Author's note: I'm just so utterly amazed by the response. 700+ I just couldn't believe it, but it's there! I'm going crazy.
Check out Siangwu's fanart contribution to Forever Knight. See it, here: http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=835
Thanks so much to Lady Diamond's mad beta skilz!
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter rating: R
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Chapter Twentieth: Hogwarts
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Hogwarts had dungeons a-plenty for students, guests and prisoners.
Personally, Harry thought it would do those insufferable Slytherins good to be informed that there were vampires situated beneath their common room, but as Hermione said, even the most vicious vamp child didn't deserve to get slain in cold blood.
He dug into his robe for his watch and he checked the time. It was an hour yet before the meeting.
Sooner still before I go spare, he thought, picking up a stone and tossing it into the lake. It plopped in heavily. He never did know how to make a rock skip.
He briefly recalled their arrival at Hogwarts, all quiet and furtive so as not to wake the students. The Head Boy and Head Girl had met them at the front steps to escort them to the Great Hall, where the Headmistress waited.
Harry had looked at the young man in Ravenclaw blue with bright blue eyes and brown hair. He was just seventeen, and perhaps he didn't understand many things, but he understood the gravity of the situation, because he hadn't smiled when he let them through. Winston, the Head Boy, had taken account of them for a brief moment with his serious eyes and said, "Please follow us." He had questions. Harry could tell. But Winston had chosen not ask them.
The Head Girl, an interesting young lady with long wavy black hair and bright green eyes seemed a bit less grave, but she hadn't smiled either, nodding as she followed the Head Boy's lead.
It was behind these young adults that Harry had watched Hermione as they walked the dark, quiet hallways of Hogwarts. He had seen these hallways many times beneath the veil of his invisibility cloak, and it felt very strange to be walking back into it at this hour as if they owned the joint.
She had been cloaked like a druid, her dark robes and the fluid movement of her gait casting her as an enigma. And even so shadowed, even having watched the nerve-wracking events on the train, he couldn't forget that those minutes he had with her on the train car had showed him something he knew made the last five years of searching for her worthwhile. She was strong; she was ferocious; she was vampire; but for that one blessed moment, he realized that the Hermione he knew was far from gone. Samir had been more than a frightened, vampire boy. He was everything Hermione once believed in. He was the scared little boy who lived that Hermione chose to guide; he was the oppressed elf that Hermione adamantly fought for; he was the abandoned half-kneazle that Hermione felt compelled to save; he was the unloved orphan that needed her to take care of him; he was the reason Hermione broke the rules; he had become the key that had locked away her true self.
She was right there, but for some reason, she had filed that part of herself away, those parts that were the reasons Harry had loved her-loves her still. He could only suppose that she had shut down that part of herself that cared and loved so much because Samir had been taken so violently away from her. Hermione had-in spite of having so much love to give-been a creature of thought. Logic and reasoning had been her strong point. When the emotional became too much for her to explain with clever words and objective processing, she either cracked-raging in Yule balls, conjuring psychotic canaries and rushing to her parents' house to see if they were alright-or went cold-scolding him about strange potions books, lecturing him about girls or perhaps, abandoning him without so much as a goodbye…
In the last five years, the only emotional anchors she could've had were Lucien and Solomon. She cared for them, and they seemed to care for her. If only for that, he could let go of his petty jealousies of them; of Solomon seeing her as more than just a friend; of Lucien swearing devotion to her when he probably never promised anything before to anyone in his entire egocentric life. But then more often than not, it seemed more like they leaned on her. She was their anchor. So when the burden got too much, who did she turn to?
He was willing to bet his wand arm that it wasn't Yasmin.
When they met McGonagall in the Great Hall, she was as dignified and poised as ever, even when Hermione made herself known. The good Headmistress had listened quietly to the alarming news of the train attack and immediately sent for Madame Pomfrey to see to the injured.
McGonagall confirmed that the captains situated around Hogwarts would be arriving soon having been individually told that the Headmistress was requesting the honor of their presence in Hogwarts. No mention of a meeting was made. No hint of the governing board was hidden between the lines; just that their attendance was imperative and cannot be postponed.
When the last minute arrangements of sleeping quarters were made, they concluded their pre-conference to settle in during the interim.
"Granger," McGonagall had said. "You, I'm not quite through with. We shall finish our discussion in my office." The Headmistress had looked at Solomon and Lucien with her hawk eyes. "Alone."
Hermione had promptly told her boys to settle their chambers after helping to put Silvia and Paolo away, shooting them a warning glance when they showed hesitation. When she turned her back to them to follow McGonagall, they had merely sighed, utterly defeated. They did as they were told.
Harry had settled into one of the communal rooms with Ron and Seamus. But for Dean and Neville, it was almost like old times, especially when Seamus had started talking about this girl he was set to have a hot date with. It was around Seamus's admiration of said girl's assets that Harry had excused himself.
Ron had shot him the obligatory, "Need company, mate?"
To which Harry had declined. They'd been best friends long enough to know when the other really wanted to be alone and wasn't just faking it in some fit of melodrama.
Ron's parting words had been, "Don't jump into the lake."
Harry had to wonder if he ever came off as suicidal, the way his friends always told him, "Don't jump into the lake," or "Don't get killed!" or "Don't let them get their fangs on you!"
He sighed, elbows to his upraised knees as he leaned back on a smooth boulder.
The silence was comforting and he was just beginning to release the tension in his shoulders when he saw a cloaked figure gliding into his line of vision. She pulled her cowl back, her gaze transfixed on the lake.
Under the light of the crescent moon, she looked even more unattainable.
Does she even know I'm here?
She turned slightly, as if surprised. She wasn't looking at him, but she seemed to be speaking in his general direction. "I didn't realize you were here. What kind of magic is that? When you cloak your presence?"
He cocked a wan smile. Always asking questions. "Nothing conscious. It happens like that most of the time. I just want something so badly and the magic kind of… translates. A lot of times, I just wish I'm invisible, especially when I'm the headline on the Daily Prophet. I suppose cloaking my presence is how the magic translates my desire for invisibility. It's probably gotten to be a habit… wanting to be not noticed."
This time she turned to look at him, and he couldn't get over how lovely she was under the pale light of the moon.
"Does the magic respond to you like that all the time now? You will it and it does what you want?"
He paused. "It's not-it's not like I'm willing it. I'm not ordering the magic to do something for me. It's like the magic decides that yes, I want it enough for it to cut me some slack, and even then, it has to be able to use something. Does that make sense to you?"
She frowned in concentration. "A bit. Give me an example."
"Well, like I might want to fly without a broom, for example, but the magic can't lift me up in the air or make me grow wings. So perhaps it'll make my consciousness… separate from the things holding it down and let my mind fly."
"Astral projection."
"Something like that."
"Have you ever done it?"
"Just… once. I-I was at the Ministry when the explosion that killed Percy happened. I was trapped."
"Trapped?"
"Under rubble. The space was… awfully small. Smaller than a-" he paused "-than a cupboard."
Her expression softened and he realized that he had missed that look in her eyes. That tender concern often assured him that she would always care, no matter what. He wasn't sure what to make of it now since she was so eager to convince him that she only cared because Yasmin made her care. But still, it was a look he had longed for and it was good to see it again.
"That sounds horrible," she said.
He nodded slightly. "I hadn't realized my days in that cupboard had developed into claustrophobia after I got out of that box, and when I got put back into one-"
"You felt the fear. Oh, Harry, what did you do?"
"Closed my eyes and wanted out. O-U-T all-caps. I suppose the magic didn't think it wise to blast me out of there. Instead, it set my consciousness free and then I was outside the wreckage… seeing it all. It took them twelve hours to dig me out. If I hadn't gotten my mind out of there, I reckon I'd have gone nutters, literally."
"Half a day! Couldn't you-maybe communicate with them in your astral form?"
He shook his head. "I tried. I really did, but it wasn't working. It's not always cooperative, you see. The magic is whimsical. You'd think with that kind of power, I could do anything, but I couldn't, it seems. I think maybe I'm limiting it. I don't know."
"Like how, whimsical? How is it that you figured you're limiting it?"
