche of studies. Even Hermione, with her stamina for notes, books, and essays, reacted to the pressure dissimilarly from years past. She began organizing her organizers, planning to plan for her studies, and making flowcharts to ensure study time proportionate to her abilities in each class.
Harry tried to force back the smile that erupted on his face as Hermione pulled out her latest homework planner and set forth an array of 12 varied highlighting quills to mark the pages. He noticed the color blue on that page far more often than not and deduced that she'd chosen that color to mark her empath lessons with Madam Pomfrey. He gave a quick glance to the page and noticed her first lesson was scheduled for this evening. In an effort to hide his own planner from view, he pulled it from his bag and glanced at the entries under the table. It only served to remind him of the question that plagued him since finding out he had been named Head Boy.
Quidditch practice.
That was a problem. He looked through the pages of his planner. He might've suspected that it was charmed to sparkle in brilliant colors but knew better. Hermione had "taken the liberty" of arranging his study schedule for him. As would be expected of Ms. Granger, it was perfect. Times and dates were spread out according to the course syllabi, study time reflected the adequate attention spans and learning curves typical to older adolescents. She varied the subjects enough to correlate with small study groups that formed in the realization of the daunting task before the seventh years. Everything was planned out as logically and you would imagine from someone as smart as Hermione Granger…and from someone so singularly focused on studies she completely forgot about Quidditch.
When he first laid eyes upon his study schedule he'd scarcely noticed that Quidditch was absent from the plan. It was only after a deluge of questions from the team that he realized the spot he was in. He was not only the Gryffindor seeker, he was the captain of the team! That responsibility was equally as daunting as his Head Boy responsibilities, which were far greater than he'd anticipated. There simply weren't enough hours in the day to complete the tasks he had before him. Hermione's planner demonstrated that fact in vivid, living, Technicolor. For as much as he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about his predicament. What was worse, he couldn't stop the overwhelming feeling of stress that rose in his chest every time he did.
"Harry?" Hermione asked from across the table. Harry looked up from his planner, still hidden safely on his lap, and met her eyes. "Is everything all right?"
"Yeah, everything's fine," he replied a bit too quickly for her to believe.
"You're stressed out about something," she said, squinting her eyes a bit a looking at him questioningly.
"How do you know that? Did you…you know…" Harry began.
"Hardly," she interrupted. "I am using no power other than that of someone who has known you since you were eleven. You always get the same ruffled look on your face when you're worried about something." Harry looked thoughtfully for a moment, as if he were trying to examine his own expression from the inside out. Giving up the effort he looked at her and they both broke into reciprocating smiles.
"Sorry," he replied. "You're right though." He rolled his eyes slightly. "Not like that would surprise you." She harrumphed and pulled her potions book from under the stack of textbooks before her.
"So," she began. "Are you going to tell me about it or do I have to guess?"
"Guess," he said without looking up from the book he opened.
"I knew it," she sighed. Harry looked up.
"Knew what?"
"Milicent Bulstrode. I always knew there was a special place in your heart for her Harry. I'm so sorry our relationship has to end over your sordid affair with her in the Slytherin laundry last week." Harry's eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open. She looked up to his dumbfounded expression. "No, no. Don't try to talk your way out of it. You were gone at least twenty minutes longer than usual on rounds and Bulstrode was wearing the same soiled robes I'd seen her carrying to the laundry earlier. Your hair was a wreck when you returned. I noticed it all."
"Hermione, what are you talking about? A special place in my heart? Milicent Bulstrode has more facial hair than I do, she easily triples my weight and is likely to beat any of those muggle men in the Highland Games without use of magic! For the record, my hair is always a wreck and I…"
"Are you going to tell me or shall I continue guessing?"
"What?" Harry suddenly realized if Hermione had been serious about the entire conversation she certainly wouldn't be fighting back laughter at the moment. "Oh." She smiled, put her quill down, and folded her hands across her notes.
"Tell me."
"Well, it's just…I've got so much…I don't know," Harry stammered finally resting his head in his hand and putting his quill down as well.
"Feeling slightly overwhelmed?"
"Only if your definition of 'slight' classifies Hagrid as a smaller than average man with a moderate affinity for ill-tempered creatures." Hermione laughed.
"It's not funny, Hermione," Harry retorted.
"Well, your stress may not be funny, but your choice of descriptors is certainly entertaining." The smile faded from her face and she sobered. "This is about me not allotting time for Quidditch isn't it?" Harry's eyes snapped up. "Harry, just hear me out before you get angry with me."
He hadn't heard but one sentence, and already did not like the direction this conversation was going. "What?" he said skeptically.
"Well, it's just that with being Head Boy and with all the homework we have this year, I'm just not sure that there's a lot of room for play in your schedule is all."
