Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Harry Potter
Genres:
Drama Mystery
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 04/02/2002
Updated: 04/16/2004
Words: 305,784
Chapters: 30
Hits: 74,152

Harry Potter And The Fall Of Childhood

E. E. Beck

Story Summary:
First in a trilogy of novels about harry's last years at Hogwarts. This one takes Harry through a new world of Death Eaters, secret identities, girls, battles and more than I can list here.

Chapter 17

Chapter Summary:
Shocks, plans, and upsets.
Posted:
08/16/2002
Hits:
2,013


Chapter 17

The Magic Word

"If you want to make God laugh, tell him you have plans." Sister Emerita

***

It was such a close thing that months later, when the chain of events set in motion that night had spun to its conclusion, Harry would sometimes stay up late through the night imagining all the ways things could have gone, his mind full of possibility and what if, of despair for how things went and relief that they did not go another way.

The shock of the spell, the complete unexpectedness of it was what nearly undid him. He hovered poised for a moment, body canted at an impossible angle as his foot hung in midair. Then gravity took over and he began to fall, forgetting about stealth, even that momentary white hot flash of rage he'd felt in the moment when he understood what was happening. The cloak flapped alarmingly around him, but Harry had no time to look down and see if he was trailing visible body parts. He tumbled about three steps before he snagged the railing, his heart thundering as he hauled himself back to the vertical.

He looked down to the two figures below, and wasn't sure if he was relieved or not that neither of them seemed to have noticed his presence. Hermione was half hidden by Viktor's shoulder, but he could still see her face, the oddly detached dazed cast to her eyes. And he could definitely see Viktor sliding his wand back into his pocket.

The rage returned then, a wild untamable thing that howled about his skull, demanding an outlet. He would have flung himself bodily at Viktor in that moment, wands bedamned, all fists and fury, but the Bulgarian turned then, his eyes sweeping the common room as if he'd heard something. Instinct took over and Harry looked down at himself, blanching as he saw his left leg up to the knee standing incongruously on the step. He twitched the cloak back into place just in time as Viktor turned to face the stairs, a frown creasing his brows.

"Is something the matter?" Hermione asked, seeming to emerge from her momentary trance.

"No," Viktor replied, turning swiftly back to her. Harry began to move, ready to do anything to keep the Bulgarian away from Hermione, but he was stopped cold by the look on Viktor's face.

"Are you alright?" The seeker asked, one stubby-fingered hand lifting to gently cup Hermione's cheek.

"I feel fine," Hermione assured, frowning up at him. "Just a bit confused. What were we just talking about?"

"Good, good," Viktor said, an expression of intense relief, and to Harry's surprise guilt, crossing his face. "Ve vere just discussing...your parents. I vanted you to tell them again how vonderful it vas of them to allow me to stay."

"They didn't mind at all," Hermione assured, her face clearing up and brightening into a warm smile that curdled coldly in Harry's guts. "But Viktor, look at the time. You really should be going if you want to be in Bulgaria by tomorrow morning."

"I know." Viktor let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders obvious. He reached for Hermione and clasped her close to him, his face over her shoulder a picture of worry and misery. "Take care of yourself for me, please?" He whispered, his voice vibrating with something unidentifiable.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Hermione asked, her voice muffled in his shoulder. "I always take care of myself. I've done a pretty good job so far, haven't I?"

Viktor flinched as if she had struck him, then composed his features as Hermione raised her head. "Yes, you have," He agreed, then kissed her softly.

Harry, still poised three steps from the common room, one hand gripping the railing tight enough to hurt, couldn't look away. They kissed slowly, with great gentleness and care, and their parting was a difficult thing.

"I can walk you down to the doors," Hermione said, looking a little bereft.

"No, go on up to bed," Viktor answered. "You have class tomorrow."

"You'll write soon?" Hermione asked, catching his hand.

"I vill," he reassured. "And ve'll find a vay to see each other again."

"Alright," Hermione agreed. They hugged and kissed again, and then Viktor urged Hermione up to her dorm. She left finally, throwing a kiss over her shoulder.

Viktor stood for a moment in the middle of the common room, his dark head lowered and his hands clasped before him. At last he looked up, and for a moment Harry thought the Bulgarian could see him. But it was just a trick of the light and Viktor's eyes as they once again swept the common room.

'He's making sure no one saw what he did,' Harry realized, his anger returning after the surprise of their tenderness. But before he could decide to do something or not, Viktor spun on his heel, his face set in hard lines of unexpected anger as he stalked out of the portrait hole.

Harry stood for a long moment, still staring at the now empty room before he sank to the step he had been standing on. He kept looking over at the girls stairs, wondering if he should go up there and tell Hermione what he had seen. And what had he seen, anyway? He had heard the memory charm, seen Viktor tucking his wand away, but what had the Bulgarian erased from Hermione's memory. It seemed like it had just been a snippet of their conversation. Would Hermione even believe him? He'd been surprised by the dynamic between them just now--it was more intimate and caring than he had realized. Would she believe the man who had held and kissed her so tenderly had also put a dangerous and manipulative spell on her?

And as to that, why was Viktor acting the way he had? He seemed like he was doing something he didn't want to, yet must. His concern for Hermione after he'd performed the charm had seemed real and deep, as if he feared doing her damage.

And yet ... and yet...

That look of anger on his face as he'd left, the furtive way he kept looking around him, hell the fact that he even knew how to perform a memory charm all bothered Harry deeply. He suddenly recalled all the whispers he'd heard about Durmstrang, about it's classes which had more to do with Dark Arts than defending from them. And there was the third task too, when Viktor had cursed Fleur. He'd claimed to be under the Imperius curse then, but he could easily have been lying. He could easily have been lying all along, about many things.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there at the base of the steps. All he knew was that when he finally emerged from his thoughts the coals in the fireplace were stone cold. A tentative plan had begun to take shape in Harry's mind, more necessity than invention. He didn't think he really had all that many options, or many he would willingly choose. Not with Hermione's memory hanging in the balance.

He felt trapped, ensnared by a single spell which hadn't even been meant for him. His anger was enormous and crippling, fogging his mind and forcing him to spend long minutes simply breathing and listening to his heart beat. He wondered how Hermione would feel, when she found out.

This was insane, it made no sense. Harry had an odd feeling about all of this, as if he had just strayed off a lit path and was taking his first stumbling steps through a darkened land.

Well, he'd just have to find some light.

Harry rose to his feet, only then remembering his original errand. He considered just going back up to his dorm and waiting for the morning to implement his plans, but he knew he would not be sleeping easily that night, if at all. A walk up to the owlery might do him good. And perhaps he could stop by the library and get started on his plans--no that wouldn't do, he'd need a pass for the restricted section first. He had no intention of setting off anymore alarms like he had his first year.

No, tonight he'd send his letter and do his best to sleep. Tomorrow he could find out what the hell was going on.

