Harry Potter and the Triangle Prophecy

Harry Potter and the Triangle Prophecy

Chapter Sixteen

Hearth

"During the seventeenth century, when rooms had been huge, they had been impossible to heat,
even if fireplaces had been effective, which they were not. Louis XIV's Versailles contained many
magnificent fireplaces, but these were more ornamental than practical. In bourgeois houses fireplaces
had been primarily places to cook in, and only secondarily, and not very effectively, sources of warmth."

--Witold Rybczynski, Home: A Short History of an Idea

"She is the Goddess of the Hearth, and in every private house and city hall protects suppliants who
flee to her for protection. Universal reverence is paid Hestia, not only as the mildest, most upright
and most charitable of the Olympians, but as having invented the art of building houses..."

--Robert Graves, The Greek Myths, Volume One

Harry pushed Hermione behind him the moment he saw the two intertwined bodies on the pile of robes. Snape immediately waved his wand and conjured a blanket, covering both bodies--Ron's freckled pallor and Parvati's pale-brown curves, which were covered in some rather severe-looking scratches....

The fish has come to the wolf.

Harry remembered Sandy's words; he had hoped she hadn't meant what he thought she did, but that wasn't going to change anything. He felt Hermione trembling behind him as he tried to keep her from seeing, but he also knew it was too late. She knew. She knew....

Ron started to wake sleepily and opened his eyes just a bit, looking down at Parvati, not at the open door; then Hermione moved out from behind Harry and her footstep made a floorboard creak. Ron's eyes flew open all the way and he looked horrified, sitting up and making the blanket that Snape had conjured fall off their upper bodies.

"Hermione!" was all that Ron said. Harry turned to look at her; her face had crumpled and she turned and fled with a strangled cry. He turned back to Ron and Parvati, and this time, he noticed that Parvati didn't seem to be moving. Oh, god, no...

Snape seemed to notice at the same moment. He strode forward and turned Parvati over, moving the blanket so that she was properly covered again. Ron blinked, still not fully awake. Snape laid Parvati flat on the floor, opening her eyes with his fingers, one at a time, and gazing into them. Then he moved his hands over her head, finally dwelling on the back of her skull, where it was in contact with the floor. He seemed to have decided what was wrong with her, and he looked up at Harry, reminding him extraordinarily of his step-father.

"Spot of concussion, I'd say. Hopefully nothing worse. Rather large lump on the back of her head. Her breathing is shallow and she's lost a bit of blood from her wounds. I'll get her and Weasley back to the hospital wing; you should probably go after Miss Granger and make certain she's all right," he said grimly. Harry marveled at how he could be so clinical; he knew that his experience of almost being killed by Remus Lupin had stayed with him for many years.

Harry knew he was right; Snape was perfectly able to help Parvati and Ron, but it was up to him to help Hermione. He nodded and turned, running down the corridor and stairs, leaping down the last few treads, lighting his wand and dashing through the tunnel in a crouch so that he wouldn't hit his head on the outcroppings and roots.

At last, he saw movement ahead, but he quickly realized that it was shadows from the flailing branches of the willow. He reached through the roots, stilling the tree's wild dance, and ran out of the tunnel and far enough away from the tree that he wouldn't be hit when it started to move again. He turned in frantic circles, trying to see which way Hermione had run, and finally saw that her legs were pumping furiously as she ran flat-out for Hagrid's hut. He looked around furtively for a moment, decided that it just plain didn't matter if anyone saw him, and changed into his griffin form. He took a couple of running steps and leapt into the air, moving his wings back and forth vigorously, soon overtaking her and spiraling down behind Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid happened at just that moment to be opening his back door, to do his morning gardening, and he yelled out in surprise when he saw a golden griffin landing in his pumpkin patch, folding his gossamer wings against tawny flanks. Harry looked up at his friend, panicking, as he hadn't told Hagrid about being an Animagus. Hagrid looked more shocked than Harry had ever seen him.

"Huh!" he boomed. "A golden griffin! Are ye by any chance that one me mum used to see, flyin' over the forest?" he asked, as though it could speak.

Well, Harry thought, I might as well admit it. He moved his head up and down very distinctly. It was unmistakably a nod. Hagrid looked floored.

"Well, I'll be--"

Harry loped forward with his rolling lion's gait and pushed his wet nose at Hagrid's hand. Hagrid grinned down at him and stroked his mane, shaking his own head. "I'll jest bet ye'd like a nice joint o' mutton, eh?" he said in a gruff, friendly way; Hagrid had met very few magical beasts he didn't like, and even though he didn't know that this was Harry, somehow he seemed to know that the griffin was a friend.

Hagrid led him into the hut; Harry walked to the hearth rug and sat down on it, his front paws lined up in front of him while Hagrid went to the larder. A moment later, Hermione had evidently reached the hut; Harry heard her pounding on the door. Hagrid checked the clock on his mantel. The first bell was going to ring for the beginning of classes in about ten minutes. He looked like he thought he might be dreaming to have two visitors at this time, when students should be on their way to various classrooms. He strode to the front door of the hut and opened it.

"Hermione!" he cried in surprise when he saw her, completely flummoxed. Tears were streaming down her face.

"Oh--Ha--Ha--Hagrid!" she choked. Then she noticed Harry siting decorously on the floor near the fire. "Harry!" she cried gratefully, springing across the room and throwing her arms around his neck. She buried her face in his mane and it was soon wet with her tears; he nuzzled her cheek with his nose and let her hug him and cry on him in his griffin form, thinking that this was probably even more comforting than if he'd been his usual human self. Harry looked up at Hagrid with his large green eyes (rather than the usual amber eyes that golden griffins tended to have) and Hagrid opened his own eyes very wide, seeing it now, seeing the truth.

"Blimey!" Hagrid cried, sitting down heavily in the oversized leather chair he used by the fireside. "Harry?" he asked tentatively, staring at the griffin. Harry slowly nodded his head again, but soon went back to trying to comfort Hermione. He put a paw across her shoulders and felt her cheek on his mane. At length, his inner motor, the constant purr, seemed to quieten her, and they just crouched on the hearth rug together, human and beast, giving and receiving comfort.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Hermione was all cried out, Harry changed back into his human form and stood, feeling like his bones would cry out in pain if they had voices. He hadn't really had time to prepare for the transfiguration, and, as he always did when he executed an abrupt change into his Animagus form, he felt it in his joints afterward. He tried to shake out his arms and legs, and when he was done, Hermione was looking at him forlornly, so he found that he had to take her in his arms again and hold her and rock her some more. She started to open her mouth, but Harry stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Hagrid," he said, looking at the half-giant; "I know this is your place and all, but do you think--we need to talk for a bit--"

Hagrid squinted at him in non-comprehension at first, then his eyes opened wide and he lumbered to his feet. "Oh, yeah, o'course ye can have some privvacy. I don' have a class firs' thing today, but me third year Hufflepuffs 'n' Ravenclaws'll be along soon for theirs...I'll just, er--be over in the paddock with the unicorns, if ye need anythin'--"

When Hagrid had closed the door behind him, Harry made Hermione sit in the large chair by the fire that Hagrid had vacated (when she sat back all the way her feet didn't touch the floor) and began to heat some water for tea. They were silent as Harry moved about, handing her a cup and saucer, putting the tea leaves in the teapot. When the tea was steeped and poured and Harry had added some milk to his, the white swirling into the brown, they still hadn't spoken. He finally said something, just to fill the silence. "We missed Charms. And soon we'll be missing History of Magic," he said quietly. Then he wished he hadn't spoken, as these things sounded unbearably banal.

However, Hermione behaved as though the silence were still unbroken. She sipped her tea and then said suddenly, "You're going to tell me it isn't his fault." Her voice was still a little thick with tears.

Harry sat next to her chair on the same low stool he'd been using since he first came to Hagrid's hut when he was eleven. "It isn't, Hermione. Okay, he should have told you sooner; you shouldn't have had to find out through that Daisy Furuncle article..."

"No, I mean--I know it isn't his fault, Harry."

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad to hear you say that, Hermione. I thought--well, you rather reminded me of Ginny when--well, you know--"

Hermione squinted at him as though he were speaking some language other than English. "What are you talking about?"

