Author's Note: the characters of the Harry Potter novels are the property
of their creator, J.K. Rowling, and are used here without her knowledge
or permission. All other characters property of the author. 53,000 words.
January, 2002. Adult situations, mild sexual content and violence.
****************************************
Chapter Ten – A Rat in Ron's Clothing.
Saturday morning
dawned grey and rainy, but no one was going to let the weather interfere
with their visit to Hogsmeade. Word had gotten around that the Broomstick
Boys were appearing at Madame Rosmerta's tavern that night, and nearly
every girl in Hogwarts was giddy with the chance to see the band live and
in person.
Hermione was
not one of them. "Their music isn't even that good," she sniffed, as Lavender,
Ginny, and Parvati argued about which Broomstick Boy was the cutest.
Harry had told
her and Ron about his conversation with Professor Winterwind. He chose
to leave out the part about how she'd invited him to call her by her first
name, since he knew that would send Ron into foaming fits. Hermione had
gathered the ingredients they'd need for the True-Sight elixir, and they
planned to brew it up after their return from the village.
Hogsmeade was
in the midst of Halloween preparations. Jack-o-lanterns had begun to appear
on doorsteps and windowsills, more black cats than usual roamed the cobblestoned
streets, and someone had strung fake jump-spiders on trick cords that would
drop down on the unwary and then wind back up. At sixteen, Harry found
he had lost some of his childhood enthusiasm for gluttony on sweets, consequently
spending less at Honeydukes than he had previously done.
Dean Thomas
got chased out of a newsstand and roundly scolded by a witch when he tried
to buy a copy of Squire; she called him a filthy-minded wretch and
flung a bucket of water over him "to cool your nerves." Dean, embarrassed
but undaunted, said that he'd be sure to take a few sips of an Aging Potion
next time.
Electing not
to try to cram into the Three Broomsticks for the concert – the building
was already so full that some fans had overspilled into the yard – Harry,
Ron, and Hermione headed back to Hogwarts early. Ron was in a glum mood.
"What's the
matter with you?" asked Hermione as they climbed the wide front steps.
"It's just not
fair, is it?" he grumped. "Girls always say they want to meet a nice bloke,
polite, intelligent, fun to be with … but try to ask one out and she'd
rather go be all screaming-wild over six guys all named Lance."
"One of them's
named Joey," Harry pointed out.
"Shut it," said
Ron. "You know what I mean."
"Who'd you ask
out?" Hermione asked.
She sounded
moderately irked, and it occurred to Harry in a dismal, doomed sort of
way that she did like Ron too … he'd suspected as much all along from the
way they bickered … and the most awful thing in the world would be for
them to get caught in a triangle. But that was just what was happening.
It could only be bad for all three of them.
"No one," barked
Ron. "Knew it would be a wasted effort, didn't I?"
"Well, who'd
you want to ask?"
"Nobody in particular.
Just thought it might be nice to have a date once in a while. Life's not
all school, you know. Not that you'd ever believe it."
"I do so believe
it! School just happens to be very important right now. It's why we're
here, after all. If all I cared about was my social life, I could have
gone to one of those snobbish finishing schools like Queensgate, majoring
in small talk, fashion, and artful flirting."
"Sounds dreadful,"
Harry said.
"Thank you,
Harry, yes, it does." She stepped up to the portrait of the Fat Lady and
said, "Hobnob."
The frame swung
out and she crossed into the common room. It was deserted. As they came
in, the fire bloomed to life in the hearth. The younger students had all
either gone to bed already or were down in the Great Hall having dessert.
"Saturday night,"
Ron said, looking around the empty room. "And what've we got planned? A
raucous evening of chess."
"You could have
stayed for the concert," Hermione said. "Anyway, no chess … we've got a
potion to mix up."
Ron threw himself
into an overstuffed chair. "This is just bloody wonderful. What am I supposed
to do while you two are on that? Study, I bet you're going to say."
"It couldn't
hurt and it might help," she retorted.
"Maybe I'll
go to the library," Ron said. "Study some art."
Harry winced
and made a throat-cutting gesture. Too late.
"Art, oh, yes,
the museum-quality work of Cliffton Stratford," she said acidly.
