Harry Potter and the Song of Time

Harry Potter and the Song of Time
by Crazy Ivan


Chapter Two: "The Snog of (all) Time"

"Tart," Ron said triumphantly to Hermione.
"Four points," she replied snidely, considering her options. "Bastard."
"Ohh, that's a double," he said. "You're too good at this, Hermione. I give up."
"Look, Ron, you've got 'balls'," Harry put in. "You get four more words for that as well on the cross-score, look."
"Aha! That's what, fifty-six points?"
"Yep," Harry said, writing it down. "You're only four points behind."
"Misogyne," Hermione grinned, placing the Y directly over a triple letter score and using the E from 'tertiary'. "Forty-two."

Ron tipped his letter rack over. "Hermione, my brain hurts. You're far too good at this game. You're the only one who can beat me at it."
"Has Draco tried? I hear he's a Scrabble whiz," Harry said. "At least, that's what Millicent Bulstrode told me."
Hermione's head jerked up. "What were you doing talking to that...that wench?"
"Okay, Hermione, think calmness, fluffy bunnies and pretty butterflies," Harry said. "Remember those things called 'lessons' that you like so much? And the one called 'Potions', which you didn't? Well, the uncallipygous Miss Bulstrode did study it, and so did I."
Hermione eyed Harry cagily.
"Bloody hell, Hermione, anyone would think you and Harry were going out!" Ron said jestingly.
A rather pregnant silence ensued.
"Oh, shit. You're not going out. You're--you're--" Ron stuttered, hands to temples.
"No," Harry said after a pause so pregnant it could have been having triplets, "but it would have been worth it to see your face."
"You bastard," Ron swore. "You so had me going there."
Hermione giggled. "Well, Harry, perhaps we could try it."

Ron shot her his very best McGonagall Don'teventhinkaboutit Look. "Hey, if you two want to have it away, it's your business. But please, tell me? I'm supposed to be your friend, remember?"
"Ron, you'll be the first to know," Harry said placatingly. "Well, third, if you count Rita Skeeter and Sumo Gregor from the news media, as well as my autobiographer, publicist..."
Harry was interrupted by two large fluffy pink cushions which bashed him on the side of the head. He looked up to see Ron and Hermione both glaring at him. "What? What did I say?"
"It's all right for you, Harry. Nobody ever sent you bubotuber pus through the post!" Hermione scolded.
"And remember that time when, in Witches' Hour on WWN, Sumo Gregor accused me of lusting after Hermione, and thus 'denying you your true love'?" Ron asked pointedly. "And then, in the News of the Screws, we were accused of being secret lovers whose unrequited love could pull Hogwarts apart? Or was that you and Draco?" Ron asked, racking his brains.
"I think that was the Harry/Draco relationship," Hermione contributed, trying in vain to hide a grin.
"Have we finished yet?" Harry asked, with a look that threatened to turn them into Blast-Ended Skrewts if they weren't careful.
"I don't know, have we, Ron?" Hermione mused.
"Oh, I suppose so," Ron said reluctantly. "But it is so much fun."

"Ron!" Narcissa called from the doorway. "Your parents just owled to see when you were going home. Your mum asked me to remind you that you've relations coming for dinner."
"Oh, bollocks," Ron said. "I forgot all about Auntie Brunhilda and Uncle Algie. I've got to get back home before dinner..."
Harry grinned. "Now, no blowing them up, Ron," he said. "You'll only have everyone thinking you're trying to copy me."
"Actually, they're all right," Ron admitted. "And Auntie Brunhilda always brings something foody for pudding. Last time it was a rather large Christmas cake, even though it was May."
"Riiiiight," Harry said suspiciously. "Maybe I could do that with some of my Christmas presents."
"Maybe," Hermione said. "Does anybody know someone who'd like a Santa-shaped toothbrush?"