"Hermione! I'm the bloody Captain of the team!"
"Harry," she leveled her eyes at him. "I know that. I also don't think it's necessary to talk to me like that."
"You want me to quit playing Quidditch?" he said incredulously.
"I just think…"
"I know you don't like coming to the games and you only do it out of obligation but telling me to quit playing is ridiculous!" he interrupted. Hermione got to her feet, mouth gaping wide.
"What do you mean, I only come out of obligation?" she yelled.
"I mean you'd much rather be in this tower reading your books than out there supporting me in what I love to do!" He knew he shouldn't have said it. He wasn't even sure he really meant it, but he couldn't stop the words from leaping out of his mouth. If he could've snatched them out of the deathly silent air the still reverberated in, he would have. The look on Hermione's face was one he'd not seen before. Come to think of it, he had no desire to ever see it again. He could see her eyes misting over, and could see equally as well her resolve to not let a single tear fall in his presence.
"Finally! Someone else gets the full impact of the Hermione Hurricane! I'll tell you this much Harry, the basilisk has got nothing on Hermione. Welcome to the club!" Ron walked into the common room while Harry and Hermoine were otherwise occupied and finished his statement by slapping Harry on the back and settling down at the table. Being far more practiced in the art of verbal altercation with Hermione, he cut her off before she could turn her attention to her most trusted sparring partner. "By the way, that Ravenclaw girl you study with is outside the portrait hole for you Hermione. She says she needs to talk to you about Arithmancy."
Hermione glanced toward the open portrait hole and looked back to Harry. "Good, I need some fresh air anyway." She turned from the table and stalked out of the room.
"I don't know who that poor unsuspecting soul is, but she'd better be able to bob and weave if she intends to have a conversation with her right now," Ron said cheekily. "What were you too arguing about anyway?"
"Nothing," Harry replied. Seeing the look on his face, he thought better to expound. "Really Ron, it's nothing. I think its just stress from this workload. It will blow over." He settled back down, not realizing he'd stood up somewhere in the middle of the argument and pulled his Defense Against the Dark Arts books out.
"Is it just me or has Tonks required a lot of practical applications books for Defense this year?" Harry commented while organizing them on the table.
***
Hermione stormed out of the portrait hole and nearly leveled the girl standing quietly in the hallway just beyond. Thankfully for her, she appeared to have quick reflexes and leapt out of the way as Hermione burst into the corridor. Nearly echoing the Fat Lady's scathing remark she asked, "so, trouble in paradise?"
Hermione's eyes flashed to the girl standing before her. She was taller than Hermione. She stood nearly five feet and nine inches tall. She had long flowing chestnut hair. Unlike Hermione's, it was straight as an arrow and generally had little body whatsoever. Her skin was pale, but clear, and like the man she was fully prepared to hex right now, she had green eyes. They were certainly not the piercing emerald green she'd grown accustomed to, but were understated, not unlike their owner. She was in good shape and under her well-fitting robes stood an athletic frame that no-doubt ensured she was no stranger to the term "tomboy." However, her school robes indicated something else. She was intelligent. She would have to be in order to wear the blue and white scarf signifying her place in the Ravenclaw House.
Hermione got all of this from a single glance toward her visitor, not that she needed a description. She was fully well acquainted with the girl standing before her. One twinkle of her eye and smirk of her lips did what it had always done to Hermione.
She burst into laughter.
"Paradise! That's rich. Only if you consider him as appealing as the droppings of a trilobite that has been festering at the bottom of three million layers of rotting organic material in some distant haunted forest that's since turned to crude oil that some ravenous dictator is now exploiting for profit on the world market!" She finished her tirade by screaming the last portion at he now closed portrait hole, thus encouraging the Fat Lady to wander into a nearby frame.
"You know that's one thing I've always detested about you Hermione…your total inability to verbalize what you're feeling." Silence hung in the air for only a brief second before both girls dissolved into laughter and greeted each other with a warm embrace.
"It's good to see you Merc!" Hermione sighed.
"I hate to point out the obvious, but it's not like we've not seen each other already." Merc smiled warmly. "So, what did the insufferable prat do now?"
"Which one?" Hermione rebuked. They separated from their welcoming embrace and meandered off down the corridor as Hermione recanted the story. They had walked for nearly ten minutes by the time Hermione stopped long enough for a response.
"Well, honestly Hermione, you can't expect Harry Potter to forsake Quidditch for studies."
"That's not the point! He wouldn't even listen to me. He said that I only come to the matches out of obligation anyway! Can you believe he'd say that?"
"What? The truth?"
"Merc!"
"Hermione," Merc chuckled. "I don't want to get dragged into the middle of this thing but as an objective third party can I tell you what I think?"
