Krum Do I Love?

Krum Do I Love? - Chapter 2

Sobering

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Ron seemed normal enough once he and Harry left the Great Hall. His fury seemed have subsided, and he was even able to hold a normal conversation about the Potion ingredients for the upcoming class.

The ingredients were especially important, since this was going to be a practical lesson. Snape had warned them in advance that they were going to try the Aging Potions they were going to brew on themselves. Ron busied himself lining up his flasks before the lesson began. The door to the class opened, and, looking up to see who was there, he dropped the one with the black beetle shells to the floor.

Draco Malfoy came in, but that wasn’t the worst part. He came in with Hermione. Goyle and Crabbe came right behind them. Hermione didn’t look at Malfoy when she stepped towards her cauldron, but it was obvious she walked with him from the Great Hall, where they sat side-by-side. It was also obvious Goyle and Crabbe were now her goons as well.

"Making new friends?" Ron broke the two weeks long silence between them with a venomous remark.

"Not really," said Hermione, and turned her back to him, showing sudden interest in her own flasks and jars.

Harry was just as surprised to see her walk in with Malfoy, but he knew she would never willingly spend more time with him than she had to. "Get off her, Ron," he said. "It’s time you apologise to her and start talking to her again. I can see you miss her." As he saw Ron’s shocked face, he added hastily, "As your friend."

Hermione turned to look at them. She didn’t really want to look so eager, but she was too curious to see Ron’s reaction. His miserable expression almost made her smile.

"I’m sorry, Hermione," Ron said with sincerity.

"Oh, and you think that’s just going to make it all right?" Hermione said. She didn’t mean to be harsh, but the large ‘F’ on her assignment was still burned on her retina.

"Er... I’ll never take another assignment from you without your permission?" tried Ron.

Hermione looked at him, her mouth twisted to one side.

Harry looked at her surprised. He thought Ron’s apology was exactly what she wanted. "There’s not much more he can do," he said convincingly.

"Oh, yes there is," said Hermione with a devilish smile. "He can peel the slugs for my potion."

"Oh! Yuck!" called Ron. "You know I hate slugs, especially since that accident I had on the second year!" He felt Harry’s elbow hard in his ribs. "All right," he said obsequiously. "Hand them over." He stretched out his hand, bowing his head low.

Harry laughed, and Ron and Hermione joined him, not before Hermione placed a jar full of slugs in Ron’s extended hand.

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This was the best Potions class Harry could remember. Hermione was helping him and Ron with their potions - none of them wanted to get a practical potion wrong. Snape was keeping his distance, and was satisfied with only giving Neville an occasional stern look.

"You think he’s got some evil plan he’s keeping for later?" asked Ron.

"Neh," said Harry, "he probably just knows who’s Hermione’s new boyfriend, and is afraid to do anything mean to her, or to us, for that matter."

Instead of calming dawn, Ron’s features hardened. Harry wondered if he would have preferred an evil plan by Snape. If he did, than judging by the horrible grin that suddenly spread on Snape’s face, he was about to get his wish.

"All right," said Snape. "Pour your potions into your goblets." He looked around to see that this order was carried out. "Good. Now, split into pairs. You will each drink your partner’s potion. Hope to god that your partners knew what they were doing."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and then looked at Hermione. It was obvious that each of them wanted to partner with her. Her potion was probably the safest one in the class. Before they could discuss the options, Snape appeared behind her, and grabbed her arm.

Hermione jumped, almost spilling the potion. "You’re with Malfoy," Snape ordered, and steered her towards the Slytherin area.

"Figures," muttered Harry. "Let’s hope that her help was enough to make our potions just as good." He handed his goblet to Ron, but the goblet met Snape’s blocking hand in mid-air.

"No, I don’t think so," Snape sneered. "Potter, you’re with Longbottom. Weasley, you’re with Thomas."

