Author's Notes: Here comes the plo-ot…here comes the sha la la la la la…ahem. Anyways, so I've moved on from random scenes that are irrelevant to the actual story and have written a chapter with some plot! Well, hints of it anyways. I also had Chapter 5 written (containing even more plot-relevant goodness!) but, as always, Microsoft Word decided to screw me over. v_v I wrote it on another computer, then put it on floppy disk. But when I transferred the chapter from floppy disk onto my computer, all I got were random squares and other weird symbols! I was angry and hurt. I blame the shoddy workmanship of floppy disk manufacturers everywhere.
This ends Silver Phoenix's random ranting. Please keep in mind that the views and opinions expressed in her author's notes do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of fanfiction.net, J.K. Rowling, or Harry Potter. In fact, Harry Potter graciously forgives shoddy workmanship. He's just that nice.
***
Harry Potter had not had a good laugh in a long time, it seemed; because at the moment he was clutching his stomach, bent over, tears rolling down his cheeks as he laughed his narrow behind off. Even the antique mirror in the corner of the bedroom was having a good chuckle. In fact, the only person who didn't seem to find the story he'd just recounted amusing was Ron Weasley.
"Just because she beat me doesn't mean she's better," he retorted, arms folded. "I mean, it was a lucky shot, hoorah for Hermione - "
"Shh, shh," Harry interrupted, holding up his hands. His eyes were closed tightly. "I'm trying to fix that mental picture in my mind…you sinking into the floor, and Hermione standing triumphantly over you, and your entire class laughing…"
"They weren't laughing."
"They are in this mental picture." Harry snickered a bit, and then flopped onto Ron's bed, settling down somewhat. "S'good to laugh," he sighed wistfully after a brief silence.
Ron became serious as he shrugged his robes off and tossed them on a nearby chair. Beneath the black robes, he could've almost passed for a Muggle - grey slacks, and a long-sleeved blue sweater over a white shirt, which was untucked and could be seen poking out unevenly from under the sweater.
"Workin' hard?" Ron asked nonchalantly as he rolled up his sleeves, trying to keep his tone light. Harry had been around since Percy's wedding, alternating between the Burrow, Hogwarts, and Sirius' home ("Padfoot's Pad", as the two Aurors affectionately called the older wizards' small, but comfortable, apartment-like home). Tomorrow Harry returned to duty, and it was doubtful that he would be around very often any more.
Harry sat up. "Ron, I would never say this to a civilian, but seeing as you're you, I will: We're screwed."
Ron looked up, alarmed. "What the hell do you mean, 'We're screwed?' Last you people told me, you had four of the five scrolls. The odds are in your favour, mate."
"What is this, some kind of game? It doesn't matter, Ron," Harry said wearily. "That one is still out there. And it could still do a hell of a lot of damage alone. If some deranged person got a hold of it…"
"Who's gonna know how to read them though? Aren't they written in ancient gobblygook or something?" Ron asked, folding his arms. "Besides, I had never heard of these things until Crump went berserk and sent everyone off to look for them. What makes you think these random deranged people even know about the scrolls?"
"There are these psychos out there, Weasley. This is what they've been waiting for…" Harry said gravely, trailing off. "Plus with all this anti-Mudblood and anti-Muggle crap Stark has started…"
"Stark," Ron spat out the name, narrowing his eyes. "Hasn't he caused enough trouble at the Ministry? Argh…last time we had to deal with him I was just about ready to tell him to - "
Ron's mirror made a tut-tutting noise as Professor Weasley described just what he wanted to tell Dameon Stark to do, which was probably anatomically impossible, but would've been extremely satisfactory to say nonetheless.
"He'd probably want to, anyway," Ron continued ranting. "He loves himself that much."
"Did you see the Daily Prophet yesterday?" Harry asked, disgusted. "Apparently 'witches everywhere' love him too."
"And I bet they love him for his mind," Ron said mockingly, pretending to swoon.
"He's a politician, for God's sake," Harry vented, sighing, "and he has the celebrity status of a member of *NSync."
"Who?"
"Never mind."
Ron shrugged. "If you could even call him a politician." The former Auror rolled his eyes and walked to the window, resting his arm on the cool glass as he peered out onto the grounds.
