The end of October was quickly approaching, the air now constantly chilled and the smell of wet leaves and newly tilled earth greeting my nose every morning I woke. Classes were slowly piling on more and more work, and I still hadn't decided if I was going to forgive Cho, though we weren't on such awfully cold terms anymore. We had begun to nod hello to each other whenever we crossed paths, but that was about as much as I could stomach. Forgiveness had always been a subject I had never been brave enough to approach. It took a strong person to go through difficult things, but I don't know if I possessed the kind of strength it took to truly forgive someone. I had been wronged so many times over in my life that even the concept of forgiveness had become so wildly foreign, and I hated how easy it was to hold a grudge against someone and never look back, never see if they were worth redemption.
Maybe it wasn't fair of me, but life hadn't been fair, either.
When I had finally started talking to Ron again in Transfiguration, he had honestly had no clue I had stopped being friends with the group for a while, saying he just figured I was busy, which made me flick his ear in response. Ron was a wonderful friend, but sometimes he wasn't very observant. Hermione and him seemed happy, though, and it made me endlessly happy that the two of them had finally begun to wise up and see that the other had harbored feelings for them since we all met. I was...not jealous, not really, but more envious at first, because I saw how much they cared for each other and I had long ago convinced myself I would never be worthy of that kind of affection.
It was a brisk, stormy Wednesday, when it was announced that the first Hogsmeade trip would take place that weekend, which set the older students alight with excitement. There was nothing like visiting Hogsmeade in Autumn, the orange and auburn decorations strewn throughout the village, cinnamon and nutmeg floating through the air, and autumn treats filling every storefront window. Though Christmas was quite magical, there was something about autumn that had always made me favor it the slightest bit more.
Until Hogwarts, I had never actually had a real Christmas, never had presents or a feast or loved ones to celebrate with. My ten Christmases before had been spent alone, barely even noting that it was Christmasday, and trying to ignore the shouts and bumps from downstairs that seemed to fill my room as if my walls were nothing more than paper. Christmas at Hogwarts had been the first time I had ever felt loved in my entire life, and though some might find it sad, it made me all the fonder of coming back to school.
Walking to Potions with Hermione and Harry after studying in the library during lunch instead of eating (which caused Harry to complain incessantly), the three of us walked down to the dungeon, which had become increasingly cold and damp as the months passed, making it so we had to bundle up until the cauldrons were lit and the warmth of the various fires began to fight the low temperature.
We walked into the classroom, students huddling in small groups to keep their warmth between them, and I parted ways with Harry and Hermione, the latter giving me a small hug and the former just smiling at me before I made my way to my seat. Things between Harry and I were...good, really, we just hadn't found the time to talk about our feelings, though I suspected we both hadn't really been looking for a time to do so. To nobody's surprise, he and I had never been the best about articulating our feelings, and that was painfully obvious to all of our friends, especially currently. Part of me was also dreading it, as I didn't know if I was even capable of being a healthy person to be with, and a sinking feeling in my stomach was doing its best to convince me of that.
There were three minutes until class officially started, and the seat next to me was still empty, which made a small part of me strangely...morose. Blaise was in his usual spot, and Crabbe, who had somehow made it into this class, was sitting in his place to the right of him, so I had no idea why Malfoy wasn't present.
Not that I cared. Liar. Our interactions, in some sick and twisted way, was my way of punishing myself. For what, I didn't know, but it was.
I spent those three minutes pulling out my things and flipping to the right page in my book, making me remember the first day of classes when it had miraculously, and all on its own, landed on the right recipe. Maybe a gust of wind, but wind wasn't usually so precise.
Another peculiar thing to add to the ever-growing list in this period.
Slughorn toddered to the front of the classroom, ready to begin the lesson, and Malfoy still was not present. "The Wound-Cleaning potion. An incredibly useful spell to know, especially for those that seem to attract trouble," Slughorn spoke, eyeing both me and Harry. "Purple in color, it smokes and stings when applied, but almost immediately heals the affected area. I believe that many of you are familiar with this, even if you weren't aware of what it was at the time."
A phantom pain brushed my shoulder as I recalled our fourth year, when I had been distracted while in Herbology, and had earned a nasty cut that spanned from the top of my shoulder to the middle of my collar bone. The wound had immediately started bleeding, and Neville nearly fainted at the sight of so much crimson liquid that had flowed from my shoulder at an alarming rate. Madam Pomfrey had naturally fixed it up in less than an hour, but the pain I endured during the walk from the greenhouse to the infirmary still made me wince, the faint scar that still remained on my skin joining the extensive collection I previously possessed.
