A/N: Well, Merry Christmas everyone :) I hope everyone's was as good as mine. I love Harry Potter paraphonalia, even though it is overmarketed…hey, I didn't buy it, my parents did! Besides, that Quidditch card game is addicting. Anyway: Special thanks to Lupin, the coolest beta reader ever! And thanks everyone who's been reviewing.
Amanda (Paint): Nothing especially bad happens to Krum; sorry if I mislead you on that point, but I think that you'll be semi-happy at the end of chapter 8 and that you'll like most of chapter 9.
I disclaim everything.
Chapter 7
Remus immediately started rummaging for a quill and parchment, but finding nothing, finally gave up and ran into his room.
"What happened?" Sirius asked again, now getting worried and beginning to sound panicked. "Harry are you — is your scar — you're not going back, you're staying here!" He rushed over to Harry and pulled a chair from the table. "Sit," he ordered. Harry ignored him, and Sirius didn't seem to notice, and began to pace and mutter to himself. "Oh my — he's — what if…" Suddenly, he stopped and proclaimed, "Dumbledore! Remus, get some parchment and a quill so we can — "
"Write a letter to Dumbledore," Remus finished, tossing Sirius a finished letter.
"Good. Where the hell is the — "
"Sid," Harry called to the curtain rod, where Sirius' owl usually was during the day. Sid flew down and allowed Sirius to attach the letter to its leg; they all watched it fly out the window and off into the distance.
"Harry, get dressed, we're going back to that school and getting your things and—"
"No, Sirius," Harry answered coldly.
"But—"
"I'm an adult now, I can't run forever. I'm safer at the school anyway; there are teachers, and more precautions taken, and lots more qualified witches and wizards. You know that."
Sirius resignedly sat down in the chair he had ordered Harry to sit in.
"If Dumbledore says not to go back, then I won't," Harry offered, pulling out the other chair and sitting next to him.
"Oh calm down, both of you," Remus suddenly snapped. He had seemingly regained some of his composure. "Voldemort might not even be back…Harry's scar hurt before when he wasn't, remember? It's probably all propaganda, brought on by disgruntled former death eaters. The ritual probably failed."
"You're being idealistic," Sirius muttered.
"Well,even if he did come back, he'll need to regain power. Whoever the new Minister of Magic is—"
"Stephanie Mills," Harry interrupted.
"Well, she won't be able to ignore the fact that Fudge died. She's probably investigating the matter already, and there's a good chance that he'll be found soon, when he's still weak."
It was obvious that no one in the room, himself included, believed what he was saying.
***
Ron woke up that morning, rolled over, and felt another body directly next to his. Uh oh, he thought, quickly sitting up and trying to remember the night before, who this person was, and where he was. While the previous evening was covered in a pleasant alcohol-induced haze, he remembered meeting the person beside him (Amanda? Astrid? Alicia?), and with a deep sigh of relief realized that they were on the carpeted floor of the common room, under a blanket but surrounded by other sleeping (and fully clothed) partners.
As he contemplated standing up, he saw Hermione coming down from the girls' dorms.
"Hey," he whispered as loud as he dared and vaulted himself up. She sniffed at him and shook her head.
"Have fun last night?" she asked wryly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" They walked toward the common room door together.
"You were quite the man of the hour, if you know what I mean."
Ron concentrated hard on the night before, and vaguely recalled lots of kissing… "Huh, guess I was," he said, shrugging.
Hermione glared.
"Hey, what's wrong with that? I'm not attached to anyone," he remarked as they entered the cafeteria to get breakfast.
"Well, have you ever considered being more, I don't know, selective as to whom you give your attentions?" She tapped her plate and said "Cocoa Krispies;" she had developed a taste for the almost sickeningly sweet chocolate cereal.
"How so? Corn Flakes," Ron answered, remaining boring.
"Well, for starters, Amelia."
"Who's Amelia?" Ron questioned, shoveling some cereal into his mouth.
"The twit you were snogging before you both passed out on the floor."
So that was her name, Ron thought. "Yeah, what's wrong with her?" Ron asked, cautiously.
"She's my roommate, and she's an American 'ditz,' as I believe they would say. She's completely stupid and has no personality whatsoever."
Ron mumbled something about what she did have. She was a supermodel for Enchantment, the famous designer robes company, after all; he remembered that much.
"Well," Hermione snapped, "what I'm saying is that maybe you could do better than her, Janet, Nell, and Patricia, who, incidentally, are all as bad as Amelia."
Wow, four girls? Ron thought. I'll have to tell Harry. "I think I did pretty well," Ron said, wiping his mouth on his napkin. Hermione sighed huffily and quickly tapped her dish, pushed out her chair, and stomped toward the door.
"'Ey, 'Ermione," Ron called through a full mouth, but she was already gone.
***
"Hi Ron, Hermione," Harry said as he entered the common room later that evening, noting uneasily that they were sitting on complete opposite sides of the room. Hermione and Ron both walked over hurriedly to meet him, and spoke at the same time.
"Are you alright? Voldemort's probably back, you know. Does your scar hurt?" Hermione asked, concerned.
"Harry, guess what! At the party after the Quidditch game I hooked up with four extremely fine women," Ron proudly announced.
There was a short pause as they all took in what had been said.
"What?!" Ron exclaimed suddenly, turning toward Hermione.
"You heard me," she mumbled.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Ron yelled, furious. Hermione just stared coldly at him; Harry, meanwhile, sighed, sensing that it was going to be a long night.
"Yes, Ron, Hermione's right. And yes, Hermione, my scar did hurt…you should have seen Sirius, he threw a fit. I'm lucky Remus was there, he had to force him to let me go back to school."
"Remus? Remus Lupin?" Hermione interrupted.
"Yeah, he's living with us now."
"Weird," Ron commented, the look of anxiety remaining on his face from the previous shocking announcement.
