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Yuletide Blessing in Disguise	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 122975 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 9
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related properties--all rights belong to Rowling. Nor do I make any money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
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A Nice Cup of Tea

"…Again? Bloody hell, Harry?"
"Yeah—" Harry muttered, glowering, "Dunno why I've got to stay here all weekend though. I'm fine now!"
"You're not fine, Harry!" said Hermione reproachfully. "That was an absolutely terrifying experience last night! … The nightmares you've been having since your summer vision are bad enough, but I can't imagine how awful they're going to be now—you're lucky I was there and that Dora—"
"Wait! … You really have been staying with Harry at nights, then?" Ron's jaw dropped, and Hermione's face turned scarlet.
Harry groaned, his own face growing hotter, and heard Ron yelp, "Ow!" when Neville gave him a kick in the shin and Lavender swatted his shoulder.
At that moment Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, looking furious when she saw the little group gathered around Harry's bed.
"Out! Out!" she snapped, flapping her arms at the four Gryffindors. "You can visit after lunch—now off to breakfast with the lot of you!"
Ron and Neville fled the hospital wing leaving behind Lavender and Parvati who hesitated, both of whom looked very upset. Madam Pomfrey's features softened.
"Go on to breakfast you two," she said gently. "Mr. Potter will be just fine, I promise! Miss Granger and I have him well looked after."
Parvati and Lavender nodded, sighing.
"Bye guys," said Parvati, "I hope you feel better Harry."
Harry and Hermione heaved sighs of relief when everyone was gone, both of them feeling thoroughly embarrassed. Of course, it was obvious to Lavender and Parvati—they couldn't help but notice the nights when Hermione wasn't in their dorm. But they and the other girls were doing an excellent job of keeping mum about things so that the prefects didn't find out.
Ron and Neville on the other hand—well, mostly Ron—Harry just hoped that he didn't start blabbing to Seamus and Dean.
Madam Pomfrey seemed to be paying no attention to Harry and Hermione's red faces.
"Right then, Mr. Potter," she said briskly, "how are you feeling?"
"Oh, er… fine I guess," said Harry uncertainly, knowing it was no use to ask Madam Pomfrey again if he could leave.
"Hmm… Well, I am certain that Miss Granger would like some breakfast. I'll send for a house-elf to bring something up, and I'll leave it up to you to decide if you're hungry. … And if Mr. Potter starts looking ill again, Miss Granger—"
"I know the spell to stop Harry throwing up," said Hermione, "I watched to see how Dora and you performed the spell."
A little smile crept to Madam Pomfrey's features.
"Of course you did. Very well, I'll leave you both to it."
Hermione began hungrily digging into breakfast when it appeared a few minutes later on a silver tray atop the hospital wing trolley which Madam Pomfrey had left next to Harry's bed. The tray was laden with just about everything which usually appeared on the tables in the Great Hall. Hermione glanced up at Harry after every few bites to see how he was getting on.
Harry tried a bit of porridge to start, then pushed it aside, a crinkle forming between his brows. Then he took a bite of crumpet and set the rest down on his plate. He peered at the fried eggs, his frown growing deeper. Then he picked up a piece of bacon, his favourite, which he usually wolfed down with almost as much abandon as Ron, and he began gnawing on the end of it.
Harry turned green and heaved. Hermione's wand was instantly in her hand.
"Finite Vomite!"
Harry slumped back on his pillow, his forehead still beaded with cold sweat, a silent tear trickling from the corner of one of his eyes. Hermione felt a sharp pain in her chest. She didn't think she had ever seen Harry looking so miserable.
"Thanks Hermione," he said after a moment passed. "It…it's horrid! I thought I was feeling better, but all I can see when I try to eat is… is…"
"It's alright Harry," she said gently, "You don't have to explain. The shock of it last night—and then trying to blot it all out of your mind—that's all fading now, which is probably why it's only just now starting to really sink in."
