Harry Potter and the Carnelian Key

"And then in 1654, the subernicus charm was developed. And in 1658, it was improved by Monsieur Eduard Perreault, the first of his many accomplishments. Perreault developed many important charms over his lifetime, and later developed a talent for potions as well. Perhaps his most famous potion was the one he invented in 1673...no 1683...no, it was 1673..."

Harry stifled a laugh as Ron’s elbow slipped off the desk and he jerked awake. He’d been resting his chin in his hand, and had easily dozed off listening to Professor Binns drone on and on. Hermione shot him a glare, as she continued scribbling down the professor’s every word. Harry himself couldn’t hold back a yawn as Ron straightened in his seat, blinking to regain his focus.

"Professor Binns?" came a voice from the back of the room.

Two dozen students swiveled in their seats, grateful for the interruption. A shy looking first year student stood in the doorway, clutching a small piece of parchment in her hand.

It was the most exciting thing that had happened in this classroom in weeks.

"Yes?"

"I have a note here, from the Headmaster," she said, taking a tentative step forward.

"Well, bring it to me, please," he said in his monotone drawl. The girl walked to the front of the room and held the note out, and Professor Binns took it from her with a transparent hand. "Thank you," he said and the girl turned to leave, staring at the floor. When she passed Harry on her way out, she lifted her eyes slightly to look at him, blushing. He smiled at her kindly, and she quickly looked away and scurried out the door.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry jumped. "Yes, Professor?"

"The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office at once," he said tonelessly.

A wave of nervousness washed over him, and he exchanged a tense glance with Ron and Hermione. What could be so important that Dumbledore would call him out of class? "All right," he said, and he quickly gathered his things. Students on all sides of him were suddenly whispering.

"I’ll bet something horrible has happened."

"Maybe he’s in trouble."

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione again, rolling his eyes at the comments of his classmates, but they were looking back at him with worried expressions.

"I’ll see you guys later," he muttered and he left the room.

Harry hurried through the corridors and up several staircases, wondering if maybe something horrible really had happened. When he reached the stone gargoyle at the foot of the steps to Dumbledore’s office, the wall was already open, waiting for him to step through it. It closed behind him, and he raced up the steps, hearing an anxious voice at the top, arguing with Dumbledore’s calm one. He burst through the door and skidded to a halt. The anxious voice belonged to his own godfather, who was waving a piece of parchment around, wearing an expression that seemed both angry and fearful. Dumbledore’s own brow was furrowed, and he was firmly telling Sirius to calm down. Both of their heads snapped in Harry’s direction when he entered and Sirius crossed the room in three quick strides.

"Just what is this?" he demanded, thrusting the parchment forward.

"Um, what?" Harry stammered, confused, and more than a little shocked at Sirius’ angry tone. "I don’t...I don’t know, what is it?" But even as he said the words, he realized that he recognized it. It was the letter that he had sent to Sirius the day before.

"Oh, by the way," Sirius read from the parchment, "I’m spending Christmas at Hermione’s house. Her parents invited Ron and me, and we thought it would be fun, so we’re going." He dropped his hand to his side and looked at Harry with a bewildered expression. "Have you gone mad? Have you taken total leave of your senses? You are not going anywhere!" he said in a tone that left Harry wondering why he left off the clichéd ‘and that’s final!’

"What? Why not?" Harry asked, his confusion slowly building into anger of his own.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said sharply, moving forward to step between them. "I must ask you again, to calm down. I realize that you are frightened, but we must sit down and talk about this rationally, like adults."

"All right," Sirius said, taking a step back. "All right, let’s talk about it. What are you thinking, Harry?"

"I’m thinking that it would be nice to spend Christmas with my friends! Somewhere other than this bloody castle! With a family. I’m sorry if I don’t see anything wrong with that!"

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore said calmly, "Let’s all sit down, shall we?"

Sirius obeyed, taking a seat in a leather armchair next to the fireplace, and Harry dropped into the one across from him.

"Accio," Dumbledore said, pointing his wand at his own chair, and it soared up and over the desk, landing softly next to him.

"Now," he said, gathering his flowing robes about him as he sat, "Harry, I’m sure Sirius wishes to apologize for his sudden outburst," he said, fixing Sirius with a stare, and Sirius dropped his gaze to the letter in his lap. "He was simply shocked by the news your letter brought, and is quite worried about your safety." He shifted his eyes to Harry. "As am I." He paused. "You say that you want to spend Christmas with the Grangers?"

"Yes," Harry said, a little defensively. He couldn’t help it. He hadn’t expected to have to defend his decision to Dumbledore and his godfather. "I don’t see what’s so horrible about that."

"Nothing is horrible about that," Dumbledore replied. "But there are many things that must be considered. Your personal safety, for one. You are well protected here at the castle, Harry, and with the Dursleys. But I am afraid that the Grangers’ home offers you no such assurances. You would be quite unprotected, and easily reachable."

