Harry Potter and the School for Wizards

This summer was a unique experience for Harry Potter. Ever since he had started at Hogwarts, he had hated summers. Summer meant seeing more of his family - his blood relatives, who would readily have disowned him if they could manage it. Summer sometimes meant spending time at the Burrow, but that was almost more torture than pleasure, since it was never soon enough or long enough. And after his sixth year had ended, he couldn't bear ever going to the Burrow again.

Summers had been marked with loss for several years now. First Cedric, then Sirius, then Hagrid, and now Ron, had each died just before summer started, each of them killed by Voldemort directly or indirectly. But this year, instead of dreading new tricks by the late Lord Voldemort or the Ministry of Magic, Harry was adapting to peace.

Too much at peace, in fact. He didn't have anywhere to go or anything to do - no one shouting at him to work on his summer homework, no flowerbeds in need of mending. His summer residence on the outskirts of Hogsmeade didn't need much tending, and he didn't have to worry about work for several months yet.

He was spending most of his time inside his flat reading. He imagined that Hermione would be surprised to see him now - willingly doing research. But Hermione wasn't likely to see him any time soon. Most of Harry's seventh year had been spent brooding or getting into trouble, but he hadn't included Hermione in either. He didn't even know where she was spending her summer, or what she was doing after Hogwarts. He had seen her briefly at a Ministry party in late June, where he'd insisted on her being recognized for her efforts against Voldemort, but she hadn't said a word to him.

Other than Hermione, he wondered if he really had any friends. The other people who were important to him, the Weasleys, had felt like his family. After Ron's death, though, Harry hadn't had the heart to respond to their letters. And then, eventually, they just drifted off into silence. He wondered if they hated him - it had been his fault that Ron died, just as each of the other deaths had been his fault. They had never said so, but they didn't need to.

Harry shook his head, clearing his thoughts, trying to force himself back into his reading. These books were all wrong. People who had survived Voldemort's first reign wrote most of them, but none of them were by anyone he'd heard of - and, as he knew everyone surviving in the Order of the Phoenix, he knew that meant that the real experts wrote none of them. As much as useful knowledge was contained in the books, he couldn't see how anyone thought they were enough to train people to defend against ultimate evil.

The book he had in front of him was a case in point. It claimed to be a detailed analysis of curses, and to contain all the information that anyone would ever need on the topic. Harry had met the author once - Paul something or other, from America - and while he'd been struck by how nice a man Paul was, he couldn't imagine any student taking anything from his course that would help against a Death Eater, unless that Death Eater was trying to deprive a target of sleep.

Harry wasn't sure what he was looking for, or even why he was really looking. After all, with Voldemort dead, and the prophecy fulfilled, Defense Against the Dark Arts was looking like it might go the way of Lockhart's memory. Aside from defending against Cornish Pixies and the occasional Lethifold, the average English wizard probably wouldn't have much to worry about in his lifetime.

He looked up at the Muggle clock - it was almost midnight, on July 30th. The wizarding clock next to it, a gift from Headmaster Dumbledore, showed him as "Wallowing in Angst", a position that Harry could have sworn was not there before he'd received the clock. It was accurate, though.

He sat there, watching the minute hand on the Muggle clock sweep towards midnight, and tears welled up in his eyes. If his summers had been brutal, his birthdays had usually been shining moments, which showed him who his true friends were. This year would probably be different, though, even from last year - while he never ate Hagrid's cooking, he would give anything for another crudely wrapped gift.

Midnight came, and Harry closed his book. He was done for the night. Then he heard a soft rapping on his door. He didn't expect anyone at this hour, and an owl would have come by the window. He drew his wand, reflexively, getting ready to curse whoever was there, and he grimaced as he finally understood the way that survivors of previous wars had acted, skittish at any interruption.

Harry walked to the door, and looked cautiously out the small peephole. He saw no one, but the lights on the street were out. He started to get an ache in the pit of his stomach. Maybe DADA wasn't dead as a career field after all.

He cautiously unlocked the door, and started to turn the handle. As the latch clicked off, he felt something pushing on the door, and froze. Whoever it was, the pressure wasn't too hard. He still didn't see anything out the peephole, though.

He decided to go ahead and risk opening the door. The worst that would happen was that Albus would have to replace him - and that wasn't impossible anymore. He jumped back, flourishing his wand, ready for anything.

The door swiftly swung open, and he was surprised to see that there was no one pushing on it. There was, however, a large bundle, wrapped in garish purple wrapping paper with a big red bow, and a large cardboard sign on which someone had painted "Happy Birthday". The bundle was over five feet tall, and had been left leaning against the door. It fell to the ground with a wet thud, and Harry noticed that it hadn't been wrapped at the top and bottom. From the bottom, he could see a pair of women's shoes.

