A Boon for Bill
Chapter 2: Different Hermione Plans
By canoncansodoff
Question of the day: Was anyone else bothered that JKR’s Hermione was so shallow and her character so one-dimensional that she freaked-out when she learns that the OWL results were arriving that day, not five minutes after Harry told her the prophecy? Priorities much? It’s still "killed, or worse...expelled?" Well, I was bothered.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.
oo00OO00oo
Hermione’s alarm clock woke her early the next morning by playfully swishing his tail across her nose.
“Geroff, Crookshanks,” the Muggleborn witch mumbled. She swatted the tickling tail away from her face and pulled a pillow over her head as a guard against further attack.
“Meow!”
“Ten more minutes, Crooks?”
“Meowwww!”
“Oh, alright,” Hermione muttered, sitting up in her bed. “Happy, now?”
Her familiar shook his head, then leapt off the bed towards the door.
“Meow?”
Hermione rubbed her eyes as Crookshanks began to prowl back and forth in front of the door with his tail up in the air.
“Do you really need to go out, or are you just getting fussy about using the box?”
The part-Kneazle’s eyes darted towards the charmed litter box. He hissed at it, then shook his head and started to pace again.
“Then why do you…ah, is that it?” Hermione asked. She was now awake enough to match her familiar’s aggressive tomcat behavior with the emotions she was sensing over their link. She was also aware enough to remember that emotions carried both ways over the connection, and blushed at the possibility that her somewhat pervy dreams that night may have affected Crookshanks’s libido.
“Feeling the need to wander?”
“Hisssss…..”
“Now, don’t you start blaming me… and just you remember who it was that convinced my parents not to have you neutered!”
“...me-ow.”
“That’s better,” Hermione noted with satisfaction. She pulled her wand out and cast a Tempus (one of the Matron-approved low-powered charms).
“Right, then…early enough to do my treatment regimen before Ron or Ginny wake up.”
“Meow?”
“Sorry, Crookshanks…it can’t be helped. I can’t cast tripping jinxes on things that can’t walk, and there’s nobody else that I can practice on.”
“Meow?”
“Okay, I promise to ask Harry today about volunteering to be your replacement…and once I’m done you’ll be free to do your tom-catting.”
Crookshanks looked up at his human and let out the feline equivalent of a sigh. He didn’t care to be a living target for her spells, but he had gained enough intelligence from the familiar bond to recognize the need. And after receiving some of Hermione’s thoughts and emotions across that same bond the previous night he really, really needed to follow the scents that would lead him to a certain barn on the other side of the Weasley’s orchard.
He purred, bowed his head, and slowly walked towards the ersatz spell firing range on the far side of the room.
oo00OO00oo
Ten minutes later, sweat was dripping off of Hermione’s bushy-brown hair. She pushed herself to cast one last jinx, then used the hem of her sleeveless nightgown to mop her brow.
“Right, then…that’s enough,” she declared in between large breaths. The spell casting had been exhausting, and she still had to cast a half-dozen other spells that worked on inanimate objects.
Crookshanks hissed his agreement and sauntered towards the closed bedroom door.
Hermione would have liked to have adjusted his attitude with a cheering charm, but that was a spell taught to Third-Years. So the best she could do was squat down and rub Crookshanks’s back.
“Now you behave yourself out there,” she said.
“Meow?”
“You know what I mean,” Hermione teased as she picked up her familiar and pulled him into a hug.
“Don’t act like a pompous git when you get there,” she whispered into his ear. “Don’t be preening and prancing about…even if you are the smartest, hottest, most handsome tom around. Treat your girl right…”
“Meow!”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Girls, then. Honestly, Crooks…how many do you have in that barnyard harem of yours?”
The part-Kneazle purred proudly.
“Just promise me that you’ll make sure that their needs are met too?…Don’t be a Ron, be a Harry!”
“Meow?”
“Stop it!” Hermione hissed, giving Crookshanks a squeeze in protest. “You know I haven’t…and certainly not with Ron!”
“Meow……?”
Hermione snorted. “Just how much of my dreams did you see last night?”
“Rrrrrrrw!”
“Right. Well, you’ll probably be the first to know if that ever did happen…maybe second, if Hedwig’s bond is stronger than yours…”
“Hiss!”
“Oh, Crooks…enough,” she decided, placing her familiar back down onto the floor. Hermione reached for the door knob and, after one last caution, allowed him to escape out into the hallway.
As her familiar began tracking his harem’s scents, Hermione listened for signs that others were up and about. Not hearing any, she let her eyes drift up towards the door to the Twins’ old bedroom…the one that Harry was now using at the end of the hallway. She smiled when a naughty thought crossed her mind about Harry following her scent…without Fleur’s help it would have been easy enough for him to track her to the sitting room. But with work to be done, she pushed that idea to the side, quietly closed her own bedroom door, and returned to her magical therapy session.
Hermione’s mind drifted back to First Year as she progressed through the balance of the approved spell list. She thought about the people, places and events associated with each spell as it was cast. An Alohamora returned her to the Third-floor gauntlet that they’d run to protect the stone. Her matchstick-turned needle brought back memories of her very first Transfiguration class, and all of the emotion that came with it (she’d nearly asked a Prefect how to cast a drying charm that day, just in case she wet her pants from all of her anxieties and excitement). And then there was Wingardium Leviosa…
The feather fell back down onto Percy’s old desk almost as quickly as it had risen. Hermione recast the spell four times, but failed to achieve a better result. There was just too much history associated with that spell for her to maintain any kind of focus. It was the spell that provoked Ron’s cutting remarks about her being a nightmare…remarks that seemed to confirm her worst fears about remaining scorned and friendless. But it was also was the spell that saved her when it separated the troll’s club from his hand later that day…and sparked a friendship and sense of belonging that had endured to this day.
