Author's Notes: Thanks to Moey for beta-reading and of course, thanks
to J. K. Rowling for giving us this world to live in in the first place. It is
all hers, I just feed off her dreams…..
The abyss,
the Gringott's underground, and the town of Narcardia sank once again in total
darkness. And total silence.
Except….
Among
the splintered wood from the cart and scattered remains of the intruder, very
faintly, so very faintly, glowed the only fragments that were left of the
shattered stone. Four small shards. Shining so feebly in comparison to when the
stone was a whole, that one had to wonder if there really was any of the
intense, palpable power left in them at all.
Just
as the glow was flickering and dying, the walls of the abyss started to crumble
and cave in, smothering any signs of the explosion at the bottom. The abyss,
the Gringott's underground, and the town of Narcardia was once again in total
darkness.
And
remained dark till morning light broke over the horizon.
When
morning broke, frenzy and uproar broke out along with it. The news of the
stolen stone spread like wildfire. Tongues waggled, resulting in a kaleidoscope
of rumours.
"Did
you hear what happened?"
"Gringott's?
The stone?"
"What
else?"
"I
heard the intruder got sucked into the vault."
"No,
he didn't. He was thrown into a pit and burned alive!"
"That's
not what I heard. I was told he jumped out of the runaway cart and was
swallowed by the quicksand along the edge of the rails."
"What
runaway cart?"
"Mummy!
Mummy! Mummy! Roberta told me that the thief got caught by a poltergeist that
lives down underground, and he was transformed into a beetle! Forever!"
"Oh,
dad! Can I practice my Reducto Curse on a beetle the next time I see one in the
vaults then? Pleeaase?"
"No.
Besides, you don't even know the curse son."
"I
do too! Phyllis taught me!"
"But
the stone is gone?"
"For
sure."
"It
isn't there anymore. Nor anywhere in the vaults. Something that emits such a
radiance isn't hard to miss."
"Vanished!"
"I
think it was destroyed along with the thief."
That
was the only thing that the villagers could agree on. That the stone was gone
and likely to have been destroyed. Something like that can't skip the eye, and
the people at the Ministry of Magic, along with the Gringott's goblins, were
already combing the entire area with a fine toothcomb.
"I
feel really bad for Militsia and Sebastian," said Madame Bouillon, who ran
Narcarndia's most renowned gourmet restaurant. "After all that hard work and
research. Gone, just like that. Powf!"
She
emphasised the loss with a flicker of her hand, shaking her head sorrowfully.
The others glanced towards the direction of where the Head of the Ministry of
Magic, Christopher Levelmind, was standing, talking quietly with a
bespectacled, intelligent-looking couple. The witch was in tears, crying on the
shoulder of the wizard beside her.
"All
those years of work, the time we spent on the thing! Gone. Shattered. I….I…
like why? What's the point? What. Is. The. P-p-point?"
It
was not sure whether she was referring the point to someone stealing the stone
and ending up in destroying it, or her having dedicated her life to creating it
in the first place. Both Sebastian and Mr. Levelmind had a feeling it was the
latter.
"There
there now, Milts," comforted Sebastian, patting her shoulder. "This is not the
be all and end all. We can always start over and re-create a copy, now that we
have found out what it involves." He gave a deep sigh, as he too, felt the loss
acutely. It would not be easy, nor possibly feasible even, to re-create what
had been destroyed.
Militsia
jerked her head up and glared at him fiercely despite her tears. "You know
it is not re-creatable! You know that that stone was unique. You know
the amount of work and time it takes to create something like that. And even
then, even if we tried, it would never be the same! No two stones will
be. We made sure of that with all the spells we cast when we first did the
research! You know that! That was our gem, our pride, our baby….. I
don't think I can put myself through another 100 years creating, re-creating,
something that probably wouldn't match up to this. Second copies are never as potent
as the originals. You know that!"
The
outburst blew over as quickly as it had come. Militsia flushed and mumbled,
"sorry. I just…."
Christopher
nodded sympathetically to let her know he understood. He knew her "sorry" meant
for both the outburst and the refusal to re-create what had been lost the
previous night.
"At
least," said Sebastian quietly, in an attempt to look on the bright side, "we
must be thankful that the stone was destroyed, and not in the hands of the
wrong person."
The
thought of the alternative that could have happened was so much worse that it
stopped Militsia's sobs instantly and sent a visible wave of horror across Mr.
Levelmind's grave face.
