Harry Potter and the Carnelian Key

Icy rivers of dread snaked through Harry’s body, settling into a chilling grip around his heart. It seemed like hours passed, even though it was probably only seconds. Harry just stood there, frozen in horror, staring at the ring through the blurry haze that was his own mind-numbing disbelief. The ring seemed to be vibrating in his hand, but then he realized that it was him that was shaking. The ring was black. Black as midnight. Sensing magic.

It was happening.

No, no, no, no...

He tried to steady himself, tried to clear his vision, took several deep breaths. ‘Calm, calm, be calm,’ he told himself. Holding the ring tightly in his hand and bracing himself, Harry yanked the door to the bathroom open and stepped into the hallway. It seemed empty, deathly still – though maybe that was just the eerie numbness in Harry’s own head, as he could hear voices coming from beyond the closed doors of the living room. He looked quickly to his left, towards the front door, then to his right, towards the kitchen. ‘Someone’s here,’ he thought immediately. ‘Someone’s hiding.’ He swung his gaze around the hallway again, but there were no places for anyone to be concealed. He took a few steps to his right and stood before the closed door to a closet. His heart hammered in his chest. He felt as though he were in a dream, like he was moving in slow motion, trying to raise his arm through an ocean of molasses as he reached for the doorknob and turned it. Then reality snapped back into place and he froze. ‘What am I doing?’ he asked himself. He glanced around again to make sure that no one would see him, and then he reached up and loosened his tie, unbuttoning the first three buttons of his shirt. He reached inside with his empty hand and easily found the nearest of the charmed pockets. He pulled out his wand.

Casting one final glance around, he pointed his wand steadily at the door and reached for the knob with his other hand, the one still holding the ring. Noiselessly, he turned the knob, and then, in a single swift motion, he flung the door open. He immediately let out an enormous breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, and he shut the door. He looked around again, as if waiting for a voice to tell him what to do, where to look. He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Then he heard a burst of collective laughter through the living room doors, and he forced himself to think. ‘Concentrate, Harry. There’s a house full of people here. They could all be in danger...’ Harry looked to the front door again, and it suddenly seemed much more likely that whoever was setting off the ring was lurking outdoors rather than in. Someone would have had to sneak inside otherwise, and Dumbledore had said there were protections on this house. Not a lot, but still...

Drawing himself up determinedly, Harry quickly moved in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen.

“Hey!” Ron said, moving towards him as he entered. “What happened to you? Did you fall in...” but his voice trailed off as he saw the vigor in Harry’s step, the hardness in his eyes...the wand in his hand. “Harry, what the hell are you doing?” he asked, but Harry had already brushed by him, pausing only long enough to grab up Ron’s hand and drop the ring into it.

“Harry!” he called after him, the edge in his voice enough to tell Harry that the stone hadn’t miraculously changed back.

But he didn’t slow his step, just reached up and returned his wand to the inside of his shirt as he passed into the empty dining room, and then through it to the living room. Hermione was where they had left her, by the fire, but Vernie was gone, Sarah in her place. Hermione was smiling at something Danny was saying, and then Sarah asked a question. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes fell on Harry and her mouth just fell open, words forgotten. He halted just inside the room, vaguely realizing that he must look quite strange indeed, standing there with his shirt half open, shaking with his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes scanned the room quickly; everything seemed normal – too normal...

“Hermione?” he said, trying too hard to steady his voice. It came out sounding fiercely grim. “Could I see you for a moment?”

Her face seemed to freeze as she met his eyes, and she nodded. “Yes...excuse me,” she mumbled, leaving her cousins behind with baffled expressions on their faces. She nearly stumbled over herself getting to him, as though her brain had forgotten that it had to control her feet, and he took her arm and drew her into the dining room. They nearly crashed into Ron who had been coming after him.

“Harry, what the –“ he started, gesturing with the ring, but he was cut off by Hermione’s gasp when she saw it. Her hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh God.”

Harry quickly took the ring from Ron’s hand and slipped it on his finger. “I don’t know,” he said in a low voice. “But I’m going to find out. Where are your wands?”

They just stared at him, paralyzed, and he repeated the question, more intently. “Where are your wands?”

“Up-upstairs,” Hermione said, “In the bottom of my suitcase.”

“In my school robe,” said Ron, motioning in the general direction of the staircase.

Harry turned on his heel and walked back through the kitchen and into the hall. His friends hurried to keep up, and when they reached the foot of the stairs, Harry came to an abrupt stop, and looked around the hall again – at the front door that stood between them and the outside world... He quickly seized Ron’s hand, then Hermione’s, and pressed hers into Ron’s.

“Go upstairs and get your wands. Don’t leave each other’s sides. Hurry and meet me right back here.”

Ron, who for once wasn’t blushing at the contact with Hermione, didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly pulled Hermione towards the stairs, but she didn’t budge.

“Harry,” she whispered in a tight voice. “My...” she lifted her hand and pointed weakly at the door to the living room.

Harry knew exactly what she was thinking. Her entire family was in that room. Everyone that she loved in life was in this house right now. She turned her eyes from the door and met Harry’s, and he felt a tightness in his own throat at the look he saw in them. He reached out and gave her free hand a squeeze, then said gently but firmly, “Go get your wand.” He cast a glance at Ron, who was looking extremely apprehensive, and Ron gave Hermione’s hand another tug. This time she followed, and they disappeared up the stairs.

Harry didn’t remove his own wand again yet, knowing that someone could emerge from the living room at any moment. He just stood his ground, turning in slow circles, willing his senses to pick up anything out of the ordinary. He glanced at the ring again. Still jet black. Hermione and Ron returned within a minute, and looked to Harry, obviously waiting for instructions.

“I want the two of you to search this house. Top to bottom. Stay together. And be ready to use those if you have to,” he said, indicating the wands that Ron and Hermione were now holding. “Do it as quickly as you can, and then...stay close to the living room.” He didn’t at all like the idea of leaving Hermione’s family unguarded in the meantime, but he had no intentions of just standing there and waiting for an attack. They nodded, wide-eyed, and now Harry did pull out his own wand. “I’m going to search outside. We’ll meet right back here.”

“Harry, wait,” Ron said quickly, eyeing the front door warily. They could see out the narrow window to the side, and the sky was already pitch-black. “You’re not going out there alone.”

“He’s right,” Hermione agreed. “You have no idea what’s out there.”

“And we have no idea what’s in here,” Harry replied impatiently. “I want the two of you to stick together.”

“No,” Ron said firmly, taking a determined step forward. “There’s a lot more area to search out there, and way more possibilities for attack. It could come from anywhere. You are not going out there by yourself.”

Harry looked between his friends and made his decision quickly. “All right. Hermione, you come with me.”

“What?” Ron exclaimed, keeping a tight hold on Hermione’s hand. “No way. She’s staying right here.”

Hermione looked at him, still a little speechless with shock and fear, and Harry stepped forward, gripping Ron by the shoulder. He looked him fiercely in the eye as if to speak to him – to tell him something that only the two of them could hear – and said, “Ron, trust me.”

Ron stared back, and finally, he swallowed hard and released Hermione’s hand. “Be careful,” he told them in a hoarse voice. His sapphire eyes were graver than Harry had ever seen them.

Harry nodded. “You too.”

Ron nodded back, and fixed Harry with a long look, then Hermione. His eyes were pained and he seemed to be suffering a moment of indecision, as he started to lift his hand. Then, in one swift motion, he bravely brought it all the way up to her cheek, and she pressed her face into his touch. She lifted her own hand to his, but he pulled away almost before she had touched him, turning and sprinting back up the stairs two at a time.

Harry felt a tightening in his chest at their exchange, but quickly pushed it away. Now was not the time. “Ready?” Harry asked Hermione.

She had been staring after Ron, but now she turned to him and with confident resolution said, “Yes.” Harry was glad to see her pull herself together; he needed her to be focused. He had no idea what they might find outside, who had come for him, how they planned to get him, who they would be willing to hurt if they had to...Harry shoved these thoughts decidedly away and took a deep breath. He opened the door and led the way out onto the lighted stoop. A blast of icy wind whipped around them and the door nearly slammed shut behind Hermione but Harry caught it just in time. He definitely didn’t want anyone coming outside to investigate strange noises at this moment. Harry shivered involuntarily as the wind cut through his cotton shirt like a knife, and he eyed Hermione’s silky blouse with a grimace. ‘Oh well,’ he thought. ‘Evil leaves no time to find coats.’

Hermione seemed unfazed by the cold, her eyes focused intently as they scanned the yard before them. “Do you see anything?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “No. You?”

She shook her head, eyes still searching.

“Hermione, I didn’t want to tell Ron this, but I want us to split up,” he whispered quickly. She looked at him, but her face was expressionless. “I want you to take the front, and I’ll take the back. Search the yard, but more importantly, be on your guard. Whoever’s here didn’t come to just hide in the bushes. Yell for me if you need me, or send up sparks if you have to.”

She nodded staunchly and exhaled evenly, as if to steady her nerves. “Okay. I’ll meet you right back here.”

“Hermione,” he said, catching her arm before she could get away. “Don’t be afraid. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

A slightly questioning look crossed her face, but she obviously knew this was no time to give in to her inquisitive tendencies. She just had to trust him, and she must have, because Harry knew her eyes well enough to notice the increased confidence his words gave her. Another blast of wind sent a stray strand of hair into her eyes, and she quickly reached up and pushed it away. “All right,” she said.

Harry sent her in the direction of some trees to their right, and he started off down the sidewalk towards the garage, moving slowly and trying to look everywhere at once. He thought of Mad-Eye Moody, and how his magical eye would have come in handy right about now. His heart was still racing, his mind screaming with the frustration of not knowing, of waiting... He had never felt so tense. He ached all over, every muscle clenched in dreadful anticipation. He’d been waiting for this, preparing for this...and yet, he wasn’t ready, a frantic voice in the back of his head shouted at him. But he could never be ready, he realized, not truly. Not when it could happen like this...at any moment...

He moved around the garage, towards the gate just beyond it. He had given Hermione the front yard because it was smaller than the back, and dotted with fewer trees. There were some hedges along the front of the house, and the west edge of the property, but they were nothing compared to what he had observed from the kitchen window overlooking the back. The number of possible hiding places back there were infinite. He reached the gate and unlatched it carefully, wincing at the audible sound of metal scraping metal as he pulled the pin, and then again at the loud moan of the hinges as the gate swung open. The snow in the backyard was untouched, and Harry silently praised nature for giving them a white Christmas. No footprints marred the blanket of white. Harry tried not to put too much store in that fact though, as a few pesky footprints would be no match for a couple of Latin words and a wand.

