An Artifact Of Affection (Harry Potter, Harry/Hermione #11 gardenia)
Title: An Artifact Of Affection
Author: Icy
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the world of is ® Warner Bros and J. K. Rowling. No disrespect intended.
Author’s Note: These will connect to form a story, hopefully in chronological order.
The story begins with the end of Year 6. If I don’t get finished by the time Book 7 comes out… Oh well!
(Harry remained seated, stunned, as Hermione flushed and hurriedly left. Pensively, he stared silently at the empty room. Sometime later, Ron entered and stopped by Harry. “Are you coming, mate? Mum made us some snacks.” Harry wasn’t sure if he could stomach anything right now; his thoughts were such a whirling mass that he nearly felt nauseous.
Ron looked at him and said, “Hey, Harry. You alright?”
Harry blinked and gave himself a little shake. “Yeah…” He paused and attempted to quiet his thoughts. “Yeah, I think so.” He paused again. “Hey Ron… how do you know if a girl…” He paused, confused as to what he was trying to ask. After all, Hermione /had/ kissed him before, generally on the cheek, when he was about to face Voldemort in some form. But that wasn’t really important, he supposed. Just friendly, or something like that. What she’d just done was-had to be-more than just that. He decided to not tell Ron, but when he looked up, Ron was staring at him strangely.
“What are you on about?” Ron said, eyeing Harry suspiciously.
Harry shook his head and got up. “Yeah, never mind. What did your mom make?”
Ron gave Harry a sidelong glance and replied, “She made breadbowls. Primitive, right? She never goes wrong, though, so I guess we’ll see.”
Harry nodded and occasionally interjected a casual noise to keep Ron happy, while he tuned out of the talk. His thoughts were still a mess. He couldn’t make head or tail of what happened. Of course, he’d already decided he didn’t have a true romantic interest in Ginny, and he knew that he liked Hermione, but he knew that Hermione had feelings for Ron, which was why he was so confused about her kiss.
Harry met Mrs. Weasley’s eyes and managed a weak smile as he handed her a breadbowl filled with some sort of brothy substance.
“How did your first session go, Harry dear?” Harry noted the genuine curiosity in her voice.
“Well enough. I think we’ll do another one soon, so I can evaluate…” Harry trailed off as Mrs. Black’s portrait began shrieking in the hall in response to a resonating doorbell.
“Who would be ringing? If anybody knows the address, they’d just come in.” Mrs. Weasely moved to the kitchen exit, where a loose crowd of idle diners had formed, heading for the front door. Harry was faster, and with uncertainty opened the door. He knew that nobody of poor intentions would be able to enter because the location of the house was secret, but he was confused, for the reason Mrs. Weasley had just stated.
The murmuring crowd fell silent as a bedraggled, pale-haired wizard entered the doorway and stared at Harry for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Harry heard Ron whisper, “Malfoy,” and then the whole crowd began whispering.
Harry’s primary response was violent and overpowering. He grabbed the exhausted-looking wizard by the front of his robes and pinned him to the door (which had closed, enabling Draco full entrance to the house). “Why are you here? Who told you about this place?” Unadultered anger emanated from every fibre of his being.
Malfoy wrestled weakly with Harry’s hands. “I… need help,” he managed. Then he promptly passed out.
In the ensuing crush, Harry felt somebody pull him away, and Malfoy was presumably put away in a room under the supervision of a witch or wizard with medical abilities. Harry’s head was pounding, and he set to eating vigorously and ignoring the others, who eventually dissipated. Even Mrs. Weasley, who took her time cleaning up as if hoping that Harry would confide, had left by the time Harry had finished.
He looked up after conjuring his dirty platter away and saw Hermione standing in the doorway, watching him. When his bottle-green eyes met her brown ones, she blushed, but she did enter the room. Harry approved, even though he was so confused he was still unable to comprehend anything that had been going on. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replied, dropping down onto the bench next to him. Harry noticed that she averted her eyes.
“So, um… do you know anything about Malfoy?” Harry realized it was probably a good thing that he’d been isolated from the ex-Slytherin.
“Well,” Hermione said, looking relieved that he wanted to talk about something that wasn’t them. “We managed to get out of him that he was on the run, he’s sworn off the Death Eaters, and Sturgis Podmore was the one to send him here. He really is here for shelter, Harry, because the Death Eaters are after him. But he isn’t working for Voldemort anymore, Harry, really. He wouldn’t have gotten past the wards we put him through if he was.”
Harry gazed distantly at her, digesting this information. Malfoy, an ally? “He wants to work on our side,” he said evenly, unbelievingly.
“Well, I don’t know if you were elected our leader, but he probably has an idea of something like that,” she replied casually.
Harry rose. “I’ll be busy through dinner. Will you tell Mrs. Weasely?”
Hermione nodded. “Alright. I’m going to continue doing spell and hex research, then.” Harry left, and she followed.
That night, before Harry returned, she mentioned it to Mrs. Weasely, although she knew that Ron’s mother probably already knew. It seemed that most of the adults knew of Harry’s whereabouts. She spent a gloomy evening in an armchair, reading A Bible of Hexes by Antonia Spellworth. That night, as she entered her room to go to bed, she found a single rose lying cushioned on her pillow. She smiled, placed it in a conjured vase, and fell asleep with a much lighter heart.)
