Harry reverently placed the feather from Fawkes in a little package he'd folded out of some parchment, then slipped it into his trunk and removed his invisibility cloak.
It was lunchtime. If he was going to slip out to Hogsmeade at any time, now would be best. Fewer people would miss him. He descended the stairs to find Hermione waiting for him in a virtually deserted common room. Obviously, most of the Gryffindors were in the Great Hall for the afternoon meal.
"I'm coming with you, Harry," she said, drawing him close and speaking low.
"What? Why? You could get caught."
"So could you. I'm coming because your idea would work better if it were the two of us. Listen; if you go into the apothecary and ask for all the ingredients we need for the potion, what's the shop keeper going to think?"
That brought him up short. Now she said it, it was obvious. Any half-decent apothecary would almost immediately work out what he was going to brew, and polyjuice potion was a controlled substance.
"I hadn't thought of that."
Hermione just nodded.
"So, you ask for the bicorn horn, and I'll ask for the Boomslang skin. We can also use the opportunity to replenish out potions kits, so it will be even less suspicious. Additionally, if one of us goes in first while the other waits outside under the cloak, then we switch, it'll be even more difficult for anyone to piece it together."
Harry smiled and nodded, then headed for the portrait hole.
"Thanks Hermione. You're the best."
"Of course I am," she said primly, but there was the hint of a smile playing about her lips to show she was only joking with him. "You'll really owe me for this, Mister Potter. This'll be twice I've brewed a borderline illegal potion for you."
"You most certainly are, Miss Granger," Harry returned playfully, "but I'll help more this time. I'm sure I've gotten better at potions."
She just poked her tongue out at him and led him down the stairs.
Harry was fairly glad that so far they seemed to have managed to avoid the majority of the student body, he reflected, as he stood outside the apothecary 'Garin's Premier Potion Supplies' waiting for Hermione. The few other students that they had encountered on their walk out of the castle had shot him truly filthy looks.
Every time this had happened his mood had soured further, but once outside and walking across the grounds Hermione had given his hand a squeeze and that had reminded him he wasn't alone in this. At least one person believed him, and was on his side.
He wondered, not for the first time, what he had done to deserve such unwavering support. Saving her from a troll in their first year hardly seemed to warrant it.
His mood darkened again as he considered his other friend, Ron. He had not been so supportive. He hadn't believed Harry when he said he hadn't entered his name, and had turned belligerent while Harry maintained his innocence. They had not fallen asleep on good terms, and Harry hadn't seen him since, having gotten up extremely early.
Knowing the famous Weasley temper that Ron always talked about, it could be days before he came around. It had taken Hagrid shouting at them both last year to get him and his redheaded friend talking to Hermione again after the whole Firebolt fiasco – something that still shamed Harry now. Hermione had gone behind his back talking to McGonagall like that, but his response was totally disproportionate and unfair.
That hadn't been the only time last year that Ron had gotten into a truly epic sulk. There was the discovery of Scabbers being missing, with blood-stained sheets and ginger hairs from Crookshanks, happening just hours after they had all reconciled. It had taken discovering that Scabbers was not only alive, but really a rat animagus called Peter Pettigrew and his parent's real betrayer for Ron to apologise to Hermione after that episode.
Perhaps hoping his mood would blow over after a few days was a little optimistic. Knowing Ron, it'd probably take something drastic and probably dangerous to jolt the young Weasley out of his animosity.
Just then the apothecary door opened and Hermione exited. She looked both ways along the uninhabited street then came over to alleyway they had agreed he'd hide in, despite the cloak. He lifted the cloak and she stepped in close, drawing herself to him so that he could drape it over the both of them – no easy task now that they were no longer ikkle firsties.
"I think we should leave it for a while before you go in. I used your idea of saying it was an emergency, but I don't think two 'emergency' cases, one right after the other, is too subtle, do you?"
"Hm, you're right. Hah, you're always right," Harry said, poking her side good-naturedly.
"Eep! That's right, Harry, and I wish you'd remember it more often," Hermione returned, poking his side in retaliation.
"Ok," he said, squirming slightly under the confines of the cloak to try and escape her, "where do you want to go?"
"Hmm… well, we can't exactly shop anywhere. It's risky enough just going to Garin's. Maybe we could just go for a walk?"
She searched Harry's face a little nervously. Most of their previous walks had been around the Hogwarts grounds, and on all of them they'd been accompanied by Ron. Running around with the Time Turner at the end of last year didn't count.
Harry thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
"There's a little river on the other side of Hogsmeade. It should be quite nice to walk down there for a little bit. Maybe we could find somewhere to sit? Actually, I still need to write a letter to Sirius. I could do that, then we could come back to Garin's and then get back to the castle. Oh, and I need to write a letter to Barty Crouch or Ludo Bagman; they're the ones from the Ministry who're in charge of the Tournament from their end."