He cast a glance around the yard, and nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye. He gazed around at the bushes chasing the fence all the way around the property and shuddered. Dozens of people could be hiding in there without him knowing it, and he considered for the first time the possibility that the ring was detecting more than just one magical presence. They could have the house surrounded, inside and out... He moved into the yard, sticking as close to the house as he could without casting himself into the illumination of the lights from the kitchen and dining room. The sky was completely overcast, betraying the presence of neither a moon nor stars, and the house was the only source of light. He followed the wall of the house to the opposite edge of the yard, listening, looking, sensing nothing, wishing he could light his wand, but not daring. The wind whistled through the bushes, making it nearly impossible for Harry to detect any unnatural noises within them. He just moved around the yard, pointing his wand at the bushes, shifting his gaze from the hedges, over his shoulder into the yard, and back again. ‘What if they came on broomsticks?’ he thought at one point, and lifted his eyes to the branches of the many trees overhead, but saw nothing but shadowy limbs waving in the darkness. He cursed the fierce winds, for every wave of a branch, every ripple in the bushes sent his heart into his throat, his wand up and ready, but nothing ever emerged. He reached the very back of the yard, and looked to the house. Every few minutes a different light had come on and gone off, marking Ron’s path through the house, but now they had stopped. He had to guess that Ron was searching the front rooms now, or else...he had found something...but Harry forced himself to resist the urge to race back into the house, to find Ron and be sure that he was all right.

He continued on his path, stepping lightly but unable to prevent the snow from crunching under his shoes. He supposed it made no difference, though, if he was heard. Whoever was here could probably see him anyway, was probably watching him at this very moment. A fleeting image of someone covered in an invisibility cloak and following him around the yard flashed through Harry’s head, and he shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the frigid temperature. At last, he was back where he had started, standing near the gate, looking around the yard again, with his fingers clenched tightly around his wand. An uneasy feeling settled deep in his chest. Someone was definitely here, but why weren’t they showing themselves? What were they waiting for?

And then Harry’s blood ran cold as a bone-chilling noise split through the air. A scream. A quick, but terror-filled scream, and he was running before he even realized he’d told his feet to move. He burst through the gate, his heart threatening to explode in his chest, screaming in his head that she was all right...she had to be all right. He nearly fell over himself as he couldn’t make his feet move fast enough. ‘Oh God...I told her not to be afraid...I left her alone...’ As he rounded the corner of the garage, he yelled for her.

“Hermione?” His shout escaped his throat sounding strangled, choked, and he tried again. “Hermione?” He came around the front of the house, and ground to a halt. He fell to his knees, legs suddenly numb, and a dry sob of relief tore out of his throat.

“Have you lost your mind?” Hermione was demanding angrily. “You scared the hell out of me, Ron.”

Ron stood across from her, trying to take her trembling arms in his hands, but she twisted away from him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice laden with desperate regret. “I’m sorry.”

“What in God’s name were you thinking?” she asked between deep, gasping breaths, and she pressed her hand to her chest, as if to manually slow her racing heart.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again, and he only then noticed Harry, who was now on his hands and knees in the snow, trying to recover from his momentary rendezvous with utter terror. “Sorry,” he directed to Harry this time, “I was getting worried. You were gone for so long, and I was just waiting in the hall. I got scared,” he admitted, and even in the shadowy darkness, his eyes disclosed the truth behind his words. “I just came to make sure that you both were all right.”

“Well did you have to sneak up on me like a serial killer?” Hermione snapped, still clearly shaken.

“I didn’t,” he said pleadingly, taking a step closer to her. “Or, I didn’t mean to. I was trying to be quiet, and you were so focused on those bushes. I’m sorry,” he said for a fifth time, reaching for her arm again. Her icy glare started to fade as she recovered somewhat, and this time she didn’t pull away. He tentatively closed his hand around her wrist and when she met his eyes, the relief finally washed over her in a visible wave and she fell into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, clutching her tightly to him as she grasped at the fabric of his shirt with her fingers. “I would never, ever scare you on purpose.”

By now, Harry had managed to get to his feet, though his legs were still a bit shaky. That scream...that had nearly been his undoing. Although the fear had only lasted a minute, it was unlike anything he had ever known. Even when he’d dueled with Voldemort, when he had been certain that he would be dead within minutes, he hadn’t felt fear like that. He watched Ron and Hermione now, wrapped desperately in each other’s arms, and he couldn’t imagine anything ever happening to either one of them. He wouldn’t be able to take it, he knew. He would just fall apart, just shrivel up and die. He walked over to them now, the knowledge that they still weren’t safe settling in in the aftermath of his relief. Someone was still lurking around here, setting off the ring.

“So neither of you found anything?” he asked them grimly, and they stepped apart.

“No,” Hermione said, still visibly trying to regain her composure.

Ron shook his head, brow furrowed. “Nothing.”

“I don’t get it,” Harry mumbled, gripping his wand tightly and turning in circles, still searching. “What are they waiting for?”

“Harry,” Hermione said, “Let me see the ring.”

He slipped it off distractedly and handed it to her, still not letting his guard down. She held it up, trying to catch whatever light she could from the front porch, then moved closer to the stoop to see it properly. “They’re in the house,” she said suddenly.

“What?” Ron demanded. “That’s impossible. I searched everywhere,” he said. “Unless they were Apparating around, or had an invisib-“

“How do you know they’re in the house, Hermione?” Harry cut him off.

“Because the ring was lighter over there,” she said, pointing to where they’d all just been standing. “And now it’s darker again.”

‘Damn it,’ Harry thought. ‘I should have just lit my wand. We’ve wasted time...’

Hermione turned and eyed the door apprehensively. “Someone’s in there,” she said, panic rising in her voice. She rushed up the stairs, Harry and Ron on her heels, and into the house. They went immediately to the living room doors, and Hermione cracked them open quietly, peering inside through the open sliver. Harry knew without her saying anything that things were carrying on normally. Jovial voices were conversing inside, punctuated by loud strains of Elvis Presley singing “Blue Christmas,” and he could hear female voices and the baby laughing in the kitchen. It didn’t seem like they’d even noticed the three teenagers were gone, let alone spotted an evil wizard. “I don’t understand,” Hermione muttered, closing the doors carefully. “What are they waiting for?” She looked at the ring again. “It’s jet black now,” she said in a low voice, handing it back to Harry.

Ron looked around anxiously, wand ready, and Harry took the ring from Hermione.

‘Someone’s right here,’ he thought with a chill. The initial shock of it now worn off, Harry looked intently at the ring, seeing it in the absence of fuzzy panic for the first time...The substance was black, entrancingly deep...it looked just as he had seen it in Dumbledore’s office...just as he had seen it...in Dumbledore’s office...

“Oh bloody hell,” Harry said.

“What?” both of his friends asked nervously.

He dropped his hand to his side and closed his eyes for a moment, the realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning, and he wondered if it was physically possible to kick your own self hard in the rump. If not, he felt sure one of his friends would be doing it for him momentarily. “It’s not swirling.”

“What?”

“It’s not swirling,” he repeated. It was true. The substance was painfully still, as still as he had seen it in Dumbledore’s office, if not more so.

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked with a hint of irritation.

“Didn’t I tell you?” They both stared at him blankly, clearly rather put out by his sudden lack of horrified anxiety. “It swirls if there’s danger.”

A stunned silence met his announcement. “It swirls if there’s danger?” Hermione asked with obvious annoyance once his words had sunk in. “It swirls if there’s danger, he says,” she spat at Ron.

Ron slowly lowered his wand and ran a hand through his windblown hair. “You don’t think,” he said evenly, “that you could have mentioned that to us before?”

“I’m sorry,” he told them guiltily, feeling like a giant prat for getting them and himself all worked up. “I’d nearly forgotten myself, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Hermione agreed.

“Sorry,” he said again, and his words were met with somewhat angry but relieved scowls from his friends. “But still,” he said, not yet feeling entirely at ease, “It’s still black. Someone is here, whether they’re dangerous or not...” He looked at Ron. “You looked everywhere, right?”

“Everywhere. I didn’t use any magic, though. Someone could have been outsmarting me, I guess.”

But that wasn’t what Harry was thinking. His eyes drifted from Ron to the doors to the living room. “Hermione?” he asked, a slight smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Do you think it’s possible that someone in your family is keeping a very big secret?”

“What?” she asked, and then when she realized what he was saying, repeated it with incredulity. “What?” her eyes grew wide, and she stared at the door herself. “Well, I...I don’t know...I suppose...” The very thought seemed to set her mind into a whirlwind and Harry could practically see her become dizzy. “I don’t know,” she said again. “Who would?...”

“Go into the living room,” he told her and Ron. “Sit down. Act casual. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“What are you going to do?” Ron asked, handing his wand to Harry when he reached for it.

“You’ll see,” he said, taking Hermione’s wand too and slipping all three into the magical pocket in his shirt before doing the buttons up again. “Just go on, I’ll be in in a second.”

They went, and Harry hesitated in the hall for a moment, still trying to come down off his adrenaline high. ‘Stupid,’ he told himself. ‘How could I have been so stupid?’ But that was a conversation he could have with himself another time. Right now, curiosity was getting the better of him. When he thought he probably looked calm enough, he entered the kitchen, nodding politely at two of Hermione’s aunts and Sarah, who looked at him a little oddly as she bounced the baby on her lap. Well, he couldn’t really blame her, after how he’d pulled Hermione away from her and her brother, looking so distraught. He hoped she wouldn’t question Hermione about it. As he stood at the counter, supplying himself with a fresh glass of punch, he glanced at the ring, which he’d slipped back on his hand. It was still as black as it had been in the hall, and he wondered if his idea would work at all. ‘There aren’t a lot of different shades of black’, he thought wryly. But as he passed into the dining room, closer to the living room, the color did seem to change somewhat. It didn’t get darker, necessarily, but clearer somehow. Shiny. He realized that it had been a little cloudy up until then, but the difference was so slight that he hadn’t really noticed it before. He glanced into the living room as he chose a couple of cookies from the nearly empty plates. As far as he could tell, everyone who wasn’t in the kitchen was in there. He saw that Ron and Hermione had found seats in two folding chairs that were set up just inside the room from where he stood. He entered the room not looking at them, but feeling their eyes following his every move. He held his glass casually but with calculation, his index finger over the top, so that he could see the ring clearly, and started to move around the room.

It wasn’t too hard to act casual as he circled the living room; there were plenty of things to pretend to be looking at. He started at the upright piano that occupied one corner of the room, gazing at some framed photos along the top. He recognized Hermione in all of them, looking much more like the girl he’d met on the Hogwarts Express four and a half years ago than the young woman he knew now. There were a few school photos of her as a child, and a studio shot of her and her parents. Harry felt a pang of nostalgia as he looked at that one. It must have been taken just before she had started at Hogwarts, he thought, as he recognized the shorter, bushier hair, the toothy grin that had become much less toothy after a run-in with Malfoy in their fourth year, the childlike gleam in her eyes... He glanced over at her and smirked, pointing at the picture, and she smiled back a little, then motioned with her hand as if to say ‘get on with it already.’ Hermione’s two grandmothers were conversing in wing-back chairs on the other side of the piano, and as Harry walked by them, he looked at the ring. It didn’t seem to change at all.

