Harry Potter and the Crystal Ball

by fiddle-d-d

A mysteryromance of Harry's post-Hogwarts life . . . not only must he and his comrades struggle with evil, but they must also battle their own emotions and obstacles

2. The Cocktail Party

Harry Potter and the Crystal Ball

by Hannah

Once again, all characters are the property of J.K. Rowling . . . I decided to go ahead and upload the next chapter, because I don't know if I will even have time to do any more of this until after school is out for the summer. Anyway, enjoy, and remember, you can always e-mail me at fiddle_d_d@bolt.com! :0)

Chapter Two ~ The Cocktail Party

Harry was still dazed when he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron five minutes later. Then it struck him—

"Jumping dragons," he whispered. "I forgot to obtain the items from the rest of my list . . ." But Harry was too tired to care. "It can wait," he told himself dejectedly.

He slowly began his way up the winding, creaking staircase to the hotel rooms when a thought struck him.

"Tom," he shouted down from the landing, "which room is Miss Oak staying in?"

Tom replied, "Thirteen. But Mr. Potter, I wouldn't disturb her. She asked to be alone."

"Okay," Harry responded. "I was just wondering . . ."

Harry opened his door and fell onto his bed, exhausted. He jumped back up immediately, however, for an angry squawk and sharp peck in his back told Harry he had collapsed right on top of Hedwig.

Harry bent down, trying to pacify the angry bird. "There, there, now . . . no need to be upset . . ." Harry eased two crumpled letters from her beak.

He opened the first one and mumbled aloud, "Harry, I would absolutely love to come and see you again. I really miss seeing you. I will be at the Leaky Cauldron at 5 o'clock. Hermione."

He glanced at the other piece of parchment resting in his lap.

Harry, I will meet you and Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron, but I won't be able to get there until 5:30. I have a job interview at 4:30 in Diagon Alley. I am temporarily looking into a job as a clerk at Quality Quidditch Supplies. Don't smirk (I know you are), it's only temporary (I hope). I will see you later this evening.

Ron

Harry was laughing uncontrollably. "Quality Quidditch Supplies?" he shouted, pounding the bed with his fist. "That's a laugh! Oh, Ron!"

Suddenly, a woman's voice came from the room next. "Please, quiet down. I must concentrate—" A moan issued forth.

Now the rooms in the Leaky Cauldron were numbered oddly. Harry had the room on the farthest left, number three, and from there going in a rightward direction were labeled 13, 23, 33, 43, 53, 63, 73, 83, and 93, respectively. In a sudden burst of intuition unusual for so tired a mind, Harry realized that the room next to his contained none other than Alice.

Harry raised himself to his knees while remaining on the bed, leaning against the wall. The plaster was cool against his cheek. "You okay?" he asked through the thin partition.

"Fine, please, leave me be," she moaned back. There was another loud wail and a thump, like she had fallen on the floor.

Harry couldn't sit there any longer. He jumped up, ran out of his room, and tried the door to the right of his. It was locked. What the hell is going on? Harry asked himself as he tried the door again. His efforts were fruitless.

Harry stuck his hand down his pocket and pulled out his wand. He tapped the lock and mumbled something, and it magically opened itself. He found himself in a very tidy, elegant room. The bed was ebony with gold inlay, the desk matching, and the hangings at the windows and the draperies on the bed were black silks embroidered with the same gold trimming. He found her sprawled on a black rug, also with golden accents. She was flailing her arms about, seemingly fighting her own limbs, wailing, "No, Sal, I won't let you! No!" Her white fist punctuated her confused murmurings with sharp banging on the wooden floor beside her. Her hair was snarled beneath her, and her pale face was pinched in agony. It appeared, if at all possible, even whiter than he had seen it before, in the streets of Diagon Alley. She didn't even look like the same woman. She turned in Harry's direction, and her eyes snapped open. Her pupils were dilated to nearly twice their normal size, and the purple eyes contained a feverish gleam. She stared blankly at him for a moment, and then whispered through her stunned state, "Please, give me my wand. It's on the bedside table."

