Where the Wild Things Are

Chapter 6

The room was dark when Harry awoke. He felt terribly stiff and cold; as though he'd been sleeping outdoors on the hard ground. He sat up and looked around the room. He realised with a jolt that he was in the same bedroom that he had shared with Ron the year before.

Grimmauld Place... Harry vaguely remembered Lupin saying that a magical Inheritance Contract had kept Grimmauld Place within the Black family. Upon Sirius' death, the house had passed to Bellatrix Lestrange. The Order had been made to find new headquarters, and the Weasleys had volunteered the Burrow. That Death Eaters might turn up at Grimmauld Place had always been a possibility, but Harry never thought Voldemort would make it their centre of operation. It made him ill to think that Sirius' old home was being used for such a purpose.

"Good morning, sunshine," came a voice from the corner, and Harry felt an abrupt and unaccountable sense of unease. Sheridan came striding into the room, carrying a tray of food and water. Harry shuddered, filled with a sudden uncomfortable sensation that a window which he couldn't close had opened somewhere in his mind. He pulled the blankets protectively around him and shut his eyes, trying to rid his mind of thought and emotion.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, placing the tray in front of him.

"Like a baby," he said dryly, opening his eyes. He glanced warily at the tray in front him.

"Well, it must at least be nice to be back in your godfather's house," she said conversationally, sitting down at the foot of the bed, her stare trained on Harry. "Sure, its being used by Death Eaters is sickening, but still..."

Harry grimaced at the reminder of Sirius, and looked away, wishing she would break her unrelenting gaze.

"Nice try," Sheridan said. "The Sidhe are empathic; I feel what you feel. I've got to say, the grief, mixed with a healthy dose of guilt..." She gave a delighted shiver. "Teenagers are so much fun."

Harry sighed, giving up his attempts at Occlumency. He'd always been rubbish at hiding his emotions. It was a miracle he'd managed to keep Voldemort out of his head this long. He supposed the Fae had methods more effective than Legilimency, against which Occlumency was little defence.

"Eat up, won't you Harry?" she said.

Harry reached hesitantly for the crystal glass. He cringed to think what Moody would say if he knew Harry was accepting food and drink from a known enemy. But despite the feeling of psychological vulnerability that seemed to follow Sheridan wherever she went, Harry somehow felt there was nothing to fear.

"So... How did you all know where to find us, anyway?" Harry asked casually, taking a deep gulp from the water goblet.

Sheridan grinned, as if remembering a private joke. "You have enemies within Hogwarts, Harry, as well as without. Children of the current Death Eaters, to begin with. There is one particularly driven young man. Seemed most anxious to assist in your capture."

Harry sighed. Of course.

"So it was Malfoy then?" Harry asked. "How did he find out where we were, I wonder?" He shook his head. "Git."

Sheridan shrugged. "Draco Malfoy might surprise you."

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. "How?"

"Well," Sheridan continued, "his relationship with the Weasley girl, just to begin with-"

Harry choked on his water and sprayed it out across his tray. He felt as though something very heavy and boiling hot had dropped into his stomach.

"What?!" he roared. "Ginny? With Malfoy?! You're lying."

Sheridan winced and leaned back. "Get a grip, won't you? That hurt."

"You're lying," Harry said again. "Ginny would never..."

"No? How else do you think he discovered your whereabouts, or how to enter the Burrow?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but the heavy feeling in his stomach seemed to have expanded to his throat. Ginny would never have sold them out, especially not to Draco. How could she have? But Sheridan's question hung over him. How had Malfoy known where they were, or how to get in?

Sheridan smirked. "So that's the red-head I saw. Hmmm. You know, in one as noble as you, seething jealousy really doesn't fit. Green just isn't your colour."

Harry scowled. "I'm not jealous," he said firmly. Of course he wasn't; Ginny was Ron's sister for crying out loud. But... Malfoy? No, Sheridan had to be wrong. Ginny would never do that.

"No," Sheridan said, grinning slightly. "Of course you're not."

Harry glowered and opened his mouth again, when the bedroom door swung open. Lucius Malfoy marched in, followed closely by Bellatrix. They seemed in the middle of an argument.

"Lucius, stop," Bellatrix was saying. "The master told you to leave her be. You mustn't disobey him."

"Let go of me, Bella," Lucius answered. "Ah, Sheridan. We were just discussing the, how shall I say it...'efficiency' of your methods." It was then that Lucius spotted the tray sitting in front of Harry.

"I see," he said. "So, not only are you not doing the task for which you were brought here, but you're actually socializing with the prisoner."

