Authors Note: This is my first fic so it bloody sucks. Nothing like it out there because usually, when one writes a fic, one makes absolutely sure it doesn't suck before they submit it. Just a forewarning. ^^ The plot's a bit bland, nothing too exciting but it's only the first chapter and I have plans...*evil laugh* Enjoy. *cough*
Also, there will not be another chapter after this one, I'm afraid. I had decided to rewrite my fic but I figured I'd just leave this up here. If I get to it, I might continue...Depends on reviews. Thanks
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Was it wrong for him to feel the way he did? Had he not just lost the closest thing he had ever had to a father? And yet, even as he persistently argued these same questions, the ones he loved continued to tell him the same thing, over and over and over.
Don't do anything rash.
Even if not said directly, it was implied. Harry was hardly one who could not read between the lines. In fact, he was quite capable of doing such. And even if not written, the concept angered him, made it worse for him to contain his boiling rage. Nonetheless, he continued to write back responses, making sure not to sound too angry or sarcastic.
Even so, he had earned quite a bit of worry from Mrs. Weasley upon sending a letter back to Ginny who promptly showed it, out of distress, to her mother. And so began the endless scoldings from not only her, but from many others as well. And all that had started it was a single letter. He had thought, perhaps, to put the blame upon Ginny, although she had, in perspective, done nothing wrong. However, he couldn't help but feel anger towards her. On the other hand, he did often feel the utmost loathing for anything that walked or breathed.
On a certain warm, July afternoon, Harry sat alone in his room at the Dursley's a book open in his lap. There, on the pages within the worn, maroon covering, lie pictures of Harry's parents, grinning back at him and waving. The corners of his mouth twisted up into a smile and he sighed wistfully. And there, in the picture of his parents' wedding, Sirius was standing behind the two, his grin not only wide and friendly but mischievious and, to some degree, a bit childish.
Harry sighed again, however this time more furiously, throwing the old photo album onto the ground beside his feet and falling back onto the bed. For a few moments, he stared at the ceiling before he heard that soft, echoing tap. Upon hearing the repeated thumping, he closed his eyes and put his fingers to his temples. But it wasn't his head that was thumping so irritably. Glancing over, he saw the outline of what could only be an owl at his window.
Hedwig. Finally.
Sitting up and moving away from the bed, he crossed the room and, without much effort, opened the window, allowing the snow-white owl to fly in and drop what parcels it had tied to its feet onto the bed.
Frowning and walking toward the bed again, where Hedwig now sat, he counted the letters. There were, surprisingly, seven letters sprawled across the bed. Hedwig nipped his wrist, expecting praise for such a trip, having to carry eight parcels over such a distance. Distracted, Harry scratched her head and sat down on the bed, taking the letter closest to him and pulling it onto his lap.
The hand-writing was messy and rushed and Harry knew, immediately, who it was from. Ron. The smallest of grins replaced the frown Harry had maintained for so long and he hastily opened the letter.
Harry,
I know it's been a while since I've sent you a letter but things are really hectic here. The whole Order is here every day and they have meetings every other. It's getting bloody irritating. Dad let Fred and George in on the meetings now. Mum didn't want to at all but they won't tell us anything. Ginny stopped trying to nark and Hermione hadn't tried in the first place. So it seems useless for me to.
I haven't seen Snape at all but Lupin says he's been here every day. Sneaky little bugger, he is. Lupin looks awful. You should seem him. All pale-like. Won't talk much either.
We'll pick you up soon. Dumbledore's making us wait. Even Mum's getting anxious. Try not to annialate that muggle family of yours. We do want you to come back to Hogwarts with us.