Hermione gave him a little smile and nodded.
They found the river easily enough, and it turned out to be a merrily babbling little thing, only slightly larger than a brook. They settled in on a little stretch of the bank that had obviously been kept cleared for public use, and sat together on a wide, flat rock that seemed to have been placed here for that exact purpose.
They daren't risk warming charms to keep the November afternoon's chill at bay as it was not a Hogsmeade weekend, and they needed to stay under the cloak besides, so they cuddled up - closer than they normally would – and Harry got his writing supplies out of his bag. Hermione retrieved a book from hers, and they spent a very pleasant and companionable half hour accompanied only by the relaxing sound of the nearby river.
When he was done they walked back, and Harry acquired his potions ingredients and they returned to the castle without a hitch.
After dinner that evening, and after Harry had sent off his letters – he had chosen to owl Bagman, as he had seemed the less imposing and severe of the two Ministry employees he'd encountered so far - they had spent half an hour searching for a room they could use, not just for Harry to practice spells in, but also one in which they could brew the potion, when Hermione had a brainwave.
Turning to Harry and catching his hand to prevent him continuing to walk, she said "Harry, why don't we ask Professor McGonagall if she can set aside a room for you? Just saying it's for you to train in should be enough, and would easily explain why we spend so much time in it without seeming suspicious."
Harry smiled and gave her hand a squeeze.
"That's great, Hermione. Let's go find her."
Professor McGonagall was in her office, exactly where they expected her to be. Harry knocked and waited for her to call them in, and when he heard her voice he could have sworn he heard a hint of relief or gratitude in her tone. She appeared to be grading essays, and first year essays to boot. That would explain the relief Harry had thought he'd heard.
"Good evening Mister Potter, Miss Granger. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?"
"Good evening Professor. We - that is, Hermione and I, since she's agreed to help me - were wondering if you might be able to set aside an unused classroom for me to practice in. For the Tournament. I'm at least three years behind the other champions, and I have a lot of ground to try and make up if I'm not to completely embarrass myself, Gryffindor, and the school."
Harry didn't especially care about embarrassing any of the bodies he'd mentioned, least of all himself; he was far more interested in surviving, and if a little embarrassment was what it took he'd willingly accept it. But he threw the mention in because he figured it would help his Head of House to be more disposed to help him.
The professors lips thinned for a moment as she considered, then she nodded to herself.
"I'm sure that would be possible, Mister Potter. I have a few ideas for places you could practice just offhand, but I'd like the chance to confer with several other members of staff before confirming anywhere. Once I have done so, I shall speak with you directly."
Harry wanted very badly to ask if a room could be found as soon as possible, but after Hermione's very reasonable caution earlier in the day he didn't want to risk saying anything for fear of raising the very sharp teacher's suspicion. They'd just have to start stewing the lacewings in Myrtle's bathroom, or even in the Chamber of Secrets, if it came down to it.
"Thank you professor, I really appreciate it. Good evening."
Once they were back outside in the corridor Harry let out a long breath. He'd really been hoping they'd have a room by the end of today.
Hermione took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, then started leading him away towards the common room.
"I half expected you to near demand a room this evening. I'm glad you were careful in there, Harry."
"I almost did, but I remembered what you were saying earlier about being cautious so as not to raise suspicion. It seems you're rubbing off on me," he said, with a lopsided grin.
Hermione just gave him a pleased little grin, then took his hand and lead him back to the common room to begin planning their schedule.
There was an unhappy Ron pacing back and forth, clearly waiting for them when they got there, however.
"Oh there you are, Potter," the redhead bit out, his face and tone twisting into a remarkable likeness of the junior Malfoy's. "Not seen you around today, been busy, have you? Spending time with your adoring fans and the press, I bet. How many autographs have you signed already?"
"I… what? Autographs?" asked Harry, completely blindsided by his friend's reaction. True, they hadn't ended the day yesterday on the best of terms, but this was completely beyond the pale.
"I… no, no; I've just been sorting some things out. I asked Hermione to help me prepare. I – "
"Oh yeah!? Hermione, huh?" Ron was almost shouting, his face flushing furiously and his fists clenching as he shot her a venomous look. "You been using her for practice for when the hotter witches start asking you for dates, huh? You didn't waste any time getting her to bend over for you."
"WHAT!?" Both Hermione and Harry shouted in chorus. They had shot from confused to offended and furious in an instant with Ron's wild accusation.
Hermione was about to follow up, but Harry jumped in first.
"How dare you! How could you even… I would never use Hermione like that, you great prat! She was helping me make sure I don't die in this stupid tournament, you bloody git! Did you know that nearly a third of all previous Champions have died? Or that it was cancelled last time because first task killed all the last ones?"