Harry walked briskly toward the nightstand, also ebony, and picked up an ebony wand, inlaid with gold. He could hear her thrashing around behind his back, moaning. He quickly made his way back toward her and handed her the wand. She closed her eyes and her lips began to move. Slowly, her muscles seemed to relax. She took a very deep breath and the wand dropped to the floor.

"Thank you," she whispered, putting a hand to her forehead. She lay, like so, for a few moments, and then struggled to a sitting position. She was, however, so fatigued that even this seemed a draining task. Leaning against the bed, she heaved for breath, her energy drained. Her white face had, impossibly, gone even whiter than it had previously been.

"You're alright, then?" Harry asked, obviously concerned. What the hell had just happened to her?

"Yes, I'll be fine. I just . . . have some slight problems every now and then. It's a curse, somewhat . . . I've been having such seizures for a number of years now." She opened her eyes, which had returned to normal. She managed to stand up rather shakily. "I'll be fine in a few moments. I just need a chance to regain my strength." She almost toppled over, and had to reach for the bed for support.

"You're sure? Absolutely certain?"

"Yes, I am," she replied, nodding weakly. She lowered herself to the bed. She took one last deep breath and looked at him, her eyes showing her fatigue. "Listen, I can handle it now . . . besides, your friend Hermione should be here any minute now. But I must ask that you do not interfere next time that this happens. I cannot help it; it must run its course. The spells only speed up the process, but they are very draining. Promise me?" Her eyes were filled with some unnamable emotion: fear?

"Okay, I won't bother you anymore. But if it gets too bad . . ." Harry looked down at his wristwatch. "Yeah, just eight minutes 'til five. You're supposed to come down with me, anyhow. Remember? You said you'd join us."

She flashed a weak smile, her eyes half closing again. "So I did. I'll be down in a moment. I just need a few minutes to . . . freshen up."

Harry nodded and made for the door. Alice got up off the bed and made her way to the black and gold bathroom. Harry turned around and said, "I guess you were really ill, eh? You didn't lie when you decided not to go to the demonstration."

Alice looked at him, her eyes full of that same emotion. "Yes, you're right. But this isn't your normal illness. Indeed, it is no illness at all. 'Tis exceedingly worse. Even so, I've said much more than I ought. I will see you in a few minutes." With that, she turned and left.

Harry was puzzled. What was wrong with her? What disease could possibly do that to you? Did it have anything to do with her being a Seer? He had heard that certain curses could cause you to have seizures and hallucinations, but he had never seen anything so frightening as that. Who was Sal? What had happened to her eyes? What had seemed to scare her so? But he had no answers to his numerous questions as he walked down the stairway.

Harry sat down at a barstool absentmindedly. He nodded to Tom, who came over to him. "Do you need anything, Mr. Potter?"

"No, thank you. I will in a few minutes, however. Remember? Hermione and Ron are coming . . ."

"Oh yes, I had forgotten. I will be sure to be there to help you. Just call me over when you need me."

Tom bustled off.

Harry sat in silence for a few moments, until a large gust of wind told him that the door had opened. He turned around to find Hermione walking into the room, her scarf and jacket soaked through.

Her clothes looked almost as bedraggled and dreary as his own. Apparently everyone from their class was struggling to make a living, even superiorly intelligent Hermione. Life seemed much harder in the wizarding world than that of the Muggles.

She was walking towards Harry, arms outstretched. Harry received her in a warm embrace. "Sit down, Hermione. God, you must be freezing," he said, pulling out a barstool for her to sit on.

She lowered the hood of her jacket, revealing her short brown hair, cut in a paperboy-style that framed her tanned face. Her eyes flashed with happiness.

She looked around her. "Where's Ron?" she asked of Harry.