"More like a Nazi," Harry scoffed.
"Who?"
"Never mind." Harry sighed. He stood up and stretched, glancing at his watch and starting towards the door. "Well, I'm going to turn in early if I plan to be flying back to London tomorrow. I'd go by Floo, but…"
Ron's mind then did a phenomenal thing; it made the most absurd few connections to arrive at the last person who was on his mind at the moment. Floo Powder - fireplace - Burrow - Ginny.
"Wait a second," Ron said brusquely. He swiftly cut off Harry, blocking the door. "Sit," the brusque redhead commanded. Raising an eyebrow, Harry sat on the armchair by the door. Ron paced back and forth before his puzzled, if not slightly amused best friend, then abruptly stopped and stared at him, as if beginning some sort of interrogation.
"What," Ron said sharply, "is this I hear about you and my sister?"
Harry's face fell, all amusement gone. "Hermione and her big mouth," he muttered.
"Hermione does not have a big mouth," Ron retorted defensively. "Besides, you were just a tad obvious at Percy's wedding. What's going on and why didn't I know about it?"
Harry looked uncomfortable. And it had nothing to do with the armchair, because that was the bloody best armchair in Hogwarts, and a damn comfortable one at that. "Nothing's going on," he said bitterly, "for your information. There. Done, Big Brother?"
"No!" Ron exclaimed. "My best friend and my sister had a…" a very Hermione-like look crossed his face, "thing, and I didn't even know about it!" The grown man now looked slightly hurt. "C'mon Harry, I thought we were best mates. Hermione said you two wrote each other all the time after me and you were out of Hogwarts. And then, that one Christmas when we visited my folks - "
"Maybe I didn't want to talk about it, Ron," Harry interrupted loudly, his face flushed. "Maybe it didn't work out, and I didn't want to talk about it, alright?"
Ron looked taken aback. "But I talked to you about Hermione all the time. What, you can't trust me with that kind of stuff? Or was it just because she's my sister? I mean, you told Hermione about it later on."
"That's because Hermione understands why Ginny…" Harry sighed, throwing his hands in the air. "Women."
"What happened, Harry?" Ron asked, genuinely sympathetic.
"Same thing that happened to you," Harry said in a strained voice. "I knew the price of being an Auror. So did Ginny. And she just couldn't accept what the consequences are." Harry stood up, running a hand through his already rumpled black hair. "You know, sometimes I think I should've taken a page out of your book, mate," he told Ron. "But I can't leave. This is what I'm mean to do. My social life's taken a beating but…" Harry shrugged, smiling wryly, "that's what retirement's for, right?" Ron smiled lopsidedly in reply.
Sighing, Harry stretched out his wand and murmured something. Like a silent black cloud, his robes floated over to their owner's extended hand. "Ginny and I are just friends now," Harry explained, his voice unreadable and his back turned to Ron as he put on his robes. "We talked at the wedding. Everything's back to normal, I hope. We'll be good friends, just like before. Strictly platonic."
Ron smiled again and slapped his old partner on the back as he turned to face him once more. "You're a good man, Potter," Ron admitted. "I wouldn't have minded having you for a brother-in-law."
Harry smiled sadly. "Yeah, well…some things are just not meant to be."
"Ron!" Both men flinched as Hermione's voice filled the room, at least three times its normal volume. That, plus the fact that the disembodied voice sounded both shrill and nervous, and it wasn't the most beautiful sound in the world. "Professor McGonagall wishes to speak with us. You have to come down to her office at once. I'm waiting by the second floor stairs. Hurry up!" The floating voice faded, its last words echoing.
"And some things are," Harry grinned.
***
"Irresponsible, immature, and careless!" Minerva McGonagall exclaimed shrilly. Seated before her desk were Professors Weasley and Granger, both looking like guilty schoolchildren. Professor Granger's face was very white, and she was slowly and methodically shredding a piece of tissue into her lap.
"Minerva, we're really very sorry…" Ron pleaded, trying a winning smile. McGonagall wasn't impressed.
"A student could have been hurt!"
"We know, we weren't thinking - "
"One of you could have been hurt!"
"We know, like I said - " Ron tried again.
