Chapter 119: The Cramped Cloak
The path to Hagrid's hut was dark, familiar, and fraught with a new, private tension for Elian. As they huddled under the Invisibility Cloak, the memory of their last close-quarters escape from Umbridge was vivid. This time, however, the crowding felt less like panic and more like a deliberate, awkward intimacy.
When Harry had shaken out the silvery fabric, Elian had seen Hermione's cheeks flush in the dim torchlight. She'd said nothing, just moved to her usual position, but the unspoken knowledge hung between them: with four of them, someone would have to be very close.
It was Hermione who ended up pressed against Elian's side, his arm around her waist to keep them both fully under the cloak. For the first hundred yards, it was a silent battle. A small, determined hand found the soft skin just above his hip and pinched, hard.
Elian stifled a yelp. He retaliated not with violence, but by tightening his grip, pulling her even closer until she was almost moulded against him, her breath catching in a surprised gasp. He held her there until the pinching fingers reluctantly relaxed. When he finally loosened his hold, he met her furious glare with a raised eyebrow and a mimed threat to do it again. She huffed, looked away, and the battle ended in a temporary, flustered truce.
Harry and Ron, walking ahead and slightly to the side, were studiously ignoring the silent drama playing out behind them, though Elian was sure Ron's ears were redder than usual.
To break the thick silence, Elian asked, "How's the Occlumency going, Harry? Noticing any difference?"
Harry, peering out from under the cloak's edge, answered with cautious optimism. "Better, I think. No nightmares lately. I don't feel… as angry all the time."
"He's right," Ron chimed in, relieved to talk about anything else. "He's not snapping at me for borrowing his quill anymore. It's a miracle."
Harry shot Ron a grateful, apologetic smile. The two launched into a reminiscence of Harry's past irritability, a safe, mundane topic.
Elian listened but said nothing more. He knew the truth. The calm wasn't from Harry mastering his mind; it was from Voldemort deliberately withdrawing, closing the connection to focus on his own plans—the prophecy, the giants. It was the lull before a more directed storm. But telling Harry that would only cause panic. Some burdens were better shouldered in silence.
Beside him, Hermione was also quiet, a warm, rigid line against his side. Her earlier fury had subsided into a tense, confused stillness.
"Your… hand," she whispered eventually, her voice so faint he almost didn't hear it over their footsteps.
He glanced down. His hand, still resting on her waist from their 'truce', had shifted slightly, his thumb resting against the curve of her ribcage. It wasn't inappropriate, but in the charged darkness under the cloak, it felt intensely intimate.
"Sorry," he murmured, moving it back to a more neutral position on her hip. She didn't reply, but he felt her exhale slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
The rest of the walk passed in a strange, shared quiet for the two of them, while Harry and Ron kept up their chatter.
Soon, the lit windows of Hagrid's hut glowed in the distance. They shed the cloak at the door and knocked.
Woof! Woof!
"Fang! Move, yeh great lump! Not in the doorway!"
The door swung open to reveal Hagrid's enormous frame. He didn't look at them directly, but gestured urgently into the gloom behind him. "In, in, quick!"
They scurried inside. Hagrid peered out into the night, then shut the door firmly, bolting it. When he turned, his worried face broke into a relieved grin. "Harry! Good, good… Been hard ter catch yeh lately with all them classes. Had ter send Luna. She gave yeh the message, then?"
Fang, as ever, made a beeline for Hermione, his tail a blur of happy destruction.
"Fang, down! Sit!" Hermione commanded, pointing a stern finger at the hearthrug.
To everyone's astonishment, the boarhound immediately stopped, gave a whimper, and trotted over to the fireplace, lying down with his head on his paws, watching her with adoring eyes.
"Blimey," Ron breathed. "He never listens to me like that."
"You've got a way with 'im, Hermione," Hagrid said, beaming. Then he peered at her. "Yeh alright? Yer face is all flushed. Cold out, is it?"
Harry and Ron looked. Hermione's cheeks were indeed still tinged with pink.
"Oh, we… walked fast," she said hurriedly, avoiding all eyes, especially Elian's. "Hagrid, what did you need us for? You said it was important."
Elian coughed lightly into his fist, earning himself another hidden, venomous look.
Hagrid's expression sobered. He busied himself pouring four mugs of strong tea, his movements heavy with concern. "I need yer help," he said, his voice low and serious. "All of yeh, but especially you, Elian. There's somethin' in the Forbidden Forest. Somethin'… special. I need ter show yeh. An' I think… I think it might change how yeh see things."
The warmth of the hut, the tension of the walk, the easy chatter—it all fell away, replaced by the grim, familiar call to adventure that always seemed to emanate from the half-giant and the dark woods beyond his door.
(End of Chapter)
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