He stifled a grin at her obvious academic interest on the matter. "Like I can't manage legilimency with much competence. My inclination for that is still very raw. If the magic were reasonable, it would've sharpened that power for me, don't you think? And then there are times that I think something in me is limiting the potential of the magic, like when my patronus becomes wonky. Poor Prongs has had to charge dementors missing one set of antlers every now and then."
She smiled very slightly. After a moment, she gave in and decided to sit by him.
He made space, hoping she would sit closer. She didn't, but at least she was within reach.
"Not enough happy thoughts?" she asked, hugging her legs to chest.
"Too many sad thoughts, I think," he replied. "Tonks had the same problem before, when Remus was trying to push her away."
She was silent, and only then did he realize that what he said carried a load of meaning between the two of them.
He stifled a sigh. Everything they said to one another would mean something now.
"What did McGonagall talk to you about?" he asked to steer the subject to safer waters.
"Nothing much," she replied immediately, clearly embracing the topic. "She very calmly asked me how I've been doing, what I've been doing… bit difficult telling her I kill vamps, werewolves, and the occasional human, for a living, but hey… not as if I could lie to her about it. So I simply said, 'I exterminate bad vamps and everything that goes with it.'"
"How did she take it?"
"Well… she said it's a damn shame I didn't go into something more academic, like vampire research, or something. I thought it was a fairly reasonable response, coming from her. Not as if she could deduct house points from me, if you know what I mean. We talked about a whole bunch of random things. I was surprised she didn't bring you up, or maybe I wasn't. I'm not sure."
"Now, why would McGonagall want to bring me up?"
She shrugged. "I don't know… maybe because the whole wizarding world revolves around you and everyone who knows our story thinks I'm the stupid-arse girl who walked out on Harry bloody Potter."
"Admitting you're stupid? Stop the presses."
She sneered. "I only said they thought it. I didn't say I agreed with it."
"Of course," he said with affected gravity.
There was a silence, and Harry wouldn't exactly say it was uncomfortable. There were hundreds of things he wanted to say that he wasn't sure how, but she was projecting as if she wanted to say something, and he felt he ought to wait for her to speak.
She fidgeted a bit, biting her lip. Reminiscent of old her old habits. Finally, she did speak. "Look, about what happened on the train…"
He arched his eyebrow. "Yes?"
"I'm usually more… put together, than that. It's been a rather emotional three nights, I think. I haven't had to deal with so much-well, angst, if you want me to be blunt, in the last few years. You've seen how Lucien and Solomon are. We take things seriously but at the same time we don't. We laugh at the worse things and yet the sappiest things make us laugh even harder. There hasn't been much emotional… chow-chow… know what I mean?"
"Chow-chow?"
"Yes, chow-chow. You know, touchy… feely… talkie… chow-chow."
"Ah." Harry wasn't sure he understood, but from the look on her face, she was desperate for him to.
She nodded, gesturing randomly, as if to encourage him to keep following her. "And the barrage of this chow-chow in the last few nights and these last few hours… well, it's kind of exhausting, to tell you frankly."
"But you're a vampire. You don't get tired. Not in the normal sense, anyway."
"Yes, I thought so, too. I have quite the admirable 'emotional stamina', if you'd like to call it that, but tonight I was completely drained, so what I'm trying to say is, my little… emotional burst in the train… that's… a fluke."
"A fluke."
"Right. And I would really appreciate it if you never bring it up again. Between us or when there are other people around to hear about it. Mm'kay?"
"Uh-huh…" He cleared his throat. "So let me get this straight. When you-when you let me hold you-"
"Well, you sort of grabbed me, and I didn't want to be rude."
"Of course! And then when you cried in my arms-"
"A few tears, really!"
"Right. When you-with the tears-those were tears of exhaustion, not tears of grief."
"Not tears of grief. Right."
"Because you're a cold and unfeeling bitch who hasn't had to deal with emotional chow-chow in the last few years."
"Right! I'm glad we understand each other."
Harry nodded. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He began to scramble for a handhold on the boulder as he rose to his feet and stared down at her, shaking his head with obvious disapproval before he turned to leave. "That's it. That is it!"
"What?" Hermione yelled after him. "Was it something I said?"
He pulled at his hair-literally-in frustration, and he turned to face her across the clearing. "You're just determined to convince me that you're not who you used to be, aren't you? You want to make me think that you're this BIG, BAD, hardened vampire that shoots other vampires and threatens to torture his girlfriend-"
"Oy!" she shrieked. "I didn't know you were there! I wasn't putting on a show!"
"Whatever! Well, you know what, Hermione? I'm not buying it. Not ONE BIT! And if you ask me, I think you're only trying to convince yourself!"
"What! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! I don't need to convince myself of anything! I am big and bad and hardened! Last year, I used a man because I wanted to get my hands on his meditative techniques, use his Zen garden and get bloody Tantric screwed!"
"Oh, my fucking GOD! I JUST DID NOT HEAR THAT!" he shouted, hands to his ears. "And that's another thing! You're constantly mentioning your ex-boyfriends! What the hell is up with that? It's driving me crazy! Do you get some sick pleasure out of making me so bloody jealous-"
"I am not trying to make you jealous, Harry," she said, now looking as furious as he was. "I just happen to mention them, is all! And you shouldn't be jealous, anyway. It's not like you have a right to be!"
"OH, IS THAT SO?"
"YEAH, THAT'S SO!"
"Well, what if I happen to mention that I slept with fifteen-seventeen-hell, I DON'T KNOW, TWENTY WOMEN! Didn't keep count, actually! At a certain point, the beautiful women and sex sort of mix together like one big, happy, screw-fest!"
Her jaw dropped, and then she shot him such a furious glare. "Well, if you like meaningless-"
"Mind numbing, abso-fucking-lutely good-"
"HUMPH! Better than me, were they?" she cried.
That threw him for a bit, but he wasn't about to lose this fight. He was Harry bloody Potter! "Alright, MAYBE not!"
"I THOUGHT SO!" she yelled, half-smugly.
"But at least one of them, the one that MATTERED MOST, was there for me. More than I could say for some people."
She threw him a snooty, narrow-eyed scoff. "Well, that was the whole point of my leaving, wasn't it? So you could find somebody."
"Yeah. It was Cho Chang."
Her eyes flashed. It just did. It glowed amber for a brief, unforgettable moment. "Shut up!" she hissed, hands fisting. "Shut the HELL up! You're just saying that to-"
"Annoy you? Force more emotional CHOW-CHOW on you?"
"HURT ME YOU INSENSITIVE, OVER-SEXED GIT!" she shrieked. Her voice echoed off the trees, sending a flock of birds fluttering madly into the dark sky.
And there it was: Hermione's CHOW-CHOW on steroids.
Harry stood there, absorbing the how and what that had just happened. From the look on her, she was struggling to make some sense out of it, too.
When Harry's breathing had settled, he let her words process in his mind. "Hurt you? Hermione…"
"Shut up," she hissed again. "I don't want to hear it. This discussion never happened."
"Hermione-"
"I said, shut it, Harry! Bring it up again and I swear I'll hit you. I swear it! Like a jackhammer, I'll clock you-"
Oh, for-"Alright! I get it! Jesus feckin'-"
"I'm going back into the castle," she grumbled, already pulling her cowl over her face. "And I don't want to see you there!"
"You don't-hello! My room's in there. You expect me to camp out here? Conjure a tent from the lake weeds, maybe? Sleep with the Giant Squid like it said in one of those fan frickin' fics those fan-girls got up for me, perhaps?"
She frowned, an intensely disbelieving and displeased look in her vampiric gaze.
"It's true!" he yelled. "Sent me their story in the mail! Pure unadulterated squid-cest! And they have a club! They call themselves the Squick Shippers!"
She looked over her shoulder and glared at him. "Don't get smart with me, Harry Potter," she said in a dangerous tone.
"Oh, goodness, NO!" Harry cried. "Because GOD FORBID ANYONE BE SMARTER THAN THE BLOODY SMARTEST WITCH OF-"
"FINE! BE THAT WAY! BE A BIG ARSE BERK!"
"I'M the berk?" He rolled his eyes and ground out a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands up as he turned away. When he turned around again, she was gone.
