Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Resuscitation of Agapé ❯ The Chemicals Between Us ( Chapter 7 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: jessica_x 
...in which an enjoyable Christmas holiday passes, yet things get weirder between the two of them...
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Romance / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.08.2004 | Pages: 5 | Words: 5.9K | Visits: 516 | Status: Completed
...in which an enjoyable Christmas holiday passes, yet things get weirder between the two of them...
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Romance / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 07.08.2004 | Pages: 5 | Words: 5.9K | Visits: 516 | Status: Completed
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 YOUR WEIGHT IN ORANGE JUICE.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Welcome back to Agapé! This chapter... well, just be prepared. I'd say there are basically three shocking chapters in this fic; one has already passed (three), one is currently on your screen, and one will come a bit later on. They're all shocking for various reasons, and I hope none of them startle you TOO horribly.
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~*~ Chapter Seven: The Chemicals Between Us
Unadulterated warmth penetrated and consumed Harry Potter. He was lying deep inside it, and it pulsated, coiling about him, sexual energies coursing through and around his body. He reveled in it, and was more than willing to let it permeate him forever.
A few spiderwebs in his head were brushed away, and he realized the warmth was coming mostly from beneath him. It was outlined in pinks and golds, and seemed to respond to his slightest movements. He caressed it, coaxed it. He became aware that beneath his lips lay texture, and he ate at it hungrily, tasting the heat and the energy, and the more he devoured, the entity seemed to exude more, if not to sate him, than to spur him onward. His teeth sank gently into the soft texture.
With no forewarning, the warmth beneath him faltered, shuddering, then reasserted itself, as heated as ever. A pain - no, a dozen small, sharp pains - dug into his back. His head swam slightly, and he became aware of the sensation of fabric.
Harry opened his eyes to darkness. His mind, still swimming in the sensations he had been experiencing and continued to experience, slowly fixed on the information that fabric was touching his chin and one of his cheeks, and something smooth was flat against his eyes. A moan reached his ear, and he realized its source was nearly joined with it, the vibrations telling him it came from the warmth. Agonizingly, he raised his head an inch, and the surface beneath his eyes came into focus as a blurry mixture of blue, brown and flesh-tone.
Quite apart from this, he became aware that he was at full arousal, and this was grinding into something soft, pliable; he continued to grind for a moment, sweat beading on his forehead, and the surface gave ever so slightly. He was also aware of an unidentifiable object cutting into his hip, and the needles in his back had given way to mild pressure.
As he continued his advance, panting, the moan came again, this time a more distinct "Ohh..." He moved an experimental hand, and it encountered soft flesh. Fingers closed around the back of his neck. Slowly, cautiously, he heaved himself upward.
Even as he stared, slack-jawed and aghast, disbelieving, the face of the figure beneath him opened her eyes, inches from his own, and her look mirrored his.
Nearly a full minute passed before Harry and Hermione recovered enough to fling themselves away from one another.
"WHAT-"
"HOLY-"
"OH MY-"
"YOU-!"
"B-BUT-"
"HOW?!"
This series of outbursts left them panting even harder than they were to begin with, and the next few seconds were spent staring at each other, trying to regain their breath, as well as some semblance of ordered thought.
Harry stumbled through the fog of confusion at breakneck speed. What in the fucking hell?! Why on earth had he awoken to find himself atop ANYONE, let alone HERMIONE?! Even as he thought this, his eyes flicked over her, noting the blue jumper that was rising and falling rapidly as she tried to settle herself, shadows outlining her peaks. His eyes strayed downward, and even without his glasses on, he could see that her somewhat tight jeans were now quite a bit tighter.
"Oh God," he said after a moment, closing his eyes in an attempt to stave off the growing queasiness. "Oh God, oh God, oh GOD-"
"I can't-," she was babbling. "This - there's no - how could we possibly-"
He opened his eyes again, determinedly not allowing them to stray to her crotch again. His gaze found the quilt.
"Merlin," he breathed. "Last night... the quilt, the fireplace-"
And that's when he realized they were on the floor, in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. His glasses were laying under an armchair right next to him.
"Oh," Hermione breathed, the hysterical quality in her voice lowering a tiny notch. Her eyes dropped downward slightly, and in more of a squeak, "Oh!"
Harry followed her gaze, then whipped a pillow from the chair into his lap. Hermione grabbed the quilt and hastily pulled it over her legs.
As he snatched up his glasses, he could see Hermione was staring off into space, now clearly dismayed beyond speech. He shoved them back onto his face. He now felt calmer, but only by about half of an iota.
"Maybe," he began, his voice trembling so badly he could barely manage it. "Maybe... we should just... just go to bed..." He knew it was a weak suggestion, as sunlight was streaming through the windows.
But she nodded. Still clutching her quilt, she tried to stand, then fell back to the floor with a thump.
Before he could stop himself, Harry darted forward to help her up. It was only when one hand had closed around her arm and the other around her shoulder that he realized he'd foolishly left the pillow behind.
Hermione's eyes darted to his pelvis, then snapped shut. He could see she was on the verge of tears, and he could feel them beginning to form in his own eyes, as well. Carefully, he bent down and pulled her into a terrified, clinging hug, his hand stroking her hair without realizing he was doing so.
"N-no-"
"Shh."
Unlike the first time, she had barely struggled against his hug, and her hands curled around his shoulders. "Ha... Harry... I... but... I can't... why..."
Her voice was choked and wavering. He opened his mouth to reply somehow, but no sound came. She began to sniffle quietly, and nothing more came to him than to keep holding on, to harbour this frightened girl as if breaking the embrace would undo the world.
"Harry... we, we shouldn't... you shouldn't be..."
"I... I don't know what- what else to do, I-"
"But I'm... and you're... and..."
Next moment, she had reached up to her neck. When she pulled her hand away, two of her fingers were glistening.
"You... you were... I remember..."
"So do I," Harry croaked, faintly recalling trying to devour her flesh. "I... I didn't-"
"I know." She was still shaking like a leaf. "But... but we were so... in the dream..."
He knew what she meant. The dream had been so erotic, so heated and passionate. How could such a feverish desire grow from no desire whatsoever?
But as soon as that thought had passed, he knew it was not true. The desire HAD existed - in fact, it had been born in him right before the dream. He could not be sure of when it had been born in her, if it had at all; maybe she was just a victim of his subconscious's libido.