Harry stared back at her in mutual noncomprehension. "What do you mean, 'What are you talking about?' You know--when Ginny saw me in the amulet with Mariah and was so upset--"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh--that's what you meant." Harry was baffled. Why was she acting like it had been ten years or something?

"Um, yes. Well anyway, I think clearly the problem lies with Parvati--"

Hermione shook her head. "Partly, yes. But if Daisy Furuncle hadn't written that article--" Harry could tell she was seething about this now. He almost felt sorry for Daisy Furuncle; Hermione Granger would leave no stone unturned to find out who she was. "She has to be stopped."

He nodded in agreement and took a comforting sip of tea. "True. But if Sirius and Remus couldn't find out who she was from all of their spying and snooping this summer, what makes you think you can find out from the confines of Hogwarts?"

Hermione looked very smug. Her words, however, did not match her expression. "I don't know," she said, still oddly smug. "But I'll find a way." Harry drew his lips into a line, wondering how much tilting at windmills she would be doing.

"Um, you should know that after you left, Snape examined Parvati and he said she had concussion and had lost a lot of blood. She was unconscious."

This seemed to have no affect on her. Hermione sipped her tea; then, staring into the fire, said, "She probably reckoned she knew what was involved in being with him. She'd been with him before...."

He could tell that it pained her to say this; Harry knew that she tried very hard to forget Ron's relationship with Parvati. "But not when he was a werewolf," Harry pointed out. "She probably just thought--thought that she could help him--"

"Or thought that he wouldn't have the strength to resist her and then she could get back at me for that--that name thing!" Hermione spat.

Okay, Harry thought; I reckon she blames Parvati more than just a little. She sipped her tea some more and frowned into the fire; she seemed to be thinking very hard. "There's something wrong here, though. I just can't put my finger on it..." She drained her cup and continued to hold it before her, watching the flames, her eyes narrowed in thought. Harry also drained his cup and almost dropped it when she suddenly stood and said, "I've got it!"

She whirled on Harry. "That wasn't Parvati getting back at me for the name thing. It was Padma!"

Harry shook his head as though to clear his hearing. Had she said what he thought she had said? "Padma? How do you know?"

She paced as she spoke, restless, as she often was when working out a problem of some sort. "Last night, Parvati and Lavender and I all went up to bed together. And Parvati was in her bed when I got up this morning. Not just under the covers, snoring; I could see her face and everything. When we found her--or her twin, rather--with Ron in the shack, I completely forgot. I wonder....at one time Ron seemed like he might be interested in either one of them, and then chose Parvati. You think Padma has been resentful about that all this time, and found a way to get to Ron without his being able to resist her? Is it possible she was doing this because of a rivalry with her own twin?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Could be. Which means, if you think that was Padma, we should get up to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey. For the record, you know, in case there are any differences between them in their medical histories, even though they're identical twins."

"Right," she said.

She strode toward the door, her eyes clear now, although there were purple shadows under them. When she touched the door handle, Harry stopped her, looking into her face with concern. "Are you about to go off half-cocked?" he asked her, quite serious. She frowned at him.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well--I suppose what I mean is, are you about to attack a girl--verbally or otherwise--who may be unconscious still because of the injuries she received from Ron? And are you telling me that you feel Ron is completely blameless? This isn't going to come back to haunt him the next time the two of you have a row? You're not going to bury your resentment and--"

"I get it, I get it, Harry." She turned and leaned heavily on the door, looking very tired. "Yes, I suppose I wish with a part of me that Ron had been stronger, that he'd been able to resist her, to fight his werewolf urges. Remus has learned to manage. On the other hand, Remus has had years and years to learn how; Ron was only bitten five months ago. Five months! Almost no time at all. How is he expected to cope with this sort of thing already? He's shown remarkable improvement in dealing with his strength; it's been weeks since I last saw him break a glass just by picking it up. I just--" She let out an uncontrolled sob, and covered her mouth with her hand; "I just wish he'd never been bitten," she said through her fingers. She tried to collect herself and took her hand down from her mouth, and now she was wringing her hands together. "And yes, I know that's not a useful thought to have, because he was bitten. And I can wish Rita Skeeter and Peter Pettigrew dead all I want and nothing will change. The moon will rise full tonight and Ron will become a wolf, which will hurt, and he won't have any control over it the way we do when we transform into animals. And it will happen the following two nights, and every month for the rest of Ron's life. And there's nothing to be done for it except for him to drink the world's vilest potion and try to stay away from people before the full moon. And even when he tries to do that--some stupid girl who hasn't any idea what she's doing manages to sneak in to see him and risks her neck, which will wind up being blamed on Ron, judging from the article that cow wrote, and--and--"

She started crying again and Harry took her into his arms. She sobbed on his chest while he patted her on the back and shushed her lightly.

When she was done crying this time, she stepped away from him suddenly and opened the door, then strode outdoors and went to the large barrel Hagrid used to catch rainwater; she thrust both hands into the barrel and splashed some water on her face, then dried her skin with a handkerchief. She lifted her face to Harry, asking him, "How do I look?"

Her brown eyes were slightly bloodshot, rimmed with red and underscored by purple. Her nose was a deep rose color (it looked like she'd either been crying or trying to get drunk), her cheeks were sallow, her lips pale and chapped.

"Erm," he said uncertainly, "you look fine." Surely the truth wouldn't be helpful at this moment.

She nodded and turned briskly. "Are you coming?"

He walked alongside her. "Right. Hospital wing."

She nodded again and walked more quickly, swinging her arms purposefully. Harry kept up with her, although he felt like a world-weariness had seeped into his soul. One thing that he could be glad about was that Hermione didn't blame Ron; it would be difficult, but they could go on after this. She wasn't going to tell him to go to hell, as Ginny had done with him.

When they reached the hospital wing, Hermione put her hand on the door knob and hesitated just a moment before opening it. Then she took a deep breath, set her jaw and turned the knob. In the infirmary, they found Ron in a bed near the door and Padma in a bed on the opposite side of the room, closest to Madam Pomfrey's office; the matron was nowhere in sight. Harry and Hermione hurried to Ron's bedside; glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw that Padma was unconscious, but her chest was rising and falling with a better rhythm than when he'd seen her in the Shrieking Shack.

Ron was sitting up in bed, bare-chested, with glistening liniment adorning various scratches he bore on his chest and arms. Frankly, Harry thought, it seemed that Padma had gotten a bit rough with Ron, as well. Ron swallowed as he looked at the two of them, then practically snarled, "What are you two doing here?"

Harry grimaced. Don't tell me we're going through this all over again, he thought, remembering the way Ron had immediately rejected Hermione after being bitten in the spring. "What do you think, you prat? We're only your best friends." He forced a smile, feeling that it was wiser to lump him and Hermione together at this point, rather than distinguishing her as Ron's girlfriend.

"You really want to be best friends with a monster who would do that to someone?" he said bitterly, nodding at Padma. "Or who--who would sleep with some other girl when he had the most wonderful--the best--" he choked out, looking at Hermione with tears in his eyes, making them appear very blue.

"What do you mean had?" she demanded suddenly. "I--I know it wasn't your fault, Ron," she said softly, her back turned to Padma as though she was determined to forget the other girl existed.

As though her sanity depended upon it, Harry thought.

Ron shook his head bleakly. "I should have gone to the dungeons; it would have been a lot harder for someone to get near me if I was properly locked up. She said she followed the two of you when you came to bring me lunch yesterday, so she knew how to get into the tunnel. Hid in the shrubbery and saw you hit the knot. She said she didn't know where the tunnel would take her and was really surprised when it turned out to be the rebuilt Shrieking Shack. There'd been a story put about that it was rebuilt so that the ghosts who lived there wouldn't try to find new homes in the village, as most people who have household ghosts are comfortable with them and don't want new ones, and folks who don't have 'em don't want to start."

He looked past Harry and Hermione now, gazing at Padma. "She let herself in after dinner last night. By then I was going mad, and then--I smelled her. I knew it was her. And I felt like--like I was going to go mad. She came into the room and I--I tried not to touch her. I really did. I begged her to stun me or something, leave me lying on the floor stupefied all night. It was all I could think of. But--but she just kept coming toward me--"

He looked at Hermione, pleading in his eyes. "I didn't want to, Hermione. I really didn't..."