Then he remembered just what time it was and he growled. "THERE'S GOING TO BE A MEETING!" he bellowed. "AND WE'RE BOTH GOING TO BE IN IT MS. SMARTY PANTS!"
No one answered. Cursing and hissing, he made his way back to the castle.
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To say that things were rather tense at the meeting wasn't just an understatement, it was a way-down-below-Earth's-core-and-probably-deeper-than-hell-exclamation. Even Ron, who had been an advocate of giving Hermione the "cold shoulder treatment" earlier couldn't stand it, especially when he tried to drink his butterbeer and found that it, and Charlie's, and Seamus's too, were frozen solid in their respective bottles.
He immediately pegged Harry as the cause, as it seemed to be the most logical assumption. "Merlin's bullocks, Harry… when I told you to give her the cold shoulder, I didn't mean you should freeze Great Britain and the rest of hell over along with it!"
Harry didn't apologize, though he knew he had caused it, and perhaps she was feeding his magic, too because Hermione was even colder than when she first showed up at Grimmauld Place, if that was possible. She certainly wasn't turning on her vampire charms in front of the governing board, her former professors and the Order captains. She tried to smile, and she was polite, but the warmth just wasn't there, so she looked a bit frightening, lovely though she was. It was rather heartbreaking to see Hagrid so overcome with emotion at seeing her again, and the great big bear hug he gave her lifted her off the floor like a rag doll, but did she thaw? No. She might have tried, but it seemed to have caused some kind of crackling electricity. Harry felt it with a jolt, and at that moment, they eradicated at least two bottles of wine and a pitcher of pumpkin juice.
Proof enough, Lucien and Solomon cornered Harry at the end of the meeting and asked, "Alright, what did you do to her?"
This was from Solomon who was throwing cautious glances over his shoulder, in case Hermione was around to overhear them.
Harry was not in the mood to explain himself. "What did I do to her? You're seriously asking me this? Why don't you two buttheads stop kissing her arse for once and ask her?"
Both had stared at him blankly.
"Ask her?" Lucien replied. "What-like with questions?"
"Yes," said Harry wryly. "That is the way it usually goes. What's the matter? Afraid she'll tear your heads off?"
They seemed surprised.
"Well," said Solomon. "She wouldn't do that."
"Of course not," agreed Lucien. "That would kill us. Break a few fingers, maybe. And, well… she kicked me in the nuts, once. She claims it was an accident but…"
Solomon grinned, as if remembering it fondly. "T'was hilarious! We even had a name for it! What was it?"
"Ho, yeah! The Trannie Incident! I swear to you, I didn't mean to get that roaring jack in my pants!"
"She was so mad! Said you were undermining her authority and all that!"
They laughed together before their guffaws dwindled to pained grimaces.
"Don't want that to happen again," said Lucien with a shudder.
"No. Definitely not."
Harry didn't even want to know. "Well, then, you can just go wear a Nut Cup, for all I care. And while you're at it, you can just tell her to stop jerking me off-"
Ron gasped (Seamus, too, who had suddenly poked his head into their group at the mention of jerking). "Harry! Did you say she-"
"Not literally, Sherlock. Good LORD! I'm surrounded by RANDY idiots!"
"Who's Sherlock?" Ron muttered aside.
Seamus shrugged.
"He says it like it's a bad thing," Lucien grumbled, nudging Solomon with his elbow.
"Well, you did get kicked in the nuts for being that, boyo."
"You have a point."
Harry was just about to throw up his hands and walk out when Charlie nudged him.
"Chocolate usually sweetens their tempers, you know," Charlie said. "Vampire and human alike."
Harry scowled. "I don't have to sweeten her anything. If she wants to be snitty, that's totally fine by me. I'm not going to grovel at her feet like her Shadow Kin."
"We do not grovel," Solomon interjected.
Lucien nodded. "We call it soliciting her favor. Being in her good graces. Safe-keeping her affection."
"Prostrating yourselves at her feet?" Harry added with a sneer.
"Only sometimes…" Solomon said softly. "We reserve that for when we've been very bad."
"If I don't leave this place, I'm going to hit someone," Harry muttered. "I'll see you later, Charlie."
Charlie flashed him a sympathetic smile before nodding a goodbye.
Harry hurried off, focusing his mind on what was discussed during the meeting in the hopes of forgetting his aggravation.
Hermione had drawn up a long parchment of terms detailing what Yasmin would like in exchange for the sworn support of her Coven, and perhaps even its affiliates. The demands weren't really all that unreasonable, and what the Coven was willing to throw into the agreement sounded generous, particularly the part where the Coven would-to the best of its abilities-secure the support of several vampire groups, apart from the Coven's affiliates whom already formed part of the contract. Many of the demands were aimed to lift discriminatory regulations and silly legislation against vamps. Arthur was more than ready to push his weight in the ministry for them. There was also a clause at the end demanding the reevaluation of a particular Elf proposal, docket number so and so. Harry suspected Yasmin didn't have much to do with that. Many of the captains gave their input for the improvement of the terms, particularly with regard to who would be subordinate to whom in the ranks. All of the input was acknowledged, processed and added.
Overall, the terms of the agreement were reasonable, and it was even stated in the recital that the contract was magically binding. Hermione, as the duly appointed representative, was allowed to make changes on the contract necessary for the agreement of both parties. Hermione had made tweaks here and there, making copies of the contract once they came to an initial agreement of the contract's contents. None but Yasmin's signature (in blood, of course) could yet be found at the bottom, but it was agreed that a thorough reading of the contract would be done before anyone signed it. There were six other blank spaces, one for Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasley, Minerva McGonagall and Harry Potter. They would have three days to fill in those signature spaces. Beyond that, all prospects of an agreement would be dissolved and the humans could very well rot in their indecision.
Harry wasn't afraid that the signatures wouldn't be gathered, and Hermione had so far assured them that Yasmin was good for it, that it was Hermione who drew up the contract therefore there was no trickery, loopholes or carefully hidden agendas. The contract was clean, drawn in good faith and beneficial to the humans.
As far as Harry was concerned, the only thing he was worried about was why it was all so very fair.
Yasmin was no fool. She was no lover of humans, either, and Harry doubted it was because he "amused" her so much that she would be so congenial.
There was something else. He just had to figure out what.
With these thoughts occupying him, Harry went straight to his dorm room, changed into workout clothes and headed for the Room of Requirement.
The moment he walked through the magical room, it was transformed into a more compact version of their gym in Grimmauld Place. Harry blessed the Powers That Be for the Room of Requirement.
Harry was ripping into the punching bag when to his utter shock, the door to the room opened to let someone else in.
That had never happened before. Not unless the author of the room wanted it that way.
Given the state of things between him and Hermione, he couldn't fathom how the room supposed that he wanted her in there for anything.
Hermione walked right in wearing full gym attire. She looked fantastic, but Harry wasn't so gone on her looks that he would forget their shouting match by the lake.
She froze upon seeing him. "What are you doing here?"
He sneered. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"It looks like you're done. My turn to use the room."
"I just got here. I'm not going anywhere."
Her look was seething. "The room wouldn't have let me in if it didn't think it was my turn, so it's my turn!"
"Oh, is that what the room thinks? Well then, why don't you just ask the room if it wants me out? Go on, then, ask it. Has it said anything yet? Did you listen hard enough-"
"Alright!" she cried. "So it doesn't work that way! We both need the room, apparently, and we're supposed to be mature adults about this. I'm willing to be mature. I don't know about you."
"I'll be the freaking messiah of maturity if I have to be…" Harry grumbled, turning his back on her to start on the punching bag again.
He was just beginning to loosen the muscles at the base of his neck when Hermione came into his line of vision, glaring at him.
"I was going to use that bag," she said, hand to her hip.
"Well, wait your turn. I saw some pink girlie weights over there. Maybe you should start with those."
Her eyes ringed so ferociously that he was almost certain it would be the last thing he'd see before she took his head off with her bare hands.
"Alright, Mr. I Slept With A Bunch of Slags," she hissed. "We obviously have to think of another way to make this work."
Mr. I Slept With A… "First of all, they weren't slags."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Cho Chang."