He cursed himself. The blame lay squarely on his shoulders. He had turned a beautiful, strong friendship into something darker, something bereft of the innocence and joviality that had once defined it. He somehow knew there would be no going back.
"I'm sorry."
Harry's eyes flew open. He had not been the one to say it.
"Wh-what for? It's my fault that-"
"I-" And she stopped. A few seconds passed in silence before she could go on. "A voice in the back of m-my mind kept saying if... that it would be a mistake to sit with you under that quilt, that it would... it would bring us _too_ close."
Relief and sympathy washed over Harry, colliding and mixing with each other.
"Hermione, I... I felt it, when you put your head on the... on my shoulder. I felt so strange, but... I didn't want to let you go."
She at last drew back, looking into his startlingly green eyes with her sharp brown ones, currently dulled by tears of shame. "I didn't want to let go, either, but... I knew I should... Oh, Harry, you must hate me so, you must want to kill me for doing this to you, I'm such rubbish, I don't deserve-"
"Shh," he said sternly. Her mouth, still trying to finish the sentence, fell silent. He raised a hand and wiped a tear from one of her eyes. "You... there's no way this is your fault. And I couldn't kill you if I tried, never in a million years." He had no trouble saying this, as no matter the nature of their relationship now, he knew it to be true.
She managed another laugh-sob. "I'm ever so grateful, but you should at least try first."
Harry grinned blearily. 'That's my girl,' he thought. Then he realized what his mind had just referred to her as, and a sinking feeling spread through him.
'My girl'. Was that what she was? She wasn't even a girl, not in the literal sense. But the possessive form his thoughts had taken startled him. Hermione Granger was NOT "his girl". She was a friend, and they had accidentally become too close for one brief, terrifying moment. Harry didn't know if they'd ever be the same again, but he knew that the prospect of Hermione becoming more than a good friend was something he was not ready for.
"I'm... I'm going to bed... I'll... see you later."
Hermione nodded again. Harry wiped another tear from her eyes, tried to flash her something like a reassuring smile, then turned and hurried up the stairs.
~*~
As he lay there, staring at his canopy, Harry tried to relinquish all thought, to blank his mind so as to fall asleep again. Unfortunately, he was unable to do this - it was main reason he had failed at Occlumency. It was easy for Snape, he didn't have quite as much on his mind; though a small part of Harry suspected that was not true, it made him feel better thinking it. He also realized that he would in no way be tired, as he had just awoken. Nevertheless, he stayed, staring into nothing, trying in vain to wipe recent events from the forefront of his consciousness.
When Harry heard distant footsteps, he glanced at his watch. Two hours had passed. He once again set about clearing his head, but was interrupted as the door burst open.
Light from the hall framed Hermione, making her hair appear to glow. After a moment's pause, she half-ran to Ron's bed and sat down heavily, gazing unblinking at him. She still looked distressed, but her face was set, and her watery eyes had regained a determined gleam.
He found he did not much care to look at her; it stirred and amplified the feelings he had been trying to bury. "H-Hermione-"
"Be quiet," she said softly, a lump still lingering in her throat. "Please, just listen."
A surge of unwanted indignation flared in Harry. Not only had she just burst into his dormitory (a boys' dormitory!) without so much as a knock, but she had just shushed him. However, whatever she had to say seemed important, and admittedly he did want to hear it.
"If we just go our separate ways right now... and we don't confront how we- what just happened," she said nervously, "it might get weird."
"You mean what just happened wasn't weird enough?" An edge crept into his voice.
"Hush," she reiterated. "What I'm trying to say is... I think we should talk about it now, before the weirdness sets. Before we start acting uncomfortably around each other, until it gets to the point where we can't even talk. To the point where... we lose our friendship."
Harry melted. What she said struck a chord. He realized this prediction was probably accurate, and it was one he did not want to come true. To lose Hermione...
"Shaking your head won't fix it."
Harry blinked, then realized he had in fact been trying to fix it that way.
"Hermione, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"
"What do you mean? It's not like I wasn't involved."
"But I was on top of you," he said, trying not to think about what he'd just said. "I must've been the one to roll onto you, it's my fault."
"Oh, don't blame yourself for that," she said, a half-smile playing at her lips. "We were asleep, silly!" Her face hardened again. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine... I shouldn't have thought we could cuddle like that without any consequences. Reckless, stupid..."
"Oh yeah, that's right," Harry said lightly. "It's all your doing!"
When her eyes widened and her lip began to quiver, he hurriedly spoke again. "I'm kidding, just kidding! Please don't cry, Hermione..."
Her eyes rolled, then shut, and she covered her mouth with her hand. "It's not funny. This is not funny, none of it. It's... I don't know what it is."
"I'm sorry, you're right. I shouldn't be ribbing you about this, it's not on. What a git," he whispered harshly to himself.
"You're not a git." She had lowered her hand, and her words were soft. "I don't hate you, I just... I'm not sure what we can do. But I know we have to do SOMETHING."
Harry raised his head, and slowly began moving his brain in a deliberate direction. Hermione was not a girl. She was not a boy, either. That left only one thing - she was his friend. His friend who he had accidentally ended on top of while sleeping, and nothing more. He forced his thoughts to compare the event to accidentally rolling on top of a pillow, and awakening to find you'd been trying to knob it. Strange, yes, but not cause for any concern, and certainly no reason to chuck the pillow in the bin. The same applied here. All darker, more meaningful thoughts were pushed from his psyche, as he knew if he concentrated on anything else, this wouldn't work.
When he spoke, she had been opening her mouth to speak, but fell silent at his words. His voice was somewhat formal. "Hermione, I apologize for rolling on top of you. That was quite inconsiderate of me, and I was probably a bit heavy. I hope I didn't crack any of your ribs or anything, and I assure you this will not happen again." He hesitated. "I'm also sorry for drooling on you, because now you'll have to bathe."
She had been listening intently, an intense relief slowly invading her features. At the last line, she laughed, a musical, genuine laugh.
Harry grinned. "Everything top drawer, then?"
"Top drawer," she managed around her laughter.
They shook hands, then collapsed in fits of mirth. It was the happiest Harry had felt all year, and though he was still a touch shaky, his soul felt lighter than it did when he was astride his Firebolt.
"Want some breakfast? I'm _starving_."
"Yes, let's!"
