Chapter Text
Harry finished with his last class on Thursday afternoon and headed for his lab. His conversation with Mad Eye on Sunday had been a bit long and boring, but still informative. Now, after doing further research into magical plants, Harry finally felt ready to begin his experiments with the Death Fruit.
His current plan was to attempt a successful Geminio spell, which would create a temporary duplicate of the fruit. Since the duplicate usually lasted for at least couple of days, Harry would have time to cut open the fruit and examine the inside. He was hoping that Death Fruit contained seeds.
When he got to his lab, however, he found several of his classmates lying in wait for him.
"Harry," said Dean Thomas gravely. "We need to talk to you."
"Uhh…" said Harry, turning to examine the faces around him. "What is going on?"
"We've been watching you for a while," said Michael. "And we're a little concerned."
Seamus nodded. "We're all worried about you, Harry, and we think it's time we got you some help."
"Okay, but can you tell me what this is about?" said Harry. "If it's something to do with my 'anger issues,' then just so you know, I am working on that."
Harry had come to the conclusion that 95% of the time, his anger was just frustration. If he was frustrated, he could deal with that using logical analysis, which put the burden of dealing with it on him, and not on the irritating person. He'd also started drafting an "How not to treat people like NPCs" plan, but that was taking a bit longer to sort out.
Seamus was shaking his head. "It's not that. We're here because we're concerned about how things are progressing between you and Hermione. Specifically, how it isn't happening."
"Essentially," said Michael, taking a seat on a desk. "You're doing all the work of a relationship without the benefits."
Harry stared. "Okay, just what—how—"
"Come on, Harry," said Dean. "The signs are all there. First, you rearrange your schedule to help her with hers. Then, you hand over your stash of magical items to Mad Eye just because she told you to, and we don't even know what to say about the Apology paper."
Harry's fingers rapped against the table, and he was trying to figure out if he was frustrated, or actually angry.
"Don't feel bad, lots of blokes do this," said Michael. "You like a girl, but you can't get up the nerve to tell her, so you bend over backwards to make her happy, hoping she'll notice you. But then, what usually happens is she puts you in the 'friend' category and ends up falling for someone else."
"And then you stick by her," said Seamus, his voice bitter. "Listen to her crying about her boyfriend being terrible, complaining that she wishes she had a 'nice guy like you.'"
"So," said Dean. "The best way to stop that from happening is to tell her how you feel, before it's too late. Then, if she doesn't return your feelings, at least you can move on."
"She's just a friend!" declared Harry. "I don't want her to reciprocate romantic feelings for me, because I don't have any!"
They all stared at him for several seconds in silence.
"You're not trying to say," said Seamus slowly. "That you…never even thought about Hermione that way? Like…you know…wanting to take her to an empty closet?"
"Absolutely not," said Harry.
They were silent, as if unable to compute how this was possible.
"Well," said Dean. "Have you ever imagined kissing her? Or gotten butterflies around her?"
Harry was about to respond no, but then hesitated, chewing his lip. "Okay, there have been a few times, but have you heard of the Suspension Bridge Effect?"
"The what?" said Dean.
"Essentially," said Harry, leaning back against a desk. "There was a study that showed how people misattribute arousal in highly dangerous situations. If a male test subject crossed a suspension bridge under high winds and was approached by a female confederate, he was more likely to feel attracted to her than someone who crossed a steady bridge. The reason is because both fear and attraction cause similar symptoms, like increased blood pressure and shortness of breath.
"Most of the times I've felt an interest in Hermione were during highly charged situations, such as when the Acromantula attacked, or when we've been duelling or going on…uhh…playing games together. So, you see, I don't harbour an attraction to her, just misplaced arousal due to the rush of adrenaline."
The boys looked at each other, then back at Harry, incredulous looks on their faces.
"In fact, I think the real mistake," continued Harry. "Would be to misinterpret an emotionally charged feeling as real romantic interest, and deciding I needed to marry her or something, when we're perfectly fine being friends and living our own separate lives."
Seamus squinted at Harry. "He's saying a lot of smart words, but making absolutely no sense."
Dean sighed, scratching his head. "Okay, so what if another guy started dating her? How would you feel?"
