Chapter 33: Making New Friends

It was Sunday evening, and Harry was attempting to get some work done in his lab. He had to admit that he was losing faith in his love potion hypothesis. It was becoming increasingly more likely that something worse was happening to him.

He needed to figure out exactly how to fix things, but for the moment, Harry was having enough trouble trying to cope with the new voice in his head. Because Science, unlike what its name implied, was not rational.

I never realized how useful an empty classroom could be. We should consider using this table for something besides science experiments, know what I mean? Like, you know, a candle lit dinner? Get your mind out of the gutter, Harry.

Harry flicked through his spell book, choosing not to dignify that with a response. He found that Science was a pest that liked to bother him when he let his mind wander, so he kept busy, trying to focus on reading…

Hmmm…but I think she prefers libraries. I bet Hermione would like a candle lit date in the library. Let's look up spells that play light, romantic music.

Harry kept turning the pages…

And then, we could try something from that other book. You know, the one with those fascinating pictures of-

He slammed his fist on the table. First of all, both fire and music are strictly forbidden in the library. It is a place of silence and study. And secondly, please do shut up. I don't take advice from dumb, irrational hormones.

Ahh. So you think that's what I am?

Yes, I know, I'm not dense! I just don't appreciate what you're doing, and I'm ignoring you because it would lead to the worst possible outcome to feed into your delusions.

Yes, you've been ignoring me for a long time, Harry. Every time you had a thought about Hermione, you repressed it. Anytime you were tempted to cross that line, you shoved it away. You know this, on some level, which is why you know I'm not going anywhere.

Here's what I know. In the last five days, and I've had to cancel my Patronus meeting, stop eating lunch in the Great Hall, and can't do anything resembling actual work without you harassing me.

Huh. Interesting. Are you sure you don't know what I really am?

There was a quiet moment in his head where Harry had the distinct impression he was supposed to answer. What?

The momentous pause in his brain was punctuated by finger guns. Magic. Sexy, science magic. And if you act right now, it can all be yours.

Oh god.

Just picture this: you're in a crowded room, and there's this gorgeous girl in front of you. Normally, at best you'd be a creepy stalker, or wall ornamentation. But with my magic around, you could be suave, confident, and maybe even get a girl to think you're above average!

Wow. I cannot believe I actually just thought that. You know we're awkward, right? I'm not just saying it, this is a verifiable fact. Harry paused for a moment, considering. Perhaps if there were a universe where he could be more confident, it wouldn't be a terrible trade off to sacrifice part of his intelligence—

Dear sweet Merlin, what did I just think?

I can make it happen right now. All you have to do is let me take the wheel for a few minutes—

Let's get one thing straight. That's never happening. You're perpetually relegated to the backseat, and that's only until I figure out how to stuff you in the trunk.

Science sighed, long and loud.

Alright, buddy, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which will it be?

Go away.

Right, got it. Don't worry, Harry, you'll learn to see things my way.

Daphne hovered over her plant in Herbology class, her scissors poised to trim the leaves of the Moon Flower. She squinted through her flame retardant goggles, hoping she was cutting it in the right place where it would not explode or release toxic gases.

She glanced over at Pansy working beside her, hoping for some help, but her classmate was scribbling notes on scrap paper and passing them under the long wooden table. She hadn't even started working on her flower.

Almost against her will, Daphne glanced across the greenhouse at a certain Hufflepuff working on his flower.

She shook her head vigorously. No, stay focused. We have to get our grades up or we won't pass the OWLS. No more boys, they're too much trouble.

She tried her hardest, she really did, but her eyes kept sliding over to him. Neville was the most competent student in the class, so she reasoned that as long as she stared only at his flower, she would learn at least enough to not blow anything up.

Neville trimmed his leaves deftly, cutting up in diagonal lines close to the stem. But she noticed, as he cut, that he was mumbling something. Daphne strained to listen. Was it a spell? She went up to the front, under the pretense of exchanging her scissors, but on the way she hovered by his table to listen.