~*~
The subject of that morning in the common room was not explored further. Harry, in such coy fashion, had effectively voiced what Hermione was probably going to say; that it was a mistake, and though it made for an extremely awkward moment, there was no real harm done.
As the days drifted by, they entertained themselves by playing Exploding Snap and Gobstones (Hermione still flatly refusing to go near the chessboard), doing their homework, and reading quietly by the fire. Luna would sometimes join them, usually setting up in the Room of Requirement (which obligingly contained all the games they could ever wish to play, or a load of reference volumes). It was too cold for Harry to take out his Firebolt, but occasionally, they took long walks on the snowy grounds, sometimes dropping in on Hagrid. Their idle chatter seldom strayed to "that morning," as they now referred to it when necessary.
The only dark spot in an otherwise enjoyable holiday was another vision. It was so vague that Harry payed it little mind; another flare of rage, similar to the one he'd felt when he and Ron were returning from Hogsmeade. Voldemort had been denied what he sought again.
On Christmas morning, Hermione came bouncing into Harry's dorm, her arms loaded down with presents. He was momentarily startled, but then realized they might as well open them together.
Harry received another green sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a tin of white fudge; a pocket Foe-Glass from Alastor Moody; some Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and a few Chocolate Frogs from Ron; a photo of Harry's father, transformed into a stag, from Lupin; and an odd, light-green crystal pendant in the shape of a heart from Hermione. It was glowing.
"Thanks," Harry told her, dangling the crystal in front of his face. "But this... it looks a bit pricey..."
"It was." She pulled at the neck of her blouse, and produced an identical one with a transparent brown crystal. "The colour of our eyes, of course."
"Well, it's great, but you shouldn't h-"
"There's more. See how they're glowing faintly?"
"Yeah..."
"They glow brighter when they're closer to one another," she said, sounding a bit embarrassed. "Here, look, when they come in contact..."
She rose from Ron's bedside and walked over, touching the two crystals together. Instantly, their colours faded, and they were shining brilliantly, a pure white.
"Wicked," he breathed.
"I... I dunno, I feel so much closer to you after..." She was blushing and examining her shoes. "I just saw them, last time we were in Hogsmeade, and I..."
"I love it," he said earnestly, beaming as he fastened the silver clasp behind his neck. Hermione grinned from ear to ear, then pecked him on the cheek.
~*~
Christmas dinner found the two of them seated at a single, long table in the Great Hall due to how few students were there; aside from themselves and Luna, there was a Hufflepuff second year by the name of Blake Pieper, whom the older students and teachers seemed to intimidate without any intent to do so.
"Cracker, Mr. Pieper?" Dumbledore said brightly, holding a bowl in front of him. The boy took one hesitantly, then pulled. He jumped as it exploded, dropping a slide whistle and a live gopher into his mashed potatoes.
The items from the silver crackers were as ridiculous and light-hearted as ever. Dumbledore was wearing gold-framed sunglasses over his half-moon spectacles, and Snape had reluctantly donned a pink cowboy hat. Harry had shoved the purple tiara he'd gotten onto Hermione's head, and she'd tried to get him to wear the furry green slippers that had emerged from hers ("But they match your eyes!"). Professor Sprout had received a dreidel, which she was puzzling over and prodding warily before Dumbledore explained that it was a Jewish Muggle artifact. Luna was contentedly wearing her surprise; a top hat made of zebra skin with a peacock plume stuck in it, which she had thought was quite elegant, and had commented that she would probably try wearing it often.
"An' then he says to the poor sod, he says," Hagrid bellowed as he wiped his eyes, a gaudy turtle shell necklace adoring him festively and his face a deep crimson from the steady flow of wine he'd been consuming, "'GET OUT, or I'll chop off yer other one!'"
Most of the teachers, Blake and Harry exploded with laughter, while Hermione unsuccessfully tried to look disgusted, eventually grinning in spite of herself. Snape allowed himself a smirk, and Luna was apparently not paying attention, eyes fixated on her cranberry sauce.
~*~
"Harry, you mustn't!"
He rolled his eyes, dropping the Invisibility Cloak back into the armchair. "But what's the harm? I'll be back in no time, you'll see."
Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "Fine, then, but if you get caught and we lose house points, I'll make sure everyone knows where they went!"
Harry grinned, holding up the cloak and a bit of parchment. "But I won't. Back in a few."
As he whirled the cloak around himself and headed toward the portrait hole, he saw she was standing there, her arms folded, and looking scornfully in his general direction.
"Aww, don't be like that."
She rolled her eyes, an action much more pronounced than his had been. "I'm going to bed."
"Wait, don't-!"
"I want no part of such frivolous activities."
He pulled the cloak off. "If you go to bed now, there's no point in me doing this. Please, wait up." He smiled at her in what he hoped was an innocent fashion. "I just want to make it a proper celebration."
She shook her head, determined not to smile, but she couldn't help it. "You are an arrogant, foolhardy boy."
He grinned, replaced the cloak and raced out the portrait hole.
Once outside the common room, he tapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The Marauder's Map came alive, ink spreading across the parchment and outlining the grounds of Hogwarts. He found the dot labeled "Harry Potter", then looked around it carefully for anyone he might want to avoid. Dumbedore was in his office, Filch was in the Astronomy tower, and Snape was in his classroom. He set off for the statue of the one-eyed witch.
He met no obstacle, and after several minutes, he was tapping the statue with his wand and muttering "Dissendium." Harry stashed the cloak at the bottom of the slide, muttered "Lumos!" to light his path, then flew down the corridor to the cellar of Honeydukes, and made better time than he'd ever done.
Half an hour brought Harry back to the cellar of Honeydukes, laden with six bottles of butterbeer and an assortment of candies. He'd been tempted to pick up some firewhisky from the Hog's Head, but wasn't sure he even wanted to try it. As he flew down the narrow passageway, glowing wand tip held high, he managed to get the bottles into the bag of sweets one-handed. When he reached his cloak, he put down the bag and pulled the map out.
He glanced around to make sure no one was near the statue. The path was clear. He made to stow the map again, then did a double take.
"That can't be," he whispered aloud. "No, impossible..."
He pocketed it, rubbed his eyes, wiped his glasses on his shirt, then looked again. The dot and name attached had vanished.
"Trick of the low lighting," he muttered. Then, staring at the map carefully, he double-checked any potential dangers. None. He tapped it with the glowing wand and muttered "Mischief managed," wiping it clean, draped the cloak over himself, grabbed the bag of goods and headed out of the statue and straight for the common room.
