That January at Hogwarts was unusually mild; no new snow fell to
cover the remnants of December's blizzard. The students were grateful
for this, as it made walking to the greenhouses and Herbology class much
easier and more comfortable than in past years.
In the first class of the term, Professor Sprout informed the
Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that they would be tending hemlock. Harry,
Ron, and Hermione glanced at each other quizzically.
"Erm, Professor?" Hermione asked, raising her hand. "Isn't hemlock
used exclusively for poisons?"
"Yes, Miss Granger," Professor Sprout answered, handing each table of
students its own bunch of plants. "Professor Snape wants to poison the
fourth-years again."
Harry was taken aback for a moment. Then he remembered last year's
Potions lessons on antidotes.
"I'll wager none of you has forgotten how to brew an antidote, eh?" She raised her eyebrows and looked around the room as the students
nodded knowingly.
Harry had thankfully missed the Potions lesson last year in which
Snape had tried to poison a student--if Harry hadn't been called out of
class to have his photograph taken with the other Triwizard Tournament
champions, he was certain that Snape would have tried to poison him. As
he and Ron inspected and repotted a hemlock plant, Harry realized that he
had never heard who had been poisoned.
"Ron," he whispered. "Who did Snape poison last year?"
Ron gave him a puzzled look. "You were there."
"No, I wasn't. Remember? I had to have my picture taken for the
Tournament. Hermione wasn't there either, she was having her teeth
fixed. And you and I weren't ... er ... speaking then."
Beneath his freckles, Ron's face reddened. "Oh, right. Well, I guess
with you and Hermione gone, it was just a question of who Snape hates
most, wasn't it? I suppose the contest was between me and Neville." He
grinned. "Lucky for Neville, I won."
"He poisoned you?"
"Yeah." Ron tried to suppress a chuckle. "You should've seen the look
on the slimy bat's face when I took my antidote and nothing happened."
Harry smiled. He could just imagine Snape's look of malicious triumph
as he had handed Ron the poison, and his sneer of angry disappointment
when Ron's antidote had worked.
"I guess we've found another thing you're good at."
Ron snorted derisively. "Yeah, Potions. And I'm in such good company,
too. Me and the Slytherins."
But the more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that Ron
had become quite good at Potions--at least as good as Hermione. The three of them had just been too busy trying to avoid Malfoy's whining
accusations and Snape's hateful glare to notice.
"No, seriously, Ron. Remember the Shrinking Potion in third year?"
Ron scowled as he packed potting soil around the roots of the last
hemlock plant, a particularly large one. "Yeah. Snape gave Neville's
potion to Trevor, and he turned into a tadpole. What about it?"
"You prepared most of the ingredients for Malfoy's Shrinking Potion-
do you remember how it turned out?"
Ron stared off through the transparent greenhouse wall, concentrating. "Pretty well, I guess. Better than mine, since he got all my best daisy
roots, the sniveling b--"
"Alright, chaps," Professor Sprout called. "By now you should have
finished repotting your plants. I'll come round and collect them again. You
may as well get your things together, there's not much time left before
the end of class."
At that moment, the bell boomed from the castle. Harry, Ron, and the rest of the class collected their things and left the greenhouse for lunch.
***
"I hope you all had a restful holiday, because you're going to be working
like Nifflers from now on."
The Gryffindor fifth-years had assembled in the Great Hall for their
first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term. They felt more
like they were outside, though, with the ceiling glowing a stunning shade
of sapphire, and the sun's likeness beginning to sink from its apex in the
exact center of the blue expanse. Although the weather outside was nice
for January, it was still too cold to allow them to resume their lessons on
the Quidditch pitch. So they had assembled here in the Great Hall, with its
tables and chairs cleared away against the walls, and a Cushioning Charm
placed on the floor--mostly, everyone thought, for Neville's benefit.
At least, they thought so until Professor Green continued speaking.
"I know you've all been anxious to begin sparring," she said as she eyed
each one of them in turn, "but I wanted to make sure you had a proper
foundation in the martial arts first. Now, I think you're ready."