At least with respect to Harry’s friendship. Ron had acted like a git towards her too many times over the years, and his typically self-centered oafish attitudes had been in full appearance in the days since her arrival. His rude behavior had been bad enough for even his mother to admit to it, but her excuses were wearing thin, and did nothing to explain how Ron treated her before he was attacked by cognivores. She’d do her best to put up with it, at least for Harry’s sake…she wouldn’t want to force him into having to choose between friendships. And so long as she needed to hide her medicinal magic use under the mantle of a full wizarding household…well, she’d just have to be all the more tolerant, and diligent when it came to maintaining her regiment of love potion neutralizers.
This wasn’t to say that Harry and her healing weren’t the only up-sides to her staying at the Burrow for the balance of the hols. Bill and Fleur had been great, not just with their warning and supply of antidote, but with their friendliness. Hermione would have never have imagined that she could build a friendship with the part-Veela, but that was what was quickly happening. Of course, Fleur had her own motivations working…it was good to have a friend or ally nearby when you are thrust into a difficult situation in a foreign country, and forced to deal with a potion-brewing matron and her catty teenage daughter. Hermione had also considered the possibility that Fleur was being nice to her only because she was Harry’s best friend, and Fleur needed Harry’s help. But there’d be time enough over the summer to test motivations, and in the meantime she enjoyed the French witch’s company and support.
The need for Bill and Fleur to ask Harry for a boon came to Hermione’s mind as she twisted the white practice feather in between her fingers, and thought more about that first Hogwarts Halloween. Fleur’s belief that she owed a Harry a life-debt couldn’t be any stronger than Hermione’s belief that a life-debt was created when Harry rescued her from the troll. And once Hermione began to compare circumstances, she couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to repay that debt by offering her best friend her heart and soul… and body. It was a thought that both terrified and excited her sexually. To have Veela heritage as an excuse for doing all sorts of naughty things to Harry…or at least to offer doing them, because Harry was too noble to call in that sort of debt that way…
Hermione, however, had to face the fact that she wasn’t part-Veela. And as much as she might secretly fantasize about a progressively physical relationship with her best friend, she wasn’t ready to go all the way...and Harry already had enough on his plate to worry about without keeping a girlfriend happy. But most anything short of going all of the way…done with a best friend willing to share certain benefits without strings attached? That was a goal worth striving for, in Carpe diem fashion. It was also, however, a goal that needed to be worked towards.
Hermione chuckled as she dropped her wand and the feather onto the desktop, amazed at what had happened the night before. She figured that with Fleur’s tactical use of her allure that she could place a tick next to the first step in her plan…to get Harry to start thinking of her as a girl. Groping him under the table and masturbating while he was in the next room might have been overkill, but there didn’t appear to be any harm caused. Harry’s cheeky behavior right before bed was actually encouraging.
What happened after Harry’s arrival also did much to advance her second step in the plan. It wasn’t enough for him to know that she was an attractive young woman; he had to recognize and accept that she was a sexually mature young woman, one whose needs and urges might not be any less than his own hormonally-driven needs.
The Muggleborn witch had taken a bit of a risk and asked her mother for some advice on how best to complete this task. Mrs. Granger had been not only helpful, but creative in her approach to the problem. Neither Hermione nor her mum thought it would be wise for her to change Harry’s way of thinking about her by acting too drastically out of character. If their close friendship was going to be the grounding for any added physical dimension, then she needed to mostly stay true to the person that Harry had befriended. Special dispensations could be granted for situations that couldn’t be helped (like her response to Fleur’s allure). But in all other situations, slit skirts, sudden use of makeup, or over-the-top flirting wouldn’t do. So what would?
Hermione smiled to herself as she looked over her shoulder towards the bedroom door. She again listened for any signs that anyone else was up in the house. Hearing none, she reached down and pulled the hem of her nightgown up and over her head. As the summer-weight garment dropped to the floor she hooked her thumbs inside the elastic of her knickers and pushed them down towards her ankles. Stepping out of the leg holes, the now-naked witch walked over to her nightstand and picked up a jar of magical salve. Hermione unscrewed the top and dug into its contents with her fingers. Once an appropriate amount of salve was removed, she walked in front of a full-length mirror that had been placed there for her benefit (it was the only change made to a bedroom that stood ready for Percy’s much hoped-for return just as he had left it).
A scar that stretched from left collarbone down to right hip stared back at Hermione when she looked into the mirror. The swelling was gone, but not the dark purple hue. Madame Pomfrey had warned Hermione that the scar would not disappear completely, but hoped that daily application of the salve would at least lessen the discoloration. Fleur had suggested that a good base tan would also minimize the contrast, causing Hermione to giggle at the thought of helping the French witch turn the Burrow’s small pond into a clothing optional beach. What a scandal that would cause! Although it would also allow her to add several ticks to her step-by-step plans if Harry joined them…
Hermione centered her thoughts back to the more modest next step to her plan as she spread the salve down the length of her scar. Harry needed to realize that she was a sexual being without her acting like a tart. This would be accomplished by adding sex-related words, phrases and issues to her everyday conversations with Harry. Not in a salacious manner, but matter-of-factly; she was a smart, mature young woman who treated Harry like the smart, mature young man he was (for the most part). Facts were facts, anatomical parts and biological processes were normal, natural and a part of every one’s lives. There was no reason why two best friends couldn’t use appropriate terms and talk frankly about sexual issues just because they were different genders. Right?
