Come Hither

Chapter 6

Lines Draw Nearer, Threads Grow Clearer

He didn't want to tell anybody, even his friends, just immediately. He couldn't bring himself to place that weight on any other soul - it would be so cruel, he thought. That fact itself was so robbing and consuming, it even stole Harry's capacity to react to it however, but he knew it was going to happen without a doubt.

Wormtail was related to this document, this document was needed to take over something, and Malfoy was close to that document. Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew, was one of the four designers of the Marauder's Map, which was a mostly complete map of Hogwarts. It was only logical to assume this map could be needed to take over Hogwarts.

Voldemort was coming for Hogwarts.

It would probably only hit him when the first spell hits these walls.

It was double Potions, the first class on Mondays. Snape was stalking the aisles, giving out harsh criticism to anyone with the slightest error in shade and texture of their potions, even more so than before, which was saying something.

Harry was paired with Seamus again, and sprinkling in some moondust into the deep red concoction. He took a moment to look around the room, bearing in mind the new knowledge he held. He just couldn't muster the feeling, couldn't muster the fear, the awe, the disbelief of it all. He kept it inside of himself, in a corner of his mind, too afraid that if he said it aloud, it would become spoken, made real, and it would somehow catalyze the possibility into reality. But it had to come, it had to be said, it had to be realized, felt, experienced, absorbed, reacted to, believed. And it had to be all those things before the looming Hogsmeade weekend coming up in five days' time - this coming Saturday. He thought he should at least tell Hermione so they could get his Defence club off the ground because if Voldemort was coming, then the heavens knew they needed it.

At these thoughts, Harry found his heart pacing, his breath trafficking in and out rapidly at this unplanned realization of the urgency. And what finally came with this sense of urgency was the fear that had eluded him since he had worked it out: the only home he had ever known was the target of a megalomaniac, that it was going to be taken away from everybody, from him, and it was going to be under the control of the darkest evil wizardkind had ever seen. Harry's hand let go of the ladle with which he had been stirring. Seamus shot him a curious look before taking over the task worriedly, stirring the required twenty-six times counter-clockwise and eight times clockwise. Harry fell into his chair, ran his hands through his hair, forced his breath to even out, took off his glasses, and wiped his eyes. After a pause of inert staring, he stood up.

"Potter!" Snape swiftly swooped down on him. "What exactly do you think you're doing? I see that now you think of yourself as above menial labour such as potion-making and thus left the ignominy, no doubt, upon your partn--" Snape stopped short, silenced into incredulity at Harry's temerity to just sweep past him with disrespectfully blank eyes whilst he was in the process of insulting him.

Harry marched almost blindly over to Hermione's desk.

The room fell deadly silent. All pairs of eyes were trained at Harry making his way to Hermione and Neville. Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

Snape quickly seemed to emerge from his stupor. "Potter, I'm sure you and Miss Granger have very urgent matters to take care of at the moment, considering the current stages of your lives, but now is not the appropriate time. Sit - down."

Harry's vision was inverted in colour; all he saw at the moment was many dabbles of white and purple. He was not experiencing any of this; it was all so very distant... His hand reached out to a startled Hermione and his feet led them both to the door.

"Potter, dare walk out that door and you can forget about the House Cup!"

The door clicked shut after them.

Ron held his breath, a horrified expression twisting his face and meshing his freckles together.

Snape glared at the closed door lingeringly, and they narrowed at it as though they were attempting to see through the door. The room was utterly quiet around him.

"Continue," he then curtly ordered the class, before sweeping into his study, leaving a gradually rousing classroom in his wake.

"Voldemort's planning to take over Hogwarts," Harry told Hermione outside the classroom.

After flinching reflexively at the name, Hermione's eyes widened. It looked exaggerated somehow.

"You're lying," she declared at once.

Harry shook his head mutely, and he suspected that a small part of her accepted it, considering the war mentality they had nurtured since he had told them about Dumbledore's training lessons.

Hermione's mouth worked but nothing came out, and then her eyes roamed over the empty stone hallway; she looked positively floored and temporarily incapable of speech, so Harry pressed this opportunity to explain further: "Wormtail told him about the Marauder's Map, and now he wants to get it." Immediately after he said this, his mind was slammed with an obvious solution: he could destroy the map. But wait, it was a legacy, a legacy his father was part of, and Professor Lupin, and his godfather, Sirius. But... Hogwarts was in jeopardy here, surely that justified it. He had to burn it.

"How do you..." began Hermione, but then she seemed to find her answer; her eyes shot up to his forehead. "...Your scar, that's how you know... Oh, Harry..." For a moment, Hermione appeared as though she wasn't far from stomping her foot on the ground in childish indignation. "It's- it's..." And once again, she was speechless as she trailed off, her eyes losing all focus. "You could destroy the map," she said faintly out of the blue, her hazel eyes still seeming to stare into the distance.

This was exactly what Harry had first thought of, but that flicker of hope it had ignited had been smothered by recalling Voldemort's words.

"Voldemort said it wasn't crucial to initiating the takeover."

Hermione's face crumbed before Harry's eyes in royal defeat, though it still looked inadequate, perhaps even forced, as though she had to force herself to react to the news, force herself to actually believe it was happening, possibly. Her eyes momentarily lingered on the door they had just walked through. It was just only seconds ago that she was in there, oblivious to this possibility. Only moments ago, she was innocent, devoid of any of these worrying thoughts...

"We need to get that Defence club going," Harry declared suddenly.

Hermione turned to him. "Did you tell Dumbledore all of this?"