***

It did not please Harry to find that he had been correct in his predictions. He got very little sleep that night, for he lay awake until the sun cast balefully cheerful rays across the floor of his dormitory and lapped playfully at the foot of his bed. On any other day Harry would have been delighted--it was unusual enough to see the sun out during winter in Scotland, let alone the crystal blue clear sky Harry could see out his window--but on this particular Monday nothing could brighten Harry's mood.

He rose finally, moving silently around as not to disturb his sleeping roommates. He envied them that, envied Ron's impassioned mutterings about a frog and a snitch, and Neville's rumbling snores. Fatigue dragged at Harry as he donned his cloak and headed for the door, weighing down his limbs and his mind alike, and he would have given practically anything then to be able to go back to bed and fall into a deep, untroubled sleep, to awake refreshed and ready to face the world again.

As it was, he couldn't close his eyes without Hermione's face swimming up before him, her expression disturbingly vacant as Viktor tenderly stroked her hair.

Harry slipped out of the dorm and down the stairs, heading for the entrance hall. A nice long run would help him shake off the mire of sleeplessness, and exercise always helped him think more clearly. Though what new conclusions he might come to, no matter how long he ran or how hard he thought, Harry didn't know.

The crackly January air did indeed rouse Harry. He started off on his usual route around the lake, his head bent into the wind to protect his stinging cheeks and his scarf flapping behind him. It had been a few days since he'd had the time or inclination to take a morning run, and Harry was a little surprised to discover just how much he'd missed the feel of the hard frozen Earth pounding by beneath his feet, the deep mineral scent of the lake, and the way the burgeoning daylight reflected off the top layer of ice across the waters dark depths. The path around the lake on the side closest to the castle had been trod down to the dark earth beneath, and Harry started out at a full sprint. But as he rounded the curve of the lake and the terrain became less and less traveled, the snow heaped up higher and higher beneath his feet and he was forced to slow down and watch his step. He leapt lightly over a small snowy ditch then picked up speed as the ground smoothed out a bit.

But even with the distraction of keeping his feet, indeed of staying on the barely visible path, Harry couldn't stop his mind running. He kept replaying the scene in the common room, wondering if he should have interfered right then. He knew of course that to do so would have been folly: that Viktor could quite easily have memory charmed Harry too and he'd have never been the wiser. But he still felt a surge of impotent anger at himself, at Viktor, even at Hermione for getting involved with the Bulgarian in the first place.

Harry let out his breath in a puff of frosty air as he rounded the last curve and headed back up towards the castle. He was sweating now, and had shed several articles of his outer layer. The run had done some good in re-awakening his sluggish body, but Harry was disappointed to find that he could come to no new conclusions. As frustrating and worrisome as it would be, he would have to stick to the plan he had concocted the night before as he sat at the base of the boys staircase, breathing in the air thick with kisses and illegal magic.

And, he realized for the first time as he crossed the glittering, frosted lawn, he would have to do it alone. There was no way he could tell Ron--his friend wouldn't stop to ask questions or think ahead. He'd just head straight for Bulgaria, and attempt to rip Viktor Krum's head off. That, Harry knew, would be disastrous in more ways than one.

As for Hermione herself, Harry simply couldn't enlist her aid. She was too quick, too suspicious of things she didn't understand, and she would demand to know why he needed her to help him with his research. As invaluable as her knowledge of the Hogwarts library and magic itself would be, he'd have to leave her out as well.

It made Harry sort of sad to think that this wasn't the first matter lately in which he'd decided to exclude his best friends. They had done great things together in the past, but somehow Harry felt that their strength would now lie in division. It was a strange thought for a Gryffindor, he supposed. Gryffindors were all about united fronts and giving it a good go. But sometimes Harry just felt like alone was right, and that Ron and Hermione could best help him by not worrying, by not being in the thick of things with him. He knew they probably wouldn't agree, but it made Harry feel good and safe inside to think that they were at least partially oblivious to the turmoil in his mind sometimes, to his worries and darkest fears. It made the time they spent in the common room playing chess or exchanging notes even more precious for its sincere glow of childhood camaraderie. No, Ron and Hermione didn't always have to know, didn't always have to come along on the adventures. The adventures were, after all, taking a turn for the sinister lately, and Harry knew it wasn't about being intrepid and brave anymore. It was about surviving and making it through alive and in one piece. And for that, for Harry to be in one piece inside and out, he needed the special glow of acceptance he could only find when Ron and Hermione were relaxed and happy with him and each other.

Harry slowed to a walk as he approached the main castle steps, then stopped altogether to stretch a little. His muscles burned pleasantly, and his whole body felt alive and energized.

He straightened, unfolded his cloak and flung it over his shoulders so he wouldn't get cold, and then paused, one foot half lifted to take a step.

He hadn't seen her on the way out, but Harry wondered just how long Padma had been huddled in the nook between two of the pillars lining the main steps. She was in profile to him as she bent forward to retrieve another book from the stack at her side, and Harry couldn't help noticing that she wasn't wearing a scarf or hat. He wondered if she'd intended to come out here to study--it did seem a pretty silly place to go. She'd have to wear gloves and probably couldn't hold a quill, not to mention the icy stones she was sitting on.

Harry approached the stairs again, feeling unaccountably uneasy as he hadn't with Padma for months. His feet sounded unnaturally loud on the stone, echoing in that odd muffled way that can only be heard when snow is packed close and deep. She had to have heard him coming, but she didn't raise her head from her book until he was nearly on top of her, feeling very tall as he loomed over her small form.

"Hi," He greeted, trying a hesitant smile. He wondered where this sense of unease and discontent was coming from. Even after the break-up their interactions had always been friendly, if a bit less intimate and personal. They'd had a good time at the ball, and he really couldn't think of anything that had changed between them over the vacation.

Accept of course, he could, and guilt was not a pleasant breakfast on a cold Monday morning.

"Hello," she returned, gazing up at him impassively. "Nice run?"

"I guess," Harry said, shrugging. "The snow made it a little difficult."

"I guess it would," she said noncommittally, her face painfully neutral.

Harry shifted awkwardly under her scrutiny, feeling his face heat and his spine straighten.

"Did you like the records?" Padma asked, her gaze never wavering.

"Er, yes. Thank you," Harry replied, shuffling his feet and giving an inward wince as his temples began to throb. "They're really nice. I've never had any before."

"I know," Padma retorted, a bite entering her voice for the first time. "I thought it would be a thoughtful gift for you."

"It was," Harry agreed miserably. "And I'm, uh, I didn't mean to you know--"

Her eyes dropped suddenly to her book and she turned a page with unnecessary attention. "I'm sure you didn't," She said, her tone flat again.

"No really," Harry tried, squatting down to try to peer up into her face. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or ignore you or anything. The thing is. I just--" he floundered, not for the first time aware that he really didn't know just what he had been thinking when he'd sent Padma's gift to Celestina. And when, he realized with a pang, he'd completely forgotten to reply to her Christmas note, or even thank her for the present.

