Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Strinx

Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Strinx

By Moon Weasley

Chapter Twelve

It's starting isn't it?

Harry woke up blinded by a piercing pain in his scar. His body was drenched in sweat, his breath uneven and wheezing. He could feel the scar pulsing rapidly on his forehead - somehow it felt almost alive. Tentatively Harry touched it with his index finger and flinched. It was warm - no it was blazing. And the pain was excruciating. Slowly he scrambled into a sitting position though the effort almost made him pass out. It hadn't been this bad for a long time.

Yet the pain was nothing compared to the images of his dream that still lingered on his mind. His nightmares of Voldemort had returned. It was starting again.

He glanced around the dormitory and was relieved to see that his nightmare hadn't woken any of the others boys. Neville was snoring as always and Harry could see a freckled arm dangling out from underneath the hangings of Ron's bed. Harry leaned back against his pillow and drew a deep breath trying to focus his thoughts away from the intense throbbing on his forehead.

He had to remember his dream. As little tempting as it was to relive it he knew he had to. His nightmares of Voldemort were usually true and he might be able to get some clues as to what he was up to; or better yet where he was hiding out.

He leaned back, closed his eyes and reluctantly forced the images back.

It was a dimly lit room. The only source of light came from a small fire burning in the hearth. The faint sound of sharp waves hitting a slope of naked rock could be heard in the background. Could Voldemort be somewhere along the coast? And if so which coastline?

The room was sparsely furnished. Aside from a huge table the only other piece of furniture was a large velvet-draped chair with a high back presently facing the fireplace. The walls were naked without pictures or other forms of decoration and there were no carpets to damper the draftiness coming from the stone floor.

Other than the distant sound of waves hitting bare rock and the crackling from the fire, the room was completely silent. That is until a faint sound of something slithering over stone floor suddenly became audible. And out from the shadows a huge snake came gliding into view. It headed straight for the chair hissing menacingly as it approached it.

"Ah there you are my dear Nagini. Did Wormtail manage to feed you properly this time?"

That voice. He knew that voice. It was the voice of terror. It was the hiss from a man whose name most wizards feared more than anything in the world. It was the voice of the Dark Lord. The voice of Voldemort.

The Dark Lord spoke again. "Wormtail, please come here."

A short, balding man with greying hair, a pointed nose and small, watery eyes hurried into the room and towards the large chair. He seemed extremely nervous and tense. Judging by the way he bowed his head and refused to lift his gaze to his master he appeared to be most frightened of the man in the armchair. "You called me, master," he whispered nervously.

"Yes, Wormtail. Nagini has just informed me that our guest of honour has arrived and is presently anxiously waiting for you to let him in to see me. Please collect him and bring him before me."

A robed hand waved impatiently in Wormtail's direction and the balding man immediately hurried out of the room. A few moments later he returned accompanied by a cloaked figure wearing his hood firmly tucked over his head.

"Your guest, Master," Wormtail whimpered.

"Thank you servant, you may retreat to your duties." Wormtail didn't need telling twice and promptly left the room.

Voldemort then rose and with a snap of the fingers the chair spun around and he sat down again facing the guest. The hooded figure immediately fell to the floor in a deep bow. "My lord," he said in a low voice.

"Please rise," Voldemort commanded and the person resumed his position before the Dark Lord. "Please do not remove your hood, I have reason to believe we are being watched. Best not take any chances." Voldemort smiled a menacing smile. "I can not express how pleased I am to have you join our ranks. When Wormtail approached me with the suggestion I first thought it impossible, but as it turned out you do harbour the right ambition after all. You will be most valuable to our side."

"It pleases me to hear that, master. I am very anxious to learn your plan. What can I do to secure our victory? Just name it and I will comply."

Voldemort tittered savagely. "Good, good. I must say your presence at the latest congregation of Death Eater did come as a surprise to my followers. I am afraid that many of them still consider you to be a spy for Dumbledore and his pathetic Order. Some of them became convinced of your loyalty after the initiation ceremony where you received the Mark, but some are still sceptical. However do not worry about this, the mission I have for you will undoubtedly win them over."

He paused and rose from the chair and walked slowly over to the large table. There he picked up an old and battered piece of parchment and beckoned the disguised guest to join him.

"Read this and I believe you will understand why it is of grave importance that we dispose of certain people." The hooded figure quickly skimmed the parchment. "But my Lord, does this mean what I think it means?" His voice revealed astonishment and surprise.