Dean Tomas’ seemed to relax, which made Harry’s agitation all the more evident. Not that he didn’t like Neville, he just knew his talent with potions, or rather, lack of it. With a shaky hand he took Neville’s goblet, and drained it in one gulp. He found comfort in the thought that whatever it was, it couldn’t have been something Madam Pomfrey couldn’t fix.

Harry watched Neville’s face as it mature slightly. It seemed that the potion Hermione helped concoct was working properly. Neville looked about a year older, and with any luck, the potion was perfect, and he would turn back to himself within half-an-hour.

Neville had his eyes fixed on Harry, the expression on his seventeen-year-old face turning rapidly to a horrified one. Harry was half-expecting that. He sat heavily on the chair, and felt his face with his hands. It didn’t seem much different. His body felt different, though. His robes were suddenly very tight, and his shoes applied tremendous pressure on his feet. He bent to take them off, and his legs felt much longer. He reached to his shoes, but overdid the motion, his arms were longer as well. This felt very much like the time he took the Polyjuice Potion that turned him into Goyle.

After taking off his shoes, and finding his skin in a normal colour (maybe just a little red), Harry looked at Neville again. His horror was turning into deep depression. "What is it?" Harry finally asked. His voice sounded oddly deep in his ears.

"I think I put in too much Boomslang Skin," Neville said sadly.

"I didn’t mean to ask what’s wrong with the potion," Harry said patiently, ready to accept whatever it was. "I meant - what’s wrong with me?"

"Oh," Neville said, looking even more dispirited than before. "You’re... old." He looked at Harry, as if expecting to be punched or, Harry realised, expecting the adult in front of him to give him detention.

"How old?" Harry said in a voice that came out more intimidating than he had meant. He felt his face again. He couldn’t feel any wrinkles under his fingers. He looked at his hands. They were large and had a somewhat darker tint than Harry was used to. The fingers were extremely long, like a pianist, only they lacked the delicacy required in that profession.

"Old," said Neville gravely. "Maybe even twenty-five or thirty."

[A/N: none of us should take offence in Neville’s statement. He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know any better.]

Despite the way Neville was taking it, Harry was relieved. Spending some time as an adult seemed harmless, and hopefully, the effect would expire in less than thirty minutes. He sat back and relaxed, waiting for time to take its affect. His eyes fell on Hermione.

She was standing in the middle of a group of snickering Slytherins. She looked adoringly at Malfoy. Harry hoped that she was just admiring the results of her work. She looked about twenty. Malfoy probably used too much Boomslang Skin in his Potion as well. She was extremely beautiful. Like good wine, age became her.

Harry couldn’t quite decide what exactly was the different about her, but there was a huge difference. This Hermione made his heart skip a beat. Maybe it was her height. She grew a lot taller during the last year, but the potion made her grow at least two inches more. Her robes reached the middle of her ankles. Harry wondered how Ron would look under the influence of the potion. He hoped he wouldn’t grow any more. Ron was tall enough as it was.

Harry tore his eyes away from Hermione and looked in the direction of Ron. Ron was not there. Where he had stood before, his robes were now hurled on the floor, moving as if something was trapped under them. Harry stared at it puzzled, and then realised what had happened. He rushed to him, and picked baby Ron up at about the same time Hermione got there.

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Hermione looked at Draco as he drank the potion. She knew she brew it exactly right, but still was a little nervous before it was tested.

"I drank yours," Malfoy drawled. "Drink mine."

Hermione examined the goblet in her hand suspiciously. It looked the right colour, but it was Malfoy who gave it to her.

"It’s not poisoned," he said, reading the expression on her face correctly. "I don’t want to fail Potions."

This argument sounded reasonable to her. Hermione took a deep breath and sipped the potion drop after drop, looking out for unwelcome effects. It tasted like beetles soaked in mud, which actually was almost the case, but she didn’t let herself gulp it to get over with it. When she was finally done, thankfully with no noticeable side effects, she sat down and waited, watching Malfoy as he slowly matured in front of her eyes.