"Its funny," Padma said into the awkward trail of silence that followed Harry's halting words. "The one thing that was between us was your, well, being the Boy Who Lived. I remember thinking how nice it would be if you were just a normal boy, one who didn't have adventures or do heroic things." Harry nodded, even though she still wasn't looking at him. He knew that wish with the intimate pang of a long-term and hopeless need. "It really is rather funny," Padma continued, her voice quavering a little as she went on, "that the worst you ever hurt me was by doing something so...typical."

Harry rocked back on his heels, his stomach clenching at her words. He opened his mouth to apologize again, to promise to buy her a gift the next time he was in Hogsmeade. But the gift wasn't the point, and Harry shut his mouth without making a sound. He wished suddenly that Padma wasn't so blasted smart, that she didn't have the logic and the character to realize that he had given her gift to another girl.

The silence was a painful one, bitter with accusation in its utter lack of them.

"You must be cold," Harry said after a moment, reaching for his own scarf. "Here."

"No thanks," Padma said, ignoring the offering and rising to her feet. She collected her books with quick, precise movements, her head bent and her eyes focused on her hands. "Its nearly breakfast time," she added, turning to face him again. "I'll see you around, Harry."

"Yeah. See you," he agreed, watching as she strode up the rest of the steps and struggled with the heavy main door. He could have gone and helped her shift the weight, could have walked in with her and perhaps tried to talk again, but he didn't. He just waited until she had slipped through a small crack between the two doors and her footsteps had receded inside the echoing entrance hall. Only then did Harry move, slowly mounting the rest of the steps himself and giving the main doors an authoritative pull.

Padma had indeed vacated the entrance hall, but Harry still kept his head down as he crossed towards the inner doors and then turned for the Gryffindor table. It was early, but a few handfuls of students were up, and Harry really didn't feel like talking to anyone. He slumped into a seat, distractedly pouring himself a glass of juice and disdaining anything edible. He swirled his juice morosely, ignoring the slowly increasing noise as students trickled in, wallowing in his guilt and wondering when in blazes his headache would abate.

Very few things in the world could shake Harry out of a funk once it had its teeth sunk in. But that particular morning, Harry truly started to believe that the world was conspiring to cheer him up. Or at least make him sit up and take notice.

"Harry!" Colin Creevey chirped, bouncing into the seat next to Harry. "Good morning!" He dropped his bag behind him, then plunked an enormous folio on the table before him. He didn't seem to be able to see over it, and had to stand up to reach the tea.

"Hullo, Colin," Harry returned, trying on a friendly smile. Colin's ebullience could sometimes (okay, usually) be annoying, but Harry didn't have the heart to brush him off. "What do you have there?" He asked, nodding to the enormous folio. He'd never paid too much attention, but he didn't remember Colin being much for the studying.

"Oh, its so exciting!" Colin enthused, sloshing his tea as he waved his mug about. Harry ducked reflexively, covering the movement with a casual scratch to his ankle. "These are all my pictures," Colin explained, opening the case and riffling through hundreds of pages, and past even more stacks of photos secured with string or magic. Harry leaned closer, surprised to find his interest peaked as scenes of Hogwarts, the faces of Harry's classmates, the professors, even some of the ghosts flickered past. He decided to ignore the plethora of Harry's, some smiling, some ducking away.

"Wow," Harry commented. "I didn't realize just how many pictures you've taken. Why do you have them all together?"

"Well, that's the exciting part," Colin explained, beaming up towards the head table. "My dad's a Muggle, you know, and he has annuals from his schooldays. He takes them out sometimes and looks at them. All his friends signed them, and they have pictures of the sports teams and clubs and classes. So," He continued, pausing only briefly to take a breath, "I started wondering why Hogwarts didn't have annuals? So then I decided to ask Professor Dumbledore--right before the holidays this was--and you know what he told me?"

"No," Harry said, really curious now. "What?"

"He told me that Hogwarts *did* have annuals once. He even showed me one from the seventies I think it was He said they stopped having them because student interest declined and everybody had other things to think about." He frowned, as if not understanding that at all. Harry nodded silently, thinking that if the annual had indeed been from the seventies, the students and faculty of Hogwarts, indeed the entire wizarding world, probably had plenty else on their minds besides pictures. "It was student run, you know," Colin continued, regaining steam. "They'd have a few professors to help with the mass duplication work, and the transference charms to copy photographs onto glossy parchment--that's really tricky you know--but aside from that the students took care of everything." His smile got even wider, something Harry hadn't thought was possible. "And you know what else he said? He said I should try to make an annual for this year." Colin let out his breath, looking like he had been bestowed a great honor.

"So you have all your pictures to use?" Harry asked. "I've never seen an annual before. Is it just pictures?"

"Mostly," Colin explained. He disappeared a moment under the table, then reappeared with a thick book bound in black leather. "This is one of my dad's. He let me borrow it. Its Muggle of course, so the pictures don't move, but its still pretty brill."

"That's really neat, Colin," Harry said, flipping quickly through the book. He wondered if wizards hair had looked that silly in the seventies.

"I think so too," Colin nodded. "And Professor Dumbledore seemed to think it was really brill, too. He said something weird about everyone contributing in their own way." Colin shrugged, and turned back to his pictures, beginning to sort them into various piles and to arrange some in different patterns on sheets of a thick, shiny parchment. Harry watched for a few moments, sipping his juice and wondering with sudden dread if Colin would approach this project with his usual...propensities. He was trying to think of a polite way of telling Colin not to put a picture of him on every single page, when the Weasley twins arrived.

"Morning cap'n," one greeted, saluting cheerfully. "What are our orders?"

"Orders?" Harry asked blankly.

"Jesus Mary and Joseph," the other twin exclaimed, throwing his arms about in an extravagant manner. Harry thought he might have seen one of those oh so casually flailing hands drop something into Colin's teacup, but he wasn't sure. And either way, it wasn't like he could warn the poor boy. "He's forgotten," the twin continued.

"Quidditch?" The first took up, speaking slowly and enunciating clearly. "Practice? For our game against Slytherin?"

"The game!" Harry exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. "I completely forgot!"

"That's why you have us--"

"Like elephants we are--"

"Except for the gray bit--"

"And all those wrinkles, of course--"

"Though I suppose an elephant could really give a Bludger what for if he wanted--"

"And they've got a new Slytherin line-up this year you know--"

"So?" A twin concluded. "Speak and we shall obey. When are we practicing?"

"Um, let's follow the same schedule as last term," Harry said, frowning. "Only let's add another session. Would you two mind asking the girls if they can manage Friday mornings, too?"

"We've only got two weeks," a twin lamented. "And we're all slow from the holidays.

"Well, so are the Slytherins," Harry pointed out.