"You'd better be careful, Harry," Hermione advised. "You know he'll be after you again…Did you owl Dumbledore?"
They all sat down on a couch, disagreements and arguments forgotten for the moment.
"Yeah, hopefully he'll write back by tomorrow…"
Ron suddenly stood up, muttering something about owling his family to make sure that they were all right, and left.
Harry and Hermione went to bed shortly thereafter.
***Part 2***
Ron closed his eyes as he felt the familiar jerk in his stomach that told him the portkey destined for London was moving. He wished that he had passed his apparation test when he had taken it over the summer; his father had trained him whenever he could, but Ron just hadn't caught on quick enough for the scheduled test. In short, he had ended up lost and scared in the United States, thousands of miles from where he was supposed to be. He had stood in the middle of the busy New York City sidewalk he had landed in until someone from the ministry was able to retrieve him. It was obvious even to him that he hadn't passed the test.
When he landed he stood up and immediately thought of moving toward home, but was stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Of course, he remembered; there were other people going to London on the portkey.
"See you after Christmas, Ron," said Bridget, his current/former girlfriend of the week. Ron brought on a forced smile and told her goodbye and likewise, though they both knew that wasn't likely to happen. Ron mounted his broom, flung Harry's invisibility cloak over himself and the Firebolt, and took off for home.
It's not that he didn't miss The Burrow. He did. He just dreaded going back because of what he might find. The fear he had felt when Hermione so delicately revealed Voldemort's return only magnified as the Daily Prophet began reporting deaths accompanied by the Dark Mark. He tried to forget this as the cold wind blew against the cloak, but the dread still remained.
Nothing helps, he lamented, and it was true. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that his friends and family were all in danger. He had trouble sleeping at night, and woke each morning filled with dread; he usually spent the rest of the day doing stupid things, like going through girlfriend after girlfriend, to try and keep his mind off of his fear. It was true that he had become quite sought after, but fortunately many of the witches he dated had a short attention span. He had tried to talk with Harry and Hermione about his worries, but all they had told him was not to worry. Ron privately felt that neither of them knew what he was talking about; neither of them had lost a close family member or friend (besides Harry, and even though Harry had lost his parents he didn't remember it). They didn't know what it was like to lose someone you loved…
Ron started as a bird almost flew into him and he was forced to take evasive action. As he dove, he noted that he was directly over Ottery St. Catchpole and that The Burrow was in sight. With a sigh of relief, he took in the view of his home (that, incidentally, had no trace of the Dark Mark anywhere near it) and noted how deceptively quiet it seemed from above. Fred and George were there, he thought, bugging Ginny or something. Percy was in his "office," refusing to put the Ministry on hold during his vacation and losing the argument taking place with his mother to go downstairs and be a member of the family. Bill was watching Fred, George, and Ginny go at it; he could be helping Ginny, or maybe he was conversing with Percy, who could have lost the fight by then. Despite the fang earring, the two of them got on well.
It was still too early for his father to be home yet, but his mother was definitely cooking dinner; he could almost smell it. Ron would be the last to get home, since everyone else had arrived two days before. He hoped she was making his favorite, chicken and potatoes.
***
Harry eagerly read his owl from Ron to discover that things were going fine at the Weasleys; he admitted that things were definitely different without Charlie, but maintained that everyone was doing as well as could be expected. Harry sighed and looked at the ceiling, almost wishing that he were at The Burrow. He hoped everyone, especially Mrs. Weasley, was doing as well as Ron said they were. At the moment Harry was in his room, sitting on his bed and repeatedly throwing a random Muggle baseball at the wall to let off steam; he and Sirius had just had their first argument, and it had been, well, a "doozy" to say the least.
Harry had wanted to go for a walk, but Sirius had refused him leave from the flat without him, saying that it wasn't safe. Harry, used to being able to do what he wanted, had gotten upset. They had gone on for about 10 minutes, getting progressively louder and meaner, until Harry had said something very harsh and unnecessary that he had instantly regretted. Remus, of course, had chosen that moment to walk through the door (fresh from another failed job interview) and Harry had stomped off to his room, more than a little ashamed. He was a smart boy and knew that he would eventually have to apologize, but it would take time and he was working up the nerve to do so. There was a knock at his door.
"Come in," he called glumly, throwing the ball especially hard. The door opened and Remus entered, eyes weary. The full moon had ended the day before, and he was still showing the effects. As he opened his mouth, Harry sighed and cut him off with, "I know, I was horrible back there and that I need to go apologize."
"Good, at least you're smart enough to know that. That was, to put it blatantly, a stupid thing to say," Remus replied.
"I know, I know…wait, how's he taking it? He's not…"
"He's very, very upset, if that's what you mean."
Harry gritted his teeth and threw the ball so hard that he was sure the wall would have cracked had he not had the foresight to cast an unbreakable charm beforehand. "I didn't mean it," he muttered, looking quite close to tears.
"Well, he's thought what you said many times himself. Do you think he doesn't regret his actions or the time he spent away from you while you were at the Dursleys?"
Harry shuddered at the mention of the name. "It wasn't his fault, it was those idiots who wouldn't believe us."
"You know he still blames himself."
Harry was silent, and stopped bouncing the ball.
"I think the sooner you apologize to him, the better. It is Christmas Eve, after all."
Harry stared at the snow falling on the windowsill. "Fine," he finally said after a minute. Remus held the door open for him, and Harry timorously made his way out into the kitchen to where Sirius was sitting, elbows on the table, hands shielding his eyes. Harry, not sure of how to begin, pulled out a chair and sat down. The noise of the chair scratching across the floor was much louder than would have liked; it disturbed the silence, but still didn't cause Sirius to look up or even make any sign of acknowledgement that Harry was there at all. After two minutes and 31 seconds of stillness, Harry finally spoke.
