Disclaimer: Would I really be here if I'd invented anything good?
A/N: GinnyPotter, you underestimate me...That's all I'm saying. Read this part and you'll feel quite a bit better, I'm sure. ^_^ Don't count me out of the G/H fan club yet...
Me, Myself, and My Coffee: Okay, okay, okay...Sorry. It's just that I have virtually no self-esteem whatsoever, about anything, and it has intensified since I started my honors classes this year. I think that somewhere, in the back of my mind, I do actually like my work, but I'm afraid it's buried pretty deep down there. And I only used to ever write for myself, and this is sort of new to me, submitting my writing to others. So forgive me, I'll refrain from being pessimistic and self-pitying, okay? ^_^ Sorry 'bout that.
And Ebony, that was a positively nasty statement about our dear Kaiser *makes gagging noises*, but it made me laugh and it is most likely not far from the truth...
Guys, I am so sorry I didn't post sooner, but what with exams and guitar and my site deleting itself and doing…emm…rather badly…on my History test, I've been a bit busy with my life off of FFN (yes, I actually do have one). To make up for it, this is an especially long part and it's in HTML format. If this uploads properly, anyway…
Lost - Part 11
by Veralidaine (well, duh.)
Hermione woke up slowly, in the light-purple room, soft, gray winter sunlight streaming through the lavender-colored curtains, which were drawn shut gently. She sat up and slid to the edge of her bed, dangling her tiny feet over the floor, grinning to herself. That sense of absolute giddiness came about her, just thinking about Christmas morning...What had Santa brought? Hopefully that set of Madeline L'Engle books she'd asked for...
She slid off the bed, adjusting her pajama pants (the pink ones with the little purple stars), and very carefully let the door creak open. Her little feet barely made any noise as they descended the stairs and turned into her parents' room. On one side, her Dad's muffled snoring could be heard, and on the other, a frizzled mass of brown hair was just visible.
Hermione giggled and, with some effort, as she was quite small, climbed up on the large bed and stumbled across the mattress, trying to avoid stray limbs under the sheets. She flumped down between the two slumbering forms, shaking the bed, and both woke up with groggy groaning noises.
"Hermione, sweetie, I think it's a bit early, don't you?" came her Mum's voice, rather muffled by the pillow. "What time is it, Paul?"
"Five-thirty," came the equally muffled and groggy reply. "Sweetheart, why don't you go back to bed for another hour or so—"
"Aw, Paul, it's Christmas," her Mum said, stretching and sitting up. "C'mon, we can get up early." She stifled a laugh as she took in Hermione's appearance. "Look at her, honey, she's obviously not going to be able to go back to sleep!"
Hermione grinned and bounced up and down on the springy mattress until her father relented and sat up as well. Then, with a cheer, she slid off the bed and tottered into the living room, her parents following behind, muttering something about making some nice strong tea.
There were the books, as expected, and a pretty china doll, as well as a pretty little silver locket, which, upon closer inspection, contained a picture taken the previous summer of herself and her parents at the beach one Sunday. Hermione had only been five at the time...She slid it around her neck and her mum did the clasp for her.
"Thanks, Mum..." Hermione threw her little arms around her mother's neck, taking in the smell of roses—it was from the pretty-smelling bath oil she used. Sometimes, when she got the chance, she'd put a drop or so in her bath. Letting go, she proceeded to hug her father as well, giggling as he tickled her, and then let go to let her move on to the presents under the tree...
As she sat by the fire later that evening, flipping through A Wrinkle in Time, she couldn't help but think to herself that it had been quite possibly the best Christmas she'd had in ages. Not that she could remember much, being only six years old. But it had been simply wonderful.
And then she woke up.
Hermione sat up abruptly in bed, the smell of rose oil and the fireplace still vividly teasing her senses. She looked around, half-expecting her lavender-colored room, or maybe to have woken up next to the fire with her books...But instead she could see the dark red velvet hangings of her four-poster bed. In Gryffindor tower. And her parents were dead, and her house was burned to the ground...Even the locket was gone.
She was concentrating hard on refraining from sobbing—she didn't want to make noise. Hot tears stung at her eyes and began spilling down her cheeks, though she made no sound. She didn't want to wake Lavender or Parvati, or they'd be sympathetic, and she'd cry even more. But she couldn't just stay there...She had to get up. Where she had to go, she didn't know. She only knew she couldn't stay in her dormitory.
She padded down the stairs, trying in vain to ignore the horrible sense of déjà vu, and plopped down on the couch, shoulders shaking slightly. She'd not told anyone how badly she missed them. She hadn't wanted to worry Ron or Harry, or indeed anyone, and she didn't want sympathy. But she missed them so badly...It hurt so much.
