Harry Potter and the Fifth House
Christine Morgan
christine@sabledrake.com / http://www.christine-morgan.org


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.
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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."

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page copyright 2002 by Christine Morgan / christine@sabledrake.com