Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

‘You know, when you got all excited, I didn’t think you’d bring us here.’

After Hermione had all but dragged him from the Hospital Wing to the Great Hall and demanded that he eat a hearty dinner, Harry had expected for them to end back up in the classroom they had been in all day. He didn’t anticipate standing with Hermione once again in the Prefect’s Bathroom.

‘And where else did you think I was going to teach you how to swim?’ Hermione asked, raising her eyebrow at him.

‘I dunno - wasn’t there something about Hogwarts having a hidden swimming pool?’ Harry replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘That was just a rumour, which you’d know if you ever read-’

‘Hogwarts: A History,’ Harry said in chorus with her. He should really read it sometime soon.

‘Precisely,’ she said, before bouncing on the balls of her feet. ‘Okay, come on - let’s get on with it!’

She immediately removed her coat, and Harry laughed at her exuberance.

‘Sounds like you just want to get me back down to my boxers again,’ he teased, removing his own coat. He had expected her to roll her eyes - which she did, but he wasn’t expecting her cheeks to flush a pretty pink.

‘Harryyyyyy,’ she whined, though he could see the corners of her mouth curling up into a smile.

‘Just joking,’ he reassured with a grin, even though he was sure she already knew that.

She rolled her eyes again and sent him a look laced with fondness. Yeah, she knew.

Hermione pulled off her jumper, and Harry caught himself staring for a split second.

'Well,' she said, fiddling with her belt buckle, 'you're not entirely wrong.'

Harry froze with his fingers on his jeans zipper.

'What?' he asked, his mouth suspiciously dry while his heart jumped in his chest.

'You said you didn't want to learn how to swim in your boxers, so I figured that we could instead transfigure them into actual swimwear,' she explained, and Harry silently let out a breath and unfroze.

Oh. Of course it was because of that. They had talked about it yesterday; she had said she’d come up with a solution for today. And Hermione always delivered, he knew that. She was dependable, he knew that too. So why did he feel like… as if what Neville… and Parvati… why did he feel… as if he- as if she- as if…

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the train of thought. She didn’t- he didn’t- …he didn’t-

What was happening to him? His heart was acting funny, his cheeks were regularly burning, and now he was getting all confused with Hermione. He couldn’t tell if what he was feeling had anything to do with how he actually felt, or if they were being influenced by the crazy events and conversations that had transpired since Thursday night. Hermione was his friend, so why was he getting all flustered around her now?

Okay, yeah, sure, they’ve seen each other in their underwear, that was a big change (and yeah, she was really pretty, but he already knew that before seeing her like that, so it just confirmed it, really), and they had been really vulnerable with each other and shared things they had kept secret, but that’s all best friend stuff, right? It’s not as if she had confessed being in love with him or something, nor as if he had one of those dreams about her to make him question his feelings for her… though it was embarrassing when she came into the dorm this morning while he was cleaning up after one of said dreams.

The first time he had one of those dreams was the night after Hermione had turned in his Firebolt to Professor McGonagall. The girl in his dream was unidentifiable - he couldn’t tell never hold onto the details of her once he woke up, slipping out of his memory quicker than sand through fingers - but he remembered that she was a warm and safe person, both fiery and passionate while also sweet and soft in nature, and that he felt the wrong kind of good with her. Then when he saw Hermione that morning, his mind practically bombarded him with all the similarities between her and the faceless girl: they were both warm and safe; fiery and passionate; and sweet and soft… it was so startling that he was thrown completely off balance. He became absolutely mortified and couldn’t look her in the eyes.

So, instead of going up to her to talk to her about the Firebolt and try to resolve the matter as soon as possible, he avoided her, using the broom as his excuse. He didn’t know what else to do - he treasured his friendship with Hermione, and it felt like a kaleidoscope of wrong and sickeningly disrespectful to have her even remotely associated with the faceless dream girl. Besides, it was just meant to be for a couple of days so he could gather his bearings and be able to look Hermione in the eyes again. But then he had another dream. And another. And before he knew it, it had been a month. He had eventually learned to compartmentalise, though there were times where direct eye contact was still difficult, and then there was the guilt.

Because while he had learned that many a thing the Dursleys spouted weren’t true, he had to agree with Aunt Petunia on one thing - those types of dreams… they were shameful, reprehensible, abominable, sordid. Every time he had them he awoke to a mixture of heady excitement, and intense shame, disgust and guilt, and he had those kinds of dreams somewhat often. And if Hermione knew what his dreams of the mystery girl were like, she’d be disgusted by him too. Especially after the one he had last night.

It was embarrassing enough that she walked in on him cleaning the evidence this morning - he had to force the heat out with one of his unfortunately semi-frequent cold showers, staying under the ice-cold water until his body was shivering and shaking and the memory of the sinful dream was long forgotten. But the icy shower seemed to have no effect whatsoever on his new inability to be normal around Hermione. Like when his cheeks had flushed when he saw her in the Common Room after his shower before walking to breakfast together, or the way his gaze lingered on her when they were studying earlier and he noticed how her hair glowed in the sunlight while she read, or even the way his heart fluttered and cheeks warmed at her carefree giggles and laughter as they cased each other about in the snow… which brought him back to his original question:

What the hell was happening to him?

'Are you okay, Harry?'

He looked up to see Hermione looking at him with concern, sitting next to the towels in her black bra as she removed her stockings. His jeans were around his ankles sitting on his sneakers, and his shirt was still on.

'Hmm? Yeah, fine,' he answered, almost tripping over himself in his haste to remove his shoes. 'Just got lost in thought.'

'Clearly,' Hermione replied, her concern melting away as her teasing attitude emerged. 'Thinking about what style swimmers you wanted?'

Harry's cheeks heated up quicker than anything Seamus had ever accidentally set on fire.

'What? No,' he declared, his voice less grounded than he would've liked.

'Aha, I see, you were imagining what I'd be wearing, then,' she jested, setting her stockings aside. Harry burned.

'H- Hermione!' he cried, flinching as his voice broke.

'You started it,' she sing-songed, before Scourgifying her underwear. 'I just finished it.'

That felt like a challenge. He made eye-contact with her, and she looked like the cat that caught the canary.

Well, if that's the way she wanted to play it.

Harry was never the most confident of people, let alone with this new kind of banter he and Hermione had found themselves starting to explore, but as Hermione had pointed out on occasion, he could be rather sassy and confrontational, especially against his enemies, so he tried to tap into the facade of confidence he donned in those kinds of moments. …or was that perhaps blind stupidity? Perhaps both? Whatever it was, he tried to emulate it as he slowed down, making his motions more deliberate as he stepped out of his jeans and removed his shirt, calmly folding everything and setting them aside with his shoes, before Scourgifying his boxers and turning to face her. He had no idea what he was doing, but that didn’t seem to matter. She was definitely looking at him, just not as his eyes.