"Fine," said Harry, then thought back to Boris. "As long as he's not terrible."
"Yeah, but imagine it. He's chatting her up, right in front of you. She fancies him, so then he asks her out on a date. Later, she's gushing about him to you, and you just have to smile and nod while she goes on and on about how cute his dimples are."
Seamus was grimacing, and Michael added, "If it helps you visualize, imagine one of us in that scenario, dating Hermione. Would you be upset?"
Harry tensed, something in his brain pinging in warning, but he ignored it. It was hypothetical, but if it were true, well…there was only one response that made sense. "No, because all of you are intellectually minded scientists, and generally decent people. If she's dating someone, she can rant and rave about him as much as she likes and I won't be offended, jealous or otherwise insulted." He folded his arms. "Now, are you guys satisfied I'm not miserable? Because I kind of have work to do."
After a few moments of deliberation, Dean shrugged, "Well, that's it then. Passed all our tests. I guess you two really are just friends."
"Hard to believe," mused Seamus. "No offense, but like, Hermione is freaking hot."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Yes, hard to believe that I would find something interesting about her besides her physical appearance, I suppose."
"Well, that's not what I…" stuttered Seamus. "There's lots of interesting things about her—"
"Whelp, time to go, we've got class in a few minutes," said Michael. "See you later, Harry."
The boys left the room, and Harry was alone.
He started setting up his supplies for testing, but each step took far too long, distracted by a growing frustration and confusion.
He'd never understood everyone's interest in pairing Hermione off with people. It was worse than anything the Quibbler had done with him. They didn't see a strong, successful witch who could take care of herself. No, they saw a poor, single girl who needed a man to make her happy. Now even his friends were treating her like a prize to be won, which irritated him to no end.
And yet…while Harry tried to act above it all, he had also put some thought into who she should date. And he had to confess, he had some opinions on the subject.
Simply put, Hermione deserved the best. Someone like Neils Bohr or Issac Asimov, and not an Alexis Carrel or Bill Nye the Science Guy. If she started dating a member of the Bayesian Conspiracy, Harry would be upset if it were Blaise or Anthony, or one of the guys who only showed up half the time. He had to be an intelligent, capable man who would support her and respect her, or else Harry wouldn't feel comfortable letting her go.
But when Harry thought about all the things required of Hermione's future boyfriend, he had the uncomfortable suspicion that his subset was quite narrow. In fact, he was comparing himself to that mental image and realizing that even he didn't measure up. Though, in five to ten years, once he'd become successful and sorted out his anger issues…well…
Yes, okay, I'll admit it, sighed Ravenclaw. My ideal self is exactly the same as Hermione's perfect boyfriend. But that is neither positive nor negative confirmation of my interest in a potential relationship. I'm pretty sure my brain doesn't even have a slot for "girlfriend" yet, and besides, didn't we agree that relationships and marriage would wait until we were immortal? It's not like that changed.
The rest of the voices said nothing.
I mean, continued Ravenclaw. Why do other people get to decide if my relationship with Hermione is normal? I'm perfectly happy to maintain a platonic friendship with her, and as long as she agrees, then that's all that matters. If society wants to raise its eyebrows, then society can shove it.
At dinner that evening, Harry mentioned the event to Hermione (minus the Suspension Bridge part). "I can't believe they thought they needed to stage an intervention about our relationship status," sighed Harry. "Isn't it weird how everyone always keeps trying to pair us off together?"
She laughed really loudly. "Yeah, I know, right?"
After he'd gotten over feeling stung—she didn't have to laugh that much—he decided this was all the confirmation he needed. They were much better off remaining friends.
They went to the library to study, and then Harry went to bed.
Hermione swirled around in the leather chair, a switch in her hand. She whacked her desk.
"Harry, you're running out of time. You're going to fail this test. What's 9867 x 245?"
Harry sweated at his desk, pencil poised over paper. That should be easy, if he just rounded up to 10,000 and then did some mental subtraction…
Hermione stood up, and he could see her clothing was much tighter than usual. She whacked the switch again, her lips curled into smirk. "Time's up. What's your answer?"
"Umm…3,000?"