A frenzy of murmurs broke out among the students. Ron looked
excitedly at Harry. "You're going down, Potter," he whispered, grinning
madly.
Only Neville seemed the least bit apprehensive. He smiled at the other
students nervously, as though pre-emptively asking for mercy. Professor
Green began moving among the students, pairing them off.
"Right, then: Neville and Ron, Lavender and Parvati, Seamus and Dean, Harry and Hermione. Fighting stances, everyone."
Disappointed, Ron
left Harry and faced Neville. Hermione and Harry squared off, hands
raised, feet apart, just as they had been taught the previous term. She
looked determined: not the least bit worried, but intent and focused. Harry noticed that Neville's apprehension seemed to have eased now that
he was paired with Ron; apparently, he expected Ron to go easy on him. Ron, however, had developed anxieties of his own.
"I'm worried about what he might accidentally do to me--or to
himself!" he whispered to Harry as Neville looked eagerly to Professor
Green, awaiting her instructions. Harry shrugged and chuckled.
"It won't be so bad," he whispered back. "What's the worst he could
do?"
Ron frowned fiercely and opened his mouth to reply. Unfortunately,
Professor Green chose that exact moment to address him.
"Ron, pay attention!" she called. "Your posture's completely off. You're supposed to stand with your feet apart, like this--yes, that's
right." Professor Green backed away from Ron and surveyed the
Gryffindors.
From behind him, Harry heard Dean Thomas say, very solemnly: "I know
Kung Fu."
The entire class dissolved in giggles.
"This is not a joke," Professor Green barked, staring at them sternly. The laughter promptly ceased. "Now, Harry, Parvati, Ron, and Dean," she
called out, pointing to each student as she spoke his or her name, "you
will be the aggressors. When I signal, you will approach your opponents
and attempt to trip them." Ron shot a final, pleading look at Hermione and
Harry, then gave up and turned exasperatedly to Neville. Professor Green
took another look around the room, and said, "Let's see what you remember
from last term."
With that, she pulled the silver whistle out of her pocket and blew it. The shrill note echoed through off the stone walls and floor, and the
aggressors lurched forward. Harry wasted no time, quickly closing the
distance between himself and Hermione. He placed his right foot behind
hers, and attempted to push her backward.
But Hermione was ready for him. Just as soon as Harry had planted his
foot behind her, she stretched out her right arm and swiftly placed him in
a headlock, knocking him off-balance. He teetered in front of her for a
split second, then landed flat on the stone floor.
Harry was stunned. He remembered how easily he had beaten Malfoy. He had presumed that defeating Hermione would be just as easy--but he
had presumed too much.
Professor Green knelt near Harry's head, smiling wrily. "Not as easy as
you thought, eh? Not everyone's as ... slow to learn as Malfoy is. Here,"
she held out her hand to help him up, "try again."
He did. He and Hermione spent the next hour trying to trip each other,
and Harry quickly learned to anticipate her moves. By the end of the class
period, Hermione had spent a considerable amount of time on the floor. Longer, in fact, than Harry had.
A short distance away, Ron and Neville were taking turns knocking each
other onto the floor and, by all appearances, enjoying themselves
immensely. Nearby, Seamus was standing over a prone Dean Thomas,
smiling triumphantly. Parvati and Lavender both appeared quite
disheveled and unhappy--somehow they had both ended up on the floor
simultaneously.
"Good work today," Professor Green told them all just before class
ended. She clasped her hands together and looked around with an
expression of approval. "Remember what you've learned. In a few more
weeks, it'll really get interesting."
Ten minutes later, the entire class was making its way up the stone
staircase, panting, covered in sweat, and in desperate need of a bath.
"I let him throw me a few times," Ron whispered to Harry. He eyed
Neville, several steps ahead of them on the landing, and safely out of
earshot. "I figured it would be more fun that way."
Hermione looked back disapprovingly. "Ron, you shouldn't do that! How
will he ever learn if you just let him win?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Trust me, Hermione, he wouldn't learn anything
sitting in the hospital wing with a broken arm."
Hermione sighed indignantly, but she had to concede the point.