When I saw your face,

Now I'm a believer

Not a trace

Of doubt in my mind.

Daphne's face flushed. He was singing! And his voice…oh wow, did he have a set of pipes! She could listen to him all day.

She knew she had to move, or people would start staring. She headed to the Professor's desk, exchanged the scissors, then walked back to her seat, kneeling to "tie" her shoe beside his desk.

It just so happened that another student was walking behind her. The student bumped into Daphne, who sprawled forward and knocked into Neville's legs. Her scissors went flying and hit his desk, bouncing off and clattering to the floor.

"I'm so sorry!" said Daphne. "I didn't mean…"

His flower, which he clutched in his hands, suddenly shrieked and burst into flames.

And so did his partner's, and two other classmates sitting nearby. All Daphne could think, as Professor Sprout doused the flames, was that her voice made flowers explode.

Once the emergency was taken care of, Professor Sprout asked Daphne to stay after class. She stood beside Professor Sprout as she weeded the vegetable patch. Neville was moving heavy boxes from the back, because he was amazing and always helping other people like that.

"Well," said Professor Sprout, digging her hands into the dirt. "You've certainly made our first lesson of the year quite interesting." She smiled indulgently. "Unfortunately, we are preparing for OWLs, and I can't lose class time every time someone forgets the basics. Such as, being mindful of our surroundings while carrying scissors."

Professor Sprout threw a weed into the bucket. Her voice was brusque, but she'd never really snapped at a student unless they were being mean. Daphne knew she would be punished, but she hoped the Professor would show mercy. She could water the Mandrakes, but please not the Tentaculas.

"Daphne, I'm concerned about you," Professor Sprout continued. "You used to be a good student, but now your grades are slipping. What's going on?"

"I…umm…I just get distracted in class. I'm sorry."

Another weed was tossed in the bucket. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She frowned and dug her toe into the ground, unsure what to ask for. A better lab partner, maybe?

Professor Sprout glanced at Neville, who was still moving boxes. "Just throw those away, dear. They're wasting space."

Neville frowned in confusion. "But…they're brand new."

She shrugged and went back to weeding. "I don't need a bunch of Muggle miniviewers, or whatever they are. If McGonagall can't find a use for them, I don't know how I'm expected to. I appreciate your help, dear, but save yourself the trouble and vanish them."

Sprout turned back to Daphne. "I think that you could use a tutor. Someone to help you review the basics and prepare for OWLs. How does that sound?"

"Good…I guess?"

Professor Sprout turned to Neville again. "Come here, lad, I've a question for you."

Neville came over, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. "Yes, Professor?"

"I need a tutor for Daphne. She really wants to learn, but she's struggling to keep up in class."

"Umm…" Neville glanced at Daphne, then looked away. "Seamus likes Herbology."

"Seamus?" Professor Sprout scoffed. "He gets all squeamish when I make him milk the Bubotubers. I need a student who consistently does well and can handle the responsibility. Someone who is a patient teacher who understands the way of Hufflepuffs."

Professor Sprout was staring at him, smiling pleasantly, and Neville rubbed the back of his head. Daphne was blushing hard, "Don't worry, I can study on my own. I don't need help."

"No…it's fine," said Neville quietly. "I can help you, if you want."

"Oh, excellent," said Professor Sprout, picking up the bucket. "Then, I'll leave you to sort that out. I hope to hear good things!"

Right away, Neville knew this was a plot.

Professor Sprout was always complaining to him about how no one respected Herbology anymore. The subject was popular among a third of Hufflepuffs, a smattering of Gryffindors and maybe two Ravenclaws. All Slytherins by their third year had learned to turn their noses up at the "ridiculous" art of horticulture, and their grades were passable at best. Now, Professor Sprout had a failing Slytherin who was failing for the right reason. Of course, she would use that as an excuse to send in a Hufflepuff to indoctrinate her into liking Herbology. If it spread to the rest of Slytherin, even better.

Neville just didn't think his attempts at indoctrination would be appreciated.