"I believe you, Ron! Oh, I do!" She sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on his cheek. She was crying and then Harry saw, to his shock, that Ron was also, quiet tears running down his cheeks. He put his hand over hers, holding it and kissing the palm briefly; he brought their joined hands down then and laid hers on her lap, looking very sad, as though he were relinquishing his right to it.

"Are you sure?" he said with a shake in his voice. "Because--if you didn't--it would be so much easier--easier to--" He couldn't continue.

"What?" she wanted to know.

He pointed at Padma's prostrate form. "Well, just look at her! Apparently when--when she was--I mean when--when I was--" he swallowed; "on top of her," he choked out, "I--I was pounding her head on the floor; I was holding her head in my hands and--and pounding it on the floorboards--" He covered his eyes with his hand, then whispered, "There's--there's a dent. In the floor. It's a wonder I didn't twist her head right off--"

Harry's stomach clenched, and he glanced at Padma, glad that she was alive, that Ron couldn't be charged with her murder. Ron was looking at her too, shaking his head. "I hurt her feelings so badly before, when we broke up, and now I've hurt her like this....She doesn't deserve it, even if she did sneak in to see me. No one deserves to be treated like that...."

He looked at Hermione pointedly, and Harry realized that he was pushing her away again, the stupid prat. But Hermione was focusing on something else.

"But that's not Parvati, Ron," she told him, her eyes clear, as though he hadn't just implied that he had no intention of ever sleeping with her, or even continuing to be her boyfriend.

Ron frowned. "What? Of course she is."

Hermione shook her head vigorously. "No; when I went to bed last night, Parvati was with me and Lavender. And this morning, when I got up to go running, she was still asleep. That's Padma!" she exclaimed, pointing at the unconscious girl. "She wanted you to think she was Parvati."

Ron frowned. "But why? Why would she do that?" He squinted at the other girl. "Are you sure? I thought--I was so certain she was Parvati. She smelled like Parvati...I mean that in a good way...." he started to say, then stopped, clearly realizing that Hermione didn't want to hear about whether Ron liked the way Parvati smelled.

But suddenly, Harry wasn't so sure. He paced, as Hermione had, trying to work out what seemed so wrong to him....

"Wait!" he cried suddenly, making the other two goggle at him. "You were right, Ron! That is Parvati!"

Ron looked at him as though he were mad. "What? I thought Hermione just said Parvati was in the dorm all night--"

"--because Padma wanted Hermione to think she was Parvati. It wasn't you Padma was trying to fool, Ron." He turned to Hermione. "It was you!"

"Me? Whatever are you talking about, Harry?" Hermione looked utterly baffled, which wasn't an expression Harry could remember seeing on her face very often.

"When I was about to go into the tunnel with you and Snape this morning, Sandy said to me, 'The fish has come to the wolf.' See, when we were in fifth year and I took Sandy with me to Divination, she said to me at one point, 'A fish shall burn.' And that was the class when Parvati put her sleeve in the candle and her robes caught fire..."

"Yeah, and you drenched the rest of us putting it out," Ron added, reminding him of his mistake with the spells--a mistake he hadn't made since.

"So?" Hermione said, shrugging.

"So?" Harry echoed her. "Parvati is a Pisces; Sandy was referring to her by the symbol of her astrological sign. And then she did it again this morning; 'The fish has come to the wolf.' Parvati's the fish. Sandy does that a lot."

Hermione looked at the other girl. "But--but she and her sister are twins. Couldn't Sandy just as easily have been talking about Padma?"

Harry shook his head. "No. They don't even have the same birthday; they're each born on one side of midnight, on the cusp between Aquarius and Pisces. Padma is Aquarius, the water bearer. Parvati is the fish. You're the one Padma was trying to fool, Hermione, not Ron. It must have been Padma who slept in your dormitory last night, so you wouldn't wonder where Parvati was and suspect--well, that she'd done what she'd done..."

Hermione looked at the girl with her mouth open. Harry's head felt like it was spinning. He could have sworn that he found Parvati with Ron that morning, then since he'd entered the infirmary, he'd been thinking that she was Padma; now he had to switch to thinking of her as Parvati again...

Ron grimaced. "It doesn't really matter, though, does it? So Padma helped her sister. Practically helped her into a grave is what she did. Parvati has never been anything but--but good and kind to me since we started seeing each other. Then I hurt her dreadfully and she broke up with me. And now I've almost killed her." Harry could see how it pained Hermione to hear him speak so kindly of Parvati; Harry wondered now whether Ron had had at least some feelings for her when they were still seeing each other; surely the time he'd seen them kissing madly in a classroom Ron hadn't been indifferent to her? And they'd been very close after surviving the collapse of the Three Broomsticks, sweetly protective of each other. He knew that Hermione had noticed this as well; he remembered her watching them at the site of the explosion. After she had flung herself at Ron. But it had been no good; there was no way Ron had been able to forget Hermione, to get her out of his mind, and with a single slip of the tongue, he and Parvati were history...

But it was clear now that Parvati had only done that because of her self-respect, her pride. She hadn't really wanted to give him up. And the previous evening, she'd tried to take him back.

Ron turned his head, not looking at either one of them. "I'm never going to risk that again. Never. I'm not safe."

Harry looked at Hermione and she frowned back at him. "Ron, just give it time--" he started to say. His friend turned furious eyes to him, a red glint dancing there.

"I'm not changing my mind. I'm a monster and should be treated that way, as dangerous. I let the two of you convince me before that I could live a normal life, that I could be like other people. You meant well, but it's just not possible." He put his hand over Hermione's and stroked it. "I wish it were, but it's just not." He looked Harry in the eye. "I'm sorry about the whole thing with Ginny, Harry. But--well, since you're unattached, and Hermione--well, maybe you two should try to make a go of it again. Without having me to worry about. You don't need to sneak about or anything. You--you have my blessing--" he tried to say, but the final word half-died in his throat, and he had to look away from them.

"No."

Ron looked up at Hermione, who had stood and was glaring at him with her hands on her hips. "You did the same thing right after you were bitten. You will not make decisions like this when you are in such emotional turmoil. I am still your girlfriend, you are my boyfriend, and that's that. I won't hear such nonsense. You are not a monster and she brought this on herself. So just--so just shut up!" she cried, turning on her heel and storming out of the infirmary, making the glass in the door rattle when she slammed it behind her.

Ron stared at the door, then looked at Harry. "Did she--did she just forbid me to break up with her?"

"I think so," he said, still somewhat taken aback by Hermione's performance.

Ron shook his head. "She wants to think she's in charge, but this is beyond her control." He looked more serious than Harry had ever seen him. "Harry--I want you take good care of Hermione. When I'm gone." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly, Ron was going on, saying, "Do you know where Sirius lives? I mean--where his rooms are in the staff wing?"

Harry was thrown. "I've seen the rooms where my aunt and Mrs. Fi--I mean, Professor Figg live. Or at least, I've seen the sitting room they share. And Maggie's, of course, when we had tea there. Don't know about Sirius. He's away a lot, when he's not teaching, because of--you know." Harry wondered if Sirius was spying on Rodney Jeffries at that very moment.

Ron nodded. "Well, try to find out for me, yeah? There's--there's something of his I need to borrow, something I need you to get for me..."

Harry shrugged. "Just ask him yourself. What did you want me to do? Steal something from him? You think I would do that?"

Ron looked disgruntled. "Yes, I'm so certain he will give me his gun with the silver bullets if I just ask..."

Harry had been sitting in a chair next to Ron's bedside, but now he stood in shock. "No, Ron! I won't let you do it! That isn't the answer!"

"What is? Get you to do it, have you go to prison? Or Hermione? Yeah, I could really convince her to do that..." He shook his head, miserable. "It's the only thing to be done, Harry, the only way...Don't you think that'll be easier on my mum than if they put me on trial for doing that to Parvati? Remember Buckbeak's trial? Right mess, that was. Would you rather it happen when Macnair comes here after I've lost the trial? I want it to be on my own terms..." He started to cry quietly again, and Harry looked away from him and at Parvati--Parvati, not Padma, he had to remind himself.

When he turned back to Ron again, he'd wiped the tears away. "Parvati's not going to bring charges against you, Ron. And her parents can't, because she's of-age. It has to be her. Listen, Ron--do you think maybe--maybe you ought to take some time off and talk to someone about feeling this way? Maybe check into St. Mungo's?"

