Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Resuscitation of Agapé ❯ Hearth, Heart and Hogsmeade ( Chapter 6 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Harry Potter and the Resuscitation of Agapé
Year 6 At Hogwarts
by Jessica X

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WARNING LABEL: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS. INGREDIENTS OF PRODUCT NOT COPYRIGHTED BY AUTHOR, BUT THE RECIPE IS. RATED R FOR MILD VIOLENCE/LANGUAGE, AND MATURE THEMES: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN. IF INGESTED, INDUCE VOMITING, THEN DRINK COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF SAKE.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Not much to say, really... new chapter, la la laaa~! I kinda like this one, though... mostly for the fluff near the end. But I digress.
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~*~ Chapter Six: Hearth, Heart and Hogsmeade

Harry's temper was flaring so strongly as he stormed into Greenhouse Five that he was almost sure his hair would go back to that awful tangerine hue.

"What's got you so steamed?" Ron asked.

"Snape is a pig-headed, cold-hearted, arrongant greasy GIT!"

"Yeah, he is. Now what's got you so steamed?"

As he pulled on his dragonhide gloves and began dumping soil into his pot, he related what had just happened in Snape's office.

"I don't like the sound of it, Harry," Hermione whispered. "I mean, why does V-Voldemort - Ronald, you've dropped your eggs! - want you to know so badly that his plans have almost culminated?"

"Who gives a damn," Harry grumbled, too irked with Snape to concentrate on the vision.

~*~

Now that Hermione had spilled and Harry didn't have a sense of impending doom looming over him, his second trip of the term into Hogsmeade seemed quite cheerful and bright, even if it was colder and darker this time of year. As he, Ron and Hermione strolled down the High Street, Cho came up to them. Hermione said she and Ron had to buy new quills, and pulled the befuddled Weasley off toward Dervish and Banges.

"You really do have a good friend in Hermione Granger," Cho said, trying to supress a giggle at Ron's vain attempts to escape Hermione's grip and return to where they were standing.

"I suppose I do," Harry said, a grin creeping onto his face.

Flatly refusing to reenter Madam Puddifoot's tea shop ever again, Harry suggested going to The Three Broomsticks. The bar's patrons were sparse that day, and the two of them selected a table near the back.

"So," Cho said.

"Yeah." He sat there a moment, staring at her hands. "Er, why don't I get drinks... butterbeer?"

"Okay," she said brightly.

He returned with two tankards, setting one down in front of her.

"Nasty thing the Slytherins did to you," Cho said, taking a sip.

"Yeah, I was thinking it's too bad it wasn't Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw," he said. "It would've made it an even match-up; both of us would've been flying like a pissed hippogriff."

Cho laughed, her white teeth glinting briefly in the low light of the tavern. "I'd have been so unnerved I would've started chasing a Bludger."

The afternoon slipped away from them as the conversation strayed down many paths, including Quidditch, homework, Cho's family, Quidditch, the Dursleys (Harry did not remain on this track for long), Quidditch, and more Quidditch. The two of them were just in the middle of a good-natured dispute over the fairness of the Wronski Feint when they were rejoined by Ron and Hermione.

"Got your new quills, then?" Cho asked, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

"No, I'd forgotten I had loads of spares in my trunk," Hermione said, beaming at the two of them. "Slipped my mind completely."

"Well, I wish you would've thought harder," Ron said sulkily. "You took ages in there! And I don't even need a new quill, my old one works just fine!"

Harry hid his face behind his tankard.

~*~

All too quickly, it seemed, the vast majority of the students were packing trunks and readying to depart. With shouts of "Happy Christmas!", the students slowly filed out of the castle. As he stood in the foyeur, wistfully watching Cho's long black hair fluttering in the breeze as she descended the front steps, Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sure you, Hermione and Luna'll have a good time," he said unconvincingly. "I'll be sending a present, and so will mum. And there's always the teachers."

"Don't cry for me, Ronald Weasley," he sang to the tune of an awful song he'd once heard. Ron gave a groan that turned into a laugh, then waved and exited.

Harry and Hermione turned to look at each other, and an uncomfortable silence fell the instant the great oaken doors had banged shut. After all these weeks of fleeting winks and pats on shoulders, jovial conversations with their other friends and ignoring less pleasant topics, it seemed they would at last have to talk about it.

"So," she began.

"That's that, I guess."

"Want to borrow a copy of The Quibbler?" Luna asked as she walked over to them. "To pass the time, of course. Plenty of time to pass over Christmas."