Author: Icy
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the world of is ® Warner Bros and J. K. Rowling. No disrespect intended.
Author’s Note: These will connect to form a story, hopefully in chronological order.
The story begins with the end of Year 6. If I don’t get finished by the time Book 7 comes out… Oh well!
(Harry remained seated, stunned, as Hermione flushed and hurriedly left. Pensively, he stared silently at the empty room. Sometime later, Ron entered and stopped by Harry. “Are you coming, mate? Mum made us some snacks.” Harry wasn’t sure if he could stomach anything right now; his thoughts were such a whirling mass that he nearly felt nauseous.
Ron looked at him and said, “Hey, Harry. You alright?”
Harry blinked and gave himself a little shake. “Yeah…” He paused and attempted to quiet his thoughts. “Yeah, I think so.” He paused again. “Hey Ron… how do you know if a girl…” He paused, confused as to what he was trying to ask. After all, Hermione /had/ kissed him before, generally on the cheek, when he was about to face Voldemort in some form. But that wasn’t really important, he supposed. Just friendly, or something like that. What she’d just done was-had to be-more than just that. He decided to not tell Ron, but when he looked up, Ron was staring at him strangely.
“What are you on about?” Ron said, eyeing Harry suspiciously.
Harry shook his head and got up. “Yeah, never mind. What did your mom make?”
Ron gave Harry a sidelong glance and replied, “She made breadbowls. Primitive, right? She never goes wrong, though, so I guess we’ll see.”
Harry nodded and occasionally interjected a casual noise to keep Ron happy, while he tuned out of the talk. His thoughts were still a mess. He couldn’t make head or tail of what happened. Of course, he’d already decided he didn’t have a true romantic interest in Ginny, and he knew that he liked Hermione, but he knew that Hermione had feelings for Ron, which was why he was so confused about her kiss.
Harry met Mrs. Weasley’s eyes and managed a weak smile as he handed her a breadbowl filled with some sort of brothy substance.
“How did your first session go, Harry dear?” Harry noted the genuine curiosity in her voice.
“Well enough. I think we’ll do another one soon, so I can evaluate…” Harry trailed off as Mrs. Black’s portrait began shrieking in the hall in response to a resonating doorbell.
“Who would be ringing? If anybody knows the address, they’d just come in.” Mrs. Weasely moved to the kitchen exit, where a loose crowd of idle diners had formed, heading for the front door. Harry was faster, and with uncertainty opened the door. He knew that nobody of poor intentions would be able to enter because the location of the house was secret, but he was confused, for the reason Mrs. Weasley had just stated.
The murmuring crowd fell silent as a bedraggled, pale-haired wizard entered the doorway and stared at Harry for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Harry heard Ron whisper, “Malfoy,” and then the whole crowd began whispering.
Harry’s primary response was violent and overpowering. He grabbed the exhausted-looking wizard by the front of his robes and pinned him to the door (which had closed, enabling Draco full entrance to the house). “Why are you here? Who told you about this place?” Unadultered anger emanated from every fibre of his being.
Malfoy wrestled weakly with Harry’s hands. “I… need help,” he managed. Then he promptly passed out.
In the ensuing crush, Harry felt somebody pull him away, and Malfoy was presumably put away in a room under the supervision of a witch or wizard with medical abilities. Harry’s head was pounding, and he set to eating vigorously and ignoring the others, who eventually dissipated. Even Mrs. Weasley, who took her time cleaning up as if hoping that Harry would confide, had left by the time Harry had finished.
He looked up after conjuring his dirty platter away and saw Hermione standing in the doorway, watching him. When his bottle-green eyes met her brown ones, she blushed, but she did enter the room. Harry approved, even though he was so confused he was still unable to comprehend anything that had been going on. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replied, dropping down onto the bench next to him. Harry noticed that she averted her eyes.
“So, um… do you know anything about Malfoy?” Harry realized it was probably a good thing that he’d been isolated from the ex-Slytherin.
“Well,” Hermione said, looking relieved that he wanted to talk about something that wasn’t them. “We managed to get out of him that he was on the run, he’s sworn off the Death Eaters, and Sturgis Podmore was the one to send him here. He really is here for shelter, Harry, because the Death Eaters are after him. But he isn’t working for Voldemort anymore, Harry, really. He wouldn’t have gotten past the wards we put him through if he was.”
Harry gazed distantly at her, digesting this information. Malfoy, an ally? “He wants to work on our side,” he said evenly, unbelievingly.
“Well, I don’t know if you were elected our leader, but he probably has an idea of something like that,” she replied casually.
Harry rose. “I’ll be busy through dinner. Will you tell Mrs. Weasely?”
Hermione nodded. “Alright. I’m going to continue doing spell and hex research, then.” Harry left, and she followed.
That night, before Harry returned, she mentioned it to Mrs. Weasely, although she knew that Ron’s mother probably already knew. It seemed that most of the adults knew of Harry’s whereabouts. She spent a gloomy evening in an armchair, reading A Bible of Hexes by Antonia Spellworth. That night, as she entered her room to go to bed, she found a single rose lying cushioned on her pillow. She smiled, placed it in a conjured vase, and fell asleep with a much lighter heart.)