One
of the workers from the Ministry of Magic came up to the Head. " 'Scuse me,
Minister, but we found some shards left of the stone in the Absolut Abyss. It
really was a mess sir, with rocks, rubble, splinters everywhere. But the only
remnants of the stone were these. The rest of the stone must have shattered so much
the pieces disintegrated in the explosion."
The
young man then opened his palm to reveal four shards of stone in his hand,
their appearance none too captivating. A dull, dark amber and blue and covered
with dirt. Militsia turned away.
"Do
you not want one of these, at least to keep?" Sebastian asked her gently.
The
witch just shook her head and then broke away, walking off, turning her face
towards the wind that was blowing lightly, to clear her mind.
Sebastian turned back to the young man carrying the
shards in his hand. "Thanks, " he muttered as he gathered up the four
dull-looking pieces of stone. The young man looked relieved to escape the tense
atmosphere. Fingering the four shards, Sebastian picked up one, playing with
it, feeling it, willing to even sense some of the power it had once held. But
there was nothing. He sighed. Still, it was a nice looking shape, despite the
grubby appearance. An inch long, one round end, with three sides tapering down
to a sharp point at the other end. If one hadn't known better, one would have
thought it had been cut professionally. He absently pocketed it, and then gazed
at the three remaining shards. He didn't have the heart to simply chuck them
away. Glancing at Militsia standing in the wind, he knew that it would be
useless convincing her to take one for herself.
Running
his fingers gently over the shards one last time, he muttered "Wingardium
Aeriata."
The
shards rose and hovered into the air. With a gentle breath, Sebastian blew them
into the wind, and watched them drift off into the sky until he could no longer
see them.
"Land
wherever you may," he sighed, thinking to
himself it was a more comforting way to rid of the remnants than the simple
crude act of depositing them in the rubbish dump. Then he chided himself for
being such a sentimental fool, and hoped that he had been subtle enough for the
others not to have picked up on it.
* * * * *
1995
A.D.
Darkness blanketed a desolated field, with its earth
still damp from a recent downpour. The air lay still, saturated with moisture.
The clouds overhead shifted restlessly, their ever-changing shape and form
masking a sliver of pale, silvery moon.
Brief movements flickered in the shadows, with the
occasional low exchange of words. At the foot of the field stood a derelict,
tumbled-down shed, almost concealed by an over-grown forest of moss and ivy.
Filtering through the crevices was an incandescent glowing of green, and the
voices of two people. One spluttery, squeaky, and at times, incoherent. The other
hard, smooth, cold. Chilling to the bone.
A faint rumble overhead forewarned of yet another
impending storm.
"I
received a calling last night," came the cold voice.
"A
calling, Master?" squeaked the other.
"Indeed.
To seek the existence of an artefact, close to encompassing a thousand years of
history."
"An
artefact, Lord? Of a thousand years?"
"Yes,"
came the cold reply, now tinged with an air of impatience. "An artefact which,
if my vision serves me right, was destroyed over 950 years ago, in the village
of Narcarndia."
"Narcarndia,
Master?"
There
was a click of irritation. "Wormtail, I do not need a simpering parrot for an
assistant. If you have no insightful contributions, which I doubt you do,
please remain silent."
A
glimpse into the shed would reveal the sight of two men. A short, plump,
balding wizard with a pasty complexion and a weak chin. If one looked closely
enough, on could also see the presence of a silver right hand, tucked within the folds of his black robes. Beside him
stood a tall, thin wizard, whose rich red and black robes swirled round him.
Turning to face his quivering servant, one could see the penetrating stare from
those red eye slits, the sharp features of that cheek and jaw, and that marble
white skin, just like his voice. Icy, hard and smooth. The formidable figure of
Lord Voldemort.
Wormtail
flinched.
"The
vision, yes. There is a stone, Wormtail, created by two famous alchemists in
Narcarndia at the beginning of this millennium. A stone with the ability to
give a person absolute power, total control, over the universe. A stone which
grants its owner all the power in which he desires."
"Rather
like the Mirror of Erised, Master?" suggested Wormtail excitedly, eager to
flaunt his knowledge of enchanted artefacts.
"The
Mirror of Eriseed only shows yours heart's desire Wormtail," Voldemort replied,
speaking rather deliberately, as if he was explaining facts to a five-year old.
"This stone gives you the power you desire."
"I
haven't heard of such a stone, Master. But," Wormtail hurried on, "I have no
doubt of your powers of vision, my Lord. Of course not. I am just ignorant of
the existence of such an artefact, Master. But your powers of vision, my Lord,
are by far, commendable."