He took a bite of a sugar cookie as he passed by the doors leading out into the hallway, trying to look as though he was just snacking offhandedly, strolling distractedly around the room, betraying no calculation behind his movements. He paused before some bookcases near the next corner of the room, where Hermione’s father, her Uncle Jack, and Danny were bent over a folding table, deep in concentration over what appeared to be a half-assembled, unsteady looking, bright pink dollhouse.

“Well where on earth does this bloody thing go, then?” Hermione’s father asked, his words a little slurred as he held up what looked like a pink plastic chimney.

Danny smiled a little, and took it from him. “Right here, I think,” he said, inserting it easily into a hole on the roof. He met Harry’s eyes and they both tried not to laugh as Mr. Granger tipped his glass up, downing the last few drops of gin.

Hermione’s family certainly made a point to enjoy their holiday.

“Is it ready yet, Daddy?” Emily asked, coming over and wrapping her arms around her father’s thighs, looking up at him expectantly.

“Almost, Precious.”

Harry looked back at the bookcases, scanning the titles but not really seeing them at all. His mind was walking him through a dizzying myriad of unanswered questions. Who would be hiding something like this? More importantly, why? He glanced around the room at this point, trying to pick out the most likely suspect. He tried to catch someone looking at him, noticing that they were caught, but no one seemed to be paying him any attention at all. No one save Ron and Hermione, who were watching him intently, looking about ready to jump out of their skin. He glanced at the ring, still unchanged, and shook his head a little, eyeing the four people to his left. Hermione seemed to be dying of curiosity, mentally eliminating another four family members from her list of possibilities, and he moved on. He was moving slowly, trying to give the ring time to respond to any change in the energy surrounding it, and this time he crossed all the way across the room to the fireplace, closer to where his friends were sitting. There was a huge painting above the mantle – a gorgeous landscape of a countryside sunrise, and he pretended to be inspecting it appreciatively. Why...why...yes, that was the hundred galleon question. Why would someone in this family be keeping their magical abilities a secret? Were they active in the wizarding world? Probably not, Harry decided. That would be a hard thing to hide from one’s family....Perhaps the culprit had received their letter from Hogwarts and ignored it...dismissed it as junk mail, a joke. If that was the case, they had to be kicking themselves now that they knew it was true.

Harry moved to his left, closer to the sofa and television, where Hermione’s mother sat with her brother and father, watching an old Christmas movie, in black and white. Mrs. Granger looked up at him and smiled, obviously thinking that he was paying a lot closer attention to the pictures on the wall than he actually was. He smiled back, and did look at the pictures then, grinning genuinely when he realized what they were. Baby pictures of Hermione, in a collage sort of frame. They were mostly candid snapshots intermingled with a few professional portraits, and even a couple of the obligatory bare-bottomed shots that always seemed to embarrass the subject later in life. He could see that she’d had issues with her hair since birth, chuckling at the unruly patch of frizz atop her newborn head in one photo. ‘I can sympathize,’ he thought, running his now cookie-free hand through his own messy black mop. His eyes scanned the collection of images, and when he saw the one in the upper right corner, he felt a sharp and ruthless tug at his heartstrings. She was tiny – probably too tiny to be in the musical swing, but there she was, and sound asleep. Her little head had fallen to the side and on her face was the most angelic expression he had ever seen. He looked over at her now...and her expression was a far cry from the one in the picture. She looked thoroughly annoyed, and waved him on, the suspense clearly becoming unbearable. He obliged her, looking down at the ring as he passed behind the sofa, past each of the three adults in turn. No change. He frowned. The color hadn’t changed at all since he’d entered the room. Maybe the ring was as black as it was going to get. Maybe they’d have to come up with some other method of getting the secret witch or wizard to come clean.

Finally Harry was next to the tree, around which the remaining family members were spread, some of the children playing with new toys, Katherine reading the owner’s manual for her daughter’s new portable stereo as Vernie fiddled with the knobs.

“I can’t get anything other than these horrid Christmas tunes,” she was complaining, but her tone of voice did a rapid three-sixty when she saw Harry. “Oh, hello, Harry.”

“Hello. That’s a nice gift,” he said, pointing, but grimacing mentally at the fact that he had been reduced to initiating a conversation with her. But he needed an excuse to linger for a minute, and she was there.

“Thank you, Harry. What sort of music do you like? Perhaps I can find some.”

Harry chanced a glance at the ring before responding, “Um, I like the Christmas music just fine...” and his voice lost wind as he did a double take. Had he just imagined that? He took a step closer to Vernie, his heart quickening, trying not to feel too displeased by the object’s apparent reaction to her. The stone had been black before, but now it was practically glowing, if that was possible for something the color of midnight. He couldn’t explain it, but the substance was sharper somehow, deeper, almost...almost alive with energy, it seemed. He glanced up at Hermione and Ron, who were both literally on the edges of their seats. Clearly, his expression betrayed the ring’s state, as looks of mild disappointment crossed both of their faces. He waved a finger at them, as if to say, “not so fast,” and he stepped to the side a bit, closer to Katherine, under the pretense of adjusting a drooping strand of lights on the tree. He drew the task out a few seconds longer than necessary, focusing on the ring, which didn’t seem to change. He shrugged a little at his friends, as if to say, ‘I don’t know. It could be either of them.’ He started to step back again, and his foot struck something – something that moved.

“Sorry,” came a voice, and Harry looked down to see what looked like a shoe being withdrawn from underneath the tree.

Vernie said something then, but Harry wasn’t even listening to her. He frowned, circling around the evergreen to the wall, and he saw a figure sitting crouched in the corner behind the tree, reading a book.

“Hey,” Harry said. “What are you doing back there?”

The figure shrugged. “Reading. It’s quiet back here.”

“Oh.” Harry stepped aside, allowing the boy space to crawl out into the open. Gabriel stood up, picking several green needles out of his sweater, and then dropped into a nearby arm chair. “My mum bought me this book for Christmas. I’ve been reading it all day.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, moving closer to the chair and resting his hand on the back, just above Gabriel’s head. “I didn’t see much of you today.” Harry looked down at the ring, and saw that it was practically pulsing with energy. He removed his hand and stepped away a little, closer to Vernie again, and bent over, pretending to tie his shoelaces.

“It’s a really great book. It’s about this group of kids that go looking for buried treasure.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry said, paying close attention to the ring. He’d only moved a few feet away, and it was nearly impossible to see any difference. “So do they find it?” he asked, pulling the laces of one shoe into a tight bow, and straightening up.

Gabriel grinned. “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

Harry returned to the chair, replacing his hand on the back. “Oh.” His heart was pounding, protesting the indecision of the magical object. The suspense was maddening. He just couldn’t tell for sure who the ring was reacting to. Then, just as he was about to ask Gabriel if he wanted to go with him to get some more cookies, Vernie and Katherine stood up and headed in that direction themselves.

“I’ll let you know, though,” Gabriel was saying. “I’ll probably finish it before we go home.”

“Really? You can read a whole book in one day?” Harry asked, watching Vernie and Katherine’s retreating backs until they were out of the room.

“Yeah, I really love to read.”

Harry looked back down at the ring. “Well,” he said with a smile, looking across the room and locking eyes with Hermione, who was biting her lip with ill-concealed anxiety, “I guess you have something in common with your cousin.”

Harry lifted his hand from the back of the chair, and very discreetly, pointed a finger at Gabriel.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she let out a breath, bringing both hands up to her mouth. Harry grinned at her, and then he couldn’t tell whether she was laughing or crying. She brought her hands down and mouthed, “Are you sure?”

Harry looked at the ring again, and nodded. “Yes,” he mouthed back. She was clearly dumbfounded, and she moved her eyes from Harry to Gabriel, looking at him as though she’d never really seen him before at all.

“Well,” Harry said to Gabriel. “I’ll let you get back to your book, then. I can’t wait to find out if the kids get their treasure.”

“Okay,” Gabriel replied in a distracted voice. He was already lost in the story again, completely oblivious to the nonverbal exchange concerning him. Harry made his way over to Ron and Hermione, and when he reached them, Hermione stood up shakily.

“Are you really sure?” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

He smiled at her. “See for yourself,” he said, slipping off the ring and handing it to her. She placed it on her thumb, then walked a little dazedly across the room and pretended to gaze out the window behind Gabriel’s chair. But her eyes were firmly on the ring, and after she had stood there long enough to convince herself, Harry saw her let out of small laugh, and reach up her hand, brushing at her cheek.

“Well, this is an interesting turn of events, huh?” Harry asked Ron as he claimed the chair Hermione had been sitting in.

“Yes, it is,” Ron said, his tone a bit clipped. Harry turned his head to look at him, and almost jumped in surprise. His best friend was staring at him with a sharp glare. Ron had never looked at him like that before, not even when they’d been fighting about Harry’s name coming out of the Goblet of Fire, and it was more than a little unnerving.

“Um, are you all right?” Harry asked him nervously.

“What the hell were you playing at, Harry?” Ron whispered in an angry rush. “You tell me to trust you, and then you take her out there and leave her all alone? For all we knew that ring could have been sensing danger. And I did trust you, just like you knew I would. I trusted you to look after her.” Ron’s tone went fiercely bitter. “But maybe I shouldn’t have.”

For a moment Harry was stunned, and then he said as sincerely as he could, “Ron, you know I would never do anything to put either of you in danger.”

“Well you have a funny way of showing it,” Ron spat.

“Ron,” Harry said imploringly. “I can explain.”

“Explain what?” Hermione asked, returning to where they sat with a look of muted astonishment still playing about her face. Her wide grin fell away when she took in Ron’s incensed expression. “Explain what?” she repeated, this time with a bit of edge in her voice.

Harry started to stand up to return her chair to her, but she had already dropped to her knees in front of them, shifting her eyes from Harry to Ron and back again. She raised her eyebrows at Harry as if to say, ‘Well?’

“I can explain why I left you alone in the yard,” Harry said. “Why I told you not to be afraid, that nothing would happen to you.”

Ron started to say something, but looked at Hermione and apparently thought better of it. Harry supposed his armor was back in place now that they knew they weren’t in any danger. Ron had already come precariously close to revealing his feelings for her that day, and surely he didn’t want to tip her off any more than he already had.

“Well,” Hermione said, “I was sort of wondering that myself.”

Harry nodded. “I know you were, but I didn’t have time to explain before. But you trusted me...” Harry paused and looked at Ron, “because you know I would never ask you to trust me if I didn’t mean that you could.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said without hesitation, and Ron hung his head a little.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his angry expression replaced by slightly crimson guilt.

“It’s all right,” Harry told him quietly.

“So...?” Hermione prompted.

Harry took a deep breath and looked back at her questioning face. “You’re protected.”

“Protected?” she repeated, confused. “How so?”

“You’re protected when you’re in the care of your parents, just like I’m protected with the Dursleys.”