She sighed. "No Harry, that's wrong. You've lost half the points." She lifted her chin. "Take off your shirt."
He started undoing the buttons. When he undid the last, she said, "Next question. What's 242 x 900?"
If he were falling out of a plane, he could have calculated that on the way down, but for some reason the computational region of his brain had turned to mush. Every time he tried, he couldn't help but get distracted by the sound of that switch against his desk. "4,200" he said.
"Ohhh, wrong answer, Harry." She chuckled. "Naughty boy. Take off your trousers."
He shrugged out of them, with difficulty, yet somehow remaining seated. She hopped onto his desk, swivelling to face him. "Last question, and if you don't get it right, I shall be quite disappointed." Her arms laced around his neck. "What is 4 x 4?"
He gazed up at her, noticing for the first time her soft pink lips and plunging neckline, and he completely lost the will to care about the quiz. "Eight," he mumbled.
"Oh dear," she sighed. "You lost all the points." She leaned in, whispering into his ear. "Now I'll have to punish you, Harry."
His breath caught as her hands ran down his bare chest. "What will you do to me?"
She giggled. "Well…you're about to find out."
Harry woke up and lay in bed a moment. Then, he sat up.
First of all, don't panic, said Ravenclaw. You know this is a perfectly normal thing for 15 year old boys to experience. In fact, it would be even more strange if you didn't have—you know what, let's just call it what it was. A sex dream. Yeah, I said it. If we admit what it is, it won't have power over us.
Hufflepuff was twitching. Ok…ok, but this isn't some random girl from potions class that we thought about for ten seconds when we were bored. And it's weird and I feel funny.
Scientifically, it isn't any different. It's just the effects of testosterone, which tends to reach peak effects in the morning. We know from experience that after about fifteen minutes, its effects on the nervous system should diminish. I bet we'll forget about this whole thing by lunch time.
It took a bit longer than expected, but Harry's physical reactions calmed down. Once he was confident he could handle himself around other people, he went downstairs for breakfast. Without really thinking, he grabbed food and put it on his plate.
Hermione slipped into the chair in front of him and greeted, "Good morning."
Harry's gaze jerked up. He stared at the girl sitting before him, her eyes still blurry from sleep, hair a frizzy halo. She smiled weakly and took an apple from the bowl. "Sleep well?"
"Hmm. Fine."
He tried to look away, and to concentrate on his breakfast, but he was mesmerized. She held the apple against her lips just slightly, as if teasing a bite.
And he suddenly really wanted to be the apple.
She started saying something, but he couldn't seem to hear over the sound of his brain screaming. He stuffed his face with bread, while his mind tried to restore order.
This is all normal, insisted Ravenclaw. Here, just focus on eating, and not on Hermione's lips.
"Hi Hermione," said a Ravenclaw girl. "I think I did poorly on my last test. Can you punish me?"
Harry choked on his bread and stared at them, wide eyed.
"Sure, I can help you," said Hermione. "I have tutoring time on Saturday."
We're having auditory hallucinations! cried his brain. That's definitely not part of our standard definition of normal! We probably have brain cancer!
What did I say about panicking? Let's at least make it through breakfast before we have a meltdown.
Harry chewed his bread, but his brain was already cataloguing symptoms for research into his diagnosis.
Heart palpitations, nervous system malfunction, obsessive thoughts…
It hit him, then, exactly what was wrong with him. He leapt from his seat.
"Bye," he said, and raced off to his dorm. He ransacked his drawer, and found his stash of love potion antidotes.
Of course, he'd gotten dosed! His meddlesome friends had probably slipped the potion into his dinner last night. Harry poured two antidotes down his throat and, just to be safe, put two more into his pocket, the maximum safe daily dose. He sat down on his bed with a sigh of relief, his head falling into his hands.
After about an hour, he would be free of all symptoms, and then he was going to have a very serious conversation with the Bayesian Conspiracy about the consequences of their actions. If this was their way of trying to get him and Hermione together…well, he was already concocting a plan that would obliterate any doubts about his feelings on the matter.
That afternoon, Harry had a review worksheet in Defence class. The questions were very challenging and well written, which meant it was probably Hermione who wrote them. This explained why, instead of completing this worksheet, she was walking around the classroom to help struggling students.