"How'd you …
blimey, Harry, why'd you tell her?"
"I didn't, don't
look at me."
"The man is
a piece of disreputable trash," Hermione stated. "He got kicked out of
Hogwarts, you know."
"We know," said
Harry.
"But do you
know why?"
"Got a guess,"
Ron muttered.
"He was having
an affair with a teacher!"
Clearly, Hermione
had intended for them to be just as shocked and appalled by this news as
she evidently was. But with visions of Ophidia Winterwind dancing in their
heads, neither of them could mask their reactions quickly enough. Then
Ron's mouth became an O.
"Maybe it was
her!" he said to Harry.
"Get out," Harry
replied, uneasily.
"Are we going
to mix this potion, or would you rather go ogle some more dirty pictures?"
"Oh, fine,"
Ron said. "I'm going to go upstairs and read. Have fun." He stalked off,
and climbed the curving spiral stair leading to the dormitory.
Harry and Hermione
went to work on the potion. It was more complicated than they'd first thought,
and their fellow Gryffindors began trickling back in long before it was
complete. The group from Hogsmeade returned all in a rush, voices high
and excited as they talked about the concert. Lavender and Parvati were
hugging each other and giggling, telling anyone who'd listen that Joey
Mack, the lead singer, had looked right at them and winked. Eventually,
people began drifting off to bed.
"There, I think
it's done," said Hermione. "Want to test it?"
"I don't know
if there's anything to see, but might as well." Harry removed his glasses,
making the room go blurry around the edges, and tilted back his head. He
lifted an eyedropper full of the murky blue-grey potion. "It's not going
to burn, is it?"
"How should
I know?"
"If it strikes
me blind and eats the eyes out of my head --"
"If it does
that, I'll go fetch Madame Pomfrey myself, oh ye of little faith."
"Okay, okay.
Here goes." He squeezed the dropper, and a blue-grey drop welled out, hung
suspended, and then splashed directly into his open, staring eyeball. His
lids squeezed reflexively shut. He could feel a stinging, tingling sensation
spreading across his eye.
"The other one,"
Hermione said. "Or you'll be all crooked. And not too much. I read about
a man who overdid it and gave himself permanent x-ray vision, and it drove
him mad."
"Are you sure
that wasn't an old movie?" He did the other, and sat up again blinking.
Both eyes were watering, and when he wiped them, blue-grey streaks came
away on his fingers.
"Well?"
He looked at
Hermione. She appeared the same as always. So did the room. He wasn't sure
whether it had worked or not, since what would there be to see in here?
Then he noticed that Jill Taylor, a third-year girl known to be on the
stingy side, had a bag of Invisible Ice-Pops on her lap, and was casually
tucking one into her mouth while pretending to scratch her nose.
"I think it's
working," he whispered to Hermione.
Then he noticed
Ron. Ron, sitting in a corner and not talking to anyone. Ron, getting up
when Lavender and Parvati did, and following them across the room as they
headed, still giggling and hugging each other, for the staircase to their
dormitory. He was walking on tiptoe, as if …
"Good," said
Hermione. She stretched and rolled her head, her neck making little crackling
noises. "I think I'm off to bed. Good night, Harry."
"Wait!" His
hand shot out and caught her wrist.
She fell into
her chair again. "What?"
"Shh." He watched,
hardly able to believe his eyes, as Ron crept up the stairs behind the
girls. There was no doubt in Harry's mind as to what Ron was doing, but
he was clueless as to what to do about it. If he told Hermione, she would
hit the ceiling. If he yelled out, the secret would be given away, and
so far he'd managed to keep it so that only a few of his friends even knew
of the existence of the Invisibility Cloak.
"Harry, what
is it?"
"Don't go up
there just yet."
"Why not?" She
looked in the direction he was looking, saw nothing but Parvati and Lavender
moving around the central pillar and out of sight, and looked back. "Why
not, Harry? What do you … oh, no. No, no, no."
"Hermione …"
"Is it Ron?"
Her voice started to rise. "Is it?"
"Shh!" Harry
hissed desperately. "Yes, it is, all right, it's Ron. But don't --"
"Don't what?"