"I always believed your hunt for him was motivated by an urge to revenge your downfall."

Voldemort let out a loud and high-pitched laughter. "Oh, that is only partly the reason why I want to see him dead. The main reason however lies with this prophecy. As you can see Helga herself predicted him to be my downfall, and therefore he must be destroyed. He and his protector is all that stands in the way for my ultimate goal - world domination!"

Voldemort's eyes shone with undisguised hatred. "And this, my newly found ally, is where you come in to the picture." A malevolent smile spread across his snake-like face and he wrung his hands in obvious joy. "With your help I will be able to finally defeat the insufferably Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter along with his troublesome protector, Dumbledore." He placed his bony arm on the hooded figures shoulders.

"You are the key. They'll never know what hit them."

And then he laughed the laugh that always made Harry relive his parents last moments. The laugh of death.

* *

The images of his dream were still firmly imprinted on Harry's mind as he rose from his bed and headed for the bathroom. It would be impossible to get back to sleep now anyway and he might as well get up and head down to the common room. He still had the assignment for Divination to complete and hopefully that would help him take his mind of this latest nightmare. At least a boy could hope, couldn't he?

After a quick shower Harry tiptoed back into the dormitory and dressed silently. He rummaged through his trunk for the needed books and parchments, and as he was stuffing it all into his book bag, he heard the ruffling of hangings behind him.

"Harry is that you?"

Ron's drowsy and sleep-muffled voice came from his bed. Harry turned and saw the redhead peering out between his hangings, his hair clashing horribly with the burgundy-red colored drapes.

"Yeah," Harry replied quietly. "It's terribly early, just get back to sleep." Ron confirmed the earliness of the morning with a huge yawn.

"But why are you up so early?"

Curiosity was obviously stronger than his sleepiness.

Harry shrugged noncommittally all the while contemplating whether of not to tell him about the dream. Truthfully he wasn't particularly keen on the idea of reliving the nightmare again so soon. He knew he had to eventually but right now just thinking about it made him wince.

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I finish up my Divination homework." He smiled impishly and hoisted the bag onto his shoulder, ready to leave. Ron cocked an eyebrow in silent disbelief. "Divination at this hour? That is against all laws of nature." He yawned again and Harry chuckled. Ron was obviously about to lean back into his bed when something suddenly hit him.

"Why couldn't you sleep, then?" He swallowed anxiously. "It's not your scar is it?" Ron looked at him worriedly and Harry shifted uncomfortably on the spot. The images were still vividly clear on his mind. If he lied about it now he'd have a hell of a time explaining things when the truth finally came out, and so he simply nodded.

Ron gasped. All signs of sleepiness instantly left him and before Harry had uttered another word, Ron had toppled headfirst out of bed and was now busy searching for his bathrobe.

"I'm coming down with you. I want to hear all about it." Harry noticed that that Ron's voice was shaking slightly but the determined look on his face couldn't be misjudged. There was no escaping him - he wanted to know everything.

Moments later they both sat in front of the fire in an otherwise deserted common room. Harry's scar was still hurting but not like before. He glanced over at Ron who was sitting with his feet in the couch and his head resting on his knees. He tilted his head and their eyes met.

"Want to talk about it?"

Not really Harry thought heavily but still he answered in the affirmative. "Yeah, I guess so." He sighed. "I have to tell Dumbledore later but I want you guys to know too. I don't want to hide anything from you and Hermione because you really do deserve to know."

He leaned back and rested his head against the back of the couch. "I hate being The Boy Who Lived. It's hard and I don't want to deal with this alone. I'm really glad I have you two. "

Ron looked slightly taken aback by Harry's uncharacteristic emotional utterance but still managed a small smile in return. "Thanks, Harry. Glad to be of help."

None of them said anything for a while. Instead they just sat there staring into the fire, watching the flames bouncing merrily in the hearth, slowly devouring the large pieces of wood. Ron was the one who finally broke the silence.

"We should get Hermione."

"Yeah I know."

"Want me to do it?"

"Okay, if you want."

Ron shrugged seemingly indifferent and instantly headed for the staircase that led to the girls' dormitories. Harry watched his friend disappear up the stairs and noticed with amusement that his ears had turned a deep shade of ruby.

Harry smirked despite the gravity of the situation. For obvious reasons he would've very much liked to be a fly on the wall when Ron entered the girls' fifth year dormitory. He had a sneaking suspicion that something entertaining (at least for him) most likely would occur within the next couple of minutes. But knowing that he'd probably never hear anything about it anyway, he turned his attention back to the fire, several humorous scenarios playing out in his mind.