"Yeah," Harry mumbled, nodding. "Dunno if I'll ever get over it—it was horrible…"
They both heard the door of the hospital wing open and footsteps, and they looked up to see who it was. Dora was just returning after freshening up in her quarters and grabbing a quick breakfast, and Dumbledore was right behind her.
~o0o~
Snape glowered at the Gryffindor table while he ate breakfast, peering at the gap where Potter and Granger usually sat with their little harem, right across from the dunderheaded ginger boy and his dimwitted friend, Longbottom. He absentmindedly scratched at the sleeve covering the burning scar on his forearm until he caught McGonagall eyeing him suspiciously.
Snape was startled; he hadn't even noticed her late arrival for breakfast. Then Snape spotted Moody eyeing him too, looking like a hungry lion ready to pounce on its prey at the slightest hint of movement. He immediately stopped scratching and his scowl grew even deeper.
If Snape hadn't been certain before, he was now. The Dark Lord had returned to Britain and restored himself somehow. Had the Potter brat and his slutty little M… Mudblood—the word slipped out once more in his mind—the word he had vowed never to speak again had reared up for the second time in recent memory—something about Potter and Granger fornicating like bunnies with a harem of girls at their beck and call—it just wasn't right. Potter was wholly undeserving—why should he have a Mudblood all of his own, and bevy of bimbos besides?
But had Potter and the Mudblood been right, at the end of third year? Was Pettigrew truly back from the dead? Had he been the one to restore the Dark Lord? Was Black truly innocent of the crime? Snape snorted at the idea of Black being innocent of anything, his lip curling—suddenly he wasn't so hungry, and his stomach churned.
Regardless, the fact that the Dark Lord was back was now inescapable; the brand on Snape's forearm told him that much, though if the Dark Lord had called, it would have turned black. Snape had been planning on telling Dumbledore, of course, but he hadn't seen him since dinner last night, and breakfast would soon be finished…
~o0o~
"…So he was already gone then," Harry sighed.
"Unfortunately, yes," Dumbledore replied. "However, the excursion to Little Hangleton was not entirely unproductive."
Dumbledore opened his hand and sitting on his palm was a golden ring with a cracked obsidian-black gemstone glittering in the morning light pouring through the window. Harry peered at it, feeling mildly puzzled.
"What's that?" asked Hermione, giving voice to Harry's unspoken query. "I mean—obviously it's a ring. But what's its significance?"
"Ah—a very good question indeed, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, his bushy white eyebrows rising up his forehead. "As it so happens, this ring holds more import than one might imagine, but for our purposes today its significance lies in the fact that it belonged to Lord Voldemort…"
Dumbledore glanced at Dora. Catching his meaning, she locked the door of the hospital wing.
"Pomfrey's gone to breakfast, Professor, so we're all alone."
"Thank you, Miss Tonks." Dumbledore turned his attention back to Harry and Hermione. "Now, what use do you imagine Voldemort might have for such an artifact?"
Hermione gasped.
"A Horcrux!" Harry blurted out, his eyes widening as it hit him. "It's a Horcrux, isn't it?"
"It was a Horcrux," Dumbledore corrected him. "Now it is merely a ring—well, 'mere' isn't quite the right descriptor, but that is a story for another time. I took the Sword of Gryffindor with me last night, on the off-chance that I might discover a Horcrux at the scene. And, as you can see, I did, which confirms my hypothesis that Voldemort had created multiple horcruxes. … There may be more, but thankfully, there is now one less. This one I destroyed in the small hours of the morning."
"Hmm…" Hermione frowned. "I wonder…" she murmured.
"Wonder what?" asked Harry.
"Well, last night, when you woke up and your scar was hurting horribly, you said it felt like it did when you stabbed the diary with a Basilisk fang."
"Yeah, it did." Harry rubbed absentmindedly at his scar again. "Wait, are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Maybe," she said noncommittally before turning to Dumbledore. "Professor, what time was it last night when you used the sword on the ring?"