It probably wouldn't be that hurtful if it weren't a few days before Christmas. There was to be a Yule Ball-type dance on Christmas. They didn't call it outright "the Yule Ball" since it was technically a tradition reserved for the Triwizard Tournament, but it was very similar, Hermione thought. Basically, all of Hogwarts above the age of thirteen was staying over the holidays just to go the stupid thing. Ron hadn't asked her yet, but she had a pretty good idea that he would. And hopefully it would be a bit less fitful than last time…
But that wasn't what concerned her right now. It was nearly Christmas, and her parents were dead. So she was miserable.
She settled herself down on the couch and sighed, curling up and trying to be as small as possible. Maybe she could sleep out here, where she was away from the memories. Well, as much as she could be. She closed her eyes, her last sight being the embers glowing in the fireplace. And she drifted off to sleep again…
She was in her room again, an essay on Animagi in front of her, yellowish parchment curling up at the ends. Wait, this was familiar…
Crookshanks mewed quietly and leaped up into her lap. Hermione smiled, setting down her quill as she pondered the next sentence. Suddenly, the cat made a low, guttural sound and jumped off Hermione's lap, digging his back claws into her thigh as he did so.
"Ow," Hermione muttered, examining the small cuts on her leg. "Crookshanks, what—?"
But the cat had promptly scurried out of the room and down the stairs. Standing up from her chair, Hermione followed him down to the landing, and then to the front door, where he mewed loudly. Curious as to why he needed to be outside at that particular moment, but not wanting to experience more scratching, she opened the front door and Crookshanks streaked past her into the night.
Hermione closed the door, curious about what exactly had prompted the cat to leave, but forgetting it as the phone rang. It was Auriela, a younger girl from the next block over, who Hermione had known for ages. Auriela was one of her few friends outside of Hogwarts, and apparently was anxious to see her after her trip to Spain. After a few minutes of the usual "how are you"s, Hermione invited her over, and then headed into the kitchen to investigate what was available for snacks. There was a light knock on the door.
'That's Auriela,' Hermione thought. 'Well, that was fast…' "Mum, would you get that, please?"
Then, not thirty seconds later, she froze as she heard her Mum scream. And her Dad yelled, "Hermione! Get out of the house! NOW!"
Everything seemed to slow down, and Hermione sprinted out of the kitchen, ignoring the instructions she'd received. There were yells and screams coming from the other room, and pushing open the dining room door, she saw something that made her heart stop. There were at least a dozen Death Eaters, and they were pushing something heavy-looking out the front door and…laughing…
Hermione felt herself retch, and turned to run, but then one of them turned a hooded face and saw her, and she turned around and ran for the back door. But, of course, it had to be locked. And the lock had to be stuck. She could hear one of them coming up behind her and starting to yell a curse, and she screamed "ALOHOMORA!" at the lock, which promptly clicked (she had no time to marvel at the fact that she hadn't even used her wand), and she slammed into the door and ran outside into the summery night.
Yells issued from the house, and she could see flames dancing outside the windows on the second story. She turned back around and tried to run into the next yard to ask for help, but she knew the neighbors were out of town on vacation, so they wouldn't be there. The next house had a huge yard and was farther away, but she could make it if she ran quickly enough—but then, she couldn't run very quickly…She had to try. She set off, tripping over her own feet in fear and the kind of life-or-death desperation that must have been so familiar to Harry, but was almost completely unknown to her.
She tripped, cutting her knee on a small, sharp stone, and then stood up again, ignoring the pulsating pain in her leg. She started to run, but it hurt, and she could feel blood running down her shin from the cut…She could still make it. She had to. But then someone lunged at her from behind and caused her to go careening into the grass, screaming.
Looking up, she saw a glint of silver in the shape of what she recognized as a hand. Hadn't Harry mentioned that Wormtail…?
She stopped thinking of it as the silver hand pulled out a long dagger. This was a surprise, as Hermione had merely expected the Avada Kedavra curse. Instead, she cried out as the hooded figure swiped the blade against her cheek, bloodying it, and stood up, looking down at her.
She mumbled the only spell that came to mind at the time—a silly, useless, and most likely false protection spell—and the figure backed away, looking annoyed. He pointed his wand at her, sending a flame spell, but it only barely managed to lick her skin. She yelled again, extremely glad through the pain for the rather meager protection the shielding charm apparently offered, and watched as the Death Eater just left to join the others. He walked up to them, showing the bloody knife and murmuring something. Then he turned to one of them that was holding a burlap bag which seemed to contain a squirming animal of some sort, said something Hermione didn't hear, and then the entire troop Disapparated. And then Auriela showed up, about thirty seconds later (or was it longer? She couldn't tell…), looking panicked and afraid, and murmuring to Hermione as she blacked out, still murmuring that ridiculous charm…
Whimpering, Hermione sat up, blinking furiously as she tried to ascertain her surroundings. The couch, Gryffindor common room, at Hogwarts…Okay…It's okay, Hermione, don't be stupid. You're back at Hogwarts and everything's okay now…For heavens' sake, don't be a dolt.