So that’s what this was all about. They were worried about Voldemort and his minions swooping in for the kill...Harry felt his indignance retreat a little as he took in his godfather’s face. The anger had fallen away to leave only a blank curtain of panic.

"But...but I’ve been to Ron’s house before," he tried. "Plenty of times -"

"Harry, there’s a huge difference," Sirius said. "The Weasleys are wizards. They would know what to do if something...well...let’s just say they’re no strangers to the darker side of the world. But the Grangers...Harry, they wouldn’t have the first clue about how to keep you safe. Hell, you’d end up defending them."

"Sirius makes a good point, Harry," Dumbledore put in. "The only reason I’ve felt comfortable allowing you to visit the Weasleys is because it’s Arthur and Molly. Besides, their house has protections of its own. Some were put there for you, but many were already in place. Mr. Weasley is a Ministry official, after all."

"Of course," Harry muttered, wondering why he hadn’t assumed that the Burrow was protected before. "But...but, why couldn’t you put up some protection around Hermione’s house then?" he asked, thinking. "You know, it wouldn’t be a bad idea, anyway, what with Hermione’s connection to me, and -"

"It’s already done," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly.

Harry backpedaled. "What?"

"It was done only days after Voldemort’s resurrection. Additional protections were added at the Weasleys’, and some were placed at Hermione’s house as well."

"Then what’s the problem?" he asked, exasperated.

"The problem," Dumbledore said, "is that Hermione’s parents are not magical. There is no magical energy around their home. There is only so much I can do to protect them that does not require some input of their own, and they simply cannot give it. And I cannot protect you at all while you are there."

"But wouldn’t the fact that Hermione is a witch provide the magical energy that’s needed at her house?"

"No. She’s simply not there enough, and when she is, it is during the summer when she’s not allowed to use magic."

"What about the Dursleys, then? They’re not magical, and I’ve been protected there."

"There is a different type of magic that protects you at the Dursleys’, Harry. The protection is channeled through you, not them or their home. And it works because they are your blood relatives."

Harry felt his heart sinking in his chest. They weren’t going to let him go. But that fact quickly became secondary in his mind to the knot of uneasiness that had dropped into his stomach. Dumbledore had been worried enough to put up all the protection he could around Hermione’s house, but it wasn’t much. That must mean... "Are you saying that Hermione isn’t even safe at her own house? If he came after her to get to me...there’s nothing that can be done to protect her?" Harry suddenly found himself swallowing past a lump of terror that rose in his throat at the very thought of Voldemort targeting his friends to get to him, and he cursed himself for not thinking about their safety sooner.

"No, Miss Granger is safe."

"What? How?"

"The same magic that protects you at the Dursleys’ protects her when she is with her parents."

"Oh." It made sense, and as comforting as the news was, it was also troubling. Dumbledore was obviously worried about Hermione’s safety - worried enough to invoke complex and powerful magic to protect her when she was away from the castle.

"Just because I have elected to protect her, does not mean that I think she is in danger, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, obviously sensing his discomfort, and practically reading his mind. "In times like these, one can never be too careful."

"What about Ron? The Weasleys - they’re protected?"

"As well as anyone can be."

"But even that..." Harry’s mouth suddenly felt very dry, and he swallowed again. "It might not be enough. I mean, I’m protected better than anyone, and he’s still managed to get to me."

"Voldemort does seem to have his ways," Dumbledore said with rare bitterness.

Harry scowled. "Yeah."

"But Harry, I assure you that I will do everything in my power to protect you, and anyone that Voldemort may see as useful leverage against you."

Harry didn’t respond. He could only hope that Dumbledore’s best would be enough...

"Things do seem to be looking up for us," Sirius offered almost apologetically, as if this news might make up for the fact that he’d had to put his foot down.

"What do you mean?"

"We have been steadily gaining support as of late, thanks to the efforts of people like Sirius, and Arthur Weasley," Dumbledore explained. "We are getting organized; I am assigning people that I trust to various tasks. We’re getting ready, Harry. I am sorry to say I do not know exactly what we are getting ready for, but whatever comes...well, I am growing more confident with each passing day that we will be prepared to confront it."

Harry felt himself relaxing as Dumbledore spoke. Just having Dumbledore say that he was prepared made Harry feel that the world was already several degrees safer. And he quickly took advantage of Sirius and Dumbledore raising the issue, seizing the rare opportunity to ask some of the questions that had been plaguing him.

"What about Fudge, and the Ministry? Has there been any change in his position?"

"Not officially, no. But there are many people within the Ministry who have assured me that they will help where they are needed."