This didn't seem to register with Ron, however. He appeared too angry. What did register, however, was the fact that Harry was still holding Hermione's hand from when they had been walking to the common room. It had just been companionable before they had crossed the threshold, but now Harry was using the contact to prevent Hermione from slapping Ron, or running off. Or possibly both.
"Yeah," Ron sneered, "I'm so sure. Is that what he told you, Hermione? To get you to feel sorry for him? 'Oh, this could be my last chance, the first task might kill me, come into this broom closet.'?"
Hermione looked caught between shouting something and bursting into tears. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment and shame. How could he say that to her? About her? How could he think that? Only Harry's hand in hers was keeping her from bolting up the stairs to her dormitory.
Hermione tugged slightly on his hand, clearly caught between running off and letting loose on their friend, caused Harry to glance at her. One look at her face had his blood boiling. How dare Ron make Hermione so upset? She was clearly almost crying, her emotions written all over her face. It wasn't just that he'd think all these things, but that he'd shout them in the common room for the entire House to hear. It also wasn't that he'd shouted at Harry; he could handle that.
But he was upsetting Hermione, and Harry thought that this could be worse than any of the previous times. All the other arguments had been about homework, or revising, or Crookshanks, or her reminding them slightly too often of things they needed to get done. But this… it was a direct slight to her dignity and her honour. If she ran now it would just lend credence to his accusations. If she ran, he' be right. If Harry wasn't sure his hand in hers was preventing that, he'd have hauled off and hit the idiot redhead already.
All of this flashed through Harry's mind in an instant, and a cold, terrible fury washed over him. His heart raced, his head throbbed, his vision whitened, and he felt a cool sweat sweep his body.
"Ron… " he began, his voice low and icy and dangerous, "don't you dare talk to Hermione like that again. If you do… nothing will help you. Is that clear? Now… " Harry leant in close, and his voice dropped even further, "Fuck. Off."
Ron seemed to sense that something was wrong as soon as he began talking, and he had stilled. Harry wasn't sure if it was his tone or what he'd said that had gotten through, but he didn't care. All he felt when his now almost assuredly ex-friend turned and stalked off was relief that he was gone.
Hermione's voice broke the moment.
"Harry," she whispered, "please let go. You're hurting me."
He looked around in shock, his eyes shooting from the pained look on face to their joined hands. He let her go immediately, almost as quickly as if her touch burned. She still looked like she might leave, though, so he placed his hands on her upper arms. Very carefully, this time.
"Oh Hermione, I'm so sorry! I didn't realise! I just didn't want you running off. If you had, everyone would have thought he was right. I didn't mean to hurt you. He just made me so angry. How could he talk about you like that?"
"I don't know. I don't care about that, Harry. I wouldn't have minded. I don't care what anyone but you think of me."
"Maybe… but I care. No one gets to talk to you or about you like that. No one."
Harry was amazed at how fragile she looked in that moment. She looked like she was about to break, like a breeze could have blown her over. He couldn't think of anything he could do. Her jerked slightly, about to pull away, but the movement almost made her burst into tears. That wouldn't do.
Thinking frantically for a moment, he decided to try something he never would usually. Pulling her in close slowly, Harry put his arms around her gently, for the first time ever initiating a hug between them. She sagged against him and latched her arms around him as if she'd never let go, and after a few moments he felt his shoulder and neck begin to get wet. She was crying into him, silently.
Harry looked around at his Housemates, still watching like this was some kind of performance or entertainment, wondering how to remind them all to mind their own business. An idea struck; since he had their attention anyway, he may as well try and do a bit more for Hermione's reputation.
"Everything I said is true," he began, "Hermione was helping me - by researching magical contracts, nothing else - to see if there's a way I can get out of the tournament. We couldn't find one. What I said about the previous events and the champions is also true. You can read more in 'Triwizard Tournaments Through the Years', there's a copy in the history section of the library. I'm going to be spending all my time between now and the first task figuring out how to survive. Not win, just survive."
Once people began shifting awkwardly and returning to their previous tasks or conversations, he led her over to a small window seat set into an alcove. Hermione didn't seem like she was going to let go any time soon, and Harry couldn't think of anything to say, so he just sat and held her, occasionally rubbing her shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He thought he caught Lavender and Parvati, and Katie, Angelica and Alicia casting them approving glances occasionally, but he wasn't sure.
Eventually, and after a few snuffles, Hermione stopped crying. She didn't let go of him though, and in fact cuddled against him more closely.
"Thank you, Harry. Sometimes… sometimes I forget that other people care about what's said about me. Nobody did, for so long, and it's so hard to remember in the moment."
That sounded suspiciously like something Harry had an intimate understanding of.
