Seeking Hermione's Bean

Seeking Hermione's Bean

Chapter 3. It Isn't About Harry...

An unusually cheerful Dean Thomas stepped into the Great Hall the next morning, refreshed from a cold shower and happy with a decision reached as the morning sun broke over the turrets of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: "It's none of my business."

It was a decision reached with ease, after a few hours of tossing, turning and trying to shut out the synchronized snoring of Ron and Neville while ignoring Harry's continued--though muffled--mumbling. It was a choice easily made as he recalled Harry's embarrassment when he'd been shaken awake--and his avowal that whatever was bothering him had everything to do with You-Know-Whoever-It-Is and nothing to do with Hermione Granger.

It wasn't that Dean was a callous or uncaring person; it was simply that Harry Potter, classmate, fellow Gryffindor and friend of five years was--at the heart of it all--an extremely private person who hated involving other people in his troubles. And, while Dean was not at all sure that going at things alone was the best solution for many of life's problems, he was more than willing to cut his friends a bit of slack when asked... Lord knows, he thought as he made his way to their table, Harry had more than enough troubles on his own without adding to his already full plate.

Good intentions, unfortunately, often last no more than the time it takes to make them.

As he approached the Gryffindor table, Dean knew something was wrong.

It was just a feeling--a prickling at the back of his neck: a sensation difficult to describe, somewhat like the feeling of entering someplace familiar only to find that the furniture had been moved...

It took a few seconds to understand what was bothering him.

Harry and Hermione were not sitting together today.

They were facing each other across the Gryffindor table: Harry, raven hair in its usual untamable mess, dark circles under his eyes a testament to a night deprived of sleep, staring at his plate where he kept pushing a piece of bacon around; Hermione, eyes focused on the book propped in front of her, a strand of hair curled around a finger--neck muscles tense as she tried to stop herself from looking at Harry.

For a moment, Dean wondered why he thought there was something wrong with that; Merlin knows, there must have been times in the past when they'd sat across each other, either or both of them engrossed in some thing or other: Hermione too often buried in her books, Harry talking with Ron about Quidditch or something else--

He started as he felt Carolyn taking a seat beside him, whispering, "Is something wrong with Sir Harry, Dean?"

His response was automatic and honed through years of dealing with his younger siblings: "What makes you say that, Ca?"

"Miss Hermione is worried."

Dean smirked as he reached for the pancakes, about to comment--with his half-decade's worth of experience--that Hermione always worried: about classes, grades, study schedules, revisions, O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s; that Hermione usually worried about a lot of things, not only about Harry--

"Her book's upside down."

Huh?

His head snapped around, and there it was: Hogwarts: A History propped up on the milk jug in front of Hermione, and he realized that the title on the cover was upside down. Of course, Hermione Granger didn't need to have the book right side up to read it--the way she quoted it, one would have thought that she'd memorized the dammed thing by now--but it was a clear indication of how worried she was... and Dean knew the only time she would be that worried would be if something was wrong with Harry.

And it had been so for as far back as he could remember.

Dean's lips quirked as he sneaked a glance at Miss Bossy-Boots and her Upside Down Book, a river of memories rushing through his mind: a small, bushy-haired girl pushing herself in Harry's face as he mounted his broom to go after Malfoy during their first flying lesson ... her tear-stained face as she pushed past them after their Charms lesson when Ron, The Once and Future Prat, insulted her ... the ruined blanket on which he'd painted a Gryffindor lion to add to the "Potter for President" banner that Seamus and Neville made for Harry's first Quidditch game...

They never told anyone that it was Hermione's idea, that it was Hermione who "persuaded" them to make the banner as a "show of support for Harry's first game" (as she said in her plumiest, upper class tones), and Dean's grin faded quickly as he remembered that first game--his excitement at seeing Quidditch for the first time, his screams of "Send him off, ref! Red Card!" at Madam Hooch--he'd been so incensed that he'd called her 'Ref,' completely forgetting their Flying Instructor's name--and his shock at realizing, along with the other Gryffindors, that Harry was in trouble...

He'd been so occupied in watching Harry on his broom, so engrossed in murmuring prayers to every saint he could think of, that he'd barely heard Ron muttering desperately, "Come on, Hermione," beside him...he, like the others had heaved a sigh of relief when Harry was finally able to mount his broom and only then realized that Hermione wasn't with them...

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Harry and Hermione glance at each other, and he smiled. It was something that the Gryffindors were well aware of, and everyone who noticed sat back to enjoy the show...