In fact, he was sure he was about to get hexed.

Daphne was staring at the ground, and then at a bed of Mandrakes, anywhere but at him. He didn't know what kind of trick she was planning, but this would be the moment to do it. They were alone, he was unarmed, and just like Ginny never got in trouble for hexing people, neither would her friend Daphne. He didn't know what Daphne had against him, but she'd been leading up to this for months now. If he just took his lumps, maybe it would all finally be over.

Neville jumped at the sound of her voice. "I'm really sorry," she said. "I know you're busy, and having to tutor me must be really annoying."

"It's okay," stuttered Neville. "I..uhh…I like Herbology."

She smiled, still staring at the ground. "I know. You're amazing, it's like you can mesmerize plants with your voice." She faltered. "I mean…I haven't been watching you or anything."

"Thanks," said Neville, noticing her whole body was trembling. He couldn't figure out why she'd be so nervous…unless she was stalling until her friends got here to gang up on him.

Yeah, that must be it.

"So," said Neville, steeling himself. "What day would you like to meet?"

"Oh, anytime is fine with me," she said. "What day are you free?"

"Wednesday is good," said Neville. "We could meet here, in the afternoon."

"Okay," she said, snapping her fingers. "Right-o."

She rubbed her forehead, and then started walking towards the door.

Neville, puzzled, followed behind her from a safe distance. She opened the door…

…and left the room.

He stood there a few moments. When no one jumped out at him, he followed her. It was lunch time, after all.

She was outside, banging her head against a wall.

"Are…you okay?" he asked.

She jumped. "Oh! Yes, ha ha ha! Just that, uh, there was a bug. I squished it."

"With your head?" he said.

She was silent a long moment, then she hung her head. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

Neville opened his mouth, then closed it. It suddenly hit him that she might not be plotting something at all, and that there was a much simpler explanation for what was going on.

He scratched his head. "Well…" he said. "I don't think you're crazy, but you might be weird." Her face fell, and he hastened to add, "That's not a bad thing, though! See, I'm weird too."

"You're not weird," she said, with a blink. "You're cool."

"Cool? Me?" Neville laughed. "No, I'm super weird. I mean, I practice dance routines by myself in my room, okay? I have a stuffed pig that I named 'Mr. Snores a Lot.'" He wondered if he should have admitted that, but it seemed to make her feel better. She gazed at him in wonder.

"Really?"

"Yep. So, don't be embarrassed to be yourself, you can't be weirder than me."

Her tense shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. "Okay."

They started walking together, since they were heading in the same direction. "I wonder what's for lunch?" said Neville.

"I heard someone say we were having chicken fingers, but I think they were joking."

"Yeah," said Neville. "I shouldn't complain since I love the food, but sometimes I really just want some chicken nuggets or pizza."

"And bacon and sour cream jacket potatoes," she added.

"Or toast and Nutella," sighed Neville. "Oh man, now I'm hungry."

She smiled. "Well, I think we're late, so we need to hurry if we want to ketchup with the others."

Neville blinked, and then grinned. "Lettuce do our best!"

Harry had spent 5 days avoiding Hermione, and things were getting stressful. He'd only seen her a few times in and out of class, and his general activity consisted of three things:

A) staring at Hermione

B) avoiding her gaze in case she noticed said staring

C) avoiding her gaze when she wasn't even looking in his general direction

The rest of his time he spent thinking about her, trying not to think about her, and feeling guilty for it. This led to a significant decrease in all productive activity, and Harry was fed up.

If this really was a limerence, then it ought not to be controlling his life. He decided that the best way to get a grip on the situation was to pick apart the problem, examine it from every angle, and continue until he'd solved the puzzle. He hoped his newfound enlightenment would banish Science forever, which was not a phrase he'd thought he would say.

Unfortunately, once Harry started, he couldn't stop, which led to him being caught in the terrifying grip of Analyze Absolutely Everything.