Something Hermione had said suddenly came back to him. "Has he left the dementors in charge of Azkaban?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, his expression grim. "Fudge refuses to budge on that one, I am afraid. However, I have drawn him into a sort of compromise, and he has stationed several aurors there, just to make sure that no one is wrongfully released, or escapes. If there is any hint of unrest there, we will hear about it."

"And the giants?"

"They wish to remain uninvolved. That is not good news, but it is not bad either, as long as they remain uninvolved on Voldemort’s side as well."

"Do you think that’s likely?"

Dumbledore’s expression remained grim. "I wish I could say yes, but I simply do not know. They were quite useful allies of Voldemort’s the last time he was in power. Most of them were killed by aurors in the end, though, and those who remain may not be willing to follow in their predecessors’ footsteps. Let’s hope that is the case."

"And what about Voldemort himself? Has anything been learned?" Harry asked, thinking of Professor Snape, but not feeling as though he should bring it up.

Dumbledore seemed to contemplate his words. "Reports are beginning to reach us," he said carefully.

What did that mean? "Reports? From who?"

"There are many circles of dark wizards in the world, Harry. Voldemort has recruited from all of them in the past. There are spies, and observers, among them. We receive word from them from time to time, and the word as of late has been that there is a lot of activity going on. People mobilizing, numbers growing. It is very early, of course. Voldemort is taking things slowly, and I am guessing that he is choosing his path very carefully."

Dumbledore stopped, but Harry was far from satisfied. "So he is gaining supporters?"

"It looks that way. But so are we," he pointed out again.

"Do you have any idea what to expect?"

"I imagine more of what we saw the last time. All he wants is power, Harry. That is all he sees. He simply kills people who stand in the way. Anyone who resists him, anyone who crosses him, anyone who looks at him oddly on a Sunday morning. He incites fear, Harry, that is his tool. The more people fear him, the more control he gains."

Harry remembered something Professor Lupin had told him once. ‘What you fear most of all is - fear. Very wise, Harry.’

"I know who some of the Death Eaters are, you know. Lucius Malfoy, for one -"

"But there is no proof, Harry," Dumbledore said simply. "There is nothing to do except to observe them closely. I have people doing just that, based on the names you gave us."

That was good news...it was all good news...but then Harry’s mind settled on the discovery they’d made in the library - the one he’d been trying very hard not to think too much about - and their month of research. "Do you remember what we talked about last time?" he asked Dumbledore.

"I do."

"Has there been any news about that? Does anyone know if he’s taken any further steps?" Harry expected Sirius to ask him what he was talking about, but he didn’t, and Harry guessed that Dumbledore had told him about their discussion.

"Not yet," Dumbledore replied gravely. "But I don’t think that means that he hasn’t. He could be keeping it all very private, until he is sure that he has been successful."

Harry suppressed a shudder. Thinking hard, and coming up with no more questions, he finally said, "Well, I guess I should get back to class."

"What, before we’ve even finished discussing why we brought you here?" Dumbledore asked him with surprise.

"You’re not going to let me go," Harry said flatly. "What’s there to discuss?"

"I never said we were not going to let you go."

"Dumbledore!" Sirius cried, jumping to his feet. "I think it is perfectly clear that -"

"Now, Sirius, just relax. Harry wants to spend Christmas with his friends. With a family who wants him. I don’t see any reason why he should be deprived of that, as long as certain precautions are taken."

Harry felt his face lighting up. "Really?"

"Remus and me!" Sirius exclaimed. "You can spend Christmas with Remus and me, Harry. We’ll get a tree, and presents...we’ll go all out."

"Sirius," was all Dumbledore said, and Sirius fell silent. "Now Harry, I am going to make a suggestion, and we’ll see how you godfather here feels about it."

Harry nodded.

"You will charm all of your muggle clothing to carry everything on you that you are carrying now. The potions, the portkeys, everything."

"No problem."

"You will go nowhere alone. Stay close to as many people as possible. If you are out and there is a large crowd, you plant yourself right in the middle of it."

"Fine."

"You will take this with you." Dumbledore said, standing up and crossing the room to the cupboard behind the desk. As he rummaged around inside, Harry was aware of Sirius sputtering disapprovingly next to him, but chose to ignore him for the moment. Dumbledore emerged with a small box, which he handed to Harry as he settled back into his chair. Harry opened it and found a ring inside. A thick gold band with a black square set into it - a shiny substance as smooth as glass, and transparent. When he looked into it he felt like he was seeing forever, to the very depths of the earth, even though the ring was only about an eighth of an inch thick.

"What’s this?" he asked, slipping it onto his middle finger. It was a little too big; he moved it to his index finger.

"It’s a magic detector. The stone is solid, and a deep amber color around muggles. It turns black when it senses magic. It will tell you if a witch or wizard is nearby. If the person is untrustworthy, the substance will begin to swirl. The faster the movement, the more serious the danger. You will wear it at all times. If you notice it darkening at all, you immediately be on alert. If the substance begins to swirl, you get away from wherever you are as fast as you can. Portkey back here if you need to, understood?" Harry nodded. "You can deactivate it for yourself, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley. It will not register your magical presences. Simply hold your wand to it while it is on your finger, and say ‘disactivo.’ Have them do the same."