Dear Merlin. He was playing with fire.

‘And what if I was?’ he asked, steadfastly ignoring the pleasant zing that went through him as her eyes roamed over him.

She looked up at him, distracted. ‘Hmm?’

For some reason, her distractedness emboldened him.

‘What if I was? Thinking about what you’d wear?’ he repeated, his voice carrying a confidence he didn’t have, but for some reason he felt good. There was something thrilling about affecting her like this and the way she was looking at him; was this what she meant by “respectful appreciation, not objectification”? Because if this is how she felt on Thursday, then yeah, he got the appeal.

Suddenly, something shifted in her gaze, and she stood up and sauntered towards him with a self-assuredness that made him confident that he already lost this battle of willpower. He was a fool. He was a fool to think he could win against Hermione. But he wasn’t going to let her know that. This was a game of chicken, and he wasn’t going to back out, not now.

‘Then I’d ask you to show me exactly what you were imagining,’ she replied in a tone all too dangerous for his composure, lifting her chin up slightly, self-assured.

Yep, it was official. He operated off blind stupidity. That was the only explanation for his actions and his inability to back down even though he was clearly losing.

‘Is that right?’ he asked, stepping closer, like an idiot. What the hell was he saying? Did he have a death wish? ‘And how exactly would you want me to show you?’

Hermione smirked. That’s it. He was dead. Deceased. His tombstone would read: “Here lies Harry James Potter - The Boy-Who-Lived, who brought on his own downfall by stupidly challenging the Brightest Witch Of Her Age.”

‘Just like this,’ she said lightly. And then he felt a tightening around his hips and yelped.

He looked down and saw she had transfigured his boxers into forest green briefs, though the texture of the fabric was different.

‘Wha-?’ he all but squeaked out. Or rather chirped out, like the chicken he was.

He then heard a snort. His head shot up to find Hermione trying and failing to hold in her laughter. She snorted again before giving in and practically collapsing in laughter. Inexplicably, his own giggles started to bubble up, and then they were both laughing uncontrollably.

Harry didn’t even know why they were laughing, but he honestly didn’t care. It was so ridiculous, this whole situation was ridiculous, but being here with her, barely able to breathe because they were laughing too hard, it was the best he had felt in a long time. And the way she looked… she looked so free. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Hermione like this before today, like she was without a care in the world.

‘You… you,’ Hermione wheezed, trying to speak through her giggles. ‘You… heh, you were being…hee…so suave…hehe…but- but the way you jumped back and yelped!’

She lost herself to the giggles again before saying, ‘I’ve never seen you break like that!’

Harry chuckled. ‘I certainly didn’t feel suave. I was panicking and desperately tried to hold myself together.’

‘Well, you were doing better than you thought,’ she told him in that matter-of-fact way she did that made it hard to argue against her - not that he wanted to in this case.

‘Well,’ she added, ‘suave for a fourteen-year-old boy, anyway.’

‘Oi!’ he exclaimed, mock-affronted, gasping dramatically when she stuck her tongue out at him.

Then he saw an opportunity to turn the tables. So he struck.

Peals of laughter rang out as he tickled her sides. She tried to wiggle away but he followed. His brain started to notice random little details as she writhed and giggled, like how she had the faintest of freckles. Or that her hair had become more curly than bushy recently, and her curls looked really bouncy and soft. Or that ever since she had shrunken her two front teeth, she had let herself smile more often; he wondered if she knew she always had a really pretty smile.

‘I yield! I yield!’ Hermione squeaked, and he stopped his tickle-attack and disentangled himself from her, almost as breathless as she was.

As he lay there on the tiles next to her, replaying what had just transpired in his mind, that usual intense mix of heady excitement, shame and disgust that he got after one of those dreams washed over him. He didn’t know how to shake that feeling, not while she was lying next to him only clad in her black bra and undies. Was this any different from those dreams? Was it worse, since he could control his actions, unlike him in a dream? He didn’t even know what possessed him to start all this by making that comment about his boxers - something stupid, no doubt.

But… while this more, what was the word, flirtatious, maybe? (Was platonic flirtatious banter even a thing?) While this more flirtatious type of banter was unknown territory for both of them, and she seemed more than happy to banter this way with him… did he really- could he maybe, possibly, not need to feel guilty over it? She would’ve told him if she was uncomfortable or grossed out… right?

‘Harry?’

Her soft voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned his head to face her and meet her chocolate gaze.

‘Hey,’ she greeted gently, giving him a little smile. ‘Welcome back - you went a little introspective there. Wanna let me in on what’s going on up there?’

Harry hesitated, uncertain.

‘I, um…’ he began, then paused. ‘You’d tell me if I ever made you uncomfortable, right?’

‘Of course, Harry,’ she assured, regarding him with concern.

‘And that type of banter,’ he continued, ‘that- that was okay with you? Did- it’s new for us, so I just- I just don’t know, and… well, was it okay?’

‘Yes, it was completely fine,’ Hermione reassured, her frown deepening. ‘Did you think you made me uncomfortable?’

‘I- I… I don’t- I don’t think so,’ he admitted, ‘but…’

‘But what?’ she asked.

Harry hesitated again, but this time shook his head. She stared at him for a moment, and he briefly thought that she might press the matter.

‘Okay,’ she said instead, ‘but you know you can talk to me, right? About anything. Whenever you’re ready.’

He was grateful to her, though he doubted he’d ever talk to her about this… then again, three days ago, he didn’t think he’d have shared a bath with her, or shown her his scars and told the truth about his home life at the Dursleys, so who knows?

He felt something gently nudge his fingers, and when he looked down, he saw Hermione’s hand right next to his. He reached out with his pinky and wove it around hers, and watched as she instinctively curled her finger around him. Like they were equals. They weren’t, he knew that, but he wanted to try.

‘Yeah,’ he replied, staring at their linked pinkies for a moment longer before meeting her gaze. ‘And it goes both ways, you know? If there’s anything, anything at all that you want to talk about, or if you need anything from me, I’m here for you. Always.’

Hermione’s answering smile was soft and warm and trusting, like she knew he truly meant what he said. It made his breathing ease and his heart warm, as if it held the Common Room’s fireplace inside it, steady and reassuring.

They stayed there like that, not wanting to break the moment, but eventually the moment decided to take its leave, and left them there - just two teenagers in their underwear lying on the cold tiles of the Prefect’s Bathroom.

‘Hermione, what was it that had you so excited earlier?’ Harry asked. ‘You never said.’

‘Huh? Oh!’ she exclaimed, jumping up to her feet. She took a moment and transfigured her underwear into a modest yet very flattering wine red bikini (that was unfairly distracting in his opinion), and as he sat up, she ran over to the taps to turn on the water.