* * *

Later that evening, Harry and Hermione were reclining in a hammock between two trees, watching the sun slide slowly down the sky. From its position, Harry estimated that it was about four in the afternoon.
"Hermione," Harry said tentatively, "did you really think that us being, er, together would be awkward."
"Most likely," she said, looking up from the latest copy of New Witch, which, according to the cover, contained '100 Useful Spells For The Bedroom'. "But for you, Harry, I'd do anything. Except, perhaps, do the whole bubotuber thing again. That would suck."
"Really?" Harry asked.
"Really. Harry, where is this leading?" Hermione asked. "I'm starting to feel that you're getting a bit heavy here."
"You know, I think that Trelawney was wrong about your Inner Eye being clouded," Harry said. "I am rather attracted to you, Hermione."
"I know."
"You know?"
"Yes. It's a girl thing," Hermione explained. "Every woman can do it."
"Oh."
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"I'm rather attracted to you too."
"I know."
"You--seriously?"
"Yes," Harry said with a cheeky grin. "It's a guy thing."
"Harry James Potter, you're a git," Hermione said, smacking his arm.
"And proud of it. I'm sure I have my Gits United button around here somewhere..."
Hermione snorted and put her arm around his neck. It was meant as a quasi-friendship, quasi-sensual gesture, but she felt the soft hair on the back of Harry's neck rise.

"Hermione, do you...love me?"
"At the risk of sounding like a shrink, what kind of love? Platonic, yes. Sexual...I could, easily."
"Hmm."
"Mr Potter. 'Hmm' is not an acceptable response to an answer like that." Hermione frowned at him. He was being such a typical male. But she had to admit, it was a little bit cute.
"How about eh-hmm?"
"Harry!"
"Sorry, sorry. Just baiting you."
"I'd noticed." She smiled at him. What am I doing? Am I coming onto him?

They swung silently in the hammock for a few minutes.
"Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Oh, bloody hell, we're sounding like a married couple."
"We are, aren't we?" she admitted. He was right, after all.
"I love you. I really do."
Hermione held herself very still. "Yes?"
"Oh, I'll spill it all out. I love everything about you. The way you look when you smile, the way you look when you think, your wit, your humour, your intelligence...I love it all."
"Oh, Harry..." No! I'm not going to go all mushy! Repeat after me. I am not going to go mushy. I am not going to--oh, sod it. "I love you too."

He put his other arm around her and smiled down at her.
"Hermione, I have somewhere I'd like to show you. A very special place." Harry sounded deadly serious.
Hermione looked up, mentally chiding herself for picking up on the double entendre. "Harry, have you found another dungeon in this mansion?"
"No, it's not another dungeon. Ever since I unearthed Draco's maternal great-grandmother's ghost in the one beneath the fountain, I've not gone looking for any. No, the place I'm thinking of isn't even in Malfoy Mansion," Harry said mysteriously.
"Well, where is it?" Hermione asked impatiently.
"You've got an Apparating license, right?" Harry asked.
"Yeeeees..." Hermione said, not quite seeing where this was going.
"Right. Since I can still sense where you are from the Pensieve link, can you do the same?"
"Yes. And by the way, it's quite irritating sometimes," Hermione remarked.
"Okay. I'm going to Apparate, and I want you to follow me."
"All right. Shouldn't we tell Narcissa where we're going?"
"Probably," said Harry, jumping down from the hammock and popping inside. Hermione's normally-organised mind was whirling. Was Harry about to ask her out? Where were they going? She saw him emerge from the house wearing a long scarlet cloak and carrying another one with him. God, he looks hot, she thought to herself. If he does ask me...how will I ever say no?

"Ready?" Harry asked, handing her the cloak. "Put that on, it'll be cold."
"Where are we going?"
"Ahh...let's just say that it's north and west of here."
"Ireland? Wales? Scotland? Iceland?"
"Nope, not telling. Okay, follow me. If you can't, I'll be back in five minutes and we'll try something else."

Harry stepped back from her and, raising his right hand above his head, closed it into a fist, drew it down along the centre of his body. Hermione watched him disappear into thin air and, closing her eyes, tried to find him in her mind. She searched in a northwesterly direction, sensing him still further ahead, until she found the blue coloured blob of mental space which was Harry. She made an expansive gesture with her hands and winked out of existence.

