Harry's Dilemma
Chapter Three
From that day forward,
Harry had no more harassment from Ginny Weasley. His meals remained edible, his hair maintained its normal colour,
his bed stayed obstinately free from slugs, slime and any other unpleasant
surprises, and however hard he searched his Quidditch robes they stubbornly
persisted in staying plain scarlet. She
had totally lost interest in him. After
the initial overwhelming relief, Harry was horrified to discover that he
actually missed Ginny's attentions. Now, when he came down to breakfast, instead of having to duck the
occasional flying missile, check that the bench was still present before
sitting down and examine his porridge carefully in case it harboured some
unexpected item of livestock, all he would see of Ginny was the occasional
flash of red hair as she scuttled swiftly away in the opposite direction. If he tried to speak or make contact with her
in any way, she coloured deeper than her hair and escaped as quickly as
possible. On casual enquiry of Ron,
Harry elicited the information that Ginny had not only retreated into herself
socially, but her work was suffering too. Ron was worried about her: so was Harry and he longed to confide in his
friend, but to tell Ron about the duel was impossible.
One evening, while
toying with his Potions homework, Harry heaved a deep sigh and threw down his
quill. Hermione, the only other
occupant of the Gryffindor Common Room at the time, looked up from her own
studies and raised a speculative eyebrow. Harry caught her eye and winced.
"Sorry, Hermione." He
apologised, realising he was disturbing her, "I'll just go and fidget somewhere
else, shall I?" Hermione smiled and
laid down her quill.
"Harry, what's
wrong? You've been like a cat on hot
bricks for at least a fortnight. You
don't seem to be able to settle – and what's more, it's affecting your studies,
don't think I haven't noticed!" Harry
sighed again.
"I don't know,
Hermione." He raked a hand through his hair and leaned back in the chair. "I
just feel something's – missing, that's all. Something I'm not sure was ever there in the first place, but I'm
certain now that it's absent. Does that
make any sort of sense?" Hermione sat
back in her own chair, intrigued.
"What are we talking
about here, Harry? A book, a spell,
some piece of equipment? A skill you
feel you ought to have, or that you might have lost at some time?" Harry shook his head at all her suggestions.
"Or is it a person?" He raised his head
at this.
"What do you mean?"
Harry's voice cracked, something it rarely did these days.
"Harry, is it Ginny
who is the cause of your distraction?" Harry considered, then nodded.
"I think it must be,
you know." He began, "I'm actually very worried about her. When all this persecution began, it was just
irritating little bits of mischief – I didn't really mind. Even when the pranks became more serious,
and when they actually caused me trouble, I certainly became angry, but I never
really hated her or wished her any harm. But now they've stopped, in a funny sort of way, I miss them. I suppose I miss the attention I was getting
from her, the indication that I, well, meant something to her in some way. Now she won't even speak to me: she goes out
of her way to avoid me in the corridors, she won't sit anywhere near me at
mealtimes, if she sees me anywhere she simply turns around and runs in the
opposite direction. Ron tells me her
studies are plummeting – which is absolutely tragic. She is a really fine sorceress – I, of all people, should know -
and quite likely to turn out to be the best in the Weasley family – including
Percy!" Hermione frowned.
"How do you know about
Ginny's prowess as a sorceress, Harry?" He suddenly flushed beetroot-red. Harry had told no-one about the duel with Ginny, least of all Hermione
who would be extremely shocked at such a flagrant disregard of magical law.
"I, er, well – we used
to talk about classes and stuff, and she's, well, really hot on the theory, so
I naturally assumed …"
"Total nonsense,
Harry: there's no way you could make that sort of judgment unless you'd seen
her in action, you know that." Hermione
paused. "Have you seen her in action?" Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "The only way you could have witnessed
Ginny being put through her paces is to have put her through them –
yourself." Hermione's face could have
been graven in stone, and her voice sank to a whisper.
"Harry, you didn't –
you couldn't have fought a duel with her, surely?" Harry looked down at his
feet miserably.
"I had very little
choice." He admitted sourly, and, having no option, proceeded to give Hermione
chapter and verse on the detention incident. When he had finished, Hermione didn't say anything: she seemed to be
working something out.
"How long ago was
it? Oh, come on, Harry, this is
important: how long!" she snapped, when he didn't reply immediately.