...So if the hormones associated with limerence release a substance similar to the effect of cocaine, then logically I ought to stay away from the source of this effect. My attraction is an acquired behavior, which means it can be changed unlike static triggers like food, sleep, etc. Avoidance will trigger a response similar to withdrawal symptoms, but will also break or at least weaken the operant conditioning cycle of stimulus response. Admittedly, it will be painful like breaking any habit, although it won't have an effect like heroin withdrawal (i.e, I won't die or go comatose) (ha ha did you realize heroin and heroine are spelled almost the same what are the odds of that, isn't Hermione a heroine also the same letters are in her name like heroin CRAP IT'S A SIGN BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN-

Harry's Auror mirror started ringing. He hesitated, then answered.

"Hi Harry," said Hermione. "Are you busy later today?"

"Ummm…" He wasn't. "Why?"

"Do you want to meet in the library to study?"

Harry was about to say no, but he couldn't think of a good excuse. Also, he realized that there was another strategy he hadn't considered—desensitization. If his limerence was really just an amped up monster version of the Suspension Bridge Effect, which was entirely possible considering how much he'd been freaking out, then the best strategy might be allowing himself safe levels of exposure until he calmed the heck down.

Besides, it's not like he would know for sure which strategy would be most effective until he tested them.

"Okay," said Harry. "But can we meet in the Ravenclaw common room?" It would be a better place for this experiment.

"That's a good idea, then we can eat snacks."

"Alright, but I think I won't. I don't want it to disrupt my research, which needs minimal excess stimuli. You can eat them though."

"What?" Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "Sometimes you say the cutest things, Harry. See you later!"

Hermione hung up, and Harry slowly put away his mirror.

No. I forbid you from dissecting what "cute" meant in this context.

Well. Cute is a word that means adorable, which is not an adjective that conveys manliness, but it was also the word that the girl deer used with Rudolph that one time in that movie and he was really happy about it, but we can't make assumptions based on cartoons made for kids, all kids like being called cute, though I can think of several instances where cute was used to describe me and I hated it and I'm still not sure I like it when Hermione says it, hold on what about-

Harry was screaming internally.

Friday, Jan. 19th, 6:35 pm.

The test subject is sitting beside Hermione Granger on the couch. Two students are playing chess at a table on their left, and three students are reading on the floor pillows. Current temperature is around 20 degrees Celcius, kept constant by a nearby fireplace.

Hermione is working on her potions homework. Her brow is furrowed pensively. So far, no adverse reactions reported, aside from occasional heart palpitations that could be due to dyspepsia.

Alright, not trying to stop your dumb autobiographical case study, said Science. But can we at least admit that we agreed to this meeting because we missed Hermione? Also, Ravenclaw said not to make inferences while gathering data.

Harry ignored Science, even though he suspected it was right on all counts, and focused instead on his research.

The 5th year potions homework is very easy for the test subject. He can complete it without too much effort. He keeps looking up at Hermione, wondering if she needs help, since she is working on 6th year homework.

So now we're rationalizing the staring we've been doing all evening, sighed Science.

Harry finished one more problem before getting distracted again. In the interest of scientific inquiry, he decided to let his thoughts run.

Her brow is still furrowed in concentration. She has been tapping her quill against the page for a while. The test subject thinks that the lines between her forehead are sort of cute. He imagines running a finger over them, smoothing them out just to irritate her.

He notices that her hair is down, half tied in the back with a blue bow. He thinks this is very pretty, it makes him sort of happy just looking at it. He usually prefers straight hair, but hers is beautiful and wild. He wonders what…

Kisssss, interrupted Science in a suggestive hiss.

Harry turned back to his homework.

What? I'm just trying to move things along here.

Hermione set her homework aside and rubbed her eyes. Then, she grabbed some crisps out of the bowl on the coffee table. "How's your homework going?" she asked, after eating a few of them.

"Umm," Harry looked down at his homework, surprised to discover he'd only completed two problems. "I'm sure I'll finish soon."

Heh heh.

Harry rolled his eyes at Science.