She dropped to a hiss herself. "Harry, he's going to peek at them while
they undress! He's … you haven't been doing that all along, have you?"
"No! Hermione!"
"Have you?"
"No, honest.
I wouldn't do that."
"But you'll
lend your cloak to Ron so he can."
"I didn't! He
must have gotten it out of my trunk."
"Well, do something."
"What? Barge
up there after him? Parvati would fry me on the spot, or kick me into next
week."
"Then give me
that potion."
"What are you
going to do?"
"I'm going to
take care of this," she said sharply, and squeezed drops into her eyes.
She blinked rapidly, and got up. "The nerve of him, really. And you, Harry!"
"I didn't do
it! I didn't know. You have to believe me."
"Maybe you'd
better start locking your trunk, then." With that, she spun on her heel
and stalked for the stairs.
Harry lowered
his head into his hands and waited. He was amazed that Ron would do this,
not only spy on the girls but borrow the Invisibility Cloak without asking.
On the other hand, he was a little impressed by Ron's audacity. It was
a gutsy thing to do, even by Gryffindor standards. Stupid, maybe, but gutsy.
A minute or
so later, a melody of screams came from upstairs. Screams and cries of
"Eeeeek!" Then a large, scrawny rust-colored rat came scuttling down the
steps, Lavender Brown hot on its tail. She was wearing a short nightie
in a color that matched her name and was beating at the rat with a towel.
Parvati was right behind her, in loose flannel drawstring pants and a cropped
shirt that left her midriff bare; she had one finger blazing like a brand
and was shouting at Lavender to get out of the way so she could have a
clear shot.
The rat leaped
from the bottom step. By now, everyone in the common room was on their
feet and others were rushing down other staircases to see what all the
fuss was about. Parvati pointed and flame leaped from her finger, scorching
the rug and missing the rat's pink tail by inches. The rat scurried frantically
under furniture as people jumped out of the way or tried to grab at it.
Hermione stood midway down the steps, where she had a good view. Something
silvery and rippling was draped over one arm and she was grinning devilishly.
"A rat!" Lavender
was shrieking. "A horrid, nasty, smelly rat was in our bedroom!"
Several of the
girls cried out squeamishly. They were clambering onto tables and standing
on chairs to get off the floor.
What happened
next would have made Harry extraordinarily proud of his Quidditch team
if he hadn't been so worried about Ron. Dennis Creevey swung a bolster
pillow as if he were going after a Bludger. The rat flipped up and over,
and Ginny Weasley caught it, pivoted, and fired the rat end over end toward
Margaret Broughton, their Keeper. But rather than block the goal, Margaret
brought up a trash can and the rat went straight in with a sound like a
gong hit by a cloth-wrapped mallet.
Margaret turned
the trashcan over fast, so that it was resting upside-down on the floor
with the rat trapped inside, and braced her foot on top. She was a big
girl with masses of dark hair and a strong, thickset body that nonetheless
possessed speed and agility; if Hagrid and Madame Maxime had a daughter,
Harry thought, she might look quite a bit like Margaret.
"Got it!" she
crowed. "Ten points Gryffindor!"
Some of the
girls were still hopping skittishly from one foot to another. The room
was noisy with a clamor that only ended when the portrait hole opened and
Professor McGonagall rushed in with face cream and her tartan bathrobe
on.
"A rat, Professor
McGonagall!" Lavender cried. "It was in our room!"
"Miss Brown,
Miss Patil, you're hardly dressed for the common room. The rest of you,
please settle down while I get to the bottom of this."
Harry looked
at Hermione, whose expression of vindictive pleasure had been switched
for one of worry. They'd been right there when McGonagall had torn into
Mad-Eye Moody (or the fellow who'd been impersonating him at the time)
for using Transfiguration on a student.
"I'll take the
rat outside and let it go," Harry said. "Poor thing must have wandered
in."
"Thank you,
Potter," said McGonagall absently. She was giving a steely eye to Parvati
and Lavender, until they ran back upstairs to put on something more modest.
Everyone else
was talking at once, offering suggestions as to how the rat got in – it
had followed them from the village, that was the most popular theory, drawn
by the smell of the Honeydukes goodies most of them had been bringing back.