"Thanks, maybe later," Harry said politely.

"Oh, let's go visit Hagrid," Hermione said. "That'll be nice."

"I'm going up and pet the owls," Luna said breezily as she headed for the marble staircase.

~*~

"Happy Christmas, you two!" Hagrid bellowed, pulling the door wide. "C'mon in, c'mon in!"

Harry and Hermione hastily obeyed, stomping their boots on his welcome mat and shaking snow from their hair. Hagrid's beetle black eyes were glittering, and a wide grin was hidden behind his thick, tangled beard. "All righ', then? What yeh been up ter?"

"Not much," Harry said, sitting in one of the large chairs at the equally large table.

"Sounds ter me like yeh've been up ter quite a bit," Hagrid said in a low voice, winking at him.

"If you're talking about that nonsense with me and Cho-"

But Hagrid was chortling loudly, slapping his knee. "Oh, don' get yer knickers in a twist! I know yeh wouldn' be thick enough ter go an' do tha' sorta thing at school; OUTSIDE, no less!" Hagrid winked again and elbowed him in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. "But I do know you an' that Chang are gettin' on all righ'. Yeh could do far worse, y'know; she's quite a looker, eh?"

Despite the fact that Hermione was slightly affronted at such "guy talk", the three of them wiled away the afternoon, talking about any manner of things (Harry stubbornly steering the conversation away from his love life), sipping tea and pretending to enjoy his rock cakes (they avoided actually eating any of Hagrid's cooking, on the grounds that they may crack a tooth or end up in the hospital wing). Eventually, the sun began to set, and Hagrid shooed them out of the cabin.

"Well, the holidays are off to a nice enough start," Hermione said contentedly as they trudged toward the castle. Harry merely nodded in agreement, glancing behind him. The curtains of the cabin were drawn, and the firelight inside silhouetted Hagrid's massive bulk moving across the interior. Then he froze.

"I suppose now I could start in on my Arithmancy essay, or perhaps- Harry, what's up?" She backtracked a little to where he was standing, staring off into the Forbidden Forest.

"I thought I saw something moving in there."

They both peered into the dense trees, looking for any hint of beast or man within. They had only been at it for a few moments when they heard a voice from behind them.

"Ahh, Harry, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Good evening! Just going to visit our gamekeeper?"

"Erm," Harry said, slowly removing his gaze from the still trees. "Actually, just coming from there."

"I see. Well, I was just going down there for a private word, so I suppose it's just as well you're leaving, as we would've had to run you out, anyway."

Harry and Hermione smiled and said their goodnights, taking a brief moment to watch the headmaster stroll down the path toward the tiny hut.

"What did you see?" Hermione asked him as they reached the front doors.

"I don't know. I just saw movement, and a flash of eyes... then it was gone. I couldn't even tell what it was."

"So it could've been a wolf or a dog?"

"Or it could've been a person... or even one of Aragog's 'children'. I really don't know..."

As they reached the third floor, they ran into Luna, who was returning from the owlrey. She had owl droppings in her hair and on the shoulders of her robes, and Hermione immediately magicked her clean.

"Thank you," she said, brushing her sleeve needlessly. "I was just going back to my deserted common room. I believe I'll do a bit of reading, then go to bed. Really nothing to do with so few of us here."

They watched her go, dirty-blond hair bobbing wildly all the way down the hall.

"Well... what now?" Harry asked.

"We could do our homework."

"Hermione-!"

"There's nothing else to do," she said impatiently. "It may not be great fun, but it's just about the only option."

Harry sighed resignedly and followed her to the common room. Once inside, they ploughed their way through the Potions essay, an hour or two crawling by. As Hermione began to work on her Arithmancy, Harry stretched out in front of the fire.

"Layabout," Hermione said.

"Oh, come off it. We just finished an essay, we can leave the others for another night. It's not like we're going to suddenly run out of time."

Her quill paused over the parchment. "Maybe you're right. I wouldn't mind working some more, but I can certainly leave this until tomorrow. In fact," she said as she stoppered her inkwell, "if I do all my homework tonight, there'll be even less to do over the rest of the break."

"Good, it's decided." He yawned slightly. "Want to play a game of chess?"

"You mean, 'do you want to get utterly destroyed in chess'? You know I'm not very good at it."

"That's just because you never play. Your mind's as sharp as a bucket of razors."

Hermione blushed. "No, but thank you." She stood up and walked toward the stairs.

"Where're you going?"

"To stow my homework," she called back. Minutes later, she reappeared, carrying a quilt.