"About time," Hermione said as the portrait hole swung open. "I thought you'd got nabbed."
"Nah," he breathed, dumping everything on a nearby table.
"What's wrong?" He saw her brow wrinkled slightly. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Not that that's uncommon around here," she added quietly.
"I did, sort of." He made sure the portrait hole had closed, then led her over to their armchairs. "I just saw something on the map... something weird." He pulled it out and held it out.
"Is it still there?" She reached for it, and he handed it over obligingly.
"No, I don't think so."
She produced her wand and started to tap it, then hesitated. "I swear that I'm... what was it? I've never used this thing."
Harry allowed himself a half-smirk, then tapped it himself. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
"You never are," she said as if he'd been making a statement, grinning deviously. "Yes, there's the two of us. Lupin was quite a genius."
"My dad and Sirius had a hand in it, too," Harry said in an offended tone. He doubted whether Wormtail actually had any part in creating it.
"Yeah, yeah. Well, there's nothing out of the ordinary here. What did you see?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange."
Her eyebrows knitted, then shot upward. "But Harry, how could she possibly have been here?!"
"I don't know, but I saw it. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but she was gone. Maybe it was just a name that looked like hers - I was in the tunnel, the lighting wasn't exactly great for reading."
"Where did you see it?"
"I forget... it was so weird seeing it on there that I wasn't paying attention to its location."
She sat back, looking hard at the parchment, as if willing the name to pop in again. "This is not good, Harry. Your eyes might've been deceiving you, but if they weren't..."
"The map doesn't lie, I know."
"We've got to tell Dumbledore-"
"No." He snatched the map back from her hands, and she jumped. "I'm not going to him, telling him I'm having hallucinations on a bit of parchment I shouldn't even have. Mischief managed," he said, tapping it. "Even if he believed me, there's nothing for it, now... if she really was here, then it's past-tense."
"You're... you're not going to go stalking after her, are you?"
Harry looked up, surprised. "Why would I do that?"
"You did it last year," she snapped.
"Oh, that's right." She was referring to his grief-stricken chase in the Ministry of Magic, which had more or less ended with him being possessed by Voldemort.
"I know you blame her for Sirius's death-"
"SHE WAS-"
"I'm not saying it wasn't justifiable," she hastily added. "But you can't go tearing after her like that, even if she is there. You couldn't best her last time, and she might-"
"I reckon I could now," he said coldly. "I've had half a year to get over what she did. My heart's not going to be clouding my judgement this time."
"Harry, please-"
"I'm not going after her," he said, trying to stop her from arguing uselessly. "Like you and I have both said, we can't be sure it was really her. If she was still on the map, I... I don't know. But that's neither here nor there, so don't worry."
Hermione sighed disconcertedly. "I just don't want you running off and getting yourself killed."
He looked up, and his resentment and indignation lessened. "I know. I appreciate your concern, really I do. I promise I won't do anything dumb."
She smiled nervously, then coughed. "So, what'd you get from Hogsmeade?"
~*~
As New Year's Eve wore on, Harry and Hermione opened their second bottles of butterbeer, then resumed tossing Chocolate Frog cards into each other's lap, a sort of make-shift game that had no point whatsoever. An old victrola they'd dug up was playing some musty old music from the nineteenth century. They'd found Luna wandering the halls and asked her if she was staying up, but she said she didn't hold with New Year's, because it was a lie or some other rubbish. Blake Pieper was probably holed up in Hufflepuff's common room, or else asleep, so they couldn't ask him.
"You know, you're not the first person outside the family doctor to find out about it," she said, flipping a Merlin at him.
"Really?" he managed around a licorice wand, which was dangling from his mouth like an overlong cigarette.
"Yeah." She stopped throwing cards and picked up her bottle, though she did not drink from it. "Once, when I was six. It was recess, and we were out on the playground. Some really mean boys were running around me in circles, and I was telling them off for breaking some rule or another."
"That sounds like you, alright."
She grinned. "Stop it. Anyway, one of them stopped running and sneaked up behind me. I was yelling at a particularly large boy with a square jaw and didn't notice until he was upon me. He... pulled down my trousers... the bloomers, as well."
Harry snorted, allowing the licorice wand to fall into his lap. "A Dudley-in-training."
"It was awful... a cry went up from everyone in front of me, and the perpetrator, no doubt expecting loads of laughter, wondered what was going on. I squatted down, trying to pull my pants back up, but he was still holding them at my knee level. I let out a panicked scream, and..."
"And?"
She shook her head. "It was as if I'd... broken reality. Everything went dead quiet. I stood up, finally pulling my trousers back over my bum, and saw that everyone was just... standing there, perfectly still, with these vacant expressions on their faces. I felt so frightened that I hid behind the slide. After a few moments, though, they all began moving again, as if nothing had happened... not even the taunting session."
Harry stayed silent for a minute, then whispered, "You Obliviated them."
"It was the first time I can remember that I made something extraordinary happen." She finally took a sip. "All I kept thinking was, 'Nobody can find out I'm different!' And I guess I was so desperate for them not to, my latent powers did as I wished. Nobody ever recalled the incident, except me."
Harry grinned. "Cleverest witch of your age." She sheepishly looked at the floor. "Even at six, you were brilliant."
"What are you buttering me up for?"
"Nothing!" he protested. But she laughed. Harry joined in, and they started pelting each other with cards again. Then Harry noticed his watch.
"Oh, a minute and a half 'til midnight," he said, scooping the cards into a box.
"Here we go!" She did the same.
As they poured their butterbeer into a couple of champagne flutes he'd nicked from the kitchens the previous day, Hermione made a small cough that reluctantly reminded him of Umbridge. He looked up.
"Er, Harry," she said in a tone that sounded like she'd been caught at something disgraceful, "you know that... well, on New Year's Eve... people are traditionally supposed to..." She fell silent.
"Yes?"
"It... it's nothing, nevermind."
Harry was staring at his watch when she spoke up again, twenty seconds from twelve o'clock.
"Harry..."
"Hermione..." he mocked.
"The countdown!"
"Oh!"
Harry began speaking the numbers in a jovial tone, starting with "fifteen", and Hermione eased out of her chair to stare at his watch as well. When he reached "two," however, she cut across him, her face as pink as he'd ever seen it.