Voldemort
studied Wormtail, taking in his nervous chatter. The air between them seemed to
fill with the master's mocking amusement. When he did speak, his tone carried
an edge of mirth.
"Indeed."
He drew a breath. "The Dark Side grows stronger by the day. My Death Eaters
have returned to me," he paused, as if to ponder over the faith of his
supporters. "We are close to finishing the negotiations with the Dementors, our
natural allies, and gathering up the banished giants."
"Of
course, Master," quivered Wormtail, his voice rising to a shrill. "And you,
the Dark Lord, are in such full command."
"If,"
went on Voldemort, ignoring Wormtail's jittery blubbering, "I can get hold on
this stone, then the power, all the power, will be mine."
Silence
ensued as Voldemort revelled in this ominous predicament. A few seconds later,
Wormtail piped up hesitantly, "but my Lord, you mentioned the stone was
destroyed……"
"It
may have been destroyed Wormtail, as history reports it. But there appears to
be, somewhere, the existence of one last remaining shard of the stone."
"Where
is it, my Lord? I would be most honoured, Master, to deliver this shard to you,
to be of service in strengthening the power of the Dark Lord."
"I
see your devotion, Wormtail."
The
grovelling wizard now squared up his shoulders with pride. "Why Master, thank
you, I…"
"However,"
the icy voice sliced through Wormtail's grateful delight, "in a search task as
important as this, a more competent envoy should be sent, don't you agree?"
The
flattering tone of Wormtail was now over-shadowed by one of insolence and
sullenness. "I am competent for such a task, Master, if you would allow me to
be of service," he answered sulkily.
The
master gave a cold laugh, reducing Wormtail once more, to a cowering state of
humbleness. "I am sure, Wormtail, you will agree that some of us are endowed
with more courage, loyalty and character than others."
And
before Wormtail could give a petulant reply, Voldemort shot out sharply,
jerking his head towards the circle of hooded Death Eaters lurking in the field
outside, "fetch me Malfoy."
*
By
the time week two of school had rolled past, the Hogwarts students had settled
down and made themselves at home within the castle. Katya was getting through her
classes easily enough, and having gotten over the initial shock of encountering
Mad-Eye Moody, had come to rather secretly enjoy the Defence Against the Dark
Arts lessons for all their bizarreness.
The
one class that she found most nerve-wracking was Potions, with the Head of the
Slytherin house, Professor Snape. She had been warned about Snape before, both
by her fellow Gryffindors, as well as the odd Ravenclaw or Huffepuff student.
But none of that quite prepared her for the grilling that took place during her
very first lesson in the cold dungeons beside the Potions master's office. She
cringed as she recalled that trying lesson…..
It
had been a hard day, kicking off first with Arithmancy where the class learnt
about Coquettini
pyramids and Sphronic cones, followed by
double Transfiguration with McGonagall, who had been even stricter than usual.
The Fourth Years had been extremely trying, having forgotten most of what had
been taught the previous year, when she had been wishing to move onto new things.
Thus, she had poured the energy from her annoyance into the fifth-year class,
resulting in an exceedingly exhausting session of attempting to change cushions
into tabby cats and back again without major mishaps (Neville's cushion had
turned into a mouse, which had changed back to a deflated balloon, much to
McGonagall's disgust).
After
a brief lunch, it was a brain swimming with mathematical theories and
Transfiguration equations, which the Fifth Year Gryffindors took to Snape's
dungeons. None of them were too cheered by the fact that they had to endure yet
another double class, this time, with the annoying Slytherins and their
extremely unjust Head of the house.
"Good
afternoon, class," Snape said, sitting down at the teacher's desk at the front.
"Today, I shall begin by quizzing you on what you should know. Let's just see
how much, or little," he added, fixing his gaze on Neville, who squirmed under
his gaze, "you remember."
Neville
whimpered. He was sure to have forgotten everything. Potions was never a strong
subject for him anyway, and the scrutinising stare of Snape along with the waft
of potions brewing always served to slow his thinking more, if not freeze his
brain up altogether. Ron pulled a face at Harry, while Seamus grumbled.
"Weasley,
have you something disagreeable to inform me of?"
But
before Ron could reply, Snape fixed Harry with such a malicious glare it seemed
as if daggers would shoot out from those cold, black eyes.
"Potter!
Starting to annoy your fellow Gryffindors now, I see? How thoughtful of you.