As she stood before the mirror, Hermione congratulated herself on the successful incorporation of the word “masturbation” into the last night’s conversation with Harry. While an obvious situation had been provided to use the term in an appropriate context, it was still an accomplishment that she’d been able to talk about what she had done with only moderate amounts of blushing, stammering, and embarrassment. And that had only been possible through lots of practice.
To that end, Hermione remained in front of the mirror after she’d finished applying the salve, and using a voice that was quiet, but also firm and confident, began to point out body parts and associated processes. Hermione then imagined that she was looking at Harry’s naked body, and called out some correlative bits, and the ways that those bits might be stimulated.
Once she ran through the list a few times, and was satisfied with her unabashed delivery and unwavering voice, she took the next step, and incorporated this vocabulary within set phrases and complete sentences. The first time through, she voiced statements that would be right at home within a dry academic setting (for example, “The female orgasm is most readily achieved through direct clitoral stimulation.”). But once that was done, Hermione began to practice situation-specific sentences that she could imagine using with Harry.
“Honestly, Harry…what you call ‘moistened knickers’ is a common physiological response when females are subjected to external sexual stimuli…”
“Don’t worry, Harry…Premature ejaculation is quite common among adolescent males. I’ve done some research, and would be happy to walk you through a few exercises…”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Harry…studies show that the average teenage male experiences an erection every fourteen minutes, on average…”
“Oh Harry…there’s obviously no correlation between big shoe sizes and above-average penis lengths…just look at how small your feet are, for example.”
Hermione couldn’t help herself and let out a very un-Hermione-like giggle after that last one. But then she heard someone out in the hallway, and made a dash for her covers.
She couldn’t wait until she was cleared to begin casting silencing charms again.
Once she was reasonably certain that she hadn’t been heard (for that would have surely led to somebody barging into the room), she slipped off the covers and reached for bathrobe and shower kit. So long as that was only one Weasley that she heard, there was still a chance for a shower before the morning queue formed.
oo00OO00oo
One hour later, Harry Potter was jarred awake by what sounded like canon fire. He bolted upright, and tried to simultaneously retrieve the wand that he had placed underneath his pillow and the glasses that he had placed on the nightstand.
Someone threw open the curtains, filling the bedroom with painfully bright light.
“What the hell?” he shouted towards the closest blurry figure.
That figure closed the distance to Harry’s bed and slapped him on the top of his head.
“Why didn’t you wake us, you berk!”
“Ron, don’t hit him! And, Harry, language!”
The black-haired wizard snorted as he finally was able to shove his glasses onto his face. The wide grin that came into focus on his assailant’s face seemed to match poorly with the level of just-delivered violence. Then again, there always was something just a bit off with Ron Weasley.
“Doin’ okay there, mate?” asked the red-haired teen.
Harry rolled his eyes as he rubbed his scalp and leaned back against the headboard.
“Never better…you?”
“Can’t complain too much,” Ron replied, as he pulled a wooden crate towards the edge of the bed and sat down. Hermione walked over from the window and chose to sit on the edge of the mattress, close enough to reach out and greet Harry with a light squeeze on his leg.
“Have a nice lie-in, then?” she asked playfully.
“Erm... yeah, I did, thanks, just like I promised you last night,” Harry replied cautiously.
There might have been more warmth in this response had Hermione’s grab not reminded him of the previous night, and caused him to worry whether his blankets were bunched up high enough (and in the right places) to conceal his erection.
Hermione released a barely-voiced gasp and she involuntarily looked down at Harry’s duvet. The she caught herself, looked back up towards his face, and smiled.
“Well, then,” she said coyly. “I guess we’re all square.”
Harry responded with a slightly embarrassed smile
“What’s all this about?” asked Ron turning towards Hermione. “Were you up last night when Harry arrived?”
“Not when he arrived, but… Crookshanks woke me,” she explained.
“And you didn’t wake me up as well? Why not?” Ron demanded.
“Because you were asleep and snoring loud enough to raise the dead!” Hermione claimed.
“Doesn’t matter… you should have…”
“Ron, it really was late when we arrived last night,” Harry interjected. “And your Mum ordered us to bed just seconds after Hermione came down them.”
“Hmmmph!” Ron snorted dismissively. It wasn’t hard for him imagine his mother doing that but he still didn’t like being left out…and he didn’t like the thought of his friends going “to bed” (regardless of whether there were separate beds involved). But what he really, really didn’t like was the way that Hermione was sitting on Harry’s bed, with her hand still resting on his leg.
While Ron was staring at Hermione’s hand, her eyes were locked on Harry’s. Agreement was reached with the slightest of head nods over his selective presentation of the facts (while Molly had indeed ordered Hermione back to bed seconds after she came down, Ron didn’t need to know that those orders were ignored).
“I still don’t…” growled the red-haired wizard. He looked up and asked, “There isn’t anything going on here that I should know about, is there?”
“No, of course not,” Harry snapped defensively.
“Why would you think that?” Hermione asked sharply.
That question was seconded by a sweet-sounding voice drifting in from the doorway.
“I zink zat zere eez nothing ‘ere for your worries, Ronald... don’t you?”
The red-haired wizard’s eyes went wide. A goofy-looking smile formed on his face as a slight bulge formed in his trousers. He faced the doorway, and gazed lustfully at the French witch that had just entered the bedroom.
“There is nothing here for my worries,” agreed Ron, using a robotic tone of voice.
Fleur nodded at the teenager and smiled.
“’Arry and ‘Ermione are just good friends,” she declared.