She'd been having this nightmare for ages, and no matter how often she went through it, it was always terrifying and horrible, and it always played all the way through in her mind, and no matter what she did she couldn't stop it, and she couldn't change it. Her dreams were haunted with the Dark Mark and Death Eaters, and her mother's scream…
She heard rather loud footsteps on the stairs and quieted her whimpering. She needn't worry anyone with this nonsense of nightmares…Although, this was not exactly something she'd just dreamed up. It had actually happened, and that made it even worse than the most horrific fictional nightmares.
Glancing over the back of the couch towards the staircases to the boys' and girls' dormitories, she saw a tousle-haired, yawning Ron. He stretched his long arms over his head, and froze in that fairly ridiculous position as he spotted her. "Oh, didn't know you were up. It's late—why're you still awake?"
Hermione shrugged. "Couldn't sleep, I guess," she said, wishing her voice sounded less frightened. Ron had caught on; she knew he would.
***
Ron raised an eyebrow. He'd come down originally because he couldn't sleep. He'd gotten an uneasy sort of feeling in his stomach and decided to come down and ask the nearest house elf for a cup of tea or something. Mind, he often felt uneasy after Harry had informed him that it was very likely that Hermione was related to Voldemort. Hermione had taken it with a rather surprisingly calm attitude, but later Ron had found her crying out by the lake.
He'd assured her that everything would be all right, and that he didn't care whom she was related to. After all, she wasn't Voldemort, and neither were her parents. That had seemed to help a bit. It made Ron's blood boil to know all that she'd been through. Hermione had lost her home and her parents, was in top classes and expected to get top marks, had just found out that she might be related to possibly the most dark and evil wizard ever in existence, and now she was having to deal with Christmas without her Mum and Dad. From now on.
And now she was sitting, curled up on the couch nearest the fireplace, hugging herself for warmth and whimpering as quietly as she could manage. She obviously didn't want him to worry about her, but she was scared about something. Though, Ron noted, she had a lot to be scared of, really. She looked up at him, doing her best to give him a smile. "R-Ron, what are you doing down here?"
"I needed a cuppa tea," Ron said, letting his hands hang down by his sides. "You okay?" What kind of stupid question was that? Of course she wasn't...
"Oh, I'm fine," Hermione said, voice quavering slightly. Her lip trembled and she looked away.
So he just settled himself next to her on the couch and looked at her. "Feel like talking?"
She shook her head quickly. "Not…Not particularly."
He raised an eyebrow. "'Mione, you're shaking. You can't just keep it to yourself—please tell me."
She stared at him for a moment, as if deciding what to do at this point, and then nodded. "Okay," she whispered. He slid an arm around her shoulders, scooting closer so that she could lean up against him. She sighed deeply. "I was remembering...I was remembering Christmas when I was about six. And Mum and Dad." Her lip trembled, and Ron was sure she'd start crying. She wiped her eyes furiously, but didn't. "I...Ron, I just miss them. So much. And lately...it's been so hard to keep from crying, and I'm really tired of it all."
Ron sighed and leaned his head on hers. "I know."
"But that's not all." She seemed to be steeling herself up for what she said next. "I've been having these horrible nightmares…About the night my parents died. Over and over and over again. They never stop. And it's so scary, Ron, it's just dreadful. I can't stop it, no matter what, and it always is the same. And it scares me so much…" She glared at the fireplace, self-disgust evident in her voice. "And I hate that I'm scared. I shouldn't be telling you this. It'll just make you get all over-protective and I don't want to be treated like that. I can't have you two feel like you have to rescue me all the time."
Ron wasn't quite sure what to say to this. He knew that while Hermione wanted to be recognized as a girl, she didn't want the whole Damsel-In-Distress bit that came with it. Obviously she didn't want he and Harry to worry about her, or to get neurotic about her safety. He hadn't realized she had been having nightmares…She'd told him once about the horrible happenings of that night, but the details were left out, and to dream it over and over again had to be simply…well…nightmarish.
Hermione leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed rather raggedly. "I'm scared to go to sleep, you know," she muttered, obviously having pondered whether to say this or not.
"Well, you need to sleep. Maybe you should head back up to your dormitory…"
"No, I don't want to. I don't want to be alone right now." She shivered and he tightened his grip around her shoulders.
"Well, I'll stay with you here, if you like." Oh, as if you'd let her out of your sight now that she's told you all that, you great prat. She's right—you ARE a marshmallow. Just don't let on that you're scared for her or she'll get annoyed.