Ron snorted. "I don't know whether they just let you just check into hospital at St. Mungo's when you feel suicidal, Harry. And anyway, just because I'm feeling like killing myself doesn't mean it's not justified. I mean, honestly--if--I don't know--someone awful--if Lucius Malfoy, sitting in Azkaban, were feeling suicidal, would anyone care?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "He's been in Azkaban for about a year and a half. I reckon by now he does feel suicidal, thanks to the dementors. And no, I don't think anyone would care. Well, okay, maybe Draco Malfoy would care a little, and possibly his mum. And that cousin of his seems to like her uncle all right, even though he's a great bastard. So there you go; bad example. Even Lucius Malfoy has people who'd probably be upset if he snuffed himself out."

"I just meant--because of what I am. Wouldn't the world really be better off without me?"

"Are you implying that Remus Lupin should have offed himself years ago? For the good of mankind? And yes--I know that would have meant you not getting bitten. But it wasn't his fault. And he's worked very hard over the years to control himself. He's a brilliant wizard and teacher. If it weren't for him teaching me to conjure a Patronus, I might have been kissed by a dementor when I was thirteen. Hermione too, and Sirius and Snape....He saved us all, when you think about it, by teaching me that. It also came in handy during the third task of the tournament and when I was in my other life. I'll always be very grateful to Remus. And, you great git, I doubt that you could have caught me the way you did at the match in Wales if you weren't so freakishly strong now. So basically I owe my life to two werewolves, and if you start talking about silver bullets again, you will be on the receiving end of a very nasty hex."

Harry had pulled out his wand and was brandishing it at Ron. Ron lay back in his bed, contemplating the ceiling. "All right, all right. No more talk about silver bullets..."

Harry put his wand away and sat again. "But I still think you should take some time off and talk to someone."

"At St. Mungo's? It's for magical maladies, Harry, remember? You were burnt by a magic ball of fire, that's why you were there. Neville's parents had Cruciatus on them for too long, that's why they're there. Malfoy put the Hara Kiri curse on Fleur, that's why she's there. I doubt that my suicidal depression falls under the heading of 'magical malady.'"

"But it's because you're a werewolf. Surely being bitten by a werewolf and becoming one yourself is a magical malady? You need some help learning to cope with this, with what it means for the rest of your life. And not just by doing karate and meditation. Really cope."

Ron looked down and picked at some lint on his blanket. "I reckon," he said reluctantly.

"Let me and Hermione help you, Ron. That's what friends are for." He paused. "You know how Moody lost his leg?" he said suddenly. Ron shook his head. "In the Great War. He was in the Muggle army to keep an eye on his best mate, protect him. But in the end, he couldn't. And then, when his leg was wounded, he was still mourning his friend and just used pain-blocking charms so that the leg wouldn't hurt him so much; turns out that was the worst possible thing he could have done, as he would have known sooner that it was really bad if he could have felt the pain, and he probably wouldn't have gotten gangrene. They had to amputate it in a field hospital. Young Muggle doctor with a saw. No anesthetic." Ron shuddered and swallowed. "But when he told me about this, you know what, Ron? Never once did he blame his mate for his losing that leg. Not once."

Ron shrugged. "Well, I suppose you don't speak ill of the dead. I get your point. But another thing is--I don't know about going to St. Mungo's because, well, I don't know who'd pay for it. I don't even know if I'm going to see any money for the match I was in, since I was basically an illegal player."

Madam Pomfrey had bustled into the room, and after starting to fluff Parvati's pillow, walked briskly over to Ron's bed, straightening his blanket compulsively. "What's this I hear about St. Mungo's?" she said with an eyebrow raised.

"Well," Harry said, "I'm not even sure if it's a service that's available--can someone who's rather depressed check himself into St. Mungo's for treatment? Do they do that sort of thing? And would the treatment consist of actually trying to help the person with their problems, instead of just putting a cheering charm on them?"

Madam Pomfrey stopped messing about with the blankets and looked at Ron as though she'd never seen him before. "This is about you, then?"

He nodded. "I was considering eating some of the silver spoons down in the Great Hall for lunch, but Harry talked me out of it. Still--I reckon he's right that I need to talk to someone." Harry heard that Ron was trying to force some levity into his voice--but it was very forced.

She nodded, looking sympathetic. "They do that, and not just using charms. Not many witches and wizards take advantage of it, mind you, and more probably should, but they do it. And you don't have to worry about paying; it can go on the school bill. We have an agreement with St. Mungo's; any time we can't handle a student's treatment here, we can transfer them to their facilities." She looked grim for a moment. "You're probably doing the right thing, to get help coping. I'm ashamed to say that when Remus Lupin was in school, I was one of the few people who knew about him, and I wasn't always very helpful--or sympathetic. And now that that article has come out--well, I understand what he was going through every month. Always in here looking for a sleeping draught, kept saying he had nightmares. Wouldn't tell me why." She pointed her finger at Ron. "Yes, I know you're embarrassed. But that woman's article was a blessing. Now that it's out, the medical community knows about a problem to be solved, and can set about trying to do just that."

Ron grimaced. "Maybe. But if it weren't for that article, Parvati wouldn't be lying there like that...."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips together. "She was a stupid, silly girl who is very lucky to be alive. You didn't ask her to meet you, did you?" When he shook his head, she sniffed and said, "I thought not. You were trying to be responsible. She wasn't. That's all there is to it. Now, then; when shall I tell the hospital ambulance to come for you? Are you still interested?"

Ron looked a little panicked now, and Madam Pomfrey added, "If you check yourself in, you can check yourself out at any time. You're of-age."

He looked a trifle calmed by that, but now Harry said, "It probably shouldn't be until after the full moon--"

"No, Harry," Ron interrupted. "I've been taking my potion." He looked at Madam Pomfrey. "I'd like to go as soon as possible. I can just spend the night as a wolf at St. Mungo's instead of here. I'll be a tame wolf, because of the potion. I won't be a bother for the staff." Madam Pomfrey nodded and returned to her office, presumably to use the fireplace to call for the ambulance.

Harry frowned. "But we won't be able to be with you," he complained.

Ron grimaced. "Not this time, I think, Harry. You know? It's rather too soon," he added, nodding at Parvati's bed again. Harry could tell that he meant it was too soon for Ron to be so close to Hermione, all night long. He was trying to push her away, after all.

Harry nodded. "All right, then. Hermione and I will make sure you can keep up with your classes, though. How long do you reckon you'll be away?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. I suppose that's a bit unpredictable in my case, isn't it?"

"Well, don't take too long. You need to practice for the broom race, remember. And our first match is in November."

"Captain the team for me until I get back, all right, Harry? I reckon if I think of having a schedule, that might help me. Must get out by the time of the first Quidditch match, if not sooner...."

"And Hermione will make sure we're ready to take our Apparition tests, so we'll be ready for the broom--" He stopped abruptly, reddening, remembering again that Ron couldn't ever Apparate.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Will you cut that out, Harry! Stop thinking you can't use the word 'Apparate' around me! I've accepted it, all right?" He grinned at Harry. "If you two aren't there to see me begin and end the race, I'll have to curse you."

Harry grinned back. "Get well soon," he said quietly, putting out his hand; Ron grasped it strongly, then pulled Harry to him in a rough hug, pounding his shoulder painfully.

He released Harry and said, "I did mean one thing--take care of her, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Of course. We'll miss you. Both of us."

Ron looked grim. "I just hope they know what they're doing."

As he left the hospital wing, Harry thought, So do I, Ron. So do I.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry and Hermione were the last to leave the table after the Halloween feast. It had been a splendid feast, as they all were, but they'd missed Ron dreadfully. He always loved the Halloween feasts, and Harry couldn't believe he was missing his last one. Ron had been writing to each of them while in hospital, and when Harry had caught Hermione sniffing over her most recent letter that afternoon, she'd handed it to him to read.

Dear Hermione,

Not doing too badly today. Talked for a long time to Dr. Bastion yesterday. He doesn't want me to make any rash decisions about you. But I think a rash decision would be to think that I can be with you in any real way any time soon. When you were with Harry and I didn't know it yet, he told me once that you wouldn't wait forever for me. You might have to, I'm afraid. Which means you probably shouldn't. I don't want you to put your life on hold for me. I'd hate to think you were living like a nun because of me, keeping yourself from being happy with someone else. I love you too much to let you do that...