Ron nodded in agreement. “Harry and Hermione are just good friends.”
The part-Veela placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder and smiled sweetly.
“Zeeze are not ze droids zat you are looking for.”
Ron smiled dreamily. “These are not the droids that I am looking for.”
“Very good, Ronald,” Fleur replied huskily. “Now, you are feeling zertain needs, no?”
“Oh, yes!” he hissed.
“Zen perhaps you should find a private place to take care of ze needs?”
The red-haired teen sucked in a deep breath, looked around the room, then bolted for the door. Fleur released him with a wry smile, an expression that she shared with the other witch in the room.
The only wizard left in the room was more shocked than bemused, but that was to be expected.
“Did you just…zap Ron with your allure?” Harry asked.
Fleur shrugged her shoulders.
“Almost no need,” she claimed. “Ronald… he acts like ze dogs of Pavlov.”
“Whose dogs?” asked Harry.
Hermione snorted. “Pavlov's, a Muggle scientist,” she explained. “Fleur means that she’s got Ron trained well enough to nearly ejaculate just at the sound of her voice.”
Harry’s head swiveled and he gave his best friend a sharp gaze. Filing away for future discussion her choice of words, he turned back to Fleur to ask more pressing questions.
“Muggle references and Jedi mind tricks?”
Fleur smiled impishly. “I am full of ze surprises, no?”
“But you didn’t even need to look into his eyes this time,” Hermione noted.
The French witch chuckled as she crossed the room and sat down on Ron’s crate. She reached out, grabbed Hermione’s knee, and purred. “You are zo perceptive, ‘Ermione! Eet was….how you say…ze area effect spell.”
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, then shook her head as she reached out and pulled down Harry’s covers. Waving almost dismissively towards his crotch, she asked, “But how could it be a male-impacting area effect if it didn’t affect Harry?”
Focusing more on what Hermione had just exposed than what she had just asked, Harry cried “Hey!” and hastily pulled the covers back…but not before Fleur had the opportunity to make a wide-eyed observation.
“’Ermione why do you say zere was no effect on ‘arry? Eet certainly looks like ‘e had ze reaction magnifique!”
“What?” asked the Muggleborn witch. She looked towards Harry’s midsection, then snorted after a few moments of thought.
“You mean Harry’s erection?” she asked Fleur. Waving a hand dismissively, she declared, “That’s nothing.”
“Hey!” her best friend cried indignantly.
“Nothing?” asked Fleur. “Perhaps only in comparison to ze bits of a dragon?”
Harry’s eyes darted towards the French witch. He didn’t know whether to thank her for her support or chastise her for making the underlying observation.
Hermione chuckled. “No, no, there’s clear evidence that Harry’s penis is above average in length. What I meant to say is that there is nothing unusual about Harry having an erection right now. He’s always got one first thing in the morning.”
“Hey!” Harry cried, even more indignantly.
Fleur giggled. “And you know ze facts ‘ow, ‘Ermione?”
The bushy-haired witch rolled her eyes. “From having to barge into Harry’s dormitory so many times to drag his sorry arse out of bed so that he isn’t late for class.”
“Hermione!”
She turned towards her upset friend and patted his leg.
“Yes, Harry, language. Would you rather I say buttocks?”
“No!”
“Then are you are disputing the fact that I have to roust you out of bed when you oversleep?”
“No, I’m disputing your need to look at my bits when you do!”
“Ah,” she replied knowingly. Then she sighed, and added, “There is nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Your erection is a perfectly normal physiological response to the pressure placed on the male prostate gland by a full bladder.”
“I don’t care!”
“Oh, honestly, Harry. It’s no different from you staring at my hardened nipples whenever we enter a cold room. Or, for that matter, when I get zapped by Fleur’s magical pheromones, like last night.”
“But…”
“Relax, Harry, I’m not upset by your staring. You can’t help the fact that you’re a teenage boy with teenage levels of testosterone. It doesn’t mean that you find me sexually attractive; it’s an involuntary evolutionary response, after all…wouldn’t matter if it’s my nipples, or Fleur’s, or Molly’s that catch your eye.”
“Hey!”
“Hay is for horses, Harry,” Hermione quipped.
“Well, talk about certain people’s nipples is for-bidden!”
“But it proves my point?”
“It also makes me want to hurl!” Harry hissed. He then thoughtfully added, “The idea of me staring at Molly’s, I mean. Nothing upsetting about yours…because, Hermione, you have a very attractive pair of…”
“Perhaps zis admiration of each other’s bits eez better for another time?” Fleur teased.
Harry looked at the French witch and blushed.
“Excuse me,” he asked, pulling enough of his covers down to swing his legs over the side of the bed. “Now that the thought of Molly’s pair has caused some serious shrinkage, I’m going to go to the loo while I can.”
As made his way past Fleur she looked down at his pajama bottoms and made a comment in French that he didn’t understand. Hermione did, though, based on the chuckling that he heard behind his back as he opened the door and walked into the hallway. He might have stopped and asked for a translation, but he really did have a full bladder. He could see light spilling out into the hall from the door to the new bathroom, and didn’t want to risk the chance that someone would beat him to it.
After finishing his pressing business, Harry washed up and walked back out into the hall. Ron’s bedroom door was shut, but not soundly enough to keep certain noises from escaping into the hallway. The-Boy-Who-Lived snorted, and quickly made his way back to his room. When he opened the door he stopped short of entering…bedazzled by what he walked in on. Fleur and Hermione were sitting very close to one another on his bed, conversing in French. While the words were incomprehensible to Harry, their meaning seemed clear enough from the seductive way that they sounded, and the way that they were voiced. And then there was body language…as Fleur said something to Hermione, she reached forward and exposed some cleavage as she grabbed the Muggleborn’s thigh for emphasis.