Sheridan glanced at Harry and rolled her eyes, standing up.

"I'm sure the Dark Lord would be most interested to hear this."

"Oh yes, do," Sheridan said. "Run to Daddy and tell him how the mean little fairy is keeping the prisoner from starving. Be sure you don't forget your blankey, too."

"He is not a guest, Sheridan, and he is not to be treated as such."

Sheridan shook her head. "Be honest for a moment Lucius. This isn't about Harry. What is it you're so frightened of? I don't expect you to trust me; in fact I'd think you a fool if you did. But there's no need for such mortal terror. I don't bite." She glanced at Harry and grinned, winking. "At least, not without dinner and a movie."

Lucius gritted his teeth, his hand twitching toward his cloak. "I am not frightened of you. I simply see no purpose in your presence here, when you obviously haven't the ability, nor the inclination to do your job."

"I don't suppose the thought ever entered that miniscule head of yours that perhaps I actually know what I'm doing here," Sheridan said, gesturing to the tray of food.

"What," Lucius said cynically. "Did you put Veritaserum in his drink?"

Harry's heart sank. He hadn't eaten much of the food yet, but he had drunk a good bit of the water before choking on it.

"Oh, please," said Sheridan, rolling her eyes again. "You humans have such crude methods of gleaning information. No, I have done nothing extraordinary to his food, I have no secret plan. I merely find it difficult and rather tedious to explore the depths of a mind that is too preoccupied with such basic things as hunger and thirst to concentrate on anything else."

"And has it worked?" Lucius asked, sounding sceptical. "Have you learned the Prophecy?"

"Actually," Sheridan said, examining her fingernails, "I have."

* * *

The clock in the Gryffindor common room struck midnight, and Hermione was still sitting in front of the fire. Everyone else had gone to bed hours ago, except for Ron. He had not yet come back to Gryffindor Tower, and Hermione was determined to wait for him.

Ron hadn't spoken to her since their fight the previous day. He had opted to travel back to Hogwarts with Ginny and Neville instead; leaving Hermione to travel with Harry. Fortunately, they were joined at the train station by several members of the DA, and Hermione had been spared from being alone with him.

What had happened? Before Ron had come in, it seemed like Harry had been about to... No. Harry would never do that to Ron. And anyway, Harry didn't fancy her; the whole thing was crazy.

But then she remembered her conversation with Harry, just before holidays.

"Hermione... have I- have I ever told you..."

Hermione had cut him off then, assuming he had been trying to say that she and Ron were his family. Had she been wrong? Maybe he'd been trying to tell her something else. He had certainly seemed uncomfortable when she and Ron had got together. What would have happened yesterday, if Ron hadn't interrupted? What did she hope would have happened?

Hermione shook her head. No. She loved Ron. She had always loved Ron. If only he would come back, she could tell him that.

Finally, just when Hermione was beginning to think Ron wasn't going to return at all, the portrait hole opened, and he came through it.

Hermione stood up.

"There you are. I've been waiting for you."

"Why?" Ron asked.

"What do you mean 'why'?" Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady. "You won't even look at me. Look, I was worried about my parents. I'm sorry, okay?"

Ron folded his arms across his chest and stared at the ground.

"Ron, please? I'm sorry," she said desperately. "Isn't there some way I can fix this?"

"That depends," Ron said, and looked up at her. "What exactly did I walk in on yesterday with you and Harry?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but the words seemed to stick in her throat.

"I- nothing!" she said, her voice rather higher than it usually was.

Ron asked, looking sceptical. "It didn't look like nothing to me." He shook his head and turned away, heading for the stairs.

No, Hermione thought. He was getting away. Seized with a sudden panic, she ran to him and threw her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his back.

"Ron, please, I swear!" She was speaking very fast, desperate to make him believe her. "Of course there was nothing like that! It's only ever been you, since we were kids. Why do you think I hated Fleur so much? Please, you have to believe me. There was nothing, I promise."

Ron was silent for a moment, and Hermione buried her face in his robes, choking back tears. After a minute that seemed to last a lifetime, she felt him raise his hands to hers, and pry them loose, pulling away from her as he did.

Hermione fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands.

But then, she felt Ron wrapping his arms around her, and her heart leapt right up into her throat. A sigh of almost hysterical relief escaped her, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

"It's okay," Ron, whispered. "It's okay, I believe you."

Hermione sighed again, overwhelmed with relief. It was okay now. Everything would be okay.

* * *

"What's up, Gin?" Her dorm-mate Charlotte asked. "Something the matter?"