"Thank you," she muttered quietly. "But please…Don't go and tell Harry, okay? I don't want you two getting all…Well…The way you tend to get. Just don't. I don't need to cause any worry to anyone."
"Well, we have to worry. We care about you, as corny as that may sound."
Hermione managed a small smile and sighed. "Honestly, Ron, I dunno what I'd do without you two."
He smiled slightly and sighed. "Likewise…I hate to see you suffer like this, though" he muttered to the top of her head. "I wish there was some way I could help you, or make it easier for you. Unfortunately, I'm just me, and I can't. All I can do is…well…be me and try to make it a little easier, even if it is only a little. I may be contradictory and annoying, but I do love you." Hermione snuggled closer in response. "'Mione?" No response. She was asleep.
Ron sighed, wrapping his arms around her, and closed his eyes, hoping everything would be better in the morning.
***
Ron woke up next to the now smoldering fire to a faint tapping noise on the window. Carefully removing himself from Hermione's grip and laying her gently back down on the couch, he stretched and let the owl inside. It was from his father, and as he opened it, a small charm fell out, followed by a silver chain. It slid into his hand like liquid, falling open in the process and revealing a picture of a small, bushy-haired girl he recognized as probably a five-year-old Hermione, and two smiling people who could only be her parents. Setting this aside, Ron opened the letter curiously.
Ron,
The ministry's been looking through the Grangers' house for any sort of clue as to why they were attacked, or for any belongings of Hermione's that might have survived the fire. Sadly, all we've come up with so far is this little locket—found it in the rubble. Judging from the picture inside, it's quite important. Please deliver it to her—I would have sent it straight to her, but I wasn't sure quite what to write in a letter for that sort of thing. I thought you'd be able to handle it more gracefully than I would.
Love,
Dad
Well. This was an interesting development. He wasn't sure exactly what to do about it—he was going to give it to her, of course, but he didn't want to get her upset right now, not after she'd been dreaming the night before about her parents...
He realized with a start that it was the day before Christmas Eve. He'd ask Hermione to the not-quite-Yule Ball as soon as she woke up. And then he'd go to breakfast. Yes, that sounded good. Maybe afterwards they could go play out in the snow—they had obviously acquired a good three inches overnight, and that added to the leftover snowfall from last week culminated in perfect snowball fighting conditions.
Ron was vaguely wondering what time it was when Ginny came hurtling through the portrait hole, a roll of parchment clutched in one hand, the Daily Prophet in the other, and a frantically scared expression on her little freckled face. After a half-second of wondering what on earth was wrong, Ron managed to find his voice: "Ginny!"
She stopped just at the foot of the stairs to her dormitory and turned to face him, looking somewhere between relieved and frantic. "Ron, oh, you won't believe this, Ron, it's just…Oh no oh no oh no…" She crammed the article into his hands and clamped one small hand over her mouth, brown eyes wide. Ron, curious and with a sense of definite foreboding, scanned the article.
Dark Lord Spotted in Egypt, Takes Hostages
Cairo, Egypt— Late Tuesday evening outside Cairo's Gringotts International Wizarding Bank, the Dark Lord appeared with what surviving spectators claim was a horde of approximately twenty Death Eaters, and attacked the building, taking several hostages in the process. Workers Sarah Connelly, Raj Patel, Abdul Eziki, and William Weasley were the four employees so far reported as missing. Local authorities aren't yet sure of the Dark Lord's motives for the attack, but investigations are underway and Britain's Ministry of Magic hopes to recover the hostages, but members this reporter managed to question refused to comment.Ron promptly went into a fit of swearing. There was a soft noise over on the couch and Hermione sat up. "Ron, what—?"
"Dammit! Oh, for the love of—What are we supposed to—What of Mum and Dad—What the hell do they mean by 'hopes to recover'? What the hell?"
He promptly flew into another spell of swearing loudly. Hermione curiously grabbed the article from his shaking hand and read it, eyes wide. "B—Bill's been taken?" she whispered.
Ron had now managed to calm down enough to only mutter under his breath, taking shallow, quick breaths. "My God…" He looked up. "Ginny…Ginny, you'd best owl Mum and Dad. I know they'll have read the article already, but…"
Ginny nodded, looking as though she'd gone into a sort of shock. "Right…" She vaguely waved the bit of parchment she had clutched in her hand. "That's what this is for. I'll…I'll go write home."