"Hermione, you surprised me," Harry said, and meant it. "That headlock
was brilliant."
"Oh, that." She grinned. "Thanks. But after the first ten minutes, you
had my number. I'm going to have to learn to think more quickly if I'm
going to have any hope of beating you next class."
"Hopefully you won't get the chance," Ron put in. "I want to fight Harry next class. Hermione, you fight Neville. It'd give you the chance to make him learn something."
Over the next few days, Harry found that Angelina was as good as her
word. She had spoken with Professor Green and secured permission for
both Harry and Ron to run with the seventh-years on Thursdays and train
with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team on Friday nights.
Harry rather enjoyed running with the seventh-years, who gave him
more competition than his fellow fifth-years had. In the first run of the
term, he was a little surprised to find himself finishing third, behind a
very tall Ravenclaw boy and Bernard, one of the Gryffindors who had tried
out for Keeper with Ginny.
Ron, on the other hand, didn't enjoy the run at all.
"I'm freezing--how cold is it out here, anyway? And those
goons nearly ran me over," he panted as they headed up to the Great Hall,
pointing discreetly at a trio of Slytherins. Harry just smiled and shook
his head.
The seventh-years entered the Hall and took seats at the Slytherin
table, just as the fifth-years did every Friday night. And, just like the
fifth-years, the Slytherins sat at one end of the table, while everyone else
sat at the other. Apparently Draco Malfoy didn't have to be present in
order for malevolent looks to pass between the Slytherins and members of
the other Houses. If anything, the tensions among the seventh-years were
worse than in Harry's and Ron's year.
"Don't pay any attention to them," Lee Jordan said over dessert. He had
noticed Harry's sidelong glances toward the Slytherin end of the table. "They're just jealous because they know we're going to win the Quidditch
Cup this year."
A few seats away, Angelina snorted into her custard. "Lee, did you
watch our last match? Or was your mouth just running while your
brain was on holiday, as usual?" Everyone who heard her comment
laughed, including Harry and Ron.
Lee smiled at her. "No need for such bitter mockery, m'dear. I have a
good feeling about this season, that's all." He reached down to the floor
and began fiddling with something Harry couldn't see. Harry stared at Lee
curiously, until he pulled up what appeared to be a regular Muggle guitar. "Just for that, I am going to sing you a song, Angelina."
Angelina looked at him with mock horror. "Oh, no! Anything but that! I
take it back."
"Too late!" With that, Lee began strumming and ad-libbing a very silly song:
I know a girl named Angelina.
She's captain of the Quidditch team-a.
Her feet are big, her hair is green-a,
And she's not nice but very mean-a.
She goes out with a boy named Fred.
He's short and stout, his hair is red.
He took her by the hand and said--
At this point, Professor Green very wisely cut in.
"Oh, Lee, is that it?" From her spot at the head of the table, she
reached for Lee's guitar. Reluctantly, he gave up his song and handed the
guitar over the heads of several wary Hufflepuffs.
"Yeah, my dad gave it to me for Christmas." He smiled proudly.
Professor Green strummed a few chords, then held the guitar at arm's
length, admiring it. "Gorgeous. You'll be playing this one at the dance,
then?"
"Yeah."
Harry and Ron cast wary glances at each other. "Dance?" Ron asked
tentatively, as though he were afraid that a terrible fear was about to be
confirmed.
"Oh, yes," Professor Green answered, handing the guitar back to Lee as
the Hufflepuffs dodged and ducked apprehensively. "A Valentine's Day
dance. It was my idea, I thought it might help to ... ease some of the
tensions that have developed between the Houses this year." She glanced
quickly at the Slytherins, who were just standing up to leave. "Professor
Dumbledore is going to announce it any day."
Ron sighed heavily. Harry had developed a knot in his stomach and
suddenly lost all interest in his blackberry pie. Neither one of them had
forgotten the social disaster that had been the previous year's Yule Ball. They had managed to come out of the experience alive, but not before
Harry had humiliated himself in front of Cho Chang, and Ron and Hermione
had exchanged several unfriendly words at an elevated volume.