"Okay."

"You will be in touch several times a day. I will send express owls each morning, noon, and night, and you will return them immediately, informing me of your whereabouts, your plans, where you will be, and who you are with."

"What if I’m with a bunch of muggles? They’ll see the owls."

"Express owls are invisible to everyone except the person meant to receive them. It is an innovation designed to allow constant post exchange without drawing attention. They should be able to make the distance from here to the Grangers’ and back in about thirty minutes." Harry’s mouth fell open.

"And finally, you are to go for Christmas only. You will leave on the Hogwarts Express with everyone else, but will return the day after Boxing Day. I will be in touch with Mr. Granger and I will ask him if he will kindly return you to London on the 27th. You can leave the Leaky Cauldron by floo powder, and will arrive in the Three Broomsticks. Someone from Hogwarts will meet you there."

Harry felt a twinge of disappointment at the fact that he could only stay for a few days, but he wasn’t about to push his luck. "Fair enough." Both he and Dumbledore looked to Sirius then, who had stood watching the entire exchange with exasperation.

Taking in his godson’s pleading expression, he let out a heavy sigh. "All right," he said in a defeated voice.

Harry leapt to his feet and threw his arms around Sirius in an exaggerated hug. "Thank you!"

"All right, all right," he said, unable to prevent himself from smiling as he struggled out of Harry’s grip.

"Thank you, Sirius," Harry said earnestly as he stepped back. "I’ll be careful, I promise."

"You most certainly had better."

* * * * *

"I can’t believe you can only stay for four days," Ron said dejectedly as he straightened his black chess pieces on their white squares, and then led off with the second pawn from the right. It was his typical first move.

"Well, it’s better than nothing, which is what it would have been if Sirius had gotten his way," Harry said, mirroring Ron’s opener.

"Yeah...Hey, it will be pretty cool to come back to Hogwarts by floo powder...It’ll seem weird...since we’re so used to the trip taking hours."

The conversation was coming in choppy strands, as they divided their attention between their words and the game.

"I guess. I wish we could always come by floo powder...It would make so much more sense anyway...Everyone has to get to London to catch the train...it would be so much easier...if everyone could just come through their own fireplaces, you know?"

"Too many people at once, I reckon...check."

"Already?" Harry exclaimed with dismay. "We’ve only made four moves!"

"You really shouldn’t talk while you’re playing," Ron said, grinning broadly. "You get distracted."

Harry scowled. "You do it on purpose," he said, moving his king out of harm’s way.

"Never," Ron declared, eliminating a pawn with a sneaky knight.

"Hmmph." Harry fixed his concentration upon the chessboard and studied the pieces, strategizing his next move. If he moved that bishop, it would leave a rook right in the line of fire. But if Ron took it, he could get that blasted knight on his own next move. But Ron was too clever to not see that coming...if he moved his other rook instead, Ron wouldn’t be able to get any good pieces for at least two moves, but then neither would he...He sat agonizing over his decision for a minute, and then reminded himself that it was just a game and moved the bishop. Hoping that Ron would take his rook immediately, Harry didn’t bother to lift his attention from the board. He was already reaching for his bishop again, but Ron wasn’t falling into the trap. He wasn’t making his move, obviously thinking through the consequences of his various choices. After a few minutes, Harry grew impatient and looked up, opening his mouth to speak.

Ron seemed to have forgotten the game. He had that look on his face again, as he stared at something across the room, that sort of blank stare, with a hint of pained confusion behind it. Harry followed his gaze and smiled internally. Hermione was lying on her stomach on a sofa near the fireplace, a book open in front of her, resting on the arm. She was propped up on her elbows, reading intently, and absently twirling a strand of long hair between her fingers. Harry watched her too for a minute, wondering what went on in that head of hers. She was so much better than Ron at hiding her feelings...Harry shifted his eyes back to the boy across from him. Ron’s brow had furrowed, and his breath was coming in quick, shallow bursts, as though something hurt deep in his chest.

"It’s your move, mate," Harry said at last, pretending he had never looked up from the board.

"Oh, right." In his distraction, Ron did take the rook, and Harry felt a small pang of guilt when he relieved Ron of his knight.

"Prat," Ron said flatly, and Harry chuckled.

"That’s what you get."

"What I get for what?" he grumbled.

"Harry?" Harry looked up and saw Hermione motioning them over, looking studiously enthralled by something on the page in front of her. Putting the game on hold, they both rose from their seats and crossed over to the sofa, and she sat up, making room for them on either side of her.

"Remember that life essence curse we read about?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yes."