A short silence followed, and then Ron asked, “Did Dumbledore do this?” His tone was very grim.

“Yes, but I know what you’re thinking,” Harry said quickly. “He didn’t do it because he thinks you’re in any danger, necessarily, Hermione. It’s just a precaution. Better safe than sorry.” He added the last bit a little under his breath.

“It’s powerful magic,” she said, her voice expressionless but her eyes a little fearful.

“Yes,” was all Harry said.

“Well, that does explain why you told her not to be afraid,” Ron conceded.

“I knew it would be more dangerous outside than in here, and I knew she would be safe. I didn’t know that about you,” Harry said, and Ron’s guilt clearly deepened.

“Right...” he said quietly, then added, “But you didn’t seem so confident that she was safe when you saw us back there in the yard.”

“Yeah, well, all coherent thought seemed to escape me when I heard my best friend screaming like someone was killing her,” Harry replied shortly.

“Right, me again,” Ron mumbled.

“Well, it’s all right,” Hermione said reassuringly. “We’re all safe now.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “And I’ve just found out that my cousin...my cousin is magical.” Her words were laced with wonder, as though she still couldn’t believe that it was true.

Harry grinned. “So what do you want to do? Should we tell someone?”

Hermione looked back across the room at Gabriel and Katherine, who had returned from the dining room and was next to the chair now, talking to her son. “No,” Hermione said softly. “No, they’ll know soon enough. I want to keep this one to myself for awhile.”

“Fair enough. Hey, when’s his birthday?” Harry asked, thinking.

“Um...June.”

“He’ll be ten?”

“Yes.”

Harry did the math quickly in his head. “He’ll be a first-year when we’re in seventh.”

Hermione nodded distractedly, and only realized what he’d said afterwards. “He will?” She seemed to be thinking herself for a moment, and then said, “You’re right. We’ll still be at Hogwarts when he starts!”

“How do you think your aunt will react when he gets his letter from Professor McGonagall?” Ron asked warily. “Do you think she’ll let him go?”

Hermione seemed to ponder his question. “I think she probably will,” she said thoughtfully. “She was one of the first people in the family to accept the fact that I was going. She seems very intrigued by the whole thing. I think she’ll be excited.”

“Yes, but will Gabriel be excited?” Harry asked. “That’s the important thing.”

“Gabriel will be terrified,” Hermione said with a laugh. “But once he understands...yeah, I think he’ll be excited. Especially knowing that I’ll be there for his first year.”

They all fell silent for a few minutes, watching Gabriel with unrelenting disbelief, and then Hermione asked suddenly, “Hey, why didn’t we notice this before? You had the ring on yesterday, and we were with Gabriel all afternoon. And it wasn’t black earlier today, in the hallway when we checked it.”

Harry frowned. She was right. They should have noticed this sooner. Why hadn’t they?

“Harry, you had gloves on yesterday,” Ron said.

“That’s right,” Hermione said, eyes glittering as she remembered. “You did. But...but what about today?”

And suddenly Harry knew. “Your grandfather took Gabriel with him to the store,” he said. “They were gone when we looked at the ring in the hallway.”

Hermione smiled, looking back at Gabriel. “Yes, they were.” Then, “Well, good grief. We were pretty thick, weren’t we? If we’d remembered that, we would have known it was either Gabriel or my grandfather.”

Harry chuckled. “Well, clearly we left our brains at Hogwarts.”

Hermione looked utterly chagrined. “Speak for yourself,” she said with mock superiority. “I was merely distracted by the shock of it all, that’s all.”

Harry chuckled again, and he smiled as he watched Hermione watching her cousin. “Yes, this will definitely take some getting used to,” she said after a few minutes.

Ron rose and motioned towards the dining room. “Well, let’s get used to it over some food, eh?” he suggested. Harry laughed. With regard to food, Ron was getting more and more like his twin brothers every day.

“Yeah, okay,” Hermione said, getting to her feet and smoothing her skirt. “Do you want anything, Harry?” she asked.

“No thanks,” he said, stretching back and patting his full stomach. “I think I got my fill while I was playing detective.”

“Okay.” Hermione and Ron disappeared into the dining room, and returned a few minutes later, each with a small plate of sweets.

“You know,” Ron said, settling into his chair once again, “Gabriel will probably be the most popular kid in his class by the end of the Welcoming Feast.”

Hermione smiled at the prospect. “Why do you say that?”

“Cousins with the Head Girl – you know you will be,” he added when Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and she blushed a little. “And he’ll already know Harry, the school celebrity. We’ll have to be sure to pay him lots of attention right from the start. Make sure people know not to mess with him,” he said, shoving a piece of fudge into his mouth.

Hermione smiled. “You’re wonderful, Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah?” he asked around his mouthful of chocolate.

She gazed at him a little dreamily. “Yeah.”

Ron stopped chewing as they locked eyes for a moment, and Harry tried not to grin as he looked back and forth between them. ‘It’s only a matter of time now,’ he thought. ‘They can’t keep fighting this forever.’ Then Hermione seemed to snap to her senses, and she looked at Harry.

“Um, Gumdrop hasn’t come yet tonight,” she said, obviously grasping at straws for a new topic of conversation, one that didn’t involve gushing over all of the amazing qualities that were Ron Weasley.

Harry glanced at his watch, which read about half past nine. “They’re probably still at the feast,” he said simply, referring to Dumbledore and whoever else had stayed at the castle for the holidays. “He’ll probably send her when he gets back to his office.”

Hermione nodded, taking a bite of gingerbread. Watching her eat it, he got a sudden hankering for some himself, even though he was rather full. “Darn it,” he said, “You’re getting me all hungry again.”

“Sorry,” Hermione said with a laugh, as he got to his feet and headed out of the room.

Entering the dining room, he looked around for the gingerbread, but didn’t see any. Hermione must have gotten the last of it. He shrugged, settling for a few more of the sugar cookies he had helped to decorate. He laughed at one in the shape of a Christmas tree that Ron had insisted on covering with red icing. Hermione had disapproved, but Ron had argued that a Christmas tree could be red in his imagination if he wanted it to be, thank you very much. Turning to go back into the living room, he almost ran into Hermione, who was coming back in with two mostly empty plates.

“Hey,” Harry said, blocking her path. “You weren’t going to throw that away, were you?” he asked, holding a finger out from his still nearly full glass to point at her half-eaten gingerbread with disbelief.

She chuckled and blew a stray curl away from her face. “You boys sure are serious about your food, aren’t you? Actually, yes, I was.”

“That’s some perfectly good gingerbread there,” he retorted.

“Well, here,” she said, tipping her plate up so that the cookie slid onto Harry’s. “You can have it.”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning.

Just as he was about to step past her through the doorway, a female voice called eagerly from the next room, “Look! They’re under the mistletoe!”

For a moment, Harry looked around to see who Hermione’s Aunt Claire was referring to, and then a wave of dread washed over him. He looked at Hermione, whose face seemed frozen and a little white all of a sudden, and, very reluctantly, he looked up at the ceiling. Sure enough, there in the archway between the rooms, hung a small cluster of greenery, and he and Hermione were standing directly beneath it. The room fell completely silent, and all eyes turned to them.

“Well, he has to kiss her,” came the loud voice of Hermione’s rather plastered Uncle Richard. It sounded as loud as a freight train in the deafening silence. “It’s the,” he hiccupped, “the rule.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but just what, he didn’t know, so of course no sound came out. Hesitantly, he glanced at Ron, who looked just as shocked as Harry felt, and seemed to be breathing very rapidly. He looked down at his lap to avoid Harry’s eyes, and Harry turned back to Hermione. For the second time that day, his heart was pounding madly. ‘Funny how I react the same way to impending death as I do to the idea of kissing a girl,’ Harry thought. But he had never kissed a girl before, and certainly not with a crowd of people watching. And this was...this was Hermione, and Ron was...

“It’s no big deal,” Hermione whispered calmly. “They’ll just make a bigger fuss if we don’t do it.”

Harry nodded numbly, and before he even had time to react, Hermione reached her free hand around the back of Harry’s neck, and gently pulled his face down to hers. She brushed her lips against his in the quickest of kisses and almost before it had started, it was over.

A collective “Awww” issued from the living room, and within moments, everyone had turned their attention back to whatever they had been doing before the kiss. Hermione had smiled at him a little when she pulled away, and she wasn’t even blushing. ‘When did she become so mature?’ Harry wondered, ‘so composed?’ He forced himself to smile back, and she continued on her way into the dining room. Harry watched after her for a moment, his heart resuming its normal rhythm now that everyone’s eyes had left them. ‘Well, that was relatively painless,’ he thought to himself. ‘No big deal. It’s just Hermione...’ But the pounding in his chest started up again in full measure when he thought of Ron. He took a deep breath and started into the room to face him, but his attention was quickly averted by a cheerful squeal. Little Isaac had pulled himself up by gripping the edge of the end table just inside the doorway to the living room. He was stepping sideways, walking around the perimeter of the table, but he had reached the corner, and he lost his balance, promptly tumbling over. He bumped his head on the leg of the table on his way down, and let out a painful wail. Harry quickly deposited his plate and glass on the tabletop, and bent to scoop the crying child into his arms. He held the baby close, if a bit awkwardly, murmuring soothing words, until his mother made her way over and relieved Harry of his burden. By the time Harry had a chance to look up, Hermione had already squeezed past him, back into the room, but Ron was nowhere in sight. Hermione frowned at him, obviously a little concerned and wondering where Ron had gotten off to, and Harry sighed, picking up his things again.

He crossed back through the dining room and into the kitchen, and sure enough, Ron was there. Harry paused in the doorway, watching him. He must have entered through the entrance from the hallway, and he was standing across the room, at the counter next to the sink, staring at the glass of punch in his hand. His posture was limp, his shoulders hunched over, and Harry felt a pang of guilt stab him sharply in the chest. Someone always seemed to get what Ron wanted before he did, and this was no exception. Harry had kissed Hermione first. The girl that Ron – his best friend – was in love with, and Harry had kissed her first. Even though it had been completely innocent, even though it had meant nothing to either of them, it had happened. And Ron was left out in the cold. Again.

Ron raised his eyes, scanning the assortment of glass bottles on the counter, and he lazily reached for one with a red and silver label, still half-filled with a clear liquid. He picked it up, and without even reading the sticker, poured some into his punch. He set the bottle down and swirled the liquid around in his glass for a moment, before lifting it to his mouth and swallowing a third of it in three quick gulps. He let out a sputtering cough, and grimaced, then picked the bottle back up and poured the same amount in again. Harry quickly moved into the room.

“Ron,” he said hesitantly, coming up behind his friend, “I’m sorry.”

Ron froze, lowering his glass, but he didn’t turn around.

“I’m really, really sorry. I wouldn’t have done it if there was any way to avoid it, you know that,” Harry said insistently.