Harry nodded.

"...And?" she asked, slightly leaning toward him in curiosity, that stillness overcoming her again.

"...He... just told me that we would discuss this some more at another time. Of course I couldn't push the issue; I mean, the man had just nearly..." Harry trailed off, clearing his throat.

Hermione backed up against the cool wall behind her. "Told you to--"

"Look, we don't have time for this, okay? We have to get that Defence club running ASAP!"

Hermione looked slightly taken aback by his outburst, but, finally, with a swiftness that made Harry feel guilty, she nodded and closed her eyes. "I understand, Harry," she said, opening her eyes again and giving Harry a mostly successful warm look. "We'll do it."

Harry nodded and tried to smile but failed.

"Blimey, Harry!" said Ron's awed, boisterous voice from the door. "Snape nearly popped his jugular! And you know how thick it gets when he's angry!"

He joined them in the Transfiguration classroom after the Potions lessons had ended, which Harry and Hermione hadn't returned to after choosing not to commit suicide, instead heading for the library.

"What was with you, Harry, just walking out of there with Mione like he wasn't even talking to you? Gryffindor lost sixty-five points today!"

Ron plunged into the seat a table behind Harry and Hermione, handing them their bags. He hadn't adopted an exactly admonishing tone but was flirting with it. Harry knew that the only reason Ron was such an avid collector of House Cups was just so he could see Malfoy's face crumble at the end of every year, something which for he had the greatest sympathy himself, and now that the streak of these yearly victories was being threatened, his panic was eloquently clear all over his face.

"We had something important to discuss," Hermione explained in a guarded tone, her eyes fixed straight ahead and every line on her face taut. Next to her, Harry only had a resigned air about him, with a little contrition to it as well - sixty-five points?

"Bloody murder, it is!" Ron grumbled. Deciding not to challenge Hermione on what was more important than preserving House points after similar previous arguments had been thwarted beyond recovery, he turned his beseeching eyes to Harry for perhaps a perfunctory defence, but Harry merely gave him a commiserative look and a small shrug of his shoulders. Ron thickly swallowed down his indignation and took out his stationery.

The class started trickling in slowly, a few chairs scraping here and there. Harry looked to the front as Professor McGonagall entered the class from another door just to the left of the room. Her manner was as brisk, curt, and efficient as ever. She smartly arranged her papers on her table and drew herself up, further installing her presence. At this, the flow of students coming in invariably sped up, the students all wary of the sharp look on McGonagall's face.

Harry noticed even Malfoy had a habit of tucking his impeccable white-blond hair uneasily behind his ear (when it wasn't gelled, which was very rare), as though dispelling off the expectation of this tendency of supplication to hurry up and find a seat quickly. He didn't speed up, though. No, Malfoy just shook it off and continued to his seat with that air of superiority: nose in the air, arms folded, and in that swagger which everyone started to suspect was inherently natural rather than arrogantly acquired, this all the more beautifying its appeal. For Malfoy to be discomfited enough to have an unusual reaction such as tucking his hair behind his ear but not lose the elegance of his swag, attested to this unravelling realization.

Harry knew that the tucking behind the ear was unusual because Malfoy usually tossed his hair, not tuck it behind the ear, and he was aware of this because, well, one tends to be wary of one's enemy, usually noticing them more than anyone else but your friends, of course. Harry even noticed this propensity in Malfoy with his peripheral vision. He rarely saw it but it happened, nonetheless.

Each was so suspicious of the other - Harry being suspicious of Malfoy for being a Death Eater and somehow colluding to aid his fellow Death Eaters in infiltrating Hogwarts from the inside, or even simply sticking out his leg to trip him or the like, but Harry didn't exactly know why Malfoy watched him, Harry, closely. It was probable that it was because Malfoy took him as a rival, an offensive entity, and thus a threat in some way.

Now that he thought about it, Harry realized Malfoy was suspicious of everybody, actually, even the most innocent of people. The bloke's attention was never lax - his eyes always had a constant... sharpness or... readiness about them, yes, readiness. Even in History of Magic, where one's attention span wavered most severely, Malfoy would, admittedly, look as though he would drop dead with the slightest prod, but still, him sitting there - arms folded, back straight, chin dropped a little from its usually superior pedestal, eyes... eyes dull and clearly bored, yes, but... even then, they seemed to have a dormant sensitivity about them. If there was a sudden movement, like Ron snorting loudly (which Professor Binns didn't find particularly disturbing, and he didn't feel too inclined to wake Ron up either, as though he could have, being a ghost and all) those silver marbles would sweep over, not too quickly and not too slowly, to wherever the sound came from with that requisitely bored, dull look, but with an underlying reception as well.

Yes, Slytherins never rested. Specifically, Malfoy - the leader, never rested, and he would never indulge in a nap no matter how hot it was or how tedious the lesson. Harry knew this because he and Ron were always chastised by Hermione for having lines on their faces from their napping. She would compare them to Malfoy, saying that he managed to stay awake the entire period and take adequate notes, just as she had.

Of course, Hermione would never admit she admired this enduring trait of Malfoy.

Harry found the class full and settled, sitting attentively and waiting on Professor McGonagall's words. He drew his faculties and focused.

Did McGonagall even know about Dumbledore, about what happened to him?

"Good morning, students," she said in her brisk, clipped tone.