‘I have an idea,’ she said to him as she hurried back over, kneeling on her knees in front of him. ‘When you hypothesised that maybe feeling our magic and getting familiar with it could potentially lead to wandless magic - which is ingenious, by the way - it got me thinking.’

‘A dangerous habit,’ Harry joked. Hermione swatted his arm lightly with an eye roll, making him grin.

‘Hush, you,’ she admonished playfully. ‘Now, I don’t know about you, but I found our method of meditating on the feeling of our magic a bit hard earlier today - I was too aware of my body and my surroundings and kept getting distracted by thoughts about my posture, magical theory, the Second Task, and other such things.’

Harry nodded along. ‘Yeah, more or less the same for me.’

‘Right,’ Hermione continued. ‘But you reminded me of our first time in here, and I remembered how meditative it felt when I was floating!’

‘Okay,’ he said slowly. He had no idea what floating felt like, but Hermione seemed convinced. ‘But… wait- how exactly did I remind you of your time floating in the bath?’

Hermione paused.

‘When you voiced your wandless magic theory, you reminded me of the moment you created waves in the bath with your magic the other day, and how controlled they were despite them being a response to your heightened emotional state, like a storm tempered by the calm. That made me think about how I've always found the water calming, which then reminded me of when I was floating in the bath and how meditative it was, unlike our study session earlier today. I think it's because when you're floating, there's an element of sensory deprivation and weightlessness that comes into play that I suspect makes letting go mentally a bit easier - so I figured we should try it out and see if it worked this way.’

Harry blinked. Then he blinked again. And then a few more times for good measure. Was this how Hermione’s brain worked all the time? And she had gotten so excited within a matter of seconds back in the Hospital Wing, so how quickly did that thought process unfold for her in the moment? Like Ron said: brilliant, but scary… though Harry thought it was in a rather good way. He was so glad she had become his friend; he’d never want to dare make an enemy out of her - she’d obliterate him in the blink of an eye.

‘Hermione, you… you have a dizzying intellect, you know that?’

‘Wait ‘til I get going!’ she said in a somewhat nasal tone. Harry was sure he had missed something.

‘What?’

Hermione looked at him blankly.

‘The Princess Bride?’ she said as if it was meant to mean something. She sighed dramatically. ‘The Dursleys have really deprived you of all the good in this world, huh?’

‘Not all of it,’ he rebutted, amused by her antics. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have you, would I?’

Her cheeks pinked a little.

‘Suppose not,’ she agreed, her eyes bright as she smiled softly at him. ‘Guess that just means that when you come to live with me that I’ll have to educate you on all the important things you haven’t learned yet, like The Princess Bride, Doctor Who, Monty Python, and all things pop culture, movies and music.’

'I look forward to it,' he replied, smiling. He didn't want to get his hopes up - living away from the Dursleys seemed like a dream that was too good to be true, and to move in with Hermione and her family no less? He couldn't begin to imagine what that could be like, especially if Hermione's parents were as wonderful as her - which they'd have to be, considering the fact that they had raised her.

She shot him a grin as she got up and walked back to the taps. As she walked away, Harry stood up and took another look at his newly transfigured swimmers.

‘Hey, Hermione?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Why did you, uh, go for briefs?’ he asked, glancing up at her.

She gazed back at him somewhat blankly before saying, ‘Um, I guess because that’s the style my dad always wears, and also because it’s the style I see most guys wear at the beach? Is it uncomfortable for you?’

He paused, considering her question, making a few test movements with his legs and hips. It was different, that was for certain, but not uncomfortable. A little unusual, perhaps? He had never had underwear that fit him properly before; so maybe it was just that.

‘Nah, just different,’ he replied. ‘Never worn this style before.’

Hermione regarded him with an appraising look.

‘Well, it looks good on you,’ she stated with an approving nod before turning off the tap. His cheeks warmed under her praise and his heart stumbled yet again.

Damn it. Why was he even like this? So… caught off guard?

'Mmng, too loud,' Hermione mumbled, her hand on his stomach softly gliding up to his torso as she shifted, waking up…eyes were just fluttering open, looking at him from under her eyelashes with a softness that made his heart stumble down a flight of stairs.

No. Nope. Nononononononono no. Noooooo. No.

She likely didn’t know what she was doing; she probably forgot for a second that she fell asleep on the couch, just like he did. Besides, sleeping on the couch was just part of the plan to give their story credibility, nothing more. His heart, cheeks, and the rest of his damn body was being stupid, taking a clearly innocent moment out of context.

'You two do look very cosy,' Neville added smugly…

'Alright, lovebirds, get yourselves sorted, and we'll meet you downstairs,' Parvati told them with a cheeky look in her eyes…

No. Neville and Parvati were wrong. He liked Cho, damnit! Did everyone just happen to forget that fact? Why was this even affecting him so much?

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the nuisance of a thought, and approached the bath as Hermione entered the water.

‘Alright, so the first thing we’re going to work on is floating,’ Hermione began as he joined her in the shallow water at the step of the bath. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll start in the shallower part of the bath until you’re more confident.’

Harry nodded in acknowledgment. He hadn’t really thought about the depth of the bath too much, but it was nice to know she wasn’t going to throw him straight into the deep end. Not that he thought she would, obviously, but still. Good to know.

‘Floating is actually a rather simple task,’ she added. ‘I’ll demonstrate, and then I’ll explain.’

She pushed off the first step, kind of gliding through the water and stood on the third step. She then just sort of… lifted up? And then she was floating - just like she was on Thursday (how was that only two days ago?), and she looked…peaceful, weightless, relaxed. It had been too long since he had seen her relaxed. Could he do something about that? Would she like that, or even want him to?

Just before she returned to standing, he thought he saw something on her skin. But in the faint light and with the glistening droplets, he couldn’t be certain… and the droplets were more distracting than he had ever thought water could be.

‘Now, your body will be more buoyant than you’ll give it credit for,’ Hermione said, and Harry made sure to keep his gaze on her eyes and not those dangerous droplets. ‘In essence, you go from standing to lying on your back. What you do is gently push off the step with your feet, kicking them up to the water’s surface, and at the same time you’ll tilt your torso and head back so that your body will end up parallel with the floor. Try not rushing into it, just pace yourself. We have plenty of time, and I’ll be here to spot you and support you if needed.’

Huh. Seemed simple enough. He took off his glasses, resting them on the tiles as joined Hermione on the third step. He recited the instructions in his head. Kick up, head back, and-

Water was everywhere. Firm arms were immediately on his back, lifting him up, and air greeted him as he blubbered and coughed.

