CHAPTER 17: FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE
Harry raised his eyes blearily from the text that swam in front of him, watching as Ron stabbed pointlessly at the empty page before him that was supposed to be full of Divination homework. It was Tuesday evening, and they were due to start a Quidditch practice in... he checked his watch. Ten minutes.
He couldn't go to the library tonight... He knew it would take a long time to finish the Divination homework, and with this bad cold lurking above his head like a dragon about to rear its ugly head, he couldn't concentrate.
"Ron, this is going to be a horrible practice," He muttered, startling his friend.
"Yeah, don't I know it," Ron responded, sniffling, and Harry felt a surge of guilt that he had given his cold to Ron. "I can't see straight..."
"I should cancel it."
"You can't, we need this practice."
"Maybe one of your Divination horrors is that you lose your eyesight by... eh, I dunno, maybe a rogue bludger?"
"Hmm, haven't done that before..." Ron said, hastily writing it on his paper. "Those bludgers are bad enough, it might come true tonight..."
Harry felt a bone-weary tiredness seeping into his body. Must get some sleep tonight...
But he wondered how much sleep he would get: nightmares kept intruding on his solitude, driving back his sleep with ferocious intensity, and he could hardly remember what the dreams were about. They had started Sunday night, and he wasn't sure if they were a good or an evil omen.
"Better go get our brooms," Harry murmured, and Ron nodded. Standing, they stretched tired muscles and ascended to their dormitory. They had solved Ron's broom dilemma by borrowing Neville's, which was actually an older model of the Nimbus. They couldn't tell what the number was by reading the handle; Neville had held onto it so tightly that the number had rubbed off, along with half of the word Nimbus.
But still, it was a broom, and Harry had decided with Hermione and Arlé that they would buy Ron a broom of his own for Christmas.
Harry walked onto the Quidditch field with Ron, Harry carrying the brooms and Ron carrying the balls. They stood there shivering for a moment.
"Can I ride your broom, Harry?" Ron asked softly into the silence.
"Sure," Harry said, relinquishing his Firebolt to Ron's tender care. He clutched the cloak a little tighter around his slender body to fight the chill, and stood there chattering his teeth.
Fred and George showed up next, their smiles showing even from a distance. Harry could instantly tell that they had been up to something; if the smiles weren't enough to tip him off, the way they clutched their sides as if trying not to laugh hinted at that conclusion as well.
"What did you two do?" Harry asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
This began a tirade of laughter; George fell off of his precarious perch on his broom and merely lay there, roaring with laughter. Fred leaned on Harry, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to end up on the floor beside George.
Between the laughter and the odd positioning, Ron must have noticed something was amiss and landed smoothly. "What's up?" He demanded, which sparked another round of laughter.
"Oh, you think you're so funny, George and Fred," called an angry voice as three shadows appeared on the lawn to Harry's left. Angelina Johnson parted from the other two, her wand in hand. Her hood was up over her head, pulled so far down that it almost touched her eyebrows, and as the other two Chasers approached, Harry noticed that they were dressed in the same odd fashion.
"Oh, we'll get back at you," Katie Bell promised, also brandishing her wand. Behind her, Alicia Spinnet was glaring just as strongly at them.
"What happened?" Ron demanded again, and Angelina glared at him like this was all his fault.
She pulled the hood back and crossed her arms, fighting the urge to throw something at the two Weasley twins. Her long hair, which reached down to the middle of her back, was now dyed a sickly shade of hot pink.
Ron stared at it in horror for a moment and then began laughing as well. Harry smiled a little but didn't laugh, which made Angelina feel a little better about it.
The other two Chasers pulled their hoods off; Katie was sporting a fashion nightmare in neon blue, while Alicia had medium curls of a bright yellow. "This had better wash out," she sighed, lifting a curl and looking at it angrily. She then glanced over at Katie and started laughing.
Pretty soon all three girls were laughing at each other, and Harry had to look away from their vibrant colors; his eyes were swimming at the mere sight.
Angelina sighed, flicked her hair behind her ear, and stated, "They left out some of what we thought might be Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans..."
"Which they weren't," Alicia added dangerously.
"So we had some, and they turned our hair these nasty colors!" Katie finished.
"This is going to be an interesting practice," Ron supplied.
Harry had to laugh with his team, and then they set to work. Harry only missed the Snitch twice, considering how badly his eyes were tearing up. After only half an hour of practice, though, Harry sailed down to the grass on the Quidditch grounds. The rest of his team came down with him, assorted balls in hand.