* * *

Hermione reappeared and opened her eyes. She was standing in a very green, verdant field of long grass which sloped quite steeply upwards to quite a wide crested peak and downwards very smoothly to a sandy beach glittering in the sun. In the background was a small grassy island with a couple of croft houses on it, and in the distance loomed a craggier, greyer outcrop which didn't much look like it could support life. Hermione looked around for Harry, but couldn't see him. Closing her mind, she spiralled out from herself, and spotted him on what was probably just the other side of the crest of the field. Hitching up her cloak, she started walking uphill. As she reached the crest, she stared over it. The ground fell away slightly for a few hundred feet, then dropping straight down about twice that distance. It curved away to the left, and Hermione could see the rocky cliffs with the waves crashing against them. It was quite windy and she drew the cloak around her arms, which were beginning to get goosebumps.

She gasped as a pair of strong arms encircled her waist. She instantly knew that it was Harry, who she'd completely missed while being stunned by the scenery.
"Gorgeous, eh?" Harry said quietly, as if wanting not to break the magic of the moment.
"You cert--I mean, it certainly are. Is. It certainly is," Hermione said. Why were all her faculties deserting her? For goodness' sake, this was Harry! Her best friend, her confidant, her study partner, her...love. It wasn't as if she didn't know him, for goodness' sake.
"Hermione?" his voice jerked her out of her reverie.
Scrambling to regain composure and control of the situation, Hermione smiled at him. "Sorry, I was miles away."
"I asked if you were cold."
"No, thanks to the cloak," she said. "Harry, where are we?"

"We're at the very tip of a peninsula on St Kilda," Harry explained. "It's way off the western coast of Scotland, and several hundred miles north of home. Oh, and it's one of the four days of sunshine they get in a year. This is one of those places to which I've always been drawn, I don't know why."

I bet I know why, Hermione said wryly to herself. It's where he's going to seduce me and we're going to defeat all the evil in the world and hear lots of pitter-pattering of tiny feet.
"What?" Harry said, incredulously.
"Oh, shit, was that out loud?" Hermione sounded mortified and blushed a deeper red than her cloak.
"Not really," Harry said, looking rather bashfully at her. "But you did think it rather loudly, and there is the residual link between us. It's especially amplified here. I couldn't help overhearing. Anyway...so much for unrequited love."
Okay, mental note to stop thinking to myself, Hermione thought very quietly in a very distant part of her brain.
"Too loud," Harry said gently to her. "Sorry. I think it's because we're so close together. And because we're here." He indicated the island.
I'd give him close tog--no! By the look on Harry's face, he'd caught her slip.
Sodding hell, Harry, does this mean that we can do the whole telepathic thing? she thought loudly at him.
No need to shout, he murmured back to her. And yes, I think it does.
Hermione looked rather shaken. For the first time, she wouldn't be alone with her thoughts. Any idea how to cut off the link? she thought at him.
Yes. Think of it as a loose thread in a piece of fabric. All you have to do is tie it up with your mind, Harry replied. Watch closely.

Hermione closed her eyes and watched the blue mental blob that was Harry extend what looked like several little blue tendrils, for lack of a better word, which started to play with the thin piece of mental thread linking the two of them together. The thread seemed to stretch and then snap back into the space between them rather like an elastic band.
Can you still hear me? she asked him, but got no reply. "Did you hear that?" she asked, eyes still shut.
"Hear what?"
"Guess not. Harry, how long have you been able to do that tendril thing? And what's it called? I've never seen it in any book."
"It's very advanced Neuromancy," he said. "Dumbledore taught me a bit in sixth year, but I only just learned how to break a link. I've got a book on it if you'd like. It's rather heavy going...but that's never stopped you before."
"Harry!" Hermione wasn't all that annoyed. She knew, from the Pensieve incident, that her perseverance one of the things he liked about her. "Can you bring the link back?"
"Yes, but both people have to want it and make their own side of the link. Watch..."

The blue blob of Harry extended the tendrils again and plucked several times at the space between them. The piece of thread started to unravel itself and led back to the Harry-blob. "Now you try," she heard. She bent all her will to extending one small stubby tendril about two inches out.

"No, don't try so hard. Just think of it as being done and it will happen," Harry said.

Relaxing, Hermione imagined long yellow tendrils coming from the herself-blob, and was pleasantly surprised when there they suddenly were. So surprised, in fact, that she lost concentration completely and they winked out. Bringing them back, she plucked at the end of the thread nearer to her, drawing it clumsily inwards and sticking it to what she thought of as the head of her blob.