Your friend,
Ronald Weasley
Harry set the letter aside, a ghost of the smile resting upon his lips. Ron had his way of making Harry feel so much less miserable. But something about the wording made him a bit suspicious. Of what, he could not say. But there was something implied in that letter. Something that hadn't been said but, perhaps, had been meant. The smile wiped itself off of Harry's face only to be replaced by a frown. It was exactly the thing that had made him so angry those past few weeks. 'Don't do anything rash'. He scowled. He never thought Ron would even imply such a thing that he knew Harry hated to hear.
Nonetheless, he took the letter closest to him and pulled it onto his lap, stopping only to examine the handwriting on the back of the parchment. It was Ginny's, he knew that for sure. Her hand-writing was somewhat neat but gave the same impression of rushed penmanship that Ron's had.
Tearing at the seal, he unfolded the letter, his brow furrowing as he read.
Dear Harry,
Everyone's sending you letters so I thought I would too. I know you must be angry with me for showing your letter to Mum but I had to. You understand, don't you? That I was worried? No one else knows, now, other that you, Mum and me. And I swear I'll keep it private. I just don't want you to hurt yourself.
Please don't be mad at me. Things are boring here. You're not missing much. We'll be there soon enough.
~Ginny
Harry sighed. 'I just don't want you to hurt yourself'. A very "Ginny" thing to say. Of course he wasn't going to hurt himself. Not over Sirius' death. In fact, they should be more worried about those who come within a few feet from him. Lately, he had found ways of lashing out although most instances only happened when he was alone, locked away in his room. Throwing things and the like. 'No, they shouldn't be worried about me,' he thought.
Throwing Ginny's letter to the ground, he took the next and stared at the hand-writing, the neat letters and fancy curves. For a moment, he scanned his mind, trying to think of who this penmanship belonged to. Finding that came to no avail, he ripped open the seal and began to read.
Harry Potter,
Although the death of your god-father pains us all, I understand how horrible you must be feeling. This is no reason, however, to do anything you or I may regret. During the previous year, you risked your future career by saving, not only your own life, but the life of a muggle boy. This, in and of itself, was heroic and I commend you for it. However, now, as I understand, your anger has become, if I may say so, overpowering. And I understand the incredible urges you may have to inflict pain. If you use magic during the summer, Harry, I'm afraid I will be able to do no more for you. Especially now, that I have sent a letter to Mrs. Petunia Dursley. You are not to be allowed outside of your home unless under close supervision. I'm sorry, Harry, but this is how it has to be. I do trust you, but that isn't the point. I do not trust others and, more importantly, I do not trust Voldemort. Stay alert, Harry, and do not let your anger or your grief get the better of you. Your group of guards will be there shortly after this letter arrives to take you where we reside. Until then, do not leave your home.
Thank you for understanding. I only wish the best of you as I am responsible for you.
~Albus Dumbledore
In a fit of anger, Harry crumpled the letter and threw it onto the ground. He scowled and glared down at it. He could just hear Dumbledore's scolding voice. He wasn't a child anymore. He could do what he liked. He didn't have to have supervision to go outside the premises.
Grumbling to himself and feeling hostile, if that was the right word to describe it, he threw the remainder of the letters on the floor and threw himself down onto the bed. The rest of the letters would have to wait until morning and, although they say it's not good to go to bed angry, he was exhausted from a day of doing nothing, the kind of day he was damned to live through as long as he stayed inside the walls of the Dursley house.
~*~*~*~
It was dark. The moon was covered by clouds of black. Thunder threatened rain and lightening flashed behind the trees that surrounded Grimmauld Place. The house slept peacefully underneath a blanket of thick fog and everyone who resided in the house slept peacefully after a day full of work. Everyone except Hermione.
Leaning against the glass-paneled window, Hermione stared up at the sky, watching the lightening flash, lighting every crevice within the writhing clouds. She sighed wistfully, her fingers tracing the lines along the window as she stood, staring out at the clouds. The sight was strangely beautiful, the way the lightening lit up the sky. Soon enough, the soft patter of raindrops on her window added to the symphony of thunder that seemed to shake the very floor she stood on.