"I'm sorry," he began, watching the world swim before his eyes. He blinked once or twice, and continued, "I've got this really bad cold and I can't stay on my broom a moment longer..." As if to prove his weakness, his knees swayed, and he locked them back, hoping no one had noticed.
They all had, and all agreed that they should go inside.
Sitting before the fire with a mug of hot cocoa, Harry was content enough to fall asleep. In fact, he almost did.
Angelina surprised him by bringing him some virus medicine. She explained, "Well, I had to stop by Madame Pomphrey's anyway to see if she had anything to fix this mess," she motioned to her head. "I ran into that Slytherin girl, Parkinson, and she was laughing all the way to her Common Room." She grimaced and handed him the mug. "Get better soon, Captain."
He grinned and thanked her, and after taking the medicine, he returned to the table with enough will to fight Divination for another three hours, then went to bed, hoping that the dreams wouldn't come.
But they did...
* * *
His cold still hadn't left by Friday morning. Arlé had noticed it by this time and had given him a wide berth; partially because she didn't want to catch it and partially because he wasn't in the best of moods.
Nevertheless, by Friday morning he was sick of his misery and wanted nothing more than company of people that weren't miserable.
"Oh, why do we have Potions this morning?" He groaned to Ron.
"Potions?" Ron yanked the list out of Harry's hands and crumpled it into a ball. Harry quickly rescued it before Ron set it alight with his wand, and unfolded it gently.
"At least it isn't Double Potions today," Harry stated, which didn't make Ron any happier about it.
"Maybe we can head down to the Medical Wing and get some of that potion..."
"No, I can't I just took some after breakfast."
"Well, come down with me anyway?"
Harry shook his head. "You know how much Snape will like that."
Ron nodded. "If I'm not in the dungeons in, oh, let's say three hours, send a search party."
"Okay," Harry acknowledged, wishing that he could miss all of Snape's lessons for once.
Hermione and Arlé met him in the dungeon, and they set themselves up in the furthest seats from Snape as they possibly could.
As Snape started his lesson, Ron opened the door. "Professor, I just stopped by the Nurse's office to get something for this cold--" As if to emphasize his cold, he sneezed. Snape accepted the pass Ron had offered him and said coldly, "Fine, go sit down."
"Harry!" Ron hissed as he sank into a chair, "Pomphrey was talking to Dumbledore about--"
"Pay attention, Weasley, Potter," Snape growled, and Ron shut his mouth with an audible click as the Slytherins turned to watch him, as if expecting a punishment.
Ron mouthed to Harry, "Snape leaving. Didn't catch why."
Arlé glanced at Harry and Ron, one eyebrow arced in confusion. "What?" She mouthed, then looked away as Snape called out their names again.
"Deerflada, do I need to assign detentions? One more word out of the three of you and I will."
She pursed her lips defiantly, but Harry touched her arm lightly and she backed down.
Snape leaving? Harry couldn't seem to get this idea through his thick skull. Why would Snape leave? He had a little bit of everything going for him; some romance, a solid job... He trailed off, his mind pointing at the one obvious conclusion he could see.
Was he going because he was going back to Voldemort? Perhaps to search out clues about something? Harry glanced at Snape, wondering whose side he was really on. But Dumbledore trusted him...
Arlé elbowed him in the side and brought him out of his reverie just in time to hear Snape say, "And I'll be gone for a week, so Professor Bailey will be covering my class."
Harry turned and stared at Ron, who nodded tensely.
"Why would he want to go back to--"
Harry looked at her expectantly and she stopped; the last thing he wanted was a detention with Snape. He could just hear the taunts Snape would offer to him...
"Honestly, Potter, if you couldn't have Granger, you had to find someone else..." He shook his head once to clear the buzzing in his ear, and tried to refocus on the lesson Snape was teaching.
Harry followed his friends up to the Common Room to wait out the two hours until lunch. If he really wanted to, he supposed that he could have gone down to eat lunch, but the others wanted to discuss this idea that Ron had just found.
"Doesn't he think that Voldemort knows he's not a true Death Eater?" Harry demanded to start off the awkward conversation. Hermione led them over to a secluded circle of seats and sank into the couch.
"It's more a question of 'How much information will Snape gather before he destroys him'?" Ron stated, sinking down beside Hermione and sighing. "You know, as much as I hate his lessons, I feel kind of sorry for him."