*

Ten minutes after he'd strode off on the noble quest of fetching Hermione Ron still hadn't reached further than the upstairs corridor. He was presently standing outside a large wooden door staring transfixed at the sign just above the doorframe. It spelled out "Fifth years" in neat loopy letters and at this precise moment Ron could think of little else that would frightened him more. Besides spiders, naturally.

His heart was racing, and wiping a hand across his forehead he noticed that his fringe was completely soaked and very much plastered to his skin. Why the bloody hell had he volunteered for this suicide mission again? This was the girls' dormitory for crying out loud; you just didn't go sneaking into their room at this time of the night. What if he was caught?

Ron shuddered at the mere thought. His mother would probably disown him, Percy would be mortified, the twins would never stop teasing him and Ginny - well, Ron thought with a huff, she should probably keep her mouth shut, if she knew what was good for her.

Ron was momentarily sidetracked as he thought back to his sister who'd been caught sneaking out to snog that German dickhead not long ago. A few silent profanities escaped him but a quick glance at the sign above Hermione's dormitory door quickly brought him back to the task at hand. Right, get Hermione. That should be easy enough; just tiptoe in, shake her silently and make her come down to the common room. It sounded surprisingly easy when he put it like that and with a fresh wave of courage, Ron carefully opened the door and peered inside the dorm.

He took a tentative step towards the blackness that consumed the dormitory. Once again he was overpowered by fear. What the blazes was he doing? He couldn't just waltz into Hermione's dormitory uninvited, could he? Lord knows what he might encounter there?

Images of a scary-looking Parvati in a frilly bathrobe, hideous curlers poking out of her hair and some atrocious lime green facial mask obscuring her normally pretty face instantly sprang to mind and this almost made him bolt for the stairs. The thought of Harry laughing himself silly over the fact that he'd failed his relatively easy assignment made him stay however.

Honestly, they were only girls, not vicious Horntails! Shaking his head over his own frayed nerves, Ron gathered his courage. There was no point standing in the doorway like an indecisive git, he concluded and hurried inside the room, carefully and silently closing the door behind him. Fred and George might have shunned becoming law-abiding prefects but if they caught him lurking around outside the girls' dormitory, the punishment would be far worse than any detention imaginable. Nobody escaped the twins taunting if found in a compromising situation with one's dignity intact!

Total blackness. That was what greeted Ron inside the fifth year girls' dormitory. After a few seconds of intense squinting through the darkness he eventually make out the contours of three beds, all with the hangings firmly closed.

Damn, Ron thought with sinking heart. How was he supposed to know which bed was Hermione's in this blasted darkness? Somehow he didn't think lighting his wand would be a good idea... Ron stood by the doorway for a few moments, contemplating whether or not he should abort his mission. What if he woke up Lavender or Parvati instead? They would surely throw a tantrum if they spotted him there; images of panicky banshees immediately came to mind and that was not something he was particularly eager to witness.

After mentally arguing with himself for a few minutes, he finally reached a decision - he was giving it a shot! It wasn't as if he was a coward or something, far from it actually. Who in their right mind was afraid of Lavender and Parvati anyhow?

So having had quite enough of his own indecisiveness, Ron opted for a more confident and to the point approach. Crossing his fingers and taking a deep breath, he purposefully began tiptoeing towards the beds. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the darkness and gradually objects in the room became more visible. He could now clearly make out the outlines of trunks next to the beds and a brilliant idea suddenly presented itself to him. If he checked the trunks he was bound to discover which one belonged to Hermione in a flash. The trunk containing an abnormal amount of books would surely belong to his bookwormish friend!

And right he was. The one farthest to the left contained such a repulsively huge number of books with obscure and boring titles such as Goblin rebellions in the seventeenth century; a lengthy tale of horror and brilliancy and Prefect and proud to name a few. Ron felt it was quite safe to assume that neither Lavender nor Parvati would want to be caught dead with any of these titles in their possession.

But as he stood next to Hermione's bed Ron was suddenly overcome by nervousness. Staring at the hangings around her bed he noticed that his hands were covered in sweat and his heartbeat seemed to have developed a strange jiggery rhythm of its own. Feeling that there was no turning back at this point, Ron reached for the hangings with trembling hands. Shakily he pulled them slowly aside and gulping down a huge lump of something disgustingly cottony in his throat he peered inside.