Her eyes closed for a split second and she listened to the rain start to pour against all sides of the house. It was the loveliest sound in the world, the pouring rain and the rumble of thunder, intertwined together into an orchestra of nature.
Her eyes opened when she heard stirring in the bed across the room. Casting a furtive glance toward Ginny's huddled form underneath the covers, she stood completely still and silent until she heard the shallow breathing of her red-haired friend. Only then did she move away from the window and cross the room, heading toward the door. Lucky for her, they had fixed the irritating creak that particular door made every time it was opened or closed.
Sneaking out into the hallway, she closed the door behind her and stood in front of it for a moment. Her eyes, not used to the impenetrable darkness that engulfed her, blinked several times in succession before she could finally make out the shape of the stairs and doors across the hall.
Her weight against the floorboards made them creak, not loudly enough, thankfully, to wake even the lightest sleeper. She made her way to the third door on the left, slowly and carefully, keeping her ears and eyes open for even the slightest hint of movement. Carefully, she approached the door, stealthily wrenching it open and slipping inside.
There she stood, inside his room, too stunned to move a single muscle. She glanced back at the door, hoping no one had seen her enter and decided to follow, just to see what she was going to do. And, as such, she stood for the longest time in the doorway, waiting...waiting to hear someone approach. And finally hearing no one, she crossed the room and knelt down next to his bed.
It was only he in this room, now, since Harry hadn't arrived yet. Hermione, for whatever reason, was grateful for this. Pulling back the covers, she stared, almost in shock, at the angelic, white face that was so peacefully sleeping. Her eyes softened and the corners of her mouth twisted up into a smile.
Reaching up, Hermione brushed the strands of bright red hair that had fallen into his face, away from his eyes. She smiled down at him and gently kissed his forehead. Her lips lingered there, on his soft, freckled skin, until she heard him stir and jumped back, stricken with terror. There he lay, far from asleep, staring up at her in astonishment.
And to her horror, words formed on her lips that she had no desire to say and before she could stop herself, they were hanging in midair.
"I love you, Ronald Weasley"
~*~*~*~
Sunlight came streaking through the window and somehow, Harry ended up catching it full in the face. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and grumbled miserably. He had hardly slept and his head throbbed painfully. Reaching for his glasses, he pulled them on and sighed, glancing toward the cage, inside which Hedwig now slept.
A round of firm pounding echoed sharply against the walls and Harry started, glancing over at the door from which the sound was obviously coming from. Without waiting for Harry to give the 'okay, I'm decent', his uncle barged in, looking quite disheveled.
"Your Aunt Petunia and I have given this a great deal of thought," he said sternly. Harry knew instantly, although unsure of what the decision was, that Petunia had made it and that his Uncle was still unsure on the subject. But, now, the argument was closed, obviously.
"Given what a great deal of thought?" Harry asked calmly before Uncle Vernon could speak, a thick smile snaking its way across his lips. Anger swelled up inside the plump man, turning his face a lovely maroon colour.
"Your Aunt and I," he continued, as though Harry hadn't interrupted, "have been invited to an old friend's house to attend a dinner party. We're going early to help out a bit before hand so we're leaving now," he snarled, his eyes narrowed. "D'you think you can contain yourself and stay put while we're gone or do I have to lock you in?" Harry stayed silent for a moment and appeared to be lost in thought. After a few moments of awkward silence, he spoke.
"The latter sounds nice, I think," he said, his eyes sparkling with malice but his mouth twisted down into a thoughtful frown. "Yes, go ahead, lock me in!" Vernon glared, his face turning scarlet. Harry knew quite certain that his Uncle hated the sarcasm but was more than happy to lock him in. And so he did and, hearing the soft click of the lock turning and the distinct slam of the front door, he changed into his clothes and gathered up what letters he hadn't yet opened.