"Nothing's working," Ginny replied, more to herself than in reply to Charlotte. "I've tried every glamour spell I can think of, and nothing makes a difference."

"Well what's wrong?" Charlotte asked, coming over to examine Ginny's face in the mirror. "You look fine to me. Pretty, even. Dean will be totally sorry he ditched you."

Ginny sighed. The news that she and Dean had broken up had circulated fairly quickly, along with plenty of rumours as to why, each more ridiculous than the last. As Ginny didn't feel like clarifying the particulars, she had let everyone believe what they wanted.

"Come on, Gin, you can't mope around here forever. It's been days! You've got to start dating again. You want me to do a hemming charm on your skirt, make it a little shorter?"

Ginny managed to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. "Thanks, no. You head down to breakfast; I'll be there in a bit."

Charlotte shrugged. "Whatever."

Ginny turned absently back to her reflection and sighed. After a long moment she shook her head and snorted in disgust, turning away from the mirror. No matter what she did, nothing helped.

When she arrived in the common room, Harry was sitting on a couch and flipping absently through his photograph album. Her breath caught in her throat and her stomach flipped over uncomfortably. She wavered for a moment, before stepping into the room and clearing her throat.

"Morning, Harry," she said hopefully.

Harry looked up at her for a moment, as if considering whether or not to speak to her.

"What do you want?" he asked, with a vicious edge in his voice.

Ginny felt her heart sink. She didn't know what she'd been expecting. Nothing had changed.

"Harry, please. I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness-"

"That's right, you don't," Harry said shortly. He shut his book with a snap and got up from the couch, making his way to the door.

Ginny moved forward, unthinking, and reached for him, grasping desperately at his arm. "Harry, please, I'm so sorry I-"

She reeled backwards, the floor rising up swiftly to meet her, her cheek stinging and tears springing to her eyes. Harry was standing over her, rubbing the back of his hand.

"Don't touch me, you filthy whore." He turned away then, his footsteps echoing in the empty room.

His words hit Ginny hard, harder almost than the back of his hand had. She could feel something inside her shattering, screaming out in agony, her heart breaking all over again.

Harry paused in the portrait hole, speaking softly over his shoulder. "Don't come near me again, Ginny."

Ginny closed her eyes, feeling her tears stream down her face, the too-familiar taste of salt spreading across her tongue. When she finally looked up, she was alone in the room.

Harry was gone.

* * *

Harry was being dragged by a silent, faceless Death Eater down the hall, until he was shoved roughly into the drawing room. As he passed through the door, he felt as though the temperature had dropped several degrees. Sheridan was leaning against the fireplace, looking bored and uninterested, and Harry supposed her presence accounted for the sudden feeling of naked vulnerability that gripped him. The room was nearly empty this time. Only Voldemort was sitting in the chair by the fireplace, with Bellatrix standing behind him, and Lucius standing off to the side. With the exception of Voldemort, whose face was as unreadable as ever, the others in the room looked as though they felt the same sense of discomfort and vulnerability that Harry did.

"Ah, Potter," said Voldemort. "Excellent. Now we may proceed. Sheridan?"

Sheridan looked up from the fire. "Oh, is it my turn now?"

Lucius narrowed his eyes at her, speaking through gritted teeth. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" she asked, a barely-contained smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth as she mocked him. "I thought you might like to rant about my 'inefficient methods' for a few more minutes."

"Sheridan," Voldemort said, with a note of warning in his voice. "Please, proceed."

"Fine, spoil my fun," she pouted.

"Lucius and Bellatrix tell me you have discovered something of value in Potter's mind," Voldemort said, glancing briefly at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

Harry held his breath, feeling almost sick to his stomach at the thought of what information she might have got from him. Even forgetting the prophecy, there was any number of things he knew about the Order.

A hint of a grin tugged at the corners of Sheridan's mouth. "Ah, yes. Your prophecy. I don't see why you're so fussed about it; it's nothing special."

Something in Sheridan's tone told Harry that she knew exactly what Voldemort was so fussed about. He glanced with apprehension at Voldemort, but his face betrayed nothing.

"But then," Sheridan continued, "perhaps these words will mean something to you that they don't to me." She took a breath and closed her eyes, concentrating. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..."

Lucius cut in impatiently. "Have you nothing more interesting to offer the Dark Lord than a repeat performance?"

Sheridan opened her eyes and glowered at Lucius. "Not if you're going to keep interrupting me, Lucius. Really, my Lord, you should keep better control over your pets."

Voldemort glared dangerously at Lucius, who averted his eyes and stepped back, muttering an apology.