Malfoy grew taller. Much taller. He wasn’t short to start with, but now she needed to stretch her neck to see his face. His shoulders became broader, and a tear appeared in his designer robes. His features became even sharper than they had been, and his platinum-blond hair came down on a high chiselled cheekbone. Not bad, thought Hermione, liking the effect of her potion.

The way Malfoy looked at her indicated that his potion had started taking affect as well. His stunned expression did not tell her if there was something wrong with the potion, or if he was he just amazed that it worked.

"You look about a year older," she stated cautiously. The only response she got was a blank stare. "What did your potion do?"

"It’s... you... Er..." Malfoy took a deep breath, and stopped stammering. This potion has a very odd side effect on me, he thought. He recreate something that looked like his normal smirk, but his voice, although deeper than normal, was quivering. "You’re going to grow up from a buck to a giraffe," he said, trying to sound sneering.

Hermione was so used to Malfoy’s abuses, that his stutter embarrassed her. She looked around, and her eyes fell on the heap of robes that used to hold Ron. It was quite obvious to her what has happened. Dean Thomas’ potion had a reverse effect. She rushed to Ron to see how bad it was.

As she reached for Ron, someone else picked him up. An adult man. She knew the man from the pictures in Harry’s family album, but never thought she’d meet him face-to-face. She gasped and drew back. The man in the pictures was very impressive, but she never realised how powerful his actual presence could be. The room seemed somehow filled with his aura.

He was taller than she was, even though, as Malfoy had put it, she had turned into a giraffe. He had very large hands, and held baby Ron easily balanced on one of his palms. In a maternal instinct she picked up Ron’s robes, and covered him. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach James’s lap properly. She looked at him, seeking approval, and all she could see were his emerald green eyes, penetrating her very soul.

This wasn’t James. The eyes were Lily’s. This was - "Harry?" she asked weakly. It had to be Harry. Neville’s potion must have aged him too much. He had Harry’s robes on, reaching to his ankles, and no shoes. Miraculously, his robes didn’t tear like Malfoy’s had, although his shoulders where at least as broad as Malfoy’s.

Without a word, Harry placed baby Ron in Hermione’s lap, giving him a light stroke as he did. His hand brushed against hers, making a shiver pass through her. "Are you all right?" He asked in a deep, concerned voice.

His words achieved the exact opposite goal than he had meant. The deep voice permeated into her head, and concentrated in a quivering ball at the scruff of her neck. She felt the small hairs there bristle, and shivered again.

Harry watched Hermione trembling. He decided that although she was a woman, the baby was probably safer with him. He took the bundle from her, his hand brushing against the silk of her skin, and felt her sake again, or was it him this time?

"I think you’d better sit down," he told her. She was very pale, and looked in serious danger of fainting. Could Malfoy have put something toxic in the potion he gave her? Hermione embraced the idea, and staggered to the nearest chair.

Hermione sat stiffly, trying to figure out what just happened. She could feel the shadow of the baby’s touch in her lap. She could feel a burning sensation where Harry’s arm touched her. She took a deep breath and relaxed. This isn’t James, she told herself. This is Harry. I know Harry. He is the same inside, just looks temporarily different. Get a grip.

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Harry took Ron to Snape. He knew that Snape wouldn’t like to help Ron, but he figured there wasn’t much of a choice. He didn’t know if Ron was aware of what was happening, but even if he was, it would be difficult for him to attend the day’s classes like this.

Snape was with his back to him, trying to assess the damage to the Slytherins. There weren’t any more seriously altered students. Their ages were something between twelve and twenty. No big deal.

"Professor?" Harry tried quietly.

Snape jumped two feet in the air, landing with his face to Harry, and his leg painfully in the corner of Millicent Bulstrode’s counter. "J...?" Snape began, and than caught himself. His eyes shot black fire at Harry. "Potter," he spat.

"I think Ron needs an antidote," said Harry, ignoring the furious look on Snape’s face. The Potions Master had no reason to be that angry with him. He was almost as furious as the time he had caught Harry sneaking to Hogsmeade.

"Take him to the hospital wing," said Snape, his gaze still threatening. "And for god’s sake, stay there with him until you are restored."