Harry was able to get over to Margaret without drawing undue attention.
Someone had
been working on signs to wave from the stands during next week's scheduled
match against Hufflepuff. Harry took a sheet of cardstock that read "Go,
Go, Gryf--" on it, and slid it under the trash can. Holding it carefully,
listening to the scrabble of claws and the thump of the rat's body against
the inside, he carried it to the portrait hole and out. To make sure McGonagall
didn't come out unexpectedly and catch him, he went all the way to the
boys' bathroom before turning the rat loose.
"Ron, you idiot,"
he said to it.
The reddish
rat twitched its nose at him.
"Well, now what?"
Harry thought of his wand, which was sitting on the table next to the Potion
of True-Sight. A lot of good it did him there.
The door opened
and Hermione peeked in. She was shimmery around the edges, the same way
Ron had looked. "All clear?"
"All clear.
You can take the cloak off."
She did, though
she kept it near in case someone else came in. "You could have taken your
time getting out the portrait hole," she said crossly. "It nearly shut
on me."
"Sorry. Are
you going to change him back? I forgot my wand."
"I'm tempted
to leave him that way," she said, glaring at Ron. "After what he did."
"Be hard to
explain."
Hermione sighed.
"True. All right. Stand back."
Harry moved
away from the rat. Hermione pointed her wand at Ron – he crouched, shivering,
as if she might sizzle him with a lightning bolt instead – and said, "Revertus!"
At once, Ron
Weasley, in human form again, was sitting on the bathroom floor. His hair
was standing out in all directions and the bruises from the brilliant triple-play
by Dennis, Ginny, and Margaret were beginning to show. Before he could
speak, Hermione thrust her wand in his face.
"If you ever,
Ron Weasley, pull a stunt like that again, I will leave you that
way. And I'll tell McGonagall, too. You'd probably be in detention for
the rest of your natural life. I ought to. I ought to tell her about that
book in the library, too. If she knew about that …"
"Well, why don't
you then, since you've gone and appointed yourself the moral guardian of
the whole school?" Ron shot back.
"Because we're
supposed to be friends!" Her voice ricocheted off the mirrors and
around the tiled walls. "Though the way you've been acting, Peeping Ron,
I don't know why! Parvati and Lavender are our friends too. You have no
right to do that to them. If I were you, I'd think very carefully about
what's more important to you."
She threw the
Invisibility Cloak at Harry and left, and probably would have slammed the
door behind her if it hadn't been on one of those special hinges that made
it wheeze shut instead. For a long moment, neither he nor Ron said anything.
Her footsteps faded away.
"Bugger," Ron
finally said. "Now I know how Scabbers felt."
"Yeah, you're
lucky Crookshanks wasn't around. Ron, what were you doing, are you crazy?
You knew what potion we were making."
"I didn't know
you were going to bloody go and test it right then, did I?" His eyes flashed
angrily, then dimmed into a gleam. "Besides, it was worth it."
"You … you really
saw them? With nothing on?" Harry glanced at the door, knowing that if
Hermione could hear this conversation, she'd Transfigure them both into
the lowly worms that they were and feed them to the owls.
"Almost. They
were down to their knickers," Ron confided. "Lavender wears ones with the
days of the week sewn on, little-girl knickers, but Parvati …" He rolled
his eyes in lewd appreciation. "Black, lacy, and thin as a politician's
promise."
"We shouldn't
even be talking about it," Harry said.
"Yeah, why am
I telling you? Let Hermione come up there and turn me into a rat
and you didn't even warn me. What kind of a friend are you?"
"The room was
full of people. What was I going to do? Yell for you? And … talk about
friends … you didn't ask to use my cloak. Had to rummage through my things
to get it."
"Right." Ron
looked wretchedly ashamed. "Sorry. I was a rotten blighter. Maybe she was
right to turn me into a rat. It's what I've acted like."
"Well, don't
do it again." Harry stuffed the Invisibility Cloak inside his shirt. He
picked up the trash can to return it to the common room. "Guess we'd better
say that you were in the bathroom, if anyone asks. It won't be a lie."
** |