Once he managed to gain some semblance of breathing and stability again, he looked towards Hermione.

‘Are you alright?’ she asked, concerned. He couldn’t decide if the hand that still remained on his back was comforting or a threat to his composure. Probably best to ignore it.

‘I’m fine,’ he replied, coughing once more, and her eyes narrowed. ‘I’m fine. Where did I go wrong?’

'...well, you kicked off a little hard, and kinda threw your head back, like this,' she said, demonstrating what he did. Apparently he looked like he was trying to slam the back of his head on the water with the force of Dudley full-on tackling him, combined with the speed of a Firebolt. Graceful.

'As I said earlier, you need to gently push off the step as you kick up - think about "kick" in terms of the action itself, and not in terms of force,' she instructed, imitating the motion with her fingers. 'And it isn't a "throw back" of your head as it is a tilt, and it's not just your head. Your head and torso are to act as one unit - imagine they are a singular plank of wood, and you're taking it from its upright position and gently angling it down to a horizontal position.'

Harry watched her hand demonstration, his blurry vision tracking the motions.

'I'll guide you with my hands this time, okay?' she said, getting closer. His stupid mouth went dry.

'Yeah, okay.'

Her hands moved to rest between his shoulder blades and on the curve of his lower back. He swallowed down the non-existent saliva and forcibly refocused. Gently kick up and gradually tilt back...

He kicked up and tilted back, but his hips felt heavy, like his butt was weighing him down. Hermione softly pressed her hand into his lower back and he tilted his hips, like he was tucking his butt in. He blinked and he was facing the ceiling, with Hermione's face smiling down at him, pleased.

'Great job, Harry!' she beamed, her voice slightly muffled by the water in his ears. That was a weird sensation. Her hands still pressed into his back, supporting him. 'All you need to do now is breathe.'

He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Huh. Somehow he felt lighter.

'Good,' she praised. 'Now, while keeping your alignment like this, try to relax your muscles.'

It was strange - he didn't realise how much tension he was holding until she mentioned it. But a part of him was hesitant; what if he let go of too much tension and he sank? A gentle press of Hermione's hands reminded him that she was here, and that she wouldn't let him drown, that he was safe here. He'd be okay.

Harry focused on his breathing first, closing his eyes and feeling the expansion of his lungs, the depth of the breath, and the ease of the exercise. Slow and steady, every breath deeper and more soothing than the last. The tension in his chest and stomach gradually unknotted and released, making every subsequent breath he took more open, uninhibited and free. His attention naturally was drawn to his upper back, the tension blatantly obvious by now, and worked to release those muscles. And he kept working through the body, releasing each area one at a time. It was meditative, calm, like time had no meaning, that the only thing that mattered was relaxing.

‘Good,’ a muted familiar voice cooed, and Harry slowly opened up his eyes. The first thing he saw was Hermione’s face. The first thing he felt was serene contentment. The first thing he realised was that her hands weren’t on his back anymore.

Water. Then air. He coughed.

‘Harry!’ Hermione cried as her firm hold supported him as she brought him to standing. ‘You were doing so well! What happened?’

‘I- I dunno,’ he spluttered, trying to recall what the hell just happened. ‘E- Everything was so nice and then I registered that your hands weren’t on my back anymore and- and- and the next thing I knew… water.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Hermione replied as Harry hacked up his lungs. ‘When you realised that I wasn’t holding you anymore, you panicked and lost focus. Do you know why I let go?’

‘No?’

‘Because you didn’t need me to hold you,’ she told him. ‘You were supporting yourself. I stayed by your side the entire time, ready to help you if you needed, but you were doing amazing. You didn’t need support, just a spotter.’

‘Oh,’ he replied, his surprise coloured a little by disbelief. Was he really doing it?

‘Are you ready to try again?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Yeah, let’s try again.’

-oOo-

To Harry’s surprise, he managed to get the hang of floating rather quickly. He could see why Hermione enjoyed it.

‘Great!’ Hermione exclaimed happily when Harry was able to get into the floating position and maintain it entirely unaided. ‘We’ll come back to this again next lesson, but I’d like to move on.’

Harry came back to standing, shaking his head a little to get rid of the water in his ears. He still wasn’t used to that part.

‘So, I know you can hold your breath underwater, but can you blow bubbles?’ Hermione asked. Harry stared at her.

‘Blow…bubbles?’ he repeated, raising an eyebrow. This sounded a bit ridiculous. ‘You’re having me on, aren’t you?’

‘Hardly,’ she countered. ‘Blowing bubbles is an essential part of swimming. Swimming, while fun, can also be dangerous, and it is critical that you know how to handle yourself, especially underwater. Blowing bubbles teaches breath control, which can make all the difference if you get unexpectedly submerged - a swimmer who has a strong grasp of breath control is going to have a far better chance of survival than the swimmer who only holds his breath; the swimmer with breath control will be far less likely to panic and be calm enough to surface safely, while the swimmer holding their breath will fatigue quicker, be more prone to panicking and flailing, and even accidentally inhaling water and risk drowning.’

…well. Blowing bubbles definitely didn’t sound ridiculous anymore.

‘Well, where do we start?’ he asked.

-oOo-

While they didn't get around to practicing feeling their magic while floating or any swimming techniques beyond the floating and bubble-blowing, their lesson felt rather productive...and taxing. He had no idea this could be so tiring.

He put on his glasses as he exited the bath, with Hermione right behind him. She went off and grabbed them both towels, which were just as wonderfully fluffy as last time. As they dried off, he looked over at Hermione… so he didn’t imagine them.

‘Hermione?’ he asked, his chest feeling tense.

Hermione immediately looked at him, hearing the tone of his voice. ‘What’s wrong, Harry?’

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Why are you asking?’

‘Are you sure?’ he pressed, his gaze going back and forth between her eyes and the subtle white lightning on her thighs.

‘Of course I am, Harry,’ she replied, abandoning the task of drying off in favour of staring at him. ‘What’s going on, Harry?’

‘Because you have hundreds of thin white marks all over your legs that look like scars,’ Harry said, his voice slightly unsteady as he tried to hold himself together, shoving down the fire that blazed furiously within him; his brain was making leaps to conclusions that he knew would haunt him if he dwelled on them for even a second. ‘How… how’d you get them - did anyone do this to you? Who are they?’

Hermione looked down at her thighs as Harry drew a shaky breath.

‘Please, Hermione, tell me what happened.’

‘You mean these?’ Hermione asked, pointing to the cluster of white lines that looked like a tree bare of leaves in the dead of winter. He nodded.

‘Oh, those - geez, Harry, you scared me,’ she said, placing her free hand over her heart as she sighed in relief. ‘You made me think there was something awful going on.’

‘What do you mean, Hermione? They’re scars,’ he pointed out emphatically, baffled at her response.