Harry didn't hear whatever response the twins could have made, for his eyes were caught and drawn upwards. He sat up straight, his heart giving a mighty lurch as he saw the owl swooping in a lazy spiral, its final target quite clearly Harry's head. He forgot about Padma, about Quidditch and annuals and Hermione, his mind suddenly roiling with images of Celestina opening his letter over her morning tea, of being so happy to hear from him that she'd written back right away. Why, if she had replied so fast, perhaps she was close by. That thought sent an odd spear of something into Harry's gut, both painfully hot and icy cold at the same time. He swore he could almost hear her singing again, her voice the texture of supple dragon Hyde as it wrapped warmly around him.

But no, he realized with a keen spurt of disappointment, the owl couldn't be from Celestina. He had sent Hedwig, and this was a spotted owl. The bird extended its wings and back winged, landing neatly on Harry's upraised arm and giving him an irritated look as he didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about its burden.

The thought that the missive was from Sirius momentarily pierced Harry's deep disappointment, but that too was not the case. Sirius would not have written "Mr. Harry Potter" on the outside of the scroll.

"Thanks," Harry told the owl, letting it hop onto the table to get a snack. He unrolled the parchment with little enthusiasm, unable even to dredge up much curiosity. But that changed as he read.

Dear Mr. Potter,

My apologies for taking so long in acting upon your request. I had intended to speak with you before I left Hogwarts, but events conspired against me. I hope your Christmas holiday was pleasant, and that you and your classmates are well.

As for the matter of the research you asked me to conduct, I'm afraid I can report little. I did a more thorough search of my personal collection in the matter of Inficius snakes, and can conclusively tell you that their lifespan was roughly 25-35 years in length. I do say was, for according to the Census of Magical People, Objects, and Creatures of 1990, there are no more Inficius snakes left in England, or in the entire world. I am not sure what to make of this in light of your report of the snake you saw, except to say that it is possible for the Census to have missed a specimen. It seems likely that if there is one Inficius left, there are more, and it is odd that no one else has reported seeing one. Though as you discovered before we spoke, not many people know about Inficius snakes, nor their history.

I also examined every engraving and description of Inficius snakes I could find. It seems that the creatures were not identical in their markings--indeed from what I can discover it seems there was a wide variety of coloration patterns.

I hope this information is helpful to you. If you have any further questions or information, please let me know. I am curious now about this snake you saw, and would like to know of any further developments.

I hope you have a productive and fulfilling year, and I keenly regret not being able to instruct you and your classmates longer.

Cordially,

Filia McKinnon

Harry rerolled the parchment slowly, his face set in deep lines of concentration. He had almost completely forgotten about Nagini, and that haunting drawing in Padma's book. It seemed sort of unimportant now, compared with Hermione and Viktor. But he should keep the letter, perhaps give it to Hermione. It would make a good distraction, for he suspected that she of all people would catch on to any alterations in his behavior. He didn't really trust himself to be perfectly natural around her, not when he wanted to grab her and warn her, to tell her to break it off with Viktor and figure out a way to undo any damage the Bulgarian might have done.

Not for the first time over the past twelve hours, Harry wondered with an internal snarl if the charm performed last night had not been the first. He remembered with a jolt of cold fear Hermione's complaints about difficulty studying, her furrowed brow and exasperated, confused expression as she slammed her Arithmancy book shut. If Viktor had hurt her, apparent concern and worry bedamned, Harry would--

That train of thought was neatly derailed as a miniature explosion erupted to Harry's left. Moody inspired reflex had his wand in his hand before he really thought about it, but luckily nobody noticed. Colin had sprung to his feet, a comical look of dismay plastered to his face as he gazed up to the ominous display above his head. There, in brilliantly crimson letters was written WEASLEY'S WIZARD WHEEZES TM.

"Oh, Merlin," Colin moaned, his hands going to examine his face, then his hair. "A mirror, does anybody have a mirror? What did they *do* to me?"

"You look fine," Harry reassured, standing as well and circling Colin to be sure. "Not a feather or spike or anything."

"Its probably time delayed," Colin muttered, gazing suspiciously into the mirror Parvati proffered. "I'll be sitting in Charms and all of a sudden I'll turn into a Banana Slug."

"Maybe it was a dud," Harry reassured, glancing about for Fred and George. They usually stuck around to witness the chaos they wrought. Yes, there they were, skulking behind a pack of Hufflepuffs and watching Colin with matching evil grins.

"Maybe," Colin agreed, sounding none to hopeful. "I should go. I should probably stick close to a mirror." He gathered his pictures and bag quickly, casting rapid, nervous glances down at himself every few seconds. Harry watched, not sure whether to feel amused or sympathetic as the boy hurried out of the hall.

"Brilliant," a twin said, materializing at Harry's shoulder. "And the color came out just right."

"Color?" Harry asked, mystified. "Colin didn't turn any colors."

"And he won't," the other twin assured, popping up on Harry's other side. "He meant the logo. We wanted something eye catching and memorable, yet still obviously Gryffindor."

"Was it a dud?" Harry asked, confused. "It didn't do anything accept display the logo."

"Dud?" The first twin asked, surprised. "Good nifflers noses no. It did precisely what it was supposed to do, and nothing more."

"So it's a time delay?" Harry continued, a sense of impending doom building.

"Nope. That was it."

"But--I thought--"

"The power of the mind, young Potter," a twin grinned, patting Harry on the head. "See, that little treat does nothing more than make the victim *think* they're a victim. Believe me, he'll be checking for a tail all day."

"That's..." Harry started, then paused, not really sure how to finish the sentence.

"Brilliant?" A twin offered.

"Inspired?"

"Innovative?"

"Hilarious?"

"Interesting," Harry settled on, rolling his eyes and turning back to the table. He retrieved his bag and nodded to the still grinning twins, before heading for the door. Ron and Hermione would be down any minute, and he didn't really feel up to speaking to either of them at the moment. Besides, he had a plan to set into motion, and according to his schedule, right now was the perfect opportunity. For the first time Harry felt glad that he had had that awkward, painful conversation with Professor Binns in the library back in the summer. The residual effects would serve him well now, especially as he didn't have all that much faith in his dissembling skills.

***

Over his five years at Hogwarts, Harry had absorbed quite a lot of peripheral information about his professors. He knew, for example, that Professor McGonagall despised Darjeeling, that Snape tended to be nastier than usual on Thursday afternoons, and that Professor Binns was usually to be found in his classroom in the mornings before the first lesson of the day. The ghost professor had a habit of disappearing to wherever it was he went when he wasn't teaching between lessons and during meals, but he was invariably in the classroom waiting when the Gryffindors had History first thing in the morning. And fortunately for Harry, History of Magic was the Gryffindors first class of the new term.

"Good morning, Professor," Harry greeted, setting his bag down on his usual back row seat (even Hermione didn't want to sit in the front row in this class).