What did you say to cause Weasley such annoyance? Five points from Gryffindor!"
Harry
fought to look back at Snape with defiance, and opened his mouth to protest. "I
did not say anything!" he cried furiously.
Snape
eyed him in silence. When he spoke, his voice was smooth and oily. "Five points
for lying, and five more for answering back. On top of," he pressed on,
seeing Harry about to protest further, "the five for annoying Mr. Weasley!"
Ron
grabbed Harry at the back of his robes to prevent him from shooting up off his
chair in anger.
"It's
no use," he mouthed to a simmering Harry as Snape surveyed the rest of the
class. "Just let it go."
Growling
inwardly and grinding his teeth, Harry relented. Snape's eyes then rested on
Katya, who was recoiling slightly in her chair.
"You,"
he snarled, "new, aren't you?"
Katya
nodded.
"Speak
up!"
"Yes,"
said Katya nervously.
"Ekaterina
Karvitskaya, what happens when you add a drop of Ocanius Acorieus to the essence
of Mudrakius Elehashian? And what would be its antidote?"
"We
haven't done that!" whispered Hermione to Harry. "It's in Chapter Six from this
year's book! He's such a b…."
"Hermoine,"
snapped Snape. "What good would your answer be for Mr. Potter?"
Hermione
was about to argue that she wasn't giving any answers when Harry kicked her
swiftly under the table. Better keep quiet with Snape in this mood, his
look said. Hermione bit her lip, but kept quiet as Snape turned back to Katya,
apparently too intent on drilling the new student to take off more points.
"Well,"
he pressed, almost challengingly.
Katya's
hands fidgeted nervously, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "The
addition of a drop of Ocanius Acorieus to the essence of Mudrakius Elehashian
produces a potent potion called the Dormanus potion, able to wipe the memory of the person who drinks it and
put him in a stupored sleep. The antidote is a Memorias potion, made
from the juice of a Guildus liver and the oil of Eschinea Aristortalis."
The
Gryffindors stared in open-mouthed amazement. The Slytherins scowled. Snape
gave his robes a swift swish, masking what seemed to be utmost annoyance. Dean
gave Ron a wink and a thumbs-up. This should be fun. But Harry jiggled
nervously in his seat as Hermione, despite looking incredibly impressed with
the answer, muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "he is going to test her
till she is stumped, isn't he? It is not good either way, be it she knows the
answers or not."
Turning
sharply back at Katya, Snape barked, causing her to jolt in her seat. "What is
the common name of Darcarnitinius Chrondroitenum?"
He
held Katya's eye with intent scrutiny mixed with angry contempt. The gaze was
unnerving, and Katya felt her brain drain and go blank. Panicking, she
stammered, "uh, er, emmm….. Darcarnitinius Chron…. Darcar… "
"It's
commonly known as a Dragon's Claw," purred Snape, as if she should have known
that in an instant. Katya bit her lip, and whispered something like "kogot dinozavra" under her breath.
"What did you say?" Snape asked dangerously, still fixing
her with his unblinking stare.
"Kogot
dinozavra," said Katya, in a slightly louder voice. "I-it's just the Russian…"
she stalled under Snape's contemptuous look. "…..for Dragon's Claw," she trailed
off.
There was a silence. When Snape spoke, his voice was
dripping with sarcasm. "Next time, Miss Karviskaya, please remember that you
are in Britain. And we speak English here, if you would so much as to need
reminding."
"Sorry," mumbled Katya.
"Don't say you are sorry!" snapped Snape. "Just get it right
the next time!"
The Slytherins snickered as Katya flushed red. The class
continued on without much awkwardness as revision notes were made, and Snape
quizzed the Slytherins on simpler questions, doling out House points. Five
minutes before the bell was due to go, Snape moved onto the Wolfsbane Potion.
The Wolfsbane Potion was notoriously difficult to make, both
in the number of ingredients involved and the technique required in brewing it.
"Miss. Karvitskaya," said Snape, "list me, in alphabetical
order, the ingredients needed to create the Wolfsbane Potion."
Katya smoothed over the feathers on her quill nervously. It
was hard enough to remember the list of ingredients, but in alphabetical order?
Snape clicked his tongue impatiently. "We are running out of
time, Karvitskaya. Are you going to answer my question? Or," he continued
menacingly, "are you going to tell me you know only the Cyrillic alphabet?"