Harry nodded, drawing a chair closer to the couch before sitting in it. "But if it's a suicide mission, then why do it? There's no way Voldemort will reveal anything to Snape, knowing that he's two-sided."
"What if he's not going on this suicidal mission?" Arlé asked, leaning against the back of the couch. "Could this be totally unrelated?"
"Perhaps," Hermione replied. "We can't push aside the fact that Snape may be doing something unrelated."
"But if he is going..." Arlé said softly, running a hand through her hair nervously.
Ron leaned forward. "I wish I knew exactly what he's doing, so we could talk accordingly."
"We're not doing any good just sitting here debating about it," Arlé muttered, looking beyond Harry at the fireplace. She looked nervous, Harry decided, surprised and a bit angry that he hadn't noticed before.
"What can we do?" Ron asked, looking up at her.
She shook her head. "Who knows?"
A little while later Ron brought out his chess set and challenged Arlé to a match. She seemed willing for a distraction, and they set to it. Almost half an hour later, Ron had positioned his knights effectively, but Arlé was checking his king into submission. The board was almost devoid of Ron's pieces, but he had taken out quite a few of Arlé's as well.
"Queen me," she said in jest as she promoted one of her pawns, and he replaced the pawn with an upside-down rook.
Just as Ron was about to move one of his pieces, some boy screamed. Harry jumped to his feet, seeing Arlé glance around with wide eyes as he did so.
Fred raced down the stairs and looked around wild-eyed, searching for something or someone. His gaze fell across the quartet's laughing faces and his eyes narrowed. His hair had grown past his knees, and it was a brilliant shade of purple that seemed to fit him so well.
Hermione gasped, "What did you do?"
"You think I did this to myself?" Fred demanded, marching over to them.
"No, I meant what did you do to deserve this?" Hermione corrected, pointing behind him at Katie, Angelina and Alicia, whose hair still had a bit of coloration in it, although nothing as pronounced as it had been at Quidditch practice.
"He dyed our hair different colors!" Katie replied, motioning to her slightly blue hair with disgust.
Arlé giggled and said, "Oh, purple does look good on him though."
"You should see George," grinned Alicia.
"He has a bright pink and I must say it suits him even better than Fred's does."
"He's still asleep, though. Wonder what his facial expression will be..."
"Let's go wake him up!" giggled Alicia, and they swept past Fred, who moved back to let them by.
Arlé smirked at Harry and Ron and said threateningly, "If you ever try that sort of stint on Hermione and I..."
"You'll be in for a worse fate than your brothers, Ron," finished Hermione.
Five minutes later George made his appearance, looking miserable as the girls paraded him off cheerfully. His hair looked even funnier than Fred's, seeing as his face was almost as pink as his hair.
Ron and Arlé finished their game fifteen minutes later (Arlé won), and put their pieces away. Ron stretched and pulled out a timetable regretfully glancing at the paper is if afraid that it would curse him. "Oh, Double Transfiguration after lunch," he sighed.
"Oh, good, that means I have a free period," Arlé grinned.
Ron pulled a face at her. "Oh aren't you so lucky," he mimicked, then broke into an easy smile, which she reflected back. Harry noticed that she looked exhausted, and felt a twinge of guilt at not noticing this before. She had distanced herself from him, their friendship tentative after that afternoon in Professor Dumbledore's office, and Harry had not reached across the distance.
He would have to look into it after Transfiguration, but his stomach chose that moment to growl.
Hermione glanced over at him and suggested, "Perhaps we should head down to lunch."
"Very good idea," Ron stated, rubbing his own stomach, and the four headed down to the Great Hall.
Harry watched as Hermione transfigured her coil of rope into a snake that stared at Harry for a moment with dark eyes and then turned its triangular head away. He glanced back down at his own rope and noticed with a small smile that the entwined threads had changed colors and were beginning to look like scales. Comforted and inspired by this fact, he set back to it again, squinting slightly against the slight blur of his eyes.
McGonogall was sweeping around the room, offering advice and generally supervising things to make sure that they weren't getting out of hand. Neville's coil of rope had twisted so tightly about his hand that he couldn't even release his wand, and he whimpered.
A few minutes later a scarlet and green snake had replaced Harry's rope and he sank back into his seat, stifling a sneeze. He watched the snake for a moment, wondering exactly why one of its eyes was red and the other blue...
"You are the Potter child?" It asked, laying its head along the desk so that both eyes could watch Harry at the same time.
