“I’m sure you are aware, Harry, that you’ve improved considerably since we first began our lessons,” said the headmaster one dismal day at the end of October. “Your time has got progressively shorter. You also show restraint much earlier.”
Harry sat silently, and waited for Dumbledore to continue. When he didn’t, Harry spoke. “Yes, but how long will it take for me to be done?”
“Done? You will never be done. One must practice continually; honing their skill. However, your lessons with me will end when you can throw off the Legilimens curse with ease.”
“And what if I never reach that point, Professor?” Harry had been suffering from the deep concern that he was much too stupid to ever learn Occlumency. He was plagued by self doubt with every trudging step he took toward the headmaster’s office several nights a week.
Albus Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to stare through him for a moment before the bearded man spoke. “It is imperative that you learn to close your mind. Possession from afar is still a concern, and could potentially be very dangerous. On the other hand, I have no doubt that you can and will learn, because you must. That said,” he began, “if you didn’t learn, I would set Peeves on you.”
Harry chortled at this.
“Legilimens!” Dumbledore shouted unexpectedly.
The young Gryffindor was thrown into torrential flashes of his own thoughts. Ginny’s face came up several times, causing his innards to seize up uncomfortably. Then, however, Hermione moved to the forefront of his thoughts and became a running theme. Angry Hermione. Melancholy Hermione. Perturbed Hermione. A dawning realization jerked him into a blinding light, and suddenly felt as if he was watching people through a cloud.
“Potter would be incentive!” burst a man in black.
“We cannot risk his life to lure him out of hiding,” said an elderly man.
“It’s worth it!” came another shout from the first.
Without warning, Harry was once again in his own body, staring through slightly dirty glasses. Beads of sweat trickled and tickled his temples. A dread seated itself in his chest. “Who said that, Professor?” he forced out tensely.
Albus looked back at his as if he were a foreign entity. Harry was irritated at the blank slate that was his face. Why does he always hide what he’s thinking?
“The lesson is over. You may return to your dormitory. I have much to do here.” Dumbledore hobbled around the large desk to meet his chair. He seated himself ponderously, and his hand propped his forehead.
Harry felt slighted. “But Professor!”
Fawkes squawked loudly, piercing the air as the door seemed to open on its own accord. He was rather taken aback at the clear message being sent. Somehow, he felt stupid for getting mad at a bird, so he spun on his heel and stalked back to Gryffindor tower, each step laden with preoccupation.
“Oh my gosh, Harry! That’s wonderful!” squealed Hermione.
Harry felt a heat on the back of his neck. “So someone in the Order wants to dangle me out in front of someone “ probably Voldemort “ and you think it’s wonderful? ”
“But you saw into Dumbledore’s mind!” beamed Ginny. “That’s got to be difficult.”
“Well, I know I did, but I didn’t mean to like when I . . . like last time,” he said pointedly at Ginny, who smiled gently.
“What turned the Occlumency around?” Hermione brought the subject back.
“I don’t quite remember . . . Something . . .” and realization and concern washed over his features. “Hermione?”
She glanced up from where she was staring intently at a chair leg. It looked as if charcoal had been smeared in the deep creases beneath her eyes. “What?”
“You’ve been . . . er . . . studying more than usual, right?”
“Yes, and what is your point?” she snarled. “We’re in our N.E.W.T. years. Some of us have to score well! Just because you don’t care . . .”
The three were stunned at her vehement outburst. “Hermione, we study too . . . and I don’t think he was having a go at you about it . . . You weren’t, right?” Ron asked, turning to Harry.
“No!” He thought it might be better to bring up Hermione’s obsessive studying later. He pulled a chair out at the study table where the others were sitting, and settled on the chair. He noted that the constant tune was once again raising its own volume when he accidentally pushed his leg up against another before the other was quickly withdrawn. He looked up to see Ginny blush, and he stirred with interest. Yet, he wanted to at least get an idea for why Hermione was so bothered lately. Attempting to do that directly might have cost him a limb, though, so he proceeded with caution. “Erm . . . So, have you got any more of the parchment translated?”
“I’ve been a bit sidetracked lately,” she said warily. “But I was hoping I could take a look at your ring again.”
“My wha-? Yeah, sure.” Harry had a sore time of twisting and coaxing the ring from his finger. He was sure it had been slightly loose when he first put it on. Finally, he handed it to Hermione, who spun it around to locate the mysterious symbol. Upon spotting it, she sketched it on the corner of her notes.
“D’you think it means something?” inquired Ron quietly.