"Happy New Year, Harry Potter!"
And before Harry could form any sort of reaction, causing him to drop his butterbeer, soaking the carpet, she pulled him into a deep kiss.
~*~ To Be Continued
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 YOUR WEIGHT IN ORANGE JUICE.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Welcome back to Agapé! This chapter... well, just be prepared. I'd say there are basically three shocking chapters in this fic; one has already passed (three), one is currently on your screen, and one will come a bit later on. They're all shocking for various reasons, and I hope none of them startle you TOO horribly.
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~*~ Chapter Seven: The Chemicals Between Us
Unadulterated warmth penetrated and consumed Harry Potter. He was lying deep inside it, and it pulsated, coiling about him, sexual energies coursing through and around his body. He reveled in it, and was more than willing to let it permeate him forever.
A few spiderwebs in his head were brushed away, and he realized the warmth was coming mostly from beneath him. It was outlined in pinks and golds, and seemed to respond to his slightest movements. He caressed it, coaxed it. He became aware that beneath his lips lay texture, and he ate at it hungrily, tasting the heat and the energy, and the more he devoured, the entity seemed to exude more, if not to sate him, than to spur him onward. His teeth sank gently into the soft texture.
With no forewarning, the warmth beneath him faltered, shuddering, then reasserted itself, as heated as ever. A pain - no, a dozen small, sharp pains - dug into his back. His head swam slightly, and he became aware of the sensation of fabric.
Harry opened his eyes to darkness. His mind, still swimming in the sensations he had been experiencing and continued to experience, slowly fixed on the information that fabric was touching his chin and one of his cheeks, and something smooth was flat against his eyes. A moan reached his ear, and he realized its source was nearly joined with it, the vibrations telling him it came from the warmth. Agonizingly, he raised his head an inch, and the surface beneath his eyes came into focus as a blurry mixture of blue, brown and flesh-tone.
Quite apart from this, he became aware that he was at full arousal, and this was grinding into something soft, pliable; he continued to grind for a moment, sweat beading on his forehead, and the surface gave ever so slightly. He was also aware of an unidentifiable object cutting into his hip, and the needles in his back had given way to mild pressure.
As he continued his advance, panting, the moan came again, this time a more distinct "Ohh..." He moved an experimental hand, and it encountered soft flesh. Fingers closed around the back of his neck. Slowly, cautiously, he heaved himself upward.
Even as he stared, slack-jawed and aghast, disbelieving, the face of the figure beneath him opened her eyes, inches from his own, and her look mirrored his.
Nearly a full minute passed before Harry and Hermione recovered enough to fling themselves away from one another.
"WHAT-"
"HOLY-"
"OH MY-"
"YOU-!"
"B-BUT-"
"HOW?!"
This series of outbursts left them panting even harder than they were to begin with, and the next few seconds were spent staring at each other, trying to regain their breath, as well as some semblance of ordered thought.
Harry stumbled through the fog of confusion at breakneck speed. What in the fucking hell?! Why on earth had he awoken to find himself atop ANYONE, let alone HERMIONE?! Even as he thought this, his eyes flicked over her, noting the blue jumper that was rising and falling rapidly as she tried to settle herself, shadows outlining her peaks. His eyes strayed downward, and even without his glasses on, he could see that her somewhat tight jeans were now quite a bit tighter.
"Oh God," he said after a moment, closing his eyes in an attempt to stave off the growing queasiness. "Oh God, oh God, oh GOD-"
"I can't-," she was babbling. "This - there's no - how could we possibly-"
He opened his eyes again, determinedly not allowing them to stray to her crotch again. His gaze found the quilt.
"Merlin," he breathed. "Last night... the quilt, the fireplace-"
And that's when he realized they were on the floor, in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. His glasses were laying under an armchair right next to him.
"Oh," Hermione breathed, the hysterical quality in her voice lowering a tiny notch. Her eyes dropped downward slightly, and in more of a squeak, "Oh!"
Harry followed her gaze, then whipped a pillow from the chair into his lap. Hermione grabbed the quilt and hastily pulled it over her legs.
As he snatched up his glasses, he could see Hermione was staring off into space, now clearly dismayed beyond speech. He shoved them back onto his face. He now felt calmer, but only by about half of an iota.
"Maybe," he began, his voice trembling so badly he could barely manage it. "Maybe... we should just... just go to bed..." He knew it was a weak suggestion, as sunlight was streaming through the windows.
But she nodded. Still clutching her quilt, she tried to stand, then fell back to the floor with a thump.
Before he could stop himself, Harry darted forward to help her up. It was only when one hand had closed around her arm and the other around her shoulder that he realized he'd foolishly left the pillow behind.
Hermione's eyes darted to his pelvis, then snapped shut. He could see she was on the verge of tears, and he could feel them beginning to form in his own eyes, as well. Carefully, he bent down and pulled her into a terrified, clinging hug, his hand stroking her hair without realizing he was doing so.
"N-no-"
"Shh."
Unlike the first time, she had barely struggled against his hug, and her hands curled around his shoulders. "Ha... Harry... I... but... I can't... why..."
Her voice was choked and wavering. He opened his mouth to reply somehow, but no sound came. She began to sniffle quietly, and nothing more came to him than to keep holding on, to harbour this frightened girl as if breaking the embrace would undo the world.
"Harry... we, we shouldn't... you shouldn't be..."
"I... I don't know what- what else to do, I-"
"But I'm... and you're... and..."
Next moment, she had reached up to her neck. When she pulled her hand away, two of her fingers were glistening.
"You... you were... I remember..."
"So do I," Harry croaked, faintly recalling trying to devour her flesh. "I... I didn't-"
"I know." She was still shaking like a leaf. "But... but we were so... in the dream..."
He knew what she meant. The dream had been so erotic, so heated and passionate. How could such a feverish desire grow from no desire whatsoever?
But as soon as that thought had passed, he knew it was not true. The desire HAD existed - in fact, it had been born in him right before the dream. He could not be sure of when it had been born in her, if it had at all; maybe she was just a victim of his subconscious's libido.
He cursed himself. The blame lay squarely on his shoulders. He had turned a beautiful, strong friendship into something darker, something bereft of the innocence and joviality that had once defined it. He somehow knew there would be no going back.
"I'm sorry."
Harry's eyes flew open. He had not been the one to say it.