Harry nodded slowly, hoping that no one would notice that he was actually talking to the snake; seeing how they had all reacted in his second year, he didn't want to take chances now.
"Many will notice you. Few will truly know you," it stated; as if it had nothing better to do than start a conversation about Harry's fame.
"I know," he responded softly, watching as it heaved a delicate sigh.
"But do you accept it?" The snake asked, lifting its head and flicking its forked tongue once or twice. Hermione looked over, eyes narrowed, and Harry felt heat rise to his face as he glanced away from the snake. She had most definitely seen him talking to the snake and while it was common knowledge that he was a Parseltongue, to actually see him using it must have startled her.
The snake was right, he thought as Hermione turned back to her own snake with slight hesitation. He didn't accept his difference; he had merely wanted to fit into the crowd, to be seen as a normal fifteen-year-old boy learning to be a wizard. But he had always been singled out as "the boy who lived," "Harry Potter, the boy who defeated Lord Voldemort..." The list went on, while he stayed where he was, merely a boy with a protective mother who died to save his life.
He glanced out the window and his eyes touched a scene that made him wonder if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But they were not, and after blinking for a few moments, he had to assume that the view was real. A flash of memory swirled into his consciousness, and he suddenly remembered the dream he kept having but could never remember...
He staggered through the smoke-laden building, searching for someone. Something from behind grabbed at his cloak, trying to hinder his progress. He stumbled as a cold hand grasped around his foot, and collapsed to the floor as his balance gave out.
A body flung itself between the hands and his foot, separating it, but when he turned to see who his savior was, he saw nothing but fire...
He snapped his eyes open and strode to the window, gaping at the scene once more; Greenhouse #3 was on fire, the air above and around it blurring with the heat. The flames had clearly originated from within the building, and were now licking against the glass on the right side of the door.
Professor McGonogall, who had noticed his migration from his desk to the window, stepped to his side and gasped. At that sound every student clambered over to get a peek out the window. Harry found himself rotated out of his position before the window as the fifth years tried to get a better look.
Ron was staring out the window whilst kneeling on a desk to see over the heads, a mute expression on his face. Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and motioned to Ron; she asked, "Ron, what's the matter?"
"Ginny," Ron breathed, shaking his head, and Harry remembered the youngest Weasley child mentioning cheerfully at lunch that she was going down to Greenhouse 3 to help Professor Sprout...
Harry didn't say anything, but a sudden understanding lanced between Harry and Ron. "You should tell a teacher," Hermione hissed, but they were gone.
As soon as they left the room they broke into a run, their footfalls the only sound in the empty corridors. Harry's foot nearly got caught in the disappearing step as they raced down the stairs, but Ron grabbed his arm and pulled him out.
They arrived at the Greenhouse just as part of the east wall caved in, glass shattering everywhere. Harry darted through the side that had just been opened, and called Ginny's name once. He looked around, expecting Ron to be right behind him, and then turned to say something to Ron.
Behind him, the wall caved in the rest of the way, taking some of the ceiling down with it. The smoke filled his vision, drawing tears from his eyes, and when it cleared, a large pile of flaming debris had covered his entrance.
He dropped to a crouch in an attempt to get beneath the smoke, watching as the flames flickered disturbingly calmly and calling her name once more.
"Harry?" Ginny's faint voice called back, and he could see her through a sudden parting in the veil of smoke. She was wedged beneath a metal table that had collapsed when the plant that had been perched upon it had shifted to get away from the flames. He lifted the table a little, coughing spasmodically as he stood to get a better grip, and Ginny hurried from beneath it.
She crouched at his side, keeping her head down low. Her red hair was covered with soot, but she was otherwise unharmed. Harry pulled out his wand and wished he had been taught a spell for creating water; unfortunately, nothing came to mind as a spell he could use.
He glanced around, quickly deciding that they were going out the door because there was a relatively open pathway to it. They plunged toward the door, half-crouching, half walking, when she yelped in fright.
Something else was in the burning building, and it's shadowy figure suddenly blocked the doorway. Harry couldn't get a clear look at it before the ceiling cracked and rained burning shards of glass down upon them. The figure darted away, hunched over like a man, as Harry flung his arm above his head as feeble protection. The shards burned into his body as he pulled Ginny to him, trying to protect her from the shower.
He could vaguely see the flames shrinking back from him, as if some other force was controlling them, and then his consciousness faded as another piece of shrapnel struck his head.
(A/N Talk to me people!!!! Any commentary would be nice... Please? Next chapter soon to follow!)
