Disguised Affections

Chapter Four



It was well after curfew and most of the castle residents were long since asleep in their snug, four-poster beds, but in the Gryffindor common room, the Golden Trio sat in a tight knot, their knees touching.



“Harry, it’s okay. Nothing happened,” Hermione said, gently chafing his wrists.



“But I was so close, ‘Mione. I almost… Neville could have been seriously hurt. I should have been more careful!” His voice was raw.



“Look mate, Neville’s fine. Let’s just take this for a wake-up call. If you’re studying in bed, just make sure to cast your wards as if you were turning in for the night.” Ron paused a moment and then grinned. “Or, you could take a page out of my book and just not study any more.”



“Ronald Weasley!” Hermione’s voice was tight. “Of course he must continue to study. NEWTs are this year. Honestly, if you haven’t anything useful to add, keep your suggestions to yourself.”



“Cripes, ‘Mione. I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit. Bit swotty tonight, aren’t you?”



She touched her palm to her right eye and rubbed lightly. “Maybe so. Sorry. I haven’t slept very well lately myself.”



Silence settled upon the three of them as they sat staring at the crackling fire. Hermione summoned them a pot of tea and played Mother, stirring a teaspoon of sugar in for Ron and a generous serving of milk for herself and Harry. The soft clinking of china was a soothing noise to their British ears, and slowly the three relaxed.



Constantine descended into the common room clad in a pair of black pajama pants and a grey waffle-textured tee shirt. Hermione’s eyes slid over his lean form with appreciation. Her mouth went slightly dry at the sight of the lovely pale skin of his arms, and the rakish looking copper cuff that covered his left wrist. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked exhausted.



She grimaced and looked away, feeling contrite. Her best friend was a hemorrhaging ball of guilt, Con looked like death, and all she could do was sit there ogling a lovely set of wiry muscles. She turned back to Harry and warmed his tea.



He gave her a watery smile.



“I saw what happened up there,” Constantine said quietly.



Harry’s jaw clenched, and he sucked in a lungful of air through his nose. “It was an accident. I was dreaming… about Ginny, and Neville tried to wake me up when I started screaming. I didn’t even think… I just reacted and before I knew it…”



“Longbottom was on the ground with the tip of your wand pressing into his throat.” Con pointed to his jugular. “Just here.” He moved closer and sat in the chair that was nearest to the couch that held the Golden Trio. “You don’t have to explain. Like I said, I saw what happened. Longbottom is wiser for it, but I have a feeling that you are probably taking all the blame for your greedy self.”



Ron cast Constantine a scathing glance, but Hermione placed a restraining hand upon his wrist.



“Dream often?” the raven-eyed boy said to Harry.



Harry nodded.



“I won’t insult you by asking if you’ve thought about taking Dreamless Sleep. I’d imagine that, like myself, you and Hermione are probably incapable of using that deliciously narcotic potion any longer.” He smirked and turned to eye Ron. “I bet Weasely here could take it, though. I’ve noticed he’s taken to sleeping elsewhere. His enthusiastic exertions with the opposite sex are probably suppressing his dreams quite thoroughly.”



Ron looked irritated. “You really are a pig, Con.”



The smirk never left his face. He just raised one shoulder slightly as if to say, Yes. Whatever shall you do about it? “I’d wager I’m right, though.”



“I just wish I could sleep through one night without dreaming of her. Those are the worst. The dreams of battle and death and thick, choking blood are nothing compared to the dreams of Ginny.” A tear slid down Harry’s face, and Hermione rubbed her broken friend’s back while he breathed in deep, shuddering breaths.



“I can never remember my dreams,” Con whispered. “I feel as if I could just put a name or a face to whatever was tormenting me, I could defeat it, but I can’t.” He sat back and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I woke up with blood in my mouth again yesterday morning, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back to sleep since then.”



“You’ve been awake for 36 hours?” Harry asked.



Con nodded, his eyes shadowed. They were silent for a few moments, and Hermione, needing to remain busy, conjured a cup of tea for Con as well, stirring two spoonfuls of sugar in briskly. He smiled a bit, and looked pleased that she knew how he took his tea.



“She screams in my dreams,” Harry said finally. “I never relive the last battle when I sleep. It’s breaking into Malfoy Manor that haunts me. That night when Ron, Remus, and I snuck in to that Pureblooded prick’s dungeons to spring Ginny and Hermione.”



“Well, I think I’ll toddle along and find Lav,” Ron said, standing up like a shot and running his sweaty palms over his shirt.



“Right. Night, Ron. See you bright and early for Transfigurations.” Harry’s voice was strained, with a terrible false cheerfulness that set Hermione’s teeth on edge.



When he was gone, Hermione sighed. “I worry about him.”



“Don’t begrudge him his coping mechanisms, ‘Mione.”