Harry saw Hermione looking at him and smiled; the latter raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged; Hermione then frowned and he shook his head slightly to which she gave a small nod and turned back to her book, one hand reaching for her glass--only to pause as Harry poured pumpkin juice into it; the moment it was filled, Hermione gave Harry a small smile before turning back to her book.

'How in Hades do they do that?' Dean wondered. There was no doubt in his mind that whatever it was that had transpired had nothing to do with empty glasses and pumpkin juice: the exchange of looks, smiles and gestures had taken too long to be a simple "Please pass the juice, Harry." He glanced at his young companion and shrugged; the young girl giggled but was interrupted by Seamus' irritated voice as he growled, "Will you please pass the bangers, Dean? I've already asked you twice!"

Startled by the angry voice, Dean turned to comply but realized that Carolyn had already passed the plate to Seamus before he could move; the latter grabbed it with a huff and tipped a generous portion of the contents on his plate.

As Seamus poured a copious amount of ketchup over his eggs and bangers, an errant thought struck Dean: 'He's been my best friend for years... met him on the train in ninety-one when we shared a compartment with Ernie and Justin... shared a dorm for ten months each year as well as a compartment on the train to and from Hogwarts... partnered him in Potions, Herbology, Divination... gone into Hogsmeade and toasted each other with butterbeer and fire whiskey since third year--

'How come we never have the kind of communication that Harry and Hermione have?'

Gah!

Where did that come from?

Somebody scrub my brain!

He almost jumped when a letter hit his head; shocked, he looked up to see that the morning mail had arrived--owls flying all over the Great Hall, dropping packages, letters, parchments and newspapers to eager students and he turned to his letter when a sudden gasp from Seamus made him stop--his ears registering the fact that others across the hall had the same reaction to something--

An amplified cough suddenly thundered over the Hall and he twisted in his seat towards the teacher's table, where a grave-faced Dumbledore stood, silver hair and beard reflecting the sunlight from the enchanted ceiling--

"I have an announcement to make," the Headmaster's magically-amplified voice resounded in the suddenly-hushed hall. "As you know by now, or will know by the time you have perused the Daily Prophet, the Ministry has discovered a plot by Voldemort"--gasps and soft screams were heard all over the hall-- "to plant tampered beans in the Bertie Botts' Every-Flavor Beans factory."

The announcement was met with a stunned silence--quickly followed by a rising murmur as shocked, disbelieving students started talking; Dean glanced at Seamus and the two quickly looked at Harry--neither surprised to see The-Boy-Who-Lived staring down at his plate while the hand gripping his fork seemed to tense. Their eyes met and they nodded: Harry must have known about this, and they turned back to the Headmaster as he continued.

"The plot was discovered by workers who saw strangers dumping bags of what looked to be Bertie Botts Beans into the bins being readied for shipment yesterday morning. The strangers tried to escape but were subdued by the workers, who called the Aurors in.

"Fortunately, the incident occurred before the beans were released; unfortunately, there was no way to trace which beans they'd slipped amongst the real ones."

Dumbledore paused as murmurs swept through the Hall; again, Dean and Seamus glanced at Harry--both noticing that Harry's knuckles were turning white as he gripped his fork--

"According to the Ministry, the captured Death Eaters claim that this had been done before but they had no knowledge of how long this has been going on, or even what was in those beans they planted in the factory.

"The Ministry has stepped in to take all possible precautions to prevent any tragedy." The Headmaster paused for a moment, apparently gathering his thoughts, as his eyes swept the hall. "Aurors have impounded every Bertie Botts Bean they can find in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and every other wizarding establishment in Britain and the Continent.

"The Ministry is also urging everyone who may have a cache of these beans to surrender them to the authorities. In the case of Hogwarts, I urge everyone here to surrender their beans voluntarily to your Head of House; as an added precaution, I will be asking the House Elves to check everyone's belongings to ensure that none of these beans are in a position to cause damage to anyone."

Dean wondered for a moment if Dumbledore's eyes had flickered towards the Slytherin table, but the thought was shaken out of his head as he realized that goblets, jugs, bowls and plates all along the Gryffindor table were shaking... but no one had a wand out, except for the white-knuckled grip that Harry had on his fork.

Before anyone could react, Hermione's whispered "Harry!" made the latter blink; surprised, Harry quickly let the fork go with a clatter--and the dishes on the table stopped their ominous vibration. Seamus and Dean's eyes again met and both shrugged before turning back to Dumbledore: "If anyone, and I mean any one, is found with those beans after noon today, that person will face detention with Professor Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest."