"Good morning," Binns replied, obviously surprised as he looked up from his notes. "You're early this morning, Mr. Potter."

"I needed to talk to you," Harry explained, moving to perch on a desk in the front and facing Binns. He was relieved as the professor appeared suddenly nervous.

"Oh?" Binns asked, shuffling his notes. "What about?"

"Well," Harry said, leaning forward and trying to look as ingenuous as possible, "I need to do some research in the library, but what I want is in the restricted section."

"Is this research related to your O.W.L. project?" Binns asked, frowning. "Because I am not authorized to give out passes for anything other than subject related work. And I didn't expect you to be needing to go into the restricted section for your project, anyway."

"Well, I do," Harry said, dropping his eyes.

"Surely you have found enough information in the regular library? Why, Hogwarts, A History alone contains a wealth of information."

"Oh, yes," Harry agreed, trying his hardest to blush and not succeeding very well. It seemed it only came easily when he really didn't want it to.

"Then what," Binns persisted, "would you need in the restricted section?"

Harry let three seconds pass, then shuffled his feet nervously. He glanced up at Binns, then away quickly. "Er, well," he said, wondering if he looked at all convincing. "The truth is, professor, that I had some personal research to do. I was, er, thinking about that conversation we had in the beginning of the year and I--"

"Oh, goodness, why didn't you just say so?" Binns cut in. He reached for a sheet of parchment and scribbled hastily before pushing it at Harry. "Here you are, Mr. Potter."

"Thanks," Harry said, doing his best not to grin as he took the pass. He wondered if something like that would have worked on any other professor. Considering the way Binns rarely really looked at anybody, and that perpetually detached look he had, it had been remarkably easy to fool him, and to upset that detachment just as he had accidentally done over the summer.

"You're welcome, of course," Binns said, ducking his head and flipping through his notes once again. "Now, please take your seat, Mr. Potter. The other students will be arriving soon."

Harry obeyed, slipping the precious pass into his bag after a quick scan. Binns had not even specified a date on it as most teachers would, so it would be good for however long Harry needed it. Which, considering what he needed to research, he fervently hoped wasn't long.

The rest of the class arrived in clusters, most chatting idly as they took their seats. Ron and Hermione were the last to appear, and both looked remarkably relieved when they spotted Harry.

"There you are," Hermione exclaimed, taking her seat. "We were looking everywhere for you. We thought you'd had another dream or something."

"No," Harry said, cursing inwardly. He hadn't taken *that* into consideration with his oh so carefully composed plans. Time for a distraction. "Sorry to worry you. I was talking to the twins and some other people." He paused then added deliberately, "and I did have another dream, just not last night."

"You had one over the holidays?" Ron demanded, leaning in, his eyes wide. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"What was it about?" Hermione asked, right on Ron's heels.

Harry gave them a two sentence synopsis, relieved as Professor Binns began the lesson and his friends were forced to leave him alone. But Hermione was apparently willing to sacrifice one lecture and the precious information it would impart to find out what Harry had dreamed about. She and Ron spent the entire lesson passing notes to Harry, making him write down in painful detail each moment of the dream.

It was, Harry decided, actually sort of nice. As he had discovered with Cho, writing things down was sometimes the best way. And now he wouldn't have to talk about it, to hear his own voice describing things he didn't want to acknowledge he'd seen. It also had the added benefit of serving as a distraction from Harry's behavior, which would probably have been noticeably odd otherwise. As it was, Ron and Hermione were too concerned with his dream, what it meant and what he thought about it, to notice if he kept shooting Hermione worried looks, or continually slipped his hand into his bag to finger that precious pass.

They were particularly preoccupied by the letter from Voldemort. Harry couldn't blame them, as that missive had occupied many hours of his holidays. Hermione was of the firm opinion that it was all "nonsense" and Voldemort was simply trying to "psych you out. Don't let him, Harry." Harry only smiled gratefully and nodded, refraining from mentioning anything about the Reynard Manifestation, or that sense of leaden dread he got whenever he thought about it, or his belief that the Manifestation and the letter were somehow connected.

The class ended more quickly than Harry remembered a History class ever doing so. That was probably because Hermione didn't spend the whole class poking him with her quill to keep him awake.

"Potions next," Ron said mournfully.

Harry winced as they tromped down to the dungeons. He hadn't seen Snape since their discussion in the entrance hall on Christmas, and he wasn't eager to. He suspected Snape would be even nastier than usual, just to make up for not taking points then.

He was quite right. Snape started the morning by taking five points from Gryffindor because Harry smiled and nodded at Dean and Seamus as he took his seat. Over the course of the lesson a whopping fifty-five points was taken from Gryffindor, most on account of Harry. Malfoy looked like he might just bubble over with glee, and even Neville was shooting Harry curious and exasperated looks. Harry decided never *ever* to feel sorry for Snape again, especially if the potions master knew it.

"Well that was...brutal," Ron commented as they left. "What's wrong with him? Besides the usual general greasy gitness, anyway."

"Don't know," Harry replied, deciding without really knowing why not to mention his little chat with Snape. He had a feeling Ron wouldn't really understand. Hermione probably would, but Harry still had a hard time looking at her without scowling or looking panicked, and she was starting to notice.

"At least I have Arithmancy after lunch," she sighed, examining her schedule. "Professor Vector is such a marvelous..."

Harry smiled at Ron's expression, then paused and bent as if he had dropped something. He waved his friends on, making as if to search for something, then simply waited until a passel of younger Gryffindors had slipped in behind Ron and Hermione. Harry rose again, glad for one of the few times in his life that he was about as tall as your average third year. He could see Ron towering up ahead, but his friend wouldn't be able to spot him.

Harry let a few more students flow past him just to be sure, then ducked right into another corridor. He had to battle upstream against the flow of the crowds heading for the great hall, but eventually he emerged into the library corridor. Not even Hermione would skip a Hogwarts meal to visit the library, so Harry figured it would be entirely deserted.

He was again correct. Only Madam Pince, breaking one of her own strictly enforced rules and eating lunch at her desk, was there to note his presence.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Pince said, hastily shoving her lunch tray aside and dabbing guiltily at her mouth. "What are you doing in here? You should be at lunch."

"I had a big breakfast," Harry lied, then extended his pass. "I'm going into the restricted section. Professor Binns gave me permission."

Madam Pince examined the pass minutely, then nodded with a thin-lipped scowl. From what Harry could tell, she didn't seem to want to let anybody at all into the restricted section, pass or not.

Harry thanked her and hurried off towards the back of the library. He'd been here only a few times, and he couldn't help feeling sort of excited as he turned the fateful corner and ducked between the first two shelves of restricted books. This was the sort of thing Hermione fantasized about--shelves upon shelves of unexplored and unknown knowledge, just waiting to be tapped and examined.