Across the room, Katya could see Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson
sniggering. Forcing that image out of her mind, she concentrated to arrange the
ingredients in order. She had always learnt them in the order in which they
were added to the potion, but if Snape wished for it to be this way….
"Er… aconite, alderhive essence, extract of Cassia alata,
er, em, powdered deer's bladder epithelium, e.. e.., f.., er, juice of a fennel
stalk, er….."
Her mind went blank. She knew there were many more, but her
mind could not for the life of her remember anything until she reached "S"
which was "salamander's liver stone". Seeing Snape's look of disapproval and
knowing she must have left out close to twenty ingredients between "F" and "S",
she started over once more, only to have her mind go blank at "D". An attempt
at trying to recite them in the order in which they were added to the potion
only caused Snape to bark at her.
"I told you to recite them in alphabetical order. Don't you
understand plain and simple English?"
After yet more botched attempts, she wound up so incoherent
she could only repeat "aconite" several times over, with the Gryffindors
throwing sympathetic glances her way. Snape lost his temper, deducted twenty
points off Gryffindor for her "time malingering", and asked Malfoy instead.
Malfoy recited them all off without a hitch, reading them off from a parchment
under the table held out by Pansy Parkinson who had copied them all out for
him.
"Don't worry. He is always like that. You should see him
with Neville and Harry," said Seamus to a rather despondent Katya when the
class was finally dismissed.
"Forget just Neville and Harry, he even finds fault with
Hermione!"
"He just wanted to test you out and to intimidate you. Worry
not. He's like that with everyone except the Slytherins. I bet you he was dead
annoyed at you being able to answer the first question, that's all. That's why
he asked you all the others."
"Sorry about the points," Katya mumbled.
"Deducting points off us is Snape's hobby. Never mind, it's
not your fault."
The Quidditch trials were the next day. For the entire week,
Ron had been incessantly talking about them. About Keeper tactics, about
Quidditch, about the House team, all in between voicing doubts to Harry. "Do
you think I will be good enough?" "Are
you sure?" "I want so badly to
be the Keeper." "What if I get an
attack of the nerves and miss everything?"
Harry tried his best to calm his friend down and to talk things
through with him. He understood how nerve-wracking it could be. He had
literally not been able to eat nor sleep the period leading up to the House Cup
last year. He remembered vividly how his very first match was like, how
everybody had heard about him being the "secret weapon" of the Gryffindor team,
but no one had ever seen him in action. The expectation back then had been
immense. Harry was grateful never to have had gone through trials. Professor
McGonagall had literally plucked him from class and presented him as the new
Seeker to Oliver Wood. He always had a nice chuckle over that. It had really
all been thanks to Malfoy. Thanks to him and his taunting of Neville.
When all the students had gathered for breakfast at the
Great Hall, Dumbledore stood up and tapped on his long-stemmed glass of passion
fruit juice to get everyone's attention.
"A-hem," he cleared his throat, sweeping his eyes round the
hall. "I have just a couple of announcements to make. First of all, as all of
you are aware, the Quidditch trials are on tomorrow."
Ron jiggled his legs anxiously, and fumbled about with his
robes. A murmur of anticipation rippled through the students.
"It will take place at the Quidditch Pitch in the morning at
ten o' clock sharp. Please be on time and report to Madam Hooch and your House
captain upon arrival. And good luck to everyone trying out," he finished with
smile.
"Second, the trip to Hogsmeade will be moved up to the
second week in October."
Chatter broke out from the tables.
"I thought it always was on Halloween?" said Justin
Finch-Fletchley to a fellow Hufflepuff boy beside him.
"Think of Zonko's!" cried Fred. "We can stock up ahead of
time!" He shot Lee and George a cheeky grin.
"Good. I had just run out of Chocolate Frogs. And I am dying
to try Honeydukes' chocolate praline cloud puffs. My sister got some last week
and she said they were out of this world!"
"Think of the butterbeer as well!"
"Reason being," Dumbledore continued on loudly. The chatter
died down almost at once. Of course, they hadn't thought of there being a
reason. Chuckling to himself in amusement, Dumbledore continued, "firstly,
there is to be a Quidditch match between the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws on
the third Saturday of the month."
Harry heard Ron muttering about Keepers again, and caught
the name "Kenneth Coulter", who was the Ravenclaw Keeper. Harry himself
couldn't help thinking about Cho Chang. Ron and Hermione had ribbed him on
occasions about his, a-hem, liking, for the Ravenclaw Seeker, and he had
always flushed and mumbled because he couldn't exactly deny it. Nor could he
deny that he was a bit disappointed when he found out Cho was already taken.