She slowly started up the stairs and Ron, suddenly dizzy, swayed for a moment and then collapsed into a nearby chair (which had been hastily directed there by Hermione's wand). She practically flew over to his chair and sat on the armrest uncertainly. "Ron, are…are you okay? I mean, of course you aren't, but…I mean…"
"I know what you mean," Ron said honestly. "I just…" He began another string of cursing, but quieted it at the cringing look on Hermione's face. "What…What are we going to do? I mean…"
"Ron…" Hermione sighed. "Ron, there's nothing we can do just now. We'll find a way, but as for right now…" She squeezed his hand gently. "He's not dead, Ron, or at least it's highly unlikely."
He refrained from making a bitter comment—this wasn't Hermione's fault. "How d'you know?"
Hermione shivered. "Well…I think I've an idea as to why Voldemort"—Ron flinched—"attacked that particular bank."
"Why?" Ron asked, genuinely curious.
"Well…" Hermione said softly. "They tried my house, but for some reason I escaped. They tried your house, didn't they? And no one was there. They're looking for some way to get to me, and since I'm at Hogwarts, they can't as of now. Dumbledore put a special charm on the cottage your Mum and Dad are staying in so that Voldemort can't find them,"—Ron forgot to flinch over the name, as this last bit confused him; he'd not heard about this—"so he had to go to the only Weasley that wasn't staying in your house at the time, and wasn't wandering around Romania, unable to be found. He just is doing this to get to me. Or Harry. Or both."
Ron gritted his teeth. "Well, don't I feel like the fifth wheel, then. I'm just here to provide ways to piss you two off?" He laughed bitterly. "Oh, good, I knew I was here for something. Glad to know I'm useful."
"Ron, please…"
He glanced back at Hermione and softened a bit at the pleading expression on her face. "Sorry, 'Mione…It's just that…Well, the least he could do is have some issue with me before he starts taking my relatives hostage."
"Ron, might I remind you that neither Harry nor I has any close relatives left for him to take? He's set on getting at us somehow, and you're the only way…"
"That's…Well, don't get me started."
She shook her head. "Ron, I'm so sorry…This is all my fault…Mine and Harry's. It shouldn't have happened to your family; you had nothing to do with it. It's all because you know us—Harry and I. I just…I wish…"
"…we'd never met?" Ron finished. "What, that Quirrel hadn't ever let that great ugly troll in? That we'd never done our homework together or watched Harry play Quidditch or—or—or any of the trips to Hogsmeade? Or that first time we ever went to the Halloween Feast together? Hermione, I hate Volde—" He stopped and swallowed, but decided to go through with it. He closed his eyes. "I hate…Voldemort. I wish he'd never been born. No, more than that I want to kill him. I wish we already had killed him. It would make all our lives so much easier. Unfortunately, he exists, and for whatever reason feels that it's necessary to torture the three of us, as well as everyone else in his way. That's no reason to wish we'd never met. For heaven's sake, Hermione," he said, looking at her, "at least enjoy the few good things we've got…"
Ron realized he'd been sitting so painfully straight in the chair that it had cramped his back up, and he collapsed back into it, head spinning. Whoa, that was emotion. He wasn't supposed to display emotion. No way. That was really weird…Oh, bugger, she's looking at me again. Oh, for the love of—is she going to cry? God, I ALWAYS mess things up…
This last thought had been prompted by Hermione looking at him in an I'm-Going-To-Start-Crying-In-A-Moment sort of way, but she didn't. She pulled him into a hug and whispered, "Thank you," into his ear. Ron hugged her back of course, seeing as he just couldn't help himself, but mentally he was scolding himself for showing so much emotion. It made him feel like a sentimental idiot, and he certainly didn't like that. On the other hand, this was Hermione, so it was okay.
"D'you want to go get some breakfast?" she asked softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes in a motherly sort of fashion.
Ron shrugged. "I'm not particularly hungry, but I s'pose. I'm also not too anxious to see Malfoy; he'll have read the papers already, and—"
Hermione shook her head, interrupting. "Trust me, Ron, if Malfoy dares to even look at you funny, I'll hex him so fast it'll make his head spin. Or maybe I'll turn him into a ferret—I've figured out the spell."
Just the memory forced Ron to smile a little, despite the circumstances. "Oh, I'd love to see him as a rodent again…"
Hermione smiled lightly and patted his hand. "Well, let's get down to the Great Hall, then, okay?"
Ron nodded, standing up and feeling a tad better. "Right. Also, d'you want to come to the Christmas Ball with me?"
She feigned a look of surprise. "Why, Ron, that was almost…almost dignified." She grinned. "I'd love to. Now, you head on down to the Great Hall, and I'll go find Ginny and see that she's okay. We'll be down in a moment."
Ah, yes, Ginny. In his own panic, he'd nearly forgotten her, and now he felt extremely guilty about it. Hermione wouldn't let him come with her to comfort his little sister, though, so he decided to head down and find Harry. Privately, he felt Hermione could do a better job, anyway.