"I'm sorry, Sirius," he began quietly, though it sounded louder due to the utter stillness of the room. "I—I didn't mean anything I said earlier. I was mad and stupid, and I'm really, really sorry."
Sirius took a breath and looked up, eyes still filled with hurt, but he forced a smile and said, "I already forgave you…don't worry about it."
Harry knew Sirius was lying, and even if he had forgiven him he was going to worry about it for awhile. "I mean it, Sirius…I'm really, really, really, really, really—"
"The biggest git that ever walked the earth, I know," Sirius deadpanned, leaning across the table to mess up Harry's already untidy hair. Harry felt a little better after that; maybe things would be all right after all. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go check on the chicken, make a salad, and start on the potatoes, which, incidentally, you are going to wash and peel."
Harry snorted and shook his head as they both pushed out their chairs and moved over to the counters. "You sound like a housewife," he teasingly remarked.
"Makes the ladies crazy," Sirius answered, tossing Harry a bag of potatoes that was, Harry noted as he caught it and was thrown back against the counter, heavier than it looked.
"What ladies? I haven't even seen you with one lady, let alone more than one, which would constitute the use of a plural," Harry grunted, righting himself and dropping the bag on the counter.
"No more dime words or I'll make you peel them the Muggle way."
"Yes, Master Snuffles, forgive me for disrespecting you—" Harry laughed as he was splashed with water from the sink, and ducked out of the way of the next attack.
"No more from you. And for your information, there is a lady in the picture."
Harry smiled as he saw Sirius gain some color in his cheeks. "Let me guess. It's my Quidditch coach. Ever since your one fateful meeting you have been exchanging secret love notes, but she wouldn't agree to date you because she's my coach, but then you finally got her to cave, and now you have a romantic and cheesy dinner date all planned out in your painstakingly anal way?" Harry teased, pleased with his fabrication until he saw Sirius redden more. "You mean..." Harry's mouth dropped open as his godfather began to laugh.
***
"Please pass the potatoes, Hermione," Mrs. McGreggor asked sweetly. Hermione forced a smile and obliged, wishing her parents had allowed her to accept Ron's invitation to spend Christmas at The Burrow. However, they had told her that they rather liked having her around for the holidays and that she must come home.
Hermione loved her parents and didn't mind their company one bit; they always enjoyed hearing about her school and learning little things about the wizarding world and how it operated. In fact, it had been even more enjoyable since she graduated from Hogwarts due to the fact that she was a licensed witch and could demonstrate what she had been describing all through the years. No, she loved coming home, save two things: having to pretend in front of most of her extended family (besides her grandparents and her favorite aunt, but that was all that the Ministry had allowed), and dinner with the McGreggors.
The McGreggors had a son Hermione's age whom she had gone to grade school with; they had hated each other then and the feeling had not decreased as they gained in years. They were both bright - him less so than Hermione but he had been far more popular and therefore everyone had thought him the more intelligent one. Despite the objections of their children, the McGreggors and the Grangers were partners in the same dental firm and maintained a semblance of friendship; however, as of late the "friendship" had become more of a "my kid's better than your kid" contest.
"Sean loves it at Oxford, don't you Sean?" Mrs. McGreggor began to brag as she spooned herself some potatoes. "He's the top of his class and the president of the Science Club—only a freshman at that!" She looked toward Mrs. Granger as she chewed. Hermione glumly pushed her food around on her plate. When she looked up, she saw Sean giving her the most contorted, disturbing smile she had ever seen, and quickly looked down again to her chicken and potatoes. She was interested to see how her mom would get out of this one, and wished that her parents wouldn't invite them over when she was home.
"Well, as you know, Hermione is doing simply extraordinarily at Yale. She was even picked to research a cure for a deadly disease on a special research team normally only open to sophomores and above—as a freshman, nonetheless."
Hermione cringed, and took a bite of chicken.
"What have you been doing with the project, Hermione?" Mrs. McGreggor asked.
"Well," she began, trying to ignore the continued silent harassment from Sean, "I'm not really at liberty to discuss it. It's confidential, you know." She turned toward her mother with a quick, pleading look. Thankfully, she got the hint.
"Are you feeling alright, Hermione?" she asked pointedly.
"Not really, now that you mention it. Would it be alright if I went to bed?"
"Yes, of course 'Mi," her father interjected, looking worried.
Relieved, she stood up. "Goodnight, then, good seeing you all again," she said, and hurried from the room as fast as she could without seeming obvious.
She landed on her bed without ladylike regard, took a quill and parchment from a drawer in her bedside table, and began to write her Christmas letters.
Dear Viktor,
I miss you so much. Sorry we couldn't spend Christmas together, it would have been fun. I'm so glad you're coming to visit for a week before we go back to school. I hope you like your gift, I think of you often and always—
Love, Hermione
She attached Viktor's letter to the multi-functional watch she had bought him (it told the time, but could switch functions to show the positions of the planets, phase of the moon, locations of people that the wearer chose, a compass, and Quidditch scores). For a second, she wondered if the letter had been too easy to write, but she shrugged it off and moved on to Harry's letter.
Dear Harry,
I'm going crazy! My parents' friends are here and their son is just awful. My mum is making up stories about where I go to school and I hate playing along. Anyway, I almost feel like you at the Dursleys, stuck with some of the biggest Muggles on the planet. At least mum and dad don't show me around like some prize cow (not too often, anyway) like the McGreggors do with their horrible son. Blech.
How are Sirius and Remus? I'm glad that you finally have the home you deserve, Harry. You're just about one of the best friend I've ever had, and I love you (platonically, of course). Hope you like the gift!
Love, Hermione.