Harry raised his eyes blearily from the text that swam in front of him, watching as Ron stabbed pointlessly at the empty page before him that was supposed to be full of Divination homework. It was Tuesday evening, and they were due to start a Quidditch practice in... he checked his watch. Ten minutes.
He couldn't go to the library tonight... He knew it would take a long time to finish the Divination homework, and with this bad cold lurking above his head like a dragon about to rear its ugly head, he couldn't concentrate.
"Ron, this is going to be a horrible practice," He muttered, startling his friend.
"Yeah, don't I know it," Ron responded, sniffling, and Harry felt a surge of guilt that he had given his cold to Ron. "I can't see straight..."
"I should cancel it."
"You can't, we need this practice."
"Maybe one of your Divination horrors is that you lose your eyesight by... eh, I dunno, maybe a rogue bludger?"
"Hmm, haven't done that before..." Ron said, hastily writing it on his paper. "Those bludgers are bad enough, it might come true tonight..."
Harry felt a bone-weary tiredness seeping into his body. Must get some sleep tonight...
But he wondered how much sleep he would get: nightmares kept intruding on his solitude, driving back his sleep with ferocious intensity, and he could hardly remember what the dreams were about. They had started Sunday night, and he wasn't sure if they were a good or an evil omen.
"Better go get our brooms," Harry murmured, and Ron nodded. Standing, they stretched tired muscles and ascended to their dormitory. They had solved Ron's broom dilemma by borrowing Neville's, which was actually an older model of the Nimbus. They couldn't tell what the number was by reading the handle; Neville had held onto it so tightly that the number had rubbed off, along with half of the word Nimbus.
But still, it was a broom, and Harry had decided with Hermione and Arlé that they would buy Ron a broom of his own for Christmas.
Harry walked onto the Quidditch field with Ron, Harry carrying the brooms and Ron carrying the balls. They stood there shivering for a moment.
"Can I ride your broom, Harry?" Ron asked softly into the silence.
"Sure," Harry said, relinquishing his Firebolt to Ron's tender care. He clutched the cloak a little tighter around his slender body to fight the chill, and stood there chattering his teeth.
Fred and George showed up next, their smiles showing even from a distance. Harry could instantly tell that they had been up to something; if the smiles weren't enough to tip him off, the way they clutched their sides as if trying not to laugh hinted at that conclusion as well.
"What did you two do?" Harry asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
This began a tirade of laughter; George fell off of his precarious perch on his broom and merely lay there, roaring with laughter. Fred leaned on Harry, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to end up on the floor beside George.
Between the laughter and the odd positioning, Ron must have noticed something was amiss and landed smoothly. "What's up?" He demanded, which sparked another round of laughter.
"Oh, you think you're so funny, George and Fred," called an angry voice as three shadows appeared on the lawn to Harry's left. Angelina Johnson parted from the other two, her wand in hand. Her hood was up over her head, pulled so far down that it almost touched her eyebrows, and as the other two Chasers approached, Harry noticed that they were dressed in the same odd fashion.
"Oh, we'll get back at you," Katie Bell promised, also brandishing her wand. Behind her, Alicia Spinnet was glaring just as strongly at them.
"What happened?" Ron demanded again, and Angelina glared at him like this was all his fault.
She pulled the hood back and crossed her arms, fighting the urge to throw something at the two Weasley twins. Her long hair, which reached down to the middle of her back, was now dyed a sickly shade of hot pink.
Ron stared at it in horror for a moment and then began laughing as well. Harry smiled a little but didn't laugh, which made Angelina feel a little better about it.
The other two Chasers pulled their hoods off; Katie was sporting a fashion nightmare in neon blue, while Alicia had medium curls of a bright yellow. "This had better wash out," she sighed, lifting a curl and looking at it angrily. She then glanced over at Katie and started laughing.
Pretty soon all three girls were laughing at each other, and Harry had to look away from their vibrant colors; his eyes were swimming at the mere sight.
Angelina sighed, flicked her hair behind her ear, and stated, "They left out some of what we thought might be Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans..."
"Which they weren't," Alicia added dangerously.
"So we had some, and they turned our hair these nasty colors!" Katie finished.
"This is going to be an interesting practice," Ron supplied.
Harry had to laugh with his team, and then they set to work. Harry only missed the Snitch twice, considering how badly his eyes were tearing up. After only half an hour of practice, though, Harry sailed down to the grass on the Quidditch grounds. The rest of his team came down with him, assorted balls in hand.