A cold feeling settled at the pit of his stomach. Cedric had
been Cho's boyfriend. And now, instead of feeling his face grow hot at the
thought of Cho, and bracing himself for the playful teasing that had always
ensued, all Harry could sense was a heavy heavy sense of sadness, pain and
guilt. The image of Cho's stricken face upon finding out about Cedric's murder
flooded before him, and he shut his eyes hard in an attempt to block it out. He
drew a sharp breath. At least it wasn't Hufflepuff they were up against. He
didn't know if he could face playing against a team whose captain, not to
mention Seeker, was once Cedric. Harry let out the breath. Cho would be hard
enough. For once, the prospect of facing the Slytherins wasn't that uninviting.
At least no painful memories would be evoked. It just meant having to stomach a
smirking Malfoy, and to outwit the slimy tactics of the Slytherin team in
general. He could handle that.
Harry drifted back into reality just in time to catch
Dumbledore saying, "… a Halloween ball, taking place in this Great Hall."
"Halloween ball? Er, when?" he asked confusedly.
"On Halloween night of course! The thirty-first. Don't you
listen?" said Lavender excitedly, shooting Seamus a meaningful look.
"Like last year's Yule Ball, you are all free to pick a
partner. My only rule is that Love Potions must not be used in the process of
wooing your beloved," winked Dumbledore. "And as Halloween is a time when the
Muggle world dresses up as witches and warlocks, I thought we could swap and
dress up as characters within the Muggle world."
"A robes-free Halloween?" cried someone from the Ravenclaw
table.
"By all means," replied Dumbledore.
Cheers erupted all round. The students started discussing
excitedly about fancy dresses and who would be whom. Ron bugged Hermione about
famous Muggle personalities. Harry was sure he heard some of the third years at
their table mention Elvis Priestley. Even up at the teachers' table, Professor
Flitwick was excitedly talking about charming the Great Hall to Professor
McGonagall, who was smiling despite attempting to maintain a regal composure. Professor
Sprout was discussing pumpkin enchantments with Professor Sinistra, who in
turn, talked about charming the ceiling of the Great Hall. The only person who
remained annoyingly unexcited was Professor Snape, who scowled at the
hullabaloo, by all accounts looking at if he thought Halloween do's were a
complete waste of precious time.
"Well," finished Dumbledore, "enough announcements. On with
the food!"
He gave his wand a flick and the tables immediately became
laden with steaming bowls of porridge, and plates of sizzling bacon, sausages,
eggs and hash browns. Golden slices of toast and stacks of pancakes with
butter, syrup, honey and marmalade popped up on the side.
Harry was just helping himself to the plate of hash browns
when a flurry of feathers appeared overhead. Hedwig dropped a roll of parchment
into Harry's out-stretched hand and proceeded to help herself to his pumpkin
juice. A note fell out as Harry unrolled the seemingly blank sheet of
parchment.
Dear Harry, read the slanted, scratchy writing,
I believe you are the rightful owner of this
useful tool. It might just help you to exercise constant vigilance.
Professor A Moody
"The Marauder's Map!"
whispered Ron, lowering his voice enough that only Harry and Hermoine could
hear. "That's so cool he gave it back to you."
"Well, it wasn't really
him who borrowed it in the first place," replied Harry, tucking it into his
robes pocket. He caught Moody gazing at him, and then winking, from the
teacher's table and he grinned back. He
turned to Hedwig, tickling her under the chin and murmured, "so what do you
think? It's the real Mad-Eye right?"
Hedwig cooed,
nuzzling into Harry's hand.
"Yeah, I'd say
so," laughed Hermione.
Just then, a brown tawny owl landed on Hermione's toast.
Hedwig cast the late arrival with a look of utter disapproval before flying off
to the Owlery. Ron peeked over Hermione's shoulder as she untied the letter
attached to the owl's leg.
"From Bulgaria?" he asked suspiciously. "It wouldn't
be Krum again, would it?"
Hermione stared at him, slightly annoyed at his suspicious
tone. "And what if it is?"
"Why would you want to have anything to do with that geeky
Slavic guy?"
"And why not? He is nice, a real gentleman. And since when
did Krum become a geeky Slavic guy to you?"
Ron snorted. "Hrmmph!" he huffed, stabbing at his sausage
viciously.
Hermione gave a soft jeer. Ron jumped onto it. "Excuse me?"
