Harry Potter and the Year After

Chapter Sixteen: Shadows Under the Door

Chapter 16: Shadows Under the Door

Harry sat on the floor at the foot of Sirius' old bed. He'd left the lights off. The bottle of firewhiskey was like a companion, sitting next to him.

Light shown in the crack between the bottom of his door and the floor. Because the windows were so heavily draped, it was the only source of light. So when Hermione began pacing silently before the door, it was impossible for Harry to ignore. Shadows kept wandering by, stopping, and wandering by again.

A small voice in Harry's mind knew that he should push her away, let her keep pacing. Make her marry Ron having never really betrayed their best friend's fidelity. But a much louder voice in his head simply wanted her. It had never been there only a few weeks ago, or rather, it had wanted someone else then.

Suddenly the door burst open. The weak light of the hallway seemed bright in the dark room. Hermione stood there, squinting into the room.

"I'm here," Harry said. Hermione started forward and then, with her wand, she cast aside one of the heavy drapes so there was more light in the room. Then, she fell to her knees next to Harry.

"How much have you had?" she asked, looking down at the bottle by Harry.

"Just a bit," he slurred. He couldn't properly lift his head without the room turning slightly on an axis.

"Oh, Harry, this isn't you." Hermione was shaking her head.

"Uh, oh, Hermione disapproves. What? You don't like the bad boys?" He winked at her.

"You should really have some water." She conjured a glass before him.

"I'm not such a good boy, you know. I can be very, very bad. I mean, I know I used to have Voldemort in my head, and he's gone now. So you'd think I'd be just perfect..."

Without Hogwarts, and with so many people gone—including Voldemort—being a good person suddenly wasn't so world-altering any more. It didn't matter to anyone now whether he fell off the face of the earth. At least, that's how he felt. He could never tell anyone this though.

"What are you on about?"

"You're going to dump that water on my head? You know, Hermione, I've only ever slept with Ginny, and she left me after we did it, so I think you might be disappointed if I ever take you to bed."

"Please don't talk about such things," Hermione said quietly. "Besides—"

"And then you'll go off to Ron, who's probably a great shag, and you'll hate yourself forever—"

"Ginny told me about your escapade in the shed, and what happened in your bedroom. Girls talk."

"Oh God, she did? What did she say?"

"I couldn't possibly... oh fine, she said it was amazing. It's why she left you. She said you were too... intense... it was too..."

"You're lying."

"I am not. Why would I lie to you? Now, drink this water before I really do dump it on your head."

"I've already got something to drink," he said and held up his bottle of firewhiskey, "Thanks though."

She stood and flicked her wand. The glass of water dumped on his head.

"Hermione!" Harry growled. He flicked his wand, and in his drunkenness was surprised by his effortless wordless magic. He conjured a bucket of water and in turn dumped it on her head.

"Harry!" she shrieked. She immediately dried herself. Then, she vanished the bottle of firewhiskey.

"Oi! That was my most special friend! He and I had a real connection!" Harry heaved himself wobbily to his feet.