But Harry's smile faded as the thought of Hermione, an expression of intense curiosity plastered to her face as she read avidly, reminded him of exactly why he was here. One of his friends needed his help, and this time the roles were reversed. Now Harry must be the one to do the research, the one to fit the pieces of the puzzle together and come up with the brilliant solution. It was very daunting.

Ten minutes later, Harry carried two books, one enormously heavy and the other as slender as a child's picture book, over to one of the few tables near the restricted section. His enthusiasm for the place had waned rapidly as he perused the shelves, in search of what he needed. After all, who wanted to read 1001 Potions of Torture and Painful Death or Do You Have All The Pieces?: A Guide to Magical Restoration of Limbs and Severed Body Parts.

But Harry had been quite right in his original assumptions and purpose. He had strongly doubted that he would find memory charms in The Standard Book of Spells, of any level. He had been nearly positive that he wouldn't have been able to find anything of worth in the regular library, and had not possessed the patience to look. Even though Hermione didn't seem to be in immediate danger, Harry still felt a sense of urgency in the matter, and he had therefore decided to head straight for the heart of restricted section.

He had indeed found some likely texts, the two most promising of which he had brought with him. The large one was A Compendium of Mind-Altering Charms and Spells by Dis Z. Brain. The small book was actually a bound copy of a report apparently filed with the Ministry of Magic, entitled Report of Purpose, Method, Implementation, and Advances on Project 72JAA--The Obliviate Spell. Harry began with the former, assuming correctly that it would have more of an overview of information. He didn't know much at all about the memory charm, aside from its incantation and what it could do if handled improperly, and he was a bit leery of diving into the ministry report without a better foundation understanding of the concepts involved.

As he checked the index, then flipped to the appropriate pages in the massive book, Harry was very glad he'd chosen to start there. It appeared that the Obliviate spell was enormously complicated, and Harry's heart sank as he read.

"The spell was perfected over several years in the late 1600's by a Russian wizard, working under the orders of the current Russian wizarding authorities. Said authority later destroyed all record of the spell's experimental phases, but it is speculated that damages and losses incurred as the spell was tested and perfected were gruesome. The Russian authorities utilized the new spell to great effect, lowering the incidents of Muggle sightings and rumors. Upon the overthrow of the authoritarian wizarding rulers, Petre Zalof fled the country, taking the secret of the Obliviate spell with him as he traveled from country to country, finally settling in Germany. Zalof was hired by the German ministry, for rumors of the effectiveness and power of the Obliviate spell had traveled far and wide. From there knowledge of the spell spread to most wizarding governments.

In Britain, the Obliviate spell was adopted into the regular training of Aurors and hit wizards in 1801. Its use is strictly limited to these government officials, and a few other specially certified law enforcement officials. The punishment for unlawful use of the spell is five years in Azkaban, and a substantial fine.

"Since the introduction of the Obliviate spell in Britain, Muggle containment issues have been exponentially reduced. In fact, the spell has been haled as something of a revolution in Muggle-wizard relations. The only detractors of the spells implementation were a small group of wizards who called themselves "En Memoriam." They claimed the spell was an invasion of privacy, and indeed should be called dark magic. Their protests began in 1902 when a ministry Auror accidentally reduced a Muggle to a vegetable with an incorrectly focused memory charm. En Memoriam's objections were summarily ignored by the British ministry, and most of the wizarding community. The group died out sometime in the 1920's.

"Since that time licensing and control of the memory charm has been strictly enforced. The British ministry claims that no one outside of their memory charm squads and law enforcement officers knows the correct way to perform the spell. It has been pointed out that performing the spell incorrectly may be just as dangerous, but this was discounted by the ministry.

As it stands in 1988, 236 wizards and witches in Great Britain are licensed to perform memory charms. It was also estimated by an independent source that roughly 1200 other wizards and witches have at one time illegally performed the Obliviate charm."

Harry sat back, frowning. So much for ministry control, if those figures were to be believed. Harry shivered a little, remembering Gildaroy Lockhart's empty, vapid eyes after his charm had backfired on himself. The thought of Ron like that, his lively face slack in idiocy sickened Harry. He scanned the rest of the information about the Obliviate charm, his frown deepening as he found nothing new. He didn't need history, he needed the counter charm.

He turned the final page, and sighed in relief as he saw the heading for countering the spell.

"Despite ministry claims of containment, the Obliviate charm has been used to nefarious ends many times over the past centuries. Accordingly, a specific unit of the Magic Reversal Squads has been trained in the Commoneo charm, the counter to Obliviate. This charm, developed by a German associate of Zalof, is not nearly as effective as many might wish. Depending on the strength of the Obliviate being cast, the charm may have no effect, or perhaps only give the bespelled a headache. It has been suggested, though this has not of course been researched, that given enough physical stimulus, a subject could spontaneously self-counter a memory charm."

Harry shuddered at this, remembering a woman he had never even met. He closed his eyes a moment, thinking of Bertha Jorkins wandering about in the forests of Albania, of her tortured, pain-racked mind finally giving up the fight.

Harry closed the book and reached for the Ministry report. This wasn't looking good at all. If the restoring charm was anything like the memory charm itself, he'd have to ask somebody to teach it to him. Dumbledore undoubtedly knew it, but for some reason Harry was very reluctant to approach the Headmaster with this problem. Something kept niggling at him whenever he thought of Dumbledore, and until he figured out what it was, Harry was unwilling to bother the old wizard with this.

As Harry worked his way through the ministry report, his worst fears were confirmed. The report was composed mostly of statistics, lists upon lists of "incidents" with brief descriptions and notations of response times and numbers of Muggles charmed. Harry couldn't help wondering if it was only Muggles the ministry was so keen to Obliviate.

But what worried Harry the most was the all-to brief section entitled "reversal squads." From what he could gather, it seemed that the reversal charm was just as, if not more, complex, than the memory charm itself. Harry read, with a sinking heart, about the three out of fifteen wizards who had successfully attained their reversal licenses.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry jumped, and the slender ministry report went skidding across the table and off the other side. Madam Pince glared down at him, her expression dour. She didn't like any mistreatment of her books.

"You should be off to class, Mr. Potter," she said, gesturing sharply at the clock. Harry glanced up and winced at the 'you're late for Transfiguration.'

"Thanks for telling me," he said, standing and gathering his things. He collected his two books, and ignoring Madam Pince's mutterings about "first time that boy ever paid so much attention to a book," raced to replace the two volumes.

As he exited the library a few moments later and set off at a light jog for Transfiguration, Harry tried to bolster his failing spirits. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he would have the key to helping Hermione after just an hour in the restricted section. He had had visions of finding the magic word that would remove the damned charm. But from what he had read, the Commoneo charm wasn't the sort of thing where you could just point your wand and spout some Latin. It sounded difficult, and Harry's mind was spinning with all sorts of horrible things that could happen if he tried the charm without any training.