She smiled as she taped the letter to the gift she had bought him from Diagon Alley earlier that week: a Wizard Radio that could be attached to a broom for lengthy flights (or just during a casual Quidditch practice). She glanced at Ringo, her owl, fearing he wouldn't be up to a long trip with lots of packages, but noted with delight that Ringo was practically hopping in anticipation of leaving. She smiled (Christmas presents always made Hermione happy for some reason), and continued writing letters and attaching them to gifts. She finished Hagrid's, Professor McGonagall's (they were keeping in touch), Professor Dumbledore's (she had written to tell him of her position involving the anti-Avada Kedavra spell, and they had kept the correspondence going; she had, on Harry's suggestion, bought him a nice pair of socks), one of her friends from school, and finally there was only one letter left to write and one gift left in the pile.
Dear Ron,
Hi, I hope everything's alright at your house and that everyone's having a good Christmas. How are Ginny, Bill, Fred, and George?
Listen Ron, I know we've been fighting with each other every other second, and that I haven't talked with you for more than five minutes for over a month, or even seen you for over five minutes for a month. I just want to say that I don't like it either, and I'm sorry. I really miss you; we were really close in our last year at Hogwarts, and I feel like we've lost that. It's not always your fault that we fight; I've brought on some of it as well. I'm sorry for doing that. I hope we can be better friends again back at school; please forgive me for my lack of time, and please forgive me for anything mean I said to you in general. I hope you'll write back and ask the same of me.
Love, Hermione
She had barely finished signing it when she suddenly crumpled it up and threw it across the room.
"Stupid prat would never let me live that one down," she muttered as she started a new letter.
Dear Ron,
Merry Christmas! Hope you and your family are well. I miss you and Harry, and wish that I could spend Christmas with you, but you know, parents. I'll see you back in school.
Love, Hermione
She signed as she taped the letter to a box containing his present, an amulet that she bought in a charm store in Diagon Alley; the witch who ran the shop had told her it helped guide the wearer down the road to true happiness. Ron could use that about now, she thought as she tied the presents into a sort of ladder structure to make them easier for her owl to carry. She was glad that she had bought the largest owl in the shop; she had immediately taken a liking to its odd feather "style." Ron had told her that between the owl and Crookshanks she was becoming the owner of an ugly animal sanctuary. He had also made fun of the name Ringo; "Who the hell is named Ringo?" he had asked. She, as usual, hadn't commented.
"Bye Ringo, thank you," she said, tying the package to his legs, kissing his head, and giving him an owl treat for the road. He hooted appreciatively and was off.
Hermione sat on her bed and wished for life to be simple.
***Part 3***
"Good work, Granger," Professor Yang commented from over Hermione's shoulder. She was one of the ones trying to re-map Avada Kedavra, and it was very slow, very hard, and very tedious work. The shield charm the group had been inventing was running into difficulties; it currently wouldn't hold up to anything stronger than the jelly-legs curse, and every time they prodded with the formula it would become weaker instead of stronger.
Work had proceeded with more of an urgency since Voldemort's return. Hermione had been excused from all of her classes in order to continue with her work, but still kept up with her homework. Ministries from many different countries were offering grants to allow the group more supplies and speed things along. Needless to say, Hermione had had a lot on her mind. She had been working more than not, and even her relationship with Viktor had become more strained lately. She would still see him after the typical school day ended, but the project continuously weighed on her mind.
And then there was Harry. Harry had been trying to seem normal, but Hermione could tell that he was very worried. He had been writing to Sirius at least once every two days, and going home every other weekend regardless of whether there was a Quidditch match or not. Socializing had taken the backseat while his studies and Quidditch (but especially his studies) had taken the front; she theorized that he felt learning as much as possible about self-defense would be advantageous, and she had to agree with him. Despite this, it was hard for her when a good portion of the time she spent with him was spent watching him silently stare into the couch and forgetting to answer her feeble attempts at conversation.
Ron continued to make her mad. One minute he was nice; the next he was moody and sullen. His mood swings vaguely reminded her of those of her pregnant cousin, who had visited her over the Christmas break. When she had told him this, he had muttered something that she was glad she didn't hear and stormed away. What was going on with him? At that point she didn't want to associate with him or think about him…he was too much trouble and he clouded her mind. He was getting in the way of her work.
Work, and work and work…. She knew that the weight of the world did not lie on her shoulders, but she couldn't help but feel like it with the way teachers were pressuring her. It was obvious to her that she was expected to do extremely well; as a first year student on a traditionally third year project, she had to earn her keep and do it well. Her eyes began to scan the five parchments that she had spent the past six hours working on; the purple ink shone in the light, and everything looked perfect until she got to the top of the second page. She found that she had made an elementary addition error (according to the parchment, 2+3=6), and everything she had done from that page onward was incorrect and had to be redrawn. She suddenly flung her quill down in disgust and threw her head into her arms on the table, and tried not to cry.
Professor Yang looked up, startled, from across the table. "Hermione?" she asked delicately. Hermione sniffed in her continuing and unsuccessful effort against tears and looked up, wiping her eyes.
"Why don't you call it a day, and I think maybe take a few off…you've been working too hard."
Hermione groaned and put her head back into her arms. That's it; I've failed, I'm done.
"No no, I didn't mean it in a bad way," she expressed quickly, moving to her side. "You work about the hardest out of everyone here; you've learned as much as a third year student knows in four months' time, and you need a rest."
Hermione broke down into a full-fledged sob.
"Shh, come on, let's go." Her professor led her out the door and into the empty hall. "You going to be alright?" she asked soothingly, guiding her toward her tower.
Hermione swallowed, nodded, and began to apologize profusely as they walked.
"Don't worry hon, rest up and sort everything out, and don't think about anything here, alright?"
Hermione thanked her and entered her common room, eyes still overflowing with tears. Ron was sitting on a couch reading a book when he saw her hurrying toward her dorm. He looked up as she walked by.
"Hey! Hermione! Wait!" he called. She avoided him and increased her speed, but she wasn't fast enough; he managed to grab her arm and stop her. "What's wrong?" he asked, very concerned and more than a little frightened as Hermione wasn't the type to cry unless there was a very good reason. She wasn't able to speak, just to cry. Ron didn't know what to say, so he did all he could.