“Wow!” he muttered, as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
The two witches stopped their conversation and turned towards him with shared smiles.
“Something wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked.
“No, it’s just…when you walk into your bedroom and find two pretty witches sitting on your bed...if Ron were with me he’d probably run right back to his room and lock the door again.”
“Oh, ‘Arry…you know just ‘ow to flatter a girl,” Fleur teased, as he walked towards them and took a seat on the unoccupied crate. “But why do you not ‘ave ze same reaction?”
Harry smiled. “Ah, but Fleur…I am already in my bedroom, and just closed the door.”
“Do you need some private time, zen?” Fleur teased.
The teen-aged wizard closed his eyes for a moment and smiled as he shook his head.
“Thanks for the offer, but it sounds like Molly and Ginny are putting together a breakfast tray. Wouldn’t care to have them walk in on me…and that probably goes for Ron as well. You must have really zapped him, Fleur…he’s still at it!”
Hermione looked towards the door and snorted.
“Ron should have only needed a minute or two,” she noted. “He must be trying for two ejaculations.”
“Hermione!” Harry protested.
“What?” she asked. “There’s empirical evidence.”
“I don’t care, it’s still not right to talk about it.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry, I thought that after last night...you didn’t have any problems acting like an adult while we discussed my physiological response to the release of Fleur’s allure.”
“Time and place,” Harry countered. “I mean, shouldn’t we be more worried about what Ron is going to do or say when he returns?”
“Why should it matter?” Hermione asked. “Was Ron right to worry that you and I are becoming more than just good friends?”
“Perhaps friends wiz benefits?” the other witch asked.
“Fleur!” Harry and Hermione chided in tandem.
“Oh, sorry eef I spoke too soon,” the part-Veela coyly replied demurly. “But do not worry, ‘Arry…when Ron returns ‘e will not remember what ‘appened before. Ze affect makes ‘im… like ‘e eez shagged senseless, as you say?”
Hermione nodded. “Just like Molly isn’t going to think that anything strange happened last night.”
Harry frowned. “But what about you?” he asked. “How do you remember about last night?”
His best friend snorted. “There are certain things that are very hard to forget.”
“Oh, yeah,” Harry agreed. “But you know what I mean.”
Hermione nodded. “It helps a lot if you know that there is going to be a release beforehand, and have enough time to brace for the attack. Bill also lent me a book on Occlumency that I’ve read through a few times, and practiced some of the meditation exercises. Come to think of it, that’s probably what kept you from being affected just now.”
Harry shook his head, and recalled the pre-match festivities at the World Cup final. Fleur nodded her head, thinking that it was interesting that on both occasions, Hermione had been by Harry’s side. Fearing the implications might be too much too soon, Hermione leaned her head forward, and said that Harry’s resistance probably had more to do with his ability to shake off the Imperius curse.
Further exploration of this topic was cut off when the door swung open and a young red-haired witch walked in unannounced, carrying a full tray of breakfast items.
“Rise and shine, sleepy…head,” Ginny called out. The smile on her face dropped when she noticed who was in Harry’s bedroom, and where. Molly walked in right behind Ginny, and seemed almost as upset. Her concerns, however, were more focused on who wasn’t in Harry’s bedroom, rather than who was. She immediately turned and shouted out into the hallway.
“Ronald?”
“He just stepped out for a little while, Mrs. Weasley” Hermione said quickly.
Molly paid no attention to the excuse and strode out into the hall.
Harry couldn’t help a snort from escaping his nose as Molly went hunting for the son who should have been informally chaperoning Harry, Hermione, and Fleur. He could just imagine the scene if she walked in on Ron before he was done with his allure-addled business.
It wouldn’t be very pretty. Funny as hell… but still not very pretty.
Molly’s scolding carried easily into the bedroom. That her concerns were more about his location, rather than what he had been doing at that location, indicated that he had at least managed to avoid reliving that kind of embarrassment. The red-haired wizard was clear-eyed as he entered Harry’s bedroom and muttered a greeting (his mum’s tirade effectively clearing the lusty cobwebs from his head). Molly was on his heels, and now that Ron was accounted for turned her attentions to her unwanted French house guest.
“You should have been at your station already,” she stated sharply.
Fleur looked at a wall clock and frowned.
“Eet takes only a few minutes to walk out zere, and zere is steel ten minutes to go.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Molly said dismissively. “So long as you are doing anything…productive…you might as well head outside. Mundungus has been out there all night, you know.”
“Dung?” Harry snorted. “Well that makes me feel a whole lot safer.”
“Harry!” Hermione hissed.
“What?” he challenged. “Last year? Privet Drive? Dementors?”
“Still…”
Molly glared at the raven-haired wizard. She started to chastise him, but was distracted when her sight lines were blocked by a head of blonde hair.
“Well…enjoy your breakfast, ‘Arry,” Fleur told Harry, after swooping down and planting kisses on each of his cheeks. “ I will be ‘ere for ze evening dinner. And eef you wish to visit me before zen…”
“He will do nothing of the sort!” Molly declared.
The French witch ignored the retort as she leaned towards Hermione and kissed her cheeks as well. Ron moaned out loud when he spotted a hint of Fleur’s cleavage. The part-Veela turned towards the red-haired wizard and smiled. She walked up to him and planted nothing-but-air kisses on his face. Ron reacted as if she had shoved her tongue down his throat, and might have had an embarrassing sticky release had it not been for his solitary efforts just a few minutes previous.