He paused, blinking as a brand new thought dared to make itself known. "Hermione, are-are you jealous?"
"Oh, wouldn't that be lovely?" she growled. "You can call it a monster in my chest, for all I care, but I want to settle the usufruct of this room. Get on the sparring mat. We're going to fight for it."
That threw him. "What?"
"We're going to fight! You know; hit, jab, kick… fight. Whoever wins gets the room."
He frowned, outraged. "I not going to fight you for the room!"
"Oh, please. Don't tell me you can't hit a girl."
"Well, I can't! Especially not you! You can just-"
She threw a kick, in fine form, too and he had to duck frantically to the ground to avoid it. Her shin landed on the punching bag and some of the seams burst open, sending sand floating into the air.
He stared at it in shock. "Are you MAD?"
"Oh, you don't know the half of it, Harry. Get up!"
"Look," Harry said through grit teeth as he got to his feet. "This is a matter of principle, really. I don't care how strong-"
Growling, she threw a punch, which he barely managed to dodge. It landed on the bag again, popping even more threads out of the leather. More sand poured as the bag bled from its injuries.
"Christ, woman!" Harry squeaked. "Aren't you even pulling your punches?"
"I am pulling my punches. How do you think you're able to dodge them?"
Harry's ego reared like an offended dragon. "I can dodge them because I'm fast," he hissed.
"Humph," she huffed. "Not fast enough."
And before he knew it, she had jumped and landed a roundhouse to his face. He didn't even see her graceful landing. All he knew was that he had gotten hit by a jackhammer and that he was definitely down for the count. She may have loosened some teeth.
"Son of a-GODDAMMIT HERMIONE!" he yelled, pounding his hand on the floor in frustration and pain. She had been fast. He hadn't even seen it coming. Was everyone on steroids except him?
His head was still spinning as he pushed himself off the floor and he had to shake his head a couple of times just so Hermione would be one person instead of ten.
But in spite of all that, he was determined to stick by his guns. "Hermione, I just won't-"
"Afraid you'd get beaten by a girl?"
"It's not-"
She smirked. "Don't be such a Slytherin…"
You can call Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived. You can call him the Chosen One. Heck, you can even call him a Coward or a Fool, and he wouldn't have taken the bait, but call him a Slytherin and you can make him tickle a sleeping Hungarian Horntail with naught but his socks to protect him.
"Don't," he said dangerously, "call me a Slytherin."
Oh, but the smile on her face was evil. "Slyyytheriiiin…" she breathed in a singsong tone.
"You're going down," he said, getting into his defensive stance. "Let's go."
"That's the spirit," she whispered with what Harry could only discern as delighted anticipation. She put her left hand behind her back and held out her right, going into a one-handed, straight-backed stance.
Harry frowned and dropped his stance, throwing a gesture at her. "What the hell is that?"
She affected a puzzled smirk, staying the way she was. "Well, you can call it the Golden Fucking Tiger Claw, for all I care. But really, it doesn't have a name."
Could she be more aggravating? "I mean what's with the hand behind the back?"
"Oh! Well, that I have a name for. I call it the I Don't Want To Kick Your Arse Too Badly stance. And I promise, I won't use vamp speed and strength without telling you, alright?"
Haughty little… "Fine, then. Do what you want, but feel free to use both hands when the need arises. I won't hold it against you." He went back, loosening the muscles on his neck as he raised his fists and angled his shoulders to form. I'll swat that perky little bum and get this madness over with…
"You look hot when you do that," she winked at him.
He narrowed his gaze at her. "Nice try, Granger. Now quit stalling and hit me."
"And make the first move? I'm not that kind of girl."
Harry had to admit, she was pretty good with the battle-banter.
He went for a basic arm lock that was meant to incapacitate her, but she flipped her hand, then her arm, evading his grip with fluid ease.
She smirked. "Trying to hold my hand already?"
Okay, so she knows her hand-locks. It's a good thing for every fighter to know.
He went in for a full-body take down, gliding smoothly to get his arm across her chest so he could brace her for the backward leg sweep.
But even before he could get a lock on her shoulders, she maneuvered her head, swept it under his arm and smoothly transitioned into ramming her shoulder into his ribs. He stumbled back and it knocked the wind out of him a bit, but it didn't hurt very badly.
"I'm too small for that move," she told him, her tone gone of its earlier flirty lilt. "If you're going to use that on someone much smaller than you, compensate for the height."
Bossy, know it all…
But he said nothing, measuring her movements. Her body language revealed nothing and she still had one hand behind her back. It was beginning to get a tad annoying.
"And enough with the hand locks and take-downs," she said rather seriously. "Start fighting for real."
Loathe as he was to admit it, he really didn't want to take a swing at her. Just the thought that he would ever strike her made his stomach turn. It was just against the very core of his hero-complex, and there was absolutely no way-
She threw a punch. He blocked it and she grinned just when she turned her fist to grab his wrist, pulled him towards her and sank her knee right where his diaphragm was.
He fell over, his breath getting sucked right out of him. He saw blackness and stars; an alternating flash of light and dark. He managed a painful, rasping gasp-or-two-before he was able to return to a semblance of normal breathing.
"Just because I have one hand behind my back and the other is occupied hitting you, it doesn't mean I don't have a follow through," she said. "I could've kicked you, too, you know. Both my legs were free and you were wide open."
The instructional tone was really getting to him. He knew all that; but the problem being was he was holding back by some protective instinct, and it was making him look like an idiot.
Well, Potter, considering that she bloody well seems to know what she's doing, holding back does smack of stupid.
Pushing himself off the floor and ignoring the fiery ache in his abdomen, he went back into stance. "Alright, play time's over," he managed without rasping.
"Try to mean it, this time," she said, eyebrow arching. She was still going to do it one-handed, but she lowered her stance, and Harry got the impression that since he looked more determined, she was going to up the ante of her defense as well.
She attacked first and even as he blocked, he felt the upped force of her punch. And then her foot was heading his way, and he had to block that, and she was turning, and he didn't know what to expect. He had to seriously stay alert to catch each and every strike. If he weren't so intent on preserving the dignity of his ass, he would've stopped to admire the distinctive grace she kept in combat.
When finally, she pulled back to stop the barrage of hits, he was panting from the effort, and she still had one hand behind her back.
She grinned. "Well, that's better. Let's go a bit faster, shall we?"
Faster? How fast can she go without the vamp-amp?
She attacked again, and this time, Harry seriously had to get creative to manage at all. But then she threw this absolutely unfair move that literally had him knocked head over feet. All he knew was that she had done a split-second hand-stand before he went down on the mat, her thighs wrapped tightly around his neck.
She clenched, and he could feel the pressure of her hold, though he could still breathe through his windpipe. Barely.
He was too discombobulated to do anything to help himself out of the situation.
"Under different circumstances," he rasped thinly. "I would've been very happy right now."
She checked her nails as she sat on the mat comfortably whilst slowly suffocating him. "Hmm, well, I usually go ahead and break my opponent's neck at this stage, but I'm rather enjoying myself…"
"Need air…"
"Say please."
"Pretty… please…?"
She let him go, untangling herself from him.
He rolled away, gasping for air.
"Too fast for you?" she asked with a smirk. "We can take it slow, if you like."
He glared at her through his coughing. He was going to get her for her double entendres.
Barely recovered, he got up, went into stance and faced her determinedly.
Grinning, she got into her own stance, this time with both her hands up. "You ready for this, Harry?"
"Just watch your back," he said without humor.
He attacked this time, and he grudgingly admitted that with both her hands up, she pretty much kicked his arse. There was no use denying it, she was good; she was phenomenal, she was better than him, and he began to wonder if he there was a point to this.
She was beating him. Strike after strike, hit after hit, she would do something completely unorthodox that would have him stumbling, doubling over, careening or just flat out falling. If he wasn't so intent on winning one stupid round…
Just ONE dammit!
And suddenly, he felt a familiar sense of magic pool in his gut. He knew right then that he would win this round. It lasted a split second, almost as if it had happened in a blink of an eye, which it actually did, because he was behind her with a swoop and pop, and he had every opportunity to grab her, lock her in his hold and pin her to the wall.
She grunted and he let her go. She turned and faced him. "How did you do that?"