There was a short silence, and then Ron said, “I know.” His voice was a lot gentler than Harry would have expected from his suddenly rigid posture. Harry stepped forward to stand next to him, and lifted a hand to Ron’s shoulder.

“It didn’t mean anything,” Harry said. “She didn’t have any qualms about kissing me. She didn’t even blush. If there was anything between us, anything at all, there would have been tension. It was completely innocent.”

“I know,” Ron said again, turning his head to look at Harry. He actually smiled a little. “It’s okay.”

Harry shook his head. “No, no it’s not.”

“Hey, it’s not like you went off snogging with her behind my back,” Ron said, feigning a lighthearted tone. “Don’t worry about it.” But Harry was worried about it, and he said so.

“How can I not worry about it, Ron? You love her.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, somewhat unsteadily. “And someday I’ll get up the balls to tell her. But until then, she can go around kissing whoever she wants. It’s none of my business.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Harry insisted.

“I know it wasn’t. Not this time. Not with you.”

“Not with anyone.”

Ron chuckled dryly. “We’ll see.”

“Ron,” Harry said emphatically, “Hermione loves you too. I’m sure of it.”

Ron’s brow furrowed, and a piece of flaming hair fell into his eyes. He didn’t push it away. “It doesn’t make any difference. It doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Why not?” Harry asked with slight exasperation.

He looked at Harry again, then away. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, and then Ron lifted one hand to Harry’s shoulder, and picked up the bottle with the other. “Here,” he said, pouring a little into Harry’s glass. “Have a drink.” Harry didn’t say anything, nor did he taste his now alcoholic beverage. “Come on, let’s toast,” Ron said hoarsely, lifting his glass to Harry’s.

“To what?” Harry asked quietly.

“To...blast-ended skrewts.”

“To blast-ended skrewts?” Harry echoed.

“Hey, you just kissed the girl I’m in love with,” Ron said evenly. “I think I can toast to whatever I want.”

It took Harry a moment to realize that Ron was trying to lighten the mood, and when he did, he smiled for Ron’s benefit, and clinked their glasses together. “To blast-ended skrewts.”

* * * * *

When Harry and Ron entered the living room again, Hermione was gone. Harry rolled his eyes. "This is getting ridiculous," he whispered to himself, looking around for her. Then he heard voices coming from the entryway, and he realized that some of the family was leaving. He and Ron crossed through the room and into the hallway to say some polite good-byes.

"Well, I’ll see you next week at that tea then, Maggie," Katherine was saying as Hermione’s father helped her into her coat.

"Of course. You’ll be picking up Mum, then?"

The rest of the conversation fell on deaf ears as Harry watched Gabriel struggling with the zipper of his coat a short distance away. He felt a twinge of sadness that the boy was leaving, knowing that he likely wouldn’t see him again until his arrival at Hogwarts in a little over a year and a half. The entryway was crowded as various family members exchanged farewells, and Harry noticed that Hermione was caught up in a conversation with Sarah. He debated with himself for a moment, and then, taking advantage of Hermione’s distraction, snuck over to where Gabriel stood.

"Come here," Harry said, motioning for the boy to follow him to the stairs. He did, and Harry sat down on the third step, taking the hem of the boy’s coat in his own hands. Gabriel had caught some fabric in the zipper, and as Harry tried to free it he whispered, "Do you have a good memory, Gabriel?"

The boy shrugged. "I guess."

"Good. I’m going to tell you something that you have to remember for a long time. A couple of years. Do you think you can do that?"

Gabriel eyed Harry a little cautiously, but said, "Sure."

"Okay. It’s a secret. Just between you and me, all right?"

"Okay."

Harry had fixed the zipper, and he pulled it up, fastening the coat securely.

"Tell the sorting hat you don’t want to be in Slytherin."

"What?" Gabriel asked, clearly thinking he hadn’t made out the words properly.

"It’ll listen," Harry replied in a hushed voice. "Tell it not to put you in Slytherin."

Gabriel’s face scrunched up with confusion, and he took a step backwards, looking at Harry warily.

Harry took in Gabriel’s perplexed expression and sighed. "Never mind. I don’t know what I’m worried about anyway," he muttered with a smile. "You have Hufflepuff written all over you."

Gabriel looked thoroughly confused now, and Harry said quickly, "So did the kids find their treasure?"

"What? Oh, yeah, they did. But one of them got lost. The others haven’t found him yet."

"So you didn’t finish it?" Harry asked him as he stood up.

"No. Almost, though."

"Well, I’m sure they’ll find their friend."

They walked towards the door, joining the others, and Hermione smiled at Gabriel before pulling him into a tight hug. "Bye, Gabe," she whispered. "I love you."

"Love you too," he said lightly, squeezing her back.

Harry grinned at her over Gabriel’s shoulder, and she smiled back softly. Ron had been standing quietly off to the side, but he came over now to say good-bye as well. "Practice that skating, okay? Next time I’ll teach you the double axel."

Gabriel laughed. "Right," he said.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "You think I’m kidding?"

"Yes."

"Well...you’d be right," he replied with a smile that seemed a little forced. "Bye now."

"Bye," Gabriel said and he headed for the door. Harry and Ron waved their good-byes to the others, and after a few final hugs, they were gone.

With roughly only half of the family remaining, the joyful mood that had filled the house all day suddenly seemed quite diminished. It was getting late, and everyone seemed rather knackered. Emily had already fallen asleep in a large armchair, and Matthew was standing over her, tickling her nose with a strand of garland, unable to restrain his devilish laughter. Their father interceded, whispering a stern admonishment, and he gathered his little daughter up in his arms and headed for the stairs.

Harry set about gathering some of the discarded plates and cups that littered the room, and Hermione joined him. Ron was keeping quite to himself, and both he and Hermione seemed to want to look anywhere except at each other. Harry frowned, wondering if Ron was really okay with the mistletoe incident, and he glanced at Hermione. She seemed a little tense, Harry thought. Maybe she was putting two and two together. It wouldn’t surprise him; Ron’s behavior that day had left a lot to be desired in the way of subtlety. Harry looked at Hermione squarely as she handed him a small stack of cups, and he was a little surprised to notice that she avoided his eyes too. She seemed to be wearing a somewhat blank expression, as if she were a little in shock about something.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, eyeing her with concern.

"What? Hmm? Yeah, of course," she said, turning away to retrieve a balled up napkin from the floor. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

"No reason," Harry said as she dropped the napkin into the cup at the top of his stack. She wordlessly continued on her way across the room, leaving Harry frowning in her wake. He looked over at Ron, who was watching Hermione out of the corner of his eye. He must have noticed Harry watching him, because he turned away too, and wandered back towards the chairs they’d been sitting in before. He seemed a little at a loss for something to do, and settled for folding up the chairs and carrying them out of the room, to the garage Harry assumed, since that’s where they’d brought them in from that morning. Harry sighed, feeling tired and reflecting on what an enormously long day it had been. They’d all been through a raging storm of various emotions that day, so it was no wonder they were all feeling a little unsettled. He was sure they’d probably all be back to normal in the morning.

* * * * *

Shuffling footsteps. The soft swishing of fabric. A soft creak and a quiet giggle. Harry’s brow furrowed with confusion before he even opened his eyes, and then he lazily lifted one eyelid. A sleepy smile found its way to his lips, and he knew that if he were further awake he would have laughed out loud. Opening both eyes, he propped himself up slightly to get a better view of the scene before him.

Emily had crept into the room in her plaid flannel nightgown and had crawled up onto Ron’s bed. Sprawled out on his back and still snoring lightly, Ron had taken no notice of his visitor. She was on her knees next to his pillow, crouched over and staring him directly in the face. Her nose was only inches from his, and Harry knew what was coming. He’d been woken up in the same manner once, by Dobby the house-elf, and he was sure that the entertainment value would be much higher from this side of the action. Emily giggled again, still staring and waiting patiently. Harry knew she’d have to do better than that, as Ron could probably sleep through an earthquake followed by an air raid and still be none the wiser. The little prankster was clearly no amateur, though, as she conclusively proved when she reached for Ron’s face with a tiny hand and pinched his nose tightly shut. The reaction was delayed, but when Ron tried to draw his next breath, he awoke with a start, eyes flying open, and -

"Waaarrrrhhhhh!" His arms flailed out aimlessly, and if the giggling mischief-maker hadn’t quickly scurried off the bed, she would have surely been knocked to the floor. Harry’s laughter was just as uncontrollable as Emily’s as she scampered out the door, leaving Ron gasping and cursing under his breath. "What the hell was she trying to do to me?" he managed, clutching one hand to his heart and sitting up awkwardly.

Harry’s laughter persisted. "Oh," he said between guffaws, "You should’ve seen your face!"

Ron scowled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and rising. The hem of his pajama pants hung conspicuously several inches from the floor. He was nearly six feet tall and still growing. "Revenge is sweet," he said warningly.

"Ron," Harry scolded as his laughter slowly waned. "She’s five years old. Surely you wouldn’t do anything -"

"Not her," Ron said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You." He seized his pillow and swung it hard, catching Harry firmly upside the head.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, shooting out an arm to ward off Ron’s next blow. "I didn’t do it!"

"You didn’t stop her either," Ron pointed out truthfully, swinging blindly as his disheveled red hair fell into his face. Laughing, Harry grabbed his own pillow and swung back, but was at an acute disadvantage, still half-lying in bed with Ron towering over him. Ron got in a few more well-aimed blows, and then took mercy on his friend, laughing as he dropped his pillow. "There, we’re even."

"No, you’re odd," Harry quipped. He took a moment to catch his breath, and then rose clumsily from bed himself. Ron hadn’t moved, still standing in front of him, and Harry was taken by complete surprise when Ron reached out and pulled Harry into a rough embrace. "Love you, mate," Ron said hoarsely, and Harry smiled, a little confused by Ron’s sudden sentimentalism, but at the same time, glad for the reassurance that Ron really wasn’t harboring any hard feelings from the night before.

"Love you too."

Ron slapped Harry on the back, and then stepped away quickly, clearly a little embarrassed by his temporary lack of manly restraint of emotion. Harry half-wished Ron wouldn’t be so combative of his own feelings. It might have made his best friend’s life a lot easier in a number of respects.

By the time both Harry and Ron had showered, dressed, and made their way downstairs for breakfast, the remaining houseguests were gone. They’d wanted to get an early start, apparently, and now the house seemed oddly quiet. Aside from the tree, few reminders of the festive holiday spirit of the previous day remained in the house. A sort of idle atmosphere of recovery permeated the rooms instead, like a slow and sleepy Sunday afternoon.