"I have chosen this to be our next potion, because try as we might, the staff cannot always guarantee your safety, and it will assure that if there ever were an incident, you all could have proper materials to patch up a friend, or perhaps even save a life," Slughorn continued. "Please turn to page two hundred and seventy-seven to glance over the list of ingredients before I begin the demonstration."
The room filled with the sound of pages turning, and I sat, my book already at the appropriate page. Glancing over the ingredients, I was happy to recognise the majority of them, hopefully meaning that this potion wouldn't be as difficult as the last few Slughorn had assigned.
"Once you have read over the list, please, in an orderly fashion, retrieve your ingredients and begin your task," Slughorn said, returning to sit behind his desk and flipping through our last paper on the bezoar.
I joined Harry and Hermione as they made their way to the storage room, everyone grabbing what they needed for the potion.
"Odd that Malfoy isn't here," I said, picking up a glass bottle full of bright green powder.
"Isn't it a good thing, though? Means he won't be bothering you," Hermione responded, grabbing the bottle out of my hand and replacing it with the correct one, a small one filled with blue powder. I smiled sheepishly at her in thanks.
"No, it is. I never enjoy dealing with that git; it's just strange, I guess," I said, finishing grabbing my ingredients and waiting for the two of them to do the same.
Harry, picking up two bezoars and handing them to Hermione and I, said, "Well, I'm glad he isn't here. I hate that bastard more than anything, and I really hate the way he talks to you, Elaine. Someone needs to put him in his place."
I shook my head. "I think that would just make things worse, honestly. I've just tried to ignore him, and it hasn't seemed to go too badly so far," I explained, though I didn't want to admit that I had almost expected him to back off after he saw Harry and I outside of my class a bit ago. Malfoy had just been so off, and I still was no closer to figuring out why.
"Well, wherever he is, I hope he hits his head; maybe that'll knock some sense into his ridiculously blond head," Hermione said simply, making Harry and I both choke out a surprised laugh.
Hermione had always been bold in her own way, but this year it seemed as if someone had lit a fire under her, making her far more vocal and confident than in years past. Quite honestly, I was proud of her. People had a tendency to walk all over her, as they saw her as just a shy know-it-all, though she was far more than that. She had a kind of internal fire that was incredibly rare, one that came out at the strangest of times.
Hermione and Harry snagged their last items, and we made our way back to our seats hastily, having dawdled a bit too long, causing us to be behind the rest of the class already. I reached my cauldron, and with a wave of my wand, ignited a small orange flame that began licking the bottom of the pot.
By the time Slughorn called out that there was ten minutes remaining, my potion had just barely begun to turn a lovely dark purple, and the stinging scent of antiseptic began to fill the room, and I sighed. This potion had not been easy, and Harry had no little bits of advice for me this time, which was a bit disappointing, though I did enjoy being able to succeed all on my own. Asking for help had never been a strong suit of mine, and this potion had proved that quite adeptly, as I had struggled with two or three separate steps, but I refused to ask Slughorn for guidance. I don't know whether it was because I was Muggle-born, or that incessant drive I had to always be the best, but asking for help had always felt like admitting defeat.
Maybe I was too headstrong for my own good, but so far, nothing bad had come of it.
So far.
I looked over at Zabini and Crabbe's table, where the latter's potion had gone quite horrifically wrong, and was now eating through the thick metal of the cauldron and spilling onto the floor. I stifled a laugh as Crabbe hopped more nimbly than I had ever seen him move to avoid a rather large drop that was rolling off of his desk.
I found myself more than once looking quickly to my right side, expecting to see Malfoy's strong cheekbones, or his pale hands cutting up an ingredient, or his husky voice murmuring instructions to himself. Realizing that I had gotten used to his presence made my throat tighten with self-hatred. How could I possibly be used to having someone near that had never said anything even remotely kind to me?
Slughorn cut through my train of thought. "Alright, students, that's time! Please finish what you are doing, and step back so that I can come assess your progress."
He made his way around the room, making short comments to every student, though most of them seem to be disappointed. So far, two students, one from Gryffindor, and one from Slytherin, had completed the task correctly, which earned them claps on the shoulder and a beaming grin from Slughorn. Hermione made hers perfectly as well, to no one's surprise, and she smiled to herself, practically glowing with satisfaction as Slughorn passed Harry's cauldron with another congratulations. Slughorn grimaced with the disgust at the mess Crabbe had made, and finally arrived at my solely-occupied table.