He wasn't quite as pleased with himself as he should be, he supposed. She had beaten him nine times out of ten. He still had a lot of catching up to do. "What do you mean how did I do that?"
"How did you get behind me so quickly?"
He frowned, a flush rising in his cheeks. "I-I'm not sure, but I told you about it, didn't I? I want something badly enough… I think I apparated-"
"I think you did, but we're in Hogwarts. Since when can you apparate in Hogwarts?"
"Well, it's not like I could come and go. It's just within the grounds, and only when it lets me. Ties in with the whole whimsical, temperamental magic… thing…"
She stared at him impassively, absorbing this fact. Finally, she spoke. "You did it very quickly, too. Do it again."
"I'm not sure I can. It's not an entirely conscious thing."
"Just try. I'll do what I can to help you call it." She came at him, twice as ferociously this time. She could feel her hits vibrating through his bones when he blocked them, and he realized that every single one of his hits received a counter-move in return. It was damningly hard work, and he thought maybe he received more bruises in their three-minute spar than he ever had fighting werewolves in real life combat.
Her eyes flashed, and he saw the telltale signs of her vampirism. His instincts reared in response. He forgot it was Hermione; forgot that it was a spar.
"Brace yourself," she hissed in a low tone as she disappeared from his line of vision.
He prepared himself for the onslaught. Survival was key.
The magic gathered around him and he pulled at it. The crack followed, and he was sweeping her legs from beneath her, sending her crashing to the floor on her back.
He scrambled to his feet, going back into stance as she blinked up at the ceiling.
He watched her warily from his vantage point, so it surprised him to see her chuckling.
"This is most interesting," she said. She got up to her elbows and smirked at him. "That was… actually quite amazing. What else can you do, Harry?"
Pausing, he frowned. "I told you, it doesn't always happen. Sometimes, I want it to happen and it doesn't. I just end up getting arse-kicked worse when I'm trying to consciously summon it, so I just-you know, do my thing and I don't even think about it. Anyway, whenever it comes to me, I know, and I use it."
"Hmm." She turned her gaze away, as if lost in thought. After a moment, she looked at him with a kind of astonished fascination. There was curiosity mixed in it too, as if she had suddenly realized something.
Cautiously, he held out his hand to her. "Boost?"
She looked at the hand, cocked an ever so tiny smile and slipped her hand through his.
Just when he was about to pull her up, she heaved him down. He lurched forward with a yelp, falling right on top of her.
He was just about to scramble off her when she jerked him to her again, rendering him helpless as she leaned up against him.
"What else is special about you, Harry?" she whispered, staring intently into his eyes. "What other secrets inside you need unlocking?"
He lay sprawled atop her, mesmerized by her, her intensity, her eyes. "I-I don't know…"
"What does Yasmin want from you?" Her voice trailed and he could feel her finger run lightly down his cheek.
His breath hitched. "Oh, you know…" he droned unthinkingly. "Chosen One and all that shite…"
She shifted and he felt her knee brush casually on his inner-thigh just when her fingers trailed beguilingly on the side of his neck.
The tiny hairs on his back rose momentarily before warmth began to cascade down his body. His eyes wandered, tracing the curves of her chest, shoulders, neck before settling on the glossy curls of her hair. Shifting a bit, he reached up to touch the silky ringlets.
"What are you doing?" she whispered with the barest hint of surprise.
"Nothing," he replied nonsensically, letting his gaze travel to her lips. He could see fang. The mere remembrance of having them sink into him made him shudder. "Nothing at all. Just… looking…"
Her soft fingers seemed to have found its way into his own raven locks, trailing fire where she combed through the strands.
He resisted the urge to close his eyes and moan. This sudden intimacy didn't fall into any of his expectations that night, especially when, only a few minutes ago, they were exchanging fists and kicks, yelling and hissing at each other…
Like a couple of cats in heat…
"You have the most extraordinary hair," she said softly. "Never stayed put… there's so much magic inside you that it has to find an outlet, like these uncooperative strands and your 'accidental' spells. If it didn't do that, you'd-maybe you'd burst, or something." She ran her fingers further through it.
It was almost more than he could stand. "Maybe," he said huskily, closing his eyes and turning his head to press his lips to her wrist, inhaling the scent of her that was soap over skin. He opened his mouth and felt the gentle pulse of her blood beneath his tongue as he cradled her wrist with his hand.
She gasped, and it was a wonderfully intoxicating sound.
There was hardly any point to thinking about the ifs ands or buts. His mind had clouded in itself, because he did want her; had wanted her for so long, even when he was angry with her; even when he thought he'd never see her again.
Desire and longing began to pool in the pit of his belly, and as badly as he wanted to love her right now, there was one part of him that was ready to fight, and she was surely feeling it through his nylon trousers.
"Harry," she whispered in what sounded to him like a half-hearted scold.
The equipment around them suddenly got sucked back into the walls, the crashing and banging sounds around them happening in quick succession as the room changed. They were suddenly elevated and his arm buckled from the abrupt movement. Hermione gave a squeak of surprise as he inadvertently pinned both of them to what was suddenly a cushioned surface underneath.
The lights dimmed. The air smelled of perfume, and they were surrounded by soft gossamer sheets and candles.
The Room of Requirement knew exactly what he was thinking.
"Don't." She said this very softly. If she sounded displeased at all, it was marginal enough to be ignored. "Just don't."
His breathing had gone just the tiniest bit ragged as he answered. "Hogwarts: A History is on the bed stand. I wasn't the only one redecorating the place."
"Well, un-require your end of things. It's not going to happen."
"You un-require it," he drawled, leaning over as close as he dared. He could kiss her. All he had to do was lean over a bit more.
"Don't be difficult," she whispered, her tone and her desire-lidded gaze belying her words. She shifted, perhaps in a feeble attempt to get away, which only caused her to rub.
A moan escaped him, and even before realizing it he was ravishing her lips with his own, their tongues tangling desperately as they pressed their bodies against each other.
He was feeling the softness of her; the pleasing curves and bumps of her that melded with the hard planes that was him. If he ever imagined he would feel her this way again, his imagination had failed him utterly, because the reality was sending him into sensory overload.
"Oh, God," he gasped, trailing his lips from hers, to her cheeks, to her neck. His hands cupped her face before they wandered to the firm swell of her breasts.
She hissed. "This isn't happening," she whispered frantically even as she let him undo the laces of her rubber shoes. "This is a mistake."
Harry was only half listening as he desperately needed to get her out of her clothes. "Says who? Good lord why am I even bothering with these shoe laces?" He yanked her shoes and socks off and he threw them over the edge of the bed.
Mission accomplished, he crawled back up over her body to kiss her.
Her lips and tongue was a conduit of warmth and pleasure, eliciting their mingled moans.
She gasped and began to mutter through their kiss. "Alright. This has to stop." Her hands were firmly clasping his shoulders. Perhaps she had put them there to push him off. He wasn't feeling the resistance, quite yet.
He was in no condition to give an opinion about it, so as in the past, when faced with a question he hadn't the capacity to answer, he relinquished the settling of it to Hermione. He leaned back, panting for breath as he asked, "Do you want to? Stop, I mean?"
She swallowed, the red puff of her lips driving him mad. "My mind says yes."
"But your heart says no?" he practically squeaked. Merlin, I just want to-
"My what says no?"
He paused, feeling a sudden ringing in his ears. Maybe it was the sort of thing that happened when one's hard-on disappeared without actually blowing one's load, or maybe he was beginning to get annoyed again. It was hard to tell, considering his emotions were a jumbled pile right now. "Now, you're just saying that to hurt me."
She sighed, going limp in his arms as she looked away. "Get off me, Harry."
"That's what I was trying to do before you-"
"Finish that sentence and die, Potter."
He sighed and rolled to her side on his back. He put his arm across his eyes. There was a brief, awkward silence between them before he spoke. "Just so we're clear, you started this."