"You mean until he is restored," said Harry.

"I know what I meant," spat Snape. "Just go there."

Harry left the class, feeling unpleasant warmth spreading on his sleeve where baby Ron was lying. He tucked Ron’s robes beneath the baby and broadened his steps. Turning a corner, he came face to face with professor McGonagall. She stood in front of him, her mouth open, and then started to shake.

Harry didn’t know what to do. McGonagall was always a model of stability to the entire Gryffindor house. He thought an explanation was in order.

"It’s Ron. He’s ok, I’m taking him to Madam Pomfrey. We had an experiment with Aging Potions in professor Snape’s class today, and it went a little bad."

The explanation must have done the trick, because professor McGonagall stopped shaking. Her chin was still trembling, though. "I thought I’ve seen a ghost," he said softly.

"There are ghosts in the castle," said Harry, puzzled.

"Not that kind of ghost," McGonagall shook her head. "For goodness sake, go to the infirmary, and stay there until the potion wears off."

This was too close to what Snape had said. "Why?" asked Harry.

"You look a lot like your father," she said sadly, and then rushed off before he could say another word.

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Harry doubled his steps to the hospital wing. Everyone was acting very strangely. He knew that Madam Pomfrey was not the type to ask any questions or to make any sentimental remarks. Not that McGonagall or Snape where, but she was also used to seeing the students at their worst.

As he expected, Madam Pomfrey let him in the infirmary without a word, although she did seem a bit pale. He quickly explained the situation to her, and the colour return to her face. She showed Harry to a bed, and ordered him to put Ron on it. With a wave of her wand she created a rail around the bed, preventing Ron from rolling over to the floor.

She examined Ron carefully, waving her wand up and down in front of him. Ron tried to grab the tip of the wand, complicating her job. When she was finished with him, she moved on to Harry.

"I’m fine," he said, trying to shake her off.

"I’ll be the judge of that," said Madam Pomfrey, completely ignoring Harry’s protest. She spent the next few minutes waving her wand in front of his face.

When she was finally done, Harry noticed Ron trying to climb over the rail of the bed, and jumped to stop him. Ron was still just a baby, but his head was now covered with red fluff, and he was heavier.

"He’s maturing very rapidly," said Madam Pomfrey, looking very pleased. "You are getting better too, I think that you’ll both be out of here for supper."

"But there’s noting wrong with me," argued Harry. Surely Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t make him stay there just to baby sit Ron. The baby started pulling Harry’s socks, trying to remove them.

"Hey! That’s enough," Harry said grouchily. "And keep your robes on! Hey! Where are you running! Come back! You’ll catch a cold!"

Madam Pomfrey caught Ron and swung him in the air. "You’re both staying here," she exclaimed. "Him, or his own good, and you - for everyone else’s."

Harry looked at her shocked. "I’m not dangerous," he said.

"Dangerous? No. But people need to adjust. You do look a lot like your father." Harry thought he knew what she was talking about, but he still looked a bit perplexed. "There are a lot of people here who miss you father very much; me included," she finished with a sombre note.

Harry nodded, accepting her explanation. He was left alone with Ron, who just learned how to waddle, and practiced it by repeatedly escaping Harry’s grip and reaching to the potions counter.

"If you don’t stop that, I’m gonna let you drink that potion!" Harry threatened after Ron had grabbed the same ruby-red goblet for the fifth time. "And I have no idea what’s that going to do to you!"

"Probably not much, unless he’s suffering from Mandrake bites," Harry heard a familiar feminine voice behind him. He turned abruptly, Ron in his arms, causing him to spill the content of the goblet all over his loose robes.

"I didn’t mean to startle you," said Hermione, concealing a smile. She was almost back to herself, but Harry could still see the woman she was going to become in a few years.

"You look... better," he said, not knowing what he meant by ‘better’. He liked the way the potion changed her.

"I brought you your shoes," she said, holding Harry’s shoes for him. "You left them in Potions."