***
Harry choked on his pumpkin juice, thoroughly spraying the article in front of him with the sticky, orange stuff. William Weasley? BILL? Oh, no…
At that moment, Ron seated himself next to Harry, scowling deeply at the article. Harry glanced at Ron, worried that he'd not read it yet, but Ron nodded angrily and muttered, "Yeah, Ginny brought it up."
"Oh…" Harry wasn't quite sure how to voice how he felt. Okay, so far, Voldemort was responsible for countless innocent people's deaths, and this included his parents, Hermione's parents, and quite possibly Bill Weasley. He was beginning to get that sort of angry, lost, hopeless feeling in the pit of his stomach. Again, he chased it away, worried that it might drive him insane.
He wasn't scared of Voldemort, really, but more of what he might do to Ron and Hermione, or those close to them. He was afraid for them, and for the few close friends he had. And he was so angry…It wasn't fair. And somewhere in there, he was aching from all the losses—especially his parents. It was such a range of emotions that he wasn't quite sure what to make of it, so he just buried it away whenever it surfaced, hoping (though he knew it wouldn't ever happen) that it would just go away.
Harry and Ron were both silent for a moment, but the peace was interrupted as Seamus Finnigan seated himself on Ron's other side and looked at them both, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his freckled face. "Uhm…You guys? There's…Uhm…an interesting rumor flying around that I thought you might want to know about…"
"What's that?" Ron asked in a bored tone, swirling about a half-inch of pumpkin juice around the bottom of his goblet.
"Uhm…"
"Well, spit it out," Ron said exasperatedly.
Seamus, apparently having given up on the careful approach to this, looked at Harry, as he couldn't quite get eye-contact from Ron, who was busy glaring at his empty plate. "Well…They're saying over at that end of the table that Hermione Granger's…Well, that she's related to You-Know-Who."
Harry blinked. "What?" he asked, not quite sure he'd heard correctly. How on earth could they know that?
Seamus raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think it was true, but—"
"Doesn't matter," Ron cut in. "Where did you hear it?"
Seamus shrugged. "There was this Ravenclaw talking to us about it…Ackerly? Yeah, Stewart Ackerly. Why? It's not true…Is it?"
Ron and Harry had both stood up, ignoring Seamus' sputtering disbelief at what, apparently, was true. Ron beat Harry to the Ravenclaw table and almost immediately had a very nervous-looking Ackerly standing in front of him, wringing his hands. The third year was obviously unaware that the subject of the rumors he'd been spreading happened to have a very tall, very easily angered boyfriend.
As Harry jogged up to the two of them, he caught a snatch of what Ackerly was saying (well, more like stuttering): "Honestly, I d-didn't know if it was t-true or not; I was just t-telling my friend Denis…He musta told ev'ryone else…"
Ron was looking supremely annoyed, and it was obviously frightening the other boy, so Harry spoke up. "Uhm…Well, Stewart, where did you hear the rumor?"
Ackerly, apparently very glad for the distraction, turned to Harry nervously and shrugged. "I heard it from a Hufflepuff seventh year girl—don't know her name—who heard it from Professor Chang. I'm sorry, I guess…" He trailed off nervously, obviously unsure of what to say.
Harry's stomach dropped about three notches. Professor Chang? Cho? But she wouldn't…Would she?
Ron was looking at Harry oddly. Not quite making eye contact with Ackerly, he nodded. "Just don't spread ridiculous rumors, okay? Oh, and sorry 'bout being so quick to judge…" He paused, looking somewhat sheepish. "Uh…I didn't mean to be so harsh."
"'S okay," Ackerly said slowly, sidling back to his seat and giving Ron a cautious glance.
As they walked back to the table, Ron muttered aside to Harry. "You told Cho."
It wasn't a question. Harry swallowed. "I…I sort of realized it while on that date with her. I couldn't really help it."
"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said, in a kind of furious whisper, not looking at him. "What did you think you were doing?"
"What d'you mean, what did I think I was doing?" Harry whispered back, nearly as harshly. "It was Cho!"
"That's exactly my point!" Ron muttered, sliding into his seat.
Harry did the same. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked in a warning tone.
Ron crossed his arms defiantly. "Harry, look, I know you're all moony over her, but I don't care. I thought you knew she was the school's resident Princess of Gossip."
"She is not!"
"Harry, look," Ron said slowly. "I know this is difficult, but Cho and Dumbledore are the only other people who know. Obviously Dumbledore's not the one spreading this around the school, so that leaves me, you, Hermione, and Cho. And it wasn't me or Hermione, and I certainly doubt it was you."
Harry just stared at his plate, not really wanting to believe it. Hermione was going to be really angry. And it was really his fault.