"I didn't-" She stopped and sighed. "It's not something I planned, alright. It must've been all that shouting and yelling and body contact… Merlin, when have I ever had shit for brains? I'm not even a man. At least you blokes have an excuse. All you have to do is blame your-"
"Oy! I totally resent that!" He sat up, frowning down at her. "I am not blaming my dick on this one. It was never about that with you. Even when I didn't know what the hell was going on between us that summer you came to Privet Drive, it wasn't just about sex. You were the one who seemed to think it was just a sex-thing."
She sat up, glaring at him. "You know it wasn't like that for me at all. And for your information, between the two of us, you're the one who slept with a bunch of women without feeling anything for them. At least I somehow cared for every man I've slept with. Well, except maybe for that one bloke… can't remember his name… anyway, the point is-"
He pulled up his knees and leaned his elbows on them, hanging his head between his shoulders as he ruffled the hair on his head. "The point is, Hermione, I still love you. That's the God's awful truth of it. I still love you. Do what you want with that information, for all I care. Ron'll probably sock me for being spectacularly stupid, telling you all this. But hey… it's not like you hadn't figured that out by yourself. I hadn't exactly been subtle about it. So, yeah, I'm not going to play hard-to-get, especially when you let me kiss you like that… but Merlin, I was so going to have my wicked way with you…" He tried to laugh, but it came out weak and bitter.
She didn't say anything, and as he looked over his shoulder at her, he saw that she had pulled her knees up to her chest, embracing her legs loosely. "I'm sorry, Harry."
He sighed again. "Yes, well… takes two to screw, I suppose."
"That's not what I mea-I'm talking about five years ago, Harry. I'm sorry. I've said it to Ron but I haven't said it to you. I'm sorry for the pain I caused you. Especially because I left without saying goodbye… but I had to go, and I couldn't have if I had to explain to your face why. It was a cowardly thing to do. Not very Gryffindor, but it was the only way I knew to go about it without failing. So yeah… I'm sorry… for breaking your heart."
He stared at her, and she actually looked like she meant it this time. There was no chill to her tone; none of the ferocity she had shown so abundantly in the last few days. It was just Hermione, and after she tried to hold his gaze, she gave up and looked away.
He let his gaze lower to the soft sheets of the bed, a confession on his lips. "I never read it."
"What?"
"The letter. Your letter. I never read it."
Her jaw dropped slightly, staring at him in disbelief.
He expelled a breath. "I never read it. I tried, but I couldn't. I was so scared that reading the letter would end all hope for me. I didn't want closure. I probably could've gotten that from your letter, but I didn't want it. I just wanted to find you and-well, I don't know-make you want me back as badly as I want you back?"
She frowned. "Harry-"
"I've spent the last five years being among your kind. You vamps… you're equal parts amazing and terrifying, but humans have a tendency to forget that vamps are about as different from each other as humans are. Your kind is the flip-side on the coin that's supposed to be human kind. We like sunshine, you like the dark. We fear death, you embrace it. We breathe life… you drink it. You said once that I couldn't understand vampires. Maybe I don't. Maybe I won't, ever, but I've seen the worst of your kind. I listened to you order the beheading of a werewolf. I watched you shoot a man and threaten the woman he loves with pain. Hermione… I don't know if you've noticed, but… I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere."
She made no response, but she didn't look particularly contrary, either. "Do you still have the letter? Or did you throw it away?"
He pursed his lips against every spiteful thing that bubbled to his brain about that cursed epistle. "I didn't throw it away."
"Perhaps now that I'm here, you don't have to be afraid anymore. Read it. You might learn something."
"I've learned all I wanted to learn. I don't need to read it."
She shrugged, releasing a shadow of a sigh. "Whatever you want, Harry."
"You know what I want."
She shook her head and lowered her gaze to her knees.
He lay back down on the bed. He looked at the brown hair cascading down her back and began to play with a curl again, running his fingers through it.
"Stop that," she said, frowning.
He smiled slightly. "Why?"
"Because it makes me uncomfortable. Stop that."
He chuckled and pulled his hand back. "So now, what are we going to do with this room? Seems an awful waste of romantic ambience."
Her frown deepened. "Alright, I give in."
For a moment, Harry actually thought she was-well, going to sleep with him, but then the head that was better at this logic and reasoning thing told him that knowing Hermione, it was something completely different. He was right.
"So you've become a smooth-talking, insufferable cad. You're completely entitled to that being a randy, twenty-something, attractive male. You seduce women and have gotten really good at it, and assuming you're still the Harry I know, somewhere in that over-sexed muck you call your personality, you wouldn't be lying about your Sex Stats. I can live with that, but can you explain to me what the hell was up with you dating Cho Chang? I mean, what was that? Ran out of girls? What?!?"
He laughed. He really did and it caused her to glare at him malevolently. He was too delighted by all this to get upset by the look of pure hatred in her eyes. "I love how you say Cho Chang like she's some sort of rash on your you-know-what!"
"I told you what I thought of her, Harry. I called her a ditz, and you know what? I don't care if I sound like a berk, but I have to ask: Did you date her to get back at me? Tell me the truth!"
He wanted to jump her and pull her into his arms. It was satisfying to listen to her this way. He grinned. "No. I didn't date her to get back at you. I really did fancy her. She's actually much sweeter than we thought. And she cared for me, so yeah, you sound like a berk."
She sneered. "Humph. Whatever. Could've been worse, I suppose. You could've dated Lavender. If you really wanted to give it to me, that would've been a kick in the box."
Kick in the box! He laughed at that. "And just for the record, you've got me completely wrong on the matter of smooth-talking-what was it?-oh, yes, insufferable cad. If you think I'm smooth and savvy at all, it's because I'm talking to you."
She actually blushed, rolling her eyes sheepishly. "Easy, am I?"
"Are you kidding? If you're easy, who needs a challenge? Somewhere between the Yule ball and this moment right here, you decided you were going to make every man bleed and break for you before you gave them the time of day. I can only hope I got one up over your other ex-boyfriends. I'd settle for a tie with that Tantric-sex bloke, though… that's like a whole different level…" he muttered.
"His name was Adrian and it was only Tantric to a point. We ended up screw-"
"Let's see, how am I going to make this clear? It. Hurts. Me. When. You. Go. Into. Details."
She opened her mouth to say something, and from the look of it, it was going to be an argument, but she seemed to think better of it. "Sorry. I'll shut up about that now."
"Yeah. That would be kind of you. But now you have to answer me truthfully, because I deserve to know after everything you've put me through. Are you ready for my question?"
It almost made him shudder with delight, the outrage in her eyes. Getting to her was invigorating!
Her jaw hardened, but she replied. "Sure. I'll answer your stupid question."
He coughed to stifle his laughter. "Hermione… were you being jealous just now? And at the lake?"
She looked positively like she was going to explode. He could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. "Do I have to answer that?"
He grinned cheekily. "I'm in love with you. I thrive on constant affirmation."
She growled and jumped off the bed, storming towards the door.
He laughed. "Where are you going?"
"Out!"
"You haven't answered my question!"
"You can bloody well choke on it, for all I care! Hell will freeze over…"
Harry suddenly didn't care what she said next. The pain on his forehead struck him like a flash of fire, searing through his skull. The awful incantation of an unforgivable curse echoing in his mind as he watched-with tormented horror-Bellatrix Lestrange screaming at the unbearable pain of a Crucio.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry could hear voices as he rose out of unconsciousness. People were talking around him in semi-loud voices.
"Is he going to be alright?" came a voice, male.
"Yes, Mr. Hughes. If you'll all just step back and give me room, I will make sure of it."
Harry knew that last voice well. Madame Pomfrey had never ceased to be a presence in his life. Ron often said Harry ought to be paying for the good healer's salary.
"I love medicine women. The lot of you are so hot, uniform and everything."
"Lucien!" someone hissed. Harry knew that voice well, too. He would always know Hermione's voice.
"Mr. D'Godenot!" cried Madame Pomfrey, though Harry thought she didn't sound as disapproving as she ought to be. "Shameless!"
"Tell me to behave. Oh, please tell me-ouch! Mother fucker, Hermione! There's no need to be jeal-OUCH! Y' bleedin' swamp donkey, that hurt!"
"Sorry, Madame Pomfrey," whispered Hermione. "Goodness… he's never called me a swamp donkey before. That's new. What does that even mean? Makes no sense, even for swear words."