She looked at Harry, surprised. “Never! I just worry about the day that no longer works, and he’s suddenly forced to deal with years of suppression.” Hermione turned to Con. “Ginny was Ron’s sister and Harry’s love. She died there in the shadows of Malfoy Manor. I’d have died too, if not for Draco. It was the end of sixth year. Little Theodore Nott aspired to be a big, bad Death Eater, and we were the price.”



Hermione set her tea down abruptly, and walked over to stoke the fire.



“It’s getting a bit chilly in here, isn’t it? So, dear Teddy stupefied us and carried us out into the Forbidden Forest where his good friends Crabbe and Goyle were waiting with a portkey to Malfoy Manor.



Ginny and I were there for three weeks with Lucius. It would have been some small comfort if we were at least kept together, but Malfoy, Sr. is an expert in breaking people – it was, after all, practically in his Death Eater job description – and he knew how much worse the solitude would be. Three weeks and then Draco came home.”



Con watched her with an impassive expression. The firelight threw shadows on his face, causing his features to stand out in stark relief.



“Draco is a prat. I don’t think we can argue about that, but he’s not a monster. He found us in the dungeons and sent Ron and Harry a message through Dumbledore. Our rations were meager, and we were slowly starving, but he slipped us food as often as he could while we waited to be rescued. He gave us hope.” Hermione drew a shaky breath.



Harry continued the narrative. “Ron and I had been out of our bloody minds with worry. When Dumbledore told us that he had gotten a message as to their whereabouts, we were ecstatic.” His faced twisted with anger that was still fresh. “But that bastard had sat on the news for a week while he agonized over whether we could trust Draco. If it was a trap. Draco had included a portkey that would take us directly into the dungeons, and the key to their cells.”



“What caused Dumbledore to change his mind and let you attempt to mount a rescue? It does seem suspicious.” Con’s voice was as gentle as Hermione had ever heard it.



“He’d tried to scan Draco in his foe-glass and couldn’t get his image to appear.” The girl’s arms were wrapped tightly around her torso as she regurgitated the stuff of her nightmares.



“Remus Lupin, Ron, and I portkeyed in. Immediately, we knew something was wrong. Ginny was screaming so loudly. Hermione’s cell was right on our way, and we got her first. Gods, she looked awful – bloody and bruised and so skinny that I was worried she’d break when Remus picked her up. The entire time, Ginny kept screaming, but her voice was getting softer, weaker. By the time we got to her cell, she was quiet. I looked in the slot, and Ginny was… she… her blood was all over the floor… her clothes were...” Harry choked and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. “There was a ring of five Death Eaters standing around her and one of them turned to Lucius and said, ‘You always break them when it’s your turn!’” Harry was panting from the effort of recounting the story. He gritted his teeth and his voice turned business-like “So, she was dead by the time we got there. We took Hermione and portkeyed out. The war was over within three months. You know, I Avada’ed Voldemort in the back? They didn’t talk about that in the papers, but that’s what I did. I’d do it again, too.” Harry laughed bitterly. “So, why do you have nightmares Constantine Prince? What part did you have to play?” Harry’s voice sounded almost accusatory.



Hermione could see Con debating whether or not he was going to respond to the question. His eyes were an almost fathomless black, and his mouth was tight.



“I don’t know.”



“What do you mean?”



Con crossed his arms and scowled. “My memories are gone. I have absolutely no recollection of who I am or what I did. All I know is what Dumbledore told me. My name is Constantine Prince and I am a transfer student from Durmstrang. I have no family left, no money, no familiar. All I was left with are vague impressions. I remember the serenity of Potions. I remember… a girl I knew once. Just a hint of her face in the darkness in my mind. I remember horrible, screeching laughter, and the need to always sit with my back to a wall. And the rest is just… gone. At night, I feel like the blank spots in my brain are trying to swallow me whole.”



Constantine shook himself like a dog. Hermione couldn’t help but pity the surly boy with the tortured, sloe eyes. Carefully, she reached out and touched his hand. She stroked her cool, soft fingers over Con’s palm and he looked up startled, before snatching his hand back into his lap where hers could not follow.



“Enough of this. I don’t need an Agony Aunt, Granger. I’m off to get some shut eye.” He stalked away, his posture rigid. At the entrance to the staircase, he paused and said, “I don’t know when, but one day I’m sure we’ll all sleep the night through.” Constantine turned back to face Harry and Hermione. “Potter, I changed your wards so that they automatically activate when you fall asleep.”



“Thanks, Con.” The boy nodded and left silently.



Harry and Hermione sank back onto the couch, and Harry lifted his arm so that his friend could snuggle into his side. “I hope he’s right, ‘Mione.”



“Me too, Harry.”



She dozed lightly against his side until Harry stirred and said, “Talking about it kind of helped, I think. He just listened.”



“I think that’s what we both needed. I’m going to turn in, love.”



She leaned forward and kissed her friend on the forehead.



“Thanks for coming for me, Harry.”



“Anytime, ‘Mione.”