"Look who's talking. I wasn't the one gushing and
blabbering and yabbering on and on and on about how he was, oh, just
about the greatest Quidditch player of all time. I wasn't the one who
was awestruck by his Quidditch skills and Wonky Faints (Harry chuckled at that)
at the Quidditch World Cup. I wasn't the one who spent all of last year
trying to pursue him for an autograph. I wasn't the one who had a Krum figurine!"
Ron stared at Hermione, opening his mouth,
then closing it. Then opening it again, then closing it.
"What?!" he eventually spluttered out. "He is just a flaming
Quidditch player. A very….good… one," he forced out, as if saying the
word "good" in reference to Krum was killing him. "But he's just a Quidditch
player."
Hermione tossed him a withering look. "Oh, so he is just
a Quidditch player now, is he? Okay. Fine by me."
Ron tore angrily at his toast, ripping off half the buttered
centre along with the crust. "His autograph is so sloppy, and I do not
have Krum figurine!"
Harry and Hermione exchanged amused glances. That last part
was an outright lie. Ron had spent days gazing at his Krum figurine after the
World Cup.
"Why are you so uptight about this anyway?" asked Harry
casually, pouring maple syrup carefully over his stack of pancakes. He had a
fair idea of what the answer would be, but he wanted the fun of hearing Ron
confirm it for himself.
"Whaddya mean, uptight? I am not uptight!"
"Could have fooled me," replied Harry, taking a bite of the
pancakes.
Ron snorted. "At least this year," he growled, "Mister
Bulgaria would not be around to nab Hogwarts girls off to the ball."
From across the table, Seamus gave a snort that quickly
morphed into a choke. He bowed his head, busying himself with shredding up the
bacon on his plate. Ron eyed him sceptically.
"Well, you know what you have to do this time round, right?
Before someone grabs the chance?" asked Dean innocently.
"Yes. I am asking the Travels Office to ban travelling
between Bulgaria and Britain," retorted Ron.
Beside him, Hermione let out an exasperated noise. Ron
ignored her, turning to Harry instead. "Hurry up with the pancakes. I want to
get some more practice done before tomorrow's trials."
He got up abruptly from the table and turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" asked Harry, trying to wolf down his
pancakes hurriedly.
"Up to the dormitory to get the broomsticks. I'll meet you
at the main entrance." And with that, he marched out of the Great Hall.
"Victor Krum figurine indeed!" he thought angrily as he stomped up
the stairs to the boys' dorms. How dare Hermione mock him about that! He
wasn't the one who went on a date with the enemy last year during
the Triwizard Tournament. He wasn't the one who flew across Europe to
spend part of the summer in Bulgaria. He wasn't the one receiving owls
with no doubt, mushy, soppy gushings from someone who walked duck-footed like. Pah! True, he had told an outright lie about not
having a figurine. But he jolly well was going to right that wrong. He would
find that stupid figurine and crush it to splinters. Then he wouldn't
have a flaming Victor "oh the most wonderful Seeker" Krum figurine.
Back down at the breakfast table, Harry caught Hermione's
eye and shrugged, sighing. He gulped down the last his juice and excused
himself, making his way to the front entrance. Hermione turned in utter
frustration to Ginny, who was on the other side of her.
"No offence, I know he is your brother and all that," she
began, "but what is the matter with him?"
She threw up her hands in despair. Ginny gave her an
apologetic look.
"Sorry about Ron. He's like that. Too darned stubborn for
his own good. But," she continued slyly, "with it being Ron, I would be very
flattered that he is so annoyed at you over Krum."
Hermione looked at Ginny's freckled face and
smiled in spite of herself. "Really?" she mused, toying with the idea briefly,
before getting worked up again. "Still, it is very annoying. I mean, all Victor
and I are doing is talking about the weather!"
Ginny chuckled. "Ron has tremendous imagination."
"I'll say," grumbled Hermione. "What do I have to do? Tattoo
"Please ask me out to the ball?" in bold capitals across my forehead?"
"He'll come round. Give him some time, but he'll come round
eventually," soothed Ginny wisely, giving Hermione a pat on her arm. "It always
takes longer with boys," she added knowingly.
*
"Harry! Wake up. Oh gosh, I'm so nervous!"
Harry felt someone vigorously shaking his shoulder. Fending off the persistent prodding, Harry rolled over, pulled the covers over his head and snuggled back down again.
"Harry!"
"What?" Harry's voice came muffled from under the covers.
"It's trials!"