There was one from Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Hermione, and one from Hagrid, the man he had been waiting to hear from all summer. Taking his letter, a weak smile on his lips, he sat back on his pillows and ripped open the seal, unfolding the parchment and setting it in his lap.
Harry,
Won't be teaching in Hogwarts this year. You've got a new professor. Don't ask why. You can still come over any time you like. See you when you get off the train,
Hagrid.
Harry's smile had long since disappeared, to be replaced by a frown. Had Hagrid quit because of the previous year? Had he quit or was he fired? Harry glared as the thought occured to him. Perhaps Dumbledore fired him because he wasn't good enough or...something of the like. He became far angrier with Dumbledore and, as he continued with the letters, found it harder to contain this anger.
~*~*~*~
Hermione woke up with a start, breathing hard and soaked with cold sweat. She sat up in bed, holding her hand to her forehead and trying to catch her breath. Surely that had all been a dream.
Oh, sweet Merlin...
She was dreaming about Ron.
For a moment, all she could do was sit in bed, thankful for the dark curtains that held in the morning sunlight. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to sort things out, make things clear. But it was getting harder each moment she thought about it.
She did love Ron, yes. He was her best mate other than Harry who was equally so. Surely that dream, a dream where she confessed her love for Ron, could mean nothing. She didn't honestly fancy Ron...did she? Groaning and sliding back into the sheets, she covered her face with her hands and sighed, thoughts and memories of the dream replaying in her mind, over and over.
'Reaching up, Hermione brushed the strands of bright red hair that had fallen into his face, away from his eyes. She smiled down at him and gently kissed his forehead.'
Hermione let out another groan, this time a bit louder than she had meant to. She wouldn't be able to look at Ron at all and he'd know. He'd ask her what was wrong and she couldn't lie to him. But what would he say if she told him?
Shaking her head, she sat and faced the floor, busy making an important decision. She would talk to Ron like she normally talked to him and make sure nothing made her seem suspicious.
Glancing over at Ginny's bed, she noticed it was empty and, just as she made this discovery, there was a knock on the door and it opened slowly.
"You decent, Hermione?" She nearly groaned again. It was Ron. Bloody hell, he chose the worst times to show up.
"I'm dressed, Ron, come in," she said, sounding a bit too irritated. Putting on the friendliest smile she could possibly muster and scooting back underneath the sheets, suddenly self-conscious of herself.
"Well, I just wanted to tell you that breakfast has been ready for hours and that–-" he stopped, his eyes narrowing and his head cocking to one side. He took a step forward and she became, suddenly and irrationally, annoyed.
"Is there something wrong?" she asked, the irritation evident in her voice. She made no effort to hide it either. He shrugged a bit and sat down across from her, on Ginny's bed.
"You don't look so well. Are you sick?" he asked, sounding like a dense child plagued with curiosity. She felt like grabbing the pillow next to her and throwing it at him.
"No, I'm fine. Just...just hungry, that's all," she said, running her fingers through her hair and sighing. She looked up and saw him grinning, that sweet, lop-sided grin that only Ron could accomplish with such grace. She smiled back and, for a few moments, they sat there, smiling at each other. It was enough to make Hermione feel a bit silly but strangely, she felt completely comfortable.
"Glad you're alright, Hermione," he said and got up to leave. Approaching the door, he turned back, that smile still resting firmly on his lips. She nearly melted. Never had she felt this way before about Ron. It was strange and awkward and, to be brutally honest, she wasn't sure it was how she truly felt about him. "And Hermione?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with what, Hermione could not decipher.
"Try not to make a habit out of coming into my room at night," he drawled. "Don't want Harry to get suspicious, do we?" he mumbled, grinning, and left Hermione sitting on the bed, her mouth open in surprise, her eyes wide with shock.
She hadn't been dreaming.
Sweet Merlin, please kill me now...