"Thanks,’ said Harry. "It’s nice that I won’t have to go to Snape for them." He placed them aside, knowing that they still wouldn’t fit. Ron stormed the shoes like they were sacks of Galleons. He started pulling the laces and trying to tie them together.

"He’s cute," said Hermione. "Shouldn’t he be wearing something?"

"You try," sighed Harry. "I’m just waiting for him to get a little older. Maybe he’ll grow some sense too"

"I doubt that," Hermione laughed. She covered her mouth with her hand, "Oh, please don’t tell him I said that!"

After waiting for a few more minutes, she remembered she had Herbology to attend. ‘Don’t worry,’ she promised. ‘I’ll bring you an extensive summary, along with all the homework. You’ll be able to catch up tonight.’ With that, she was off.

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Harry spent the rest of the morning watching Ron grow. Around noon, when Ron was about five, there was a sudden change in his expression. He looked at himself and turned very red, then he picked his dump beaten robes from the floor and wrapped them around himself.

"What happened?" he asked.

"What’s the last thing you remember?" asked Harry, trying to figure out how to explain an Aging Potion to a five-year-old.

"Potions, I was about to take Dean’s potions, OH!" he exclaimed. "I’m gonna kill Dean Thomas."

Hearing a small child chirping this threat with such seriousness made Harry laugh until his eyes watered. "In your condition, you can hardly give him a good kick," he managed to say between the howls of laughter.

"Ha, ha," piped Ron. He eyed Harry suspiciously, and then with more seriousness.

"You look a lot like your father, you know that?" He mused loudly.

After the awkward silence was over, Harry and Ron resolved to play games. They spent the entire afternoon playing Exploding Snap, which was even more of a special treat, since it annoyed Madam Pomfrey to great extent. They watched each other move closer in age to one another, and by dinnertime, the nurse was either satisfied with their age, or angry enough to send them off, looking even more relieved than the boys.

They were both very hungry, having eaten only sandwiches and chocolate for lunch, but they both lost their appetite the minute they set foot in the Great Hall. They saw Hermione sitting at the Slytherin table, laughing with that over-grown boyfriend of hers and his sly Slytherin peers. This sight made their stomachs suddenly shrink to a non-digesting size.

They left the Great Hall, each going his own way – Harry went to the Gryffindor common room to practice the spell he was preparing for Ginny for tomorrow’s ball. Ron went to snoop around the Ravenclaw dormitories, to see if he could still find a date for that ball.

They both spent an unpleasant, though fertile evening. Harry felt he had the glowing hair spell well under control, although he wished he could test it on Hermione one more time. Ron set a date with Padma Patil, again, knowing that this will be the third year in a row that he and Padma will enter the Great Hall together, and forget about each other immediately after their grand entry. Both boys went to bed with hearts full with worries, and in complete contradiction, empty stomachs.

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A high, shrewd voice woke Harry up. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. The voice, which had been very clear in his ears just moments earlier, was beginning to dissolve along with his dream. Nightmares where a regular thing in Harry’s life, and he often woke up after witnessing Voldemort spread his horrors Usually he was drenched in cold sweat, and biting his lips to avoid screaming.

Harry never got used to these nightmares. He was actually more afraid of getting used to them than of the dreams themselves. But he had no reason to worry. He wasn’t even one step closer to accepting torture and death than he had been the day Cedric Diggory had died.

But this was no regular vision of Voldemort’s atrocities. For one, his scar didn’t hurt as badly in it usually did. It did have a nudging sore sensation, but it wasn’t pain. There were other, less tangible differences. The dream didn’t feel quite as real as his past visions, although it disappeared the same way. Harry lay back on his pillow, smiling broadly. Of course. This wasn’t a vision. This was a perfectly ordinary bad dream. A simple bad-dream was good. It meant no one had actually died.

As Harry lay in bed, his eyes open and a happy smile on his face, the images of the dream came back him, slowly taking away his smile. Voldemort was in his dream. He kept saying the same words: "morsmorde corpus sculper" and touched Harry’s arm with his wand. Now that Harry remembered it, he felt a sting in his forearm, where the dream wand had touched it.