The class offered a relatively impressive greeting in reply. This was the only lesson in which they greeted the teacher so strictly. In others, this was grossly more relaxed. For example, in Herbology, Professor Sprout's address was too cheery to expect a well-ordered reply, so the class merely responded in an informal, equally cheery (some, such as her own Hufflepuffs and Neville Longbottom mainly) greeting back. In the Charms class, Flitwick's delightedly squeaked greeting wasn't taken seriously, so there wasn't too much of a response. In Potions, well, that needn't be mentioned. History of Magic - the ghost was never in a lively enough mood (pun intended) to be inclined to offer such a pleasantry.

"Today," McGonagall began, "we'll be performing Trans-Species Transfiguration, which you were instructed to research upon before attending today's class." Here she gave a sharp glare in the direction of Ron, who slid a few inches into his seat, regretting, Harry suspected, his bad track record with submitting homework in this class, as was the case in any other class, really. "Please produce your twelve-inch-long essays and place them on your desks."

Only a few students dared to look around at the class embarrassedly, knowing they couldn't produce such a document. Most, however, obediently hauled out their parchments and put them on their tables as their eyes roamed to other desks to compare their work. Hermione proudly displayed her annotated, footnoted, colour-coded, and three-inch longer essay. Harry felt so inadequate in its face, having taken out his own nondescript essay next to it, its twelve inches only afforded by his slightly enlarged, rather scrawny handwriting. It didn't do a bloke good to feel so emasculated as such for five years running. Even if it was academics, the absolute thrashing was ignominious.

After the class' collective eye took in Hermione's impressive essay, it would eventually pan over to Malfoy's, only a few tables away, and the Slytherin never disappointed. His essay might not have been colour-coded, but it was extensively referenced as well, not to mention graced by his aristocratic, cursively flourished handwriting that even Harry could admit it separated Malfoy's work from all the others so distinctly.

Hermione would also seek out Malfoy's research homework exclusively, since he was her only competition in all of the classes they attended together. At this, her chin would tilt a few degrees higher, her lips would stretch a little bit tighter, and her eyes would sharpen a little more, as though silently promising herself a future defeat for the competition, as it seemed Malfoy had once again managed to match her.

Malfoy, on the other hand, would remain as impassive as ever, maybe tossing his hair, rearranging his folded arms and reaffirming his attention to the teacher in front. Harry could almost admire Malfoy's ever-present nonchalance - it was almost artful the way it was maintained. And Malfoy wasn't even trying to be passive, he just was.

McGonagall, in a hypocritical tendency, even though she'd like to believe she strove to hold equal faith and expectation for all her students, was usually inclined to regard Malfoy's and Hermione's essays first. Of course, she would do this covertly, her eyes seeking out outstanding facts in the two star essays from where she stood afar or when passing by.

Harry didn't even want to see what Ron was doing behind him. He felt sorry for him, if McGonagall's slightly tighter than normal strictness today was anything to go by.

She came perilously close to them in passing; Harry could almost hear Ron's heartbeat. Pity she didn't continue on her merry, or rather conversely, stern way.

"Mr Weasley," she intoned tersely, stopping in front of Ron. Her eyes didn't even acknowledge the makeshift, pathetic excuse of an essay lying on his desk.

A few low giggles erupted from the other corner of the class where McGonagall was furthest away.

Harry turned around and saw Ron's Adam's apple oscillate horribly for a few seconds before he spoke.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?" Ron rasped thickly.

McGonagall maintained her sharp gaze. "I see you haven't filled the required length of the essay, and your writing is rather larger than life. I'm one for Transfiguring things to bigger ones but not my words, Mr Weasley." Some snickers sounded from the rest of the class. Ron's face grew bright red, clashing terribly with his freckles and bright, orange hair. "I suggest you redo this essay and submit it to my office before tonight at seven o'clock, if you wish to retain the rest of your free time this year, is that understood?" She raised a severe eyebrow.

It wasn't an option, contrary to her words; it was never a choice with McGonagall.

"Yes, ma'am," said Ron in a small voice, which lilted up unflatteringly at the end there. McGonagall didn't deign to give him a curt nod before moving on to tackle some other wise-arse.

The lesson ended with the class having escaped mostly unscathed. Ron and two other fifth-years had lost Gryffindor House fifteen points, but these were fully recovered by Hermione for her stunning essay and her casting a Trans-Species Transfiguration Spell correctly the first time. These small achievements, however, only made their net profit to nil. Slytherin gained ten extra points for Malfoy's essay solely.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione packed up their bags. Ron wasn't even daring to look at Hermione at the moment, too scared to see what he might find, undoubtedly. Hermione did look right pissed; her tediously garnered points were only useful to wipe off the deficit partly incurred by Ron, and not to partly recover the sixty-five points supposedly lost in Potions, as Ron himself had complained about. Harry and the two of them, refusing to meet in the eye, made their way towards the door.

"Mr Potter, please remain behind for a few minutes."

Harry had distantly seen that coming.

He stopped in his tracks, and his two friends gave him questioning looks asking what McGonagall could want from him and what crisis was he experiencing now. He sighed shortly and shook his head to his friends. "I'll see you guys in the Great Hall," he told them.

They initially looked collectively conflicted, as though holding back their questions. Harry found this amusing. Right now, they couldn't even look at each other because of the House points issue but they were still united by their similar expressions. Ron and Hermione finally nodded and stepped out of the Transfiguration classroom, a good foot and a half space separating them, which was undoubtedly sizzling with tension.

Harry turned around, went over to McGonagall and stood before her.

McGonagall had an indecipherable expression on her lined face, and she didn't speak for a few moments.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?" Harry said, suspecting he had to say this in order to be addressed, as though it was an unwritten student law or something.