Hermione falls in love with someone she never thought she'd ever feel such for and her distraction is her demise. Kidnapped by a faceless criminal, she awaits her saviour and misses the suspicious changes many are making. Angst, Romance, Humour, Suspense, Tragedy, and Mystery. D/G and Hm/R. My first fic!
Also, there will not be another chapter after this one, I'm afraid. I had decided to rewrite my fic but I figured I'd just leave this up here. If I get to it, I might continue...Depends on reviews. Thanks
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Was it wrong for him to feel the way he did? Had he not just lost the closest thing he had ever had to a father? And yet, even as he persistently argued these same questions, the ones he loved continued to tell him the same thing, over and over and over.
Don't do anything rash.
Even if not said directly, it was implied. Harry was hardly one who could not read between the lines. In fact, he was quite capable of doing such. And even if not written, the concept angered him, made it worse for him to contain his boiling rage. Nonetheless, he continued to write back responses, making sure not to sound too angry or sarcastic.
Even so, he had earned quite a bit of worry from Mrs. Weasley upon sending a letter back to Ginny who promptly showed it, out of distress, to her mother. And so began the endless scoldings from not only her, but from many others as well. And all that had started it was a single letter. He had thought, perhaps, to put the blame upon Ginny, although she had, in perspective, done nothing wrong. However, he couldn't help but feel anger towards her. On the other hand, he did often feel the utmost loathing for anything that walked or breathed.
On a certain warm, July afternoon, Harry sat alone in his room at the Dursley's a book open in his lap. There, on the pages within the worn, maroon covering, lie pictures of Harry's parents, grinning back at him and waving. The corners of his mouth twisted up into a smile and he sighed wistfully. And there, in the picture of his parents' wedding, Sirius was standing behind the two, his grin not only wide and friendly but mischievious and, to some degree, a bit childish.
Harry sighed again, however this time more furiously, throwing the old photo album onto the ground beside his feet and falling back onto the bed. For a few moments, he stared at the ceiling before he heard that soft, echoing tap. Upon hearing the repeated thumping, he closed his eyes and put his fingers to his temples. But it wasn't his head that was thumping so irritably. Glancing over, he saw the outline of what could only be an owl at his window.
Hedwig. Finally.
Sitting up and moving away from the bed, he crossed the room and, without much effort, opened the window, allowing the snow-white owl to fly in and drop what parcels it had tied to its feet onto the bed.
Frowning and walking toward the bed again, where Hedwig now sat, he counted the letters. There were, surprisingly, seven letters sprawled across the bed. Hedwig nipped his wrist, expecting praise for such a trip, having to carry eight parcels over such a distance. Distracted, Harry scratched her head and sat down on the bed, taking the letter closest to him and pulling it onto his lap.
The hand-writing was messy and rushed and Harry knew, immediately, who it was from. Ron. The smallest of grins replaced the frown Harry had maintained for so long and he hastily opened the letter.
Harry,
I know it's been a while since I've sent you a letter but things are really hectic here. The whole Order is here every day and they have meetings every other. It's getting bloody irritating. Dad let Fred and George in on the meetings now. Mum didn't want to at all but they won't tell us anything. Ginny stopped trying to nark and Hermione hadn't tried in the first place. So it seems useless for me to.
I haven't seen Snape at all but Lupin says he's been here every day. Sneaky little bugger, he is. Lupin looks awful. You should seem him. All pale-like. Won't talk much either.
We'll pick you up soon. Dumbledore's making us wait. Even Mum's getting anxious. Try not to annialate that muggle family of yours. We do want you to come back to Hogwarts with us.
Your friend,
Ronald Weasley
Harry set the letter aside, a ghost of the smile resting upon his lips. Ron had his way of making Harry feel so much less miserable. But something about the wording made him a bit suspicious. Of what, he could not say. But there was something implied in that letter. Something that hadn't been said but, perhaps, had been meant. The smile wiped itself off of Harry's face only to be replaced by a frown. It was exactly the thing that had made him so angry those past few weeks. 'Don't do anything rash'. He scowled. He never thought Ron would even imply such a thing that he knew Harry hated to hear.