Sheridan closed her eyes again to continue. Harry kept his gaze anxiously on Voldemort as she spoke.

"The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives..."

She opened her eyes and grinned at Voldemort, almost defiantly. Lucius and Bellatrix held still. The expression on Voldemort's face was entirely indecipherable, though Harry felt his scar start to burn. Bellatrix was frowning.

"But, surely that's incorrect. You must have Read wrong. Why, it's preposterous. That would mean that-"

"Harry is the Chosen One?" Sheridan suggested. "Yes, I suppose I can see why that would be troubling. Your ultimate nemesis is a pubescent teen wizard with a persistent bad-hair-day. You know my favourite part though?" she asked, as if discussing a favourite film. "The bit about how 'the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal'. That's just great writing. With all the arts of the Sidhe behind me, I couldn't make the kind of mess you made in Godric's Hollow. The part I'm most curious about though, is the 'power the Dark Lord knows not.' I don't suppose you've any ideas what that might be. But then, the list of powers that you don't possess is rather extensive. I imagine it would be hard to narrow it down."

Lucius stepped forward again. "Insolent half-breed!" he spat. "You dare speak to the Master that way!" He drew his wand like a sword and pointed it at Sheridan's throat.

For the first time, Sheridan looked uneasy, and Harry felt an abrupt wrenching sensation, as if the window in his mind had slammed shut, leaving him suddenly alone in an empty void. Sheridan, her gaze focused intently on Lucius and his wand, took a step backwards.

"Lucius!" Voldemort said sharply. "Lower your wand."

"She must be punished, Master. She must not be allowed to treat you with such disrespect."

Voldemort's voice was low and menacing, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Do not make me say it again, Lucius."

Lucius glared daggers at Sheridan a moment longer before reluctantly stowing his wand safely back in his robes.

Sheridan stepped forward again, returning Lucius's infuriated stare. "I'd keep a tighter leash on your watch-dog, my Lord," she said, her voice seething with anger. "I'm sure I needn't remind you what happened the last time a wizard used a wand against us."

With this, she turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Hermione was just ladling her Draught of Living Death into a crystal vial for Snape when the bell rang, signaling the end of Potions and the beginning of lunch. She smiled to herself, pleased with her work. A quick, discreet glance around the room as she delivered her vial to Snape's desk told her that no one else had managed to produce the pale lilac colour described in Advanced Potion Making.

When she returned to her cauldron, though, her smile vanished instantly, turning instead to a look of shocked horror.

"Ron, what happened?" she asked, pulling out her wand.

Ron, with whom she'd been sharing her table, was kneeling next to her cauldron and trying to stop the steady flow of lilac liquid that was seeping out of the bottom.

"I don't know!" he said, giving up and backing away. "It just suddenly started leaking. It was only dripping at first, and then it started pouring out really fast. It must be a faulty cauldron!"

"I've had this cauldron for years; it's never caused any problems before." Hermione pulled her book bag protectively out of the way and began muttering an incantation to stop the flow, but it wasn't working. "Why isn't it stopping? I'm performing the charm correctly, I'm sure." The potion was flowing from the bottom just as quickly, the level in the cauldron steadily dwindling.

"You coming?" Harry called from the front of the room.

"In a bit," Ron called, not looking at him. "We'll meet you there."

Harry turned and left, leaving the door open behind him. Hermione noticed that Ron was still avoiding Harry where he could, and she couldn't really say she blamed him. She herself was doing her best to avoid being alone with him.

The classroom was nearly empty now, except for Snape at the front, eyeing Hermione and Ron at the back.

"Problem, Miss Granger?" he asked, sneering at the mess surrounding her cauldron.

"My cauldron's sprung a leak, sir, and I can't seem to make it stop."

"Pity," Snape said, standing in the doorway. "If you don't get it cleared up soon, you may miss your lunch hour." With this, he swept out of the room.

"That dirty, rotten-" Ron began, muttering various obscenities.

"It doesn't matter, Ron," Hermione said. "I'll manage. Here, take my bag, will you? I'll meet you in the Great Hall."

Ron hesitated briefly before taking her rucksack and carrying it out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"Tergeo," she said, siphoning away the pool that was slowly expanding across the floor. Having cleaned up the surrounding pond, she was able to get near enough to the cauldron to look into it. It was nearly empty now, revealing a large crack in the bottom, and she wondered how she could possibly have missed it. She pointed her wand at it and said "Reparo," but nothing happened. She knelt down next the cauldron on the side closest to the crack and said the incantation again, but still yielded no results.