"Three weeks, I
think. Yes, at least that." Responded
Harry, meekly. Hermione finished her
calculations and heaved a sigh of relief.
"You're out of the
woods by two or three days – and the weather's been so good that all broomstick
practice has been held outside. Harry,
don't you realise how much magical residue a sorcerous duel leaves in the
ether?" Hermione's tone was urgent. "If
any of the teachers had set foot in the gym up to a fortnight afterwards, they
would have immediately detected the traces. It wouldn't have been difficult to identify them either, although it
gets harder as the residue fades. What
were you thinking of?" Harry shook his
head.
"I know, I know: we
could both have been expelled." She glared.
"At the very
least!" His knees felt weak at the
thought. There was a short pause.
"Well, now we know why
her studies are shot to heck and back."
"Eh?" Harry was
puzzled. Hermione shook her head.
"Boys!" she muttered
under her breath, "She challenged you because you're the best, and also because
you're her big brother's best friend – she told you as much. But you beat her, Harry: you hammered her
into the ground, and you rubbed her nose in it by being nice afterwards. And what's more, you only allowed yourself
to be drawn into the situation in order to save her neck over the restricted
book. No wonder she's depressed – I'm
surprised she's still here! No – I take
that back: she's a Weasley, they've all got plenty of backbone, especially
Ron." Harry looked at Hermione in
surprise.
"Do you know, that's
the first time I've heard you say anything remotely approving about Ron or
anyone connected with him. I thought
you only put up with him because, well, we're the Dream Team and we work well
together. You're always accusing him of
being either too wet or too hot-headed – and now you tell me all the Weasleys,
with special emphasis on Ron, are renowned for their backbone! Honestly, Hermione, the way you two bicker
and squabble over nothing, anyone could be forgiven for thinking you were an
item." Harry laughed, but Hermione
lowered her eyes. Caught unprepared,
for the first time, the girl blushed scarlet to the roots of her hair, and
Harry whistled softly.
"Got it in one!" He
said in low, wondering tones, "So I'm not the only one with a secret, eh? Okay, Hermione: how long – and does he
know?" She stared at him in astonishment,
opening and shutting her mouth like a goldfish with no sound emerging.
"I really don't know
what you're talking about." She finally managed to force out, gathering the
shreds of her dignity around her like a ragged cloak. Harry laughed.
"Oh, come on,
Hermione!" he teased, "It had to be either Ron or me, and," his tone turned
wistful, "I knew it wasn't me." He met
her startled gaze without flinching, letting her see the truth in his eyes. Hermione felt a sudden rush of emotion -
gratitude and remorse in equal measures overlaid with an affection so intense
it brought tears to her eyes.
"Oh, Harry!" she
reached out and took his hand gently. He smiled awkwardly but did not break the contact.
"Don't worry about
me." He responded lightly, "My crush on you lasted about a year, and dates from
the hug you gave me when I was about to tackle Ex-Professor Quirrell for the
Philosopher's Stone." Hermione shook
her head in wonder.
"How could I have
failed to notice?" she exclaimed. Harry
smiled gently.
"You failed to notice
because you were too busy trying to boss Ron into some semblance of a
reasonable being," He told her, "And I held back – well, simply because I could
see only too clearly that Ron was feeling the same symptoms as me, even if he
didn't realise it at the time." He
ignored her startled exclamation, and continued doggedly. "However, I suspect his feelings have lasted
for the duration – the only problem might be getting him to recognise them for
what they are. I take it he hasn't said
anything?" Hermione shook her head,
blushing an even deeper shade by this time, but she bravely raised her eyes to
his and squeezed his fingers in gratitude.
"No he hasn't," she
said, "And thank you, Harry." He smiled
and returned the pressure.
"You're very welcome." In the slight pause that followed, there was
a shuffling of feet and a light cough. Harry dropped Hermione's hand as if he'd been stung and swung round
almost guiltily to see Ron standing in the doorway.
"I came to see if
either of you were interested in a quick game of chess before we turn in," he
began, coldly, "But I see you're not. Sorry I interrupted – next time put a notice on the door." He stalked out of he Common Room and they
heard his footsteps echoing down the spiral staircase of Gryffindor Tower. Harry's face broke into a wide, genuine
smile.
"Okay, Hermione." He
said, "Go on - go get him!"
"That's all very well,
but how?" murmured Hermione, far too quietly for Harry's ears.