"Well now," said Dumbledore as he stroked his long silvery beard, looking immensely curious, "I would say it was nearing two thirty. Are you suggesting a link between Harry's sudden pain and my destruction of the Horcrux?"
"Yes!" said Hermione, almost looking excited. "It was two twenty-three when Harry woke up. There must be a connection."
"Two twenty-three?" said Harry in amusement. "And how many seconds?"
Hermione glared at him and he shut up.
"Fascinating," said Dumbledore. "Very fascinating indeed. Yes, that would seem to be a clear indication of a connection, Miss Granger—a fact that I should have considered myself, given that Harry too contains a piece of Voldemort's soul."
"Don't remind me," Harry grumbled. "It's horrible enough as it is being connected to Voldemort. I'd rather not be connected to all of his horrible Horcruxes too"
"Don't you see, Harry?" said Hermione eagerly. "This means that if there are any more Horcruxes, you might be able to detect them with your scar. Then we could hunt them all down, and once we've got rid of them, we can figure out a way to get that piece of soul out of you…"
"…and then Voldemort would be killable," said Harry, brightening up. "That would be brilliant! But first we need to know how many there are and at least have an idea of where they might be."
"Quite so, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking rather impressed. "Quite so! For the moment though, your recovery, and seeing you safely through the rest of the Triwizard tournament is paramount. Leave the rest to me for the time being. … In the meantime, I would prefer it if you had some company at night, should you be taken ill again. If Miss Granger doesn't mind, perhaps it would be best if she stayed with you."
"Wait! What?" Harry's jaw dropped.
"Or, if you wish, perhaps you would rather have Mr. Weasley or Mr. Longbottom stay with you," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling merrily.
"No," said Harry quickly. "I'd rather have Hermione…" Harry's face grew hotter when he realized what he had just said. "Er… I mean, I'd prefer it if Hermione stayed with me, sir," then he glanced at Hermione worriedly. "You don't mind, do you? I mean, if you do, that's alright—I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I suppose I could ask Ron—"
"Don't be silly, Harry," said Hermione, cutting off his anxious babbling as her own cheeks turned scarlet; Dora tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, "of course I don't mind!"
"Well then," Dumbledore beamed as he rose to his feet from his chair, "I do believe we are finished for now. I had best be off before Madam Pomfrey returns from breakfast to turf me out."
Dumbledore stood up to leave, then hesitated and turned back.
"There is one last thing—I know it is a bit too late to keep the cat in the bag entirely, as your dorm-mates and friends already know of your nightmares and potential connection to Voldemort, Harry, and that information may eventually spread…"
"They won't tell anyone, Professor," said Harry earnestly, "They would never—"
"Perhaps not, Harry," Dumbledore replied with a knowing, wistful smile, "Regardless, all I was going to say is that we should try to keep this information in as small a circle as possible for as long as possible."
~o0o~
Upon his departure from the hospital wing, Dumbledore's weariness returned in full force, having barely had more than three hours sleep. As he neared the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the stairwell leading to his office, he spotted Professor Snape approaching from the direction of the Great Hall. Dumbledore had been expecting to see Severus this morning, considering last night's events, and was glad that he had spoken to Minerva first in her office.
"Ah, good morning Severus," he said cheerily, his weary demeanor vanishing.
"If you insist," said Snape. "You have been difficult to track down this morning."
"The busy life of a headmaster," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling as he and Snape took their places on the bottom step of the staircase leading to his office, "it never ends."
"Quite!" said Snape dryly.
Once inside his office Fawkes let out a little trill of greeting and Dumbledore sat behind his desk, directing Snape to take a seat in one of the well stuffed chintz armchairs. Snape sat down stiffly, looking very out of place.
"Would you like some tea?" Dumbledore asked politely, conjuring up a tray with a blue-willow teapot and two teacups. Snape peered down his nose at the tea-tray disdainfully.