He could of course return to the library for an hour or two that evening while Hermione was occupied elsewhere, but he wasn't very hopeful. He'd done a rapid, if thorough search of all relevant areas of the restricted section, and the two books he'd picked up had seemed the most likely sources. He could read every book in the restricted section and out, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't do him any good.

Alright. He had a complex and dangerous spell, and an equally complex reversal. He had no idea what he was doing with either, and wasn't about to go experimenting with Hermione's memory. He had a problem, and he couldn't tell either of his friends. He had to figure this out on his own, but he was lost after only one day.

Harry slid into his seat in Transfiguration about a millisecond before McGonagall started the lecture. Hermione shot him a reproachful look, and Ron a concerned one. Harry wasn't at all surprised when ten seconds later, a note landed on his desk.

Where were you? You missed lunch. You're not having trouble eating again, are you?

Harry stared uncomprehendingly at the words for a moment, completely lost. Trouble eating?...Oh, yes, that. He'd entirely forgotten about that whole mess considering everything.

Harry checked that McGonagall was otherwise occupied, and dipped his quill.

Sorry. I ate in the kitchens. Dobby caught up with me and insisted.

That seemed to satisfy them, and Harry wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried. It was a really good lie--plausible, and with the added bonus of implying he had eaten a lot. These were house elves they were talking about, after all. But on the other hand it was starting to disturb him that the lies were coming so easily. He hadn't even had to grope around for that one, and there was no sign of a blush anywhere. Deceiving a professor like Binns was one thing--everyone did that, even Hermione when she had to. But lying to his best friends was something else entirely, and something that Harry thought should bother him a lot more than it did.

Then McGonagall was calling on him to answer a question he didn't understand, and Hermione was scowling and waving her hand energetically. Harry pushed away all thoughts of lies, of memory charms and plans and worries to concentrate on the lesson. It would do him no more good to think about everything right now.

***

An hour later, as the Gryffindors flowed out of Transfiguration and milled with the crowds in the corridor, Harry let out a deep sigh. The professors had actually meant it when they'd warned that classes got much more difficult in your fifth year. McGonagall's lessons, pretty much all their lessons barring Divination, were more intense and focused, requiring more preparation beforehand, and concentration on the tasks set. He supposed it made sense, what with the O.W.L.S. coming up, but that didn't mean he didn't think it was annoying now, when he could think of so many things he'd rather be doing, and even more things he *should* be doing.

"Defense next?" Ron asked, glancing up the stairs.

"I don't think so," Hermione replied, pausing to dig out her schedule. "I took a look earlier, and I don't remember...no, I have Arithmancy, so you have Divination. Come on, we've got a walk."

"Harry?" Ron asked, holding Hermione back and frowning at him. "Something the matter?"

"No, nothing," Harry said slowly, finally understanding about that light bulb cartoonists were forever drawing above characters heads. He felt like a floodlamp had just gone on in his head, illuminating the solution to his current dilemma, and outlining his previously spotty conclusions with stark logic. Yes, that was it, it was so simple and so obvious. He'd been so worried about not cluing Ron or Hermione in on what was going on, he'd completely overlooked the answer to the problem of the reversal charm.

"Well, come on then," Hermione urged, tugging at him. "You'll be late. You've got half the castle to cross."

Harry allowed himself to be drawn after her, briefly wondering at an odd, unfamiliar sensation. Raising a hand to his face, he realized with a start that he was smiling. He hadn't realized how good it felt, or how infrequently he had been doing so lately. But with that flash of insight, and the enormous wash of relief that accompanied it, he could allow himself to relax.

It would be alright. He could learn the reversal from Moody, an ex-Auror. It was so obvious, he almost laughed at himself for not realizing it before. Harry would have to be careful in convincing the professor, considering those ministry restrictions. But he was pretty sure Moody had as little respect for some of the ministry's regulations as Dumbledore did, and he could use that to his advantage. That, and Moody's own paranoia. Yes, this would work out just fine, and he would be able to stop feeling like Hermione would fall apart in front of him, or suddenly be snatched away by some masked evil. He could share this enormous burden, which he had carried only for a day but which already weighed him down with the force of deceit and treachery.

***

"Well, that was..." Ron paused on the stairway, obviously groping for the appropriate word.

"Soporiphic," Harry supplied, rubbing at his eyes. He had taken a rather nice nap on his Divination table, while Trelawney blathered on and on about fire gazing.

"What does that mean?" Ron asked, blinking at him oddly.

"Sleepy, I think," Harry explained as they emerged into the lower levels of the castle. "Or maybe it means really clean. Not sure. I just heard Hermione say it to some of the first years."

"Then it probably means 'do your homework or there'll be dire consequences,'" Ron muttered, rolling his eyes. "I swear, she's scarring those poor kids."

"There she is," Harry said, gesturing to where Hermione waited for them. But this time, unlike others when the trio met up to go into dinner together, Ginny was chatting companionably with Hermione as the boys approached.

"Have fun in Divination?" Hermione asked archly as they met up.

"Very sophomoric," Ron said, then shrugged at Hermione's raised eyebrow. "What?|"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes as they continued on their way.

"What did you just come from?" Harry asked the silent Ginny.

"Charms. We were banishing things. Colin accidentally banished his homework out to the lake." She grinned as Harry chuckled. "Professor Flitwick said he'd give him credit for it even if he couldn't read it if Colin could summon it back."

"Could he?" Harry asked.

"Is this what you lot are always chattering about?" A new voice demanded. Glancing down, Harry couldn't suppress his groan as he spotted Malfoy a few steps down. The Slytherins cold eyes flicked dismissively over Hermione and Ron, before settling intently on Ginny and Harry. "Really, Weaslet, why do you put up with Potty when he's such a bore?"

"I think he's very interesting, thank you," Ginny replied with admirable composure. "Not that anybody asked you."

Beside him Harry heard Ron give a hmph of approval for that quick response.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and it was strange for Harry to see the look usually reserved for him alone turned on somebody else. "You don't need to ask, Weaslet," he said coolly. "I'm always...around to here these things."

Ginny flinched as if physically struck, and Malfoy's triumphant expression confirmed Harry's feeling that there were two conversations going on here, only one of which he understood.

"I noticed," Ginny said, her chin tilted defiantly. "You would hear a lot, skulking about where you're not wanted, spying on people and following them around the way you do."

Harry wasn't really sure why, but he sort of thought Ginny had just scored some sort of victory. Indeed, one of Malfoy's rare flushes of embarrassed rage was coloring his pallid cheeks.

"Well, weaslet," he ground out, ignoring the students who were pushing past him to get down the stairs, "you would know about following people around wouldn't you? Done nothing else for four years. You know, that's amazing. Four years you've spent chasing Potter around like a pathetic redheaded puppy. That's nearly a third of your life, Weaslet. Has it been worth it?"