He'd put the letter down and let her cry on him some more for a while, before they went down to the feast. And then they'd been reluctant to return to the common room, to leave the most public place in the school, where they had to pretend that all was well with the world and that the Head Boy and Head Girl were having a perfectly splendid seventh year and weren't missing their best friend dreadfully.

When they gave the password to the Fat Lady and reentered the common room, very few people were left in it. Harry looked at Hermione's forlorn face and kissed her gently on the cheek. "G'night. Get some rest. Do you want me to write to Ron about--?"

She shook her head. "No. Not you. Maybe his doctor can talk some sense into him."

Harry suddenly noticed Ginny on the other side of the room, on the window seat next to Neville; they were both reading, sitting side by side companionably. He swallowed, watching her, and said, not looking at Hermione, "All right, then. I'll be going up to bed." He hoped Ginny would look up and notice him, but she did not; he watched her turn a page, her brow furrowed in concentration, and he tried not to think how he'd like to kiss her right there, on the furrow, to smooth it out....

Shaking himself, he tried to smile at Hermione again before he went up the stairs. After he'd changed into his pajama trousers and had climbed into bed with Sandy wrapped around his upper arm, he lay with his hands behind his head, staring up at the canopy of his four-poster and listening to Seamus and Dean breathing, Seamus' breaths starting to sound more like snores. At length, Neville came up to bed too, and Harry hated the spring in his step, even though it was late. Neville hummed lightly to himself as he changed into his pajamas, and Harry fought the urge to hex him. But it's not his fault, Harry reminded himself. If Ginny really does like him, he has a perfect right to be happy about it...

Neville finally climbed into his bed and put out his candle, and the dorm was enveloped in blackness. At long last, Harry found himself drifting off to sleep, but unfortunately, his dreams turned into memories of being with Ginny in the common room, except that this time, he could see her, see her body as she removed her dressing gown and nightdress.... He jerked himself awake forcibly. That's not terribly useful, is it? he scolded himself. He stared up into the inky blackness again, drumming his fingers on his stomach, but now he was feeling too awake to just drop off again. And even if he did, he feared more dreams about Ginny, whether from this life or his other life....

He'd been unable to get over her, no matter how he tried. And it wasn't even as though she was being rude to him; on the contrary, she simply behaved toward him now as though what he did was of no consequence to her whatsoever. It didn't help that he'd seen Neville, several nights before, kiss her goodnight. He could tell it was supposed to be on the cheek, but Ginny had suddenly turned her head and their lips had met briefly. Neville had pulled back in surprise, looking around the common room self-consciously, his face very red. Harry had met Ginny's eye, and saw that she looked a little panicked at first, for some reason, then triumphant. It was damn odd, Harry thought. But somehow, every time he saw her with Neville, it was harder and harder to get her out of his mind.

And for some reason, she was far more demonstrative with Neville in the Great Hall than she was in the common room. She encouraged Neville to sit with his arm across her shoulders when they were relaxing and talking to Seamus, Dean and her dormmates after finishing dinner. Dean was now seeing Zoey Russell, and from what he could gather, Seamus was interested in Zoey putting in a good word for him with Annika Olafsdottir.

Harry had glanced across the hall and seen that Draco Malfoy was undergoing a slow burn at these times, glaring at Neville Longbottom so intently it was surprising that his head didn't spontaneously explode. Harry also noticed that Mariah would roll her eyes and tap her fork on her plate impatiently, watching him watch Neville and Ginny.

Harry decided that he wasn't destined to sleep this evening. He climbed out of bed and wrapped his dressing gown around himself and slid into his running shoes. He crept down the stairs to the common room, finding it bleak and deserted. After lighting a fire, he carried the books he'd left on a table by the window to the small circle of light and started going over his Apparition notes, practically tingling with anticipation, dying for the day he had his license.

After a time, though, he felt he had stared at the notes long enough. He set his books aside and sat with his arms around his legs, gazing at the flames. "Sandy, will I ever get over her?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. He didn't even know whether she was awake; it turned out that she was, but she didn't answer his question.

"The she-wolf shall approaches."

Oh, he thought. Hmm. Not an answer to his question exactly... Perhaps he should go back up to his dorm before Hermione came downstairs. He was fairly certain that was who Sandy meant, and she hadn't predicted that they'd be in the same room together, just that Hermione was approaching. She'd called Hermione a she-wolf several times since she'd become an Animagus.

Hermione was sleeping in the sixth-year dorm since the morning they had found Parvati with Ron. She had accused Padma of conspiring to help her sister sleep with Ron, and learned that Padma had been ignorant of Parvati's plans. Evidently, it was all Lavender's idea. She had put the plan into Parvati's head, including getting Padma to come spend the night in the Gryffindor dorm, where Hermione would naturally assume she was Parvati. Padma thought it was about a boy, but she claimed that she hadn't known it was about Ron.

Hermione was no longer on speaking terms with Lavender, and she was barely civil to Parvati and Padma (since, when she encountered them together she was never completely clear on their identities and it was more efficient to snub them both). She asked the sixth-year girls whether any one of them would mind switching with her, and Annika volunteered. Hermione reminded Harry of the fact that Annika had once been interested in Ron, and Harry wondered whether it could just have easily been Annika who'd decided to spend a night with him in the sleeping shack. Perhaps Annika identified with Parvati.

Harry supposed it was a better solution than Hermione's first instinct: to toss both Parvati and Lavender out of the dorm and make them beg for others to take them in. She may have been Head Girl, but Harry didn't think she technically had the authority to do that, just because she wasn't getting along with her dormmates. The switching had worked fine, so far, and McGonagall wasn't even aware of it, as far as he knew. Hermione and Ginny still got on well, and Ginny shared her letters from Ron with Hermione, which Hermione reported to Harry were more cheerful than the ones to her, his girlfriend.

But even though he'd had ample warning, he somehow couldn't bring himself to flee just because Hermione was up and about. When she entered the common room, she looked surprised to see him, and hesitated on the threshold. He thought she looked like she'd been crying again. He wondered whether she'd had The Dream once more. Something she hadn't told Ron since the night he was bitten was that she had recurring nightmares about it. Harry had only found out since Ron had checked into St. Mungo's. It wasn't actually one dream, but a number of variations. Sometimes she was the one bitten, instead of Ron; sometimes Ron was completely devoured by the wolf, instead of just bitten; sometimes after devouring Ron, the wolf came after her, too; but in every version, she felt at first that since she knew about the wolf coming after Ron, there might be a chance she could stop it. But in each version, she never managed to do it, and the jaws closed over his flesh again and again....

She still hesitated. He thought she looked like she needed some comforting, so he patted the rug beside him. "Come here," he said softly. She still wavered, then finally moved across the room and sat down close against him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her on the top of the head. "Just close your eyes and rest. Don't think, for once," he whispered. She nodded and snuggled closer to him.

They sat together silently for a few minutes, enjoying the closeness, when suddenly, Hermione said, with a bitter edge to her voice, "I'm going to be alone all my life, aren't I? Ron's never going to change his mind."

He looked down at her. "Don't be stupid, Hermione." She bristled; he knew that if there was one thing that would get her attention it would be the word stupid.

"You know I'll always be there for you, don't you?"

She looked at him; her eyes were very bright but there was a rueful expression lurking there. "It's not the same."

He put his hand on her cheek affectionately. "He'll come round. He'd never dream of hurting you. Eventually you'll be together, I firmly believe that." He pulled her head down onto him once more and closed his eyes. "You make a lovely teddy bear, you know. I'll tell Ron, and then he won't be able to resist your charms..." he said sleepily, his eyes still closed.

She laughed briefly. "Oh, Harry, I never know when you're being serious."

"I'm being completely serious," he mumbled, finally feeling relaxed enough again that he started to drift off....

He was flying, flying, flying. He moved his wings back and forth, back and forth. The wind rustled his black hair. He looked side to side; his wings weren't moving him through the air, his arms were. He wasn't in his griffin form, he was just flying in his human body.

I must be dreaming, he thought.