Worked, she heard Harry say.
Yes, it did, she replied, a new thought striking her. Harry, how long have you been able to hear my thoughts?

Only a few months, depending on how close you are. I'm not completely up on the theory of it, but the further away you are, the less gets through. If, say, you were knocking down a house in a fit of rage, I'd hear more than if you were picking your nose. Harry sounded almost apologetic.

Harry Potter, have you been spying on me?

Not entirely...but I have heard some of your more emotional moments. I didn't want to lose the link to you, Hermione...

I understand.

Hermione's brain whirled for the umpteenth time that day. She knew she should be furious at Harry, even irate. But...she just couldn't bring herself to shout at him like he deserved. He was just standing there, looking so apologetic, and--stop it! You're sounding like Lavender or Parvati! she admonished herself.

They could never sound like you, though, a small Harry voice said to her. The "I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar" inside her dissolved like a sugar-lump, and Hermione Granger, Head Girl Emeritus of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, holder of five NEWTs, fifteen OWLs and the highest Scrabble score in the last ten years melted into the arms of the boy with a lightning scar on his forehead.

Oh, Harry... she said, half wanting to gush into him and half appalled at how fluttery she was becoming.
I love you, Hermione, he said, and she felt a similar conflict inside him too. In a surge of finally-requited love, he leaned towards her and their lips touched. Then again. And again. She mentally shook herself. It was finally happening. This was it. The big it. Hermione was determined that her first time was going to be her best...and especially if it was with Harry.

Thoughts, emotions, memories, pictures, feelings, ideas, passions flowed through the ever-widening link. Hermione found it extraordinarily reminiscent of that time in the Pensieve. She let her mind flow through the link into Harry's. They were linked mentally, and from there, it was obvious to them both that the physical world was an extension of that. Hermione wondered why the logic of it hadn't hit her before.

Harry shrugged his cloak off and laid it down on the long grass. He took Hermione's from her shoulder and laid it beside his own. Putting an arm gently around her shoulders, he brought her down to lie beside him on top of the cloaks. She reached over and cupped his head in her hand, drawing him closer to her. The ground began to tremble.

Harry! Are you doing this?! I know the earth is supposed to move for me, but I'm getting a little concerned... Hermione knew she sounded quite worried.

Don't worry. There's nobody for forty miles around here, and I've warded us off completely, Harry replied reassuringly.

A clod of earth roughly the same size as a juvenile hippopotamus exploded into a shower of brown dirt a few feet above them as it struck the ward, as if to reinforce Harry's thought. Hermione leaned in closer and cuddled Harry's chest into her own, fiddling one-by-one with the buttons on his shirt. I never thought these things could be so bloody fiddly.

I apologise. Next time I'll wear a t-shirt or a roll-neck, Harry shot back.

Hermione laughed as she tenderly pulled the shirt over Harry's head to expose his ever-so-slightly hairy chest. She rubbed her hand down the middle, stopping to caress the very cute furry patch below his navel. A large rock bounced off the ward and shattered.

Don't worry, we're perfectly safe, Harry assured her, stroking her lower back.

I trust you, Harry, she said, and started fiddling with the button on his trousers as he smoothly lifted her shirt over her head. Sodding things, she muttered. Five NEWTs and still a bloody button outfoxes me.

The link pulsed with the emotional energy passing between them. It seemed stronger than ever before, and as she slipped Harry's trousers down around his ankles, she began to get a little concerned as a monolith bounced off the ward with a silent 'thud'.

It's okay, Hermione. The intensity of the link has to do with the distance between us. A very intense thought will be received no matter the distance, but it will be all the more intense the closer one is to the source. Harry sounded reassuring and excited all at once. There's only so much thread in the link, if you want to think of it that way. Pretend it's an elastic band. The further you stretch it, the thinner it gets, right? Well, that's how the link is. The further it stretches, the less emotion and thought can get through. And, of course, vice versa. An enormous clod of earth crashed down and exploded above the ward.

I think I see, Hermione thought, as the mental picture came through from Harry. She smiled down at him, clad only in rather tight blue boxer shorts, which were missing a button in a rather unfortunate place. Well, hello, she said lasciviously as she tugged gently at the waistband. Harry looked down and had the grace to blush.