"What's that for?"

But in answer, she sat on the floor in front of the fire and draped the quilt over herself, leaning back on the edge of Harry's armchair.

"It's large enough for two," she said offhandedly as she settled herself. Harry hesitated, then slid off his chair and into the floor next to her, covering himself with the quilt.

Harry lost track of time as he sat there, enjoying the heat of the fire and the blanket, and watching Hermione's peaceful slumber. Then, to his surprise, she spoke.

"Are you really as okay with it as you seem?"

"What?"

Her eyes opened. "You seem to be okay with it. You know, with me."

"Of course I'm okay with you. We're mates."

"You know what I mean."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, I do. And, I am. We've got on the same as we have since then, and that tells me that you're still the same old Hermione."

She smiled. "I'm glad. I was witless over it."

"Then why send the letter?" he asked, a question that had come to mind once or twice before. "If you were scared to tell me, why suddenly send a letter when you did?"

It was her turn to sigh. "You seemed so despondent."

"Huh?"

"In your letter." She looked into the fire. "Remember the letter you sent back when I told you I'd been summering in the U.S.?"

"Kinda," he said, scratching his head. "I said I was irritated that you hadn't sent one before."

"Well, I couldn't," she said. "I don't own an owl, remember?"

"Oh yeah..."

"I had to wait until I got to Diagon Alley before I could write to you. So that's the first thing I did after I bought my schoolbooks."

"I also said it was great that you had a good time, and that I wish I could be there."

"That's not what you said."

"Well, pretty much it is."

She smirked at him, then reached underneath the quilt and pulled out an envelope.

"That's my letter! Why do you still have it?"

"It's the letter that made me want to tell you. It's important." With that, she opened it, unfolded the parchment inside, and read:

"Dear Hermione. Good to hear you've had a nice summer abroad, even if it's taken you ages to tell me about it. My summer's been lousy. The Dursleys are foul, wretched people, and I wish I could just die. But oh well, there's always next term, which'll be here soon. Sometimes I get so tired of being the Boy Who Lived... having to live here on Privet Drive because of it. I hate being different. Harry."

Harry made a sour, embarassed face as Hermione replaced the parchment in the envelope. "Oh, yeah... I'd forgotten how much of a rotten mood I'd been in that day... Uncle Vernon had ordered me to paint the entire house. I'm sorry, it must've been horrid getting a post like that when the one you'd sent was so pleasant."

A small, pained smile reached her mouth. "I felt for you so much, Harry... those four words, 'I hate being different'... they really touched me, because I knew how you felt. Any time I see you enduring bad press or unwanted attention, especially if it's only because of how you got your scar, my heart goes out to you. Neither one of us can help the ways we're different; I've had my disfigurement since birth, and you got yours shortly afterward." She sighed yet again, drawing her knees up under her chin. "And I guess I was just feeling particularly brave, or particularly reckless, when I'd finished reading it, so I decided I was going to tell you at last. I'm so weary of hiding it, I thought it would give me some relief if at least one person at Hogwarts knew, and you're my best friend, and I thought... I could only hope it would strengthen our bond instead of severing it. I could only hope..."

Her expression was unreadable. Harry's hand went to her shoulder almost of its own accord, and she looked up, startled.

"Huh?"

"Nothing... I just..."

And she smiled. In the flickering firelight, Harry was reminded of something that he had noticed almost exactly two years ago - something that had completely left his mind between that moment and this one. He saw what a beautiful young woman (was she a woman? Was that the right word?) Hermione was, how fragile, adorable, and elegant - a fact that had only become more real with time.

Her head slowly lowered onto his shoulder, and he draped the still-raised arm over her. To his confusion, his heart began to beat faster, and his mind went slightly fuzzy. This was his friend, Hermione. The strange reactions he was experiencing were ones he'd associated wih Cho Chang. Her bushy hair, so close to him and for longer than it had ever been, smelled strongly of the library (which he had somehow expected), but also held a light, refreshing hint of a flower of some sort. Under the palm on her upper arm, he could feel the slight movement that came with every breath she took. After several moments, increasing his unease, he felt an arm snake its way across his stomach, the hand attached settling on his ribs. It was enough to turn his brain to porridge. He was almost certain that he did not fancy Hermione at all, and yet here he was, so snugly beside her warm body, under a thick quilt, alone, in front of the roaring hearth.

"Thank you, Harry," she half-whispered.

He blinked. "For what?"

"For... being Harry."


~*~ To Be Continued