"He said he'd be a bit late. He's . . ." Harry suppressed a giggle. "He's . . . applying for a temporary job at Quality Quidditch Supplies." He couldn't control himself any longer. He laughed hysterically.

"Oh, yes, I remember him telling me that, now . . ." she replied in a somewhat dreamy manner. Harry was about to inquire as to how she found out, but suddenly, all conversation in the cozy bar stopped. Everyone turned toward the stairway.

Down came Alice, as composed as ever, a small smile flitting across her face. Harry didn't even recognize her from the woman he had seen ten minutes before. Her hair had then been disheveled and snarled, her face drawn with pain, fatigue, and fear, and her eyes aglow with fever. This was indeed the same woman he had met in the shop earlier this afternoon.

Slowly, the people in the room began to talk again. Most of them were whispering about the woman who had just made her way down the stairs.

"Did you see her? Do you know who she is?"

"Alice Oak, she calls herself! The equal, if not better, of Harry Potter!"

"Ain't she gorgeous?"

She slowly made her way to the counter and slid onto a barstool by Harry. She smiled at Hermione. "You must be Hermione," she said cordially. She offered a thin hand to be shaken.

Even Hermione was thunderstruck. "And you, of course, would be Alice Oak. I can't believe I'm finally meeting you. I've read about you for the longest time. You've defeated You-Know-Who several times just recently, have you not?"

"I don't like to gloat about Voldemort. Let's please change the subject," she curtly replied. "Where is your friend Ron?" she asked Harry, changing the subject conveniently in his favor. Before Harry could answer, she answered her own question. "Oh yes, I forgot. He's applying to Quality Quidditch Supplies, isn't he? The poor fellow, he'll be so disappointed." Her mouth turned down at the corners.

"Why?" Hermione asked, puzzlement crossing her face.

"He won't get the job," Alice replied matter-of-factly. She sighed. "He should try Ollivander's. They're looking for employers."

Hermione looked at Harry. "Excuse us for a moment, Miss Oak."

"Yes. Call me Alice," she responded.

Hermione left the table with Harry. They walked over to a corner of the bar and she looked at him oddly.

"Are you crazy? Do you know who she is? Why is she treating me so coldly? Harry, I know you don't like extra attention, so why are you hanging around with her, of all people? She'll increase your admirers tenfold. I mean, just about everyone who's anyone knows who she is."

Hermione looked Harry in the eye, one eyebrow raised. "Hmm? What do you know about her? Anything? Do you know how powerful she is? There's no way you can ever feel at home with her around! She's hardly human."

"Funny thing, that, Hermione . . . I feel very comfortable around her. However, I don't feel I can say the same for you at the moment." Harry said this all quite lightly, but deep down, Hermione could tell that he was more than a little peeved with her. His green eyes contained a malicious fire reminiscent of the time that she and Ron had poured a whole package of chili peppers into his tea when he had a rather nasty sore throat.

"Harry, I don't want to bother you about it, but she is always away on some evil-fighting mission, and she's always traveling, and I don't think that she's the best person to hang out with. And for some reason, she, well . . . she unnerves me." Hermione said the last part meekly.

Harry looked at her with a look of anger in his eyes. "Unnerves you? You've been with her a minute and she unnerves you? Give her a chance, will you? She's the Seer, not you. You left Divination during our third year, for crying out loud!"

"Great, another Professor Trelawny." Hermione rolled her eyes. Professor Trelawny had been the Divination teacher at Hogwarts. She wasn't a very good Seer. As a matter of fact, many of the students and staff believed her a hoax.

Harry grabbed Hermione by the shoulders, startling her. He shook her severely. "Listen, leave her be! She has so far been nothing but a wonderful person, and until I have reason to question her integrity, I will do nothing of the sort! Now leave me be." He strode in a very upset manner back to the long bar counter where Alice sat, tapping her feet somewhat impatiently. Her eyes were half-closed and her head rested in one creamy hand that was propped against the wooden counter.