McGonagall seemed to shake out of whatever had held her. "I saw you heading away from the headmaster's office entrance on Sunday morning..." She stopped here in uncharacteristic hesitation, with her sharp eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses and below seriously contracted eyebrows, boring relentlessly into Harry, who thought she obviously valued confidentiality but suspected that her curiosity was overwhelming her.

Harry was taken aback by this. McGonagall had seen him when he had attempted to enter the spiral staircase for his lesson with Dumbledore but was turned back rather rudely by Snape. What was she doing at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning? Didn't she worship a Merlin statue or something?

"Er, yes, I was." Harry was uncertain as to whether to expose the circumstances of his and Dumbledore's meetings or not. Did McGonagall even know about Dumbledore? About the near death experience or the lessons he was getting from him?

There was a different attentiveness in McGonagall's demeanour now. "...Well? Exactly why were you standing in front of the phoenix gargoyle at eight o'clock in the morning, Mr Potter?" she asked tersely, but even Harry could tell that she was trying to fall into her authoritative position to drive the legitimacy of asking that question, and she was really pushing it.

Harry hesitated. "Er, well, I don't think I... can, er... tell you." He cleared his throat at the fixed glare still coming his way from McGonagall, who held this look for a few seconds before relenting, giving a slight sigh.

"Did you meet with Professor Snape that morning at some stage?" she continued.

Harry was starting to think she was grabbing on some very delicate and dangerous threads here. Yes, Snape had been there and, as well as that caustic tongue of his, had told him to turn around and go back from where he came. But could he tell McGonagall? How much of what he did or knew was actually supposed to be secret? Where could he cut it dry and say he could tell only this much? If this was as serious as it was, he couldn't risk disclosing these covert issues to other people, even if one of them was Professor McGonagall; this was war. Showing uncharacteristic prudence, he answered, "No, I didn't, Professor. I didn't meet him."

She had looked already resigned before his answer, possibly having expected it. She drew back and straightened up, soundly regaining all dignity. "Very well, Potter, you should be on your way to your next class. I should give you a note."

Harry nearly laughed at this. As if Mad-Eye Moody had enough formality in him to expect a late note; actually, Harry was willing to bet Mad-Eye would probably tip his head in congratulations for this rare show of deviance; the man had no boundaries.

Nevertheless, he took the note and went out.

Harry joined Hermione and Ron in the Great Hall for lunch and then they continued with their normal day. Hermione had accosted Harry directly after the DADA class to ask him what McGonagall had wanted, whereupon Harry divulged that the professor was just curious about the time she saw him in front of Dumbledore's office on Sunday and how he economized on the truth, so to speak. Hermione had seemed to be reluctantly approving of this, probably having recognized the importance of keeping these meetings covert, even to authority figures.

Hours later, in the cosy Gryffindor common room, Hermione was helping Ron with his Transfiguration essay, which was due in a few hours. The room was a bit lively, with kids milling in and out casually. Harry was doing his homework as well at his own couch from where he noticed that Hermione was explaining things to Ron just a little too closely into his personal space, and chewing on her quill furiously every few seconds. And Ron definitely didn't seem to mind; he had a lasting red tinge to his face.

Hence, sitting alone at one corner of the couch, Harry did feel, despite himself, a little isolated, like an outcast, but he tried pushing these feelings away quickly, opting to focus his concentration on the Potions read-up he had to do. He had no time to indulge in whims, no time to indulge in sentimental frivolities. He had a war to fight here, and he most definitely shouldn't pity or feel bad about himself. He should feel happy for this... enhanced friendship that was budding here, even though the participants probably weren't too aware of it. Ron and Hermione were finding something good and special. He should be happy for them.

Harry couldn't wait for seven o'clock.

Was he really alone now?

Swoosh!

A brilliant white blur plunged through the open window of the dormitory.

"Hedwig!"

Harry had jumped up so quickly off his couch that he was his own blur.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown's gossiping could only be stopped for a second at noticing the white owl flying in, but after appreciating Hedwig's magnificent colour, it nevertheless commenced in equal fervour. Apparently, Malfoy had been single for three days.

Hedwig hooted and landed on Harry's levelled forearm gracefully, whereupon Harry ruffled her feathers as her large yellow eyes hungrily took in his face and all the other visual input in the common room. Harry's own eyes shot to her one leg; she had a note! Pausing mid-stroke of petting his favourite creature, he made quick work of the string and unfurled the note. It had to be, Merlin, it had to be. His heart battled against the confines of his chest.

The other two looked up and joined him where he stood.

It was from Sirius.

He wasn't alone, after all.

Harry,

Your common room fireplace

12:00

Wow, it was incredibly brusque; Harry could even go as far as uncharacteristically so. He frowned at the piece of paper, vaguely aware of two separate breaths on his necks. Evidently, Hermione and Ron were equally stunned themselves, judging by their lack of response, verbal or physical; Hermione didn't even huff in indignation at the lateness of the indicated time, as Harry knew she would have done. Harry suddenly tucked the note in the pocket of his pants, turned around, and went back to his comfy couch, continuing with his silent reading, minding his own business. He, too, wasn't alone.

Ron and Hermione took this with surprise; they clearly didn't understand why Harry was being so quiet after he had been anticipating that owl for weeks but was left without a word from his godfather. Hermione's forehead creased, perhaps in possible diagnosis: she might be thinking Harry was falling into depression, in the light of this simmering threat of war. She sighed heavily and seemed nervous, having every appearance of one approaching a subject they knew the other party desired not to discuss.

"Harry."