Pushing himself up, Harry glanced bleary-eyed out the window, and then at his watch.
"Ron, it's like, five o'clock in the morning. Go back to sleep." And with that, he flopped back down onto the bed, turned over, grunted and went back to sleep.
Ron shot a dirty look at the lazy lump on the bed, and grumbling under his breath, hopped back into his bed, janked across the curtains and started reading his book on the Chudley Cannons for the hundredth time.
"As if he couldn't even sit up and talk. He knows how nerve-wracking it can be. Who was the one who was so uptight he walked round like a sick dog before that last Quidditch match? You'd think he'd be more supporting. What kind of friend is that? I am just asking for someone to talk to. You'd think if there was someone who'd understand, it'd be him."
A couple of hours later, when the sun streamed in through the dormitory window, Harry woke up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. He slid off his bed and peeked through Ron's curtains. What he saw caused him to smile to himself. Ron was sprawled out, fast asleep, on his bed, still clutching to the Chudley Cannons Annual. The players in the photos were wandering in and out as if they were under-water, evidently still groggy from sleep. He gave Ron a sharp shove under the back.
"Argh!"
"And just who was the one who woke me up at some ungodly hour this morning?" questioned Harry, unable to wipe the smirk off his face.
"Er?"
"The trials!"
"Ack!"
Ron took a flying leap off the bed, slamming his annual shut in the process and landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Harry shook his head.
"Ron, Ron, Ron," he said in mock-pity. "It wouldn't do for you to have a sprained wrist and ankle two hours before the trails, no?"
Ron picked himself back up off the floor and took several calming breaths before changing at a more regular pace. Harry eyed him as he himself got ready for breakfast. Ron seemed to be doing okay now. So far. Aside from reciting paragraphs from the Keeper's Handbook and miming the occasional save that is.
By the time breakfast came and went however (where Harry had to force two forkfuls of scrambled eggs and half a slice of toast down his friend's throat), Ron was a jangling bundle of nerves. Harry hadn't seen him look so green since they were attacked by Aragog and his crowd of monstrous Acromantula spiders in their second year.
"Ron?" he ventured.
"Yeah?" came Ron's absent reply as he niftily performed an imaginary save.
"Nothing."
Harry went with Ron to report to Madam Hooch and Angelina while Hermione and Ginny hurried to the stands to bag good seats. The two boys walked in silence onto the pitch. Ron's face was a study of concentration and determination, his mouth was clamped in thin straight line. Which probably was for the best. Harry had a distinct suspicion that if Ron opened his mouth, what little breakfast he stomached would end up on the pitch. He was just thankful that the trial for the Gryffindors was on first, Then maybe Ron would relax slightly after that.
The whistle blew and the Gryffindors got into position, with Ron as Keeper. After fifteen minutes of a mock match, the rest of the team took it in turns to fire Quaffles through the hoops. Getting into the gist of things, relaxing slightly though still as determined as ever, Ron managed to block every single one.
"Potter!" shouted Madam Hooch, "I know Ron is your friend and you want him on the team. But you are supposed to fire the Quaffle through the hoops, not give a five minute warning before you idly toss it through!"
Harry blushed as he tried to ignore Fred and George's laughter. But Madam Hooch was actually smiling, "okay, that's it!" She clapped her hands as the team flew back down to the ground. "Well done Weasley. Very impressive," she said, giving Ron a curt nod and a clap on the back. "Even without Potter's help," she added, with a sly glance towards Harry.
The two had joined Hermione and Ginny in the stands, anxiously awaiting the results when Katie came up to Ron, grinning widely.
"Congratulations to our new Keeper," she said, sticking her hand out for Ron to shake.
Ron's mouth fell open. Ginny thumped him so hard on the back he flew forward into Neville.
"You're kidding! Really??"
"Yup," said Fred, who had just come up from behind with George. "Our little Ronnie is on the team!"
"Angelina told us," grinned Katie. "Though," she looked round, feigning secrecy, "shhh, you are not supposed to know yet."
They laughed. And when the others left, Harry nudged Ron purposefully and gave him a huge wink. Ron was so overwhelmed that his incoherence and absent manner due to nerves earlier that morning had turned to incoherence and an absent manner due to awe. Harry had never seen Ron so bursting with pride and delight as when Angelina Johnson made the public announcement from the centre of the pitch, to the cheers and roars from the Gryffindors.
"And the new Keeper for the Gryffindor house team will be….. Ronald Weasley!"