Suddenly, the hall fell silent, and Harry looked up. Hermione and Ginny had just entered, both looking confused at the sudden lack of noise. Then the whispers started, following Hermione as she curiously seated herself next to Ron in Seamus' vacated seat. "What's going on?"
Ron looked meaningfully at Harry, and Harry wanted to throttle him. "Uh…Hermione…"
All the first years, as one, got up from their end of the table and went down to the other side, as far from Hermione as possible. She looked thoroughly confused and turned to Ron, a questioning look on her face. Ron sighed loudly and Harry, grimacing, murmured what had happened.
Hermione's eyes widened and, resting her elbows on the table, she put her face in her hands. "Oh, for heaven's sake…" she murmured, sounding muffled. "No one will want to come within a mile of me now, will they?"
Harry was extremely annoyed as Ron slipped an arm around her shoulders and glanced at Harry tiredly. Oh, so this was his fault now, was it?
At that precise moment, the worst possible person decided to make an appearance right next to them. "Harry?"
Harry snapped his head up and looked at Cho, who was standing, oblivious to the chaos she'd caused, next to him. "Harry, you know how that Christmas Ball is coming up in a few days?"
"Yeah," Harry muttered, knowing all too well where this was headed. Cho looked at him expectantly, and he realized she was waiting for him to ask her. "Oh! Oh, Cho, I'm…Uhm…" He glanced at Ron, who was giving him a Whose-Side-Are-You-On look, and then at Hermione who was determinedly not looking at Cho, and then at Ginny, who was determinedly not looking in their direction at all and was slightly pink.
He sighed. "I'm really sorry, but I've already agreed to go with someone else. You know, since I thought you weren't going to be allowed, since you're a teacher…" he trailed off lamely.
Cho nodded brightly. "Oh, that's fine, Harry," she said, and turned, heading back to the staff table.
Harry cringed. He couldn't just leave it at that. He stood and jogged after her. "Cho?"
She turned back around. "Yes, Harry?" she said, smiling at him. Somehow, she didn't seem quite so pretty anymore.
"Uhm…Well, I think we ought to break it off," he said quickly, and Cho looked a bit surprised.
"That's fine, Harry…" she said casually. There was a short pause. "Why, though?"
"Uhm…" Harry paused, unsure of quite how to explain this.
"Is there someone else?"
Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Why'd you tell, Cho?"
She looked highly affronted, and blushed. "Oh…Uh…Harry, I'm really sorry…I didn't think…Okay, well, I'll see you in class, then, okay?" And she turned and practically flew to the staff table.
"I hate this," Harry said hollowly, knowing full-well that no one heard him. He stalked quickly out of the hall. Once out in the Entrance Hall, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. His life was a complete mess right about now, and he was getting tired of all these…complications. As if it weren't enough to have the darkest, evilest wizard of all time after his blood, now Ron was angry with him. And he was angry with Cho.
"Harry?"
He turned around, startled to see Ginny standing nervously a few feet away. "Oh, hi."
"Hi," she said softly. "Sorry about the whole thing with Ron. He's…He's very protective of Hermione, you know, and he doesn't mean to be a big git, but sometimes he just can't help it…"
Harry smiled slightly. "Oh, Ginny, you don't have to apologize for Ron. I'm not angry with him, really. More with the situation. And Cho. She said she wouldn't tell anyone…" He trailed off, rather uncomfortable discussing his crush of the past four years with Ginny Weasley. She didn't need this, what with Bill getting kidnapped and all…On the other hand, she seemed to be a much better listener than anyone else he'd thought about talking to. "Anyway…You don't have to take the blame…"
Ginny nodded. "Well, I know, but Ron…Well, he's really worried for the two of you, especially Hermione. She's 'on the verge of going crackers,' apparently." Harry smiled at her Ron-imitation. It was pretty good. "I can't say I disagree…She's been really stressed lately, what with school and this whole Vol—Voldemort thing." She looked thoroughly proud of herself for saying it. "We're all pretty worried about her."
Harry nodded, scuffing his feet on the flagged stone floor. "So 'm I. I really wish none of this had happened. I wish…" He went ahead and said it. "I wish I hadn't even gone on that stupid date with Cho." He slid down the wall he'd been leaning against and fell into a sitting position, sighing.
Ginny was obviously unsure of what to say to this, so she came and sat down next to him. "Well, it's not your fault, you know, Harry…"
"It kinda is," Harry muttered, looking at his hands. "I mean, if I hadn't told her, none of this would have happened. And now Ron and Hermione are angry."
"No they aren't," Ginny said, shaking her head. "In fact, Hermione gave Ron the what-for after you left. Said he was being insensitive. Ron got all embarrassed then, because he didn't mean to be, you know. I expect he'll apologize to you before the day's out."