Nonetheless, he took the letter closest to him and pulled it onto his lap, stopping only to examine the handwriting on the back of the parchment. It was Ginny's, he knew that for sure. Her hand-writing was somewhat neat but gave the same impression of rushed penmanship that Ron's had.
Tearing at the seal, he unfolded the letter, his brow furrowing as he read.
Dear Harry,
Everyone's sending you letters so I thought I would too. I know you must be angry with me for showing your letter to Mum but I had to. You understand, don't you? That I was worried? No one else knows, now, other that you, Mum and me. And I swear I'll keep it private. I just don't want you to hurt yourself.
Please don't be mad at me. Things are boring here. You're not missing much. We'll be there soon enough.
~Ginny
Harry sighed. 'I just don't want you to hurt yourself'. A very "Ginny" thing to say. Of course he wasn't going to hurt himself. Not over Sirius' death. In fact, they should be more worried about those who come within a few feet from him. Lately, he had found ways of lashing out although most instances only happened when he was alone, locked away in his room. Throwing things and the like. 'No, they shouldn't be worried about me,' he thought.
Throwing Ginny's letter to the ground, he took the next and stared at the hand-writing, the neat letters and fancy curves. For a moment, he scanned his mind, trying to think of who this penmanship belonged to. Finding that came to no avail, he ripped open the seal and began to read.
Harry Potter,
Although the death of your god-father pains us all, I understand how horrible you must be feeling. This is no reason, however, to do anything you or I may regret. During the previous year, you risked your future career by saving, not only your own life, but the life of a muggle boy. This, in and of itself, was heroic and I commend you for it. However, now, as I understand, your anger has become, if I may say so, overpowering. And I understand the incredible urges you may have to inflict pain. If you use magic during the summer, Harry, I'm afraid I will be able to do no more for you. Especially now, that I have sent a letter to Mrs. Petunia Dursley. You are not to be allowed outside of your home unless under close supervision. I'm sorry, Harry, but this is how it has to be. I do trust you, but that isn't the point. I do not trust others and, more importantly, I do not trust Voldemort. Stay alert, Harry, and do not let your anger or your grief get the better of you. Your group of guards will be there shortly after this letter arrives to take you where we reside. Until then, do not leave your home.
Thank you for understanding. I only wish the best of you as I am responsible for you.
~Albus Dumbledore
In a fit of anger, Harry crumpled the letter and threw it onto the ground. He scowled and glared down at it. He could just hear Dumbledore's scolding voice. He wasn't a child anymore. He could do what he liked. He didn't have to have supervision to go outside the premises.
Grumbling to himself and feeling hostile, if that was the right word to describe it, he threw the remainder of the letters on the floor and threw himself down onto the bed. The rest of the letters would have to wait until morning and, although they say it's not good to go to bed angry, he was exhausted from a day of doing nothing, the kind of day he was damned to live through as long as he stayed inside the walls of the Dursley house.
~*~*~*~
It was dark. The moon was covered by clouds of black. Thunder threatened rain and lightening flashed behind the trees that surrounded Grimmauld Place. The house slept peacefully underneath a blanket of thick fog and everyone who resided in the house slept peacefully after a day full of work. Everyone except Hermione.
Leaning against the glass-paneled window, Hermione stared up at the sky, watching the lightening flash, lighting every crevice within the writhing clouds. She sighed wistfully, her fingers tracing the lines along the window as she stood, staring out at the clouds. The sight was strangely beautiful, the way the lightening lit up the sky. Soon enough, the soft patter of raindrops on her window added to the symphony of thunder that seemed to shake the very floor she stood on.
Her eyes closed for a split second and she listened to the rain start to pour against all sides of the house. It was the loveliest sound in the world, the pouring rain and the rumble of thunder, intertwined together into an orchestra of nature.