From the top of the bundle, now lying on his floor, he saw something immeasurably worse - a mop of bushy brown hair.

Harry quickly pushed the bundle out of the way of the door, and slammed it shut, not even bothering with the latch. He tore at the paper, and his fears were realized - Hermione Granger was inside. He felt for a pulse, but there was nothing - but something struck him as odd about her. He remembered their second year, and hoped.

He picked her up, noticing that she didn't give to his touch. Even her clothes seemed totally rigid, which he took as a good sign. He somehow made it to the fireplace, started a fire, and threw in a handful of Floo Powder without dropping her.

"Hogwarts School," he annunciated clearly, and whooshed away in a flash of green smoke.

Harry sat by Hermione's side, holding her hand. She hadn't woken yet, but Poppy assured him that she would soon. He wasn't going to leave her side until that happened. He didn't know why someone had let her on his doorstop, but he knew he was responsible.

There was an intake of breath, and she blinked her eyes, focusing on him. "Harry?"

"'Mione, are you all right?"

"I hurt...all...over."

"You'll be all right, though, 'Mione. I know you will."

"Thanks, Harry, it means a lot that you're here." Harry blushed, and then realized he was still holding her hand. He was afraid to draw attention to it.

"No problem, 'Mione. Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember the lights going off, and then I heard a curse." She hesitated, and Harry squeezed her hand. "It was Cruciatus. They kept doing it, again and again." He started to let go of her hand, but she squeezed back.

"They kept shouting at me. I'm not sure what they were saying, I just remember them saying your name, and Harry's, and Ron's." Her voice was getting wavery.

There was a stern voice behind Harry. "Are you upsetting my patient, Mr. Potter?"

"No!" Hermione said with as much force as she could muster.

"Well, its good to see you awake. Perhaps now Harry will get some food and some sleep himself."

Harry felt he was past the need for either one. His stomach was upset, and he'd been up long enough that he couldn't see the point in lying down. He didn't really need to sleep. Was Poppy still talking? His eyes seemed to have closed, but he could open them again...

When his eyes opened, it was dark, with just a small candle lighting the room. He was in a bed in the Hospital Ward. He could hear the soft sounds of Hermione sleeping nearby, and he decided that if she was able to sleep, perhaps he could get just a little more himself.

When he woke again, it was daytime, and they had reversed roles. Hermione, looking much better, was sitting on a chair next to his bed, holding his hand. She smiled when he opened his eyes. "Shouldn't you be in bed, Hermione?"

She looked almost hurt, and started to pull her hand away, but he held on. She didn't resist, much. "I thought you might appreciate having someone here when you woke up. I know I did."

"You look much better," Harry looked at her. Her eyes were locked on his, making him feel a little uncomfortable, but he didn't want to look away. "How are you feeling?"

She hesitated. "Better. I can stand up and walk around, but there's still sort of an echo of the pain. It could have been much worse. I'm not sure why I was attacked, but it didn't accomplish anything."

"We can worry about the why later. I'm just glad you're OK." He started to stand up, and then realized he was wearing one of the Hospital Ward gowns, which wasn't really meant for an adult. They had been uncomfortable enough during his last year, but on his tall form, the gown was about as useful as a mini-skirt. He sat back down, pulling the blanket over him.

Hermione was silent, but blushing. Her eyes had traveled down to the rather inadequate hem of the gown before he covered back up, and Harry wondered if he was doomed to permanent embarrassment.

He searched his mind for something to say to change the subject. "Um, did you talk to Albus yet?"

"Yes, he was here earlier. He thought that they were trying to get some information out of me, or maybe hoping that they could get you to come and rescue me. Not that you'd do that anymore, of course." Her face had gone from tender and caring to bitter and closed off in no time at all. He stopped staring at her eyes, and just looked down at her hand.

"Of course I would have."

"Oh, really, Harry. Would you have? You haven't even returned my owls."

"I didn't think you'd want to talk to me. It was my fault, after all."

"What was?"

"Ron! If it hadn't been for me, he would have lived."

"You can't say that Harry. If we hadn't fought Voldemort together, we'd all have been dead. If Ron hadn't been there, we couldn't have won, and if it hadn't been for you, he would have died much sooner." She didn't seem to have the same pain in her voice that Harry had when he talked about Ron, but that might have been just because she was almost shaking with anger. "Ron was one of my friends, one of my best friends, and he's gone now. He didn't choose to leave, he just chose to fight, and I can't blame anyone for what happened to him but Voldemort. What I can blame you for..." she stopped. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were starting to water.

Hermione hadn't taken her hand away yet. He was still holding on, and he started to tighten his grip. He didn't trust himself to say another word.