She was sound asleep, her bushy hair spread all over the pillow. She looked beautiful and so content that Ron thought it almost a shame waking her. Fascinated he stood watching Hermione sleep for a few minutes taking in every detail of her appearance and storing it safely in his memory.

It wasn't very often Ron had the opportunity to unabashedly study her like this without risking someone catching him in the act so to speak. Intently he studied her face. She had the most adorable small freckles on her nose. Not the disgusting huge reddish sort that he was cursed with, but rather teeny brown ones that suited her perfectly. Her cheeks were also kind of rosy, Ron noticed with interest before he moved on to gawk at her bushy mane of hair.

In fact Ron would probably have spent half the night studying Hermione as if the topic of Ms Granger would appear on their OWLs that year, if she hadn't suddenly shifted in her bed. That brought him snapping back to reality and mentally slapping himself he cursed his infatuated heart for straying him off track once again.

Finally and with gentleness you never would have thought possible for the lanky Ron Weasley, he bent over and stroked Hermione's chin. Quietly so he wouldn't wake the other girls he whispered in her ear while tenderly shaking her shoulders.

"Hermione, wake up."

He was awarded with a very grumpy sounding "Hmpf," along with a small arm groggily swatting him on the shoulder.

"Hermione, please wake up. It's important," Ron continued pleadingly with a worried glance towards the other beds. He could distinctly hear someone shifting around inside the nearest bed.

Luckily Hermione opened her eyes drowsily and gazed unfocusedly at him.

"Go away Ron, I'm still sleepy," she said blearily whereupon she turned away from him and pulled the covers tightly around her body. A few more seconds passed before Hermione's sleepy brain managed to digest what she'd seen. She then positively jumped around staring at him disbelievingly.

"Ron?" she hissed questionably. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing up here at," she gazed unfocusedly at her alarm clock, "five thirty in the morning? This is the girls' dormitory and you're not supposed to be her."

Ron felt one of his patented Weasley-blushes rapidly spreading from his ears and downwards. Soon it covered his entire face. Brilliant, he thought sarcastically. Between the hair, his face and the numerous freckles he probably displayed every shade of red imaginable. Lucky it's so dark in here, Ron thought embarrassedly. Feeling thoroughly self-conscious he chanced a look at Hermione. She still didn't look quite awake because she kept blinking stupidly at him. Ron thought he'd never seen her looking more adorable in his life, and was instantly overcome by an overwhelming urge to bend down and embrace her. This made him break out in another blush and quickly he looked away. Hugging Hermione for no apparent reason whatsoever was an action far beyond what he actually had the courage to do, and he seriously doubted he'd ever get to a point were that would be considered an appropriate action.

"Sorry about waking you this early," he said hoarsely inwardly cursing his stupid voice for doing stupid things like not functioning properly around Hermione.

"Harry's scar is hurting again and he's had a new dream. You know, about You-know-who."

Her eyes widened and she let out a small gasp. "I'll be down in a minute," she whispered determinedly not sounding at all sleepy anymore. Swiftly she removed her blanket and stepped out of the bed. Ron's heart instantly skipped more beats than he thought healthy at the look of her and he felt a very unwelcome tugging in his shorts.

Quickly he pulled the bathrobe more securely around him. Hermione's nightdress was pale blue and rather skimpy clearly showing her maturing body. Ron knew it was terribly rude but for obvious reasons he was unable to remove his eyes from her very appealing bottom as she hurried towards her trunk, bent over and began picking out some clothes to wear. For the millionth time he cursed Hogwarts for having robes as a part of their required uniform. They hid far too much in his opinion...

Suddenly Hermione became aware that Ron still hadn't left the room.

"Why are you still here? I can't change with you in the room."

Why not, Ron thought defiantly. I wouldn't mind in the slightest... Hermione however seemed to read his mind because she suddenly looked very annoyed.

"Please remove your perverted self from this dormitory or I'll be forced to report you." Her voice sounded very serious but something in her eyes told Ron that she wasn't as peeved about his presence as she let on. Feeling a little daring not to mention devilish, he leaned casually against her bed his eyebrows arched as if daring her to throw him out. Hermione responded with an incredulous snort.

"Suit yourself daredevil, but I'm warning you; Lavender is an exceptionally light sleeper. If she wakes up and find you here, she'll throw such a fit I pity you."