‘Harry,’ Hermione said firmly, cutting him off, and he met her eyes. ‘They’re not scars.’

He paused. ‘They’re not?’

‘Well, they kind of are, but not like what you’re thinking,’ she clarified confusingly. 

‘They’re stretch marks.’

That definitely threw Harry for a loop.

‘Huh?’

‘Stretch marks,’ she repeated, turning and lifting her hip a bit so the white lines were more visible in the low, atmospheric light of the bathroom. ‘They happen when your skin rapidly stretches or shrinks, like with weight gain or loss. It’s a very natural thing - it happens a lot in growth spurts as we grow up, or when women are pregnant and their bodies are expanding to give the baby room to grow. So they are scars, but just from your skin accommodating to your body changing. There’s no need to worry - no one hurt me.’

Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

‘Are- are you sure?’ he asked, his eyes moving between her eyes and her scars. He couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that she was okay.

‘Yes, Harry, I’m sure,’ she said with a smile that loosened the knot in his chest. ‘Mum told me about them, I researched them, naturally, and I spoke to my GP about them at length. I’m fine, trust me.’

‘I do,’ he replied immediately, ‘I do, it’s just… hard to wrap my head around the idea that some scars are… I don’t know, okay? I guess? That they could be…natural, even? I’m just… it’s just hard to make sense of it. Ugh, Merlin, I feel stupid.’

Hermione’s expression softened.

‘Hardly - given your history with what causes scars, it’s completely understandable that you’re struggling to reconcile with the idea that some scars aren’t born from violence. Here, come take a closer look at them,’ she said, laying her towel down on the tiles and sitting down on it, extending her leg along the towel so the white lines were clearly visible. She patted the towel, beckoning him.

He sat next to her, and after a reassuring nod from her, he leaned in closer to look at her thigh. The white scars had a silvery sheen to them, like they were subtly shimmering in the light. Harmless. Pretty, like they were decorating her skin. His scars told gruesome tales of brutal, gory, hard-won survival. The only story hers told were the ones of Hermione growing into the woman she was becoming. Harry decided that he quite liked these scars. He let out a heavy breath, and felt the tension leave his body, heavy relief filling the space that the tension had previously held. He felt really stupid and embarrassed now, to have overreacted like that.

‘So what kind of weapons would have made these scars, then?’ Hermione asked softly with a cheeky teasing tone to her voice. ‘Now that you’ve had a closer look?’

‘Hmm… tiny mice holding even tinier knives, who had mistaken your leg for cheese,’ Harry replied, and Hermione’s answering laugh made him grin. ‘Crookshanks really needs to up his defensive game if they’re gonna keep this up.’

‘I’ll let him know,’ Hermione said, rolling her eyes fondly. ‘That reminds me - any idea why Crookshanks has been following us around all day? He’s been rather…attentive.’

Harry put on his best innocent face.

‘I don’t know,’ Harry replied with a casual shrug. ‘All I know is that he woke up with some sort of newfound determination. Couldn’t begin to think why.’

Hermione playfully narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’re a terrible liar, you know that, right?’

Harry gasped, a hand on his heart.

‘Me, a liar?’ he proclaimed, faux-offended. ‘You wound me, Hermione.’

‘Oh, come off it,’ she retorted lightly, giving him a little shove to the shoulder. He, of course, dramatically collapsed to the tiles.

‘My honour, besmirched. My good name, nothing but dust. My best friend, casting me aside as if I were nothing more than a mere peasant,’ he bemoaned.

‘Hey!’ Hermione giggled. Harry sighed heavily, resting his hand on his forehead. He was quickly growing to enjoy mucking around with Hermione like this.

‘How shall I regain my honour? How could I rise from the ashes of my shame and humiliation? How can I possibly make it up to my Lady of the Library, and restore our friendship to its former glory?’ he went on, putting on a woeful air as he changed the angle of his head every few moments. Hermione giggled harder.

‘Lady of the Library, am I?’ she said through her laughter.

Harry nodded with performative seriousness.

‘Most definitely,’ he told her. ‘Crookshanks is your Lord In Waiting, and I am but your humble knight. While my Lady is perfectly capable of defending herself-’ he said, making karate-like moves with his hands to the air, ‘-I have sworn fealty to her, and it is my duty to protect her and avenge her.’

Hermione’s eyes glittered with humour and delight.

‘Your Lady, am I?’ she crooned, holding her head high.

Harry huffed good-naturedly, breaking character. ‘Oh, just play along, would you?’

‘Oh, right, yes, of course,’ she said before swooning melodramatically. ‘Oh, what would I ever do without my brave, chivalrous, handsome knight who defeats many a foul beast in my honour!’

She paused her pretence to look right at him. ‘Better?’

‘Better,’ he replied haughtily, and with a nod, she resumed her dramatic swooning posture.

They lasted all of five seconds before they collapsed laughing.

‘Where’d you even pull all that from?’ Hermione asked when she was able to speak again.

Harry sat up with a smile and shrugged. ‘Aunt Petunia loves watching soap operas and period dramas, so probably that, I guess. I could hear a lot of her programs from my c- uh, my room.’

Harry fought to keep the smile on his face and his posture relaxed. She knew enough. She didn’t need to know about that.

He could see that Hermione had picked up on his slight stumble, but thankfully let it go.

They cast their drying charms and cancelled the transfiguration on their underwear before getting changed, chatting all the while. Part of Harry wondered if this should be weird. Another part pondered why his and Hermione’s relationship wasn’t this vibrant before Thursday night. A third part prayed that he’d never lose this bond with her. The loudest part of his mind yelled at him to stop checking her out when she wasn’t looking. The quieter, more devious part of him tempted him to check her out when she was looking.

He ignored all parts of his brain in favour of listening to Hermione’s tangent about how fascinating the fabric and textiles transfiguration book she found in the library was to read.

-oOo-

As Harry ascended the stairs to his dorm, he heard other voices coming from inside, and he was flooded with apprehension. After the tension from the Hospital Wing visit earlier today, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with Ron in whatever state he may be in.

Thankfully, when he opened the door, it was just Dean and Neville inside.

‘Heya Harry!’ Dean greeted brightly. ‘Is it true that the entire Great Hall was talking about the Olympics at lunch today?’

‘Well, that and Muggle sports, yeah,’ Harry replied, resulting in Dean flopping back onto his bed.

‘And I missed it?’ Dean cried out incredulously. ‘Ugh! Of all the days to be in the Hospital Wing!’

Dean suddenly sat up and looked at Neville, who seemed a little downtrodden.