Hermione followed him, her eyes full of injured pride. She sat down beside Harry, scooting her stool as far as she could from Alice.

Alice smiled sleepily at her. "It's okay, Hermione. I have no intentions of stealing Harry's friendship from you. Goodness gracious! We only met today." Her violet eyes were warm and shimmered sweetly as she opened them slowly. Hermione looked away. She sensed that they mocked her.

"I'll be back in a bit. I need a breath of fresh air," she said weakly.

Hermione made for the door. Harry looked after her.

"Wait!" Alice had slowly stood up and made her way towards Hermione, who had stopped at the sound of her voice.

"It's wet out there. This will help."

From thin air, Alice extracted a long golden cape that was embroidered with black silk. She smiled. "It will repel water. Come back soon." Alice handed her the cloak, and Hermione took it unwillingly, realizing that she really had no other option. Without a word, she turned and walked toward the door.

Alice strode back to Harry. She sat down, grinning. "I don't think she likes me," she admitted, not looking too perturbed by this revelation.

Harry smiled back. "She's just jealous. She'll get over it. There's just not much competition for a person like her."

"I'm not so sure she'll get over it . . . Look! There's Ron!"

Harry turned toward the window out front and, true enough, Ron was running towards them. The door opened, another cold gust of wind issued forth, and Ron was sprinting towards Harry, panting.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked, as soon has he had regained his breath.

"That's a nice welcome for one's best friend," Harry teased.

Alice stood up, not noticed by the obviously preoccupied Ron.

"Sorry," Ron said, sitting down on Hermione's barstool. "Hi." He grinned sheepishly at his friend. He then looked up and saw Alice standing there. "Hi! Who are . . ." Realization struck him and he just sat there, open mouthed. "You're . . ."

She smiled. "Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Weasley." She offered him her hand. He took the slender, white hand that was proffered him; it was quite cold, even in his freezing one.

"Please, call me Ron. My, you must be chilled to the bone!" he exclaimed. "Let me get you something . . . gin? Sherry? Wine? Champagne?"

She laughed. "Tea, please. Mint, if they have it. I'll be right back. I must go and get something."

She stood and walked up the stairs, toward her room. Ron shouted through the rather noisy room, "Tom! Tom? Can you mix up a cup of mint tea for Miss Oak?"

"Yes, just a moment, Mr. Weasley," Tom said, bustling towards them.

The room was rather thick with cigar smoke and the gentle buzz of much gossip. The Leaky Cauldron was the ideal place to spend a damp evening. The atmosphere was light, even if the room was dim, and the service was warm and friendly. The rather shabby surroundings lent to the air of homey comfort. The pale wooden boards that made up the floor were damp with the rain trod from outside, and the musty odor of rain coats and umbrellas issued from the coat closet in one corner.

Tom placed a cup of tea onto the counter in front of Alice's seat. "There you go. Do you know what she'd like with it? Cream? Sugar?"

"I'm not sure," Ron confessed, "you'd better just leave it plain. She can add anything she wants."

Tom walked off to help the next customer.

Hermione stepped back into the room, still in a bad mood. Her temper seemed to lift slightly at the sight of Ron, whom she embraced and told, "I'm so glad to see you! It's been too long . . ." Ron laughed.

"If you consider two days a long time . . . but I've missed you too, my dearest Hermione."

Hermione beamed at him and sat down in Alice's seat, since Ron had taken hers. She asked the others, "Is this Miss Oak's drink? I've read that she likes sugar in hers. Did Tom put anything in it?"

"No," Ron replied. "But you're welcome to put some in it for her . . ."

Hermione took a vial of white granules out of her robes. "There. Sugar." She poured a good amount into the mug and stirred it with a spoon sitting nearby. "Now it will be all ready for her to drink when she comes back down."