A neutral, "Hm?" was all Harry said.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that clearly said, 'Oh, boy.'

"Harry, are you all right? I mean, you've been expecting that owl for so long and... with this You-Know-Who thing going on, I'm not sure if... are you okay? You know you can talk to us, Harry."

Harry nearly indulged in looking at her fixedly for a few seconds before answering, just to absorb that banality of her words. What kind of answer did she expect?

"Of course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" he asked shortly.

Hermione looked uneasy. She came a little closer, her hands clasped together nervously in front of her skirt. "Well, I thought you'd be very stressed with this war issue, you know, and a lot of other things... I just want you to know, Harry, please: you can talk to us. Right, Ron?" Her head swivelled to Ron and an eyebrow rose in question.

Ron fell upon himself to answer. "Of course, Harry, you've always known that. We're here for you, mate." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable about the sentimentalities streaming from his lips.

"I know," Harry said, making sure to instil the perfect amount of his contrived belief into his voice, thus making his scepticism known. He didn't know completely why he was doing this at the moment, but he did know that he was angered by Hermione's words. How dare she? How dare she ask if he was all right? He might die in a few days, a few weeks, a few months, he didn't know. He couldn't even find comfort in the fact that Hogwarts was virtually impenetrable because it just might not be, despite long-standing and reverent assurances from history itself. If Harry knew Voldemort, he also knew that he wouldn't relent until he achieved what he desired; he was malevolently driven, and then Sirius - he hadn't heard a single word from him for so long, after so many weeks wherein he could have been caught or even died, and she has the audacity to ask him, 'Are you okay, Harry?'

He was becoming irrational, and he knew it. He shouldn't put blame on her - she wasn't doing anything wrong. As a matter of fact, she was doing a lot of things right: the whole meeting for the Defence club thing, the Galleon idea, and Sirius' dagger; Harry inwardly gasped - 'Sirius' dagger! He's showing up here tonight, I could ask him about it then! What had been the use of giving Hermione the dagger to find out what the strange runes on it if he was going to find about it tonight anyway?

Harry quelled that dark thought immediately. He was going astray here, and badly. He needed to re-evaluate here, go back, to hold himself together. He couldn't fall off like this, not in a time like this. They should be united, push all differences aside. As if there were any differences - those were just petty grievances, which had no place in a time of war. Harry forced his anger down, and forced himself to appreciate his friends and their loyalty. They were good friends over and above all, and he loved them, Ron and Hermione - the best friends for which he could ever hope. They stuck with him through so many things, through so much turmoil.

"I know, Hermione," he said more convincingly, making sure to look at them solemnly in the eye repentantly; it was time to grow up.

Hermione gave him a wide, watery smile before returning to help Ron with his essay, which he had to submit to Professor McGonagall at seven o'clock and not a minute late, and this commencement stung so little, Harry dismissed it without much trouble. Tonight, in seven hours, he would see Sirius again for the first time since he escaped Hogwarts on Buckbeak last year. He was excited - he couldn't wait; he had so many questions and so many things to talk about.

Only an hour later, Ron had successfully finished his essay, complete with a modest number of footnotes and a decent injection of foreign intelligence. He stood up in an undeservedly proud way, a similarly characterized smile on his face, and rather awkwardly thanked Hermione for her help, and Hermione replied pleasantly in an equally abashed way, albeit it still looked more sophisticated. Harry shared a smile with him as he passed by to the portrait hole.

Ron's exit left a mixed air between the two remainders. It wasn't uncomfortable but not free at all. Hermione had returned to her couch, now twisting her quill, with a pensive look on her face. Harry watched her. Then, her face came up, meeting observant emeralds. She initially seemed surprised at this, and then she held his eyes for a while. A raised eyebrow came Harry's way, making him raise his own. The girl shrugged, looked aside for a few seconds, then she suddenly gasped.

Before Harry could even ask her what was the matter, Hermione was already fervently rifling through her various parchments, flipping through numerous books, and scribbling some notes on a long piece of parchment donned with intricate formulas and weird shapes. Since Hermione didn't usually act even this passionate with her normal schoolwork, Harry approached her, a quizzical frown on his face.

"What is it, Hermione?" he asked, intrigued.

She wasted no time in explaining her new revelation: "Harry, the Galleon idea, I think I've finally cracked it! Look, see these twelve runes? I've come up with this combination here, then placed them like this on the ring of the coin such that, since distance is very important between symbols, that it is only--" Hermione did a double take at the befuddled, muted shake of Harry's head - Harry didn't understand.

After such a spurring of enthusiasm, Hermione sighed amusedly and told him about it in less technical terms. "Harry, I just figured out how to do this message thing completely. See, if I manipulate them into six, bipolar- oh, sorry..." She looked embarrassed again. So much for being less technical. Then a strict looked flashed past her face, which suggested to Harry that she was thinking the school should make Ancient Runes a mandatory unit. Clearing her throat bracingly, she clarified, "I'm pretty confident this can alert the future members of the Defence club. And speaking of which, I think we have to promote the meeting this Saturday at the Hog's Head. I can use the noticeboard and we can send out some flyers or something."

Harry, instead of thinking this sounded tedious, nodded resolutely, reminding himself about the severity of the situation. "That's fantastic, Hermione! We'll see what we can do about getting these people interested. I mean, it's for their own good and they know Voldemort is back since Dumbledore announced it in front of the whole Great Hall on the first day."

Hermione nodded with pursed lips in equal resolution after flinching at the name, which Harry ignored as always.