Hermione then proceeded to gather her clothes and with an annoying little wave sauntered off to the bathroom to get changed. "You're spoiling my fun by hiding in there," Ron daringly hissed after her but Hermione had already slipped through the door and closed it securely behind her. Knowing that there was little point in him staying guard over her bed while she changed, Ron reluctantly left the room. He walked down to the common room in a daze, the image of Hermione in her nightdress forever implanted on his mind...

*

Harry watched with great amusement as Ron descended the staircase from Hermione's dormitory. The redhead looked thoroughly flushed and was grinning stupidly with a glazed look on his face. Clearly something memorable had taken place, but Harry wasn't really sure he wanted to know the details.

Ron dumped down on the couch next to Harry.

"So did you wake here?" Harry ventured curiously. Judging by Ron's glazed facial expression he was far away in his own thoughts and wouldn't have the presence of mind to share petty information like that without some probing.

And right he was. Ron didn't even appear to have heard Harry's question because he just kept staring dreamily into the flames, occasionally letting out a very heartfelt sigh.

"Hello, Ron. Are Hermione coming or not," Harry asked while poking Ron rather violently in the arm. This apparently had the desired effect.

"Huh? Oh, yeah that. She'll be down shortly," Ron answered absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving the dancing flames in front of him. Brilliant, Harry thought with a scowl. A trip to the girls' dormitory and Ron's brain seems to be damaged beyond repair. He glanced at his friend and had to bite his lip not to laugh out loud. Well, he thought gleefully, at least Ron seemed to be having a better morning than he was.

True to her word Hermione came down only minutes later and Harry instantly began retelling his dream in as great detail as he could. The look on their faces became more worried and frightened as he spoke and when he was finished they both looked pale and nervous.

"You'll be telling Dumbledore later won't you?" Hermione demanded rather than asked and Harry nodded warily. "Yeah, I have to, don't I? I suppose I'll try to see him sometime this afternoon. The sooner the better, really."

Ron had by now abandoned his seat next to Harry and was standing by the fireplace with a brooding look on his face.

"What's troubling you, Ron? It's very unnerving seeing you look this serious. Quite frankly I didn't think you had it in you."

Hermione was obviously trying to sound cheerful to ease some of the tension but failed miserably. Ron sighed deeply and turned towards them.

"This hooded figure you speak off, he seems like someone who's been recruited to You Know Who's ranks against all odds, judging by the way that evil prick was talking to him." Ron looked from one to the other.

"Don't tell me you haven't thought that this might very well be the "friendly face" we should be on the look-out for mentioned in the prediction. For all we know this could be someone we know. Someone could already have betrayed us."

Ron was saying what Hermione and Harry had only been thinking and they both nodded despairingly.

"It's starting isn't it?" Hermione said grimly. There was no need for either of them to reply as they all knew the answer to that question.

* *

Eventually the common room began to fill with Gryffindors that was in various ways enjoying the fact that it was still only Sunday. The arrival of Fred and George particularly lifted the trio's spirits when one of their new and improved fake wands transformed into a fluffy stuffed animal in the form of a sheep making poor Dean Thomas, who unfortunately tried to perform a shuffling spell on his cards with it, blush furiously (an accomplishment in it self considering his tone of skin).

After a late breakfast Harry managed to discreetly signal to Dumbledore that he needed to see him and dashed off to his office as soon as the meal was over leaving Ron and Hermione to their own devises.

Needless to say Ron's excursion to the girls' dormitory that morning was still weighing heavily on both their minds and the atmosphere was a tad apprehensive as they headed back towards Gryffindor tower. The thought of being left alone to speak to each other was nothing short of horrifying and both were therefore extremely grateful when Ginny accompanied them in the common room. She was in a cheery mood but soon picked up on the discomfort between the two and didn't waste any time asking about it.

Hermione shifted uncomfortable and Ron's ears turned pink under Ginny's scrutinizing stare. Oh what have we here, Ginny thought wickedly. Something clearly must have happened to leave both looking this ill at ease.

"Oh come on you two," she said alluringly, "something's up I can tell. Don't be shy, tell me everything." Finally, she silently exclaimed. It only took you two years to realize it. Honestly the denseness of some people was simply overwhelming!!

Needless to say the answer she received was not at all what she'd expected.

"Harry's scar is hurting again," Hermione said quietly. "His nightmares about You Know Who are back."

The mere reference to the Dark Lord was enough to send Ginny into shock. Her eyes widened in fright and she gripped the arms of the chair tightly. Images of the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle came gushing back and instantly her body temperature dropped. She felt her hands shiver but strained herself not to show how profoundly this news affected her. "Oh no," was all she managed to say, whereupon all three lapsed into silence.