"You left me, Harry. I needed you, and you weren't there. You made me think that I was important, that you cared about me, that I was your best friend, and then you just let me go." She was trying to take her hand away now, but he was holding it too tight, almost tight enough to hurt.

"Hermione, I couldn't talk to you. Every time I saw you, I just thought about what I'd done to you. You are important. You're the smartest witch Hogwarts has ever seen, and you were my best friend."

"Every time I saw you, you'd just look away. You wouldn't talk to me. You wouldn't even tell me why."

"I couldn't see you without thinking of him."

"And I couldn't see you without remembering my first year - when you and Ron thought I wasn't worth being friends with. I thought, when you saved me, that maybe I was wrong, that I..."

"I never thought that." Harry was quiet, but his voice had almost an edge, and it cut through the line of Hermione's thoughts. "I don't know what Ron thought - I know he was even worse than me at saying the wrong thing. But I never thought you weren't worth knowing. I was scared of you, to tell you the truth. You always seemed to know everything, but it didn't stop you from being the nicest person I knew. Everyone else who knew about me, they either hated me or lifted me up because I was the Boy Who Lived. Even Ron was a little wonky about it sometimes. You weren't, though. I was afraid that if I knew you better, I'd find out I was wrong, that you didn't really like me, that you just thought I was something to study."

"I would never have thought that."

"I know that now. Now, I know that if I was wrong, it was because I didn't know how special you were. Back then, though, all I knew was that I was already finding a place that I belonged - a home, friends, things I was good at - and it just seemed too good to be true to have you be that nice of a person." He was on the verge of saying things that he wasn't sure he wanted to let out. "And you're still that nice of a person, Hermione. I didn't want you to get hurt." He winced - he could tell by her expression that those weren't the right words to say.

"Well I did, Harry. You hurt me every day since Ron died. And you know what the worst was? They took me from my home, they Cruciated me, they tortured me, they wrapped me up like a sack of groceries, and the worst was that you didn't come for me."

"I would have, Hermione. If I'd known you were hurt, I would have come. I didn't know." It occurred to him that this was perhaps not the best justification for his actions, since he would have known if he'd been spending as much time with her as he had before. "I'm sorry I pushed you away. If I'd known for a minute that you would have to go through this, I never would have let you go. I would have held on to you tight, I would have stayed with you every moment if I had to. Hermione, I'm not going to let this happen to you again."

An unexpected voice broke in, and Harry wondered how long Albus had been standing there. "Good."

They both looked up, to see the twinkling eyes of the Hogwarts headmaster. Yes, Harry reflected gloomily, he was doomed to perpetual embarrassment. He stopped hanging on to Hermione's hand, and she pulled it away.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Harry, because I need your help. I'm very much concerned for Miss Granger's safety, as I know you are. However, I cannot guarantee it here."

"What do you mean, Headmaster? Hogwarts is just about the safest place in the world, isn't it?" Hermione asked, her curiosity showing.

"Almost, Miss Granger, at least during the school year. However, this is not during the school year, and our grounds are not as secure as they might be at other times. This year, in particular, we are open to many that might not wish you well."

"Headmaster?" Harry's curiosity was showing, as well. He stood up, absent-mindedly pushing away the blanket.

"We have had a busy summer. Many of our students missed their NEWTS in the last few years, and the Ministry has decided to let them all retake them over the summer. As such, there are many graduated students here. In addition, the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch is being used for training the English National Team." In prior years, this announcement would have made Harry's eyes light up with fervor for the sport - now, though, it only made him think of everything he'd lost. "There are players here that I am not familiar with, as well as people from the Ministry and their families. The Press comes in and out all the time. While I think that you may have managed to reach a truce with Rita Skeeter, I am not sure that you are on equal terms with the others that you might meet, here. Finally, next weekend is one of our reunion weekends, when Hogwarts students from years gone by return. Only students from many years ago will be there - some of whom may have been contemporaries of those that wish you harm. I believe that Narcissa Malfoy will be there herself, although Lucius has expressed his regrets at being unable to attend." His eyes twinkled - Lucius regrets were probably based on the fact that he was ensconced in Azkaban, although he probably had not expressed them with great lucidity. The last time Harry had seen Lucius, he was singing show tunes and asking for a new tuxedo.

"So, you're saying that Hogwarts isn't safe enough," Harry said. "Then where is?"

"Harry, I'll be fine on my own." Her lower lip was puckered out, half pouting, in a way that tempted Harry's self-control.

"Miss Granger, I believe that there are few choices. We need to get you off of this campus by tomorrow. Remus is otherwise occupied, or I would suggest there. I could call Molly Weasley, if you would prefer that."