The old man's eyes swept the room and a palpable shiver ran down everyone's spines. "Further, since we do not know how long this nefarious plot has been taking place, I urge anyone who feels anything different, or who starts acting in a strange way, to report immediately to the Infirmary for a check-up. Prefects--" Dean saw Hermione straightening up in her chair--"please ensure that your charges are all right and that anything out of the ordinary is reported immediately to your Head of House, or to Professor Sinistra in the case of Slytherin House."

A low murmur erupted across the Hall as the students realized that Snape wasn't with the teachers; before the murmur could grow into a roar, Dumbledore raised his hands: "And finally--" there was just the trace of a smile on the old man's lips-- "the Ministry has, unfortunately, seen fit to call in every available Potions Master in Britain to help identify the tampered beans, as well as to try to discover whatever it was that was done."

Talk about the sun breaking out on a cloudy day, Dean thought--all over the Great Hall, people were smiling from ear to ear: "Unfortunately, Professor Snape was unable to leave a lesson plan for the day, so Potions classes are suspended."

A small cheer rippled through the Hall; there was a look of extreme relief on Neville's face, as well as unmitigated glee from Ron and Seamus: Potions was the first period after breakfast, and being granted a reprieve from the torture--even for a day--was definitely something to cherish. Before anyone could say anything, Dumbledore continued, "Please make use of the free time wisely... Thank you."

The din in the Great Hall resumed the moment Dumbledore sat down. At the Gryffindor table, talk was shattered by Parvati's strident voice: "But why should"--a gulp--"You-Know-Who try something like that? I mean, what's there to gain?"

"Tylenol."

The Gryffindors gaped in confusion at Hermione's confident statement; she, on the other hand, was looking at a slowly nodding Harry whose fists had started clenching again. Before anyone could ask what that was all about, a vague memory struck Dean and he blurted: "I heard about that."

"So what is it, Dean?" Ron's voice rang out, and Dean turned to him.

"My mum told me about it. Years back, someone in the United States planted poisoned Tylenol capsules--it's a popular Muggle cure for headaches--in stores and other places in... Chicago, I think it was."

Hermione took up the story, "Six people died after taking what they thought was a harmless drug. When the authorities realized what happened, they pulled out all the Tylenol they could find..."

"But why should anyone do that?" A puzzled second year called out.

"No one knows," Hermione said. "They still haven't found the Tylenol Killer. The problem is, it spawned a lot of copycats--people trying to do the same thing, placing poisoned medicines on store shelves and the like."

She paused for a moment, "Maybe that's where Voldemort got the idea."

"But why would You-Know-- oh."

The Gryffindor table fell silent. There was no need for anyone to complete the thought as everyone's eyes turned to a slumping Harry Potter, looking oddly shrunken and withered, waiting for someone to blame him for this latest outrage. The silence at the table stretched and intensified; everyone was looking at everyone and everywhere else... no one willing to open his mouth to voice an opinion--

"Father thinks that this is just a plot by Fudge to gain control of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans."

The Gryffindors gaped at the Ravenclaw with dirty-blonde hair, pale eyebrows and protuberant eyes standing behind Ginny Weasley, her eyes focused on the still-quiet Harry Potter as she continued softly, "It isn't always about you, Harry Potter."

"I agree, Harry." Shocked eyes turned once again to Hermione--they had expected a cutting rejoinder from her at best, a hoot of laughter at Loony Luna's pronouncement at worst, but she was serious and focused, her voice low and insistent as she continued, "There was speculation that the Tylenol murders were aimed at causing trouble for the manufacturer as part of a takeover attempt, although nothing was ever proved. But that doesn't mean that someone in the Wizarding World hasn't thought of trying the same thing."

"What are you saying, Hermione?"

"Luna's right, Harry." The Gryffindors and the stray Ravenclaw fell silent as they watched the developing drama in front of them: Harry and Hermione looking at each other as if there was no one else in the Great Hall save themselves; they felt like spectators in a play involving two people alone. "It isn't always about you... until we know if this is a plot by Voldemort or a takeover by someone else, there's no need to think that this is a plan to get you."

For the longest of moments, the two stared at each other, and then Harry broke his gaze from Hermione as his hand reached out to her, briefly gripping it as he whispered, "Thank you, Hermione."

She smiled back at him as she answered, "You're welcome, Harry."

The two turned to Luna Lovegood with a smile, not realizing they were holding hands as they told the suddenly flustered girl: "Thank you, Luna."

Luna Lovegood looked down at her feet, her blonde hair unsuccessfully covering the sudden blush that bloomed on her face as she answered, "You're welcome, Harry--" She gave a quick glance at their entwined fingers and whispered, "--Hermione" before turning away, only to be pulled to a seat beside Ginny.