"Let's see here, Ms. Adler," He started, making a few non-committal grunts as he surveyed my work. "Wonderful, as usual!"
I grinned, feeling proud of myself, and not ashamed of it.
"Come to think of it, Adler, how would you, Potter, and Granger like to stay after class to discuss something with me? Nothing to worry about," Slughorn clarified, seeing my concerned expression. "Just a friendly conversation with three of my best students."
I nodded. "Sure, Professor. I'll make sure we stay behind."
"Wonderful!" Slughorn turned to the rest of the class. "I am rather pleased that such a large number of you managed to correctly make this potion! Those of you who fell short, not to worry! Still plenty more chances to succeed before end of term. Please clear your cauldrons, return any ingredients that were not used, and have a wonderful evening!"
The room swelled with the sound of everyone packing up their things, and after I had cleared my cauldron and cleaned up, I made my way over to Harry and Hermione to let them know Slughorn wanted us to stay behind. Hermione immediately began fretting, but I assured her that Slughorn said it was positive. The class emptied out, and we walked up to Slughorn's desk.
"Ah, wonderful," He said, sitting back in his rather cozy-looking chair. "I wanted to extend an offer to the three of you for dinner in my office Saturday night. Nothing fancy, just a few other outstanding students and myself. I'd like to get to know the lot of you better."
I shared a look with Harry, who said, "That sounds wonderful, sir. What time?"
Slughorn smiled. "7 o'clock sharp, and not to worry about staying out after curfew. I've cleared it with all the heads of Houses, as well as Filch."
His assurance seemed to release the tightness in Hermione's shoulders. "Thank you for inviting us, sir. We'll see you there!"
The conversation seemed over, so we turned and gathered our stuff from our respective tables before making our way out of the frigid dungeon.
As we walked up, Harry began talking. "Anyone else feel a bit...odd about Slughorn having a private dinner?"
I nodded in agreement. "It is strange, though I can't say I'm not a bit proud of myself for doing well enough to catch a teacher's attention. Isn't that right, Hermione? You must be dying inside," I joked, nudging her.
As the year progressed, it seemed as though Slughorn had an affinity for outcasts, for those students that didn't quite fit in, and though we had shared a very helpful conversation a month ago, something about his pragmatism towards us unsettled me. I couldn't help but feel there was some sort of ulterior motive.
Hermione rolled her eyes, though her cheeks were a betraying shade of red. "I don't care that much," she muttered, but Harry and I both knew she was lying.
"It's alright, 'Mione," Harry replied. "Being a teacher's pet is nothing to be ashamed of!"
Hermione hit his shoulder, though it was mostly good-natured. "Shut it, both of you."
I laughed as we rounded the corner, spotting Ron at the end of the hall. Harry looked at me, and I spoke. "Well, that's our cue, isn't it?"
He nodded and Hermione's face broke out in a shy grin as Ron walked towards us. She tried to tell us we didn't have to go, but between her unbreaking gaze at Ron, and the way her words were barely filled with any sort of conviction, we thought it best to let the two of them have some time together. It meant that I was going to be alone with Harry, and though we had been friends for years, now that we had outed our feelings, it felt intensely horrifying to be alone with him. Not because of him, not really, but more because it implied that I would most likely have to express my feelings, and I didn't even know where to begin.
"See you later, mate!" Harry called as we left the two to talk, Hermione's hand encased gently in Ron's.
Nerves shot through me as we made our way up the moving stairs to the library, which was relatively empty, and found a table that was rather secluded towards the back. Sitting down, I placed my bag on the floor, and looked at Harry as he turned his chair around, swinging his leg over to straddle it, his arms resting on the top of the back.
"Lainy, I think we need to talk."
My heart began to speed up, my stomach twisting into an anxious knot.
Harry cleared his throat. "Listen, I really like you--"
I cut him off. "But you don't want to be with me. I understand," I filled in before he could finish. My heart sank, but I hadn't truly let myself believe that the Harry Potter could want me, that I could possibly be good enough for someone like him.
A bit defeatist, sure, but I had an entire armory of defensive mechanisms I'd created over the years to stop myself from getting hurt emotionally. I couldn't do anything about the bruises and stinging pain, but I could protect myself from being used or manipulated. I almost hated that I had gotten so good at it, but a small part of me was oddly proud as well.