"Well, it turns out...there’s a legend about it," she said, holding the book out to him.

He took it, interested, and skimmed the page. "Hmm." He began to read it, aloud for Ron’s benefit. "The Legend of the Carnelian Key is a myth passed down by the magical community of the Hawaiian Islands. The legend is centered around two brothers, Pukana and Iakopa, who lived in an indeterminable mythological time. The two brothers were very close, and very powerful, and made names for themselves as the two most trusted supporters of the high wizard Alika, who was the good and just ruler of the Hawaiian wizarding world. After enjoying many years of fame for their good works and deeds, they faced their ultimate challenge when they were confronted by the darkest Hawaiian wizard of all time, Makeloa. A fierce and intense battle ensued, during which Pukana was stunned and left defenseless. Iakopa continued the battle alone, and somehow miraculously defeated Makeloa. After the battle was over, exaggerated rumors spread rapidly about what had occurred, and in the end Iakopa was hailed a hero, and Pukana was regarded as a hapless failure. Crushed by his sudden loss of the wizarding community’s faith and admiration, Pukana vowed to someday accomplish something far greater than his brother had, something far greater than anyone ever had before, in order to prove that he was not the utter failure that everyone now took him for. In so doing, Pukana somehow came to set his sights on immortality, for what better way was there to prove his magical abilities than to overcome the one thing that there was, as of yet, no magical cure for - death? Pukana became obsessed with his mission, and in the process grew more and more intent on succeeding at all costs. His obsession changed him into only a shadow of the man he had been before, and he began to turn to the dark arts for ways of seeking immortality. Through his efforts, he came across something known as the life essence curse, which had been developed by an ancient and dark group of Hawaiian wizards."

Harry paused as he scanned down the page, past the explanation of the curse. They already knew how it worked. He continued. "Pukana became discouraged when he realized that even this curse - the most promising piece of information that he had come across - was useless in providing absolute immortality, for the ingestion of the life essence could be performed only once. So after many years of experimentation, Pukana came up with a solution - an invention. He created a box which contained a vortex, a whirlpool of air, which could suck things inside the box and trap them there. He charmed the box to suck the life essences of those he killed inside, rather than ingesting them into his own body. He planned to collect hundreds, even thousands, of life essences, and trap them in the box, and then, when he was satisfied that he had enough, would perform the ingestion process, ingesting the multiple life essences in his one performance of the spell. If his plan was successful, he would come as close to absolute immortality as humanly possible, for the many life essences would sustain him virtually forever. Along with the box, Pukana invented a key, a key made of bloodstone, a gem associated with powers of longevity. The key was used to open the box every time a stolen life essence was added. In the end, when Pukana had a satisfactory number stored up, he would charm the key so that when it opened the box, the life essences would be ready for ingestion.

"In pursuit of his plan, Pukana massacred thousands of people. Mythological accounts of his reign of terror say that he single-handedly eliminated one-fifth of the population of the Hawaiian islands, both magical and non. Numerous other contemporary myths mention the "dark days" and "times of terror" during which people were terrified of even stepping foot outside of their homes, for fear that they would be killed - targeted randomly as the next victim.

"Meanwhile, Pukana was incredibly discreet. Dozens to hundreds of people were dying every day, but no one ever knew who was doing the killing, or why. Bodies were just showing up everywhere, with no explanation. Iakopa, however, suspected that his brother was somehow behind the mayhem. He knew that his brother was changed, that he had turned to the dark arts. Through some investigation of his own, he discovered what Pukana was up to, just as Pukana was nearing the end of his quest. He had thousands of life essences stored in the box, and was at last ready to perform the ingestion. Pukana fled to a distant hideaway to complete his mission, and Iakopa went after him. Iakopa traced Pukana to a hidden cave near the ocean, and snuck inside as he heard his brother speaking the incantation over the bloodstone key. Just as Pukana was about to insert the bloodstone key into the lock, Iakopa stepped out of the shadows and confronted his brother. They dueled, and in the end, Pukana was killed.

"The key had been irreversibly charmed, but the box remained sealed. With every destruction charm he could think of, Iakopa tried to destroy the box and the key, but to no avail. The immortality existed independently of any bodily host, and could not be destroyed. Iakopa agonized over what to do with the box and the bloodstone key. He knew that if it ever fell into the wrong hands, the consequences could be devastating. All that needed to be done was for someone to insert the key into the lock, and the person could easily become immortal. Finally, in lieu of destruction of the box, he decided to try to develop a way to reverse its effects. He created his own key for the box, one made of carnelian, an orange colored gemstone that is thought to repel evil. He charmed the carnelian key so that if it was inserted into the lock instead of the bloodstone key, the contents of the box would not become ingestible, but instead would remain a vacuum. This vacuum, however, would suck in not a life essence, but all traces of existence that were beyond mere mortality. If the carnelian key was inserted, and the box aimed at an immortal being, all of the immortality would be stripped off like a cloak, leaving the person completely and irreversibly mortal. The immortality would be locked forever inside the box, which would become nothing more than a useless piece of interesting artwork. Iakopa traveled to the two corners of the earth, hiding the bloodstone key at one corner, and the box and carnelian key together at the other. According to the myth, all that Iakopa ever told of the hiding places was that he had marked the locations with a message in ancient runes."