He landed lightly on the observation deck of the Astronomy Tower. Ginny was waiting for him there, as she was in many of his dreams.

When he alit she stepped toward him and slid her arms up around his neck. Harry didn't remember when their lips made contact, because soon it seemed as if they had always been that way. His arms held her to him tightly, and then he finally moved his mouth down her throat, opening her dressing gown.... For some reason, in this dream, she was wearing her night clothes, but sometimes his dreams and elements from them overlapped with each other....

Lips on his jaw startled him. This is a very real dream. The lips moved down to his neck; teeth nipped him, a sucking suction against his throat suddenly sent fiery fingers throughout his limbs, responding to this not-unwelcome, gentle assault. He opened his eyes and realized that he was no longer dreaming. And that it wasn't Ginny kissing him.

It was Hermione.

But this realization came just as she covered his mouth with her own again, flicking her tongue out. He wanted to stop her, but somehow he was holding her head in place with his hands, and she wouldn't have been able to pull away if she'd wanted to. Which she clearly didn't. While they kissed he heard rustling and then she took one of his hands from her face and placed it on her chest; she had taken off her dressing gown and was wearing only her thin nightdress. He moaned into her mouth, starting to move his hand over the soft flesh that was only separated from him by a very thin layer of fabric, making her moan softly back at him. He pulled back from her, then ran his mouth down her throat, reaching for her other breast now. She knows my weaknesses, he thought as she became louder in her encouragement and reached for his right hand, directing it under the fabric that pooled around her hips. He started to slide it up her soft thigh. And I know her weaknesses, too...

But when he thought this, he stopped suddenly. He pulled back, his hands clasped together convulsively, and stared at her in horror.

Weaknesses.

That's all this is, he thought. They were being weak. He stared at her, the flushed cheeks, her chest heaving. Then he could see the epiphany come over her as well, the widened eyes, and she hastily pulled her dressing gown around her again, shivering as though she was cold, despite the fact that Harry could still feel the heat emanating from her.

"I--I should go--um--up to my--" he stuttered.

"Yes, yes," she agreed in a very high voice. "Definitely time to go--"

Each of them practically ran to their respective stairs, and Harry didn't breathe easy until he was lying in his four-poster again.

It's just too easy, he thought, for us to slip into our old ways....

He had to find some way to bring Ron to his senses, or hope the doctor could do it. But he knew he was mortified by what he'd done to Parvati, and Harry suspected that Hermione was just a little frightened herself.

In the morning, Hermione didn't speak to him when they went running with Ruth and Tony and Ginny. Even Ginny spoke to him, although it was in an odd and distant way, as though they'd only recently met and she didn't know him very well. At breakfast, Hermione ate silently, looking down at her plate. When she was done her food there were still fifteen minutes to go before the bell would ring for their first class. Harry stood up and grabbed her arm roughly.

"We have to talk," he said in a hard voice. He knew he needed to do this before he lost his nerve. She stumbled as she stood, but she had no choice as he was dragging her to the anteroom near the staff table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape raise a quizzical eyebrow, and then Harry realized that the entire silent Great Hall must be watching the Head Boy dragging the Head Girl into the anteroom; the Head Boy and Head Girl who used to be a couple...

It was too late to worry about that now. He opened the door and pulled her into the room, slamming the door behind him. He put a locking charm on it, remembering Snape entering the room unexpectedly the time they were discussing Draco Malfoy and Mariah Kirkner.

"Harry! What are you thinking? The entire school was watching!" she finally said. "Are you ma--?"

But he didn't give her the chance to finish; he pulled her to him and took her mouth suddenly in a kiss that, within moments, had her shivering from head to foot and clutching at him for dear life. But he didn't stop; he deepened it and continued, and when he finally, gently pulled back he could swear her temperature had gone up several degrees. Her eyes were frightened, but she also looked like she was surrendering.

"Is that what you want, Hermione?" he whispered fiercely. "Because it would be so easy to go back, wouldn't it? Back to fifth year. No one would question it; Ron already gave us his blessing, didn't he?"

She stared at him, mouth working, but no words coming out. "You--you don't mean that, do you Harry?" she asked finally, sounding more frightened than he expected. "I mean, Ron wouldn't have said that if he knew about--"

But she suddenly stopped herself, and Harry narrowed his eyes. "If Ron knew about what?"

"Never mind," she said quickly in a strange, high voice. Harry still thought there was something he was in the dark about, as well as Ron, but she didn't look like she was in a telling mood. He wished Ron was there, so he'd know whether she was lying...

"Tell me, Hermione, what was going through your head when we were kissing just now? It went on long enough; don't tell me your mind didn't wander just a little." She bit her lip and looked down. Harry didn't wait for her answer. "You were thinking about Ron, weren't you?"

She nodded guiltily. But Harry had received the expected answer, so he went on. "Well, I have to admit that I was thinking about Ginny. Is that what we want to do? Go through the motions, each of us knowing that when we're together you're thinking of Ron and I'm thinking of Ginny? Because frankly, that sounds pretty pathetic to me."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm sorry about last night, Harry, I truly am. I wasn't thinking! I mean--apart from Ron, there's Ginny! If she ever found out about last night, she'd think I was as bad as Mariah..." Hermione looked truly worried about this, and Harry was momentarily confused.

"But Ginny told me to go to hell. Why should she care what you do, except as far as it concerns her brother? Who, remember, told you to get back together with me?"

She was still biting her lip. "Ginny's my friend. I care what she thinks of me, Harry. And I'm just--I can't believe, even sleep deprived, that I did that...."

She was reddening and holding her crossed arms against her chest, her lips drawn into a stern line. Harry nodded.

"Right. So. Our response to Ron is--well, I was going to say 'Are you barmy?' but he's already in St. Mungo's....Our response is that we are friends. Nothing more. Not any more, at any rate. I mean--for two people to be together who are constantly thinking of other people isn't a very good idea, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Right," she said quietly, not looking at him. Then she raised her eyes suddenly. "You won't--you won't tell either Ginny or Ron about last night or this morning, will you? Ever?"

He was confused again; why was she talking about Ginny as though she was his girlfriend or something? Or even someone who cared whether he lived or died?

"Of course not. Why should I? In fact, we won't ever speak of it to each other again, either. Agreed?"

She agreed, and when they left, they discovered that the Great Hall was already empty of students; they hadn't had to worry about the bell because they didn't have a class first thing Friday mornings. They went to the library together, quietly working on opposite sides of the same table, and when the bell rang for the second morning class, they left for History of Magic, two friends walking side by side, and no sign that they'd ever been anything more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry stepped out of the fireplace in the entrance to St. Mungo's and shook the soot out of his hair and robes. Hermione and Gabrielle Delacour had gone before him, and he moved swiftly out of the way so that Remus Lupin, who'd come with them, could emerge from the fireplace next. It was a matter of moments before Remus appeared, and as soon as he was out, he started sneezing.

"Damn soot. It's convenient to travel by Floo, sure, but no one seems to be capable of finding a way of getting rid of the dust," the werewolf complained, waving his wand over his patched robes, which, despite their age, were at least usually immaculate. He did the same for Harry, Hermione and Gabrielle. Bringing Gabrielle along was Hermione's idea; she'd talked to Professor McGonagall about the fact that Gabrielle hadn't had an opportunity to visit her sister in hospital once since the term had begun. McGonagall had contacted the girl's mother, who had allowed it. Her large blue eyes roamed around the enormous entry hall now, taking in its gargantuan proportions, as though wondering whether the doctors were all giants.

They approached the security desk, which was being manned by a different wizard than the one Harry had met when he'd come with Hermione to visit the Hogwarts students who'd been wounded in the Diagon Alley attack. They approached one by one.

"Name," the wizard said to Hermione in a monotone. When she responded, he said, "Wand, please," holding out his hand to her. She nervously removed her wand from her robes and handed it over. Rather than testing it to find out about the last spell it had cast, as Harry had expected, the wizard confiscated it. Seeing Hermione's open mouth, he said, "Increased security measures. You'll get it back when you depart. You won't need it while you're here."

She closed her mouth again and moved out of the way so Gabrielle could give her name and hand over her wand. Harry did the same; this wizard revealed no reaction to his name, but merely looked for it on his list and took Harry's wand in a very stiff, businesslike fashion.