"This is a matter of some… urgency," he said, a hint of a sneer in his tone.
"Of that, there can be no doubt," said Dumbledore, pouring himself some tea and squeezing in a slice of lemon. "However, it is not so urgent, surely, that we cannot take a moment to appreciate the finer things in life," he added, stirring in a spoonful of honey.
"You think not?" Snape lifted one eyebrow.
"Unless you are here to tell me that Lord Voldemort has already sent for you, then I think we can spare a few more minutes for the niceties. However, I believe you are here to tell me that he has restored himself, but that he has not, as yet, called his Death Eaters to his side."
This time both of Snape's eyebrows shot up as he clutched his forearm.
"And you know this… how, exactly?"
"At this time, I think it wisest to keep that information to myself, lest it get into Voldemort's hands—I will only say what everyone will know within a few days. The body of a young boy was found last night—a victim of the Dark Lord—and that there is conclusive evidence that Voldemort has indeed returned and restored himself—with the aid of a certain Peter Pettigrew."
Snape's eyes widened and his sallow skin grew even paler.
"Then…then it's true…"
"Yes!" said Dumbledore coldly. "That which you refused to believe at the end of last term is true. Sirius Black is an innocent man, and Pettigrew is still alive, and Harry Potter and Miss Granger were being truthful."
"That hardly makes Black innocent," Snape hissed angrily through gritted teeth.
"That makes Black innocent of the crime for which he was incarcerated," Dumbledore retorted. "And we have already discussed the fact that you have no moral leg to stand on when it comes to your time at Hogwarts together."
Snape fell silent.
"Good!" said Dumbledore. "Now that we have cleared the air, let us move on. Alastor and I approached Igor last night—or very early this morning, if you will—and discovered him in a quandary as to whether to stay or flee. … We convinced him to remain, with the promise of protection. Now all that remains is to determine whether or not you are prepared… if you are ready to take up your task when Voldemort calls, as he is very likely to do within the next twenty-four hours."
Snape hesitated, his black eyes glittering.
"I am!" he said when the moment passed.
"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore, his demeanor softening. "Do not think that I don't appreciate the danger you will be walking into. Please be careful."
"Always!" Snape took Dumbledore's words of finality as a dismissal and rose to his feet, departing the headmaster's office in a swirl of robes.
Dumbledore sipped his still steaming cup of tea as he watched his Potions Master leaving, pondering his decision. Minerva seemed to agree that Severus might as well perform the task that he had actually been hired for, but she had made it clear in no uncertain terms that she did not trust Snape. And Alastor too had badgered him again about Snape's unworthiness. Dumbledore knew, of course, that which they did not—the reason that Severus Snape had switched sides.
But even knowing what he did, Dumbledore could not deny that Severus's ever-hardening attitude towards Harry was disturbing. There was no question of Snape actively rejoining Voldemort, of course; such an action would be unfathomable. But given his "unwitting" outing of Remus Lupin at the end of the previous year, it was clear that Severus was not beyond allowing his petty vindictiveness to get the better of him in disregarding the headmaster's wishes.
There was a distinct possibility that Severus might decide that seeking some redemption for Lily Potter's murder was not enough to make it worth his while to help bring down the Dark Lord and protect a boy he hated beyond all reason. The less that Severus knew to "let slip" should he choose to abandon his mission, the better.
~o0o~
Many hours later, shortly before dinner, Dumbledore received another visit he had been expecting, this one from a furious Professor McGonagall. She burst into his office, her features livid, and Fawkes let out a startled squawk when the door banged open.
"What is the meaning of this, Albus?" she demanded, bristling with outrage.
"Ah, yes…" Dumbledore sighed. "I had a feeling I would be seeing you soon. Some tea?" he asked politely, conjuring up a tea-tray again, this one adorned with a Belleek tea-set.