"I—I'm sorry about what I said this morning, if that's any help. Really," he tried, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Please, what's wrong?" She continued to shake from her sobs. Finally, he hugged her in desperation, though she failed to react to his action in any way.
"Hermoninny?!" Viktor Krum cried from the entrance. Though he had eventually learned to pronounce her name correctly, he tended to lapse back to the old way when he was distressed. Ron let go of Krum's girlfriend and watched as they embraced; with unease he noticed that his hug was returned. He wondered vaguely why Viktor was in that tower when his girlfriend had work all day, but pushed the thought out of his mind and, though it killed him to do so, took his book upstairs to give them some privacy.
A few hours later Harry reentered the dorm laden with books and parchment. Harry's advanced defense against the dark arts class required a great degree of memorization; when in the field, aurors do not have books (or the time to use them if for some reason they do). He hadn't had a break since Christmas with Sirius and Remus; as he thought wistfully back to that time, he was happy with the fact that he finally enjoyed being home just as much as, if not more than, being in school.
Voldemort remained dormant, which did not mean that Harry didn't worry about him; he did, and quite often.
And then there was Michele. Ah yes, Michele…. The incident in the dungeon had not been mentioned (or repeated) again. He had tried to both bring it up and ask her out several times, but she had nervously changed the subject without giving him a straight answer. Despite this, they had undeniably grown closer, and Harry wished that it meant what he hoped it meant and that "the incident" was not a mere fluke where two people were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Hey Ron, Quidditch game tomorrow, Tower 1," Harry announced gleefully as he threw his things on the floor.
Ron grunted, lost in thought.
"You know, Krum's tower," Harry continued, intentionally using Krum's name to provoke some sort of reaction from his moody friend.
"So?" Ron snapped. Harry knew enough by now to disregard his tone, especially since he had brought it on with his attempt to ground his friend's thoughts.
"Where is Hermione anyway?" Harry asked. "Usually I see her coming back from wherever she works all day on my way back here."
"Something's wrong with her," he muttered in reply.
"What?" Harry questioned, concerned.
"Don't know…she was crying. I'm a bit worried; she wouldn't talk. Krum came and took control of the situation, so I left."
Harry thoughtfully sat on his bed. "I think we should go see what was wrong, it could be serious."
"Well, it could also be some sort of girl thing, and in that case I don't want to know."
"You just don't want to find her up there with Krum."
Harry had said the magic words; in a matter of seconds, they were on their way up to room 704 with Ron in the lead. He knocked tentatively, almost as if having second thoughts, but was soon granted a muffled "Come in" from inside.
By then, Hermione had stopped crying, but her eyes were still red and she still looked worse for wear.
Ron absolutely melted at the sight of her and immediately went to sit next to her on her bed.
"You alright? What happened? You had me so worried—"
"Nothing, Ron," Hermione interrupted, swallowing some more tears as Ron put his hand on her shoulder. "I just had a sort of nervous breakdown, that's all…I'm sorry you had to see it, I—"
"Shh, don't worry," Ron interrupted, taking her hands. "Are you alright?" he asked again, obviously not satisfied with the last answer she had given him.
"I…well…" Hermione seemed to be searching for the words she wanted to say. "No…yes—yes, I'm fine. I'm going to be fine." She closed her eyes and opened them with a more resolute look in place. "Just under stress, that's all. I'll be fine."
"You sure?" Harry asked from the doorway, moving to where his friends were and sitting on the other side of Hermione.
"Yes, I'm—I'm alright," she sighed, and flopped backwards. "I was just thinking too much."
"Finally realized it, eh?" Ron asked, falling backward as well, and turning his head to look at her.
"Shut up you prat, I'm worried sick about Voldemort."
Ron was silent for this comment, and didn't even make his usual "You-Know-Who" correction. Harry decided to speak and flopped backward with the other two.
"No use in worrying so much Hermione. You know that."
"You should talk; don't think I don't see it, Harry," she replied. They all stared at the ceiling for a contemplative few minutes.
"Doesn't help with this idiot next to me fighting with me all the time either," Hermione shot, obviously trying to lighten the mood.
"Well, Harry I think you'd better apologize now, shouldn't you?" Ron announced authoritatively, sitting up and looking at Harry. Hermione grinned and hit him with a pillow.
"'Ey!" Ron cried. "What was that for?" Hermione just stared at the ceiling again and continued to smile.
***
Harry paced around the locker room with his broom, trying to calm down. After all, it was just another Quidditch game, just another leisurely flight on his broom. It was just a match that happened to pit him against Viktor Krum, one of the best seekers in the wizarding world. It was just a match against a team that hadn't lost a game that would probably determine if they won the school cup or not. Harry suddenly dunked his head, glasses and all, into the sink and turned on the cold water in an effort to calm his nerves. It didn't work, unfortunately; all it did was make him cold and wet. He shook himself off and began to pace again, dripping a little on the floor.
"Ready, Harry?" Ron called, sticking his head around the corner of the doorway. "We're about…where have you been?"
"The sink. Don't ask."
"Nervous?" Ron joked.
"Shut up," Harry muttered, obviously not in the mood. As he walked onto the field, he saw Sirius sitting in his usual place next to Hermione. He observed Michele a few rows down…maybe if he caught the snitch she would finally accept his invitation to the movies? He came back down to earth when he heard the announcer clear her throat. Harry smiled when he realized that it was Angelina.