Her eyes opened when she heard stirring in the bed across the room. Casting a furtive glance toward Ginny's huddled form underneath the covers, she stood completely still and silent until she heard the shallow breathing of her red-haired friend. Only then did she move away from the window and cross the room, heading toward the door. Lucky for her, they had fixed the irritating creak that particular door made every time it was opened or closed.
Sneaking out into the hallway, she closed the door behind her and stood in front of it for a moment. Her eyes, not used to the impenetrable darkness that engulfed her, blinked several times in succession before she could finally make out the shape of the stairs and doors across the hall.
Her weight against the floorboards made them creak, not loudly enough, thankfully, to wake even the lightest sleeper. She made her way to the third door on the left, slowly and carefully, keeping her ears and eyes open for even the slightest hint of movement. Carefully, she approached the door, stealthily wrenching it open and slipping inside.
There she stood, inside his room, too stunned to move a single muscle. She glanced back at the door, hoping no one had seen her enter and decided to follow, just to see what she was going to do. And, as such, she stood for the longest time in the doorway, waiting...waiting to hear someone approach. And finally hearing no one, she crossed the room and knelt down next to his bed.
It was only he in this room, now, since Harry hadn't arrived yet. Hermione, for whatever reason, was grateful for this. Pulling back the covers, she stared, almost in shock, at the angelic, white face that was so peacefully sleeping. Her eyes softened and the corners of her mouth twisted up into a smile.
Reaching up, Hermione brushed the strands of bright red hair that had fallen into his face, away from his eyes. She smiled down at him and gently kissed his forehead. Her lips lingered there, on his soft, freckled skin, until she heard him stir and jumped back, stricken with terror. There he lay, far from asleep, staring up at her in astonishment.
And to her horror, words formed on her lips that she had no desire to say and before she could stop herself, they were hanging in midair.
"I love you, Ronald Weasley"
~*~*~*~
Sunlight came streaking through the window and somehow, Harry ended up catching it full in the face. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and grumbled miserably. He had hardly slept and his head throbbed painfully. Reaching for his glasses, he pulled them on and sighed, glancing toward the cage, inside which Hedwig now slept.
A round of firm pounding echoed sharply against the walls and Harry started, glancing over at the door from which the sound was obviously coming from. Without waiting for Harry to give the 'okay, I'm decent', his uncle barged in, looking quite disheveled.
"Your Aunt Petunia and I have given this a great deal of thought," he said sternly. Harry knew instantly, although unsure of what the decision was, that Petunia had made it and that his Uncle was still unsure on the subject. But, now, the argument was closed, obviously.
"Given what a great deal of thought?" Harry asked calmly before Uncle Vernon could speak, a thick smile snaking its way across his lips. Anger swelled up inside the plump man, turning his face a lovely maroon colour.
"Your Aunt and I," he continued, as though Harry hadn't interrupted, "have been invited to an old friend's house to attend a dinner party. We're going early to help out a bit before hand so we're leaving now," he snarled, his eyes narrowed. "D'you think you can contain yourself and stay put while we're gone or do I have to lock you in?" Harry stayed silent for a moment and appeared to be lost in thought. After a few moments of awkward silence, he spoke.
"The latter sounds nice, I think," he said, his eyes sparkling with malice but his mouth twisted down into a thoughtful frown. "Yes, go ahead, lock me in!" Vernon glared, his face turning scarlet. Harry knew quite certain that his Uncle hated the sarcasm but was more than happy to lock him in. And so he did and, hearing the soft click of the lock turning and the distinct slam of the front door, he changed into his clothes and gathered up what letters he hadn't yet opened.
There was one from Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Hermione, and one from Hagrid, the man he had been waiting to hear from all summer. Taking his letter, a weak smile on his lips, he sat back on his pillows and ripped open the seal, unfolding the parchment and setting it in his lap.