‘Oi, mate, don’t do that,’ Dean said sternly. ‘You and Ron were both working on that potion - it’s not your fault you didn’t see Ron throw in a toad’s eye when it should’ve been a hare’s foot. Besides, you had all the ingredients prepared for the both of you! Ron shouldn’t have been even handling a toad’s eye in the first place!’

Neville shrugged self-deprecatingly.

‘Yeah, but I know what Ron’s like when he gets into one of his moods,’ Neville replied woefully. ‘I should’ve kept a better, well, eye on him, you know? And because I didn’t, you and Seamus got hurt too.’

‘We put ourselves in the line of fire, mate,’ Dean rebutted. ‘You didn’t force us into that position, we chose to go there. And honestly? I’m glad I was there when Ron started spewing that shit, because we managed to hold our ground against it together. It would’ve been much harder for either of us on our own. And hey, I hope you enjoyed our chats that we had as much as I did - you’re a cool dude, you know that?’

That made Neville crack a smile. Harry watched the byplay with interest. Even though they lived in the same dorm together for four years, Harry never really took much note of the different dynamics between his dorm mates. It was moments like this that reminded him that Dean was a big brother at home, and would probably look out for his siblings much like he did Neville. And Neville had historically been blamed for some mishap or another, or been the butt of a joke because of his reputation. Harry remembered the story he told him about his Great Uncle Algie who threw him out a window to see if he had magic. Neville was more capable than people gave him credit for, especially from Neville himself.

‘Besides,’ Dean continued, ‘if the whole Great Hall sustained a positive conversation about the Muggle world without spontaneously combusting and pandemonium occurring, I reckon we’ll be able to have another conversation like it again.’

It seemed to be the right thing to say, as Neville’s smile grew and brightened.

‘Yeah, Dean’s right,’ Harry said. ‘The conversation was really popular, and people were still talking about it at dinner, so you’ll probably get a chance to talk about it tomorrow morning at breakfast. I know that a number of people were interested in football, so who knows? Maybe someone will organise a game or something.’

Harry spotted the moment Dean’s eyes lit up.

‘That’s a brilliant idea, Harry,’ Dean said excitedly.

‘Thanks, I’ve been known to have a couple of those,’ Harry joked.

‘Speaking of ideas, what was it that Hermione got all excited about?’ Neville asked.

‘Oh, that’s right!’ Dean exclaimed with a gasp. ‘I thought Hermione was going to dislocate your shoulder with how she was pulling you out of the Hospital Wing - it was like she was trying to emulate the speed of your Firebolt.’

‘So you said you had a theory of some kind?’ Neville said, leaning forward where he sat. ‘It must’ve been a good one if it got Hermione that worked up.’

‘Alright, alright,’ Harry placated, waving his hands at them in a calming motion, a smile forming on his face as he sat on his own bed. It was a nice feeling that the boys were so invested in something like this. For some reason he didn’t think the boys would be interested in what he was doing if it wasn’t “cool,” or whatever. Speaking of the boys…

‘Hey, before I go on, where’s Ron and Seamus?’ Harry asked.

‘Madame Pomfrey decided to keep them in for “an extra night of observation,” she said,’ Dean informed him. ‘Reckon she heard what they were saying before she had to separate us, and this is her way of punishing them.’

A wave of relief washed through him when he realised that he wouldn’t have to deal with them tonight. That sensation was quickly followed up with a stab of guilt for feeling that way about his dorm mates and his best mate. He decided that this wasn’t the time to investigate those feelings and ignored them.

‘Fair enough,’ he replied simply. ‘Right, so - the theory. Remember, it’s only a theory, yeah?’

If the boys were surprised by his deflection, they didn’t show it.

‘Go oooon,’ Dean coaxed.

‘So, Neville,’ Harry began, and Neville sat up straighter. ‘Remember yesterday in Charms? When we were discussing your dad’s wand and how it felt to use it?’

‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘What about it?’

‘Remember how different it felt when you used my wand?’ Harry added.

Neville nodded. ‘It was completely different. It felt like something that, while not mine, was something I could definitely use well enough.’

Dean frowned. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘Here,’ Harry said, offering his wand to Dean, ‘try to lift Ron’s book with my wand.’

After Dean accepted Harry’s wand, he paused, puzzled, and muttered, “huh, that’s weird,” before casting Wingardium Leviosa. The book wobbled as it rose, as if it was reluctant to obey, and lowered as though grateful to be on solid ground again.

‘Now try with your wand,’ Harry instructed.

Dean returned Harry’s wand to him before picking up his own wand, his physicality immediately relaxing, before recasting the spell, and it working effortlessly.

‘How did it feel?’ Harry asked.

‘So weird,’ Dean answered, regarding his wand as he turned it over in his hand. ‘It was like… uh, oh! It was like giving a sword to someone who fights best with daggers. You know? It felt like I needed to put my back into it to be able to wield it. Is that what it feels like for you?’

Harry idly noted that this was the second time his magic had been compared to a sword. He tried not to think too hard about the implications of that.

‘I, well, I’ve never felt like it was that taxing,’ Harry replied, contemplating Dean’s words. ‘Do you mind if I try with your wand?’

‘Sure,’ Dean said, handing over his wand.

Dean’s wand felt… odd at first touch. Harry simply took note of this before attempting the levitation spell. As he cast the spell, he started to understand what his friend had been trying to say - it was like handling something else entirely, something meant to function completely differently from what he was used to. It was like… it’s like it was…

‘It’s… kind of like… you know the base elements: earth; water; fire; and air, right? And how water and fire are opposites, much like earth and air are, yeah?’ Harry asked, and waited for their affirmative response. ‘Well, it's like if I was like earth and you are like water - we’re not opposites, but we’re not exactly similar, either. We just operate differently. Like how both daggers and swords are classified as blades, and yet their uses and the way they are wielded are inherently different.’

‘Okay…I’m following,’ Dean said slowly.

‘Right, so after class yesterday, Hermione and I compared how we felt wielding each other’s wands, and-’

He glared at his snickering dorm mates.

‘What?’

Neville immediately shut up while Dean kept snickering.

‘So you “wielded each other’s wands,” did you?’ he teased, and Harry felt heat rush to his cheeks. ‘You dog.’

‘Shut up, it wasn’t like that,’ Harry tried to say firmly, but it came out too whiny for his liking, and that’s when Neville relaxed and started to grin again.

‘Your cheeks say otherwise, Harry,’ Neville added, and Dean smirked.

‘Ooh, nice catch there, Nev,’ Dean praised with a slap to the back, and Neville beamed. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, if you asked Harry.

‘Both of you are the worst,’ Harry grumbled.

‘Okay, okay, teasing aside,’ Neville placated, though his stupid grin wasn’t helping him sell the sentiment, ‘where are you going with this?’

Harry had to make the conscious effort to unclench his jaw.