The breakfast tray still held in Ginny’s hand served as an effective barrier, and there was no way in hell that Fleur was about to physically say her good-byes to Ginny’s mum. She thought it polite enough to nod as she gracefully floated out of the room.
Molly reacted by making a noise that sounded like a cross between a loud fart and the sound that Crookshanks made when he expelled fur balls from his throat.
“Mum hates her,” Ginny told Harry.
“I do not!” Molly protested. “I just think that there hasn’t been enough time for Bill to make a decision like that.”
“You mean about their engagement?” Harry asked innocently.
“They’re not officially engaged, Harry.”
“They’ve also been working together at Gringott’s for a whole year,” Ron mumbled, his eyes fixed firmly on the door that Fleur had closed behind her exit.
“Well that’s not enough time!”
“How long were you and Mr. Weasley engaged?” Harry asked.
“They weren’t, Harry,” Ginny said slyly. “Mum and Dad eloped.”
“That doesn’t matter!” Molly said indignantly. “Your father and I knew each other for several years before that.”
“Yeah, the seven years you both lived in Gryffindor Tower?” Ginny noted.
“No sense in waiting when two people realize that they are perfect for each other,” Molly snapped.
Harry’s eyebrows inched involuntarily towards his scar. Hermione stifled an incredulous snort. Ginny rolled her eyes, while her brother’s eyes were still fixed on the door.
The youngest Weasley’s reaction caught Harry off-guard. He wondered whether this a sign of rebellion…a signal that, when coupled with her sly comment about her parent’s elopement, indicated that Ginny wished to stand independently of her over-bearing mother and her mother’s ways. But then she called Fleur a “cow” and “Phlegm” in between Molly’s rants about the part-Veela not being the right one for her Bill, and decided that Ginny was just acting catty on an equal-opportunity basis.
There was no chance to challenge the witch’s comments so long as her mum was dominating the conversation. Molly went on and on about Fleur until she ran out of breath, saving just enough air to chide Harry about eating his eggs while they were still warm. She then turned and left the room, calling for Ginny to bring Harry’s breakfast dishes back down to the kitchen once he was finished.
Harry’s eyes gravitated towards Hermione’s just as soon as Molly’s back was turned, and they both broke out into giggles.
“What’s so funny?” Ginny demanded, as she finally gave Harry a chance to eat some breakfast by setting the tray onto his lap.
“Oh, nothing,” Harry replied quickly. “Just wondering how long it’s going to take for Ron to regain his wits.”
“What?” asked Ron.
“What makes you think that he ever had any to begin with?” Ginny asked.
Harry snorted, and once again noted the young witch’s general level of bitchiness.
“Can’t help it!” Ron protested. “They way that she floats around the room…”
“And you haven’t gotten used to it over the last couple of days?” Harry asked.
“Well sure…but then she goes and surprise kisses you…can’t be helped.”
“Of course it can,” Hermione countered. She waved towards her best friend and added, “He’s only been here a few hours, and Harry’s isn’t drooling over Fleur like an idiot, is he?”
Ron frowned, and furrowed his eyebrows as he gave Harry a calculating inspection. He somehow, miraculously, managed not to ask the black-haired wizard whether or not he was a poofter. Not that it mattered…his thoughts were clearly understood by everyone else in the room.
Ginny smiled, and coyly said, “Well maybe Harry’s heart belongs to another, and that love shields him from Fleur’s attacks?”
Ron snorted dismissively. Harry found enough to like within these comments to smile, and say, “Maybe so, Ginny…maybe so.”
This made Ginny smile brilliantly…until Harry turned and gave Hermione a rakish wink.
“If Mum has anything to say about it, you won’t have to worry about Fleur for much longer,” said Ginny.
“Why?” Harry asked. “From what I heard last night, Bill and Fleur are staying here for the rest of hols to help with security.”
“Bah!” spat Ginny. “I still don’t know why we are staying here in the first place. I mean…last year we all stayed at Headquarters because the Burrow supposedly wasn’t safe enough…what’s different this year?”
Harry shrugged. “Maybe now that the place is cleaned up they don’t need a captive work force to stay there?”
“It is a good question,” said Hermione.
The black-haired wizard nodded. “To which I actually have a good answer…because I asked it myself last night when Dumbledore picked me up.”
Hermione waited for a beat, and then asked, “…..And?”
“And the answer is that he didn’t know until last night whether it was safe for anyone to stay at Grimmauld Place,” Harry replied. “When Sirius died…I was told only last night that he left the house to me, but the Headmaster was afraid that it could only go to a pureblood like Bellatrix. Or that Draco might have a stronger claim to becoming the Head of House Black. And if either of them had access, then…”
“Then it’d be Death Eaters battling the doxies, rather than us,” Ginny said.
“Exactly.”
“But you said ‘until last night’,” Hermione noted.
“Yes, I did,” Harry replied. “Dumbledore came up with a simple test to solve the question.”
“Gringott’s inheritance test?” asked Ginny.
“Hope not…heard that’s rather bloody,” said Ron.
Harry shook his head. “It was a simple test that didn’t involve blood…not that I wasn’t thinking about spilling some blood when Kreacher responded to my call…”
“What?” asked Ginny.
“Kreacher is bound to whoever owns Headquarters,” Harry replied quietly. “The Headmaster asked me to summon Kreacher, and if he appeared to then issue him an order. Well he did pop to me, and he shut his mouth when I told him to.”
“So that means you are Lord Black, now?” Ron asked in a raised voice.