"Hello, welcome to Wizard University Quidditch!" The crowd cheered. "This week's match will pit Tower 1 against Tower 7! I'm Angelina Johnson; I'll be announcing this week instead of Emmett Jeter, who has a nasty cold. Anyway, this week's match looks to be very intense. So far they have been deemed the two best teams in the school; neither has lost, and neither is projected to lose any other games this year. This could decide the championship! And now…Tower 1! I give you Smith, Jolie, Irving, Austin, Prine, Wells, and Krum!" The crowd roared as they took their lap around the stadium. "And now, Tower 7! Here are Weasley, Sawyer, Finn, Svening, Wilson, Bennett, and Potter!" She cheered along with the crowd, forgetting for a moment her amplified voice. "Anyway," she giggled sheepishly. "Sorry about that, used to be on a team with Ron and Harry back at Hogwarts. Won the cup twice! But anyway, let the game begin!"
And it did. Harry vividly remembered the numerous strategy talks he had been given by Madame Jennings; he had been told to watch Viktor Krum like a hawk, almost to the point where he would be following him. Though she had said that she had no doubts in Harry's seeking skills, Viktor had more experience and they couldn't lose this game if they wanted to win the cup. Harry tried not to tail Viktor too obviously, and darted his eyes around nervously in search of the snitch. With a bit of a laugh he noticed that Viktor was tailing him slightly as well. This would be interesting.
Harry watched from above as his team scored four times, earning them 40 points. The chasers were in top form, along with Ron, who so far hadn't let any by.
Suddenly, Viktor dove, and Harry immediately dove with him. Halfway to the ground he could not see the snitch anywhere, and realized that it was probably the Wronski Feint. He took a chance and pulled out.
"Viktor Krum's Wronski Feint has failed! Potter saw through it and has gone back to circling the field."
Harry nodded in Angelina's direction, and she waved.
The game went on, and still the snitch was nowhere in sight. Harry was beginning to lose his nerve. He had to catch it; the team depended on it, his honor depended on it, he was almost sure that Michele depended on it…then, on the other side of the filed, he saw a flash of gold and was off.
With a sickening gasp he realized that Viktor had seen it too, and was ahead of him by about 20 feet. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, as Harry usually had a better broom than whomever he was up against and therefore could go faster than his opponent; however, like him, Viktor had a Lightningbolt and they were going at virtually the same speed. Harry felt a sickening feeling begin to form in the pit of his stomach; he couldn't lose, but he was going to, there was no way he could catch up to Viktor...then, as if the Lord had graced his mind, he had an idea. He tipped his broom so that it was tilted in a downward slope.
"What's Potter doing? He's going down!" he thought he heard Angelina shout. As Harry planned/prayed, his broom quickly gained on Krum's. Like most objects, magical or not, brooms travel faster when working with gravity. Harry pushed as hard as he could, and soon he was five feet under Krum and directly even with him, then six feet under and slightly ahead…
"He's going to miss it! He's way too low! Krum's going to get it!" Angelina yelled.
The snitch was dangerously close, and Harry knew it was time. He jerked his broom to a straight upward incline, cut in front of Viktor, extended his arm, felt the merciful struggle of the snitch, went (upside-downwardly) over Viktor Krum, and turned himself right-side up, thrusting the fist holding the snitch victoriously over his head.
First there was silence. Harry could hear himself panting, and pushed his sliding glasses back into their proper place on his nose. Then, suddenly, there was a deafening roar, and over it he could hear,
"POTTER HAS THE SNITCH! FINAL SCORE IS 220-50; THE MATCH GOES TO TOWER 7!"
Harry looked behind him to see a stunned Viktor Krum staring at him, mouth open in disbelief. As he landed, he could make out some of the crowd leaving the stands and entering the field, all still cheering. Sirius reached him first and gave him a huge smack on the back, telling him how amazing he was at Quidditch and how proud he was. Hermione, to Harry's immense surprise, gave him an all-out kiss and then told him that she was sorry but she had to leave him and go comfort Viktor. By then, Harry was getting congratulated by all of Tower 7.
Then, there was Michele. When he saw her run over to him, the noise in the stadium seemed to stop and he could hear only her angelic French voice.
"'Arry Potter," she began, shaking her smiling head, "You are amazing! And yes, I will go to ze movies wis you." Then she took his face in her hands and gave him a very long kiss, which Harry had to remind himself to return due to the fact that he was so blissfully happy.
***
"Good, Potter, you've improved. For homework, I want an essay detailing how you would react if you were cornered in dragon nesting grounds. It's due tomorrow, no exceptions. Good day everyone." Serveus Snape watched as his students packed their things and smiled his traditional oily smile. He truly loved his new job. Dumbledore had begged him to stay, but he felt that it was time to move on, and the headmaster had understood. As a result, he had finally gotten to do what he had always wanted, and felt that the students really connected with him and his subject. Basically, he had rediscovered the joy of teaching.
He even had his old favorite from Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy. The boy had been going through hard times with the arrests of his parents because of connections with Voldemort, and Serveus had been trying to help him as best as he could. He didn't know if he was making a difference, but he was trying. He had even managed to reconcile with Potter, Weasley, and Granger, though he almost didn't go through with it when he heard one of them insulting him on the first day. Still, they had been less bothersome than they could have been, and they had all been doing well. He even admitted to himself, albeit grudgingly, that Potter would make an excellent auror.
Yes, he thought as he made his way to the portkey room, I could use a drink. He decided to go to St. Quili, a village similar to Hogsmeade with a pub that rivaled even The Leaky Cauldron. He bid hello to students and teachers he met while walking down the hall, already tasting his Grindylow Surprise. The portkey room was mercifully empty, and he was soon at his destination and tasting the drink that he had fantasized about for real. What Snape did not notice as he conversed with the bartender and the person next to him was a hooded figure sitting unassumingly near the back. The night wore on, and so did both Serveus and the hooded man; when the former finally declared that he had better get back, he paid and went for the door.
He had begun to say the apparation spell when the door of the bar opened again. Snape looked up and immediately reached for his wand; however, it was in vain, for the man was ready and had whispered a dreaded word before Snape had time to do anything other than think.