"Hh… Hermione? How bad was it? Before you came here? Before we were friends?"
She snuffled again, and shook her head.
"I don't want to talk about it."
That sounded a lot like what Harry would say whenever he was asked about living with the Dursleys. He filed the information away for later.
"Ok. We won't. I… I guess… uh, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'll do my best to make sure you don't forget again. I promise."
"Thank you."
It had been said so quietly he almost wasn't sure she'd said anything at all, but then she gave him a little squeeze and leant up to kiss his cheek.
Harry just nodded, and reached up to gently brush the damp from her cheek with his thumb.
"Ok. Come on. We still need to sort out our training schedule. I'll go and get my timetable and I'll see you back here in a minute. Ok?"
She gave him a watery smile and nodded.
Harry entered his dorm room to a scene of chaos. It looked like a whirlwind had hit it; books and parchment and clothes were strewn everywhere, and Ron appeared to be gesticulating wildly out of one of the windows, which was thrown wide open.
"What happened in here… " he trailed off as Ron swung around, staring at him in a mixture of guilt and defiance.
Looking again, Harry saw that most of the items appeared to be strewn in a path leading towards that window. And the path started at his trunk. The only trunk that was open.
It had been a whirlwind; a whirlwind named Ron Weasley.
Harry saw red.
He stormed over to Ron and grabbed the front of his robes in one hand, his other balling into a fist. His head was swirling again, almost painfully. His things. His belongings. Ron was messing with his things. Trying to take them away, or throw them away. Only the Dursleys had ever done that to him before.
He raised his fist, his whole body quivering with rage. Ron looked terrified. He wrestled with himself back and forth for a very long few moments, but no, he couldn't do it.
"I'm not Vernon," he whispered to himself. He dropped his arm and let go of Ron whose panic was morphing into confusion.
He turned around and was wondering what to do when his eye fell on the trunk at the foot of the bed next to his. Ron's trunk. It was closed, but there was the corner of a bright, silvery piece of fabric poking out between from under the lid. He knew that fabric. It was an invisibility cloak. His invisibility cloak.
Harry almost saw red again, but controlled himself. He stormed over to the trunk and wrenched it open. There was a strangled "Hey" from behind him, but he ignored it. He hauled his cloak out and, shooting a truly filthy, venomous look at the Weasley by the window, he stormed out.
Hermione had gotten back to the common room before Harry, so had sat back in their little window alcove to wait for him. She hadn't waited long before he shot off the stairs to the boy's dorms, but instead of heading for her he was moving towards the portrait hole at an incredible rate, a look of thunder on his face. He wasn't running, but he was moving very quickly. His invisibility cloak was clenched in his hand.
Something was very wrong.
Hermione leapt up and followed him, having to run to catch up.
"Harry, what's wrong? What happened? Where are you going? Why do you have your cloak?"
"That… that… I can't. I can't, I just can't. I cannot believe he'd… "
Something had happened with Ron, but she had no clue what and Harry didn't seem capable of telling her at the moment. He appeared to be heading for the office of their Head of House, so she supposed she'd just have to wait and see.
When he got there, Harry didn't even stop to knock, he just threw open the door and crossed the room to the desk of the sputtering professor McGonagall, Hermione trailing behind him.
Harry paused for a moment to collect himself, trying desperately to calm down enough not to shout at his Head of House.
"Mister Potter, what is the meaning of this? Bursting in here, after curfew, I might add." The highland witch was clearly upset, so much so that her Scottish brogue was clearly audible in her cold, clipped tone.
Her mood did not improve one iota as Harry related his story.
He explained what had happened from when he and Hermione had gotten back to the common room, relating what Ron had said, and what he had said back. He was about to continue, but the professor raised a hand and looked to Hermione.
"Is this true, Miss Granger?"
"Yes, professor. Ron said all that in front of the whole common room. You could ask anyone who was in there."
"Very well, Mister Potter, Miss Granger, thank you for bringing this to my attention."
She was about to rise when Harry continued.
"There's more, professor. When I got to my dorm room I found Ron throwing my belongings out of a window. Well, almost all. I found this in his trunk." He gestured with the cloak in his hand. "Professor, either he goes, or I do. I can't sleep in the same room as him."
McGonagall now had a look of thunder on her face that matched his. Hermione's face bore a mixture of shock and fury.
"I see." Was all she said.
She got up and led them out of her office.
This part was new to Hermione, but oddly Ron's behaviour didn't surprise her. He had always been juvenile, and this petulant behaviour seemed like the next progressing. Actually, she was almost surprised that he hadn't done anything like it before, but then nothing had stirred him up like this. Nothing that Harry had done, anyway. She began to wonder whether Ron would have tried to dump her belongings from the tower if he'd been able to get into her dorm room. The answer of 'probably' disappointed her.