Later, they walked through the corridors toward the Gryffindor common
room, lost in thought.
"If I don't ask Hermione this year, I don't reckon I'll ever hear the end
of it," Ron muttered. Harry suppressed the urge to laugh.
"If you don't want to ask her, don't ask her."
"Right. Well, you know ... I guess I might as well. It would be better
than not going at all. I mean, why not? Right?" Ron was making an
extravagant effort to sound offhand, which just intensified Harry's urge to
laugh.
"You'll go, won't you?" They had reached the portrait hole, and Ron had
turned to face Harry.
"Me?"
"Come on, Harry! Please? It would be so much more fun with you there. It could be the four of us--you can ask Cho!"
"Right," Harry answered sarcastically.
"No, really, I bet she'd go with you this year, since--"
Ron stopped himself, but they both knew what he was going to say next. Since Cedric's not here to ask her. Harry winced involuntarily. Ron
quickly changed the subject.
"But she likes you, doesn't she? I mean, hasn't she always been nice to
you?"
Harry thought about this for a moment. Ron had a point; Cho had always
been kind to him, even when most of the school believed he had illegally
entered himself into the Triwizard Tournament. If he was honest with
himself, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind going to a Valentine's
dance with Cho.
This time it was his turn to try to sound casual. "Okay, I guess I can try to ask her. I mean, might as well. Whatever."
***
"Our next match is with Hufflepuff," Angelina remarked as the
Gryffindor Quidditch team sat in the locker room before practice the
following night. "Now, they're not likely to try Slytherin's roughhouse
tactics, but we've got to have a defensive strategy to counter it, just in
case. Harry, you're Plan A. If you can get the Snitch before the other team
has a chance to score many goals with the Quaffle, no amount of bullying
can save them."
Angelina wasn't as long-winded as Oliver Wood, but she was close. Harry didn't mean to tune her out, but at the moment he was far more
interested in putting together a strategy for asking Cho to the dance.
Just as Professor Green had promised, Dumbledore had announced the
dance to the students that morning at breakfast. The girls had looked
around excitedly, while the boys--especially the younger ones--had
simply shrugged or shot each other puzzled glances, clearly not
understanding what all the fuss was about.
Hermione had listened to the announcement with interest, but said
nothing to either Harry or Ron about it.
"Cat's out of the bag now. We'd better say something soon," Ron had
whispered confidentially. Harry had nodded. But remembering how it had
felt to ask and be rejected last year certainly dampened his
determination.
"Harry, are you listening?" Angelina hissed angrily.
"Uh, yeah." Harry snapped out of his reverie. "You were talking about
our defensive strategy."
Fred, George, and Ron snickered, while Alicia and Katie rolled their
eyes. Ginny restrained a chuckle.
"Actually, I was talking about our offensive strategy. Never
mind, I'll show you. Everyone get your brooms and come on." With that,
they all filed out of the locker room and onto the field.
Two hours later, the team trudged wordlessly up the steps to Gryffindor Tower. Angelina had worked them all unusually hard that night--even Ron, a reserve--and they were utterly exhausted. As they passed through the common room, they didn't see any of the fifth-years who, Harry figured, must still be eating a late dinner. He and Ron parted with the rest of the team and climbed the staircase to their dormitory, where they mumbled their goodnights and fell into bed. Too bad, Harry thought as he drifted off to sleep. He was sure that Ron had been hoping to ask Hermione to the dance that night, just to get it out of the way.
***
Author's Note: Okay, apparently free time doesn't always accompany unemployment. Nevertheless, here is the next chapter! My undying thanks to all reviewers. Oh, and I forgot to thank SiriaBlack from the UHPMS site for giving me Professor Thorne's name, and w1zzard for giving me the whole idea of the scroll. What generous individuals.
I gather that the "Hogwarts dance" is considered something of a fanfic cliche. Bummer. For the record, I conceived of this storyline not having read any such fanfics. I hope you don't find it too tedious.
Of course, this entire world belongs to the prodigiously talented and
ultimately inimitable J. K. Rowling.
