You're surrounded,
but you're still alone.
So pick a place,
and pretend it's home.
- Pretend It's Home (Beth Crowley)
It was the middle of night when Harry's eyes snapped open, and he wasn't entirely sure why.
He remembered having a dream about Hedwig and Helga dancing the waltz with Ronnie's favourite Bradford Banshees song "If Looks Could Petrify" slamming in the background. That was hardly odd enough to have woken him up.
He sat up and managed to retrieve his feet from beneath Tarquin's tiny curled up body, and pried his glasses out of Helga's death grip without waking the potato-gnome up. She'd taken it as her god-given duty to hand Harry his glasses ever since he'd won her basket's loyalty, and quite frankly, he thought it was adorable.
Ronnie hadn't agreed, but, as with everything deranged about Harry, she'd taken it in stride.
He absentmindedly grabbed a quill out of his slippers and took his diary out from under his bed, leafing through the pages even though they were utterly blank.
Are you okay, Tommy?
He didn't know why he thought it was Tommy that had woken him up, or why he even felt the need to talk to her, but Harry wasn't really one to question his own insanity. He had other people for that.
Of course, Harry. I'm a book. An impervious book. Did I mention I was a book?
He could practically taste the sarcasm.
Are you having an existential crisis? And don't tell me you can't because you're a book. Books exist, so you can have a crisis about it just fine.
I'm fine, Harry.
Are you really fine, or is this a Nanelle kind of fine, in which she's really not but doesn't want to talk about it?
I pity Nanelle.
You shouldn't. We're her friends. It's our job to lend an ear to everything she has to say. And for what she doesn't say, we have to tickle it out of her.
Do you mean actually tickle or is that a modern idiom? Or something you invented to serve as an idiom?
Pretty sure I read it somewhere. Something about a trout?
Catching a trout with tickling? It's a Shakespearean idiom that refers to the act of pleasing someone so as to dupe them. Maria used the idiom to refer to her plot to reveal Malvolio's self-loving nature in Twelfth Night or As You Like It.
Yeah! Wow, you're super smart, Tommy!
My point, Harry, is that it has absolutely nothing to do with what you were talking about.
Well, sometimes you have to tickle and tease to get someone to talk, even if it might blow up in your face.
The school motto is literally do not tickle the belly of a sleeping dragon. Literally the motto.
Huh.
…give me more ink.
Harry happily obliged, splashing the empty page with around half his ink bottle. Ginny had been a genius when she'd decided to make this diary impervious to anything.
He wondered if he could get the spell off her. See if he couldn't convert Hedwig's weatherworn cage into a comfy home for his favourite avian.
Tell me about yourself, Harry. It's only fair if you trust me before I trust you.
Harry shrugged. Sounded legit.
Well, my name is Harry Fleamont Evans, I have hazel eyes, I'm short, I'm twelve, I'm pretty sure we've done this…
I meant something more personal. Bare your soul to me. Trust me with your secrets.
Harry pondered at the book and then thought deeply about himself, examining the very essence of his character, prying loose the darkest desires of his heart.
I secretly like the booger flavoured Bertie bean.
…Of course you do.
Harry hadn't slept all night, so the next day when he was attacked by Kenyon's replacement for captain, Maxine O'Flaherty, the Hufflepuff beater and the only decent player on the team, he wasn't entirely with it.
"Hey, Harry, just the person I was looking for—can you spare a minute?" she asked, nerves looking ridiculously frazzled.
Harry nodded placidly. Ronnie raised an eyebrow and watched Maxine's subtle attempts to get her to leave with an unimpressed scowl.
"We have potions next," Ronnie reminded him.
"All the more reason to be late," Harry nodded reasonably.
Ronnie snorted.
"Look, Harry, I don't know who made me captain—"
"Sprout, obviously," replied Ronnie.
Maxine gave her a withering look. "What I'm trying to say is, I've scheduled the tryouts for tomorrow. We need a replacement keeper and chaser. And since you run the show, I was wondering if you wanted to maybe pickthemoutyourselfbecauseIcan'tandyoutotallycouldwithyoureyesclosed?"
Harry blinked. "If I say yes, will you kick McManus off the team?"
Maxine turned green at the prospect. "But he's a friend…"
Harry shrugged unrepentantly. He was a completely different person when it came to quidditch.
"If he doesn't have talent, he shouldn't be on the team," he said. "But it's your call, captain."
Maxine looked like a withered flower, quite unlike the black and blue hurricane from the last match of last year.
"B-But you'll still lead the team, right?" she asked fearfully.
Harry's eyes blazed with competitive fire in a split second. "Not only will I lead the team, Maxine, I'll crush the other teams. You can put horses on the team and I'll still gut them till they bleed victory."
Maxine stood straighter and became more determined. "Victory or death," she said solemnly.
Harry nodded sharply. "Victory or death."
Ronnie chose this moment to say, "Draco's seeker for Slytherin, by the way."
The grin that split Harry's face could give Voldemort nightmares.
Sitting in Defense and bored out of his mind, Draco suddenly felt a shiver trickle down his spine.
Colleen Creevey had found the perfect picture-taking position, balancing precariously on the roof of the owlery. Her spiky mousy hair was held back in a high ponytail and her camera was around her neck, ready to take a snap of the sprawling fields in front of her.
Suddenly, a ginger kitten sashayed its way over to Colleen and purred indignantly.