Little head thinking for the big one, she heard him think. She mentally saw an otherwise-invisible tendril of the blue Harry-blob slowly reach out and unclasp her bra, massaging her shoulders as he did so. He smiled lovingly up at her, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Moving on top of him, she let herself go as the earth, rocks and vegetation cascaded down upon them like a hurricane.

* * *

An observer standing at the tip of the island would have been astounded to see what took place that afternoon. It was as if the island was trying to recreate itself: rocks the size of buildings were flying into the air and crashing back down again, clouds of earth were being flung around, and waves the size of small towns were breaking over the entire peninsula. Well, the entire peninsula except an eight-foot sphere which contained two oblivious naked people.

* * *

Hermione lay ecstatically in Harry's arms, still naked, still coming down from the orgasmic high which the link had amplified beyond belief. Harry darling?
Yes?
Can we do that again?

* * *

The sun set and the moon rose high and full. Under its light, they sat on their cloaks on the peak of the pristine peninsula, arms around each other. With a twist of his mind, Harry had just repaired all the damage to their surroundings.
And you can just fix the island like that? Hermione asked Harry.
Yes. Think of it as an undo function on a Muggle computer.
Oh. Does it take much effort?
Yes.
They sat silently, watching the now-calm waves lap against the rocks below.
You realise that this changes everything, don't you? Hermione said finally.
Yes.
Can't you say anything but "yes"? she snapped.
Yes.
Men! Hermione slapped his hand playfully. Harry, how much of this link is because of the Pensieve?
Hmm, he mused. I'm not entirely sure. Dumbledore seemed to think that part of it was Magid-related, but the fact that it's so easy for us to form links is probably a result of the Pensieve.
Can you remember all of it? You know, all of the stuff you saw in the Pensieve? Hermione asked curiously.
I could immediately afterwards. Then I realised that it was starting to slip away...so I got a PensaQuote Quill and wrote it all down, Harry said. Why, how much can you remember?
All of it, Hermione said. Remember, I'm the one with the photographic memory.
Oh, said Harry in a small voice. Oops.
Don't worry, your secret lustings after Draco during that Hormone Moment are safe with me, she grinned. As safe as my crush on Penelope is with you.
You had a crush on Penelope? Harry sounded astounded. It didn't come through the Pensieve.
Are you sure? I was so envious of Percy... Hermione smiled. But don't you get jealous of me, Harry Potter, Destroyer of Rather Small Islands Off The West Coast Of Scotland.

They both laughed at that, and smiled adoringly at each other, full conversations passing between them at the speed of thought.
Can I keep this link, Harry? Hermione asked.
Of course you can. It's rather...comforting, he said.
Not to mention easier and faster to communicate. Oh, and there's the added benefit that nobody else can hear us, Hermione said. She closed her eyes and examined the link between the yellow Hermione-blob and the blue Harry-blob, and spied an infinitesimally-thin orange thread leading from each of them in a southwesterly direction. Oh, no! she suddenly mentally gasped.
What? Harry asked, knowing the answer before it came.
Ron! they chorused.

* * *

Sirius and Narcissa were reading in the sitting-room when Harry and Hermione Apparated back into the hallway, covered with dirt and grass. Magda, one of the ghost maids of Malfoy Mansion, tutted at them and followed them with a dustpan and brush, muttering about "Young people today! In my day we'd have dipped them in boiling oil!"

Harry popped his head around the sitting-room door and smiled at Sirius. "We're back," he said, a large clump of grass falling from his head to the floor.
"So I see," Sirius said, a wry smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Nobody called while we were out?" he asked casually.
"No," Sirius said, upping the ante and an eyebrow.
"Okay. Hermione and I are going to go have a bath."
"Together?"
Harry's face turned redder than a Chinese Red Dragon's eyes. "Mumblewumble," he said as Narcissa peered over her book.
"Harry, you're 18," Sirius said. "You don't need to answer to us for everything you do anymore."
"Ungh," Harry said stupidly.
"Oh, don't start that again," Narcissa said with a wink.
Harry flushed even redder. "I--go--now."