"I'm sorry," he began, watching the world swim before his eyes. He blinked once or twice, and continued, "I've got this really bad cold and I can't stay on my broom a moment longer..." As if to prove his weakness, his knees swayed, and he locked them back, hoping no one had noticed.
They all had, and all agreed that they should go inside.
Sitting before the fire with a mug of hot cocoa, Harry was content enough to fall asleep. In fact, he almost did.
Angelina surprised him by bringing him some virus medicine. She explained, "Well, I had to stop by Madame Pomphrey's anyway to see if she had anything to fix this mess," she motioned to her head. "I ran into that Slytherin girl, Parkinson, and she was laughing all the way to her Common Room." She grimaced and handed him the mug. "Get better soon, Captain."
He grinned and thanked her, and after taking the medicine, he returned to the table with enough will to fight Divination for another three hours, then went to bed, hoping that the dreams wouldn't come.
But they did...
* * *
His cold still hadn't left by Friday morning. Arlé had noticed it by this time and had given him a wide berth; partially because she didn't want to catch it and partially because he wasn't in the best of moods.
Nevertheless, by Friday morning he was sick of his misery and wanted nothing more than company of people that weren't miserable.
"Oh, why do we have Potions this morning?" He groaned to Ron.
"Potions?" Ron yanked the list out of Harry's hands and crumpled it into a ball. Harry quickly rescued it before Ron set it alight with his wand, and unfolded it gently.
"At least it isn't Double Potions today," Harry stated, which didn't make Ron any happier about it.
"Maybe we can head down to the Medical Wing and get some of that potion..."
"No, I can't I just took some after breakfast."
"Well, come down with me anyway?"
Harry shook his head. "You know how much Snape will like that."
Ron nodded. "If I'm not in the dungeons in, oh, let's say three hours, send a search party."
"Okay," Harry acknowledged, wishing that he could miss all of Snape's lessons for once.
Hermione and Arlé met him in the dungeon, and they set themselves up in the furthest seats from Snape as they possibly could.
As Snape started his lesson, Ron opened the door. "Professor, I just stopped by the Nurse's office to get something for this cold--" As if to emphasize his cold, he sneezed. Snape accepted the pass Ron had offered him and said coldly, "Fine, go sit down."
"Harry!" Ron hissed as he sank into a chair, "Pomphrey was talking to Dumbledore about--"
"Pay attention, Weasley, Potter," Snape growled, and Ron shut his mouth with an audible click as the Slytherins turned to watch him, as if expecting a punishment.
Ron mouthed to Harry, "Snape leaving. Didn't catch why."
Arlé glanced at Harry and Ron, one eyebrow arced in confusion. "What?" She mouthed, then looked away as Snape called out their names again.
"Deerflada, do I need to assign detentions? One more word out of the three of you and I will."
She pursed her lips defiantly, but Harry touched her arm lightly and she backed down.
Snape leaving? Harry couldn't seem to get this idea through his thick skull. Why would Snape leave? He had a little bit of everything going for him; some romance, a solid job... He trailed off, his mind pointing at the one obvious conclusion he could see.
Was he going because he was going back to Voldemort? Perhaps to search out clues about something? Harry glanced at Snape, wondering whose side he was really on. But Dumbledore trusted him...
Arlé elbowed him in the side and brought him out of his reverie just in time to hear Snape say, "And I'll be gone for a week, so Professor Bailey will be covering my class."
Harry turned and stared at Ron, who nodded tensely.
"Why would he want to go back to--"
Harry looked at her expectantly and she stopped; the last thing he wanted was a detention with Snape. He could just hear the taunts Snape would offer to him...
"Honestly, Potter, if you couldn't have Granger, you had to find someone else..." He shook his head once to clear the buzzing in his ear, and tried to refocus on the lesson Snape was teaching.
Harry followed his friends up to the Common Room to wait out the two hours until lunch. If he really wanted to, he supposed that he could have gone down to eat lunch, but the others wanted to discuss this idea that Ron had just found.
"Doesn't he think that Voldemort knows he's not a true Death Eater?" Harry demanded to start off the awkward conversation. Hermione led them over to a secluded circle of seats and sank into the couch.
"It's more a question of 'How much information will Snape gather before he destroys him'?" Ron stated, sinking down beside Hermione and sighing. "You know, as much as I hate his lessons, I feel kind of sorry for him."