It was clear from her scathing look that she had a retort for her boyfriend, but upon seeing the genuine interest on his face, she relaxed. “It looks almost like a rune I saw once.”
As they listened to the scratched bemoaning the ink’s establishment on parchment, Ginny chimed up. “Quidditch tomorrow! We should go to bed.”
She, Harry and Ron exchanged looks of excitement and anxiety, but they didn’t see a frown punctuating Hermione’s face.
Ginny had all but skipped to her dormitory when Ron pulled Harry aside. “D-do you think you could keep quiet if I invite Hermione to sleep in my bed tonight?” Harry’s eyes widened and his eyebrows disappeared beneath his hair. Ron continued, “No! Not like that. It’s just . . . look at her . . . She looks a bit like a mad woman.”
“And you think you can change that?”
Ron squirmed and scowled with Harry’s snickering. “I just . . . maybe if I was there . . .”
Then, Harry knew exactly what his friend meant, and worked furiously to repress chuckles rising from his stomach. “You mean you want to cuddle with her?” he mused, dropping his voice.
The red-head blushed in response. “Look, if you’re going to act like that about it “ “
Harry waved the complaint away. “I won’t tell anyone. Go ahead.”
Ron dashed off to talk to his girlfriend as Harry headed up to his bed. He was grateful for a plush pillow on which to rest his head. Tomorrow would be a trying day; he could feel it in his bones.
As soon as his eyes opened, Harry’s innards launched themselves into his throat. He thought that by his sixth year, he’d be capable of eating a scrap of breakfast on a Quidditch day; no such luck.
Contrary to his intentions in going to bed early, he’d slept fitfully. He’d begun dreaming of ancient tomes and searching endlessly for an answer he didn’t know the question to. Shocked at the cool temperature when he pushed down his comforter, he leapt out of his bed after ripping the hangings apart hastily.
Ron grumbled nearby in response to his audible shivering and reminded Harry that Hermione was likely in the room. Sure that she wouldn’t be keen on seeing his undergarments, he yanked on clothing and briskly rubbed his arms as he headed toward the Great Hall.
Sunlight blazed into groggy eyes once he entered the spacious room. He scanned the room and spotted a rather large lion’s head resting atop a blond-haired Ravenclaw. She spun around. Argh! She saw me! He searched desperately for some distraction; some way to escape what was sure to be an embarrassing moment, due to the monstrosity on her head. It was lucky for him that she tended to take her time meandering toward him. Suddenly, he spotted Lupin at the Professor’s Table. Then guilt began to gnaw at him. She helped in the Department of Mysteries, and when . . . and that one night ““
“Roar!” The hat proclaimed its proximity.
Harry took the lion’s announcement as a cue to walk “ as fast as he could inconspicuously do so “ toward Lupin. The daylight fell on his face in a manner that tugged at Harry’s memory. It was nearly the exact same pattern the moon played on his skin the night he told them about Kreacher’s death. The glare hit his own eyes as he neared, and remembered his visions of Hermione when he was bombarded in Dumbledore’s office. There’s no one else to tell about Hermione.
“Hello, Harry,” the Defense against the Dark Arts professor smiled gently. “You’re sure to do a top-notch job today.”
While he’d been surprised by Lupin’s confession, he did not think less of him; in fact, he was somewhat awed. “Er . . . I guess. Erm, Professor? Could I talk to you for a minute?”
The familiar crease graced his forehead. “Of course. Come with me.” They stepped out of the way into the Entry Hall. “Is everything all right?”
I can’t believe I’m tattling. “It’s Hermione. She’s obsessed with homework,” Harry said in a confidential rush.
Remus Lupin chuckled. “Good one.”
“She looks like hell. I don’t think she’s sleeping . . . and she hasn’t laughed or . . . or done . . . anything, really . . . in ages.”
“I see,” he replied in a more serious tone. “Has she told you about anything that may be bothering her?”
Harry screwed up his face. “No . . . not lately. But “ wait! “ that night? When you told us? She was already angry.”
“What about?”
“I can’t remember . . . something about a house elf bill. And, come to think of it, she had some kind of row with Malfoy.”
“Were any hexes or curses thrown?”
“I don’t think so, which is odd.”
“Hm,” he thought for a moment. “Well, thank you for letting me know, Harry. I’ll try to talk to her.”
When Harry re-entered the Great Hall, he found Ginny, Ron and Hermione already there. He flushed inwardly; sure Hermione had seen him talking to Lupin and just as acutely knew the conversation was about her. Yet, as he neared, ready to evacuate should she turn her fierce temper upon him, he found her smiling sleepily at him.