"I don't have time for this nonsense," McGonagall snapped, eyeing the tea tray with nearly the same look of disdain that Snape had given it that morning. "It has just reached my attention through the grapevine that Miss Granger is moving some of her belongings into Mr. Potter's quarters at this very moment."
"And the problem is…?" Dumbledore asked serenely, taking a sip from the delicate, shell-like teacup.
"What?" McGonagall sputtered angrily. "You know very well what the problem is—a teenage boy and a teenage girl—cohabiting in the same living space with no adult supervision. They could be getting up to all sorts of… hanky panky!"
"No more 'hanky panky' surely than they might be getting up to unsupervised in empty classrooms and broom cupboards, surely," said Dumbledore, amused now.
"Well, yes—but that's not the same thing as spending all their time together in the same living quarters where they can get up to things at any time they please.
"And what of all the teenage boys residing together in the boys' dormitories?" said Dumbledore pointedly.
"Well, they're all boys—" McGonagall halted in midstream when it became apparent where Dumbledore was going with this, and she switched to a different tack. "Now—that's preposterous, Albus. You can't seriously be suggesting that the boys might be engaging in sordid liaisons after lights out in the vicinity of their dorm-mates."
"Can't I?" said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling now.
"Er…" Professor McGonagall was caught off guard. "I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant," said Dumbledore gently. "I know you better than that. I am simply pointing out what we both know to be true, that sometimes, boys and girls alike may indeed be getting up to some—hanky panky as you so delightfully put it—in their own dormitories under cover of night—in four-poster beds with curtains—and instructions for silencing charms readily available in the school library for those with the foresight to seek extra privacy."
"Yes, but—" McGonagall faltered, her best arguments vanishing faster than bats fleeing from the morning light. "—what about the potential for unwanted pregnancy?" she proffered after casting about for another objection.
"This is Miss Granger we are talking about, correct?" Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted and he gave his deputy headmistress a penetrating look.
"Point taken," Professor McGonagall sighed, then it struck her—her final, best argument. "But what about the Grangers? Surely they would not approve!"
McGonagall gave Dumbledore a smug look when he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his crinkled forehead.
"I admit," he began, "that question did give me some pause. But, in the end, I decided to leave that up to Miss Granger as to whether or not to inform her parents. She made the choice freely, without coercion, and Harry was offered the option of having Mr. Longbottom or Mr. Weasley keep him company instead. Harry was quite amenable to Miss Granger staying with him—"
"Of course he was," Professor McGonagall said dryly.
"Well, it was at your prodding that they entered into this relationship, was it not? Surely you could foresee the inevitable outcome?"
McGonagall groaned.
"My dear Minerva, please, do not be so distraught. You and I are both only looking out for the best interests of Harry and Miss Granger. Harry will need all of the loving support he can get to face the trials ahead of him, and have we not already agreed that their blossoming relationship may eventually be the key to ridding Harry of that infernal piece of Voldemort's soul which is now attached to his own?"
Professor McGonagall sighed again, this time looking positively tearful.
"Indeed, Albus! Indeed!" she sniffled, retrieving a lace hanky from one of her pockets and dabbing her eyes. "You are quite right. This is probably all for the best. That poor boy—I don't know what I was thinking—""There, there, Minerva," said Dumbledore kindly, "you were only thinking of your students' best interests after all. Now come, sit, join me in a cup of tea, won't you?"
~o0o~
The Senior Undersecretary hung her hot-pink cloak on the gleaming, golden coat-rack to the side of the front door as she stepped onto marble floor of the foyer. She beamed at the gracious hostess who beckoned her forth into the parlour.
"Thank you, Narcissa, for your kindness."
"Not at all, Dolores," said Narcissa warmly. "It has been some time since you last visited us, after all. It seemed to Lucius and me that discussing our way forward under the current circumstances might as well be done over dinner…"
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Yuletide Blessing in Disguise