20 minutes later, Serveus Snape was back in the halls of the school, again greeting teachers and students alike, but this time forced to ignore the tiny presence in his mind that fought to regain control.
Chapter 8
Ron walked into his dorm room and blatantly ignored the PG-13 spectacle that was occurring on Harry's bed. As Harry and Michele struggled to sit up and untangle their limbs, Harry blushing all the while, Ron threw his books onto the floor and sat down on his bed with the force of a collapsing elephant. He looked upon the formerly passionate couple with scorn.
"Oh, don't mind me," he snapped sarcastically. "Carry on." He looked as if he were about to explode. "Why the hell can't you ever do that in HER dorm?" Ron asked meanly. He still didn't like Michele, and she still didn't like him.
"Fous le camp, leche-cul," she mumbled as she pulled Harry back down for another make-out session, public this time, just to piss Ron off. Ron noted that Harry had no objections.
"Should I get a picture? That way you can watch yourselves go at it later."
At this, Michele abruptly bid Harry goodbye and stormed out of the room. Harry stifled a laugh and addressed his steaming friend.
"Geez, you didn't have to do that you know."
"Potter, your girlfriend's a bi—"
"'Ey," Harry stopped him, a little upset. "That's not very nice, Ron."
Ron continued to glare at the wall, and replied, "Neither is she."
"What's up your arse?" Harry asked, leaning back against his pillows and staring out the window.
"Her-frickin-mione and her," he put on a high, mocking voice, "Oh, I'm better and more important than you are, my boyfriend is a professional Quidditch player, I'm smart, I'm busy, I don't have time for you, blah blah blah. She is so…augh!" Ron spit.
Harry sincerely doubted that this was the case, but as usual did not say anything to provoke his hot-tempered friend. Unfortunately, this resulted in a lengthy period of time spent listening to Ron grumble. Harry tried to pull himself through by starting on his homework and dreaming about Michele; however, both were difficult to do, for whenever he got to a crucial point in either his homework or his daydream Ron would increase his volume and jar Harry out of his other world. Harry got a little frustrated after the sixth time this happened, and finally rolled over, grabbed his broom, and threw it at Ron. Ron stopped in mid-complaint and caught it, looking questioningly at Harry.
"Take a ride and cool off," Harry muttered. Ron looked a little offended, but it was a Lightningbolt, after all…he opened the window and left, grumbling all the way. Harry, meanwhile, was getting bored with his homework and didn't want to fantasize too much about his girlfriend for fear of jinxing it from ever happening, and decided to go for a walk.
As soon as he turned out the door he felt a pair of arms glide themselves around his shoulders, and a breathy voice whispered into his ear,
"I knew you'd be out 'ere sometime." Harry gleefully allowed himself to be steered back into his dorm room, where they resumed what they had been doing earlier until Harry woefully interjected and said that they should probably leave. Ron would be returning soon, and although they weren't doing anything that required a locked door Harry didn't think that Ron would appreciate finding them there for the second time in an hour.
On his suggestion, they took a walk, his arm around her shoulders and her head resting near his neck. Progress was slow, but neither of them minded.
"'Ave you 'eard about ze test in Advanced Defense Against ze Dark Arts?" Michele asked.
"Yeah, I heard Joe talking about it; he said he heard Snape talking to a teacher. We're going to be put in a real field battle against some monsters, no help, no lightened consequences, unless it's obvious we're about to be killed and then Snape will save us…but I doubt that."
Michele laughed. "Why do you say zat?"
"Well," Harry began, "I know I told you he was the potions master at Hogwarts."
Michele nodded.
"He hated Ron, Hermione, and basically anyone in Gryffindor, but especially us."
"I can see why 'e 'ated your stupid red-'eaded idiot of a friend."
"Michele, that's not the point. He called a ceasefire of sorts earlier this year, because he said he wanted to get off to a good start, but I still don't trust him."
Michele just sighed.
"You know Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Michele answered quickly.
"He favored Draco…still does, but you know."
Michele didn't answer, and they walked in silence for awhile. Harry thought curiously about his second arch nemesis; he hadn't heard so much as a peep from him since the first Quidditch match, and he had even been silent then…something was up, Harry decided, but he would not pursue the situation; he was enjoying the silence too much. By that time they had walked around the small park behind the castle and were nearing the doorway.
"What are you doing tonight?" Harry whispered.
"'Omework, I 'ave a paper due on Monday."
"Oh, okay," Harry resigned, a little upset that they couldn't go out. "I will see you later, 'Arry," Michele mumbled, kissing him deeply before she walked down the hallway, leaving Harry looking longingly after her until she disappeared around the corner.
When Harry got back to the common room he saw Ron, still fuming from before, sitting on a couch. Great, Harry thought.
"How was your ride?" he asked, sitting down next to him.
"How was yours?" Ron shot back.
Harry whistled. "Uncalled for," he replied, leaning back and starting to relax.
Ron swore at him and remained upright.
"So, what's up your arse now?" Harry inquired, waving at a few people.
Ron ignored both his exiting friends and Harry's question, but he unintentionally answered with his next statement. "Where the hell is she?" he growled.
Harry knew he needed not ask whom the pronoun "she" was referring to, and closed his eyes in anticipation of the oncoming vocal attack.
"What the hell is taking her so long?"
"She couldn't possibly have been gone for more than an hour, Ron, and it's not like you had plans with her."
Ron continued to fume, and began to fidget with his wand. "How do you know?" Sparks soon began to fly from its tip, and Harry had to jump to avoid some that singed the couch in place of where his head had been resting. Ron furiously shoved the wand back into his robes and spat, "What the hell is she doing?"
"Probably the same thing she was doing when you asked where she was 30 seconds ago," Harry muttered, hoping that Ron's wand would stay where it was. Harry's wish was answered, and Ron got up and began to pace. After going back and forth twice, he sputtered,
"If she takes one more minute, I'm going to—"
"Do you have to get like this every time she goes on a date with Krum?" Harry finally growled.