Harry peeled his sleeve off carefully, and looked at his arm. On the skin above the centre of the pain was a shapeless red mark. It looked like a large mosquito bite, but Harry knew better. There were no mosquitoes in Hogwarts. Especially not in the winter. He rubbed the soaring stain, watching it change its colour to white when his fingers pressed on it.

Harry held his arm in front of his eyes, wondering if this could have been a spider bite. He didn’t mind spiders very much, having grown up with a bunch of them in his cupboard, but he knew that those creatures should be taken very seriously in the magical world. He had learned that in his second year, when he met with Aragog in the Forbidden Forest. For several minutes Harry felt the stinging sensation slowly fade away, and with it, the mark was gradually disappearing. Eventually, the mark was gone, and Harry went back to sleep, thinking nothing more of it.

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Christmas was a day of traditions at Hogwarts. It began with the customary opening of the Christmas gifts, which were basically the same gifts every year. Especially the ones from the Weasleys. Then, it was time for a magnificent Christmas breakfast, followed by some recreation in the common room (except for Hermione who broke her Christmas-morning studying tradition and went somewhere with Krum). Christmas lunch wasn’t something to disparage. Even Hermione and the Slytherins couldn’t spoil this one for Ron and Harry.

Harry spent the meal pampering Ginny, convincing her to eat something. Ginny spent the meal trying to keep her mouth closed of fear that she wouldn’t fit into her new dress robes. Ron went over to the Ravenclaw table to sit with Padma. He felt he should be nice to her, this being their third Yule ball together. Anyway, the Ravenclaw table was closer to the Slytherin table, and he could almost hear what Hermione and Krum were talking about.

After lunch, everyone who was still able to move went outside for the traditional Christmas snowballs fight. The snowball throwing was very quickly turned into a competition between the houses. Gryffindors were throwing balls on Hufflepuffs, Hufflepuffs were throwing snow on Ravenclaws, and Ravenclaws returned the honour to the Gryffindors. Only the Slytherins were left to throw snowballs on themselves.

At some stage, Harry decided to try to include Hermione in their game. She had thrown some symbolic balls in his direction, but so far he had ignored her. If she chose to play with the Slytherins, than she should boil in her own stew. After a while, though, he felt sorry to see Hermione’s distress, and decided to cheer her up with one small white token. She bent down at the last minute, and the ball went past her, right into Draco Malfoy’s face. Draco immediately retaliated with a snowball that missed Harry, and got Lavender Brown instead.

From there, everything turned into a blur of white balls flying through the air. The friendly fight turned into a furious contest between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The smart Ravenclaws and hard-working Hufflepuffs gradually edged away from the line of fire, and continued with the harmless games on the other side of the Quidditch pitch.

Most of the girls retired to the dormitories long before it was dark. When the last rays of the sun shone over the school grounds, the boys retired as well, partly because they thought they couldn’t get the boys of the rival house any wetter, and partly because it was difficult to throw well with their sleeves turning into ice cubes. They all went to join the girls in their preparations for the ball.

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Hermione awoke up on Christmas morning feeling very lightheaded. She spent the previous evening in the library with Viktor. He knew the answer to every question she had, and with his help, she had already finished her Christmas chores. All she had to look for was a day with him.

Getting out of bed, Hermione almost tripped over her Christmas presents. She was so enthusiastic about getting ready to meat Viktor that she nearly forgot about them.

The small pile contained very predictable gifts. Hermione dug in there until she found what she was looking for, right at the bottom. Viktor had left her a small package, wrapped in glimmering gold.

She tore the wrapping with some difficulty, and found a small beautiful wooden box inside. The box was cherry-brown, with ancient-looking black carvings. Hermione opened the box gently. Inside, resting on magenta- coloured plush, was a thin golden necklace with a pendant that looked like a simple white stone.