Half an hour later Harry returned looking thoroughly exhausted. Dumbledore had listened intently without any interruptions as he for the second time that day retold the nightmare. Immediately after he'd finished the Headmaster had alerted Lupin with instructions for him to concentrate their search for Voldemort's hideout along the coastline. After that there was really not more Harry could do, and so he'd been excused.

He was therefore extremely grateful to learn that Ron and Hermione had already told Ginny about his dream. He didn't think he had the strength to retell it again, at least not today, but it was only fair that she knew.

She looked pale but composed he noticed, and he was pleased to see that she didn't make any fuss about it. All Harry wanted to do for the time being was to forget about it, and he thankfully accepted when she challenged him to a game of chess.

The four of them spent the next couple of hours playing a round robin, and unsurprisingly it was Ron who emerged victoriously in the end. As always he couldn't resist taking advantage of a perfectly good opportunity to boast and gloat. In fact he managed to act so unbearably smug about it, that Harry almost regretted having agreed to the whole thing in the first place. But at least it had the desired effect on their moods.

Later the same afternoon Ginny along with a few of her friends left for the library to work on a charms assignment and soon thereafter Harry darted off to the Owlery to send Hedwig with a letter to Sirius telling him about his nightmare.

The common room was more or less deserted with the exception of a small group of second year girls who sat in a corner giggling and sending Ron longing stares when they thought he wasn't looking. The incident in Defence Against Dark Arts still held high admiration particularly among the younger girls and Ron found himself cursing silently. He was honestly starting to loath all the attention and for the first time he really did understand what Harry meant about the glory of fame being highly overrated. Just too bad he hadn't learnt that lesson last year...

Hermione was sitting on the other end of their favourite couch by the fire with her beautifully freckled nose firmly planted in one of her precious books. Ron on the other hand had his Potions book open in front of him but so far he hadn't done much reading. No matter how much he tried to concentrate on the bloody chapter in front of him, he still couldn't shake the memory of Hermione in her skimpy little nightdress. She was on his mind almost twenty-four seven these days and it was becoming increasingly more difficult concentrating on anything in her presence, least of all homework.

He made a new futile attempt to read the lengthy paragraph on the use of toad intestines in potion making but within seconds his mind was back to Hermione and her snug nightdress. A quick glance at her confirmed that she was still engulfed in her book. Ron furrowed his eyebrows. He was scanning his mind for something to talk about, but came out blank. Funny, he mused, he'd never had trouble talking to her before. Why did everything have to change just because of some stupid feelings? Frowning slightly Ron concluded that he wasn't entirely sure whether he liked this being in love stuff very much.

He stole a glance at her again. When the light from the fire hit her like that she looks amazingly beautiful, he concluded dreamily. Ahh, who was he kidding? She was wonderful!

On Hermione's end of the couch similar thoughts were running through her mind. She remembered the look he'd sent her up in the dormitory this morning. If she didn't know any better she could have sworn he was checking her out. He'd been quite bold too, pretending to refuse to leave when she was about to change. Hermione couldn't help but blush just thinking about it.

But of course she knew he hadn't really meant anything by it. Ron wasn't even the slightest bit interested in her, at least not like that. He liked girls like Fleur and Lavender. He'd made that clear as crystal to her over the last couple of weeks with his annoying drooling and gawky eyes whenever these creatures were within a ten feet radius of him. But still there was this electrifying and tingly tension between them that she couldn't really explain.

Oh, how she desperately wanted him to ask her to the ball. She sighed silently scolding herself for even thinking about it. Don't even think about that, Hermione Granger, she told herself sternly pushing her nose further down into the book. It'll never happen so don't start getting your hopes up. Ron suddenly brought her out of her train of thoughts.

"Uh Mione, I was sort of wondering if you could perhaps check over my potions homework? Just to see if I've understood it correctly." He looked at her pleadingly.

Ron had many looks, some of them downright annoying or angering, but others were more like the look he was sending her now. Oh, she'd never been able to refuse him when he used his puppy dog look. The appropriate response to a blatant request for her to more or less do his homework was an icy scowl followed by a very long lecture about how he should be applying himself more to his work.

But he'd called her Mione... Hermione's heart swelled and her hands were shaking ever so slightly making it difficult to hold the book straight. She just loved it when he called her that. Not that she'd ever tell him so, of course.