Harry groaned, squeezing his eyes tight at the pain reverberating through his head.
There were gasps all around him.
"Ouch," was all he could say for the meantime.
"Harry?" It sounded suspiciously like Ron, except it was ten times louder, and it was designed to cleave Harry's head in two from the inside. "Speak to me, mate. Say something."
Harry reached out at the blur that was Ron and put a hand between them. "Get… out of my face… too loud…"
"Oh. Sorry."
At that point, Madame Pomfrey fussed over him. She gave him a soothing spell and the ache in his head diminished considerably. She sat Harry up and propped pillows behind him, handing him a tea-like potion and ordering him to drink it slowly. It didn't taste bad at all, and he detected a hint of honey. It was certainly better than the nastier tasting potions.
She checked him over several times before finally pulling away, telling everyone that if she caught any of them aggravating him, they were all going to be thrown out of the hospital wing. The swish of curtains signified that she had finally left and closed them in.
"Solomon, give him his glasses," Hermione said.
Solomon did, and gingerly, Harry slipped his glasses on.
There was Ron, Hermione, Lucien and Solomon. He wondered where everyone else was. Such fainting spells as this tended to elicit the anxiety of everyone. Voldemort in the head of the Boy Who Lived was certainly cause for worry.
"Everyone's asleep," Ron explained, perhaps seeing the question in his eyes. "Hermione thought it best to let them, so that they wouldn't bother you."
He shot her a grateful gaze, from which she looked away.
I suppose that means I ought to forget about our little snog session in the Room of Requirement.
Her gaze flickered for a moment, as if she heard him, but she made no response.
"What happened?" Ron asked. "Hermione said you were talking when your scar hurt. What did you see? Was Voldemort hurting someone again?"
Talking when it…? Harry almost laughed, but he didn't. One, it would hurt to; two, he had to respect Hermione's need to keep it all secret; and three, he didn't want anybody else to know, either. It was difficult enough with the two of them; they didn't need the whole of England butting into their personal life and putting undue pressure on an already awkward situation.
Harry nodded. "He was. Bellatrix. He must've found out that the train raid was unsuccessful. Or maybe he found out Hermione was still alive. Hard to tell. All I know is he was really teed off."
"What was the-"
"Crucio, again. Damn bugger's too fond of that bloomin' curse…"
"I bet he chains Bellatrix to a rack when he shags her," Lucien said, grinning.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ugh! Spare us your fantasies, Lucien. Especially the ones about Voldemort."
"Well, it's not like I get off on him," Lucien explained. "It's purely academic. Tell her about our project, Solomon."
"Oh, yes, our project," Solomon said. "We're making a study about the sexual behaviors of Evil Overlords. So far, we've broken down Darth Vader, Sauron and Stewie, that baby from that yank cartoon."
"Don't you boys talk about anything except sex?"
"Well, what else is there to talk about?" asked Lucien.
"There are many things to talk about!"
Solomon nudged Lucien. "I knew she'd object."
"Oh, she's just deprived, is all."
"LUCIEN!"
"Don't call it sex when Hermione's around," said Solomon in a teasing tone. "Call it, 'making lurve.'"
Lucien laughed. "Oh, you know what I think about making love."
They looked at each other, evil grins pasted on their faces. "It's what a woman does while her boyfriend is fucking her!" they cried in unison as they slapped each other's backs.
Harry couldn't help it. He smothered a laugh. Ron tried to stifle his laughter, which caused him to choke ungracefully.
Hermione was livid. She looked about ready to explode. "You know, you two, sometimes you just-argh! Maybe I ought to just leave you boys to talk about screwing women while you scratch your bullocks and drink beer. How about that?" She turned to leave.
Harry chuckled. "Hermione, don't go. They were only joking. Come now, I just woke up from getting scar-zapped. I need you here."
She stopped in her tracks and she turned to glare at him.
He gave her that look and she rolled her eyes. "Fine. But only because you asked so nicely." She directed her daggered gaze at Lucien and Solomon, sparing one for Ron, as well.
"Thank you," Harry said, giving the others his own look of warning. "Will someone be a gentleman and get her a chair? Please?" He could very well pull up a chair for her with his magic, but he figured Solomon and Lucien needed the brownie points.
His words seemed to appease her and as expected, Lucien and Solomon scrambled to fetch Hermione a seat. They set it near Harry and he noted only the slightest hesitation from her as she sat.
"How frequent have these attacks been?" she asked, all business in an instant.
Harry obliged her. "None more often than when they first began."
"Have you ever learned anything from these attacks at all?"
"Just that he punishes some more than others. There's not much to tell."
She pondered this a bit before looking at Lucien and Solomon. "You two. Out."
Lucien pouted. "But we brought you a chair!"
"It's not about that, you blithering idiot. But I really ought to smack the both of you for saying such vulgar, misogynistic-"
"Of course, Hermione. Whatever you say!" Solomon said hastily, shooting Lucien a glare as he hustled the both of them out.
She looked to Ron.
Ron frowned. "Are you going to tell me to get out, too?"
"No, but I will ask you to keep this between the three of us."
"You know I will."
"Good." She turned her attention to Harry and began to speak in a lowered voice. "Have there been any hints at all that Voldemort knows you've been destroying his horcruxes?"
Harry had given that particular question a lot of thought in the last five years. He matched her soft tones. "None. It's even more likely he's blocking that particular bit from me. What's scaring me is that he hasn't let on that he's done anything about it."
"Which probably means he is doing something about it. I'm going to look into that spell Paolo told us about."
Ron nodded. Harry had told him about it in the train. Ron, however, didn't know how Hermione extracted the information. It was Hermione's story to tell.
"Have you ever heard of such a spell?" Ron asked softly.
She shook her head. "No. It's not ringing any bells. However, I have a vague idea of where I'm going to look first. First thing tomorrow night, I'll begin doing research. In the meantime," she took a sheet of parchment from her pocket and gave it to Harry. "I made this research plan… before the meeting this evening. You can start looking in the library. I'd look with you, but the day thing… gets in the way, you know?"
He couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit touched. She had thought about researching the spell even when they were supposed to be at odds with one another. He must've looked at her weird because she tore her gaze from him and raised her eyebrow snootily in Ron's direction.
"Before I get into anything else," she said, "I have something that's been nagging me since our conversation on the train: What did Harry mean when he called you Mr. I Have A Meaningful Relationship With A Seventeen Year Old?"
Ron reddened.
"Ah," Harry said. He told her.
"Bloody fucking hell, Ron!" she shrieked. "Are you dead from the shoulders up? Or maybe just a little too alive from the waist down?"
"Ms. Granger!" gasped Madame Pomfrey from beyond the curtain. "Your language!"
Ron scowled. "Yeah, your language! I'm fine from the shoulders up, thank you very much, and it has nothing to do with sex. I haven't-well, we're waiting."
"Well, at least one of your heads is thinking!"
"Oy!" Ron cried. "Don't give me that! You and Harry were shagging each other like crazy when you were seventeen!"
"Mr. Weasley!" cried Madame Pomfrey. It wasn't that she was eavesdropping, just that their voices carried to the rest of the room, which, Harry found out later, wasn't exactly empty. There were a few patients from the attack on the train and also a couple of students who were probably too young to wake up to the damning sound of casual sex-talk.
She reddened. "We were BOTH-oh, sod it! Do what you want, Ron. You're old enough. Just make sure Gabrielle's old enough. Say, whatever happened to Luna? Didn't she have a crush on you back then? I think a weirdo is infinitely better than a child."
"Gabrielle is not a child and what is up with Luna? Did you two talk about this?"
Harry sneered. "No, Ron, we didn't talk about it, and Hermione, Ron and Luna are just friends."
She scoffed crossing her arms over her chest. "Used that one before. Fat lot of good it did… ended up shagging the brains out of the bloke."
"That better be me you're talking about," Harry pointed out.
She sighed, disgusted. "Oh, for goodness' sake, who else would it be? Drink your tea."
Harry did.
Ron got up, glaring at them both. "I don't know what you two were doing when Harry's scar acted up, because it seems to me you two have worked out some kind of arrangement, but I don't have to put up with your similar opinions about my dating Gabrielle. So you can just both of you shove it up your arses and leave me to my love life while I leave the two of you to yours." He turned and walked out amidst Harry's entreaties to stay and "not be like that."