Harry stopped reading and looked up at Hermione. "That’s all it says."

"I know," she said, disappointment heavy in her voice.

"Well...it’s very interesting," Harry said uncertainly. The story had been rather intriguing, but... "but...it’s just a myth. A legend." He flipped the book closed to reveal the title on the cover. ‘An Encyclopedia of the Mythologies of Pacific Wizarding Cultures: Fables and Folklore.’

"I know," she repeated, "and even if it wasn’t, we’d have no way of knowing where the box and the carnelian key were hidden...but..."

"But what?" Ron asked.

"Well, every myth has some basis in truth, doesn’t it? And if it were true...well, it could be just what we’re looking for."

"Hermione," said Ron, "Don’t you think that if this story were true, it would warrant more than a two page entry in an encyclopedia two inches thick?"

"Ron’s right," Harry said. "I don’t know why you’re even reading this. It’s just a bunch of old ‘fables and folklore’," he said indicating the book he was still holding. "You aren’t going to find anything useful in here."

"Well pardon me for trying!" she snapped suddenly, snatching the book out of his hands and tossing it onto the floor. She dropped her head into her hands and sighed shakily.

Harry and Ron exchanged a tense look.

"Hermione," Harry said carefully, trying to keep the confusion out of his voice. "Are you all right?"

She sighed again, and didn’t lift her head. "I’m not used to this," she said evenly.

"Used to what?" Harry asked.

"Not having the answers."

‘Ah-ha,’ Harry thought, and his confusion subsided. "Hermione...you don’t have to have all of the answers all of the time. We didn’t even know what we were looking for. Hell, we didn’t even really know what the question was."

"I know, but...it just eats at me."

"Well, it shouldn’t. We’ve done everything we can."

"Yeah, don’t worry," Ron said lightly. "We won’t think any less of you. We know you’ve still got the biggest brain this side of the Omega Centauri star cluster."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I personally think that’s why your hair looks so big," he joked, flipping her fluffy locks. "It’s just an illusion. It’s really because your brain’s too big for your skull and it’s trying to push it’s way out."

She looked up and smiled dryly. "Ha ha."

Harry laughed, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "No more talk about this rubbish, all right?" he said, kicking the book aside.

"Yeah," she agreed, sitting up. "I suppose I should be working on real homework anyway."

"You see?" Ron said triumphantly. "There’s the Hermione we all know and love."

"You two are impossible," she said, rolling her eyes.

"We know," Harry said. "Come on."

Hermione followed Harry and Ron back to their table, and she watched as Harry quickly lost the game of chess, and then the three of them dug into their Potions notes. Professor Snape was giving a massive test the next day, and Hermione was the only one of the three who seemed at all prepared.

"Wait," Ron said. "I thought goglomufus potion was three parts lolabug venom to one part disterum powder. Your notes say three parts to two," Ron pointed to a nearly indecipherable line of scrawl on Harry’s parchment.

"It is three to two," Harry replied.

"Actually, it’s two to one," Hermione informed them. "Two parts venom to one part powder. Honestly," she muttered. "To think that the two of you were playing chess when you don’t even know how to mix up a simple goglomufus base."

Harry frowned. "Two to one? Are you sure?"

She shot him a look as if to say ‘Have you forgotten whom you’re talking to?’ She nodded. "Quite sure."

He bit his lip and scribbled through several lines of writing in his notes, squeezing the correct information in with tiny letters.

"All right," Ron said, leaning back in his chair and tossing his quill onto the table in front of them. "Quiz us."

Hermione let out a sort of disbelieving chuckle. "Do you really think you’re ready for that?"

"Clearly, no," Ron replied, stretching out and folding his hands behind his head. "But seeing as how the test is in fourteen hours, I think we’d better just see what we know."

"All right," she said, flipping back to the beginning of her notes. "Let’s see...Okay. We’ll start with an easy one. Name the purpose and ingredients of hellywop potion."

Harry and Ron both opened their mouths to speak, and then promptly closed them again. Harry screwed his face up in thought and Ron scratched at his head.

"Hellywop...hellywop...," Ron muttered.

"Hellywop potion," Harry said, thinking hard, "is...a healing potion...and it’s main ingredients are...phoenix tears...and dugbog liver!"

"Right! Ron exclaimed. "I knew that one, I really did," he told Hermione.