After a long and lazy breakfast, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sprawled themselves out in the living room, in front of the television, as Hermione had promised Ron the day before. Along with the holiday, the night did seem to have eradicated the tension that had plagued Ron and Hermione the previous evening. Harry wondered if Hermione was busy convincing herself that she’d dreamed up Ron’s behavior the day before, and if Ron was busy wishing that it were true. After only about an hour, Harry and Hermione were unbearably bored. There was nothing good on the telly, but even if there had been, they wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy it. Ron couldn’t get over the novelty of flipping ceaselessly through the channels, though he had stopped exclaiming with delight every time the picture changed. He was particularly fascinated by the remote control - the way it could control the television with neither wires nor the aid of magic. By noon, Harry and Hermione weren’t even paying attention to the television anymore, and were engaged in a whispered conversation. When they had tried talking at full volume, they had been quite unceremoniously shushed by Ron.

"So have you had a good time here, Harry?" Hermione asked. She and Harry were both stretched out on the sofa, at opposite ends. Ron was on the floor, about as close to the telly as he could get while still being able to make out the pictures.

Harry was surprised she’d even asked. He hesitated, not entirely sure he could put it into words. "This was the best Christmas I’ve ever had, Hermione. You have no idea."

She smiled. "Good. I was a little worried you guys would be bored with my family - a bunch of strangers to spend your Christmas with."

"Are you kidding? I’ve never been with a family at the holidays before. It was...perfect."

"Hey," came a new voice. Ron turned around scowling, and opened his mouth, undoubtedly to tell Harry and Hermione to quiet down. His scowl quickly evaporated, though, when he saw that the voice belonged to Mr. Granger. "So are you three joining us tonight or no?" he asked jovially.

Ron’s scowl was quickly replaced by mild confusion, which Harry was pretty sure mirrored his own expression. Harry thought he heard Hermione groan slightly behind him.

"Join you?" Ron echoed.

"Yes, at the party," Mr. Granger’s own face adopted a look similar to the two boys’, and he shifted his eyes to his daughter. "You did ask them, didn’t you?"

"Uh...I guess it must have...slipped my mind," she said grudgingly.

"Hermione, we go to this party every year. How could it slip your mind?"

"Okay, it didn’t slip my mind," she admitted with a slightly annoyed smirk. "I just wasn’t that eager to let my two best friends watch my father make a fool of himself. Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough humiliation at your hands in the last few days?" she asked teasingly.

Mr. Granger gasped with mock offense. "My darling daughter, are you implying that your dear father is somehow lacking in the department of talent?"

She laughed. "No. I’m not implying it. I’m flat out saying it."

Harry laughed too, and asked, "What’s this party?"

"Oh, it’s horrid," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

"It’s for a good cause," her father said seriously.

"I know it is, but couldn’t everyone just write a cheque or something?"

"And where would the fun be in that?" Mr. Granger asked.

"So what happens at this party?" Ron wanted to know, his attention finally captured by something other than the moving, talking pictures.

"You don’t want to know," Hermione grumbled.

But Ron and Harry were intrigued, and Mr. Granger spoke with deliberate fervor, intentionally drowning out his daughter’s mumblings.

"At this party, in honor of Boxing Day," he began in his best town crier voice, "Folks from near and far gather in support of those less fortunate. One by one, they take the stage in courageous displays of entertaining grandeur, in a friendly contest of musical mastery, in an attempt to elicit the most generous of monetary donations from the wealthy spectators."

"It’s a karaoke contest," Hermione provided in stark contrast to her father’s flowery explanation.

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Care-a-who?"

Harry laughed. "Karaoke. I’ve heard of that. It’s singing, right?"

"The lad is correct!" Mr. Granger announced. "Give the boy a trophy!"

Ron and Harry laughed, grinning at the idea of such an event, but Hermione scowled again. "It’s horrid," she repeated. "I promise you."

"It’s fun," her father insisted. "And it raises a lot of money for charity. It’s put on by a friend of ours," Mr. Granger explained to the boys, "Robert Lovegood. He owns a restaurant in London, and it’s held in the main dining room. People volunteer to take the stage, and after each performance, people donate money based on how much they enjoyed the performance. At the end of the night, whoever earned the most money wins the karaoke cup. And then all of the money is donated to charity. It really is a tremendous event. Last year, it raised nearly six thousand pounds."

"Wow," Harry said, and then turned to Ron, who looked curiously puzzled. "It’s a lot," Harry provided, and Ron nodded.

Mr. Granger clapped his hands together. "So what do you say? I think you would particularly enjoy it, Ron. It involves extensive use of a television screen."

Ron grinned. "I think it sounds great!"

"No," Hermione moaned. "Please..."

"We’re in," Harry told Mr. Granger.

"Brilliant! I’ll just ring up Robert and tell him to expect five." Mr. Granger cleared his throat as he left the room, and in a wobbly baritone voice sang, "Do re me fa so - ahem - so la ti dooooooo."

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "Flashbacks...humiliating flashbacks..."

* * * * *

Several hours later, Harry stood at the mirror in the guest room, frowning as he fiddled with the burgundy silk-woven tie around his neck. Harry only owned one tie, the one he’d worn the day before, and it didn’t match his last clean shirt, which was a deep charcoal gray. Mr. Granger had kindly allowed him to borrow his choice from his own collection. As he struggled to undo the messy knot he’d made of the custom fabric, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Are you both ready?"

"Come in," Harry called, and the door clicked open. "Ron’s in the bathroom, I think," he told Hermione as she entered. "Do you mind?" he asked her, motioning towards the mess around his neck.

She laughed and crossed the room, taking his tie in her hands for the second time in as many days. It was only due to her help that he’d managed to look halfway presentable the day before.

"Sorry," he said, "I haven’t had a lot of occasion to practice this sort of thing."

"It’s okay," she said, biting her lip like she always did when she was concentrating on something. It only took her a few seconds to secure the knot properly, and she smoothed the silky fabric down his chest, smiling proudly. "There you go."

He turned to look back at the mirror and shook his head as he adjusted the knot to a more comfortable position. "Is there anything you can’t do?" he asked her and she laughed again.

"I used to watch my mum do my dad’s all the time," she explained with a smile. "I’m not sure he can do it himself, even now."

"Well, thanks," he told her, turning back to her and the door, and he only then noticed what she was wearing. ‘When did we grow up?’ he thought wistfully as he took in the image of the girl - young woman - before him. Her dress was a beautiful deep red, and flowed in lovely layers of organza, to where it ended in a ruffle just at her knees. The cut of the dress was shape-hugging, but not snug, and there were no sleeves, only thin spaghetti straps. The neckline was cut in a deep but tasteful V-shape, and resting comfortably in the V was the garnet necklace from Ron. He smiled, realizing that he hadn’t seen the necklace in a long time, and was pleased to know that she still wore it, even if it was under her robes at school. He guessed it must have been under her clothes the past few days as well. Her hair was swept up in a messy but somehow appropriate knot, and a few strands trailed out, brushing her neck and face. He took it all in with a single, quick glance, then thought of something and frowned.

"What?" she asked nervously, looking down at herself with worry. "What’s the matter?"

"What?" he asked. "No, nothing. You look nice. It’s just," he frowned again, and motioned in indication of her bare arms, "you’re going to freeze."

She looked up at him and chuckled. "No I’m not," she told him, "I have this," and she picked up the red fitted cardigan she’d deposited on the dresser so that she could help him with his tie.

"Oh," he said, and he suddenly felt an inexplicable urge to grab the sweater, wrap it tightly around her, and staple it shut. "Okay then. Let’s go."

They found Ron downstairs with Mr. and Mrs. Granger, gathering all of their coats out of the hall closet. He did the slightest of double takes when he saw Hermione, and then looked determinedly away. "Are we all ready then?" he asked casually. They were, and the five of them proceeded to the garage.

The drive into London seemed to go more quickly than the drive from King’s Cross had several days before. When they entered the restaurant, it was already crowded, and Harry looked around, impressed, thinking that the place would probably be quite elegant and subdued on any other night. The tables were small and round, each with six chairs crowded around them, but Harry guessed there would only be an intimate four on a normal night. Three large and ornate chandeliers adorned the ceiling at various locations, but the lighting was dim, enhanced only by the flickering oil lamps that served as centerpieces at each table. There was a bar in one corner of the room; the bartender wore a handsome tuxedo. At the far end of the room was the stage, and a small dance floor in front of it. Harry wondered if they usually had live musicians. The place seemed oddly refined, the people far too sophisticated, for a karaoke contest. But it was all just an image, he quickly learned.

"John!" A throaty and boisterous voice called from somewhere in the crowd. "Maggie!"

"Hey, Robert," Mr. Granger said, eagerly shaking the hand of a thick and imposing man who had worked his way over to them. "It’s great to see you, mate."

"Always, always," the man said. "Maggie, you’re looking stunning as always," and he leaned around Hermione’s father to kiss her mother warmly on the cheek. His eyes flittered over to Hermione, and he stepped back, clutching his chest in exaggerated shock. "Hermione?" he exclaimed. "Surely you are not old enough to be looking so lovely!"

Hermione laughed. "Hello, Mr. Lovegood," she said kindly. The restaurateur bent to take her hand, his thick shock of salt and pepper hair falling into eyes, and he lifted it to his lips.

"My dear," he said gallantly, "My longtime suspicions are confirmed. You have inherited all of your genes from your mother."

Everyone in the group laughed, and Hermione politely introduced Harry and Ron to Robert Lovegood, who shook their hands as if he’d known them their entire lives. Although they looked nothing alike, Mr. Lovegood reminded Harry strongly of Ludo Bagman. They had the same sort of boyish energy in their posture and voices.

"Follow me," Mr. Lovegood told them, "I’ve reserved you all a table right up front. Best one in the house."

Mr. Lovegood wasn’t kidding. The table he showed them to was directly in front of center stage. "Great," Hermione mumbled. "The less distance Dad has to travel to the stage, the more he thinks he belongs there."

Shortly after they were seated, Mr. Lovegood made a short speech about how important it was to help those less fortunate, not just on Boxing Day, but all the year through. He pointed out a large covered basket near the main entrance which allowed for donations 365 days a year. He also mentioned how he donated each night’s leftover food to the Bloomsbury soup kitchen. Following his announcement came dinner, during which they were regaled with the first performances. The first brave souls to take the stage were a group of four young men, who had certainly gone all out in anticipation of their few minutes in the spotlight. They were impersonating the Beatles, and looked every bit the part, from the hair to the shoes. They sang "A Hard Day’s Night", and definitely got the crowd into a cheerful mood. Harry thought they were fabulous, though Ron looked a little unimpressed. "Who are they supposed to be?" he asked Harry, and Harry shook his head in amazement. It was incredible to him how removed the magical and muggle worlds were from each other.

The first few performers were great, and Harry thought if they all were this good, even Hermione wouldn’t be able to help enjoying herself. Soon dinner was cleared away, and it seemed as though everyone who had committed in advance to perform had taken their turns. When the wait staff brought dessert, they also supplied each table with a listing of all the songs that were available and a stack of request forms. Anyone who wanted to sing could fill one out and submit it to the man running the equipment. "So, tell me how this works again?" Ron said as he flipped through the song list. "You just pick a song, and they play it, and you read the lyrics off of the television screen?"