Harry nodded, drawing a chair closer to the couch before sitting in it. "But if it's a suicide mission, then why do it? There's no way Voldemort will reveal anything to Snape, knowing that he's two-sided."
"What if he's not going on this suicidal mission?" Arlé asked, leaning against the back of the couch. "Could this be totally unrelated?"
"Perhaps," Hermione replied. "We can't push aside the fact that Snape may be doing something unrelated."
"But if he is going..." Arlé said softly, running a hand through her hair nervously.
Ron leaned forward. "I wish I knew exactly what he's doing, so we could talk accordingly."
"We're not doing any good just sitting here debating about it," Arlé muttered, looking beyond Harry at the fireplace. She looked nervous, Harry decided, surprised and a bit angry that he hadn't noticed before.
"What can we do?" Ron asked, looking up at her.
She shook her head. "Who knows?"
A little while later Ron brought out his chess set and challenged Arlé to a match. She seemed willing for a distraction, and they set to it. Almost half an hour later, Ron had positioned his knights effectively, but Arlé was checking his king into submission. The board was almost devoid of Ron's pieces, but he had taken out quite a few of Arlé's as well.
"Queen me," she said in jest as she promoted one of her pawns, and he replaced the pawn with an upside-down rook.
Just as Ron was about to move one of his pieces, some boy screamed. Harry jumped to his feet, seeing Arlé glance around with wide eyes as he did so.
Fred raced down the stairs and looked around wild-eyed, searching for something or someone. His gaze fell across the quartet's laughing faces and his eyes narrowed. His hair had grown past his knees, and it was a brilliant shade of purple that seemed to fit him so well.
Hermione gasped, "What did you do?"
"You think I did this to myself?" Fred demanded, marching over to them.
"No, I meant what did you do to deserve this?" Hermione corrected, pointing behind him at Katie, Angelina and Alicia, whose hair still had a bit of coloration in it, although nothing as pronounced as it had been at Quidditch practice.
"He dyed our hair different colors!" Katie replied, motioning to her slightly blue hair with disgust.
Arlé giggled and said, "Oh, purple does look good on him though."
"You should see George," grinned Alicia.
"He has a bright pink and I must say it suits him even better than Fred's does."
"He's still asleep, though. Wonder what his facial expression will be..."
"Let's go wake him up!" giggled Alicia, and they swept past Fred, who moved back to let them by.
Arlé smirked at Harry and Ron and said threateningly, "If you ever try that sort of stint on Hermione and I..."
"You'll be in for a worse fate than your brothers, Ron," finished Hermione.
Five minutes later George made his appearance, looking miserable as the girls paraded him off cheerfully. His hair looked even funnier than Fred's, seeing as his face was almost as pink as his hair.
Ron and Arlé finished their game fifteen minutes later (Arlé won), and put their pieces away. Ron stretched and pulled out a timetable regretfully glancing at the paper is if afraid that it would curse him. "Oh, Double Transfiguration after lunch," he sighed.
"Oh, good, that means I have a free period," Arlé grinned.
Ron pulled a face at her. "Oh aren't you so lucky," he mimicked, then broke into an easy smile, which she reflected back. Harry noticed that she looked exhausted, and felt a twinge of guilt at not noticing this before. She had distanced herself from him, their friendship tentative after that afternoon in Professor Dumbledore's office, and Harry had not reached across the distance.
He would have to look into it after Transfiguration, but his stomach chose that moment to growl.
Hermione glanced over at him and suggested, "Perhaps we should head down to lunch."
"Very good idea," Ron stated, rubbing his own stomach, and the four headed down to the Great Hall.
Harry watched as Hermione transfigured her coil of rope into a snake that stared at Harry for a moment with dark eyes and then turned its triangular head away. He glanced back down at his own rope and noticed with a small smile that the entwined threads had changed colors and were beginning to look like scales. Comforted and inspired by this fact, he set back to it again, squinting slightly against the slight blur of his eyes.
McGonogall was sweeping around the room, offering advice and generally supervising things to make sure that they weren't getting out of hand. Neville's coil of rope had twisted so tightly about his hand that he couldn't even release his wand, and he whimpered.
A few minutes later a scarlet and green snake had replaced Harry's rope and he sank back into his seat, stifling a sneeze. He watched the snake for a moment, wondering exactly why one of its eyes was red and the other blue...
"You are the Potter child?" It asked, laying its head along the desk so that both eyes could watch Harry at the same time.