Hermione frowned. "Hellywop is an awakening potion," she said sternly. "The healing potion is halloserum, and it’s made from phoenix tears and diricawl liver."

Harry and Ron stared at her for a moment, and then Harry bit his lip again, and scribbled through another line of notes. Hermione sighed heavily.

They spent the next several hours studying, or rather Hermione spent them teaching while Harry and Ron desperately tried to memorize lists of ingredients, boiling and simmering times, and preparation methods.

"Oh, I’ll never remember this one," Harry said, irritated. "Let’s just move on and hope Snape doesn’t ask about it."

"No, no, I’ve got it," Ron said. "Just use a menonic...no...memmomic..."

"Mnemonic," Hermione said distractedly.

"...device," Ron finished. "Mokeskin, willowappis leaves, furlop powder, and pickweed. Just make up a saying with each of the first letters, like...umm...Malfoy wears Lucius’ frilly pink panties!"

Harry burst out laughing, and nearly fell out of his chair as he pictured Draco Malfoy running though Hogwarts wearing nothing but some lacy pink knickers.

Even Hermione couldn’t hold back a smile. "Whatever works for you."

Ron tossed his stack of parchment onto the table and rubbed at his eyes with his hands, laughter having brought tears to them, and Hermione caught sight of the mess of writing that he somehow passed off as notes.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, shuffling through the pages. "It’s no wonder you don’t know anything for this test! Look at this! You call these notes?"

He shrugged. Harry looked across at Ron’s parchment, then down at his own and back to Ron’s again, then hastily hid his own notes under the cover of his Potions book.

"And you!" Hermione cried, turning on Harry. "Don’t you dare try to hide that from me! Give it here!" Hermione reached over and grabbed the notes out of his book, tutting disapprovingly as she flipped through them. "Well, it’s no wonder. No wonder at all. These are completely disorganized. Don’t you ever revise your notes after class?" she asked them with disbelief.

"No," Ron said, shaking his head sadly. "Unfortunately, I’ve just been too busy reading ‘War and Peace’ in seventy-two languages to find the time to organize my Potions notes into cross-reference graphs and explanatory pictorials."

Harry tried to hold back a laugh, and let out a loud snort, which just set the boys to laughing again.

Hermione was clearly not amused. "Well, if you two aren’t going to take this seriously," she said, standing up and gathering her things into a messy pile, "I might as well just go on to bed."

"No!"

"No, don’t go!"

"We’re sorry!"

"Sorry, Hermione."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

"We’re sorry."

"Sorry..."

She rolled her eyes and dropped her things back onto the table. "Are you going study for real?"

"Yes," they answered in unison.

She stared at them, then crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," they repeated, this time with more conviction. "...McGonagall..." Ron added.

Hermione shot him a look and he quickly cleared his throat. "I mean yes," he said. "Just yes. We are. Going to study for real."

She looked to Harry, who immediately dropped the half-grin that was still playing about his lips. "Absolutely," he said.

"All right then. Now," she said, returning to her chair, "you can study from my notes." She spread her parchment out on the table in front of Harry and Ron and proceeded to explain the method behind her neat writing. "See, I’ve organized everthing into columns. The name of the potion, its uses, primary ingredients, secondary ingredients, preparation method, temperature, and boiling and simmering times." She ran her finger along the top of the page, indicating each column, and suddenly Harry realized how very close she was to Ron. She had leaned across him to explain the notes to both of them, and any trace of amusement left lingering on Ron’s face had disappeared instantly. He closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her, her hair, her skin...and then he shook his head a little, and sat all the way back in his chair, looking shocked at his own momentary loss of control.

"Harry, are you listening?"

"What? Yeah, of course."

"Okay...the potions are listed in alphabetical order..." her voice trailed off as she tried and failed to stifle a yawn. Harry glanced at Ron, who was now staring at his hands in his lap, and he seized the opportunity.

"Hermione, you’re tired. Go to bed. We can finish studying by ourselves."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said lightly. "We’ve got your notes. Go on."

"All right," she said, rising. "I’ll see you guys in the morning."

"Good-night," Harry said.

"Hmm? Oh, g’night," Ron managed.

"Good-night," and she was gone.

Neither Harry nor Ron said anything for a long moment. Harry studied his best friend’s face and Ron, obviously knowing that he was caught, made no move to lift his gaze. They both seemed to be waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Harry tried to broach the subject.

"Hermione looked pretty today, don’t you think?" No response. "I like her hair like that, sort of half pulled back," Harry motioned lazily with his hands at his own head, indicating Hermione’s hairstyle. Ron took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, but remained silent. Finally, Harry realized that he was just going to have to ask. "You really have it bad, don’t you?" he asked softly. Ron didn’t move, and Harry could see his throat working. At last, very slowly, he nodded.

‘Finally,’ Harry thought. He let out a deep breath of his own and braced himself. "Are you in love with her?"