Harry watched him storm through the curtains and leave. Harry was only mildly bothered by it, admittedly. He found that he was eager to continue his conversation with Hermione before Voldemort so rudely interrupted them. "Have we?"
She scowled. "Have we what?"
"Worked out some kind of arrangement?"
"The only arrangement we worked out so far was the position of our tongues down each other's throats."
He rolled his eyes but realized that he wasn't as upset about it as he should have been. Maybe it was because she had kissed him back so naturally when he began it in the Room of Requirement. Never mind that she put a stop to it later. In retrospect, maybe it was for the best, after all. It seemed wise to take it a bit slower. They were only just beginning to get used to one another again.
"I'm guessing," Harry said, "that you're going to tell me to forget it happened. Am I right?"
She reddened. "Well, what do you want me to say, Harry? Yes, you can cut the sexual tension with a knife? Let's just shag and see where it gets us?"
He wanted to roll his eyes again. He sulked instead. Why did she have to kill everything, anyway? "Worked the first time," he muttered.
Her scowl withered into a tired frown. "Is that what you want, Harry?"
He sighed, a dull ache beginning to settle between his eyes. Setting his tea aside, he lifted his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "No, of course not. I already know where that will get me, and I don't want to be in that place by myself. Do you understand what I mean?"
She didn't say anything for a moment. Finally, she looked up. "You have to put all that out of your mind," she said.
He shook his head, frustrated as he looked down at his hands. Didn't she get it? "I couldn't put it out of my mind, being away from you. What do you think your being here is doing to me?"
He was greatly astonished when her hands covered his, squeezing ever so gently. It caused him to look up, surprised, and her honeyed gaze met his green one. She seemed serious, but the cold had thawed from her eyes, and he found himself eagerly awaiting what she had to say.
"We will talk about this; about where we're going from here. But if you want me to consider… whatever possibilities you're thinking, we both need ample time to reacquaint ourselves with each other; being in this situation. It's different now. Surely, you know this. And perhaps you might even be surprised to realize that your… inclinations have changed. Does that sound fair to you, Harry?"
"That sounds like something you'd say."
She conceded it with a half shrug.
He turned his hands so it would be clasping hers. "We have to be honest with each other. No more mind games. And no more trying to make me think you're a cold, unfeeling monster."
She shifted uncomfortably. "It's… It's more a Coven thing. A habit, really."
"If it's a habit, it's a bad one. Quit it or we won't do it your way."
"I'll try."
"Don't try. Do."
"Fine. Whatever you say, Master Yoda."
"Master who?"
She sighed, smiling a bit. "Nothing. We've an arrangement, then?"
"That, we do. Not going to be easy, though… it's not like I could stop myself from being dreadfully attracted to you."
"I've just the thing for that," she said, much to his surprise. "There's a reason Yasmin sent me instead of someone else. I promised you I'd tell you what I know about the assassination attempt on me and my Shadow Kin, remember? I can't be absolutely certain about the reasons for it, but I can make a good guess."
He took a moment to shift gears in his psyche, and when he had it all sorted out in his head, he looked around him. "I need my wand."
She reached over the next bed stand and handed it to him. "Still feeling a bit weak?"
"A little." He flicked his wand around, warding their space so that no one would overhear. When he was done, he tucked his wand into his robe. "Alright. Hit me with it."
"They're trying to kill the messenger. There's something Yasmin told me to give to you, for you to unravel. It's something from the Oracle."
Harry began to get a bad feeling. "Please don't say it's a prophecy."
She hesitated. "Well… Yasmin didn't exactly call it a prophecy…"
He groaned. "Fuck me, why does it always have to be that? And why does it always have to be about me?"
"Yasmin insists that the Oracle doesn't give prophecies. The Oracle's main function has always been to guide. To dictate the best course of action or to say that something is very, very wrong. So it doesn't necessarily have to be all about you. Yasmin says you have a part in it, and it's a little bit about everyone else."
"Fine. Whatever," he said grudgingly. "Give it over, then."
"Sure, I can do that, but you mustn't unravel it until after I'm done with you."
"That either means you're going to shag me senseless or you're going to kill me. If it's the second option, can you just maybe shag me senseless first? I bet it'll make dying easier."
"You're lucky, but not that lucky. You're wrong on both counts. Yasmin sent me here to train you."
He stared at her for a moment. "She sent you to what?"
"Train you. You're good at what you do, Harry, but Yasmin thinks you can be better. She thinks you ought to be pushed to the limits of what you can learn from the Coven. Ergo, she sent me to train you."
"Why?"
"Well, I'm not a bad instructor, really-"
"That's not what I meant. What does she want from me? Why does she want me taught?"
She paused for a moment. "Honestly, Harry, I don't know. If she wanted something from you, she would've told you already. All I can say is that this is what she wants done; this is what she wants from you, and from me, so we do it that way. Anyway, it's not a bad deal, yes? So you killed six vampires. Big deal. You can't fight a vamp that knows how to use a sword."
He scowled. "I go up against a sword-wielding vampire-"
"Yes, it's suicide. This, I agree with if you weren't properly trained. I'm here to change that, and I know you can do it. I sparred with you tonight, and I've been studying your moves. You can learn this."
"And you say I can only unravel the Oracle's prophecy-"
"Not a prophecy."
"The Oracle's message, then. I can only unravel the message after you've taught me."
"Yes."
"I don't suppose you have a reason why. After all, they only tried to kill you so that you wouldn't be able to give it to me. Wouldn't it be logical for me to-oh, unravel it already and get it the hell over with?"
"That seems like the logical course of action, but according to Yasmin, the contents of the message could either have a very positive effect on you or a very negative one. She said it was better not to risk it and just make sure you're ready first before you unravel the message. She said this was very important, and that if you risked unraveling the message before you were prepared and it has a negative effect on you, then you'll get fucked, I'll get fucked, we'll all get fucked. Her words, not mine."
"Like proper fucked, right?"
"Yes. Proper fucked. I already told you: You're not that lucky."
Harry expelled a weary breath and rubbed his hand over his face. "Look, I'd just as soon not have another one of these messages burdening my mind, so really, I can just tell Yasmin to fuck off-and I do mean proper fucked-to get out of my face and to get another boy-toy to do for her whatever she needs doing. I don't need her using me anymore than she already has."
"Harry, it's not like this won't help you. I can train you to be a better fighter, and I can help you with other things, too."
"Like what things?"
"Just trust me, alright? You said so yourself. You believe I wouldn't hurt you."
"No, I believe you wouldn't betray me. Hurt me… well, that's a whole different issue now, is it?" he said through grit teeth.
She sighed, leaning back wearily. "Mind games, Harry. We promised each other, remember?"
He sighed, nodding. "Okay, I might bite with the training, but frankly, Hermione, I'm beginning to feel a bit iffy about what Yasmin wants. First she draws up the Order-Coven contract that's very beneficial to the humans then she wants me trained. What is she up to? I ought to be wary, and maybe I shouldn't be taking anymore favors."
"Yasmin said you'd doubt her motives, so when you did, she instructed me to offer something to force your cooperation."
Harry snorted. "What could she possibly offer me that I'd want so badly?"
She smiled apologetically. "Well… something valuable. Something you need. Something you simply can't refuse."
"You?" he joked gently.
She arched an eyebrow. "Do you really want me as a commodity, Harry?"
"Of course not, Hermione," he said, chuckling as he touched her chin with true affection. "Just couldn't think of anything I'd want more."
"That would've sounded very sweet if I didn't know what I was going to offer you in exchange for your cooperation. The fact is, see, Yasmin told me that should you be so reluctant to accept the training, I should offer you Gryffindor's staff."
There was a split-heartbeat's moment that, to Harry, felt like a profound void. Her words didn't register. "Gryffin-"
"In other words, Harry, she told me to offer you Voldemort's last horcrux."
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A/N: And there ends Chapter 20.
For the definition of "Making Love", I give credit to one of my friends who told the joke.
Sex and the City came up with the brilliant term "emotional chow-chow".