"How about some Quidditch, guys?" Laughter broke out along the table and Dean shook his head as he snickered--trust Ron to open his big mouth and say the right thing at the right time. He saw Harry grinning and doing a thumbs-up at Ron and was about to join in but was quickly cowed as Hermione Granger stood up forcefully, bushy hair flying, prefect badge glinting--Miss Bossy Boots in full control.

"I doubt that Dumbledore had that in mind," she said with a glare at Ron. Before the latter could answer, she continued, "Besides, the Slytherins would be the only other ones right now with the free time--want some quality play time with Malfoy, Ron?"

For once, Ron had the grace to concede to Hermione's logic and nodded. Before he could come up with another suggestion, the latter continued, "You heard the Headmaster; does anyone have something to turn over to Professor McGonagall? I think it would be better if we get that over with before classes start."

A few timid hands came up: Dennis Creevey, two second years at the far end of the table... to everyone's surprise, Lavender and Parvati who said, defensively, "What? They're not fattening, are they?" -- and no one else. Hermione's eyes roamed the table and locked on Carolyn and Cindy, sitting quietly in their chairs and she raised an eyebrow at them.

The two shook their heads as Carolyn replied, "We finished off the beans that Sir Harry brought back the other night, Miss Hermione."

Hermione nodded and turned: "Harry?"

A feeling of elation washed over Dean Thomas as he watched Harry: for the first time in his life, he understood what the expression 'a deer caught in headlights' meant: the shocked, wide eyes, the frozen face, the flaring nostrils ... and he wondered if he was hearing clicks in his brain as things started falling into place: Harry leaving early during dinner last night/ finding a focused, intent Harry in the Common Room when they got back, a small bag of beans in hand--the mumbling that had roused Seamus and himself from a restful sleep, watching Harry toss and turn and--hump?--his pillow before he shook Harry awake...

The words Harry had been mumbling in his sleep.

Was that Voldemort's plot, Dean wondered? To get Harry so obsessed over a bean that he would simply waste away as he consumed bean after bean ('Lavender did say they were non-fattening, right?') in a desperate, single-minded search for--

Dean shook his head, the frightening image of Mad-Eye Moody crashing through his mind: Moody's scarred face, misshapen nose with a chunk missing, wooden claw-foot thumping as he walked, roaring "CONSTANT VIGILANCE" as he approached, the DADA teacher's legendary paranoia contrasting with a sudden question in his mind: 'How could You-Know-Who even know about Hermione Granger?'

'There are ways,' his mind retorted as his eyes moved from Harry to Hermione and back. Rita Skeeter in fourth year, the Slytherins--his eyes jumped to Malfoy and his cronies who had their heads together--and, with a shake of his head, anyone not blind as a bat who's had a chance to watch the two for any length of time would know.

He shook his head as he watched them, feeling a wave of sympathy course through him as he watched his dorm-mate squirm under Hermione's gaze. 'He's really suffering,' Dean realized. 'He can't very well tell Hermione that he's been thinking--dreaming--about her bean..."

"I don't have any more of those beans, Hermione--why don't you believe me?"

Dean blinked in surprise--had he been wool-gathering too much that he'd missed out on whole blocks of the conversation? His eyes quickly scanned the table, and he knew trouble lay ahead: there was no doubt in his eye that every corner of the Great Hall was being scanned by Gryffindors (and one seemingly lost Ravenclaw): no one wanted to watch Harry and Hermione having it out over something seemingly so trivial...

Except, as everyone in Gryffindor knew, there was seldom anything 'trivial' between those two.

Especially if Harry's life was in danger.

For some reason, Dean's mind locked on their third year--returning to Hogwarts after the Christmas break to find Harry and Ron not on speaking terms with Hermione, and learning the reason why when Ron started ranting on and on about Harry's Firebolt which, apparently, Hermione had turned over to McGonagall. The funny thing was, Dean thought now, that Harry never said much about the whole thing--it was as if Ron was the affronted one, Ron whose Firebolt had been taken away--

And Harry?

Dean had tried to talk with him about it, but Harry had dismissed him with a single sentence: "Hermione thought she has her reasons..." and refused to say anything more about it. Which was strange, Dean thought again--Harry should have been the injured party, he should have been more emotional or angry about it, but it seemed as if Ron had anger enough for both of them...

Unless, even then, Harry knew that Hermione could be right--but would not admit it to himself?

"It's not that I don't believe you, Harry! You've been acting..."

Uh-oh, Dean thought. Here it comes--if there was one thing the Gryffindors knew, it was that Hermione was obsessive when it came to studying, but if there was one thing that the Clueless Wonder (formerly known as The-Boy-Who-Lived) didn't seem to know, was that Hermione's favorite subject was Harry James Potter--and her next words confirmed that supposition:

"--strange ever since you brought those beans back for Cindy and Carolyn the other night."