"Wh-what for? It's my fault that-"
"I-" And she stopped. A few seconds passed in silence before she could go on. "A voice in the back of m-my mind kept saying if... that it would be a mistake to sit with you under that quilt, that it would... it would bring us _too_ close."
Relief and sympathy washed over Harry, colliding and mixing with each other.
"Hermione, I... I felt it, when you put your head on the... on my shoulder. I felt so strange, but... I didn't want to let you go."
She at last drew back, looking into his startlingly green eyes with her sharp brown ones, currently dulled by tears of shame. "I didn't want to let go, either, but... I knew I should... Oh, Harry, you must hate me so, you must want to kill me for doing this to you, I'm such rubbish, I don't deserve-"
"Shh," he said sternly. Her mouth, still trying to finish the sentence, fell silent. He raised a hand and wiped a tear from one of her eyes. "You... there's no way this is your fault. And I couldn't kill you if I tried, never in a million years." He had no trouble saying this, as no matter the nature of their relationship now, he knew it to be true.
She managed another laugh-sob. "I'm ever so grateful, but you should at least try first."
Harry grinned blearily. 'That's my girl,' he thought. Then he realized what his mind had just referred to her as, and a sinking feeling spread through him.
'My girl'. Was that what she was? She wasn't even a girl, not in the literal sense. But the possessive form his thoughts had taken startled him. Hermione Granger was NOT "his girl". She was a friend, and they had accidentally become too close for one brief, terrifying moment. Harry didn't know if they'd ever be the same again, but he knew that the prospect of Hermione becoming more than a good friend was something he was not ready for.
"I'm... I'm going to bed... I'll... see you later."
Hermione nodded again. Harry wiped another tear from her eyes, tried to flash her something like a reassuring smile, then turned and hurried up the stairs.
~*~
As he lay there, staring at his canopy, Harry tried to relinquish all thought, to blank his mind so as to fall asleep again. Unfortunately, he was unable to do this - it was main reason he had failed at Occlumency. It was easy for Snape, he didn't have quite as much on his mind; though a small part of Harry suspected that was not true, it made him feel better thinking it. He also realized that he would in no way be tired, as he had just awoken. Nevertheless, he stayed, staring into nothing, trying in vain to wipe recent events from the forefront of his consciousness.
When Harry heard distant footsteps, he glanced at his watch. Two hours had passed. He once again set about clearing his head, but was interrupted as the door burst open.
Light from the hall framed Hermione, making her hair appear to glow. After a moment's pause, she half-ran to Ron's bed and sat down heavily, gazing unblinking at him. She still looked distressed, but her face was set, and her watery eyes had regained a determined gleam.
He found he did not much care to look at her; it stirred and amplified the feelings he had been trying to bury. "H-Hermione-"
"Be quiet," she said softly, a lump still lingering in her throat. "Please, just listen."
A surge of unwanted indignation flared in Harry. Not only had she just burst into his dormitory (a boys' dormitory!) without so much as a knock, but she had just shushed him. However, whatever she had to say seemed important, and admittedly he did want to hear it.
"If we just go our separate ways right now... and we don't confront how we- what just happened," she said nervously, "it might get weird."
"You mean what just happened wasn't weird enough?" An edge crept into his voice.
"Hush," she reiterated. "What I'm trying to say is... I think we should talk about it now, before the weirdness sets. Before we start acting uncomfortably around each other, until it gets to the point where we can't even talk. To the point where... we lose our friendship."
Harry melted. What she said struck a chord. He realized this prediction was probably accurate, and it was one he did not want to come true. To lose Hermione...
"Shaking your head won't fix it."
Harry blinked, then realized he had in fact been trying to fix it that way.
"Hermione, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"
"What do you mean? It's not like I wasn't involved."
"But I was on top of you," he said, trying not to think about what he'd just said. "I must've been the one to roll onto you, it's my fault."
"Oh, don't blame yourself for that," she said, a half-smile playing at her lips. "We were asleep, silly!" Her face hardened again. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine... I shouldn't have thought we could cuddle like that without any consequences. Reckless, stupid..."
"Oh yeah, that's right," Harry said lightly. "It's all your doing!"
When her eyes widened and her lip began to quiver, he hurriedly spoke again. "I'm kidding, just kidding! Please don't cry, Hermione..."
Her eyes rolled, then shut, and she covered her mouth with her hand. "It's not funny. This is not funny, none of it. It's... I don't know what it is."
"I'm sorry, you're right. I shouldn't be ribbing you about this, it's not on. What a git," he whispered harshly to himself.
"You're not a git." She had lowered her hand, and her words were soft. "I don't hate you, I just... I'm not sure what we can do. But I know we have to do SOMETHING."
Harry raised his head, and slowly began moving his brain in a deliberate direction. Hermione was not a girl. She was not a boy, either. That left only one thing - she was his friend. His friend who he had accidentally ended on top of while sleeping, and nothing more. He forced his thoughts to compare the event to accidentally rolling on top of a pillow, and awakening to find you'd been trying to knob it. Strange, yes, but not cause for any concern, and certainly no reason to chuck the pillow in the bin. The same applied here. All darker, more meaningful thoughts were pushed from his psyche, as he knew if he concentrated on anything else, this wouldn't work.
When he spoke, she had been opening her mouth to speak, but fell silent at his words. His voice was somewhat formal. "Hermione, I apologize for rolling on top of you. That was quite inconsiderate of me, and I was probably a bit heavy. I hope I didn't crack any of your ribs or anything, and I assure you this will not happen again." He hesitated. "I'm also sorry for drooling on you, because now you'll have to bathe."
She had been listening intently, an intense relief slowly invading her features. At the last line, she laughed, a musical, genuine laugh.
Harry grinned. "Everything top drawer, then?"
"Top drawer," she managed around her laughter.
They shook hands, then collapsed in fits of mirth. It was the happiest Harry had felt all year, and though he was still a touch shaky, his soul felt lighter than it did when he was astride his Firebolt.
"Want some breakfast? I'm _starving_."
"Yes, let's!"
~*~
The subject of that morning in the common room was not explored further. Harry, in such coy fashion, had effectively voiced what Hermione was probably going to say; that it was a mistake, and though it made for an extremely awkward moment, there was no real harm done.