"That’s it," Mr. Granger told him.

"Well that sounds simple enough," Ron replied, still flipping.

"Oh?" Mrs. Granger asked. "You reckon you’ll take a turn?"

"What?" he exclaimed, looking aghast. "What?" He shook his head fervently. "No, no way," and he dropped the songlist onto the table as suddenly as if it had burned his hand.

Mrs. Granger laughed. "What about you, Harry?"

"Ha! I sincerely do not think so," he said. There was no way on Merlin’s earth that he was getting up on that stage. He had enough embarrassing moments under his belt to last a lifetime, he thought. No need to add another.

"Well Hermione’s going to give it a go, aren’t you dear?" her father asked casually.

She stared at him blankly, her forkful of trifle halting in midair."You have got to be kidding," she said flatly.

"What? I certainly am not. We performed together that one year," he said, waving his hand in indication of some Boxing Day past. "You stole the show."

"I was ten," she said, her voice still expressionless. "And I only did it because Mum slipped me five pounds under the table."

Harry chuckled around his mouthful of dessert.

"Well nonetheless," her father continued. "You were fabulous. We won the cup that year, didn’t we?"

"My crowning glory," she said sarcastically. Her father fixed her with an exasperated look, but didn’t press further. "Besides," she continued. "I’m sure you’re planning to humiliate the family enough for all of us."

"Well naturally," he said, picking up the songlist himself and flipping through it purposefully. "Ah, yes. This is just the one I’ve been planning on." Mrs. Granger provided him with a pen from her purse, and he grabbed a request form, quickly filling in the necessary information.

"What are you performing, Mr. Granger?" Ron asked, humoring him.

"Oh. No," Hermione interjected, lazily stirring her straw around in her glass of soft drink. "My father has a rule. No telling what song you’re performing until you get on stage."

"Oh," Ron said with a chuckle. "Sorry, then."

"Quite all right, dear boy." Mr. Granger’s eyes twinkled with excitement. "But you’ll see. The surprise is the best part."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who rolled her eyes, and he couldn’t suppress a smile. She scowled.

"So do you all sing karaoke a lot?" Harry asked.

"Far too often," Hermione replied in her parents’ stead. "They always drag me with them in the summers."

"Well, do you ever perform?" Harry asked her.

"Only when I’m feeling particularly foolish."

The loud trill of a drum and the striking of piano chords interrupted their conversation as the next performance got underway. They all watched in silence for a while, applauding in all the right places, Hermione’s parents occasionally dropping some crisp bills into the collection baskets as they came around. After roughly half a dozen singers had their turns, the man with the microphone announced, "John Granger."

"Well, here goes," Mr. Granger said, standing up confidently. "Wish me luck!"

"Good luck, dear," Mrs. Granger said as he bent for a quick kiss.

He bounded up the steps to the stage and accepted the microphone eagerly. "This one," he said, turning to the audience, "is for those two lovely ladies right down there in front." He pointed to his wife and daughter and the audience provided the obligatory "Awwww."

Mrs. Granger beamed. Hermione dropped her face into her hands. And the music began.

Harry recognized the tune immediately, and smiled as Mr. Granger began dancing - completely off the beat - along with the music.

"Hey, where did we go

Days when the rains came

Down in the hollow

Playing a new game

Laughing and a-running, hey hey

Skipping and a-jumping

In the misty morning fog with our

Our hearts a-thumping

And you."

Mr. Granger spun in a circle, and pointed directly at Hermione, who watched with undiminished dismay.

"My brown-eyed girl

You, my brown-eyed girl."

"Oh, God," she moaned, folding her arms on the table and thumping her head down onto them. Ron and Harry laughed, thoroughly entertained. Mr. Granger’s dancing may have left a little to be desired, but his voice was nice enough, Harry thought.

"Whatever happened

To Tuesday and so slow

Going down to the old mine with a

Transistor radio

Standing in the sunlight laughing

Hide behind a rainbow’s wall

Slipping and a-sliding

All along the waterfall

With you."

He spun in the opposite direction this time, and pointed at his wife, who laughed, unashamed by her husband’s exhibition. She was bouncing her foot a little with the music, singing along quietly.

"My brown-eyed girl

You, my brown-eyed girl.

Do you remember when we used to sing

Sha la la la la la la la la la la dee da

Just like that."

As Mr. Granger continued singing, he descended the steps and approached their table. He reached out his hand and his wife took it, following him onto the dance floor. The crowd cheered as he spun her around with his free hand, never missing a word of the song. They danced out the remainder of the song to the immense pleasure of the audience, Harry and Ron included, and the absolute chagrin of their daughter. When the song finally ended, the Grangers made their way back to their seats, laughing as the crowd applauded generously.

"That was definitely entertaining," Ron told Mr. Granger with a laugh.

"Why thank you, Ron," he replied, a little out of breath. "That was my goal."

"Well..." Hermione said haltingly, "At least it’s over. I can sit here for the rest of the night without fear of additional embarrassment."

"Hermione, dear," her mother scolded gently, a slight flush to her cheeks, "you really need to lighten up." Hermione’s mouth fell open slightly, and she stared at her mother, who pushed the songlist towards her. "Here, have a look. You might just find something you can’t resist."

Hermione snatched the list off the table, scanning it with a scowl. "Nope. See, I knew it. I don’t even know any of these songs. It’s not like we get to listen to them on the radio at school."

"Well you should know some of the older ones," her father pointed out.

Hermione sighed, and even Harry was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. They were putting a lot of pressure on her, and clearly she had no desire to be on the stage. Her eyes skimmed the page distractedly, and she shook her head. "I don’t know any -" and then she stopped abruptly, her eyes freezing on the page. She sat stonily for nearly a full minute.

"Herm?" Harry finally asked.

"I know this one," she said in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

"See?" her father responded loudly. "That’s fantastic. Here’s a form for you, just put your name and the song, that’ll do fine." He placed a slip of paper and a pen in front of her, but she didn’t even seem to notice.

"You do?" Harry asked her, as if Mr. Granger hadn’t even spoken.

She nodded and swallowed, then looked up and met his eyes. "It was on the radio all summer." They stared at each other for a moment, and Harry could sense the others watching them. He could feel Ron frowning with concerned confusion. She didn’t look at any of them, and dropped her gaze back to the paper in her hand. She stared at it for another minute or so, and then placed it on the table. Then she stared at the request form. After a moment, she looked as though she was reaching for the pen, but she stopped short, resting her hand on the edge of the table. Then, very slowly, she lifted it again and picked up the pen. She pulled the slip of paper towards her and held the pen so that it hovered over the surface for a moment, before finally bringing it down to make contact with the paper. And she started to write her name.

Mr. Granger slapped his hand on the table. "Smashing. I’ll just go give it to the man in charge there," he said as Hermione continued writing. "I won’t look of course," he assured her. "Can’t spoil the surprise."

"Right," she replied numbly, folding the paper in half, creasing it neatly. Her father reached for it, but she didn’t offer it right away. Finally she closed her eyes and held it out, not watching as her father took it from her and walked it over to the stage.

Harry continued watching her with concern, wondering if this was such a good idea. He glanced at Ron, who shared the same expression. Deciding to let her prepare herself in peace, Harry allowed his attention to wander back to the stage and the various performers. After three more songs, it was Hermione’s turn. When her name was called, she didn’t move at first, and Harry wondered if she was going to back out. But after a moment, she took a deep breath, placed her hands on the table as if to steady herself, and rose slowly from her chair. She took one last sip of her soft drink, and when she set down her glass, Harry could see that her hand was shaking. He glanced at the others, and they were all watching Hermione steadily. She walked towards the stage, rubbing her palms nervously against her hips, the soft fabric of her dress moving up and down slightly with the motion. As she took the stage, Harry had a sudden fear that she might be sick. He cast a final glance at Mr. Granger, who had a calm and steadfast eye on his daughter, and a slight smile on his lips. Thinking he was crazy, Harry turned his gaze back to Hermione, who was now holding the microphone in two hands and nodding, her signal for the music to start.

The music was soft and slow - just a piano and strings - and was shocking in its contrast to most of what they had heard throughout the evening. The room quickly fell silent, and Hermione closed her eyes. She exhaled evenly, much as she had on the stoop the previous evening, when Harry had told her to search the yard for danger. As she drew in her next breath, she seemed to relax, and as the music swelled through the introduction, Hermione’s nervousness seemed to just fall away, like a discarded cloak. Harry watched her transformation with amazement, as she brought her left hand down from the microphone and tapped her hip, keeping time to the music. And then, she began to sing.

"Remember when we never needed each other

The best of friends, like sister and brother

We understood we’d never be alone.

Those days are gone, and now I want you so much

The night is long, and I need your touch

I don’t know what to say

I never meant to feel this way

I don’t want to be alone tonight."

Harry’s jaw had slowly dropped open. Hermione was good...really good...

"What can I do to make you mine

Falling so hard, so fast this time

What did I say, what did you do

How did I fall in love with you?"

‘She’s not even looking at the screen,’ Harry thought. ‘She knows all of the words by heart.’

"I hear your voice and I start to tremble

Brings back the child that I resemble

I cannot pretend that we can still be friends

I don’t want to be alone tonight."

Harry imagined that if he ever heard an angel sing, it would sound like this. It was as though the notes she sang had always been inside her, fighting to escape her lungs, and now that she had set them free, they flew out of her mouth of their own accord. Harry had never heard such effortless singing, save from a phoenix, of which he was instantly reminded. Her voice was so sweet and clear and impossibly delicate, yet at the same time strong, as though it started all the way down at her toes, gathering strength from every part of her as it made its way up and past her lips.

"What can I do to make you mine

Falling so hard, so fast this time

What did I say, what did you do

How did I fall in love with you?"

Finally, Harry seemed to recover from his initial shock. He glanced over at Ron, whose every muscle seemed frozen in place. His hand rested on his glass as though he had been about to pick it up, but had suddenly lost all ability to contract his fingers. All of the blood had left his face, and his blue eyes stared, unblinking, at the girl on stage.

"Now I want to say this right

And it has to be tonight

Just need you to know

I don’t want to live this life

I don’t want to say good-bye

With you I want to spend

The rest of my life.

What can I do to make you mine

Falling so hard, so fast this time

What did I say, what did you do

How did I fall in love with you?

What can I do to make you mine

Falling so hard, so fast this time

Everything’s changed

We never knew

How did I fall in love with you?"

Hermione opened her eyes. For a moment that seemed frozen in time, they locked onto Ron’s. Then applause rang out throughout the room, swelling quickly to a roar, and they both looked away. Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath and relinquished the microphone.

As she descended the stage, Harry was already on his feet. He wrapped her into a huge hug. "Hermione! That was amazing. Why didn’t you ever tell us you could sing like that?"

She shrugged and said quietly, "It’s no big deal."

He gaped at her. "Are you serious? Hermione, I have never heard anyone sing like that."