From this vantage-point, she noticed that Ron's bag was stuffed in behind Harry's desk. This was especially odd as Ron hadn't been sitting with Harry. Confused, she stood up, walked across the room and retrieved it. Her cauldron momentarily forgotten, she opened the bag and peered into, unsure of exactly what she expected to find. There was nothing unusual there. There were a few extra quills, parchment, and rather fewer textbooks than she herself would have brought to class. There was nothing that might explain how it had gotten stashed across the room behind Harry's desk.

She shrugged, her brow still furrowed, and put it down on a nearby bench. She turned her attention back to her cauldron. She simply couldn't understand why a simple 'Reparo' charm wasn't working.

"You're still here," said a voice in her ear, and she almost fell over she whipped around so fast, letting out a small, startled scream.

"Sorry," Harry said, smiling at her. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You just startled me a little is all," Hermione said. "What are you doing back here?" she asked, taking a small step away from Harry and bumping into her cauldron.

"You weren't showing up for lunch. Can I help you?" He took a step toward her.

"Oh, no," she said, turning her back to him and focusing on the crack in her cauldron. "My cauldron just cracked, is all. I can't seem to repair it. I suppose I'll have to order a new one."

Harry moved to stand directly behind her, so close she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She froze, the hairs on her arms standing on end. He placed one hand on her arm, and reached around her with the other, pointing his wand at the rift in the pewter. Without saying a word, he shot a jet of blue light from his wand, and the break sealed itself instantly.

Hermione gasped, temporarily oblivious to Harry and his closeness. "How did you do that?" she asked, unsure if she was pleased her cauldron was fixed, impressed that Harry had managed it, or irritated that he'd been able to when she hadn't.

"It was nothing," he said, his left hand still on her arm. "Anything else I can... fix for you?"

Something in Harry's tone brought her sharply back to her situation. She stepped away from him, casting about for something to focus on.

"No, no, I'm fine. Although," she said, suddenly spotting Ron's bag, "you could bring Ron his bag. I need to head up to the common room for a bit. He'll need it though. Could you take it to him?"

"I don't want to take it to Ron," Harry said quietly, stepping closer. "I don't think he wants to see me either."

Hermione's heart was hammering against her ribs. "Well," she started, trying to contain the nervousness in her voice, "that's just because he's a little mistaken. He-" she faltered, unsure she wanted to bring up the subject of the last time they were alone together. She'd started now though; she couldn't very well stop. "I think he thinks that you-" she laughed a little, as though the idea were ridiculous, "that you like me, or something. Which is just ridiculous, of course. But when he walked in the other day, I think he thought that you were about to... to k-kiss me, or something." She laughed again, a little harder this time.

She could feel her cheeks reddening, and her heart was racing even faster. Harry was not laughing with her, or even smiling. He was staring straight into her eyes.

"And that's ridiculous," she said again, "right, Harry?"

He reached out and took a firm hold of her wrist. His hand was warm and dry, stronger than she'd have expected.

"Hermione," he whispered.

"Wait," she said. "Wait, Harry. Don't. Think of Ron," she said desperately. "He's your best mate."

Harry shook his head, tightening his grip on her wrist. "Not since he took you from me."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, an uncomfortable tingling sensation shooting down her spine. Her words came out stammering and breathless. "I... n-never knew that you... felt that way..."

"You never asked."

She averted her gaze, studying the dungeon floor.

"Harry..." She swallowed, the words sticking in her throat. "I'm with Ron."

"Forget him, Hermione," Harry said, and took one final step toward her, closing the gap between them. "He's not good enough for you."

Hermione's heart threatened to beat right out of her chest.

"Harry-"

"Shh," he whispered, taking her by the shoulders. He paused, as if listening for something. Then, the corner of his mouth curled into a slight grin, and he leaned toward her.

For a split second Hermione was torn between two instincts warring inside her; one screaming for her to run, the other urging her to stay. But before Hermione could obey either of them, Harry's mouth was covering hers, and her whole body froze.

For one, time-frozen moment, Hermione leaned into him. The urge to stay had won and a desire for Harry that she'd never known she had flared overwhelmingly inside her.

And then, unbidden, the instinct to run came screaming back to her. Harry's lips on hers felt suddenly jarring and wrong, like a puzzle piece, forced in where it didn't fit. She pulled away, repulsed, and wrenched herself from Harry's grip. She turned toward the door, to run away, and came face to face with Ron.

One look at his face told Hermione that he had seen everything. And one look at Harry's face told her that Harry had meant for Ron to see everything.

He was grinning at Ron, hatefully and triumphant.

"Hey, mate. You forgot your bag."