Harry shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. Probably at most the heir...heir apparent, right Hermione?”
“That’s right.”
“Not that I’ll expect you to call me milord if I’m wrong. Sirius never had us doing that…”
The corners of Hermione’s eyes were wet as she picked the tray off of Harry’s lap, set it aside, and pulled him into a hug.
“Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “That was an awful thing for Dumbledore to ask you to do!”
“Thanks,” he replied, as his face found warmth in her brown bushy hair.
“That means that it would be safe for us to stay at Headquarters,” Ginny concluded.
“Why would we want to do that?” Ron asked. “Can’t play Quidditch there, can you?”
“Because then we could send Phlegm away,” Ginny reasoned.
Ron thought for a moment. His cheeks flushed and his eyes dilated as he repeated his question.
“Why would we want to do that?”
“Bah! You’re disgusting!” Ginny replied, knowing full well what the small bump in her brother’s trousers meant.
Harry was too glum to call Ginny out on her name calling. “Don’t expect that I’ll be able to play even if we stay here,” he noted.
“Why not?” Ron challenged. “Thought your ban was lifted at the end of term?”
“That’s what the Headmaster told me,” Harry countered. “But he apparently got ahead of himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“The ban was issued by Umbridge, but enforced by the Ministry,” Harry explained. “And the Ministry works at its own moronic pace.”
“Oy!”
“Except for your father, of course.”
“Why would Dumbledore tell you it was lifted before it was lifted?” asked Ron.
“Maybe he was too used to being Headmaster, Chief Warlock and Head of the ICW all at the same time?” Hermione asked.
“But it is going to be lifted before September…right?” Ron asked.
Harry shrugged. “Hope so. But in the mean time, I still can’t legally fly.”
“Legal…smeegal!” Ron said disdainfully. “No harm in you playing two-v-two pick-up games, right?”
“Have to ask your mum,” said Harry. “Maybe it’s best not to do anything out of turn now that your dad’s got a promotion?”
“That shouldn’t matter!” Ron spat. “Why, I’m going to go talk to mum right now and straighten this out…”
Harry reached out and stopped his friend by grabbing hold of his arm.
“Hold on, Ron,” he asked. “Plenty of time for that later…and we’ve got more important things to talk about right now.”
“What? You’re daft, mate! What could be more important than practicing for the upcoming season?”
Harry and Hermione sighed in tandem. He looked towards Ginny, who didn’t look to be leaving anytime soon…which was a problem. Harry wanted to reveal the Prophecy to Ron and Hermione…but not to Ginny. At least not yet.
The black-haired teenager purposely set his tea cup down on the platter.
“Thanks for bringing me breakfast, Ginny…guess I’m not as hungry right now as your mum figured I’d be.”
The younger witch waved away Harry’s concerns.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter…what do you need to tell us, Harry?”
“Well…”
Not seeing a way to encourage Ginny to leave the room without raising her suspicions, Harry began a full accounting of his introduction to Horace Slughorn. This included the relaying of Dumbledore’s comments about the potion master’s habit of cultivating politically and socially advantageous relationships with certain students.
“No doubt he’ll be polishing you up,” Hermione told Harry.
“I don’t quite like the sound of that, thank you very much.”
“He would polish Fleur in a heartbeat,” Ron reasoned, getting that dreamy look in his eyes again. He glanced towards the opened window and added, “I know I would.”
“Arrrgh!” Ginny hissed. “Will you stop mooning over Phleghm!”
“Stop it, Ginny,” Harry asked. “I don’t like hearing you call Fleur names.”
“So she’s got you under her spell too?” asked Ginny.
“I don’t like it one bit either,” Hermione said sharply.
The younger witch rolled her eyes. “You too, Hermione? Maybe you’d like to polish off the cow at the same time?”
“Enough!” Harry said sternly.
Ginny looked at the firm expressions on Harry and Hermione’s faces. Then she turned and saw the goofy grin on her brother’s face.
“Daft! The lot of you!” she hissed as she turned her back on the other three and walked towards the window.
“I can just see her out there,” Ginny spat. “With her robes unbuttoned and her skirt hiked up high, shamelessly working on that oh so perfect tan…”
“You can really see her?” Ron asked, with a mixture of hope and lust in his voice.
“Of course not,” his sister replied dismissively. “Bill’s got the ward line set so far out, you’d need a hawkeye spell to see her...or maybe…”
Ginny was distracted by a shiny object sitting in an opened box on the far side of the window.
“Or maybe a telescope!” she declared, walking over and pulling out a cylindrical brass object.
Ron was too loopy to warn his sister about the risks involved when touching anything in their brothers’ old room. Harry and Hermione hadn’t been pranked enough by the Twins to learn that lesson the hard way, and Ginny’s bat-bogey hex was too good for her to have learned that way either. So, filled of certainty that Fleur really was dressed as she imagined, Ginny held the telescope up to her eye and began to search for demonstrable proof.
Bang!
“Ginny!” shouted Hermione and Harry.
The witch who had disappeared within a puff of black smoke emerged from that smoke with the prank telescope in her left hand, and a magnificent shiner over her right eye.
“Squeezed…poked…cough!” she rasped, looking down at the small boxing glove that swung from a coil attached to the eyepiece.
“No worries, Mum can fix that right up for you,” said Ron, who was just coherent enough to realize the risks involved if he found humor in the situation.
Harry and Hermione nodded in agreement, and asked Ginny if she was okay. Neither thought the prank to be very funny, and knew that they could have just as easily been its victims.
Ginny pulled a small mirror from a pocket and held it up to her face. She shrieked, and barreled out of the room and down the stairs.