When Remus Lupin stepped up and gave his name, it was quickly found on the list and he quietly handed over his wand. This time, however, the wizard held onto it briefly, so that both he and Remus were touching it simultaneously. "You're the werewolf, aren't you?" he asked suddenly, his monotone finally varying--but only slightly.

Remus looked him in the eye, nodding, no expression on his face. The wizard didn't say anything else, but put Remus' wand with the others and waved them through; but when Harry looked over his shoulder at the wizard, he saw him watching Remus Lupin's back intently.

They went to the matron's office on the ground floor to ask where to go to see Ron Weasley and Fleur Delacour. The matron raised one eyebrow at them, but if it was because of Ron's name or Fleur's--or both--Harry couldn't tell.

"They're both on this level. Don't want to have patients of that sort too high up, you know," she said with a smirk, as though being suicidal or mad were funny, Harry thought. Their footsteps echoed in the vast, high corridors with their intersecting Gothic arches and high clerestory windows. Ribbed vaults of monotonous grey stone swept up overhead; at Hogwarts, there were wings where Hogwarts castle seemed almost Moorish, with different colors of stone--sand, crimson, lapis--alternated with each other, producing almost as great a rainbow effect as the stained glass windows. Even wings that were built in eras when grey stone was also the rule had color in the form of tapestries and banners, or large paintings. It seemed that all such variation in color was against the rules here, and the oversized proportions also made Harry feel very small and insignificant.

They turned and entered a corridor with a much lower coffered ceiling, and the matron herself led them to Ron's room. Harry and Hermione hesitated. Remus Lupin put his hand on Gabrielle's arm; she was already only a few inches shorter than him, even through she'd just turned twelve the week before. It was still strange for Harry to have to look down to look at Remus, but he wasn't a very tall man. Just tall enough, he'd said to Harry once.

Remus looked grimly at Harry and Hermione. "We'll go to see Fleur now," he said quietly. The matron led them on to Fleur's room. Harry glanced at Hermione and nodded. They should be happier; Ron was checking out today. He was coming back to Hogwarts. Then why did they both feel so apprehensive?

Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the door, which had no window. He heard Ron's voice, neither cheerful nor depressed, call out, "Come in."

Harry opened the door and found Ron folding his clothes on the bed before placing them in a canvas bag. The room was as austere as a monk's cell, with a high, narrow metal bed, whitewashed walls with no artwork, and simple, unadorned furniture. There weren't even any curtains on the clear leaded windows--although there were bars on them. On the inside. Harry remembered the opulence of the Minister's room, where he'd been, and wished he'd been in a room like this instead. Unless this was only for--he didn't want to even think the term 'mental patients.' But that's precisely what Ron was, and it was Harry who'd suggested he check himself into St. Mungo's.

Ron was moving back and forth methodically between a large plain wardrobe and the bed as though he was an automaton. As he moved, he spoke tonelessly to them. "Came to see me back? Thanks. Are you all alone?"

"No," Harry said, his throat very dry. "Remus came with us, although he's accompanying Gabrielle Delacour to Fleur's room right now, to visit her. Fleur isn't going, of course. Gabrielle hasn't seen her sister since the term began."

Ron nodded. "We eat our meals in a room down the corridor, next to the common room. We have a common room too," he said, giving a small smile. "Not as nice as the Gryffindor common room, of course. And then there are the smells around here. When I've been allowed out on the grounds for walks, I've been going without a cloak, and the matron scolded me for it. I explained that I was trying to catch a headcold so I couldn't smell properly while I was here."

Hermione smiled feebly, as did Harry; he wasn't sure whether he was trying to be funny and they were expected to laugh. This was a Ron Harry hadn't met before, a Ron with an oddly flat affect. Harry wasn't sure what to think.

Ron was almost done packing. "I ate meals with Fleur a few times. All of the tables in the dining hall seat two people only. At least in our wing; it might be different elsewhere. It was nice to eat with her, actually. Unlike most people, she doesn't ask me anything about what it's like to be a werewolf. Doesn't talk much at all, in fact. And as smells go, the smell of a pregnant woman isn't too bad. It's like--a baby. And like warm milk. Not curdled; just--warm. Which is to be expected, I suppose. Anyway, I think she said one thing the entire time we ate. She asked me to pass the salt. I'm assuming, anyway. She only spoke French, but she pointed at the salt, so I knew what she wanted. That was it."

He closed his bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder. He'd shaved--or someone else had shaven him--and for the first time in a long while, Harry could see the scar on his cheek that was the legacy of the Three Broomsticks attack. Harry wondered why he'd gotten rid of the beard.

Somehow, though, asking questions like this of Ron right now didn't feel right to Harry; he still wasn't sure who this Ron Weasley was, and even a simple question like 'Why did you shave your beard?' seemed too personal a thing to ask a near-stranger.

They left the room and were surprised to find Remus Lupin and Gabrielle Delacour standing in the corridor, a few doors away, looking like they'd been waiting to talk to the three of them.

"What's wrong?" Hermione said immediately.

Gabrielle shook her head. "Nuzzing is wrong. My seestaire weeshes to see 'Arry."

Harry frowned. "Me? Out of the blue she asked to see me?"

Gabrielle shook her head again, her long silky hair floating lightly around her face. "No, I told 'air zat you 'ad come wiz me. She weeshes to see you," she repeated, and Harry looked uncertainly at Hermione and Ron. Hermione gestured toward Gabrielle with her head.

"Go on, then. We can wait."

Harry turned back toward the tall young girl uncertainly. He was surprised to see Gabrielle give him a small smile; she hadn't shown much friendliness to him during the term so far.

"Fleur reminded me zat you helped save me when she could not get to me in ze lake, when I was 'air 'ostage. I am sorry I 'ave not been more--" She seemed to flounder, looking for the right English word.

"That's all right," Harry said hurriedly, wondering at Fleur mentioning this, of all things. "You've had a lot on your mind, I imagine. New school and all that."

She gave him another small smile, and Harry looked at Remus Lupin, who tried to reassure him. "She is quite well--physically. About seven months along. The matron says the baby is doing fine, too."

"But," Harry said, "how will she give birth? Will she know what's happening to her? Won't she be frightened, wondering why she's in pain?"

Remus shook his head. "She knows she's pregnant. She even knows that Draco only made her think she was--hurting the baby. She's just still finding it comforting to retreat into herself a bit. She's been severely traumatized. But the matron reckons that she'll be able to have a normal birth, and when she does, there's a chance that once she has real proof that the baby is all right, she'll have a complete recovery and be able to leave."

"And--and she wants to see me," Harry said, still incredulous. Remus stood back and gestured toward the open doorway, as if to usher Harry in. He took a deep breath and walked into Fleur Delacour's room. He was immediately struck by a wave of--he wasn't sure what. It didn't feel entirely different than when he'd been assaulted by the very strong feeling at the World Cup that he had to dive onto the field--and yet it was different. He didn't feel like he needed to brag to her, to do something splendid to make her run off with him. What he felt like was--he felt like protecting her. He suddenly felt an overwhelmingly strong urge to keep her and her child safe. It wasn't an altogether bad way to feel--at least he didn't have the urge to claim that he'd invented Floo powder or the Wizarding Wireless--but he tried to shake it, nonetheless, as it made him feel like his thinking was a bit fuzzy.

To try to clear his head, he looked away from her thin form with the oddly distended belly, and gazed at the room. It seemed that, originally, the room could have been a mirror image of Ron's. The austerity had been offset here, though, by the addition of some wizarding photographs on the wall with smiling, waving Delacours, and other cozy touches, like a few small braided rugs on the tile floor and a quilt on the bed, instead of the plain white sheets and blankets which were all that Ron had. A rocking chair near the window was piled with pillows and topped with another quilt, and a basket stood nearby with what looked like books with pictures of gardens. Fleur also had some flowers growing in a series of pots on a plant stand on the other side of the window, and she was watering these flowers when Harry entered, using a long-spouted copper watering can; the spout ended in a disk with a multitude of tiny holes puncturing it, so that she was able to give the plants something approximating a gentle rain.