He turned around and, followed by the still-muttering Magda, padded upstairs, arm in arm with Hermione until they ended up entangled with a third person at the top of the stairs.
"Enjoy your little roll in the hay?" asked Draco acerbically from under Harry's right armpit as he brushed grass off his nose.
"Sod off, Draco," Harry muttered, attempting to disentangle himself but managing to poke himself hard in his right eye.
"Whoever has the roving hands, I'd appreciate my left buttock back," Draco said sarcastically.
"Sorry," Hermione said, "but you were sitting on them. The hands, I mean."
She disentangled herself from the two men and headed for her room.
"Really, Harry, I'm very happy for you," Draco said as soon as her door closed.
"Must--clean--grass," Harry stuttered.
"Good plan. If you dropped any more of it on the carpets Magda would probably beat you to death with a rotten carrot."
Harry staggered inside the bathroom without closing the door and stared stupidly at the shower.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco cursed from the hallway. "I should not have to do this!"
Harry stood stock-still in the bathroom as Magda muttered from outside about how she was going to have to wash the bathmat onto which he was dripping muddy grass, and how Master Lucius would have cut his tender bits off by now, or stuck a large spike or seventy-two in his nether regions. Draco sighed again and, extending his Magid-level mental tendrils, turned the shower on and lifted Harry into it, clothes and all. "Potter, you are never, ever, going to live this down. If you don't grovel in front of me once you're back to normal I'm going to tear up Wales in rage, you little bastard."

"Draco?" Hermione called from the hallway. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, Hermione," Draco said exasperatedly, pushing the door to so that she couldn't see inside. "Harry's just having a Magid Moment. Happens whenever we overexert ourselves. What the fuck did you do to him this afternoon?"
"That about sums it up," Hermione admitted through the door.
"What do you--oh. Ohhh. Oooooohhhhhh. I see. Bugger."
"Well, we didn't quite go that far--" Hermione protested.
"Thank you, Hermione. Would you like a shovel to keep digging? Or perhaps a semi-articulated yellow excavator would be more your style," Draco's voice dripped sarcasm through the door.

"Why is Harry standing in the shower in his clothes?" Hermione asked plaintively, nudging the door open and wedging her foot in the way.
"Because he's bloody dirty and they need washing."
"Good point."
"Hermione, why don't you go get some sleep. I'm sure you must be absolutely knackered. Fucking knackered, indeed." Draco grinned knowingly at Hermione.
"Draco Hephaestus St Julien Anatoliy Xavier Malfoy, I'm warning you..." Hermione shot back.
Draco visibly staggered. "How did you know my middle names?"
"Family tree on the second-floor landing," Hermione explained. "And don't you think that having six initials is a bit much?"
"What's wrong with having six initials?" Draco said defensively.
"Oh, nothing," Hermione said satisfiedly. "What's wrong with Harry, Draco?"

Draco's mind shifted gear and, with a clashing grind of his mental clutch, followed Hermione's gaze to the rather sodden Harry who was still standing stupidly in the bathtub. "Oh, bollocks. He's just overstretched his Magid power. Both Dumbledore and Sirius told us that we'd have to be careful not to , especially in heightened emotion. That's how I guessed that you'd, er, been..." Draco had the grace to blush.
"Yes, thank you, D.H.St J.A.X.M.," Hermione said primly. "Is he all right or should I go get Sirius?"
"He'd probably say that it served Harry right and that he should sleep it off and deal with the hangover tomorrow," Draco said.
"So it's like being drunk?" Hermione asked interestedly.
"In that it is essentially an overdose of the power that we Magids use, rather than intoxicating liquor, yes," Draco said, prodding Harry with a mental tendril to keep him from falling over backwards.
"Can you explain that to a non-Magid like me?" Hermione asked.
"Did I apply for "Who Wants To Be A Magid-aire" without knowledge?" Draco asked nobody in particular. "Okay. Magids. Well, you know how you have to focus your magical energy, and how you can focus better using a wand?"
"Yes," Hermione said.
"Well, our power doesn't come from that source. Not our Magid power, anyway. I'm not sure exactly where mine comes from -- we'll be getting evaluations once we get to the Magid Institute in St Andrews. There are several types of Magid power, including Earth, Sea, Sky, Life and...what's the last one...oh, yes, Fire. Dumbledore is immensely strong in all but Sky, that's why he can't fly without a broomstick. Fleur Delacour, on the other hand, is stronger than even Dumbledore in Sky and Life, but can't work Fire, Sea or Earth at all. She can fly better than a bird. It's a question of being a specialist, a jack-of-all-trades...or even a master-of-all-trades. That's why Sirius and the Institute people are so excited about Harry and me -- we're looking promising to be masters-of-all-trades."
"I see," Hermione said, not seeing particularly. She'd have to find herself a book about this, she thought to herself. "Why hasn't this been publicised to the wizarding population?"
"For the same reason that no Muggle knows that Elvis is still a powerful wizard and that John F. Kennedy wasn't shot but was simply brought back into the wizarding world. He was the first and only experiment into Muggle government by wizards," Draco said. "It's so that normal wizards don't start getting scared by Magids."
"Oh," said Hermione in a small voice, filing those facts away for future use.