The portrait frame swung open and stumbled in Ron, back from McGonagall's office. He lazily trudged over to them and planted his arse on the couch next to Harry's, opposite Hermione's. "Bloody woman nearly bit my head off!" Ron complained. "I gave her the soddin' essay, didn't I?"

Harry and Hermione merely shrugged.

Having finished doing their homework for the night, Harry and Ron proceeded (after they both cast a look towards Hermione, who approved with a silent tilt of her chin) to play a few games of wizard chess whilst Hermione drew up the Defence club notice. They then invited her, as well as Dean, Seamus and Neville to play Exploding Snap.

Then, out of nowhere, in the throes of delightful fun and amicable cheering, Seamus cried, "Oi, I have an idea: let's play Spin-the-Bottle!" Then in Dean's ear, Harry could faintly hear him whisper, "I heard Ernie Macmillan's not a virgin anymore, and he had been playing this game over the weekend with some Hufflepuff girls. See? Libido is universal." Then he invited Parvati, Lavender and a few other surrounding Housemates, but the quick dispersal that ensued summarily dismissed him, and Harry was sure their disdainful thoughts were along the lines of, 'We aren't ten, for Merlin's sake!'

The night went surprisingly quickly, Harry discovering it to be a little past eleven o'clock already. He, Ron, Hermione, and Parvati were now seated in front of the hearth in the plush scarlet armchairs surrounding the fire. The trio's books lay abandoned on the table, having abandoned those hours ago. Parvati had joined them after her friend, Lavender, had called it a night whilst she had still had some reading to do, apparently, for her Unfogging the Future was open on the table on a chapter on premonitions; she had shared to the Harry, Ron, and Hermione that she felt it related to her profoundly. Now, after having finished reading the three-page chapter, with the Gryffindor common room dwindling as many other people finished their work and retired to their dorm rooms, and given an audience of three fellow Gryffindors, she spilt all the latest news.

Hermione's eyes bulged, Ron grimaced, and Harry's eyebrow went past his scar and disappeared behind his fringe.

Parvati nodded fervently at all of them in confirmation of her own words. "Isn't it a shame? I mean, Merlin, I can't say he pulls my heartstrings but there is some niceness about him. Never would've guessed, yeah?"

"I never would have known," breathed Hermione, who initially had made a brave attempt at appearing disinterested at the inherently frivolous nature of gossip, but perhaps even she sometimes couldn't resist talk like this.

"I bloody shower with him every day!" Ron gasped quietly, with incredulous disgust.

Harry was rather taken aback by Ron's asperity. He knew that gay people weren't ordinary readily accepted in the Muggle world, having seen what Dudley and his group of brutes did to 'skippy ponces,' but he hadn't known to what extent, if any, it applied in Wizarding society. Ron, indeed, was his closest window to this world, since he was a thoroughbred, pureblood wizard - raised magically from birth. Harry found himself growing afraid for Seamus, and a little confused then by his inviting even the girls to his Spin-the-Bottom game, which hadn't flown; perhaps it might have been a cover-up. Perhaps seeing some of this fear and confusion on his face, Hermione started to explain (as if she could resist explaining anything):

"Harry, homosexuality in the Wizarding world is extremely taboo," she said, while Parvati gave her a quizzical look, clearly confused at the need to explain this. "Even more so than in the Muggle world because apart from wanting to be as pure and undiluted as possible, magically, they also want to secure their ongoing existence, and if people started dating homosexually, there wouldn't be any continuity and a lot of pureblood lines will be jeopardy of extinction, as though they need any more threat as it is, since there are so few pureblood families left already."

Harry felt unaccountably embarrassed at Hermione having to explain this to him, especially in front of other people, who, to them, this perhaps was common knowledge - not even so solid as knowledge but rather intuitive sentiment, but at least now he understood.

Ron looked slightly contrite and squirmy in his chair; Harry thought that after Hermione's words, he was probably feeling guilty about his predicable, vehement reaction, but Harry also thought that Ron was brought up in a kind and warm family home, and had been taught to accept anyone and everyone, just as they had accepted him into the Burrow, which was redeeming. After a slightly long, Ron said, in a tone of reminiscence, "When mom used to work at Wool's orphanage before she started staying at home, we once - Fred, George, Ginny and I - went to work with her, and I remember there was this one strange fellow - De Nobrega was his name, I think. He didn't speak much, and nobody wanted to play with him. He was a lot shabbier than the others, even than this other Polkins bloke who mom told us pissed in his sheets everyday.

"Well, the De Nobrega bloke, mom didn't speak much about him and she kept changing the subject when we asked her questions. That's the thing with mom - she never understands that if she makes a mystery, Fred and George will lap it up. So my brothers made it their mission to find out about him, and Ginny and I went with. He told us he wasn't treated like all the rest, but that was obvious before he told us - you should've seen his room. Anyway, he wasn't a bad kid, and so we still couldn't understand why mom was acting strange about him, like she didn't want us to know about him, and even when we asked dad about it, he also went strange. He told us not to ask 'inappropriate' questions like that and that we could ask them to our wives when we grew up. I guess they didn't want us to know that there're some people who prefer to get in the arse, like Seamus does, apparently, because I admit when De Nobrega told us he Polkins and had dreams about him, it was the last thing we expected to hear, and it from that day father stopped me from sleeping with Fred and George anymore and I got my own bed... I don't think De Nobrega ever knew Polkins was a bed wetter."