Harry,
Won't be teaching in Hogwarts this year. You've got a new professor. Don't ask why. You can still come over any time you like. See you when you get off the train,
Hagrid.
Harry's smile had long since disappeared, to be replaced by a frown. Had Hagrid quit because of the previous year? Had he quit or was he fired? Harry glared as the thought occured to him. Perhaps Dumbledore fired him because he wasn't good enough or...something of the like. He became far angrier with Dumbledore and, as he continued with the letters, found it harder to contain this anger.
~*~*~*~
Hermione woke up with a start, breathing hard and soaked with cold sweat. She sat up in bed, holding her hand to her forehead and trying to catch her breath. Surely that had all been a dream.
Oh, sweet Merlin...
She was dreaming about Ron.
For a moment, all she could do was sit in bed, thankful for the dark curtains that held in the morning sunlight. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to sort things out, make things clear. But it was getting harder each moment she thought about it.
She did love Ron, yes. He was her best mate other than Harry who was equally so. Surely that dream, a dream where she confessed her love for Ron, could mean nothing. She didn't honestly fancy Ron...did she? Groaning and sliding back into the sheets, she covered her face with her hands and sighed, thoughts and memories of the dream replaying in her mind, over and over.
'Reaching up, Hermione brushed the strands of bright red hair that had fallen into his face, away from his eyes. She smiled down at him and gently kissed his forehead.'
Hermione let out another groan, this time a bit louder than she had meant to. She wouldn't be able to look at Ron at all and he'd know. He'd ask her what was wrong and she couldn't lie to him. But what would he say if she told him?
Shaking her head, she sat and faced the floor, busy making an important decision. She would talk to Ron like she normally talked to him and make sure nothing made her seem suspicious.
Glancing over at Ginny's bed, she noticed it was empty and, just as she made this discovery, there was a knock on the door and it opened slowly.
"You decent, Hermione?" She nearly groaned again. It was Ron. Bloody hell, he chose the worst times to show up.
"I'm dressed, Ron, come in," she said, sounding a bit too irritated. Putting on the friendliest smile she could possibly muster and scooting back underneath the sheets, suddenly self-conscious of herself.
"Well, I just wanted to tell you that breakfast has been ready for hours and that–-" he stopped, his eyes narrowing and his head cocking to one side. He took a step forward and she became, suddenly and irrationally, annoyed.
"Is there something wrong?" she asked, the irritation evident in her voice. She made no effort to hide it either. He shrugged a bit and sat down across from her, on Ginny's bed.
"You don't look so well. Are you sick?" he asked, sounding like a dense child plagued with curiosity. She felt like grabbing the pillow next to her and throwing it at him.
"No, I'm fine. Just...just hungry, that's all," she said, running her fingers through her hair and sighing. She looked up and saw him grinning, that sweet, lop-sided grin that only Ron could accomplish with such grace. She smiled back and, for a few moments, they sat there, smiling at each other. It was enough to make Hermione feel a bit silly but strangely, she felt completely comfortable.
"Glad you're alright, Hermione," he said and got up to leave. Approaching the door, he turned back, that smile still resting firmly on his lips. She nearly melted. Never had she felt this way before about Ron. It was strange and awkward and, to be brutally honest, she wasn't sure it was how she truly felt about him. "And Hermione?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with what, Hermione could not decipher.
"Try not to make a habit out of coming into my room at night," he drawled. "Don't want Harry to get suspicious, do we?" he mumbled, grinning, and left Hermione sitting on the bed, her mouth open in surprise, her eyes wide with shock.
She hadn't been dreaming.
Sweet Merlin, please kill me now...
Hermione falls in love with someone she never thought she'd ever feel such for and her distraction is her demise. Kidnapped by a faceless criminal, she awaits her saviour and misses the suspicious changes many are making. Angst, Romance, Humour, Suspense, Tragedy, and Mystery. D/G and Hm/R. My first fic!