Argh! Why did I have to tell Professor Lupin? She’s finally ok, and now he’s going to dredge up the past! He took his place at the table, staring blankly at his empty plate. No. Still not hungry.
“It’s where food goes, Harry!” beamed Ginny.
He turned a false glare on her. “And why are you so cheerful? Be careful, or people might not think you’re serious about the game.”
Ron cut in. “She’s mad! She doesn’t get nervous before games.”
“Yes I do . . .” she mumbled unconvincingly.
“Must we always talk about Quidditch?” Hermione grumbled with a foul look on her face. So much for happy Hermione.
Ron was flabbergasted. “But it’s game day! Against Slytherin! You hate Slytherin, too!”
“I don’t hate Slytherin,” she sighed disconsolately. “It’s doesn’t help with house unity. It doesn’t help our cause.” Her eyes rested on some unspecified spot near the Slytherin table. While Ron’s face was pinched in confusion, Ginny’s eyes slowly widened with understanding after squinting a moment. Harry felt the sudden inclination to lift her slack jaw. “I mean, what’s the point of it . . . of all of it? It doesn’t matter . . .”
“It does matter, and it’s not meant to bring anyone together!” Ron shouted a bit too loudly, attracting many stares in the process.
“What’s the point, then, Ron?” she hissed. Harry and Ginny leaned back in an attempt to physically remove themselves from the argument. Hermione had never shown much interest in the sport. Harry wasn’t quite sure why they were arguing, though. They had always known Ron loved Quidditch and Hermione . . . well . . . didn’t.
“Victory! And to have fun and get a bit of exercise.”
Hermione snorted. “Exercise?”
“Well “ well maybe it’s all I’ve got!” Ron was red in the face, but paled when Hermione thrust herself to a stand, throwing her shoulders back.
“And what about me?” she glared angrily, pressing her finger into her chest.
“What about you?”
“Exactly!” she screeched, picking up her half-eaten egg and shucking it at Ron. Yolk splattered across his shoulder.
“Yuck!” His face crunched up as Ginny broke out in giggles despite the heated air. Hermione had already stalked halfway out of the Great Hall when Ron gathered the coherency to yell, “Bloody great, Hermione!”
Much to his dismay and embarrassment, the entire Slytherin table was in hysterics. Harry, however, was watching Hermione. She’d stopped quite suddenly and exchanged a glower with Malfoy. They took an otherwise unseen moment to indulge in their mutual hatred before Hermione’s shoes echoed her departure amid a chorus of giggles.
Harry was pacing the pitch high above the other players. Malfoy was directly opposite him, pretending to be looking for the Snitch, but really watching Harry intently for signs of movement. Really, following a person was much easier than following a tiny ball.
” Oh! Bad luck Weasley! Another ten for Slytherin! ” resounded through the stands after the clang signaling a goal. Harry groaned, but stopped midway. He thought he saw something toward the South end. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy stiffen. His tactic would undoubtedly be to merely stop Harry from getting the Snitch for a while. The game had been going on for hours, and for all their effort, the Gryffindors were down by thirty points. It wasn’t the offense, but the goal-keeping that was lacking. Ron wasn’t performing his best; his fight with Hermione was most certainly the cause.
There! Harry spotted it and bent low, furiously chasing the winged ball on his broom. Malfoy was nearly beside him, following his every turn. It darted upward, forcing Harry to fly up and over in a lip that churned his stomach. Somewhere below, another clang sounded, but it barely registered in his mind. Malfoy slammed hard into his shoulder, pushing him off track and gaining the lead. Harry pushed his broom to go more quickly. So close . . .
They leveled, and Harry could almost feel his fingers brush a wing when suddenly, it wasn’t there any more. A flash of a sinister face. A halo of long, blond hair. Hatred gleamed from the depths of the empty eye sockets, black as night. Harry recoiled and floated backward as a scream pierced his eardrum. Then it came again and again, striking like a threatened snake.
Harry pulled his gloved hands over his ears and simultaneously spotted the flutter of silk and a shimmer of gold. There! Something shouted within him and with a short burst of speed, he found the tiny Snitch fluttering contentedly in his hand.
The sun seared into his eyes as he stepped back outside. With a high-pitched squeal, there was a bundle of red hair and robes in his arms.
“Hey Ginny. Good game,” he grinned.
“Yeah!” she breathed. “I’ve decided to wear my robes for a while, as a personal sort of celebration. Want to go for a walk?”
“Sure,” he said while taking her arm in his elbow.