Ron found his voice, but not his feet. He seemed rooted to his chair. "Really, it was beautiful, Hermione," he gulped.

"Lovely, dear," her mother agreed as Hermione took her seat. Mrs. Granger was smiling, her eyes twinkling excitedly as she glanced from her daughter to Ron and back again.

Only Mr. Granger remained silent. He, too, was shooting glances between his daughter and the red-haired boy in quick succession, but with a quite different expression from his wife. He looked terrified.

* * * * *

Harry absently tapped his foot repeatedly against the underside of the front seat of the car. Hermione’s hand shot out and squeezed his knee, her signal for him to stop it.

"Sorry," he muttered. Hermione withdrew her hand, and went back to staring fixedly out the window. On his other side, Ron was doing the same. They had both been uncharacteristically silent since the moment Hermione had resumed her place at their table following her performance. Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, leaning his head back against the seat. He had hardly any leg room - he had known he wouldn’t - but he’d quickly scurried his way into the middle anyway. There was no way he was going to force Ron and Hermione to sit next to each other at this moment. The tension was thick, and Hermione’s parents were clearly trying to alleviate it by carrying on an animated conversation between themselves, of which the three teenagers were taking no notice.

Harry wondered what was going through Hermione’s head right now. Did she regret her performance? He hoped not, but he had to wonder. She wasn’t usually the type to throw caution to the wind, and at this moment, it didn’t seem to have agreed with her. He wished he could say something to her...he sensed from her shaky breathing and averted eyes that had she been alone, she would have been in tears. Ron was not in much better shape.

If the drive into London had seemed shorter than the one from King’s Cross, the one now felt three times longer. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the garage that was their destination. It was late, and once they got inside, they all headed for their rooms without fanfare. Ron and Hermione each managed a short "goodnight" to the others, but no more. When Harry and Ron reached their room, Ron headed straight for the bureau, and Harry closed the door quietly behind them. Ron undressed silently, staring at some point of air that was nowhere in Harry’s vicinity as he got into his pajamas and then crossed the room to the closet to hang up his clothes. Harry sank onto his own bed, watching Ron and waiting patiently. After a few minutes spent fiddling with hangers, Ron walked directly to his bed and pulled back the covers.

When Harry realized that Ron was about to crawl into bed without a word, he finally spoke up.

"So are you going to tell me what you thought of Hermione’s singing or not?"

Ron’s stony behavior evaporated with blinding speed. All pretense of composure gone, he collapsed on his back across the bed, slinging an arm over his face. "You have no idea what that did to me, Harry," he croaked.

"No, I think I do," Harry said with a chuckle. "I know what it did to me, and I saw your face, and I know how you feel about her. Add it all up and...well, it doesn’t take a Greenbriar genius."

"What am I going to do?" Ron moaned.

Harry stared at him. "Are you completely daft, Ron? She was singing that song to you. For a reason," he said, deliberately enunciating each word.

After a short silence Ron said, "I know. That’s what scares me."

Harry started to reply, but realized he had no idea what to say to that. He didn’t understand at all. Ron should be thrilled.

Suddenly Ron dropped his arm to his side, and lifted his head to look at Harry. "This is all your fault," he said in an annoyed voice.

Harry’s jaw dropped open in surprise. "What? How is your inability to tell Hermione how you feel about her my fault?"

Ron scowled and dropped his head back onto the bed. "You made me help you rescue her from that stupid troll."

Harry laughed. "It was your fault she was trapped with that stupid troll, I may remind you."

Ron did not relent. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to be best friends with Harry Potter? Do you have any idea how many hours Hermione and I have spent huddled together, united in worry over you?"

"Ron," Harry said softly. "If it’s anybody’s fault that you’re in love with Hermione...it’s Hermione’s." He smiled. "It’s not my fault she’s so wonderful and irresistible."

Despite his own despairing mood, an uncontrollable grin spread across Ron’s face. "Yeah, she is." Then he sat up with a start. "When the hell did I start thinking of her like this?" he demanded. "Looking at her like this?"

Harry thought back to the night of the Yule Ball, and flashed Ron a cocky grin. "Maybe when you realized that she was a girl."

Ron shot Harry a look, and Harry chuckled again, rising from his own bed and going to sit next to Ron. "Listen," he said. "You cannot keep going on like this, and neither can Hermione. I think it’s about time for you to accept that fact and make your move. What are you so scared of?"

Ron dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap and heaved a tumultuous sigh. "There won’t be any turning back. We’ll never be able to go back to the way things were if...if it’s a mistake." He paused. "And no matter what happens...nothing will ever be the same again." He looked up at Harry and said pointedly, "For any of us."

Harry read Ron’s eyes and suddenly, he thought he understood. "Ron?" he asked incredulously. "Are you...are you waiting for my blessing or something? Because you have it. You know that."

"Maybe I am," Ron said softly.

"Is that really what you’re worried about?" Harry asked, shocked, but at the same time not; this was so typically Ron. "You’re worried about how this will make me feel?" Ron swallowed hard, and dropped his head. "Ron, please. Please tell me this isn’t the only thing that’s kept you from being with Hermione."

"It’s not the only thing," Ron said in what was almost a whisper, "But it’s part of it, yeah." Then he chuckled dryly. "Not as big a part as my own cowardice, though. Don’t worry."

"Ron. Allow me to say this as clearly as I possibly can. You and Hermione are my best friends. That isn’t going to change, no matter what. All I want is for you to be happy. You are the two best people I know. I wouldn’t want either of you to be with just anyone. No one would deserve you." He paused for effect. "But you deserve each other."

Harry watched Ron’s profile, and saw the soft smile that curled the corners of his mouth. He looked up at Harry and clapped one hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, Harry," he said. "I think I needed to hear that."

"Well, I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner then."

Ron laughed. "It wouldn’t have made any difference. I still have to deal with my own monumental lack of courage."

"The courage will come," Harry told him. "It won’t have any choice. You can’t take much more of this, and I’m sensing that Hermione can’t either. You have to realize, Ron. She’s getting nothing from you. She has to be doubting whether you even have any feelings for her at all. Especially after the way she put everything on the line tonight."

Ron nodded. "I know."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Harry demanded.

Ron smiled weakly. "I don’t know. What do you think I should do about it?"

Harry gave Ron a hard shove on the shoulder. "I think you should tell her, you git. Tell her you’re in love with her. Shout it from the rooftops. Kiss her, ravish her."

Ron blushed. "Hey, hold on now! Let’s just work on the telling her for now, okay?"

Harry grinned at Ron’s scandalized expression. "Okay," he said, rising and crossing over to the dresser to get his own pajamas. "But don’t think for a second that I don’t know you dream about it all the time."

* * * * *

Ron groaned and rolled over to look at the bedside clock. Just after three. He punched his pillow in frustration and settled onto his side, pulling the patchwork quilt up over his shoulders. When he’d awakened thirty minutes earlier, he’d shaken it off, feeling hot. But now it seemed that the heater had finally turned off. He’d been floating in and out of consciousness for hours, a kaleidoscope of thoughts swimming through his head. He kept seeing Hermione on the stage...hearing her radiant voice...remembering how she had looked...in that dress...and the way the lights of the stage had sent streaks of gold spinning through her piled-up hair...that hair that he’d wanted to let down so that he could run his fingers through it...

"Stop it," he grumbled to himself, flipping onto his other side and pressing his eyes shut. ‘Sleep. Sleep. Just go to sleep,’ he chanted at his brain. He made a conscious effort to clear his head, but then the sounds of Harry’s deep breathing just filled it up again. "Git," he mumbled, envying the peaceful slumber that had graced his best friend. In nearly the same instant, he cursed himself, not ever wanting to begrudge Harry a night of sound sleeping. He had far too few of those as it was.

Just as Ron started to relax into what appeared to be the wispy beginnings of oblivion, an annoying sensation began nagging at him. ‘Darn it,’ he thought. ‘Why’d I have to drink all of that soft drink? No...no...just ignore it. Go to sleep.’ But of course, the harder he tried to ignore it, the more persistent it became, until finally, he threw off his covers, grumbling as his feet searched the floor for his slippers. He opened the bedroom door carefully so as not to disturb Harry, and crept down the hall to the bathroom. When he came out a few minutes later, he reached behind him to flip off the light, and his eyes fell the short distance from where he stood to the door to Hermione’s room. He just stood there for a moment, then took the three short steps to the door, his feet seeming to move without bothering to consult his brain. His breathing quickened at the mere knowledge that she was just inside...that only an inch of wood stood between them. He absently lifted a hand to the door, pressing his palm against the cool wood, then leaned forward until his forehead rested against it as well.

‘I love you,’ he told her inside his own head. ‘I love you so much.’ His eyes drifted down to the doorknob, and in an insane moment of fleeing inhibition, he nearly closed his hand around it...but he resisted. He knew he couldn’t just go into her room. He was in her parent’s house, for heaven’s sake. And he had nothing but the utmost respect for her and her privacy...and yet he found he couldn’t resist. He just needed to look at her. Just for a second. His hand slid down the door until it found the doorknob, and silently, he turned it, pushing the door open.

He no sooner stepped into the room than regretted it. His breath left him in a rush, only to be replaced by a heavy, aching emptiness. She was so beautiful. So beautiful stretched out in her bed, half on her side, one leg pulled up a little. She had one hand tucked up under her pillow, the other on her waist, her arm bent back and resting on the mattress. Her face was turned slightly away from him, and the dim light seeping through the curtains cast a silvery glow over her delicate features. He just stood there in the doorway, breathing shallowly around the knot of emotion in his throat. Her breathing remained steady, however, and he watched her chest rise and fall with each intake of air. She’d kicked most of her covers off too at some point, and was covered only by a thin blanket to her waist. Her nightgown was sleeveless, but a crisp white cotton, as practical as Hermione herself. He’d never seen her bare shoulder before tonight, he realized. Well, he had once. In Diagon Alley, when they were thirteen. She’d been wearing a tank top that day...pink with little purple flowers all over it. But of course, he hadn’t really been paying attention then. That shoulder was a lot older now. Hell, all of her was a lot older now. He wondered what her skin would feel like under his touch...under his fingertips...under his lips... He wondered if it would be smooth and cool...or soft and warm...

She stirred a little in her sleep, and Ron sucked in a breath, praying that she wouldn’t open her eyes. That would be just smashing, that would. How on earth would he explain to her why he was standing in her room in the middle of the night? Worse yet...how would he explain it to her father?

But Hermione just slept on, unaware in her unconscious mind of his presence. He took a step closer to her bed. All he wanted to do was touch her. His arms ached to hold her, to just wrap around her and pull her to him and never let go. He took several more steps, until he was next to the bed, and he reached out his hand, picking up the comforter and drawing it up over her. It was getting cooler now, and he didn’t want her to wake up shivering. He tucked the covers comfortably around her, and stepped back, taking in the image of her one last time. Then, silently, he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.