She smiled weakly and shifted over towards him to get a better look at his parchment. She could feel his breath on her neck as she read it and goose bumps trailed down her spine. It really was nerve-racking being this close to him; torturous even.

Forcefully she tried to forget about the wonderful sensation his presence was causing in her entire body, and skimmed the parchment quickly. "Ron," she said with surprise in her voice, "this is very good actually." Ron beamed at her words, a light pinkness visible on his ears.

"Thanks Mione, if only Fleur would agree with you I might even pass Potions this year with an acceptable grade."

Hermione snickered. "Keep this up," she told him earnestly, "and she'll have no choice, really. Didn't I tell you you'd do great if you only put a little effort into it?"

"Probably," Ron responded with a wicked grin. "But you talk so much I honestly haven't got the capacity to store everything up here." He thumped his fingers to his head.

"Oh yes, how stupid of me to forget," Hermione said teasingly. "If it doesn't involve Quidditch, food or candy you just zone out."

"I resent that obviously erroneous assumption about my capacity, or should I say lack there off, for recollecting past statements from you, young lady," Ron retorted in mock outrage making Hermione break down in hysteric.

"Now what did I say?" Ron asked inquiringly pretending to be offended but failing miserably.

"I never thought I'd live to see the day when you used the word erroneous, at least not in a coherent sentence," she answered between chuckles. This made Ron huff.

"You best be nice to me, Ms Granger or I'll have no choice but to resort to tickling, and you know how I detest stooping to such low measures."

The gleeful expression on his face however suggested otherwise and Hermione instinctually began to back away from him. Ron however stretched his fingers denunciatory towards her with a devilish grin on his face. Hermione frantically searched for means of escape.

"No you don't you even dare, Ronald Weasley, or I'll hex you into the next century," she began threateningly.

Her feeble threats however had no effect whatsoever and once again Hermione found herself a powerless victim of Ron's ruthless tickling. After several minutes of torture and intense wriggling on the couch she astonishingly managed to slip away from her tormentor and made a run for it towards her dormitory. Ron however quickly headed her off (damn those long legs of his) and this led them into a hectic hunt around the common room with the crowd of dumbfounded second years as audience. The frantic chase didn't end until Ron managed to grip a squeaking Hermione around the waist and push her back down on the couch with him landing unceremoniously beside her.

Lost for breath they lay like that panting and laughing. Ron was amazed. She smelled so good, and that colour of her eyes was quite breathtaking. How come he'd never noticed this before? She was beautiful. He wanted to... but he couldn't do that. Or could he?

Hermione on her end was speechless. There were precious few things that could render her lost for words, but the closeness of Ron seemed to be one of few that could. And the fact that he was staring at her in a most intense manner didn't exactly help matters either. What was he up to she wondered? But no coherent answers came to mind. In fact Hermione didn't think she could string together a single articulate sentence even if she wanted to at this point. She was way to busy concentrating on how Ron's hand now touched hers. Electrifying - no other word could really describe it.

But naturally the moment wouldn't last. In retrospect Hermione could never really agree what exactly that had caused them forcefully spring apart just moments later. It might have been the snickering from those blasted second years in the corner, the fact that Harry had just entered the room again, or perhaps a combination of both. It didn't matter anyway. The point was that they did, and as soon as they were back on separate ends of the couch again she missed him dearly and cursed herself for it.

*

It had only been sheer loyalty and respect for Sirius and the promise he'd made to keep him updated on everything and anything that had led Harry to leave the common room that afternoon. Experience had made him something of an expert when it came to sensing tension between Ron and Hermione and he'd feared that this easily could be turned into another bickering if left unchaperoned for too long.

It was therefore with crossed fingers and racing heart he climbed through the portrait hole after having sent Hedwig off with a lengthy note to his godfather. Needless to say Harry felt quite relieved when he noticed that his two friends were still on speaking terms. How they'd ended up on the couch in such a compromising position he quite frankly did not want to know about. Of course this was not entirely true either, but at least he would restrain from inquiring about it in front of Hermione. But he'd definitely be asking Ron about it later, in privacy that is.

Unfortunately the peace that seemed to reign between Ron and Hermione at the moment turned out to be rather short-lived for Harry's taste. It happened shortly after Ginny had returned from the library. Hermione was (unsurprisingly) reading a book while Ron and Ginny was discussing a letter they had received from their mother the day before bearing news that Bill had a new girlfriend named Eliza (Ron predicted the relationship to last three weeks tops, Ginny was betting on two months, a personal best for Bill).