"I don't think I'll like it."
"When have you ever liked my advice?" Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms belligerently. "In the four years I've known you, I've never known you to like Quidditch. You do go to the matches out of sheer loyalty to Harry and Ron. There's nothing wrong with that. Harry doesn't think there is either; I guarantee it. He's likely more flattered that you would sit through hours of an insufferably boring, I'm using your own words there, match just because he's playing in it. What's more, I think you'd love for him to stop playing." Hermione scoffed. "Don't give me that look! I saw what his accident did to you last year. If not for Ms. Weasley's forcing you out of the hospital wing, and my copious notes in Arithmancy, your marks would've suffered tremendously. Quidditch is dangerous. I'm sure you'd rather not see another rendition of "Pitch-Hole Potter" anytime this year." Hermione slumped into a window seat along the corridor. Merc sat down next to her.
"It doesn't stop you from playing."
"Well, I may be in Ravenclaw, but I still like a bit of adventure. Aside from the fact it's one of the only things I can do without looking or feeling like a total idiot." Hermione turned to retort but Merc interrupted.
"Listen, all I'm saying is this. Harry loves you, but he also loves Quidditch. I know he's got a lot on his plate this year. You both do with being named Head Students. But, you can't take away his release. Trust me when I say this. Harry needs Quidditch. He needs to fly; it's how he clears his head. It's how he organizes his thoughts. It's how he alleviates the pressure when he feels like it will crush him. I know you love him and you want him to be physically, and academically well-protected, but you can't take away his Firebolt."
Hermione sighed heavily. She rested her head against the mullioned window and closed her eyes thoughtfully. "I hate it when you do that."
Merc laughed. "That's why I'm in Ravenclaw and not Gryffindor."
"I hate that." Hermione chuckled. "If you were in Gryffindor it certainly would've made Ron's life easier. You're my objective voice of reason. If you'd been around to explain why Ron was so incensed over the Yule Ball we wouldn't have had such a shouting match in the common room that night." She shook her head and smiled weakly. "Aside from Ginny Weasley, you're the only female friend I've got," Hermione said as she turned to her friend.
"You're the only friend I have." Merc said quietly.
"Bullocks, you have loads of friends!"
"I have acquaintances, Hermione. That's not the same thing."
They sat silently for a moment and Merc got to her feet. "Come on, let's head back." They walked in silence for a few moments. Nothing could be heard but the sounds of their quiet footsteps harmonizing with each other as the two friends made their way back from where they had come.
"Not that this would surprise you, but you were right about Ron," Hermione said quietly.
"For once in my life, I hate that I was right." Merc looked over to Hermione as they traversed the corridor. "Was it awful?"
"Worse than awful. He kept all of it bottled in and it finally exploded when we were at the Burrow just a few weeks ago. He went so far as to accuse Harry and I of sleeping together fast upon our reunion."
"Not that such activity would be a bad thing." She ducked out of the way to avoid the arm Hermione threw in her direction.
"Merc!"
"Sorry, sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood. Even you have to admit your Harry is quite dashing."
Hermione narrowed her eyes and studied her friend for a moment before moving on. "Anyway, we all said some things we didn't mean and screamed a lot."
"How are things now?"
"Much better actually. Ginny arrived home from her internship at Witch Weekly with some new skills in counseling," Hermione chuckled.
"Counseling?" Merc furrowed her brow.
"Yes, silly huh. Anyway, she sat all of us down and managed to talk some sense into us. It's better, not great yet, but better."
"That's good to hear. I knew about the three of you before I ever met you, certainly before we became friends. The relationship you have is very special." Merc sighed audibly. She glanced at the floor as they walked and returned the conversation to its original purpose. "Well, for as much as I love the practical interpretation of your interpersonal relationships," she bumped Hermione in the shoulder playfully. "That's not why I came by."
"I know. We need to set up our study times for Arithmancy."
"Do you want to just keep to our regular schedule. It hasn't led us astray in the four years we've been doing it."
"Yes. Same table in the library?" Hermione asked.
"Same days and times?" Merc replied.
The nodded together and smiled. They arrived back at the Gryffindor portrait hole and Hermione took a deep breath as the Fat Lady crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently.
"Are you or are you not a Gryffindor?" Merc teased. Hermione looked at her and narrowed her eyes scathingly.
"Bye!" Merc laughed as she waltzed down the corridor toward the Ravenclaw common room. "Don't stare at her too long, she seems a bit tetchy that one!" her voice called as she rounded the corridor as swept out of sight. Hermione stood, looking at the spot where she had vanished, and harrumphed. With a deep breath she turned to face the portrait hole fully.
The irony was obviously not lost on Hermione. "Carpe diem."
The portrait hole swung open.