An Opus Alchymicum Vol 4: The Dæmon's Crucible

A Tale of Two Kisses

The second half of November rushed by in a whirl of lessons, homework and Quidditch matches. Harry helped Gryffindor to a comfortable win over Ravenclaw, while Slytherin flattened Hufflepuff in the next match, much to the despair of their much vaunted new Seeker, a Fifth Year boy called Cedric Diggory, the very mention of whom seemed to cause most of the girls in the vicinity to giggle coquettishly. Harry thought this was all very silly, so seeing Diggory disgruntled after getting a hammering on the Quidditch pitch cheered him up at a stroke.

For Harry was not in the best of moods and he just couldn't seem to shake it. Nor could he understand it, as it all seemed to stem from Hermione's return to Hogwarts. This was supposed to be a good thing, Harry had been quite desolate without his best friend after all, but now things had become unaccountably weird between them.

Because the easy air they used to enjoy while spending time together had been replaced by something altogether more taut and awkward. They kept apologising for the accidental physical contacts that they were always so comfortable with before ... such as when they bumped hands or found their forearms resting against each other while writing in class ... and they had taken to sitting opposite each other at meal times, rather than side-by-side as they had been for the last couple of years. It was a strange, unspoken covenant they had entered into to allow these changes, but Harry wasn't sure he liked them at all.

What bothered him even more was the behaviour of Marici and Papageno when they were together. If they weren't pouncing all over one another they were locked in intimate grooming sessions, nibbling matted bits of fur or licking clean that unreachable spot behind the ear. Harry didn't mind the tickly sensations that this illicit contact between the dæmons caused to explode in him, but this was tempered with a very different feeling too.

If Harry didn't know better, he'd have thought that it was jealousy ... as if the awkward social distancing that had arisen between himself and Hermione was made all the more acute by the intimacy enjoyed by their dæmons.

And he couldn't talk about it with Marici, either. This was weird in itself, as it was the first time Harry had come across a topic that he was afraid to broach with his dæmon. His inexperience in understanding how the connection between them worked robbed Harry of the knowledge that Marici knew what was on his mind ... as it was her mind, too ... and could have answered all his questions.

But as it was, she could also feel his reticence, so was forced to wait until he felt ready to talk to her, much as Hermione did. Forcing it would undermine the innate trust between human and dæmon, one that, if lost, could never be recovered.

Harry's mood took a further nosedive with the announcement in early December that there would be a Hogsmeade weekend visit on the last few days of term. All the students were excited about this, Hermione in particular.

"Ooh, Harry! That's great timing!" she sang. "You can finally show me around and then we can do our Christmas shopping there!"

And then she remembered as Harry gave her a pointed look.

"But, oh, I'm not allowed to go, am I?" Hermione said in a sad little voice. "Because Mum ... I mean, Lyra ... made Professor McGonagall promise to keep me here."

"I didn't want to be the one who reminded you," Harry replied, bracingly. "I know how much you were looking forward to going. But yeah, you aren't allowed."

"Well, that's really quite unfair," Hermione huffed. "I'm going to have to write to Lyra, make her change her mind."

Just then, Neville stomped across the Common Room and flung himself down into a chair opposite Harry and Hermione, who were sat at each end of the battered couch in front of the fire.