The Last Time

Chapter 2

Hermione sat in the middle of her bed in the seventh-year girls' dormitory. Parvati and Lavender were sleeping, but she wasn't tired. The Welcoming Feast had been wonderful, as usual, but Hermione was feeling rather strange and not a bit sleepy. Our last Welcoming Feast, she'd thought upon entering the Great Hall with Ron and Harry. Watching the first-years being sorted reminded her of her own sorting....

Hermione looked up at the ceiling of the Great Hall. It seemed that there was no ceiling, that you could see night sky above. She knew that there actually was a ceiling, of course, since she'd read about it in Hogwarts, A History. But she was impressed nonetheless. She'd seen so many marvellous things in the last few days - things that she never had believed possible, yet somehow she'd known about them in the back of her mind.

She followed the other students between the long tables to the front of the room, wondering what would happen next. After walking through a brick wall at the train station, eating jellybeans that tasted like strawberries, dirt and vomit, sailing across a lake in little boats with no motors or oars, and entering a castle with twenty or so ghosts floating about, she had no idea what to expect next.

Professor McGonagall brought out a three-legged stool and a patched and faded hat. She called their names, one at a time, and they came to sit on the stool. Each one had the hat placed on their head, and the Hat would call out the house they would be in. Hermione had read about the houses, of course, and very much hoped she'd be a Gryffindor - it seemed to be the best of all the houses - then again, Ravenclaw would be okay, since she was so smart and loved to study, but...

"Granger, Hermione!" called Professor McGonagall, and Hermione almost ran to the stool and put the hat on her head.

"Oh, my, what a mind we have here," said a small voice in her ear. "I've not seen this kind of intelligence since -"

"So that means I'm to be a Ravenclaw, then?" whispered Hermione, not wanting anyone to hear her.

"That might be the obvious choice, yes," the Hat. "However - I see potential here that goes beyond brains. Yes, much potential indeed...hmm, yes, I believe you should be in..."GRYFFINDOR!"

Over dinner, Hermione looked around the table at her new housemates. She was determined to get to know each of them, and so she carefully listened to the conversations, trying to get to know everyone. There were several lanky red-heads at the table; she discovered that they were all Weasleys - Percy, Fred, George, and then Ron, one of the boys who she'd met on the train, trying to turn his pet rat yellow (it didn't work). Why anyone would want to turn a rat yellow was beyond her comprehension, then again, why anyone would have a rat in the first place was beyond her comprehension as well. Then there was Neville, the one who'd lost his toad on the train, and Lavender and Parvati, two girls she'd talked with a bit on the train but had quickly decided they had little in common. Their conversation centred on which guys at their table were cuter and their favourite brands of hair potions. Seamus was a cheerful enough boy, and Dean seemed agreeable as well, although they were sitting too far from her to get a good feel for their conversation. And then there was the boy whose glasses she'd fixed on the train - Harry Potter. She'd remembered reading about him in the extra books she'd bought before coming to Hogwarts, though the skinny boy with messy hair and broken glasses didn't quite match up to how she'd imagined him...

She heard a soft tap at the door, so she put on her dressing gown and tiptoed to the door to see who it was.

It was Harry. "Did I wake you?"

Hermione came out into the corridor and closed the door carefully as to not wake the other girls. "No, I was awake. I couldn't sleep."

"You all right?" he asked, as they headed for the common room.

"Fine, just...thinking," said Hermione.

"You aren't supposed to be thinking yet, Hermione, we haven't even started classes yet," said Harry lightly.

"Not that kind of thinking, Harry," she answered shortly. "I mean, thinking about when we first came to Hogwarts. Watching the first years get sorted tonight, just made me remember our sorting...and I was remembering my first impressions of Hogwarts, and...different people..." she trailed off as they sat down together in front of the common room fireplace.

"Er, first impressions? I don't dare ask what you thought of me at first," laughed Harry. "Skinny little kid with broken glasses, weird scar on his head, and not the first clue about anything magical."

"You don't want to know what an eleven year old girl thinks about anyone," she said with a smile. "Most definitely not what she thinks about eleven year old boys." She paused. "Anyway, why weren't you sleeping?"

"Neville's snoring is getting worse by the year, and it was keeping me awake." He yawned and put his feet up on the low table in front of them. "Know any Anti-Snoring Charms?"

"No, sorry, but if you really want one, I could see if there's something in the library tomorrow that might help..."

"What, the ever-so-clever Hermione Granger doesn't know an Anti-Snoring Charm?" Harry said, with a look of mock surprise. "What is the world coming to?"

"Stop teasing, Harry," she said, elbowing him in the ribs. "Tell me what you're really on about."