As the days drifted by, they entertained themselves by playing Exploding Snap and Gobstones (Hermione still flatly refusing to go near the chessboard), doing their homework, and reading quietly by the fire. Luna would sometimes join them, usually setting up in the Room of Requirement (which obligingly contained all the games they could ever wish to play, or a load of reference volumes). It was too cold for Harry to take out his Firebolt, but occasionally, they took long walks on the snowy grounds, sometimes dropping in on Hagrid. Their idle chatter seldom strayed to "that morning," as they now referred to it when necessary.
The only dark spot in an otherwise enjoyable holiday was another vision. It was so vague that Harry payed it little mind; another flare of rage, similar to the one he'd felt when he and Ron were returning from Hogsmeade. Voldemort had been denied what he sought again.
On Christmas morning, Hermione came bouncing into Harry's dorm, her arms loaded down with presents. He was momentarily startled, but then realized they might as well open them together.
Harry received another green sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a tin of white fudge; a pocket Foe-Glass from Alastor Moody; some Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and a few Chocolate Frogs from Ron; a photo of Harry's father, transformed into a stag, from Lupin; and an odd, light-green crystal pendant in the shape of a heart from Hermione. It was glowing.
"Thanks," Harry told her, dangling the crystal in front of his face. "But this... it looks a bit pricey..."
"It was." She pulled at the neck of her blouse, and produced an identical one with a transparent brown crystal. "The colour of our eyes, of course."
"Well, it's great, but you shouldn't h-"
"There's more. See how they're glowing faintly?"
"Yeah..."
"They glow brighter when they're closer to one another," she said, sounding a bit embarrassed. "Here, look, when they come in contact..."
She rose from Ron's bedside and walked over, touching the two crystals together. Instantly, their colours faded, and they were shining brilliantly, a pure white.
"Wicked," he breathed.
"I... I dunno, I feel so much closer to you after..." She was blushing and examining her shoes. "I just saw them, last time we were in Hogsmeade, and I..."
"I love it," he said earnestly, beaming as he fastened the silver clasp behind his neck. Hermione grinned from ear to ear, then pecked him on the cheek.
~*~
Christmas dinner found the two of them seated at a single, long table in the Great Hall due to how few students were there; aside from themselves and Luna, there was a Hufflepuff second year by the name of Blake Pieper, whom the older students and teachers seemed to intimidate without any intent to do so.
"Cracker, Mr. Pieper?" Dumbledore said brightly, holding a bowl in front of him. The boy took one hesitantly, then pulled. He jumped as it exploded, dropping a slide whistle and a live gopher into his mashed potatoes.
The items from the silver crackers were as ridiculous and light-hearted as ever. Dumbledore was wearing gold-framed sunglasses over his half-moon spectacles, and Snape had reluctantly donned a pink cowboy hat. Harry had shoved the purple tiara he'd gotten onto Hermione's head, and she'd tried to get him to wear the furry green slippers that had emerged from hers ("But they match your eyes!"). Professor Sprout had received a dreidel, which she was puzzling over and prodding warily before Dumbledore explained that it was a Jewish Muggle artifact. Luna was contentedly wearing her surprise; a top hat made of zebra skin with a peacock plume stuck in it, which she had thought was quite elegant, and had commented that she would probably try wearing it often.
"An' then he says to the poor sod, he says," Hagrid bellowed as he wiped his eyes, a gaudy turtle shell necklace adoring him festively and his face a deep crimson from the steady flow of wine he'd been consuming, "'GET OUT, or I'll chop off yer other one!'"
Most of the teachers, Blake and Harry exploded with laughter, while Hermione unsuccessfully tried to look disgusted, eventually grinning in spite of herself. Snape allowed himself a smirk, and Luna was apparently not paying attention, eyes fixated on her cranberry sauce.
~*~
"Harry, you mustn't!"
He rolled his eyes, dropping the Invisibility Cloak back into the armchair. "But what's the harm? I'll be back in no time, you'll see."
Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "Fine, then, but if you get caught and we lose house points, I'll make sure everyone knows where they went!"
Harry grinned, holding up the cloak and a bit of parchment. "But I won't. Back in a few."
As he whirled the cloak around himself and headed toward the portrait hole, he saw she was standing there, her arms folded, and looking scornfully in his general direction.
"Aww, don't be like that."
She rolled her eyes, an action much more pronounced than his had been. "I'm going to bed."
"Wait, don't-!"
"I want no part of such frivolous activities."
He pulled the cloak off. "If you go to bed now, there's no point in me doing this. Please, wait up." He smiled at her in what he hoped was an innocent fashion. "I just want to make it a proper celebration."
She shook her head, determined not to smile, but she couldn't help it. "You are an arrogant, foolhardy boy."
He grinned, replaced the cloak and raced out the portrait hole.
Once outside the common room, he tapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The Marauder's Map came alive, ink spreading across the parchment and outlining the grounds of Hogwarts. He found the dot labeled "Harry Potter", then looked around it carefully for anyone he might want to avoid. Dumbedore was in his office, Filch was in the Astronomy tower, and Snape was in his classroom. He set off for the statue of the one-eyed witch.
He met no obstacle, and after several minutes, he was tapping the statue with his wand and muttering "Dissendium." Harry stashed the cloak at the bottom of the slide, muttered "Lumos!" to light his path, then flew down the corridor to the cellar of Honeydukes, and made better time than he'd ever done.
Half an hour brought Harry back to the cellar of Honeydukes, laden with six bottles of butterbeer and an assortment of candies. He'd been tempted to pick up some firewhisky from the Hog's Head, but wasn't sure he even wanted to try it. As he flew down the narrow passageway, glowing wand tip held high, he managed to get the bottles into the bag of sweets one-handed. When he reached his cloak, he put down the bag and pulled the map out.
He glanced around to make sure no one was near the statue. The path was clear. He made to stow the map again, then did a double take.
"That can't be," he whispered aloud. "No, impossible..."
He pocketed it, rubbed his eyes, wiped his glasses on his shirt, then looked again. The dot and name attached had vanished.
"Trick of the low lighting," he muttered. Then, staring at the map carefully, he double-checked any potential dangers. None. He tapped it with the glowing wand and muttered "Mischief managed," wiping it clean, draped the cloak over himself, grabbed the bag of goods and headed out of the statue and straight for the common room.
"About time," Hermione said as the portrait hole swung open. "I thought you'd got nabbed."
"Nah," he breathed, dumping everything on a nearby table.