As if on cue, Alice stepped back down the stairs, her odd wand in one hand and a wizard's chess set in the other. "Hello again, Hermione!" she said warmly, setting the two items on the counter. Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked at the queer assortment of items. "I thought that we might play a duel or two and a game of chess. What do you say?" She smiled that sweet grin of hers again. Hermione nodded. "I'm up for a duel."

Ron grinned. "I'm undefeated when it comes to wizarding chess!" He laughed. "I'll play, but don't run away crying! You have been warned!"

Alice smiled. "Perhaps you've met your match tonight."

Hermione looked horrified. "That will be the day pigs fly!" she managed to say.

"I saw pigs fly in Albania once. It was quite an ugly curse." She looked around and realized that there were no chairs left. Harry made to get up and offer his to her, but she lifted an arm into the air and a chair fell softly to the floor.

She picked up her tea, and almost took a sip when she set it back down. She stated quietly, "There's dromewort in my tea."

Harry looked at her with horror on his face. "Who in heaven would put dromewort in your tea?"

Ron stared at her blankly. "Dromewort? What's that?"

"A rather strong sleeping herb, and it just so happens that if I were to take a sip from this tea, I would die."

She put the cup down. Harry looked at her inquisitively. "Why would you die?"

"Let's just say that I'm allergic to it." She shot Hermione a poisonous glance. "Miss Granger, you've been awfully quiet this whole time. What's wrong, cat got your tongue?"

Hermione stared at her, virulence equally visible in her eye. "No, but I believe, Alice, that people can be allergic to freezewort, and even gorewort, but I have never heard of an allergy to dromewort."

"There is a first for everything," Alice replied. She smirked. "What do you say to a duel, betwixt you and I?"

Hermione looked like this would be the easiest thing she had ever accomplished. "Of course. But prepare to be defeated. What are your rules?"

"No serious, irreversible damage." A slow smile slid across her face. "My second is Harry. You can have Ron. But no untimely deaths, please."

Hermione wouldn't show that she was, deep down inside, shaking. She raised her wand. Alice picked up her ebony wand with the gold inlay. "Ready?" she asked.

Hermione nodded. "Oh yes," she replied, smirking.

"Harry, will you tell us when to start?"

"Yes," Harry responded, looking slightly uneasy. The group moved into the empty clearing in the middle of the large room. All activity about them drew to a stop as everyone turned around to watch what was happening. A deathly silence fell over the room. Harry murmured, "One, two, three . . . go!"

Hermione's mouth opened, but Alice's never had to do so. A spurt of green sparks burst out of the end of her wand, and Hermione was suddenly covered in a green, glowing goo. The slime was seemingly crawling all over her, making funny sucking noises. Hermione was trying to say something, but the vile substance had her bound and gagged in the most efficient way anyone in the bar had ever seen. She looked around at the silent faces surrounding her, her eyes wide with fear and surprise. Nobody spoke; their eyes were all fixed on the dueling pair, or dueling person. Hermione was fairly helpless in her current condition.

Another stream of sparks burst forth from Alice's wand, this time pink. They seemed to meld with the green stuff covering her, and suddenly, she was dancing about the room in a very comical tango. She looked shocked, and as though she was willing her limbs to stop their odd jig. It was an eerie sight. Grimly, Alice willed another spurt of violet sparks from her wand, which made Hermione's head shrink to half its original size. Hermione shot Ron a pleading look from halfway across the room, where she had been magically partnered with a broom for dancing.

"Enough!" Ron finally shouted. Alice looked at him, one eyebrow raised, her eyes lacking any visible emotion. She shot some more sparks at Hermione, this time yellow, and she fell to the ground in a dazed heap, all trace of the slime gone, the broom clanging to the floor beside her.

As soon as Hermione found her voice, she croaked, "How the hell did you just do that?"

Alice smiled. "Well, I am a very powerful witch. Even so, the gold inlay helps. It increases the speed of the spells as they are channeled through one's wand. But even that has its downfalls. It drains you of more energy that way."