"Ungh," said Harry from the bathtub. "Sleep."
"Good idea, Watson," Draco growled. "Hermione, would you please take his clothes off?"
"Why me?" Hermione asked.
"Well, you've already done it once today, so you're more practiced than I am," Draco said with a huge grin. "Honestly, I can't believe you didn't see that one coming!"
Hermione made a disgusted sound in her throat and peeled off Harry's wet shirt, trousers and boxers, leaving them in a soggy pile at the bottom of the bathtub. She wrapped a fluffy pink towel around his waist and looked at Draco. "Feel like getting him out of there?"
"Hmm...let me think about that," Draco said, extending his tendrils and lifting Harry out of the bath and into the hallway. They walked into Harry's room and Hermione drew back his covers. Draco slid him into bed and Hermione tucked him in. They tiptoed out and Hermione headed straight for her room. She slipped into her pajamas -- the ones with the turquoise seahorses on them -- and into bed.

* * *

Hermione woke late the following morning, stretching in a catlike manner and earning a rather reproving stare from a still-slumbering Crookshanks. She wrapped herself in her blue patterned dressing-gown and padded downstairs in search of good coffee. The pot in the machine was still hot, so she poured herself a mug and padded along into the sitting-room, where Sirius, Draco, Ron and Harry were having an animated discussion.

"Oh, Hermione, good morning. I've been hearing that you and Harry had a very exciting day yesterday," Draco said, and Hermione knew instantly that something was up just from the glint in his eye. Harry...what's going on?

Remember the link? Ron still has it too. Harry sounded none-too-enthusiastic about that.
Oh, shit. What happened?
"Yes, I hear they did," Ron said, looking somewhat peeved. Did you know that the link was active? he asked her.
No! Honestly, Ron, I didn't know about it until Harry told me. Hermione hoped she sounded sufficiently apologetic.
Well, it was amusing anyway, Ron said.
What was amusing?
When you both...er...reached the peak of your little, er, climb, I was passing a large platter of brussels sprouts to my Auntie Brunhilda. The link...how shall I put this...amplified the emotions, and the sprouts ended up going for a little trip. Down Auntie B's already-plunging neckline, in fact.

Hermione laughed out loud and Draco, Harry and Sirius gave her a funny look. "Sorry," she said and turned to look at Ron. Sorry, she said again.

"I was just asking Harry if you wanted to go into London to buy some things," Sirius asked. "Narcissa suggested it, since you'll need some warmer clothes for St Andrews."
"That's a smashing idea, Sirius," Hermione said hurriedly.
"Yes," said Draco. "Ron and I were just saying that we need to go as well."
"Oh, good," Hermione said, still not entirely awake. "I'll just go have a shower then."