At the very words, something very fundamental in Ron seemed to shatter. Something like a brick wall, strong and immutable and long maintained, suddenly just crumbled away, and he dropped his head into his hands, holding himself up with his elbows on his knees. "I don’t know," he moaned in a voice dripping with anguish and confusion. His hands tugged at his hair, and then he suddenly jumped to his feet, his chair falling over with a clatter. "I don’t know!" Harry just stared at him as he crossed over to the fire and stared into it, his hands shoved into his pockets. Harry rose quietly from his own chair and went to sit in an armchair next to the fireplace. Harry waited patiently for Ron to say more, and after a long minute he whispered, "Maybe." Ron’s features contorted with painful frustration, and he brought his hands up to his face, collapsing into the chair behind him. "I’m only fifteen!" he exclaimed through his fingers, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

"So what? I’m only fifteen, and I’ve survived the death curse, battled a possessed professor, killed a giant basilisk, outsmarted a dragon, and dueled with the dark lord himself. Age means nothing in our world." Harry took a deep breath and repeated his question. "Are you in love with her?"

Ron lifted his head to gaze back into the flames, and he didn’t respond right away. When he finally spoke, it was in a very quiet and faraway voice. "I...sometimes I look at her, and...I look at her eyes...you know, that spark that’s there when she gets excited about something?...and her smile...God, that smile...sometimes it’s all I can do not to just reach out and touch her...and sometimes, when I look at her...Harry, I swear, it actually hurts."

Harry felt his own breath catch in his throat, and he smiled.

"So, if that’s love, then yes. Yes...I’m in love with Hermione."

"Well, you have to tell her."

"What!?" Ron exclaimed, jerking his head to look at Harry with utter horror. "Why? Why do I have to tell her? No. You’re crazy. No way. No. No."

"Ron, you’re miserable! And maybe she is too. Why should you both be miserable, when you could be happy together, if only you’d just tell her?"

"I can’t," he replied in a choked voice.

"Yes. You can."

Ron shook his head. "No...no....What if she rejects me? Huh? What if she laughs at me, Harry?"

"Hermione would never laugh at you."

"What if...what if it makes her so uncomfortable that she can’t even stand to be near me anymore? What if I lose her altogether? I can’t risk that. I’m happier to just have her the way I have her now - just as a friend - than to not have her at all."

Harry watched his friend’s desperation with increasing discomfort. He couldn’t stand it...he had to tell him. "I have to tell you something."

"What?" Ron asked flatly.

"The only reason I didn’t tell you sooner is because I was asked not to. He wasn’t supposed to say anything."

"Who?"

"Seamus."

"Harry, what are you talking about?"

Harry sighed. "We were in the dorm one day, the three of us. You, and me, and Seamus. And then you left the room, and I turned around and caught him just glaring at your back as you left. It surprised me, and I asked him if he was angry with you about something, because you had always been friends, or at least I thought you had, and he said no, he wasn’t angry...just jealous."

"Jealous?" Ron scoffed. "For what?"

"He asked her out, Ron. Seamus asked Hermione out and she said no. She told him she couldn’t go out with him...because she had feelings for someone else."

The look of joyous rapture that Harry had expected never materialized on Ron’s face. Instead, Ron just stared at him, and then a small, mirthless smile found its was to his lips. And his words took Harry by complete surprise. "What if it’s you, huh? What if Hermione is in love with you?"

Harry shook his head firmly. "She’s not. He asked her and she insisted that it wasn’t me. She never came right out and said that it was you, but Seamus seemed pretty convinced...Besides," he added with a slight chuckle. "I could never be in love with Hermione."

As quick as lightning, Ron shifted into protective mode. "What? Why not? Is she not good enough for you?"

"Ron!" Harry tried to conceal his laughter, but just couldn’t help it. He had never seen his best friend so utterly desperate before. "Of course that’s not what I meant. I think Hermione’s wonderful. Incredible, even. Hell, she’s a goddess. But...well..." Harry searched in vain for the right words. How could he explain this? "You love Ginny don’t you?" he asked suddenly.

Ron seemed taken aback. "Yes. Of course."

"Fiercely, right? You’d walk through the fires of Hell to protect her."

"Yes."

"And woe be to anyone who ever tried to hurt her."

"Damn right."

"That’s how I feel about Hermione. Ron, you’re one of seven kids, but Hermione and I have never had any brothers or sisters. That’s what we are to one another. The sibling the other never had. But you grew up with a sister and five brothers. Merlin knows you don’t need any more sibling-figures. You see Hermione and me a lot differently than we see each other."

Ron considered this, and seemed satisfied. "I guess." He let out a heavy sigh and ran his hand through his hair.

"So are you going to tell her?"

Ron hesitated. "I’ll think about it."

"Well...that’s a start."