"Mine isn't even that hard," said Hermione. "But I can't seem to concentrate. I've been thinking about the Patronus." Her forehead pinched as a troubled expression crossed her face. "I've practiced a little, but…still nothing yet."

Feeling a twinge of guilt, Harry set his homework aside. "We can meet again, if you'd like. I'm sorry I cancelled last week and didn't reschedule."

"It's okay, I can tell you've been sort of distracted lately," said Hermione, glancing at him. "Is everything okay?"

Harry shrugged. "I've not been feeling well, but I'm sure I'll get over it soon."

Doctor doctor, give me the news I got a BAD CASE of-

"I hope it's nothing serious," said Hermione, frowning. "Let me know if I can do anything to help."

Don't even, Harry warned Science.

I wasn't going to say anything. But if I were, I would have said—

This, for the record, is exactly why I don't trust you. If you were one of my Hogwarts voices, then you would at least pretend to listen to me.

Actually, there are multiple layers of consciousness, so in a sense I AM listening to you because I'm a part of you—

Oh, now I get it. You're not 'Science,' you're Freudian psychology! That explains why everything you say is a twisted up nonsense version of scientific inquiry, like all those experiments you've been suggesting…

Interesting, said Science. Why don't you lay down on the couch and we'll talk about it? Preferably over Hermione's lap.

Umm, pardon me—said Ravenclaw.

Also, if you're my personified Id, then I guess that also explains why you're so lewd all the time? No offense, but I'd have thought for a female you'd have more tact.

Wow. Why do you have to assign gender binary to a voice in your head? Unless you unconsciously assign female and sexual promiscuity to the same grouping, in which case, whew, we've got a lot to work on. Anyway, let's start getting closer to Hermione so we can go back to doing those Hogwarts quests.

Why would we—oh, so we're just linking all the subconscious desires together now, great.

Point of order! interrupted Ravenclaw. Will you stop arguing with the Freudian and stick with the plan? I need data over here.

Harry—err, the test subject—turned back to Hermione, who was giving him a strange look. "It might not be for a few weeks, but I promise, we'll meet again to practice the Patronus."

"Okay," said Hermione.

Hermione and the test subject go back to work. The test subject notices that he is sweating a lot more than usual, and his heart is beating a little too fast. But he thinks, uhh…he abstains from making any inferences at this time. He is trying to work on the next problem, but Hermione is sitting a little closer to him than before, and it's kind of distracting.

Hermione started giggling, and Harry looked up. Her hand was raised to her mouth, as if to stop the giggling, but it wasn't working.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Look at this problem." She passed the paper to him.

Two Hufflepuffs are attempting to make a Polyjuice potion. A Slytherin has just entered the room and snuck in a piece of wormroot. How long do the Hufflepuffs have before their potion explodes?

a) Two minutes

b) Three hours

c) It already exploded

d) The Slytherin was me, by the way. Don't brew Polyjuice without permission.

"He can be so funny," laughed Hermione. "Oh no, look at the next one!"

It was another problem that featured a Professor Slughorn anecdote, but Harry didn't laugh, because he was very distracted by Hermione's reaction.

She sat on the couch, giggling to herself, her face turning red. She was trying not to laugh too loud, so she didn't disturb the others, so she scrunched her hands against her face, her eyes betraying her merriment. It was like she was so excited she couldn't contain herself.

And Harry was thinking that he wanted to excite her so much that she came undone in his arms.

He sat there, frozen in that thought for several moments.

I don't want that.

Yes, you do. You really, really do. And you know we could think of a lot of interesting ways to make that happen.

His hands were gripped into fists against his knees, staring at her with longing and fear. For a few seconds, he was utterly paralyzed. She turned to him, and he forced his eyes away, but his heart still hammered. He couldn't take much more of this.

Her laughter quieted, and she was staring at him. "What's wrong?"

She reached for his shoulder, and Harry flinched away, standing up hurriedly.

"Excuse me. I need to go. I'll…uhh…see you later."

Whew! said Science. Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?