As Harry watched, stung by Malfoy's words in a way he didn't really understand, Ginny's composure crumbled like so much sand. Her shoulders sagged, and Harry was sure he saw the glitter of sudden tears before she turned hastily away. She pushed her way back up the stairs, her bag bouncing on her shoulders as she shoved people aside and half ran back into the corridor. She was gone so fast that Harry couldn't have stopped her, even if he knew how.

He was still gazing after Ginny's retreating back, confused and worried, when the crack of flesh meeting flesh had him spinning back around.

Ron stood, face suffused with outrage as he glared down at Malfoy. The Slytherin was leaning against the stair railing, a hand clutched to his jaw and his eyes wide with shock and anger.

"Ron!" Hermione cried, seizing his arms before he could attack again. "Don't!"

"He made Ginny cry the slimy bastard," Ron raged, nearly jerking Hermione off her feet as he lunged for Malfoy again.

"I wouldn't do that, Weasley," Malfoy warned, revealing an already swelling jaw as he lowered his hand. "You just attacked a prefect." His triumphant smile looked remarkably painful.

"That's right," Hermione said, loosening her grip as Ron realized just how much trouble he was in. "He did. Ron, that'll be thirty points from Gryffindor for fighting in the corridors and attacking prefect. If I had the authority, I'd give you a detention."

Ron gaped, and Harry felt nearly as stunned.

"As for you," Hermione continued, turning on Malfoy, "I'll be filing a grievance with the head boy and girl about you. You provoked another student."

"I didn't have my wand drawn," Malfoy retorted, an ugly snarl transforming his features.

"You didn't have to," Hermione retorted. "You're a prefect, and you violated the conduct guidelines by provoking another student."

"We'll be seeing about this," Malfoy snapped, closing his mouth with a snap and turning away quickly. It was only then, as the Slytherin hurried away, that Harry realized his usual escort of Lump and Lumper weren't with him.

"That was great!" Ron said, looking with obvious admiration at Hermione as Malfoy disappeared around the corner. "You really scared him."

Hermione looked at him for a moment, her expression pinched. "I wasn't kidding, Ron," she said. "You just lost thirty points for Gryffindor, and I'll have to report this to Alicia."

"You wouldn't." Ron took a step back, an expression of betrayal and surprise on his face. "I mean, he made Ginny *cry*. She's my sister! I *had* to give him one."

"That's beside the point," Hermione retorted sharply. "You struck another student, and a prefect at that. It doesn't matter why you did it."

"Harry, you're a prefect," Ron said, turning suddenly on him. "Hermione's being ridiculous. Do something will you?"

"I--" Harry looked between the two of them, his eyes catching Hermione's challenging glance and Ron's accusing one. "I don't--that is--its up to Hermione. She was the first prefect to react to the, uh, situation."

"I don't believe this!" Ron stormed, now sharing his glare equally between them. "You two think you're so high and mighty, with your prefect badges and your conduct codes and your monthly meetings. Well I think you're all just a bunch of spoiled, pompous asses." And with that he spun on his heel and strode down the rest of the stairs and away.

"Oh," Hermione said as soon as he was gone. Turning to her, Harry was concerned by her pale complexion and the quiver to her chin.

"Its alright," He said, reaching to take her arm and very glad the stairwell was empty by now. "You were right. I--I should have done it, too. He broke the rules."

"I doubt he'll see it that way," she replied mournfully. "You know how he gets. I've been dreading something like this happening. It was inevitable with both of us prefects and he's not."

"I know," Harry agreed, blowing out a slow breath. Actually, he hadn't been anticipating anything like this. He'd thought Ron was okay with the whole prefect thing. He wished he didn't have to find out the hard way. "Look," he continued to Hermione, trying to cheer her up. "He'll come around. He always does."

"No he doesn't," she said with surprising irritation. "He just...forgets anything ever happened and tries to go back to the way things used to be. He's just so...infuriating!" She scowled at Harry, as if he had suddenly transformed into Ron.

"Er," said Harry, taking a step back.

"Sorry." Hermione deflated and reached to smooth her tousled hair. "Just frustrated. Ron's been difficult since before holidays."

Harry nodded, a bit guilty as he hadn't really noticed. "Don't worry about Malfoy, though," he assured. "Its two prefects against one. And I'm sure Alicia will help us out."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, sighing and beginning to start down the stairs again. "I just wish we didn't have to worry about it at all. We're prefects. We help the first years around and settle squabbles and keep people quiet. We don't go accusing each other of things."

"What about Ginny?" Harry asked, suddenly realizing that the cause of this whole mess had disappeared.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said, a hint of exasperation returning. "She's been nearly as difficult as Ron lately. I don't know what's gotten into her." She paused and took a closer look at Harry's face. "Hey, what is it?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing."

"You're not thinking about what Malfoy said, are you?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing. "Really, Harry, you should know better. He was just trying to rattle you."

"Funny. I thought he was trying to rattle Ginny."

Hermione frowned at him. "Look, Harry. Ginny is--well she--you shouldn't--"

At any other time, the sight of a speechless Hermione Granger would have been highly entertaining. As it was, it only disturbed Harry, for more than one reason.

"Ginny keeps her own council," she said finally. "I wouldn't worry about her so much."

"The last time we didn't worry about her she nearly died," Harry retorted. He was surprised by Hermione's wince, and he thought for the first time that perhaps she shared his sense of guilt and responsibility over that debacle.

"I know," she said softly. "Just--Ginny is--we all are--going through changes now. Ron too. And Malfoy as well, I suppose. Things we thought we knew about each other don't hold true anymore, and we have new things to learn."

"That's...wise," Harry said, his throat unaccountably tightening as he looked at her. He hoped suddenly, powerfully, that *she* wasn't changing, that she would remain bookish, prim, library Hermione forever; with fifty pounds of books on her back and a smudge of ink on her nose. Oddly the thought of a changed Hermione frightened him for reasons he didn't understand.

"I have my moments," she replied, attempting to lighten the mood with a saucy smile. "Or so the professors tell me."

"I'm sure they do," Harry agreed, allowing himself to be taken in by the offer of a more casual topic. As they chatted about homework and exam results, Harry kept catching himself casting her probing looks. He kept expecting her to lose the thread of conversation, or to not know what he was talking about when he mentioned a friend or past event. It was almost more unnerving that she seemed perfectly alright.

He would ask Moody tomorrow, Harry vowed. He would get this done, and done properly. He'd forgotten his resolve in the momentary sting of Ron's words, the guilty remorse over Ginny. But now as Hermione's hair spilled down her back as she giggled, and her teeth flashed in a half smile, Harry renewed his resolution. This at least, was something he could fix with a spell. In this one instance he could point his wand and say the magic word, and things would be alright again.

And for the rest...

For the rest of life, for the things where wands and magic and deaths and friends weren't enough. Well, he'd just have to make some new magic words, wave some new wands. A sense of surprising optimism buoyed Harry all the way into the great hall, and he feasted on its rare lightness for a short, precious time.