Harry looked down at his hands, resting on his stomach. "He's back. Voldemort."

Hermione sat up, concerned. "You've been having those dreams again, haven't you." It wasn't a question. The certainty in Harry's voice chilled her to the bone.

Harry nodded. "They started again this summer, while I was at the Burrow. At first, I'd wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding as if I'd just played a hard game of Quidditch, scar burning...not remembering anything. Then later...they changed. I could hear my mum...the night Voldemort came after them, I heard their voices...it was like when the dementors were here."

"Did you tell Ron? What about Remus?"

"I didn't tell anyone. If I'd told Ron, he'd have told Mrs. Weasley, and you know how she gets about me sometimes. She wouldn't have let me out of her sight. Same with Remus...they'd have had me up to Dumbledore and we'd have this huge drama again with the Order and everything. People watching me all the time, whispering, looking out for me, following me, making a fuss, just waiting for Voldemort to bash me over the head and drag me away. Especially with this prophecy...."

It wasn't often that Harry mentioned the prophecy. Not long after they'd returned to school for their sixth year, Harry had dragged her and Ron down to Hagrid's one afternoon while he was out in the woods with Grawp, and told them what had been contained in that dusty glass sphere they'd worked so hard to keep Lucius Malfoy from getting his hands on. Ron had been dumbfounded at the news, first flat labelling it as another one of Trelawney's far-fetched and ridiculous proclamations, then lapsing into a state of mute denial. Hermione had been slightly less shocked, only because she'd been somewhat suspecting it. Over the years she'd known Harry she'd often speculated on why Voldemort was so determined to kill Harry, and as much as she despised Divination, prophecy was one of the possibilities she'd considered. But to have it staring her right in the face that Harry would either have to kill Voldemort or be killed himself was almost too much to comprehend. And after that afternoon, Harry had only mentioned the prophecy once or twice. It wasn't something he cared to talk about.

He turned to look at her. "I'm sick of the drama, Hermione. I'm tired of being 'The Boy Who Lived.' I just want to be a normal wizard like everyone else. I want to play Quidditch, drink butterbeer with my friends, and maybe even sneak off to the lake to have a snog now and then without worrying whether he's going to pop out of nowhere and kill me! I'm seventeen years old and I want to act like it, not like a grown man who has to save the bloody world every time I turn around!" Harry's fists clenched in his lap and his face had gone white with fury.

"Harry, you can't just ignore this," said Hermione furiously. "You know this means he's back, you said so yourself, and you've got to be ready or he'll kill you this time. If he's been gone this long, waiting, it means he's stronger than ever. Why on earth didn't you tell anyone? And why are you telling me now? You should have gone to Remus first, he can help you!"

"No, Hermione," he said. "I can't go to Remus, or anyone yet. I don't want to cause a stir, when I don't know anything for certain. You have to promise you won't say anything, to anyone. Don't go to Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or Remus, or anyone else. I don't want anyone to worry right now."

"Haven't you been doing your Occlumency? I know you've not been keeping up those lessons with Snape, but you still know the basics - clearing your mind every night before bed and all that. You have been, haven't you?"

Harry looked slightly sheepish. "Well, I sort of have, and I sort of haven't."

Hermione decided to skip the lecture he truly deserved, and changed tacks. "Why are you telling me this now?" she asked. "I mean, you said you didn't want anyone to make a fuss over you, didn't you? Remember, I'm the one who told McGonagall about your new Firebolt when I thought it was from someone who wanted to kill you, not too many years ago. If I made that big a deal of a broomstick, what makes you think I can keep this quiet?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know what made me tell you. I just had to tell someone before I went mad. Just don't tell anyone, please, Hermione. I'm tired of being the hero."

"At least tell Ron, Harry. He's your friend, and he'll never tell anyone, even his mum, if you tell him not to. I know he'd keep it a secret, and he won't make a fuss over you either." Hermione was nervous. Harry had never asked her to keep a secret from Ron before, and it felt wrong.

"No," said Harry resolutely. "Promise me you won't tell him."

"Harry..."

"Do it, Hermione!" He gripped her shoulders and shook her, just once, but hard enough to make her teeth bash together painfully. "You can't tell anyone."

"Ow!"

He let go suddenly, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," said Hermione quietly. "But I don't like keeping this from Ron. It's wrong. After all the three of us have been through together, how can you keep it from him?"

"I just don't want to tell him, okay?"

"Fine. But I don't like this, not one bit. I'll keep it quiet for now, but I still think keeping secrets is a horrid idea." Hermione got up with a huff and went back to her room.

She didn't sleep a wink for the rest of the night.