Harry himself was semi-seriously considering turning in early as he had a sneaking suspicion that George would wake him up in the wee hours for Quidditch practice. The game against Hufflepuff was drawing closer and he'd observed George and Ron conferring in hushed voices the other day and knew that conspiring Weasleys was never a good sign.

A cold breeze suddenly hit his neck making him shudder involuntarily. Turning his head slightly he saw that the window had been opened and a small and scruffy-looking owl flew in and began circling the room. Finally spotting its recipient, it dropped the letter in Hermione's lap, hooted indignantly and promptly exited back out through the window.

Ron and Ginny's conversations stopped dead, and Ron glared darkly at the letter. Harry groaned. This was not good.

"I know whose owl that is. It's bloody Vick...."

"Don't say another word!" Hermione's shrill voice cut Ron off effectively. He rolled his eyes and mimicked her words silently.

"And you can just stop rolling your eyes at me Ronald Weasley," Hermione continued tetchily all the while glaring furiously at him. "And for your information, yes, it is a letter from Viktor. I'm not denying it. Why should I? I'm allowed to exchange letters with whom ever I want, and don't remember having to ask anyone for permission. Least of all you!"

Ron snorted and gave her an icy stare. "Bloody child molesting bastard. Fucking eighteen years old, should pick up girls his own age, that's what he should," he muttered angrily.

"What was that?" Hermione was now fuming.

"Nothing," he replied feverishly. "I'm just expressing the popular opinion about your sordid relationship with a guy from fucking Slytherin-ranks who's about a century older than you are, that's all."

Hermione had by now obviously reached the end of her patience where this particular topic was concerned and was now red with anger. Harry wouldn't have been surprised to find smoke coming out her ears.

"Keep your opinions to yourself," she spat back at Ron and was now towering down on him with a livid expression on her face that made the mad Hungarian Horntail Harry wrestled last year look positively benign in comparison.

"Why so much ado over a single letter?" she demanded. Ron just glared at her.

"It's the first one I've gotten since this summer as a matter of fact. What're you going to do this time? Run off and get yourself kidnapped by another pack of raging Death Eaters? Walk straight into the awaiting arms of the enemy? The way you're behaving sometimes I can't help but wonder if there is something dark and evil inside you. Perhaps they managed to recruit you while in their care? Well, please give my hello to the Dark Lord while you're at it!!!! Maybe you should just join them, that way I at least won't be bugged by you on a daily basis!"

The room went quiet. Ron just stared at her. His face didn't portray any emotions, but Hermione could see that she'd really hurt him this time. It was in his eyes. Those blue eyes looking at her with a hurt gleam to them that she'd never seen before. Oh no, what had she done?

"Oh, Ron you know I didn't mean it..." she began pleadingly.

"Don't-Speak-To-Me," Ron said hoarsely but with an unnerving calm and harshness to every word. "Ever-Again!" And with that he left the common room, leaving Hermione close to tears.

* * *

At the same time another place in the castle; two people were having a troubled conversation.

"Are you sure about this?" Her voice was low and worried. "You do realize what this means? The search is finally over. After all these years."

"Ah, yes my dear Minerva, I do indeed believe so." Headmaster Dumbledore rose from his chair and strode over to one of his many bookshelves, picking out an old and battered book. The leather was frayed and patched, and the parchment yellow with age.

"The clairvoyance of this particular founder has proven itself to be surprisingly exact on many occasions." He strolled back to his desk, sat down and gingerly placed the book on the desk in front of him. "I have never had any doubts about the trueness of this particular prophecy, but little did I know I would live to see the day when this extraordinary bond of magic would manifest itself. Astonishing isn't it?"

He arched an eyebrow at Professor McGonagall but she seemed too upset to see anything amazing about the situation.

"But the Unagi," she asked disconcerted, "it has not yet shown itself..."

Dumbledore carefully closed the book and gave her a small smile. "Ah, but I believe it has, my dear professor. The trouble is we appear to have looked for it in the wrong places." He chuckled as he walked back to the bookshelf and slid the book back into its place.

"It's staring then, isn't it?" she asked, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

"Ah yes," Dumbledore answered. "I believe we are facing what can only be described as the beginning of the end."

McGonagall swallowed hard and realized for the first time that her palms were sweaty. Dumbledore reached across his desk for the teapot.

"Tea?" he asked. Unable to find her voice, McGonagall simply shook her head.