Harry and Hermione: I trust you

Chapter Twelve

Harry's protective instincts remained on high alert as the aftermath of the confrontation with Viktor Krum settled. He approached Krum with a steely gaze, his voice firm and unwavering. "Listen here, Krum," Harry began, his tone laced with quiet intensity. "If you ever lay a hand on Hermione again, I won't hesitate to end you."

Krum's frustration was evident as he clenched his fists, but he said nothing in response, knowing the weight behind Harry's words. With a last lingering glare, he turned and walked away, leaving Harry to stand guard over Hermione with renewed determination.

Later, as Harry and Ron found themselves alone, Ron couldn't help but broach a lighter subject, attempting to lift the tension that lingered in the air. "So, Harry," he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "who did you end up asking to the Yule Ball?"

Harry chuckled, enjoying the opportunity to lighten the mood. "Oh, you know, just someone who I knew wouldn't turn me down," he teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

Ron rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Right, because you're such a catch," he retorted, though a hint of amusement danced in his voice. "Well, I asked Fleur Delacour. Thought I'd aim high."

Harry laughed, clapping Ron on the shoulder. "Good luck with that, mate," he replied, the tension of earlier moments forgotten in the camaraderie of friendship. "But hey, at least we'll both have some interesting company at the ball."

Amid their daily routines, Harry found solace in practicing and honing his ice-breath power. With each passing day, he felt himself growing stronger, and more confident in his abilities. Ice shards formed effortlessly at his command, and he could now utilize his ice breath with precision, even in combat situations.

As Harry demonstrated his newfound mastery to Hermione, she watched with a mixture of awe and amusement. "You know, Harry," she remarked, a playful glint in her eyes, "it's okay to take breaks once in a while."

Harry chuckled a mischievous twinkle in his own eyes. "Ah, but Hermione, where's the fun in that?" he teased, flashing her a grin. "Besides, I thought the Hermione I know never took breaks."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head in mock exasperation. "Touché, Harry," she replied, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "But seriously, don't push yourself too hard."

Their banter continued, lighthearted and easy, until their playful exchange was interrupted by a tender moment. As Harry leaned in to kiss Hermione, she felt the intensity of his ice breath on her lips, a reminder of the power he wielded.

With a teasing glint in her eyes, Hermione pulled back slightly, a smirk playing on her lips. "I can feel the ice, Harry," she joked, her voice laced with amusement. "You never stopped using your ice breath, did you?"

Harry chuckled softly, his gaze warm as he met Hermione's. "Guilty as charged," he admitted, his tone filled with affection. "But I promise to keep it under control...mostly."

One day, as Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione, a familiar owl swooped in, carrying a package in its talons. With a soft hoot, the owl landed gracefully in front of Harry, extending its leg to offer the parcel.

Curious, Harry took the package and carefully untied the string, revealing a set of dress robes neatly folded inside. His brow furrowed in confusion until he noticed the attached note, bearing Mrs. Weasley's familiar handwriting.

"Harry, dear," the note read, "I thought you might need some proper attire for the upcoming Yule Ball. Enclosed are your dress robes. I hope they fit you well. Love, Molly."

With a smile, Harry unfolded the robes, revealing their design. They were indeed reminiscent of the Hogwarts uniform, but instead of the customary black, they were a rich bottle green in color. Intricate silver trim adorned the edges, adding a touch of elegance to the ensemble.

"Well, look at this," Harry remarked, holding up the robes for Hermione to see. "Molly sent me dress robes for the ball."

Hermione's eyes lit up with curiosity as she examined the robes. "They're lovely, Harry," she commented, admiring the craftsmanship. "And green suits you."

As the snow fell in thick, swirling flakes outside the cozy warmth of the Gryffindor common room, Harry sat by the crackling fire, pen in hand, composing a letter to Sirius. The parchment before him bore the familiar lines of his godfather's name, and Harry paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"Dear Sirius," he began, the words flowing easily from his pen. "I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to give you an update on everything that's been happening here at Hogwarts."

With a sense of excitement and anticipation, Harry recounted the events of the summer spent with the Grangers, Hermione's parents. He described the warmth and hospitality they had shown him, grateful for their support and friendship during the break from school.

"And speaking of Hermione," Harry continued, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, "I have some big news. We've started dating."

Even as he wrote the words, Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of both excitement and disbelief. It was something he had hoped for, but never quite dared to imagine would happen.

"It's been... surprising, to say the least," Harry admitted, his words reflecting his mixed emotions. "But I couldn't be happier."

As he moved on to the topic of his newfound ice breath power, Harry's excitement bubbled over. He described the progress he had made, from mastering simple ice shards to honing his abilities in combat situations. It was a power unlike anything he had ever experienced, both exhilarating and daunting in equal measure.

"And then there's the Triwizard Tournament," Harry wrote, his tone growing more serious. "It's been causing quite a stir here at Hogwarts. I'm not sure what to expect, but I'll keep you updated as things progress."

With the letter complete, Harry folded it carefully and sealed it with wax before summoning Hedwig to deliver it to Sirius. 

As the days passed and the excitement of the Yule Ball drew nearer, Hogwarts buzzed with anticipation. Amidst the flurry of preparations, Harry found himself caught up in a whirlwind of emotions and events, each day bringing new surprises and challenges.

One evening, as Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room, lost in thought, he was approached by Professor McGonagall, her expression grave. "Harry," she began, her voice tinged with concern, "there's something I need to discuss with you."

Harry's heart quickened at the seriousness in her tone. "What is it, Professor?" he asked, his mind racing with possibilities.

With a heavy sigh, Professor McGonagall lowered herself into the chair opposite Harry, her gaze steady. "I'm afraid there's been a revelation regarding your parentage," she began, her words weighing heavily in the air.

Harry's eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Professor McGonagall hesitated for a moment before delivering the news that would change everything. "It appears that your father, James Potter, may not be who you believed him to be," she explained carefully. "There's evidence to suggest that there was a mix-up at the time of your birth, and you may have been raised by the wrong family."

The revelation hit Harry like a ton of bricks, his mind reeling with disbelief. Everything he thought he knew about his past, his identity, suddenly called into question. It was a truth too staggering to comprehend, too monumental to grasp at that moment.

As Harry struggled to process the news, a myriad of emotions swept through him: confusion, anger, sorrow. But amidst the turmoil, there was a flicker of something else—a glimmer of hope, of possibility.

Could this revelation be the key to unlocking the mysteries of his past? And if so, what truths awaited him on the other side? With determination in his heart and newfound resolve, Harry knew that he would stop at nothing to uncover the secrets of his true heritage. For the journey ahead, though fraught with uncertainty, held the promise of answers long sought and a destiny yet to be fulfilled.