“Being a gentleman, are you?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Well, that. But it also makes it easy for me to throw you in the lake, you see. Aren’t you a bit sweaty under there?”
She only shrugged and tweaked a smile. “Good job on getting the Snitch. No offense, but you were taking forever!”
Harry scoffed. “Why don’t you just grab the Snitch then, if it’s so easy?”
“Oh, stop . . . What,” she began apprehensively, “happened up there?”
“Ah, don’t look so worried. I thought you wouldn’t be all that fussed if something happened to Malfoy.”
“Well, not really . . . Still, he was screaming like that still when they were taking him to Madam Pomphrey.”
Harry watched their feet, kicking slowly right, then left. He was contemplating accidentally (on purpose) stepping on her foot, until she elbowed him gently. “I suppose a face appeared mid-air.”
“A face?” she questioned disbelievingly.
“I don’t know. Maybe there are sky ghosts like how there are castle ghosts.”
“Why did you not scream, and he went off like a banshee?”
It was Harry’s turn to shrug. “I wasn’t really thinking on it. I barely saw it anyway. It was there for only a second.”
“Oh . . .”
There was an amiable moment of silence. “You did pretty well, too.”
“You think so?”
“Someone had to stop Slytherin from beating us.”
Ginny shook her head. “Ron didn’t do so well.”
“No.”
“He was thinking about his row with Hermione.”
“Probably.”
“It’s about time. He really needs to pay more attention to her.”
“He does! We’re around her all the time!”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she responded quietly. “She’s not happy.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because she’s our friend!”
“So? If Ron “ “
“It’s not just Ron! She’s lonely and she needs us. Can’t you see?”
“It’s impossible for her to be lonely. She’s surrounded by people “ “
“It’s not impossible. How thick can you be?”
“I don’t think that’s why she’s upset!”
“Then why, Sherlock?”
“She . . . Sherlock?” he nearly laughed.
Ginny’s ears blushed. “Dad made me read about him last summer.”
Harry stared, bemused, for just a moment.
“Harry?” she prodded.
“Can we talk about this later? Just for a while, I want to just . . . you know.”
She blew a red strand out of her face before replying. “Yes . . . I guess so.”
They soon approached an outcrop of rock. She slipped her hand down his forearm, intertwining her fingers with his. Harry suddenly felt as if there were feathers on the back of his neck. Still, he followed her lead and propped himself on the jutting rock. They rested in affable silence, the air tickling their arms as it whisked past them on its way to other lands.
Ginny cleared her throat and Harry watched her fingers fuss with one another. “Erm, Harry?”
“Yeah?”
Her finger was tapping an opposite nail. “Is there something wrong . . . with us, I mean?”
Harry’s stomach dropped. Why do girls always want to talk about feelings? “Er, no?”
“No, what I mean is . . . why haven’t you kissed me?”
“What?” he grunted stupidly. This was not a conversation he was keen on having . . . ever. He recovered enough to say, “I have!”
Ginny rolled her eyes behind the red veil that hid her face. “On the cheek . . .”
“That counts!” Harry wasn’t quite sure why he was angry. All he did know was that he’d been attacked a few times so far, and his girlfriend seemed to think he was doing everything wrong today. “What’s wrong with that, now?”
“N-nothing.” She breathed deeply and slowly blew out her air. “I just . . . thought you liked me more than ‘on the cheek’.”
Harry was fighting hard against the lump of flesh lodged in his throat. “I do,” he croaked. I do not want to talk about this. I do not want to talk about this. To his disappointment, his rear remained firmly on the rock.
“Then why?” Her nails emitted bursts of tapping.
“Dunno.” He slumped.
“That’s not the way I want us to be.”
“I know,” and he did.
“Can I?”
“Huh?” his voice cracked.
“Just . . . let me try, and then we’ll see, ok?” Ginny spoke clearly and slowly, as if to a frightened deer.
“Huh?” he squeaked even louder. He was sure it was hunger sending his stomach into chaos. Food! I should go eat! ran through his mind, but what came out sounded a lot like ‘Ok’.
Ginny leaned in a bit, but broke down into chuckles. “You could at least close your eyes.”
He thought it couldn’t be nearly as bad if he closed his eyes, so he did. He felt the tickle of her hair before anything else. The sensation pounded through his veins when she kissed him. Where do I put my hands? he panicked inwardly. But still, his eyebrows returned to their rightful place and Ginny’s hands slid into his. He responded hesitantly, enjoying the warmth. Then, as the heat began to fan through his body and his lips were moist, he heard a jarring sound.
“Get your effin’ face off my sister!”