And then with the appearance of attempting to dispel the attention he had just commanded, and perhaps as well the serious air suddenly around them, Ron went on, with amusement, "I'd love to see Lucius Malfoy's face if Malfoy said one day--" Ron raised his voice to a tenor. "--'Father, I'm gay, so I won't be able to give you an heir and the whole pure bloodline will be wiped out.'" And he and Harry fell into a fit of chuckles. Ron pretended to die of a heart attack while holding his wand vertically at the other end rather like how one would hold a cane. Harry laughed harder, but even after he subsided and Ron returned to his seat, Harry was still disturbed by the anecdote he had just heard.

Hermione and Parvati hadn't laughed at the joke, and with a rapidly thickening silence, things were becoming uncomfortable again at the back of Ron's tale, but fortunately, having vowed to rid the world of dull moments whenever she was around, it was becoming evident, Parvati reapplied her mouth: "Speaking of Malfoy, so, guys, have you heard of Malfoy's situation? Apparently he and Parkinson have split up!" She nodded vigorously at this, her usual fervour returning. "I can understand how you three must hate him, I do too, but, Merlin, even you have to admit, Hermione, he's the cutest guy in the whole of bloody Hogwarts!"

Ron made to protest that this was not appropriate conversation material but before he spoke, Harry caught his eyes shooting to Hermione's, catching a hesitant, hinged gleam in them.

Harry subconsciously dismissed the Malfoy being attractive part, not being a homosexual himself and having passively accepted this many years ago, as had many other fellow heterosexuals in this school, thank you very much. The reasons Harry thought made Malfoy not as popular as he could have been, given his good looks and fortune, was his attitude, of course, and that overly-possessive and repugnantly pug-faced Pansy Parkinson.

"Have they really been dating, those two? I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if they were just friends; they had never like shown any signs of that before - kissed or hugged or something in public." Just like Hermione, Harry had also initially wanted to remain out of this conversation and just listen because, strictly speaking, this was gossip, and it didn't sit right with his mind to know to he was engaging in such things; even Ron shot him a quizzical side-glance. Now, however, that goal seemed to have expired in the face of curiosity or idle chatter in the name of passing the time until midnight.

Parvati gave him an overt, incredulously exasperated face as though she believed the integrity of her chinwag unquestionable.

"Malfoy wouldn't be so obvious," said Hermione, with a sliver of a faraway look. "He's... subtle, he's delicately refined, a through and through aristocrat - attentive, diligent, eloquent, always immaculately dressed... he's honed to perfection like the way he was brought up to be."

There was silence.

There were three frozen expressions, eyebrows upon hairlines.

Hermione's cheeks grew pink. "Well, I am right, aren't I?" she said forcefully, and in a rather intimidating way.

A moment's hesitation passed before Parvati came to her rescue. "Of course, Hermione, er--" She cleared her throat. "--I couldn't have said it better. He's definitely all of that. He..." Parvati's uneasy haste dissipated and, looking straight ahead into the distance, a pensive, admiring countenance settled softly on her features. "...He's all of that and more. Ah, a Quidditch-tweaked body, those long fingers so good with Potions, that perfect skin, and, Merlin, that bloody hair! It's ridiculously unfair!"

It was Hermione who now shifted in her seat uneasily. Looking decidedly disconcerted, she cleared her throat again, a little more forcefully now, undoubtedly to rouse Parvati out of her bedazzled reverie, and she distinctly seemed to regret having not chased her away the moment she showed intentions of joining them.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. In their opinion, there was nothing good with Potions about Malfoy's long fingers, but around the little one of which Snape was wrapped, they thought instead.

Parvati's eyelashes fluttered embarrassedly for a moment before she, in the tense silence, began to speak again as though she didn't want to leave disconcertion to arise. "So, why aren't you guys going up to bed like the rest?" she asked finally.

The three exchanged panicked looks, and amongst the scattered, nervous replies, Hermione's won out: "We were just discussing something important, that's all," she said dismissively, trying to downplay the significance of a much-anticipated fire-call, knowing how the girl would feel.

As many things were inevitable, Parvati did look as though she felt intrusive now, as though she were an inconvenience. "Oh," she said and smiled politely, and then as though wanting to keep the imminent hiatus of silence at bay again, she continued with the latest gossip; wasn't she just the Hogwarts Howler? "I hear Cho's starting to feel positive about dating again..."

Harry's throat went dry when an inquisitive, sideway glance accompanied Parvati's words. He grew beetroot in the face. Ron's head also swivelled his way, not helping him at all.

Hermione, the lifesaver she was, interrupted the silence that was expecting an answer, or to be more accurate, Parvati's expectant silence. "Er, Parvati, we have an idea that we think is very important that we to need to get around," she said, steering the topic from gossip to more serious and substantial matters.

His embarrassment swiftly washed way, Harry's and two other inquisitive eyes locked onto Hermione, who seemed to have had enough of Parvati exposing them like this, something for which Harry couldn't blame her. First, it was Ron with the homosexual discrimination, then her with Malfoy and all of that messy hell right there, then Harry with the apparent situation of Cho's availability. Harry hadn't dreamed of any reservation from Parvati Patil, but this was just ridiculous. It felt like a court date, and Hermione and Ron, on his behalf, had sacrificed her prefect patrolling duty tonight for this?

"Ron, Harry, and I are starting a Defence club." Parvati's frown only deepened. Hermione went on, "As you well know, You-Know-Who is back and he is out there gathering strength and probably rebuilding his army." She solemnly fixed her hazel eyes on Parvati's widening blue ones. "We need to learn to defend ourselves, Parvati, and I'm asking you to help spread the word about meeting up this Hogsmeade Saturday in the Hog's Head at midday."