Harry nodded slowly, hoping that no one would notice that he was actually talking to the snake; seeing how they had all reacted in his second year, he didn't want to take chances now.
"Many will notice you. Few will truly know you," it stated; as if it had nothing better to do than start a conversation about Harry's fame.
"I know," he responded softly, watching as it heaved a delicate sigh.
"But do you accept it?" The snake asked, lifting its head and flicking its forked tongue once or twice. Hermione looked over, eyes narrowed, and Harry felt heat rise to his face as he glanced away from the snake. She had most definitely seen him talking to the snake and while it was common knowledge that he was a Parseltongue, to actually see him using it must have startled her.
The snake was right, he thought as Hermione turned back to her own snake with slight hesitation. He didn't accept his difference; he had merely wanted to fit into the crowd, to be seen as a normal fifteen-year-old boy learning to be a wizard. But he had always been singled out as "the boy who lived," "Harry Potter, the boy who defeated Lord Voldemort..." The list went on, while he stayed where he was, merely a boy with a protective mother who died to save his life.
He glanced out the window and his eyes touched a scene that made him wonder if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But they were not, and after blinking for a few moments, he had to assume that the view was real. A flash of memory swirled into his consciousness, and he suddenly remembered the dream he kept having but could never remember...
He staggered through the smoke-laden building, searching for someone. Something from behind grabbed at his cloak, trying to hinder his progress. He stumbled as a cold hand grasped around his foot, and collapsed to the floor as his balance gave out.
A body flung itself between the hands and his foot, separating it, but when he turned to see who his savior was, he saw nothing but fire...
He snapped his eyes open and strode to the window, gaping at the scene once more; Greenhouse #3 was on fire, the air above and around it blurring with the heat. The flames had clearly originated from within the building, and were now licking against the glass on the right side of the door.
Professor McGonogall, who had noticed his migration from his desk to the window, stepped to his side and gasped. At that sound every student clambered over to get a peek out the window. Harry found himself rotated out of his position before the window as the fifth years tried to get a better look.
Ron was staring out the window whilst kneeling on a desk to see over the heads, a mute expression on his face. Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and motioned to Ron; she asked, "Ron, what's the matter?"
"Ginny," Ron breathed, shaking his head, and Harry remembered the youngest Weasley child mentioning cheerfully at lunch that she was going down to Greenhouse 3 to help Professor Sprout...
Harry didn't say anything, but a sudden understanding lanced between Harry and Ron. "You should tell a teacher," Hermione hissed, but they were gone.
As soon as they left the room they broke into a run, their footfalls the only sound in the empty corridors. Harry's foot nearly got caught in the disappearing step as they raced down the stairs, but Ron grabbed his arm and pulled him out.
They arrived at the Greenhouse just as part of the east wall caved in, glass shattering everywhere. Harry darted through the side that had just been opened, and called Ginny's name once. He looked around, expecting Ron to be right behind him, and then turned to say something to Ron.
Behind him, the wall caved in the rest of the way, taking some of the ceiling down with it. The smoke filled his vision, drawing tears from his eyes, and when it cleared, a large pile of flaming debris had covered his entrance.
He dropped to a crouch in an attempt to get beneath the smoke, watching as the flames flickered disturbingly calmly and calling her name once more.
"Harry?" Ginny's faint voice called back, and he could see her through a sudden parting in the veil of smoke. She was wedged beneath a metal table that had collapsed when the plant that had been perched upon it had shifted to get away from the flames. He lifted the table a little, coughing spasmodically as he stood to get a better grip, and Ginny hurried from beneath it.
She crouched at his side, keeping her head down low. Her red hair was covered with soot, but she was otherwise unharmed. Harry pulled out his wand and wished he had been taught a spell for creating water; unfortunately, nothing came to mind as a spell he could use.
He glanced around, quickly deciding that they were going out the door because there was a relatively open pathway to it. They plunged toward the door, half-crouching, half walking, when she yelped in fright.
Something else was in the burning building, and it's shadowy figure suddenly blocked the doorway. Harry couldn't get a clear look at it before the ceiling cracked and rained burning shards of glass down upon them. The figure darted away, hunched over like a man, as Harry flung his arm above his head as feeble protection. The shards burned into his body as he pulled Ginny to him, trying to protect her from the shower.
He could vaguely see the flames shrinking back from him, as if some other force was controlling them, and then his consciousness faded as another piece of shrapnel struck his head.
(A/N Talk to me people!!!! Any commentary would be nice... Please? Next chapter soon to follow!)