There was a note attached to the box. Hermione took it out and read Viktor’s tidy, curled handwriting. It said:

An emotions recorder with only the shadow of my feelings for you. Put it on your lovely neck, and think of me.

Love, Viktor

Hermione took the delicate necklace out of the box. She expected the stone to pull the necklace down, but it was surprisingly light. It hovered about the necklace like it was completely waitress. She placed it over her head, and was forced to sit down on her bed.

A wave of feelings washed over her. She felt a strong love, with no particular subject to that love. She remembered what the note said - "think of me". She tried to concentrate on Viktor. A flow of faced rushed through her head - Harry, her parents, Ron, McGonagall... Then she was able to visualised Viktor’s face.

She leaned backward until she was lying on her back, and let the sweet sensation take over all her senses. The feeling was overwhelming, and she suddenly felt a strong craving to be with him. She hurriedly put some clothes on, and rushed out of her room, down the stairs, past the empty common room and through the portrait hall. She was determined to find Viktor.

Her task couldn’t have been easier. In her hurry, she ran straight into his open arms, as he was waiting for her right outside the portrait hole. She jumped back with a start, but when she saw whose arms these were, she threw herself back into his embrace, shivering with gratification.

"I thought you vould open your presents right about now," he said softly, holding her tightly against her shiver. He reached to the necklace, and gently removed it from her neck.

Hermione was jerked back to reality the minute the white stone left her skin. The events of the last few minutes looked like a dream to her. A particularly sweet dream, but unreal all the same.

"What is this?" she asked, still shaken.

"An emoplifier. You can record your feelings on it vith the specified spell. Whoever puts it on vill feel vhat you had at the time of the recording. I thought ov you when I used the recording spell on it." He suddenly looked timidly at her. "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" said Hermione with shiny eyes. "It’s wonderful! I’ve never felt anything like it!"

He suddenly looked very sad, and Hermione realised what she had just said. "I mean, never had these feelings because of an object," she hurriedly correct herself.

Viktor smiled, accepting her explanations. He calmly led the way towards the Great Hall for Christmas breakfast, but for Hermione, the damage was done. She knew that the correction was only to appease his mind. The truth of the matter was that she didn’t have the same feelings for him, or for anyone.

She tried to comfort herself, thinking that her emotions don’t have to be of the same intensity to be real. But she wasn’t convinced. She remembered the faces that flashed through her head before she was able to concentrate on Viktor. Her family, Harry, Ron - of course they were there, they where her best friends, but even professor McGonagall came before him.

She sneaked a quick glance at the one who should have been her lover when he wasn’t looking. Maybe being a great kisser wasn’t everything. Or maybe, she mused, the order of the people she saw in the light of the emoplifier didn’t really matter. She did see Harry even before her family, and he was just her friend, just like Ron. Or was he?

Hermione stopped walking, and when Viktor turned to see what was wrong, she initiated a passionate kiss with him, trying to chase any other thought from her head. It worked like magic. They stood by the door to the Great Hall for several minutes, entangled in a long, mind-overtaking kiss, completely oblivious to the students who went giggling past them. They only broke the kiss when Hermione’s legs could no longer hold her. Viktor supported her all the way to the Slytherin table, allowing her to gradually walk on her own once again.

When breakfast was over, Hermione showed no hesitation in following the Slytherins to their common room. She walked inside, her fingers interlaced with Viktor’s, holding on to him just slightly firmer than necessary.

Harry and Ron visited the Slytherin common room briefly on their second year at Hogwarts. They gave Hermione a very detailed description, so nothing in the room surprised her. Still, the high-backed carved chairs, the green lamps hanging on their chains of silver snakes, and the eeriness of the dungeon made her feel even more out of place.

Hermione didn’t realise how frightened she really was of being in the Slytherin sanctuary, until the stone wall closed behind her. She let Viktor stir her to a chair by the fireplace, and sat on it, her back stiffer that the wooden back of chair. She stared intensely at the carved mantelpiece, trying to ignore the rest of her surrounding. She didn’t know how long she sat like that, holding Viktor’s hand, studying every feature of the mantelpiece. She did know that the Slytherins around, in an odd gesture of consideration, gave her time to adjust.

