Disclaimer: I don't own anything you probably recognize in this story. However, the plot is copyrighted © to me, jaeEun. You plagiarise, you die.
A shocked silence filled the air, as disbelief, warniess and enmity spread across the room like a poisonous gas blanketing all sounds.
Then, a delighted, definitely triumphant and mocking roar exploded throughout the Great Hall.
Slytherin, for the first time in 5 very long years (for them, at least), had won the House Cup.
During the next year, both students and teachers of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would wonder if this was to be an omen of the decidedly stranger happenings to come.
Even Ronald Weasly, of Gryffindor house, was too shocked to eat. He was in denial.
"How could Slytherin have gotten it? No, wait, don't answer that. It must have been Snape. He's so blooming biased and so totally unfair that it's sickening! At least Malfoy's seemed to have matured and not banging his goblet on the table again – remember first year? That stupid, arrogant git!"
"You're being redundant, Ron," Hermione commented absently, poking at her plate, continuously missing her food.
Ron gaped at Hermione and demanded, "what's wrong with you? That git Snape and equally idiotic Malfoy planned this, I'll bet. Gryffindor lost. Has that gotten through your head yet? And here I was thinking you were smart, Hermione."
"There's no point in dwelling on it, Ron, It's over. We can't hange the past – not without a time-turner – and somehow I strongly doubt that McGonagall's going to let us acquire one for our intended purposes."
Ron fumed inwardly, and started to mutter something that sounded suspiciously like death threats towards Malfoy and Snape under his breath.
Anyone looking at the 'Dream Team', as Snape liked to mock them, would have noticed that they had changed, but the change was the most noticeable in Harry,
Harry Potter – 'The Boy Who Lived' – had somehow gotten older, more mature, in the short space of this past year. He'd been so tense, so worried this year about the confrontation with Voldemort which never came. He'd become more withdrawn, and had distanced himself form everyone far too much for Hermione's liking. She guessed that he was scared – scared for them, and scared for himself that they would prove to be his weakness. She wished that Harry would understand that they – Ron, her, Ginny and countless others, would always be there for him, no matter what. What she didn't know was that Harry knew this, but also knew he would blame himself if anything happened to them because of him. He wasn't being obnoxious, or selfish, or cold – these were just the bonds of true friendship that would stretch, bend and wear thin, but only to bounce back and weave itself stronger than before.
As Hermione sat, musing on the events of the past year, her gaze swept the room, perceiving. It returned to Harry, her original subject of contemplation, Harry, sitting besdide her, and her eyes softened. He'd been through so much already – she wanted to help him, but couldn't. All she could do was watch, and be a bystander – Hermione hated not being in control.
It seemed as if the year had flown, looking back, but at the time it had dragged on so!
Harry had matured – nor only in manner, but also looks, as he seemed to have filled out his thinness; perhaps it was the great food, and heaps of it. He was taller now – 176cm at least, and whereas he was not muscular, he was dangerously graceful. Heads would turn every time he walked by – he was like a panther, stalking its prey – gliding, soundless, and ready. Always on the ready. His black – there was simply no other word adequate to describe it – hair and his still-bright-but-slightly-darker-green eyes only added to this image.
Speaking of looks – Hermione turned her head sideways to get a better look at Draco Malfoy. Ever their nemesis, always the shadow to their light, Malfoy, it seemed, had grown rapidly in popularity, especially among the girls. Hermione couldn't see what was so special about him – all she could see was the arrogance, the malice, the selfishness and the cunningness amongst other…traits he had covered himself in. She would discover, in times to come, how short-sighted and unperceiving she had been.
To the unbiased viewer Malfoy was indeed a sight for sore eyes – his white-blond, illusionary silver had been freed from its bonds of severely gelled style to something less restrained. The result was the unearthly air Malfoy constantly emitted now. He too, had grown to a size similar to Harry's; both in build and height. Unlike Harry, however, Malfoy had a cock-sure air of self confidence about him, and that irritating smirk ever present on his face. Hermione still itched to slap it off, just for the sake of it. Many people said that Malfoy reminded them of an (?) unicorn – silver, ethereal, proud, beautiful, powerful but untouchable.
Hermione sighed. Tomorrow, they would head for the Hogwarts Express; off to their respective summer holidays; then, the next year, their final year – who knew what it held for them?
Time, she realized, was a magic in itself.