Ron plopped back onto the couch and glared. Harry began to wish that he had brought something to do; Ron was not the best company at the moment.
"Her and Krumikins make me sick," Ron began again.
Harry sighed and dropped his head back to its position of exasperation. "I know, Ron."
Ron made a face and resumed the mocking voice he had donned earlier. "'Oh, today I have a date with Viktor, he's so cute, and his accent is so dreamy…'"
Hermione has never said anything like that in her life, Harry thought.
"'Sorry Ron and Harry, but I'll shove you both on the back burner while I deal with more important things, like determining the exact angle of my darling Krummy's nose.'"
"Ron."
"'And after that, sorry boys but I have my research to do, and then it's on to my darling Krummy's ears.'"
"Ron."
"'I even wrote a pretty little song about him: Oh, my darling Krummy, you look just like a bunny—"
"RON! ENOUGH!" Harry finally hollered. A few people from the next couch laughed and applauded. Ron ignored them and his glare increased as he began to glower into the fireplace. Harry suddenly saw a flash of blonde hope at the door, and gave Ron a meaningful poke."
"Look Ron, it's Amelia," he said pointedly, trying to draw his attention to another subject." Amelia and Ron had been on-and-off for most of the year, mostly "on" right after Quidditch games. Ron didn't seem to mind, and they seemed to have a mutually beneficial arrangement. However, at the moment even Amelia couldn't draw Ron's attention away from his absent friend.
"Hi-Joe-hi-Sean-hi-Luc-hi-Harry-hey, Ron," Amelia rattled off, sliding in between Harry and Ron. Harry didn't mind; he'd had more than enough of Ron's whining to last him a few hours.
Ron grunted in reply.
"You doing anything tonight?" Amelia asked, tracing her finger on Ron's shoulder.
Ron grunted again. She gave him very calculated puppy eyes, but he didn't seem to notice. She stuck out her lower lip, but met with more indifference.
"Amelia, come here!" one of her friends called. She gave Ron one last look and left, a little disappointed that her conquest for the evening was unsuccessful.
"What's your problem?" Harry finally shot, though he knew. Ron grunted again. Harry's head fell back into his hands.
People were fast leaving the common room to go out, and before Harry knew it he and Ron were the only ones left. Eventually, with a lot of work, he was finally successful in forcing Ron to talk about something besides Hermione (Quidditch), and was working on coaxing him out of the castle for a drink when Hermione herself walked in. She was looking a little flushed and seemed to be in a hurry to get to her bedroom.
She had opened her mouth to speak when Ron muttered, "About fucking time." Hermione stopped, looked harshly at him, and asked,
"What did you say?"
Ron, although pissed, obviously did not mean for her to hear him.
"Nothing important…according to you, we aren't important, after all," he mumbled.
Harry was beginning to get a bit uncomfortable, and began edging toward the far end of the couch.
Hermione, knowing exactly what he meant, dangerously asked, "Just what do you mean by that?"
"Well, you never spend any time with me — us, anymore. Just Krum, research, Krum, research, Krum, research, Krum…you obsess over him so much that I'm starting to worry about your sanity."
Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. She had had a feeling it would come to this. "Look, I have my own life, and I can live it as I choose. Now I'm tired so goodnight," she said in a forced calm. She proceeded to walk up the stairs to the girls' dorm.
"Fine, avoid the situation, LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO," Ron called, his voice getting progressively louder as she ascended the stairs and disappeared into the unknown. Harry was about to excuse himself to bed when Hermione came unexpectedly rushing back down, and he felt obliged to stay still.
"Exactly WHAT situation am I avoiding, Ronald?" she imposed, especially annunciating his full name, fire in her eyes.
Ron had not actually expected her to do anything about his yelling; in fact, he had expected her to ignore him and stay in her dorm. He began to lose his cool and sputtered,
"Well…um…your avoidance…of…your friends," he finished, then suddenly regained his composure. "You always ditch us for that hook-nosed freak! He's all you care about!"
"I do not ditch you for him!"
"Well, sorry to burst your little intellectual bubble, but you do!"
"I do not!"
"Do too!"
"Do not!"
"Do too!"
"Do NOT!"
"Do TOO!"
"DO NOT!!!"
"DO TOO!!!!!"
Harry chose this moment to make a dash for the stairs, where he could both comfortably wait out their argument and hear everything that was going on.
Hermione threw her hands up in disgust. "You are so immature!"
"I'm not the only one who took part in it, Hermione!"
"Well it doesn't matter! You are just a—a jealous slut, Ron! Just because I can maintain a relationship for longer than one week doesn't mean you have to fly off in a tizzy every time it's mentioned!"
"Well just because I'm not desperate enough to carry on with the first arsehole that shows even an inkling of interest in me doesn't mean that I'm a slut! In fact, one could argue otherwise!"
There was a very, very pregnant pause, which ended with, from where Harry was sitting, the noise of flesh against flesh.
"For your information," Hermione began, her voice wavering desperately. She swallowed and continued, "The 'arsehole' and I just broke up."
Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione continued speaking and never got the chance to make a noise.
"And, Ronald Weasley, I never want to speak to you, ever, again," she finished, breathing loudly, looking as if she were evading tears. Hermione proceeded to run up the stairs to the girls' dorms, where the layers of stone walls mercifully (for her) blocked the noise of her sobs.
Harry finally dared to look around the corner, and saw Ron, head in hands, sitting desolately on a couch. As Harry neared him, he saw a large red imprint of a hand on the side of his face.
"So," Harry began, sitting next to him and slapping him on the back. "Good show, worth every penny. Want to go drown your sorrows?" Ron didn't answer, but got up and walked toward the door. They went to St. Quili's where Ron drank himself senseless and Harry nearly so, and they talked about every possible subject besides the one weighing on both of their minds.
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