Harry and Ron looked on at Parvati, feeling very sympathetic towards her: only seconds ago she hadn't been aware of this possibility. She was more than likely to play it down and ignore rather than acknowledge it. Harry wouldn't be surprised if she just walked away without believing a word. Yet another inductee into this depressing realization of their collective dire straits.

Parvati sat silently still, clearly scarcely believing her ears and at how the atmosphere darkened so quickly.

"I want as many people who feel they want to protect themselves and their families from this oncoming war as possible to come." Parvati's jaw hung lower at the word 'war'. "We are going to be teaching you defence spells - advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts." Here, Hermione looked meaningfully to Harry. She used this unofficial official title to make her proposition sound all the more serious and professional, even though this DADA hadn't been confirmed yet, since Harry had only been to one of Dumbledore's lessons, and it had shed precious little insight into what kind of things he would be taught.

"And Harry here is going to help us; he has actually fought against You-Know-Who himself many times before so he's our best shot. He has the most insight into him and his followers."

Parvati's eyes slowly panned to Harry and dazedly took him in. Harry felt like Hermione had been reading his CV, advertising him to her so she could accept him. He didn't feel comfortable with it, but it had to be done, they had to get the Defence club going sooner rather than later. There were no comfort zones to be observed.

Parvati finally shut her mouth and appeared to try to pack up all of this in her mind.

The three others looked on at her with nervous hope; she was the catalyst they needed, if her popularity and capacity to spread news was anything to by.

"Erm," Parvati began confoundedly. She took several seconds to get her head straight. Finally, she sighed. "Er, yeah, sure, whatever, I can do that." She nodded resolutely but her demeanour still suggested she was utterly shaken.

Hermione nodded gratefully and smiled bracingly at for her courage, thus validating her being in this House with a reason other than having the courage to spread gossip knowing that one day she might just meet the incensed subject of her spew. "Thank you, Parvati, we really appreciate it. Don't worry, things will work out." Harry knew Hermione wasn't ordinarily this inclined to offer such a platitude, but the way Parvati was taking it, he could understand her compulsion to say something comforting, even if it sounded somewhat banal.

Parvati smiled feebly at her.

Harry and Ron had just left the talking to Hermione, her being a girl relating well with Parvati. They remained quiet and gave her open and supportive smiles.

Parvati, wishing, it seemed, to get back the air of which they, or she, perhaps more accurately, had been robbed before Hermione opened her mouth, said, "I hear Flitwick's buggering a kitchen-elf."

That most certainly seemed to do it for Hermione. "Par--" Before she could finish, however, Ron and Harry released guffawing barks and were now haphazardly sprawling in their armchairs, their legs kicking in the air, chests heaving and faces screwed up in delightful hysteria. Hermione clearly wasn't impressed by this, but her lower lip was starting to tremble, and turning to see Parvati's similar expression was the last straw: they, too, joined each other in laughter, though they didn't stomp their feet or laugh such that their uvulae were exposed.

In a few minutes, the laughter gradually died, leaving the air nicely light and pliable, reaching that clarity again in which one was tempted to believe that all things were possible and that all will be well and other similarly euphoric sentimentalities. Harry was savouring the last vestige of merriment with a lingering smile on his face when he turned to the clock on the mantle, and he suddenly gasped - it was 11:53.

Hearing his gasp, vigilant and attentive she was and defying one's momentary absence of guard after one has enjoyed a hearty laugh, Hermione also turned to the clock and shuddered herself, her smile dropping; they had to get Parvati away. Ron joined the party a few split seconds later and his eyes also widened, realizing the situation.

Hermione turned to Parvati with a delighted smile, which was contrived, Harry thought, but Parvati didn't need to know that. "Well, Parvati, this has certainly been very fun and informative." Indeed informative. "We should do this some other time again," she continued. Of course, she was bluffing, but Parvati's affirmative nod deemed this irrelevant. "Now, though, we should be going to sleep." She said this rather firmly; she was the prefect, after all.

Parvati jumped to her feet. She clasped her hands together and smiled widely down at them, Unfogging the Future, which she had yet to consult, tucked under her armpit. "Yeah, we should do this again some time," she said sweetly, and Harry, undeceived, knew that her words were just as contrived as was Hermione's smile, and he couldn't blame her; after being told of this war thing, she was now burdened with the worrying thoughts and having to spread the word about this supposed meeting of the Defence club. "Well, I should be going then." And with that, Parvati turned around to make her way to the stairs, but then, with one foot already lifted in the air, she stopped quite abruptly, and Harry could see that her eyes looked a little glazed over as though she were experiencing a spasm of divine insight. "To my bed, third on the right..." she whispered to herself, and a little dazedly, she rather floated over up the stairs and into the girls' dormitory.

After an amused pause wherein three eyebrows had risen, Hermione exhaled and observed, "Well, that was interesting."

The other two hummed their agreements and a reminiscent smile of Flitwick's apparent deviousness accompanied this.

"Do you think she'll do it, spread the word, I mean?" Harry asked the two.

Hermione wore a worried look, knowing the likely answer this, considering the general reluctant apathy of teenagers.

Ron shrugged. "She might, mate, you never know. We shouldn't underestimate her, shouldn't underestimate anyone. I mean, look what Flitwick's doing; wouldn't have expected him of it, yeah?"

They laughed again, and Harry and Hermione took a moment to absorb the surprising depth of his words, and then they all smiled a little at each other.

Things could work out.

And on this auspicious note, the fireplace burst to life.