A confused look spread across Harry's soft features, his green eyes narrowing. "What? What are you on about?" He asked.
Now it was my turn to be confused. "You mean...you mean that's not what you wanted to talk about?"
Harry laughed. "No, you git, and you would've known that if you had let me finish. I was about to ask you on a date."
My heart was beating even faster, but now it was because of excitement. "A date?" I repeated.
"Yes, a date, Adler. You know, holding hands, dinner, maybe a kiss goodnight?" Harry joked, grabbing my hand that was resting on my thigh. He rubbed my knuckles with his thumb, looking intently at my hand.
"Yes, yes, that sounds wonderful!" I answered, flustered as I curled my fingers around his own, feeling the warmth of his skin slowly heat my fingertips that were always ice-cold at best. His hands were slightly callused from his broomstick, and they nearly swallowed mine whole, which made me feel a bit hot.
Harry grinned. "It's a date!"
I looked at his hand gripping mine, then traveled up his toned arm, over his muscled shoulder, and finally at his face, which was already studying my own, making me want to shrink down as he surveyed me. His eyes glanced ever so quickly down at my lips, then back up to meet my gaze.
The smile dropped from his face, however, when our eyes met. "How do you, y'know, feel about this?" Harry asked, worry written in his eyes.
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to find the right words, trying to swallow the dread that threatened to consume me every time I so much as thought about commitment. "I...I care about you," I said slowly, working to piece my thoughts together. "I've never felt the kind of...security I do around you with anyone else."
That much was true. I had always felt an odd sort of kinship with him because of our depressingly similar backgrounds, and I found him attractive, of course I did, but further than that I had absolutely no clue. Luckily, he cut me off, making relief wash over me.
"It's cute when you're shy, you know. I don't really ever get to see you so...soft," Harry said, his voice a low whisper.
"I don't really like..." I lost my train of thought as I looked at him. "I don't really like being vulnerable in front of people," I responded softly, leaning forward the tiniest bit. That was a bit of an understatement. I don't think I had ever truly, entirely, let my guard down in front of anyone...ever, really.
I didn't bother to correct him either; that I wasn't shy, not really, just emotionally... stunted.
Harry leaned forward, too, his other hand coming up to brush a strand of dark, wavy hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering at the back of my head. "I know, Lainy..."
We were so close our noses were nearly touching, our breaths mixing together as we took the tiniest mouthfuls of air that were strained from the tension. The only sounds present were the faint turning of pages and the gentle flickering of the lanterns that were sitting on the middle of every table, making it feel like we were the only people in the entire place. "But I like it," Harry muttered, right before he pressed his lips to mine for the first time in almost a month.
The kiss started gentle, our mouths reacquainting themselves with the other, Harry's hand cupping the nape of my neck. I savored the taste of him, warm and pleasant, making me open my mouth a tiny bit wider as I felt my core heat up. I took my free hand and cupped his cheek gently, pulling him in even further.
Harry groaned softly at my movement, pressing his lips to mine in an even fiercer manner, like he couldn't possibly get enough. His hand moved from the nape of my neck to gently grab a fistful of hair, tugging my head gently back as he swiped his tongue softly against my lower lip. I met his tongue with my own, the kiss still rather innocent, but it was making my head spin nonetheless. Feeling his calloused hand on my thigh made me tremble with adrenaline.
I hadn't been touched so gently in longer than I could possibly remember.
The kiss continued and it felt like my body was buzzing with electricity, every touch of Harry's sending heat shooting down my spine. I wrapped my fingers around his onyx hair, feeling its silky texture, and it felt like I never wanted to let go.
Harry pulled back, though, our hands dropping from each other, and he offered me a breathless smile. "I have been thinking about doing that for a month," He confessed.
I hadn't really let myself even think about him during that three weeks that I isolated myself, so I just nodded in response instead, feeling a bit guilty that I had been able to push the thought of him out of my mind when it seemed as if he hadn't. I had become scarily good at compartmentalizing, at pushing things out of my head that I was too afraid to face head-on. Thinking about Harry during that time would've led me down an entirely horrific self-destructive path, and I just really hadn't wanted to deal with it.
"So," Harry started, turning towards the table we had sat at. "I guess we should study." His face was solemn, but I could see a glint of humor in his eyes.
I groaned, making Harry laugh and leaned his head on my shoulder as I pulled out my books to figure out where to begin, even as anxiety rose up within me at the realization of the path I was going down.