* * *

They arrived at Diagon Alley in the Leaky Cauldron and headed, blinking, into the daylight. Settling down for an ice cream at Fortescue's, Draco broached The Big Question.
"So, I take it that you and Harry..."
"Yes." Hermione tried to make it sound confidently final but the slurping sound coming from Harry's toffee apple ice cream rather spoiled it.
"And he didn't blow up half of the country?" Draco didn't sound convinced.
"We, er, were on an uninhabited island. And he put all the megaliths and earth back together when we were done." She took a lick of her banana and melon ice cream.
"How thoughtful," Draco said. "But that is something useful to know."
"I'm so glad that our relationship has given you food for thought, Draco," Harry said venomously. "Remind me to put arsenic in it next time."
"Touché," Draco replied, rising above it but dripping triple chocolate ice cream down his robes and cursing quietly.
"Seriously," Ron said, "are you guys...together?"
Harry smiled at Hermione and took her hand in his. "I think so. Hermione?"
"Far be it for me to disagree with the Famous Harry Potter himself," Hermione said, squeezing Harry's hand, "but I see Sumo Gregor making a beeline for us with notebook in hand. May I suggest we adjourn to Crittik Alley? I've seen the most gorgeous dress robes for you in the Vampsace catalogue, Harry."
"Do we have to? I much prefer Donna Charon," Harry said. "Her dress robes fit me better."
"Donna Charon, indeed," Draco said. "Give me Kenneth Troll any day."

* * *

They ended up at Kenneth Troll, and Draco headed directly for the leather trousers section. Hermione emerged from the changing room and twirled, the deep crimson, full-length, strapless gown looking absolutely stunning on her. She'd let her hair down to try it on, and Harry and Ron goggled at the difference from the usual jeans-and-t-shirt Hermione.
"Well?" she asked. "How do I look?"
"Stunning, Hermione," Draco said, with a sidelong glance at Harry and Ron, who were still agog. "Can I steal your changing room to try on these trousers?"
"Of course you can," Hermione said. "Now, Harry, do you think this handbag would go, or do you prefer the smaller one?"
"Ungh," Harry said.
"Oh, for Voldemort's sake!" Hermione fumed, drawing shocked looks from a tall young wizard from Ravenclaw she recognised from Hogwarts. She held up the two bags and tapped on the changing room door. "Draco? Which handbag?"
"The small one," Draco replied from inside.
"Thank you," Hermione said, and, walking outside again, passed the larger one to Harry with an ingratiating smile. Draco emerged wearing his normal trousers; the ones he had been trying on lay in a heap on the floor. Hermione entered the changing room, locked the door and slipped the ball gown off. She pulled her jeans and t-shirt back on and picked up the gown and the trousers Draco had left behind. A sudden movement in the trousers, combined with seeing a single large eye peeking through the waistband, made her shriek and drop them, yank open the door with all her force and scream as if the world were ending.

Draco, Ron and Harry, who had been discussing the relative merits of Quidditch teams, scrambled into the changing rooms, while the occupants of the other rooms popped their heads over the partitions like jack-in-the-boxes.
"Aaaaaaaaahhhh! There's a monster in Draco's trousers!" Hermione shrieked, wand out and at the ready. She looked from Draco to Harry to Ron, who were falling over themselves in paroxysms of laughter.
"Monster--trousers--elf--haaaaa!" Draco spluttered while Harry cried in hilarity and Ron simply turned a rather fetching shade of magenta.
"Draco Hephaestus St Julien--!" Hermione yelled, interrupted by Draco smothering her mouth with his hand.
"Shush!" he urged. "Don't tell the whole world!"
"Did you do that on purpose?" Hermione hissed at him.
"What? No, my parents gave me my middle nam--"
"NO! I meant putting that...that monster in those trousers!"
"Hermione, I'm shocked," said Draco as Ron moved on from magenta, through puce and into scarlet, while Harry was still shuddering with silent laughter on the floor. "Someone with your level of education should not refer to an innocent store elf as a 'monster'."
"St-st-store elf?" Hermione sounded incredulous. "They have store elves in this shop? Are they like house elves?"
"Most high-class magical vendors do," Draco explained as Ron started to return to his normal colour. "Before you ask, they're paid for their work."
"But what do they do?" Hermione insisted.
"Oh, general tasks," said Draco. "You know, like any shop assistant. Seriously, Hermione, there's nothing to get worked up about..."

Hermione noticed Ron and Harry for the first time. Poking them both in the ribs with her foot, she straightened her back, extended her neck and walked stiffly to the counter to an accompaniment of applause from the clientele.
"Will that be all, madam?" a witch who looked as if she was trying very hard not to laugh said.
"Yes. Thank you."

Hermione paid for the gown and, followed by Draco and Harry, who were supporting a still-giggling Ron, walked back out into the sunshine of Crittik Alley, stopped, muttered an incantation and Disapparated back to Malfoy Mansion.

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