“Mum can fix that,” Ron said with confidence. “She’s really good with healing potions, and fixing minor injuries and stuff.”
Harry nodded, thinking more about Molly’s brewing skills than her healing talents. He felt sorry for Ginny, even as he realized that her bad fortune had given him the opportunity he needed.
“Well, so long as Ginny’s in good hands,” he began, “There’s something else you two need to know about last night.”
“What’s that?” asked Ron.
“Dumbledore says that he’s going to be giving me private lessons this year.”
“What for?” asked Ron.
“Probably has something to with the prophecy….”
oo00OO00oo
Hermione and Ron both gave Harry, and the secrets that Harry revealed to them, the complete focus that they deserved. Questions were asked with hushed whispers, and when answers were available they were whispered in reply. Hermione was horrified and despondent and fearful all at the same time, and spent most of that time of full disclosure crying into Harry’s shoulder. Ron didn’t cry, but he didn’t joke about the situation either, which was a major step for him. And if either of the other two realized that Ron’s focus was aided by having Harry’s breakfast leftovers within reach, they held their tongue.
When the hushed conversation swung back around to Dumbledore’s private lessons, Ron did try to lighten the mood with a comment about Harry knowing at least one class that he’d be taking that Fall. This triggered Harry’s memory of another thing that the Headmaster had told him the night previous…that their OWL results would be arriving that day.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Hermione, without much enthusiasm in her voice.
Her two friends stared at her as if she’d grown another head.
“What?” she said defensively. “Were you expecting me to fly off the handle at the news? To start shrieking, or rushing to the window to see if I could spot owls heading towards us, or run downstairs to badger Molly, and demand to know if our private test results were for some reason delivered to her instead of to us?”
Harry and Ron looked at each other, then turned their heads towards their bushy-haired friend at the same rate of speed and replied in tandem.
“Yes.”
Hermione sighed. “Well that’s disappointing. Have I been that bad?”
Ron rubbed the back of his neck.
“Well, Hermione…you have spent an awful lot of time staring towards the Eastern sky since you’ve been here, haven’t you?”
“Define awful.”
“Hermione, it’s part of what makes you…you,” Harry declared. “And we love you for it.”
“Oh, stop,” the Muggleborn witch insisted. “I’m mature enough to admit to my anxieties over the past month, but now? After you just told us that, Harry? Makes my petty anxieties rather…petty.”
Ron arched an eyebrow. “Quick, somebody check her for an Imperius.”
“Hey!” Hermione protested.
“Is for horses?” Harry teased.
“Hmmmft!”
“Too bad you can’t maintain that mature attitude,” said Ron.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
“I mean that you have to freak out,” the red-haired wizard replied. “It would be out of character for you not to, unless there was something even more important for you to worry about.”
“But there is!”
“And I would just as soon keep that more important thing between us,” Harry whispered loudly. “Ron’s right. His Mum and Ginny are sure to notice if you don’t act like they’d expect you to, and will want to know why.”
Hermione frowned. “So you two are telling me that in order to keep your secret a secret, I have to wear my anxieties on my sleeve?”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“Any suggestions on how I accomplish that task?”
“Hmm…,” thought Ron, rubbing his chin. “You could always fly off the handle at the news, start shrieking, and run downstairs to badger Mum and ask if she’s received our test results?”
“Prat!”
Harry chuckled. “No worries, Hermione...we’ll know that you’re just putting on an act.”
“And you better know that I’ll be thinking about you the whole time!” Hermione hissed.
“Thanks. I will.”
Hermione nodded, then took a quick step towards Harry and pulled him into a deep hug. Then she took two steps back from the boys, took a deep breath, and shouted more towards the door than towards them.
“Today? Our OWL results are coming today? And only now you think to tell us? Harry! OH NO! What if they’ve already arrived?
The Muggleborn witch then threw open the door and ran down the stairs, screaming the whole way.
“Mrs. Weasley…Harry says that they’re coming today! TODAY! Have any owls arrived yet?”
Harry chuckled and shook his head.
“She’s a good actress.”
“Not much of a stretch, though, is it?” Ron said with a smile.
Harry snorted.
“Right, so…you probably ought to stay in character as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been all serious and thoughtful the last few minutes,” said Harry. “Very out of character.”
“Oy!”
“Don’t try to deny it.”
Ron rolled his eyes.
“So I imagine you’ve got some ideas on how I should act?”
Harry smiled, then stretched that smile into a glassy-eyed goofy grin.
“Oh, Fleur you’re so…amazing!” he mock-mumbled.
“Sod off.”
“Have you acted any differently since she arrived?”
Ron sighed.
“Okay, fine…I’ll try.”
“Can’t be too much of a stretch for you.”
“Shut it, Potter,” Ron hissed. He took a step towards the door, then paused and turned back.
“Harry?”
“Yes, Ron?”
“You won’t mind if I don’t think about you the whole time I’m downstairs acting like a horny teenager…will you?”
“I’d just as soon that you didn’t,” Harry replied quickly.
“Good,” said Ron. He paused, then added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with…”
“Ron?”
“Yeah?”
“Go act like a horny love-struck buffoon.”
“Right.”
Harry let out a small sigh as he followed his friend down the stairs. He thought about all of the different ways that he could prove to Ron that he wasn’t a homosexual, which brought him back full circle to the play acting that he himself might need to be doing downstairs.
So was there a way that he could secretly let Hermione know that he might be thinking about her at the same time that she was going to be play acting and thinking about him?
He smiled…and wondered if he dared suggest that they read their OWL results in the sitting room.