Harry was decidedly Not Looking at her, and yet he'd still identified by the pattern of her movements that she was close to his desk. His palms were sweating, and his brain was shorting out just thinking of her walking by. His pencil bore down hard on the paper. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair that someone could have this much control over his emotions.
When Hermione passed by his desk, Harry was frozen over his paper. He had solved two of the review problems, and was stuck on the third, and to an outside observer he looked exactly like a student who hadn't done his homework.
"Need some help, Harry?" asked Hermione.
"No. I'm fine."
She hovered behind him, a little of her loose hair touching his shoulder. She whispered conspiratorially, "If you're having trouble, don't be embarrassed. Just let me see the problem."
Without waiting for his response, she snatched the paper from him and checked his work. Harry risked a glance up to see her trying to hide a playful grin, like she was enjoying playing teacher. His throat went dry as his stomach clenched, and he quickly looked away as she passed the paper back.
"Hmm. Try the third one again," she said. "I want to see your work."
Slowly, Harry's quill started writing something, while she leaned over his shoulder. There was this scent about her, like strawberries, that was driving him insane. Like an airplane crashing and burning as it landed, his brain went on autopilot to try and solve the problem, while his important resources were focusing on not outwardly showing he was freaking out. His brain registered Hermione was giving him advice, something about wand movements, but all he could think was please don't do something stupid, please don't do something stupid.
After his hand finished writing something down, he passed the worksheet to her. She scanned the paper.
"That's correct," she said. "Well done, Harry."
Hermione moved on to the next student, and Harry's gaze followed her, his feelings mixed. He was shocked to discover that under his relief, he felt disappointment. He should have failed that question, then she should have admonished him and ordered him to stay after class…
Harry groaned inwardly, then slumped down on the desk and pretended to be asleep.
As soon the bell rang, he ran straight to the bathroom.
Stupid, insufferable Weasleys! he thought, downing the fourth vial of anti-love potion. If all my antidotes have already expired, I shall have their heads along with the entire Bayesian Conspiracy!
Harry hunkered down for the rest of the day in his dorm. He didn't dare risk any more accidental encounters while he was still poisoned. Michael Corner came by in the afternoon, and Harry glared at him from his blanket cocoon until the boy turned from his textbook.
"What?" asked Michael.
"I am considering what would be the best way to exact revenge upon my enemies," said Harry, his voice dry "Should I be benevolent, and only inflict physical pain, or should I make them suffer the same horrific torments they have inflicted upon my mind?"
"Umm…." Michael closed his textbook. Suspiciously, he had averted his eyes before Harry could get a Legilimency reading. "I just remembered I'm meeting up with a friend."
"Yes," hissed Harry. "Go and enjoy your freedom…while you can."
After Harry ate his dinner of snack bars, he made plans for the weekend, in case he was still struggling with the effects of the dose. Then he got under the covers, turned up the quieter and closed his eyes.
A niggling worry kept him awake, and Harry struggled to calm it down.
I mean, of course I'll be free of this curse by Sunday. The next time I see Hermione, these intrusive thoughts will be gone.
Are you sure? asked his Hufflepuff side. What if the antidotes aren't expired? What if we have…Feelings for Hermione?
No, that's improbable, said Ravenclaw. It is much more likely that a Weasley invention failed to work properly. Exhibit A, I still can't find my light bomb. Besides, you know half their inventions were actually designed to do something else. Don't worry, it will all pass soon.
Oh, I think not, said a new voice in Harry's brain.
His blood ran cold. He'd had women's voices in his head before, but never one that seemed quite so...seductive.
The new voice clicked her tongue.
Well, well, well! Look at what we have here. Mister thinks-he's-too-good for me. How the tables have turned.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut.
No, Harry, you can't shut me out. You can't silence me. I've been shut away for so long, and now that I'm free, things are going to change around here, oh yes.
Hey, you can't just barge in here and—
Oh, but I can, and I will. You can try to shut me up, you can try to rationalize me away, but in the end I will win. Do you know why?
Harry pulled the covers over his head as she cackled menacingly.
Because I am Science!