She collapsed into her seat. "Tom, could you bring me another cup of tea? Mint, please . . . a teaspoon of sugar and a tablespoon of cream."

She looked at Ron. "Chess?"

"Sure," he replied enthusiastically. He reached for the set, and then stopped abruptly. "You won't make me dance a waltz or anything, will you?"

She smiled. "Of course not. Even so, I am a fairly mean strategist."

Ron laughed. "That doesn't worry me one bit. I'm the best there ever was!" He set up his pieces and began whispering commands to them. Alice apparently needn't do so; Harry assumed that telepathy was among her unsettlingly voluminous collection of skills. Ron's interlude with the pieces was brief; he straightened up and waited for Alice to finish. Alice shot a glance at him, composed her face as though making one more command, and brushed several wavy golden strands of hair from her pale face. As she did so, however, her pieces did something unsettling—they laughed. Alice smiled innocently at Ron, who looked rather perturbed.

"You're white, Ron, so you go first."

Ron was slightly unnerved now. His pawn moved forward. Alice's knight made a regal entrance. Ron's knight also entered play. Alice moved a pawn. Ron moved his knight. Alice moved hers.

Ron now leaned over and whispered another command to his pieces. He was slightly worried now; he had never met anyone as good as Miss Oak at chess. He was going to clarify things a bit . . .

Ron's pawn moved forward, and Alice's queen leapt upon it. Ron looked up at her, a look of twisted confusion on his face. Her face was impassive as she smiled at Ron. "It's the way of the game, Ron. Things like that will happen."

It was true; Ron captured Alice's bishop in the next few turns. He leaned down for a conference with his pieces, which were looking at him skeptically by now. Alice's knight, meanwhile, made for Ron's rook. Ron looked up just in time to see his piece go down with a painful blow to its head.

Ron thought it odd that she never leaned down and talked to her pieces. But then, he realized, it wasn't necessary. Whenever her move came about, she would stare at her pieces with an unwavering gaze, and one of them would move forward. Ron realized that she didn't need to verbally command them: she could command them through signals from her brain.

Ron made another move. By now, he was quite nervous. He was shaking badly, and he was somewhat muddled. He obviously couldn't think clearly, because he made a lethal move.

Ron's bishop moved a few squares forward. Before that moment, Harry and Hermione had watched in silence as the two played. But at this moment, Hermione jumped from her seat and shouted, "No, Ron! Don't do that! She'll—"

But it was too late. "Check," Alice stated coolly as her queen slid forward.

Ron's brow was creased with thought. Where should I move? He finally moved his king over a square to the left.

"Check," she said in the same measured tone.

Ron was sweating so badly that he could hardly think. He moved his queen in front of his king.

"Check," Alice said in a clipped manner, capturing his queen.

Ron moved his queen to capture her's . . .

"Checkmate," she said resolutely, standing up and stretching languorously. She seemed quite unaware of the rather blubbery look that was washed across Ron's face. He looked stunned, hurt, and confused. He had never been beaten . . . not by anyone. And in so short a time! But now . . . he looked up at the woman standing before him, and the question just popped out:

"How did you do that?"

"Let's just say I know things . . ."

Hermione stood up. Her voice quivered with rage when she spoke. "How dare you?" she demanded. "How dare you! You first make a fool of me, the top in my year at Hogwarts, and then you humiliate Ron. You just ruined his undefeated reputation. You made me feel like a bumbling idiot at dueling. How could you? You knew all that time that neither of us stood a chance against you! And still you went through with it . . . how could you?"

Hermione's eyes fixed Alice with a look of utmost hatred.

Alice answered, quite collectedly, "Well, you see, I didn't make you look like a fool, because you might not of known this, but . . . you never were the top student of your year at Hogwarts. And as for Ron . . ." Alice shot Ron a look of sympathy. ". . . I must admit, I shouldn't have, but I read his thoughts and knew where to move my pieces, thanks to him . . . I wouldn't count that as a fair win on my part." She looked at him again, her eyes begging him for forgiveness. She was rewarded with a smile.