"NO," Hermione's response was swift. Harry wasn't sure why she was so adamant, but he was glad she wasn't jumping to be at the Weasley's. If she went there, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to visit her, and after their recent shouting match, he didn't want months to go by before they cleared the air again. "What are you suggesting?"

"I believe Harry has some room in his home in Hogsmeade. Whatever they are plotting probably includes him as well as you, based on your memories of their interrogation. Since I am well aware that I cannot make Mister Potter do anything he does not want to do, I would ask you if you could join him there. I am confident in your abilities to handle anything that could be thrown against you, together."

Hermione looked like she'd been pole-axed. "Headmaster, I don't think that's such a good idea. They got to me in London, why couldn't they find me in Hogsmeade? Besides, I don't think its fair to Harry."

"I think that's for me to decide if its fair," Harry said petulantly. "If Hermione doesn't want to be with me, I understand. But even if she doesn't, I'm not going to let anything happen to her."

"Then I believe that it is settled," Albus said, smiling. "Unless Miss Granger has any more objections?"

She shook her head, looking down. Hermione wasn't known for talking back to professors, let alone the Headmaster.

"Very well. I will tell Madam Pomfrey to check on you and give you any further instructions you might need, and then you may go when you are ready. And Harry...you can get dressed whenever you are ready."

He looked down, and to his distress, saw that Hermione was looking down as well. Well, if embarrassment was the worst that he had to handle this summer, he could deal with that. He just wished that she'd stop giggling - that wasn't exactly the reaction he was hoping a beautiful woman would have to seeing him in a state of partial undress.

~.~.~

Hermione had settled into the bedroom of the small flat, and Harry had settled onto the couch. There had been some discussion about that, but Harry wasn't just being chivalrous - he wanted to ensure that anyone entering the place had to go through him first.

Hogsmeade was a fairly sleepy town outside of Hogwarts' weekends. Harry and Hermione were usually almost alone at the Three Broomsticks when they went there. They avoided Zonkos - they never knew if Fred or George would be there, and neither one of them felt like talking to the Weasleys.

Harry couldn't understand why Hermione would be avoiding them, and he finally asked one evening over dinner in their flat.

She looked mildly embarrassed, but after some prodding, she answered. "Well, Ron had sort of a...crush on me."

"Really?" Harry's look of pretended innocence didn't fool her for a second.

"Well, maybe it was obvious to everyone but me. I guess that's the way these things go. Anyway, we went out a few times, you probably knew about that."

Harry's mouth was open. "When?"

"Fifth year, after the Prefect's meetings. We never really broke up; we just stopped seeing each other. I started insisting on having other people along if we were going places, and he stopped asking."

Harry remembered how little time he'd spent with Ron and Hermione that year, and wondered just how much of that had been because they were together. It seemed ages ago. He wasn't sure which surprised him more - that they'd gotten together without his knowledge, or that they'd broken up without it being obvious.

She continued on. "Well, I guess he talked to Molly about it, and she was nice and all, but she kept trying to push us back together. I wasn't really that interested in Ron - he was nice, and it was nice to feel like someone thought I was worth being with, even if he wasn't the one I really hoped..." She trailed off.

"I know how that is," Harry acknowledged. "I didn't really know how to talk with Cho, and I didn't even like her that much. I still liked being with her, but it was the same way - I didn't really know her, and she didn't really know me, it was just good being with someone."

"The last time I saw Molly was at the funeral. She seemed almost mad at me that I wasn't as broken up as she was. She didn't blame me for anything, exactly, but she said she wished he hadn't died with so many regrets."

Ouch. "No wonder you aren't spending more time with the Weasleys. I didn't know. And, yes, its my fault for not asking." He managed a weak smile.

"It sure is. But maybe its my fault for not tracking you down, too. If I'd known all it took was for me to be wrapped up like a birthday present, I might have tried that sooner." She looked at Harry's widening eyes, and hurriedly uttered a correction. "I didn't mean that exactly like it sounded."

"I wasn't complaining, exactly." She closed her mouth, and he realized he'd scored, but he wasn't sure why. He continued, filling the silence. "Hermione, I just wanted to say how much I've enjoyed being here with you. I'm glad to see you again - I wish I hadn't been such an idiot in the first place."

"I've enjoyed it, too. And I wish you hadn't been such an idiot, too." Was it his imagination, or was there something in her eyes? He didn't know how to respond to that, wasn't sure what to say.

Instead, he suggested a game of Exploding Snap, and she agreed. As the summer wore on, he realized that he had to say something that he had to let her know how he felt about her. Maybe he could convince her to move to Hogwarts with him when the summer was up - he could probably convince Madame Pince to let her help with the library, or she could keep working on the House Elves. Or maybe she'd say that she didn't feel the same way, but at least he'd know. It was sad that Ron had died filled with so many regrets, but it was worse to think of living with them.