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Draco looked gloomily at the Mudblood girl as she desecrated the sacredness of the Slytherin common room. In all of Hogwarts year, no Mudblood had ever set foot in there. He watched the invader through narrowed eyes. Her pretty face was twisted in a terrified expression. This was good. This is the way Mudbloods should always look. Terrified. Her fear made her look less pretty, which was also very good. Draco didn’t like the untamed ideas that came into his head when she looked her best.

Still, he felt he owed her boyfriend enough to at least try and make her comfortable as long as she was with him. Once Krum got his senses back, he’d get back at her. Get back at her for sitting in the pureblood sanctuary. Get back at her for making him act nicely to her. Get back at her for the horrible thoughts she put in his head. Thoughts took no consideration in pure bloodlines whatsoever.

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The first to address Hermione after her muscles started to relax was Draco Malfoy. He did it more for Viktor than for her, that was certain. She turned to him, knowing that he spoke, but she not hearing the words. He sat some distance from the fireplace, opposite of her and Viktor. The fire glowed on his face, giving him a darker semblance and making his hair look like it was made of the finest sterling.

"I asked if the flowers are still in good condition," he repeated.

"Oh, yes, they’re wonderful. Spreading light and music all over the girls dormitories." She gave Viktor a thanking smile, and then turned to smile at Malfoy the same way, thanking him for not saying anything nasty to her.

"Doesn’t that make it hard to fall asleep?" asked Pansy Parkinson with an interested expression.

"Not really," Hermione said pensively. " The colours and humming adjust themselves to the surrounding. When we get into beds, the lights turn into soft indigo, and the flowers hum a lullaby. It’s very pleasant, actually. I don’t know how I’ll go to sleep without it when the flowers are no longer fresh."

"Don’t worry, my love," Viktor squeezed her shoulder. "Ve vill just have to make sure you alvays haff fresh humming geraniums." He gave her a loving smile. His smile reminded her of the emoplifier, and she felt a pinch in her chest. Was she being fair to him? Should she talk to him about her doubts? Not today. Not on the day of the ball.

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The rest of the morning went rather pleasantly. Hermione became somewhat accustomed to the colours and shadows of the Slytherin common room, and they no longer intimidated her. The Slytherins themselves were civil to her, even Malfoy. She didn’t care that the only thing keeping him from putting a curse on her was Viktor’s arm around her shoulders. What mattered was that he didn’t pull out his wand.

They all went together for lunch, and then went outside to play in the snow. In the beginning, they all threw snowballs at each other, and then Hermione felt something new. For the first time, she felt the isolation of the Slytherin house. The feeling of not really being accepted by the other houses of Hogwarts. Every student of the other houses ignored the group of Slytherins, who, so to speak, turned a cold shoulder to the other three quarters of the school.

This was a new notion. She actually felt sympathy towards the outcast Slytherins. She formed a large snowball and threw it at Harry. She won’t let him ignore her. But he did. Her snowballs caught him one after the other, and were not returned. She was almost desperate when she saw a familiar spark in Harry’s eye, and the snowball in his hand flew in her direction.

She was so grateful to him, that she wanted to let the snowball get her, but her instincts made her bend down at the last minute. Harry’s ball got Draco Malfoy instead. She was sure Malfoy would be furious and try to curse Harry, but he didn’t. Before he twisted his face into an ugly scorn, she could just see the spark of delight pass through his eyes. For a fraction of a second, his eyes were warm azure. Then, they turned back to their ice-cold as he worked to retaliate.

The snow-fight that developed was more than Hermione intended. The Slytherins and Gryffindors were way too serious about getting each other covered with snow, but it was still fun. Sometime in the afternoon, she decided to go to her dormitories, to get ready for the ball. She wasn’t practiced in beauty charms, and didn’t want to get it wrong. She also needed quite some time to get into her complicated new dress robes.

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