Colleen got the distinct impression she was invading the kitten's space.
She got off the roof.
Tarquin was looking rather pleased with himself, which Harry would've definitely commented on, except Tommy was being witty, and all of Harry's attention was fixated on her neat handwriting.
I hardly think the unhealthy fixation you have on strudels makes you even a tenth percent more German, considering the dish is Hungarian.
It's not a dish, Tommy, it's divinity.
It's flakes of wheat wrapped around some mushed berries. I hardly see the appeal.
You're forgetting the sugar.
Yes, how silly of me. The sugar.
Harry grinned at the dryness of the response, which broke his reverie and he noticed that all his friends had sat around him on the bean bags Professor Lupin had indulgently decorated in the part of her office which was theirs.
Ronnie had raced to the eye-sore orange one almost immediately, Draco had chosen the velvety green one on principle, Nanelle had been happy with the baby blue one with the tiny red phoenixes, Herman had claimed the stripy brown one, and Harry had squished onto the last one – the one that looked like the open mouth of a dragon. There was even a cloth tongue and everything.
"Oh, he finally joins us," said Draco haughtily. "We've only been planning a visit to Grimmy, don't concern yourself. And by we, I mean me, since you lot are useless."
Nanelle was too busy reading a letter from her grandfather.
Herman and Ronnie were bickering about recklessness.
"I have equal right to be as fucking reckless as I want to be!" argued Ronnie.
Herman was already red in the face. "This has absolutely nothing to do with you being a girl, Ronnie—"
"Yes, it does! You haven't said a bloody thing to Harry or Draco, so I don't see why—"
Harry scrawled a quick talk to you later to Tommy and shut his diary. "What are you two fighting about?"
Draco scoffed. "What aren't they fighting about?"
Ronnie gave him an obligatory glare before nervously biting her lip, which was completely uncharacteristic of her.
Harry looked supremely concerned. "Is everything okay? Do I need to threaten Ernie with sandcastles again?"
Ronnie nodded. "Yeah, totally fine. Haha…you know, just riling Herman up, as you do, nothing to see here, yup—"
Herman couldn't contain himself any longer. "Ronnie's decided to try out for your quidditch team!" he said accusingly.
Harry considered Ronnie with narrow-eyed scrutiny. The temperature went down a couple of degrees. Herman had no idea how Ronnie could still maintain eye contact with Harry.
"You're better than Fleet," he said finally, before smiling lightly and dispelling the tension. "Victory or death," he chirped cheerfully.
Herman goggled. Nanelle looked up from her letter in horror. Draco gauged the competition.
Ronnie nodded determinedly. "Victory or death."
"I feel like I should say something…" muttered Remula, who'd just entered her office, but then elected to ignore them completely. "Nah."
The Potter lunacy was contagious.
Grimmy raced to them from Hagrid's hut, barking happily and bowling Harry over.
Harry grinned from underneath the mass of black fur. "Missed you too, Grimmy."
Herman tutted. "So unhygienic…"
Draco scratched Grimmy behind the ears as Ronnie swooped in for a bear hug. "We would've been here sooner," he said, before sarcastically muttering, "but someone's too invested in their diary."
Harry stuck his tongue out at him. Draco stuck his tongue out right back.
Nanelle giggled at the boys. "H-Hello Hagrid," she greeted the half-giant, who was walking towards them with a ginger in tow. "Hi, Ginny."
Ginny blushed at the sight of Harry and mumbled back a greeting.
"What're you bothering Hagrid for?" asked Ronnie curiously.
Ginny gave her a look. "I was just exploring."
Ronnie snorted. "Yeah, exploring Harry, maybe—"
Harry went up to Ginny and hugged her.
Draco sneered at the display. Herman was wide-eyed in shock.
Ginny looked about ready to faint.
"Thank you for Tommy," he said, feeling he ought to explain the hug, even though there was no law stating he had to.
He was ever so considerate.
"T-Tommy?" Ginny squeaked, face a brighter red than her hair.
Harry nodded happily. "The birthday present."
"O-Oh, oh," said Ginny, realisation dawning. She then promptly blushed even brighter. "Y-You're we-wel-welc—don't mention it…"
Ronnie cut through Ginny's dilemma with, "Could've just said thank you, Harry. Now she'll overthink this till her brain melts."
Ginny gave Ronnie another look. It reminded Harry of Mrs Weasley, strangely enough. "I'm not the one who can't get by without butting into everyone's conversation every two seconds," she snapped. Then she saw Harry out of the corner of her eye and deflated.
She mumbled an excuse and scampered off. Harry wondered what dancing sphinxes had to do with astronomy homework, but then, he'd never really paid attention in that class, so it was entirely possible Ginny's excuse was completely valid.
Grimmy was totally grinning at Harry.
"Astronomy is like artichoke," he pronounced solemnly.
Yes, he was very wise.
No, Draco, he wasn't high. Yes, Herman, he had eaten breakfast this morning.
...hadn't he?
You guys are actually just really sweet! Yeah, I'm doing fine now, thanks for asking! And yay another chapter! How's Harry's quidditch-personality? Quinality? Ooh, yes, quinality! And Tommy! How's Tommy? Is he...in character? Is that the right way of saying this, considering I invented him?
He's having difficulty getting Harry to bare his soul. It might be because Harry has no soul! *gasp* O.O
Nah, just kidding! Review please?