‘As I was saying, after class yesterday, Hermione and I compared how we felt wielding each other’s wands,’ he paused to ignore the snickers that came up from his traitorous friends, ‘and unlike the wand-swapping I had with the both of you, where the other wand felt wildly different, hers and mine felt strangely similar.’

Thankfully, the boys had stopped snickering and were paying attention. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop this weird gleam in their eyes as they regarded him, as if they knew something he didn’t. He’d question them later.

‘She then compared how my wand felt to how my raw magic felt when I had a bout of accidental magic on Thursday,’ he said, and watched (relieved) as the knowing gleam dissipated and was replaced with confusion. ‘She had described both experiences very similarly - and that got me thinking. “What if how our wands feel to us is a reflection of what our magic feels like?”’

‘Interesting theory,’ Neville acknowledged.

‘Well, that’s part one of the theory,’ Harry continued. ‘Part two of the theory was born from the moment in the Hospital Wing earlier today, when Dean said I had apparently summoned Hermione’s wand silently and wandlessly. “What if, once we’re able to feel and understand the feeling of our magic, that we’d be able to harness it to then be able to cast wandlessly?” Like what if that’s the key, you know?’

Dean’s jaw dropped open. ‘That’d be so cool! And you came up with this theory?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ Harry said uncertainly. He wasn’t sure how Dean’s question made him feel. Uneasy, perhaps? Affronted? As if it wasn’t possible for Harry to come up with the idea himself? Or-

Dean’s face split into a bright grin. ‘That’s absolutely wicked, Harry! And to think my observation made you think of that? Geez, you’re a lot smarter than you let on, aren’t ya?’

‘He is,’ Neville agreed. ‘You should’ve seen him in Charms yesterday - he was so calm and methodical and considered that you would’ve thought he was a Teacher’s Assistant or something, instead of a fellow classmate. Professor Flitwick was really impressed.’

The compliments were overwhelming. The shy side of him wanted to duck under the covers of his bed and hide forever - or at least until the sun came up. The prideful part of him was… pleased at the attention, and was basking in it. Thankfully, the modest side of him barrelled through and took the reins.

‘Eh, it was just some observations, that’s all,’ he replied. ‘I’m really not that special.’

Dean snorted, as if that was the most stupid thing he had ever heard in his life.

‘As if,’ Dean countered. ‘You’re totally special. Like, if this was a story, you’d one-hundred percent be the main character.’

‘What are you on about?’ Harry asked.

‘Oh, come on, as if you don’t know,’ Dean said with a roll of his eyes. ‘Surely you’ve heard the rumours. Every year, something crazy is going on with you, Ron and Hermione - last year there were whispers about Sirius Black, Professors Lupin and Snape, a werewolf and Dementors, second year was obviously that debacle with the Heir of Slytherin, though no one has a clue about how that was resolved, and first year…well, Neville said it had something to do with the Forbidden Corridor on the third floor. This year is actually the easiest to tell what’s going on, what with the Triwizard Tournament and all, but yeah, otherwise we haven’t a clue, really, but we all know something is going on and that you’re always at the centre of it.’

Harry frowned.

‘What do you mean you don’t know what went on?’ Harry asked. ‘Dumbledore said that the whole school knew - at least with what happened in First Year.’

Dean and Neville were already shaking their heads before Harry even finished his sentence.

‘Seriously, Harry, no one knows,’ Neville told him with a sincerity that rocked him. Did no one know the truth about Quirrell? About anything? What had the whole school been led to believe, then?

~/~

It had been half an hour since coming back to her dorm, and interrogating Crookshanks was not going well.

‘Why are you tailing me, Crookshanks?’ Hermione questioned, narrowing her eyes at her too-innocent-to-be-true familiar. ‘Who do you work for?’

Cool as a cucumber, Crookshanks licked his fur.

Her sweet boy was clearly a master of interrogations. He seemed to know every trick in the book - he even used coughing up a hairball to delay interrogation by fifteen minutes! He was going to be a tough nut to crack.

‘I will find out why Harry’s got you tailing me, Crookshanks,’ she threatened. ‘I will break you or die trying.’

The insufferably adorable floof-ball curled up in her lap and started purring. Traitor.

A chuckle floated over from the doorway, and Hermione turned to find Parvati leaning against the door frame looking very amused.

‘If you’re practicing interrogation techniques, I think you’re going to have to up your game,’ she teased lightly, ‘because Crookshanks looks like he's answering friendly questions about his upcoming holiday in the Bahamas.’

‘Who’s going to the Bahamas?’ asked Lavender excitedly, popping out of nowhere.

‘Crookshanks, in his dreams,’ Parvati replied smoothly as they both entered the dorm, and Crookshanks took that as his cue to jump off the bed and exit the dorm. ‘So why the interrogation?’

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes.

‘Harry has Crookshanks following me around and I can’t figure out why,’ she said.

Lavender flopped onto her bed.

‘Ugh, is this like a creepy thing, or- ooh! Like a romantic thing, or-’

‘Or the unfortunate but more likely possibility is that it’s platonic and Harry’s trying to be overprotective or something,’ Parvati said, cutting Lavender off.

“Fuck. Fuck. I won't let them take you. They can't do that - I won't let them…But most importantly, you are the most important person to me, and "sorely miss"? That wouldn't even begin to cover how I'd feel if you were taken from me…”

‘Yeah, protective sounds about right,’ Hermione added softly. It was sweet to know that Harry was thinking of her safety, too, and had somehow enlisted Crookshanks’s help to keep the protection detail as subtle as possible. Her wishful heart fluttered.

‘Still think it has a romantic angle,’ Lavender grumbled as she filed her nails, clearly upset about being cut off.

‘Speaking of, you and Harry have been way closer these past few days, ever since you two woke up on the couch together,’ Parvati commented casually, though her eyes glimmered with a dogged determination.

‘Yes! You two have been practically inseparable,’ Lavender chipped in brightly, throwing aside her nail file, evidently over her previous grumpy state. ‘Plus, this is the second time you guys have come back to the Tower freshly bathed in almost as many days.’

Parvati nodded. ‘She’s right, your hair’s different.’

‘My hair is different?’ Hermione deadpanned. ‘How so?’

‘Totally,’ Parvati replied. ‘Your curls are not as tight as before, and the way your hair is sitting is completely different, and not in the way that could be attributed to tousling your hair with your hand, or by activities like running and whatnot. Plus, your hair is more bushy and frizzy than it was earlier today; right now it’s the way it gets whenever you spell your hair dry instead of letting it dry on its own or taking the time to dry it properly.’

Hermione stared, dumbfounded. They could tell all that from her hair?

Lavender grinned triumphantly, and a tad smugly.