Harry nodded. "I was stupid. You know, I always liked Cho because she was older and a good seeker, and…Well, because I could, mostly. I didn't know her at all. What was I thinking, going and telling her something like that?"
Ginny sighed. "Do you have anyone to talk to, Harry?"
He looked at her, startled. "What?"
She sighed again. "Well, Ron has Hermione to talk to. He's even cried in front of her—but don't tell him I told you," Ginny said quickly. "Hermione talks to Ron, he talks to her…And you're sort of alone, when it comes to that. And I'm pretty sure you've got lots on your mind, what with Hermione and Vol…demort, and all the nonsense you deal with. I get the impression that you sort of…bottle it up."
Harry looked at Ginny incredulously. She was looking away, obviously thinking she'd said way too much. Harry couldn't believe what she'd said, though—she had him completely understood. "How…Did…You…?"
She looked at him, offering a small smile. "I spend a lot of time around teenaged boys, Harry," she said softly. "Trust me, you lot are as transparent as Nearly-Headless Nick."
Harry smiled. "Well…That's impressive." He paused, thinking. "I shouldn't have you worrying about me, though. I mean, Bill's gone missing and everything…"
Ginny nodded, smile fading. "Well, Hermione and I talked about it. There's nothing I can do right now, so all we can do is hope."
Harry sighed. "I'm sorry."
Ginny looked at him, a worried expression coming over her face. "Why on earth should you be, Harry?" she said incredulously. "It's not your fault!"
Harry shrugged. "No, but sometimes I feel like it is. You know, I can't talk to anyone, because I don't want to put this on them. This is my life, and these are my problems. No one else should have to deal with them."
"Still…" Ginny said softly. "Still, you shouldn't bottle it up like this…"
He sighed. "I just…Well, I don't want to go into it right now, but—"
"No, Harry, tell me," Ginny said decisively.
Harry stared. "You've got enough to worry about; you don't need my problems—"
"No, don't do that. Just…Tell me what's on your mind."
So, grudgingly, Harry did so. He told her about worrying about Hermione, and how he hated fighting with Ron, and how Hermione was related to Voldemort, and that Cho had told, and how he was angry with her now…How much he missed his parents and worried for his friends, and how much he despised himself for being the cause of such misery. And the entire time, Ginny listened attentively, offering nods and small comments in between.
Harry felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he drew a great, shuddering breath when he'd finished. "Now d'you understand why I've never told anyone?"
Ginny shook her head at him and glanced down at her watch. "Harry, you're impossible…Well, you've talked for two hours straight, and it seems to me that you needed it. D'you feel at all better?"
"Yes, actually, I do," Harry said honestly, glancing at her gratefully. "I'm sorry I've gone and put all this on you, Ginny, I shouldn't've…"
"No, Harry," Ginny said. "You've not gone and put anything on me. I wanted you to tell me all of that, remember?"
"Well…" Harry sighed, giving up on trying to apologize. "Thank you, Ginny," he said appreciatively. "I really do feel better."
She smiled at him. "If you ever need to talk again, just tell me. You don't have to keep it all to yourself, you know…" She stood up and headed towards the staircase leading to Gryffindor tower.
"Ginny, wait!" Harry called, scrambling to his feet and jogging after her.
She stopped, halfway up the stairs. "Yes?"
"Are…Are you going with anyone to the Ball yet?" Harry asked, not quite sure what had possessed him.
Ginny shook her head, smiling lightly. "No, not yet."
"D'you want to go with me?"
Her eyes widened—whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. "Well…Well, of course, Harry, but…Aren't you going to go with…Parvati or someone?"
Harry shook his head. "No. I would…rather go with you, really…If you want to, that is," he added quickly. "I mean, if there's somebody else you'd rather go with…"
She shook her head. "No…No, there isn't. I'd love to go with you, Harry."
He smiled, greatly relieved, and still not quite understanding why he'd spontaneously decided to ask her. "It's just…I really…uhm…liked being able to talk to you, you know, and…"
She nodded, smiling widely. "Absolutely." She glanced at her watch. "Well, it's almost lunchtime. Should we head back into the Great Hall again?"
Harry smiled and let her lead the way.
***
A/N: Ebony, don't yell at me.
Okay, just FYI, Harry is not using Ginny as a last resort. I'm not sure where I'm going with that, but it she's not just a replacement for Cho. And Ginny knows that, too. Heehee…Well…maybe I do know where I'm going with this…J See, GinnyPotter, I've not betrayed the G/H supporters yet. (And I don't think I will, either…)
Anyway, this is probably the longest part I've ever posted of this, and it's in HTML, too, so I hope you enjoyed my hard work enough to review. That would be ever so nice.
The next part is the Christmas Ball! Yay! And that's where the real action begins…