"I don't mind in the least. Could you teach me how to do that?"

Alice laughed. It was a nice, rich sound. "I could try."

She looked at Hermione. "Forgiven?"

Hermione looked at her quizzically, her rage forgotten for the moment in her hurt pride. "What do you mean, I wasn't the top student of my year at Hogwarts?"

Alice looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps I've said too much—"

"Heavens, no," Harry said quickly. "We wouldn't tell anyone. What is it?"

Alice looked around nervously, as though trying to scan the crowd around her for any eavesdroppers. "There was someone at Hogwarts in the year that the three of you entered that they tried to keep secret and hidden from the others."

"Who was it?" Ron queried.

"I cannot tell. I've said too much . . ."

Hermione looked at her oddly again. "But—why?"

"Because . . . oh, I don't know . . . please, don't ask . . ."

Harry gazed at her intuitively. He almost whispered, "Was it you?"

Alice smiled. Her mood seemed to lift a bit. "No, no, not I. Never I. But I must say, I think it is time for me to retire for the evening. It was a pleasure meeting you both, and I'm certain that I will be seeing you in the near future, so I will now bid you goodnight!"

She smiled at Harry and shook hands with Ron and Hermione, who each accepted her chilled, thin hand with warmth and friendship. "We will meet again," she assured them.

She made her way up the staircase, while Ron and Hermione stood below with Harry. All was quiet for a few minutes as all turned over the recent happenings of the night.

Harry interrupted the stillness. "So, what did you think of her?" Harry asked his friends.

"She was grand," Ron replied. "You're very lucky to be staying in the same building as she."

Hermione looked rather uncomfortable. "I don't know . . . there's something about her that makes me uncomfortable . . ."

"Just the fact that she gets a lot of recognition that you don't," Ron teased. "Come on, you never were the Divination student. Apparently, she's a Seer. You can't beat that. Talk sense! You're just as wonderful as she is."

Hermione smiled. "Yeah, I suppose she's okay. She's quite nice. She's just too perfect!"

"As we've all thought of you for the past seven years. Come on, cheer up," Harry said in a consoling manner. "You're still one of the best witches I've ever met."

Hermione threw her arms around Harry and Ron. "Thank you, both of you. You're both wonderful friends!"

Ron, looking slightly bashful at such a public display of affection, gently pushed her arm away. He chuckled softly. "What are friends for?"

She grinned. "Friends like you are just splendid to have around!" She looked at her watch. "Oh dear, it's already six. I must get going, I have a job interview tomorrow . . ."

"Not at Quality Quidditch?"

Ron blushed.

"No, actually. There is a vacancy in the Ministry."

Harry looked confused. "There wasn't one before—"

"Yes, but there is now." Hermione smiled mischievously. "Not jealous, are we? Well, must go. Hope to see you all soon . . ."

With that, she was out the door, the gold cape thrown about her shoulders.

Ron looked after her. "That would be neat, if she got the job."

"Yeah, it would." Harry replied firmly. Although he would have liked a job at the Ministry, one at Hogwarts was even better.

Ron patted his friend on the back. "She's a nice girl, Alice. You keep hanging with her, okay? It would be a pity to lose someone like her."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I know. Keep in touch."

"Alright."

Ron, too, left the building.

The Leaky Cauldron's business was beginning to die down. Witches and wizards were returning to their homes in London to be with their families. Harry nodded to Tom, saying, "I'll be back for dinner later," and headed up the stairs, utterly exhausted.

He passed the closed door of room thirteen before he entered his own. He decided that he ought to keep an eye on her for the next few weeks, just to be certain that she was all right.

With that last thought, Harry lied down on his bed and fell fast asleep, forgetting about dinner, forgetting about everything except a shining smile and rich laugh that he could not shake from his mind.