"What's wrong?" He saw her brow wrinkled slightly. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Not that that's uncommon around here," she added quietly.
"I did, sort of." He made sure the portrait hole had closed, then led her over to their armchairs. "I just saw something on the map... something weird." He pulled it out and held it out.
"Is it still there?" She reached for it, and he handed it over obligingly.
"No, I don't think so."
She produced her wand and started to tap it, then hesitated. "I swear that I'm... what was it? I've never used this thing."
Harry allowed himself a half-smirk, then tapped it himself. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
"You never are," she said as if he'd been making a statement, grinning deviously. "Yes, there's the two of us. Lupin was quite a genius."
"My dad and Sirius had a hand in it, too," Harry said in an offended tone. He doubted whether Wormtail actually had any part in creating it.
"Yeah, yeah. Well, there's nothing out of the ordinary here. What did you see?"
"Bellatrix Lestrange."
Her eyebrows knitted, then shot upward. "But Harry, how could she possibly have been here?!"
"I don't know, but I saw it. I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but she was gone. Maybe it was just a name that looked like hers - I was in the tunnel, the lighting wasn't exactly great for reading."
"Where did you see it?"
"I forget... it was so weird seeing it on there that I wasn't paying attention to its location."
She sat back, looking hard at the parchment, as if willing the name to pop in again. "This is not good, Harry. Your eyes might've been deceiving you, but if they weren't..."
"The map doesn't lie, I know."
"We've got to tell Dumbledore-"
"No." He snatched the map back from her hands, and she jumped. "I'm not going to him, telling him I'm having hallucinations on a bit of parchment I shouldn't even have. Mischief managed," he said, tapping it. "Even if he believed me, there's nothing for it, now... if she really was here, then it's past-tense."
"You're... you're not going to go stalking after her, are you?"
Harry looked up, surprised. "Why would I do that?"
"You did it last year," she snapped.
"Oh, that's right." She was referring to his grief-stricken chase in the Ministry of Magic, which had more or less ended with him being possessed by Voldemort.
"I know you blame her for Sirius's death-"
"SHE WAS-"
"I'm not saying it wasn't justifiable," she hastily added. "But you can't go tearing after her like that, even if she is there. You couldn't best her last time, and she might-"
"I reckon I could now," he said coldly. "I've had half a year to get over what she did. My heart's not going to be clouding my judgement this time."
"Harry, please-"
"I'm not going after her," he said, trying to stop her from arguing uselessly. "Like you and I have both said, we can't be sure it was really her. If she was still on the map, I... I don't know. But that's neither here nor there, so don't worry."
Hermione sighed disconcertedly. "I just don't want you running off and getting yourself killed."
He looked up, and his resentment and indignation lessened. "I know. I appreciate your concern, really I do. I promise I won't do anything dumb."
She smiled nervously, then coughed. "So, what'd you get from Hogsmeade?"
~*~
As New Year's Eve wore on, Harry and Hermione opened their second bottles of butterbeer, then resumed tossing Chocolate Frog cards into each other's lap, a sort of make-shift game that had no point whatsoever. An old victrola they'd dug up was playing some musty old music from the nineteenth century. They'd found Luna wandering the halls and asked her if she was staying up, but she said she didn't hold with New Year's, because it was a lie or some other rubbish. Blake Pieper was probably holed up in Hufflepuff's common room, or else asleep, so they couldn't ask him.
"You know, you're not the first person outside the family doctor to find out about it," she said, flipping a Merlin at him.
"Really?" he managed around a licorice wand, which was dangling from his mouth like an overlong cigarette.
"Yeah." She stopped throwing cards and picked up her bottle, though she did not drink from it. "Once, when I was six. It was recess, and we were out on the playground. Some really mean boys were running around me in circles, and I was telling them off for breaking some rule or another."
"That sounds like you, alright."
She grinned. "Stop it. Anyway, one of them stopped running and sneaked up behind me. I was yelling at a particularly large boy with a square jaw and didn't notice until he was upon me. He... pulled down my trousers... the bloomers, as well."
Harry snorted, allowing the licorice wand to fall into his lap. "A Dudley-in-training."
"It was awful... a cry went up from everyone in front of me, and the perpetrator, no doubt expecting loads of laughter, wondered what was going on. I squatted down, trying to pull my pants back up, but he was still holding them at my knee level. I let out a panicked scream, and..."
"And?"
She shook her head. "It was as if I'd... broken reality. Everything went dead quiet. I stood up, finally pulling my trousers back over my bum, and saw that everyone was just... standing there, perfectly still, with these vacant expressions on their faces. I felt so frightened that I hid behind the slide. After a few moments, though, they all began moving again, as if nothing had happened... not even the taunting session."
Harry stayed silent for a minute, then whispered, "You Obliviated them."
"It was the first time I can remember that I made something extraordinary happen." She finally took a sip. "All I kept thinking was, 'Nobody can find out I'm different!' And I guess I was so desperate for them not to, my latent powers did as I wished. Nobody ever recalled the incident, except me."
Harry grinned. "Cleverest witch of your age." She sheepishly looked at the floor. "Even at six, you were brilliant."
"What are you buttering me up for?"
"Nothing!" he protested. But she laughed. Harry joined in, and they started pelting each other with cards again. Then Harry noticed his watch.
"Oh, a minute and a half 'til midnight," he said, scooping the cards into a box.
"Here we go!" She did the same.
As they poured their butterbeer into a couple of champagne flutes he'd nicked from the kitchens the previous day, Hermione made a small cough that reluctantly reminded him of Umbridge. He looked up.
"Er, Harry," she said in a tone that sounded like she'd been caught at something disgraceful, "you know that... well, on New Year's Eve... people are traditionally supposed to..." She fell silent.
"Yes?"
"It... it's nothing, nevermind."
Harry was staring at his watch when she spoke up again, twenty seconds from twelve o'clock.
"Harry..."
"Hermione..." he mocked.
"The countdown!"
"Oh!"
Harry began speaking the numbers in a jovial tone, starting with "fifteen", and Hermione eased out of her chair to stare at his watch as well. When he reached "two," however, she cut across him, her face as pink as he'd ever seen it.
"Happy New Year, Harry Potter!"
And before Harry could form any sort of reaction, causing him to drop his butterbeer, soaking the carpet, she pulled him into a deep kiss.
~*~ To Be Continued