The look on Harry's face was priceless--but he shouldn't have been surprised, Dean thought. Of course, the Clueless Wonder wouldn't have a clue: he never really understood that Hermione studied him the way she prepared for her Potions exams since way back in First Year: diligently, completely...obsessively. If there was any action or reaction that Harry Potter would make in any given situation, Dean would have laid odds that Hermione would know it.

Right down to Harry's gaping, trying to breath, open-and-shut mouth.

"What's wrong with you, Harry?"

Dean looked away as he felt his eyes rolling--he thought he'd finally escaped his mum's soap-opera obsession when he went to Hogwarts, but these last few minutes more than made up for it. If there was one thing he never would have figured out, it was to hear Miss Bossy-Boots' smarmy tone as she asked--no, whispered--that question at Harry. It had all the intonations and harmony of drama in it, but Dean knew that there was nothing dramatic or pretentious about it: he knew, as well as everyone else in Gryffindor, that when it came to Harry Potter, all of Hermione's defenses dropped.

Now if only she drops her knickers--

The urge to slap himself silly fought against the compulsion of his face to meet the table--where did that come from? Granted, Dean thought, he was a hormonal male teen, but some things were just too beautiful, too wonderful and too precious to be thought of in any other way: if he had to think of Harry and Hermione doing "that," it would have to be preceded by the whole nine yards: the Great Hall decked out with flowers, the smell of incense floating in the air, Hermione in white with Harry waiting for her, Ron at his side with Ginny walking down the aisle ahead of her... a wedding feast with Harry and Hermione feeding each other's faces with cake... her garter being grabbed by Ron and the bridal bouquet flying in the air to be caught by--Luna Lovegood?

The craving to slap himself silly was replaced with a yearning to start yanking his hair out by its roots as he heard Harry's melodramatic, pleading response: "Nothing's wrong with me, Hermione... I just need some time. Please, Hermione..."

Dean wanted to leap to his feet and shout, "Just snog her, you idiot!" but he held himself in check--even a wizard's long life can be cut short by playing with fire, and there was no way in the world that he'd tempt fate by doing that. Not when the person he was going to shout at was the only one in living memory who'd survived the Killing Curse as well as escaping Dementors, basilisks, spiders, dragons and even the Dark Lord--while the other one knew enough hexes and curses to make a goat shudder!

"Harry..."

The sound of a gong echoing through the Hall broke Dean's rapidly building frustration--it was the warning sound to alert everyone that classes would be starting, and the Gryffindors grabbed the opportunity presented to escape the soap opera they found themselves in.

As well as, in a classic case of male bonding and mutual assistance, to give Harry a chance to escape from Hermione

It was Colin Creevey who had the courage--or the sheer bloody-mindedness-- to make the first move. In a loud voice, he said, "Let's go get your beans, Dennis--Ginny and I have classes with Professor McGonagall in a few minutes."

For a moment, rage flared in Dean's mind at the little runt mentioning Ginny in the same breath as him; a thought quickly replaced by his realization that the two were a year below him, supplemented with a sigh of relief as he remembered that Potions--which was his first class after breakfast--was suspended for the day.

He watched as Colin turned to Hermione and said, "I'll bring the beans with me to Professor McGonagall if that's all right?"

Hermione nodded at the offer, and looked at Lavender and Parvati who had also stood up, saying they would also fetch their beans to turn over to Colin--a statement quickly affirmed by the others with beans to surrender. The discussion had given Harry his chance--the moment Hermione finished with the others, all she could see was Harry's retreating back as he scampered out of the Hall and she stood silently, chewing her lower lip in that most Hermione of all gestures and then, with a resigned sigh, she picked up her book and shoved it into her bag.

"I'm going to the library; Colin, make sure that you turn over all the beans to Professor McGonagall or there'll be hell to pay."

"Sure, Hermione," the young man said, all aglow with the responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders as well as the knowledge of having done a favor for the icon of his fan club. Colin's moment of glory faded quickly, however, as Hermione sent him a glare that said, in no uncertain words, that she knew what he had just done--and he should be watching his back, as well as his camera, in the days ahead.

Dean slumped in his chair as he watched as Hermione and the others leave the Hall, the resolution he'd reached earlier that day in tatters as his mind went over everything that had occurred since he'd stepped into the Hall. He sighed as he thought about what had to be done--and nearly jumped out of his chair when Ron Weasley sat across from him, Seamus and Neville on either side.

"All right, mate," Ron said. "What's going on?"