She looked very serene, tending to her flowers, brushing her cornsilk hair behind one small, perfect ear, and Harry, still trying to get his bearings, was startled when she looked up at him suddenly. She put down the watering can on the windowsill and walked to him; he was taller than her now, which was strange to him. He remembered feeling very small when he'd entered the room next to the Great Hall and found Fleur, Cedric and Viktor waiting before the hearth, the three champions of Beauxbatons, Hogwarts and Durmstrang having to accept an interloper, all because of Barty Crouch, Jr. Fleur had called him a "leetle boy." She looked up at him; he was a "leetle boy" no longer.

"'Arry," she said simply, putting her hands on his arms. She raised her chin and kissed him lightly, once on each cheek, then surveyed him again. He felt positively light-headed as the protective instinct washed over him again, due to her proximity. She waved her arm toward the rocking chair, suggesting he sit there, but he shook his head. "You take it. I'm fine standing." He reckoned that it was a natural and good thing, for women who were all or part veela to induce men around them to want to protect them when they were pregnant. But it was still a bit disorienting to Harry.

Now she shook her head and walked around him, looking grim, touching his shoulders lightly, then pulling her hand back. Suddenly, she had a very determined look on her face and started unbuttoning his shirt, tearing desperately at the buttons. What the hell is she doing? he thought. He grabbed her wrists, then shook his head sternly at her. "No," he said, shaking his head slowly, as though she were deaf. What's gotten into her?

But she backed up from him and he let go of her. Then she reached over her shoulder with one hand, the opposite shoulder with the other, and Harry finally understood. "Oh," he said in understanding now. "You want to see my back. It's okay. I'm fine."

She shook her head, pointing at herself and frowning, looking like she was going to cry. Then suddenly, she started slapping her left hand with her right, her face crumpled up like a child being scolded. Harry stepped forward and grabbed her wrists again. "No, Fleur, don't. You can see my back, if you like. So you can see that I'm all right."

She nodded, and he unbuttoned his own shirt after taking off his cloak and robes. When he slid the shirt from his arms, standing with nothing on from the waist up, he felt strange and cold; he turned around to show Fleur his back, and she stepped forward tentatively, putting her hands on the skin, pressing her palms flat, running them down from his shoulders to the small of his back, making him shiver; a woman had not touched him like that for a long time, it seemed, and he was already having trouble keeping his thoughts straight. She was saying something soft and sibilant under her breath, something that sounded like triste, repeated over and over.

He turned around to face her, and suddenly, he felt compelled to tell someone. She seemed unlikely to tell another person, so there didn't seem to be any harm in it. "Do you want to know a secret?" She looked up at him with tears hanging in her enormous blue eyes. "Rodney Jeffries healed me. It's the truth. He let himself into St. Mungo's and healed me."

She didn't respond verbally; she reached for his right hand and, taking it in hers, placed it very deliberately on the upper curve of her belly, holding it there, then looking at the wall as though it fascinated her. Harry stood there, shirtless, his hand under hers on her stomach. Suddenly he felt movement; a distinct sort of jolt, then the feeling of something actually pushing against his hand, as though trying to break through her stomach. She raised a teary but smiling face to him and continued to hold his hand in place so he could feel the baby's acrobatics.

"Bebe," she said softly. "Bebe."

He wasn't certain how long they stood there; Harry felt a strange series of emotions running through him as he felt Fleur's baby move beneath his hand. He felt glad that she was aware of the baby, and sorrowful that the Ginny in his other life hadn't been carrying his child, and that he would never know what it was like, now, to stand with her, like this, his hand on her belly, and feel his child--their child--move beneath his hand....He felt sad and protective and more than a little self-conscious, as he still did not have his shirt on.

Finally, mustering as much will-power as he could, he pulled his hand back and swallowed. He turned to pick his shirt up from the bed and buttoned it silently, adding his robes and cloak when he was done. He turned back to Fleur; she had seated herself in the rocker, her hands covering her own belly protectively now, rocking back and forth idly and staring through the barred window at the scudding clouds in the late autumn sky. Harry wondered now whether all women (or all witches) emitted something that made the men around them instinctively want to protect them when they were expecting babies. But then he thought about his mother, pregnant with his sister when she had died, and decided that perhaps that wasn't how it worked. It must be a veela thing.

He walked to her and bent over, placing a gentle kiss on her brow. She looked up at him and grasped his hand, placing it on her belly once more; he felt the life move within her and smiled down at her.

"Goodbye, Fleur," he said softly. "I mean--bonne soir," he added uncertainly. She smiled at him.

"Au revoir," she corrected him. He straightened up and removed his hand.

"Au revoir."

He turned to go, and when he was walking back to the hospital entrance hall with the others, he declined to say anything about what had occurred in the room, saying only that it was between him and Fleur.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This time, on the day of the Wales vs. France game, all of the Hogwarts students with permission to attend were sitting on the Welsh side and cheering for him. He looked with trepidation at the French Seeker, surprised to find that it was Jean-Claude Jones, who had tried out for the Welsh team. Evidently, the French team had found themselves in need of a new Seeker, and since Jones qualified for either team, he had tried out and landed the position.

Unfortunately, Harry reckoned without the kind of fierce pride Jones brought to the game, as he seemed to be trying to make up for the perceived loss of face that had occurred when Harry had beaten him to become the Welsh Seeker. The French Beaters, in particular, were merciless when it came to hitting the Bludgers his way, and barely ever let the Welsh Beaters near them, which meant that Harry was dodging heavy metal balls when Jones spotted the Snitch and subsequently caught it, winning the game for France.

Although this time, it didn't seem that a rogue Bludger was trying to take his head off, he felt like a leaden weight had settled in his stomach as he landed on the pitch with the rest of his team. They were out of the running for the European Cup.

When he and Sirius returned with Ron, Hermione and Snape to the entrance hall of Hogwarts, using their Portkey, Harry was surprised to find Professor McGonagall already there with Professor Figg and Professor Dumbledore.

"Ah, back from the match. We were listening on the wireless. Condolences, Harry, deepest condolences. It would have been nice to see a Hogwarts student in the Cup final, but you can't always catch the Snitch, unfortunately." Harry started to feel a little better, seeing Dumbledore up and around. His eyes didn't twinkle in quite the same way they used to, through those half-moon spectacles, but seeing him upright and speaking normally was certainly better than hearing him rasp at Professor McGonagall from his sickbed.

"Unfortunately, there was something else we were unable to catch. Or keep, rather. Ah, I have erred again; I should have said someone. We have some--er, news for you Harry." He paused and Harry frowned.

"What is it?"

Dumbledore looked sideways at McGonagall, then Figg, who finally said. "It's Petunia, Harry. She has decided to leave Hogwarts. She's already gone, as a matter of fact. There was no way to hold her against her will, nor would we. She just felt--out of place, you understand. As a new witch, and as an older student. It wasn't working." She seemed to be giving Snape a glare, as though it was his fault that a student in his house had felt the need to leave the school.

Harry couldn't believe it. "So--where's she gone? Back to Surrey?"

Dumbledore nodded. "So it seems. We will have the ministry check in on her from time to time, especially to monitor whether any magic is being performed. Hopefully we can keep anything the neighbors see to a bare minimum."

Harry swallowed. "Well, I reckon Uncle Vernon will be happy for her to be back." He nodded at Snape and smiled. "And I reckon you're a bit relieved, as well."

To his surprise, Snape actually broke into a smile, ignoring Arabella Figg's scowl. Dumbledore chuckled.

"I daresay you're right, Harry," he said, looking at Snape.

To his surprise, Snape suddenly glared at Dumbledore, something Harry had never seen him do, and then he turned on his heel and stalked down the stairs to the dungeons. Then McGonagall also glared at the headmaster and turned, sniffing, climbing the marble stairs, holding her robes up decorously. Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, who both shrugged, unsure what to make of this. Harry looked back at Dumbledore, who smiled broadly at him, something else Harry didn't usually see him do. (Small, subtle smiles, yes; broad smiles, no.)

Harry turned to the stairs himself, Ron and Hermione following behind with Sirius, wondering whether Dumbledore had changed because of what he'd been trying to do to Voldemort--and why that should make Snape and McGonagall suddenly dislike him. He looked over his shoulder at the headmaster, who met his gaze and winked at him. Harry turned away again, a bad feeling gnawing inside him.

Something was very wrong with Dumbledore.

---