‘So, if you’re going to sneak around with a boy in a way that means you need to shower, you’re going to need to pick up your self-care game if you want to hide it from us - and you’re not going to find those tips and tricks in the library,’ Lavender crowed.

Hermione grimaced at the verbal jab. She was never into the stereotypical “girly” things, and she never really fit in with other girls her age. Whether it was her lack of interest in frivolous gossip and makeup or her advanced intellect that created the divide (or perhaps both), she always felt on the outside, permitted to look in but never join in.

‘Don’t be a cow, Lav,’ Parvati scolded, picking her pillow up from her bed and hurling it at Lavender, who squawked indignantly when it hid her square in the face. ‘You’re being just like Rita Skeeter.’

Lavender gasped with a look of outrage.

‘Don’t you dare compare me to that heathen!’ Lavender seethed.

‘Not that I don’t condone the vitriol against Rita Skeeter - because I wholeheartedly agree,’ Hermione said, ‘but why do you not like her? I thought you were a fan.’

‘Well, not anymore, because she’s a conniving, back-stabbing, harpy of a thief!’ Lavender spat, before recovering her nail file from wherever she had thrown it and started vigorously filing away at her nails.

‘Her mum is also a reporter at The Daily Prophet,’ Parvati supplied, ‘and Mrs Brown is a reputable journalist, unlike the sensationalist Skeeter. Anyway, earlier this week Skeeter stole Mrs Brown’s files, contacted her confidential sources, and ruined Mrs Brown’s investigation, which had been almost a year in the making.’

‘Oh, that’s just- that’s just horrific!’ Hermione exclaimed. ‘That’s unforgivable! If I didn’t loathe her already…well. I’m so sorry to hear about that.’

Lavender gave her a stiff nod in acknowledgement. 

‘Yeah, well, point is I’m not like her,’ Lavender said pointedly, and then glanced at Hermione. ‘So, yeah, sorry for what I said.’

‘Thanks,’ Hermione replied. ‘And despite the delivery, you’ve got a point. I don’t know much about all…’

She gestured to her hair, face and body.

‘…well, all this,’ she finished lamely. ‘But just so you know, we aren’t doing anything like what you’re thinking - it’s training.’

‘Training,’ Lavender droned, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘You really need to come up with better cover stories for snogging.’

Hermione's cheeks burned. 'We weren't-!'

'Nah, look at her lips, Lav,' Parvati cut in calmly. 'No redness or swelling.'

Lavender regarded her for a moment. '...damn.'

'So what do you mean by that, "training"?' Parvati asked.

'It's the Second Task,' Hermione said, slightly thrown at her lips being analysed, of all things. 'He needs to learn how to swim.'

Lavender frowned and paused in filing her nails.

'Shouldn't he know how to swim?' she asked. 'We live on an island.'

'...His relatives didn't seem to think it a priority, apparently,' Hermione answered diplomatically. She wasn't going to betray Harry's trust by sharing the story of his home life with others.

'Huh, well they obviously thought wrong,' Lavender replied. 

Lavender was just about to resume her nail care when Crookshanks came back through the dorm door and meowed loudly at them.

'Hey, Crooky-boy,' Parvati greeted. 'What's up?'

Crookshanks meowed loudly again and made a little motion with his head, as if gesturing to follow him.

'Does... does he want us to follow him?' Parvati asked, and both she and Lavender looked at her.

'Guess so,' Hermione shrugged, and Crookshanks purred before pawing at the floor three times. 'He wants all of us to follow him.'

Parvati nodded. 'Sure, I'll bite. Coming, Lav?'

Lavender shrugged and put down the nail file as she stood. 'Yeah, I guess.'

Hermione had barely stood when Crookshanks went out the door, and she scurried with the other two girls to catch up. They followed her sweet boy down the dorm stairs and... back up the other side towards the Fourth Year boy's dorm.

‘Should… should we be even going up this way?’ Parvati asked, hesitant.

‘Don’t worry, it’s fine,’ Hermione replied with a wave of her hand before knocking on the open door of Harry’s dorm. ‘Crookshanks brought us here - is everything alright?’

‘Hermione!’ Harry greeted, practically jumping up to his feet. ‘I asked Crooks if he could bring you guys over, come on in.’

Hermione and the girls walked in, and at Harry’s ushering, they all sat down on the empty beds - she sat on Harry’s while Parvati and Lavender opted to both sit next to her on Ron’s bed. She watched Harry as he stood in the middle of the room with the agitated energy of someone who was desperate to pace about the room but was forcing themselves to stay still. What could’ve possibly gotten him worked up within the last forty minutes or so since they last saw each other? And where were Ron and Seamus?

‘So, the three of us were talking, and we realised that we couldn’t have this conversation properly without you guys,’ Harry began, ‘so I want to ask you both, Parvati, Lavender - what do you two know of Ron’s, Hermione’s and my adventures over our time at school together?’

Hermione wasn’t sure where Harry was going with this, but nonetheless turned to Parvati and Lavender and saw… confusion?

‘Honestly? Not much,’ Lavender admitted. ‘You three are always involved in something or other, and we could guess what that something was at times, but it’s normally a big mystery. You three are annoyingly secretive.’

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘Hang on, so you don’t know what’s been going on? At all?’ Hermione asked, flabbergasted.

‘Nope,’ Parvati replied, before huffing out a laugh. ‘You know, part of me thought my invitation to the Ball was you guys involving me in one of your adventures, and I was really keen to finally get some inside scoop on what goes on with you three.’

Hermione met Harry's gaze.

'But didn't you tell me that Dumbledore said, "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows"?' Hermione asked, making air quotations with her fingers.

'Verbatim,' Harry agreed. 'Dean and Neville said they didn't know either, so I wanted to find out if it was only a few people or everyone.'

'Wait - what happened to Professor Quirrell?' Parvati asked.

'Well, he was actually possessed when he died in the dungeons-' Hermione began.

'WHAT?'
'HE DIED?!'

A cacophony of exclamations burst in the room from their friends, when a knock came at the door.

'Are you all-'

'-having a secret meeting-'

'-without us?'

Everyone turned to find Fred, George, Angelina, Alicia and Katie at the door, the whole group looking like the cat that caught the canary.

'We saw you girls coming up this way and you hadn't come down, so-' Angelina began.

'DID YOU KNOW THAT PROFESSOR QUIRRELL DIED?!' Lavender blurted loudly and incredulously.

They all stared at them, stunned.

'Sorry... what?' Alicia asked.

'He died?' Katie squeaked.

‘When did this happen?’ Angelina added.

‘Well-’ Harry began.

'Wait, Hermione, did you say he was possessed when he died?' Neville piped up, cutting Harry off.

'Uh, yeah?'

The room burst into chaotic noise all over again.