"Well if you knew, why did you have a full-fledged duel, without clearance from myself or the Headmaster, in an enclosed classroom in front of a group of students?!" McGonagall demanded in exasperation. She leaned back in her chair, looking bewildered. "Now Weasley, I know you're a bit of a hot-head - "
Ron smiled a forced smile.
" - but Professor Granger, I really expected better from you!" the Deputy Headmistress sighed. Hermione's knuckles turned white as she started on a new piece of tissue. Not losing eye contact with McGonagall, Ron reached out his hand and clasped Hermione's, stopping her from ripping the unfortunate tissue to shreds. Professor McGonagall glanced down at their intertwined fingers and pursed her lips.
"Now, I understand your current…" she began with much difficulty. The Transfiguration Professor seemed to be searching for a word, "relationship." she decided, looking at the two with raised eyebrows. Both professors' cheeks flushed. "Which is none of my business because, quite frankly, I don't care what you two do on your own time. Now, I don't know what your little quarrel was about, nor do I want to. Just…" she sighed again, "try to keep it professional at Hogwarts, will you?"
"Yes, Professor McGonagall," they both echoed simultaneously.
Ron could've sworn he saw the shadow of a smile on McGonagall's stoic face, but it quickly passed. "Well, that's it. Thank you for your time, Professors."
The two nodded wordlessly, and silently left the Deputy Headmistress' office. They emerged into the front hall, empty and quiet save for a suit of armour in one corner which was shuffling nervously, obviously itchy. The two had made it half way up the grand staircase in silence before a stifled laugh slipped out of Ron.
Hermione whirled around on him. "I suppose you thought that was funny, didn't you?" she snapped, her voice high-pitched.
Ron couldn't stop a slow grin from forming on the corners of his lips. "Yeah, it was," he admitted, watching Hermione carefully for her reaction, an amused expression on his face. She drew in a shaky breath, preparing herself for battle as she continued to stomp up the stairs.
"Oh, lighten up, Hermione!" Ron laughed, stopping on the staircase and leaning against the banister. "You have to admit, that was kind of funny."
Hermione stopped and made a displeased sound in reply. Ron took her lack of verbal rebuttal as a good sign and continued on. "I just hope none of the kids saw that; the two of us in there, looking like guilty little students caught snogging in the hallway." Ron's shoulders were now shaking with laughter. "And the look…on McGonagall's face…"
He saw Hermione's lips quiver. She bit her bottom lip, like she always did when she was trying to keep from smiling. Ron knew victory was nearly his.
"I understand your current…relationship," he said in a high-pitched voice, wrinkling his nose and attempting to imitate McGonagall's pinched features and grim face. That did it; Hermione's eyes fell to the floor as she smiled and shook her head at him.
"Aha! The lady doth smile!" Ron proclaimed, raising his arms in victory. Hermione, the corners of her mouth still upturned, rolled her eyes and slapped his right arm, causing him to lower the arms of triumph.
"Oh fine, it was sort of funny," Hermione confessed, folding her arms. "But still, she had a valid point. We have been acting somewhat…er…unprofessional."
"Excuse me, you're the one who grabbed me and kissed me in the middle of the Great Hall last year."
"That was an exception," Hermione said quickly, her cheeks flushing.
"Yes, I know," Ron replied in a long-suffering voice. "It's me, not you. I understand. Women…they just can't help themselves…"
"Oh, get over yourself," Hermione huffed. "Still," she said reluctantly, after a pause. "Perhaps we should set some ground rules."
"Yes, mum."
"Ron, quit joking just for a second," Hermione demanded, hands on her hips. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor raised his hands in apology, then nodded solemnly.
"Now, listen," Hermione said diplomatically. "We should keep a completely platonic attitude during school hours, and in front of the staff and students."
Ron sighed. "Agreed. Now can we go?" He put his arm around Hermione to steer her in the upward direction of the stairs. To his surprise, Hermione took an abrupt step backwards.
"Which means hands off," she said firmly. Ron's face fell.
"C'mon, Hermione, McGonagall was just – "
"Hands off."
"What about in the Great Hall?"
"No."
"The library?"
"No."
"The caretaker's closet on the fifth floor?"
Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. "Just…keep it professional around the staff and students, alright? I…" her gaze dropped to the floor. "I don't like us being the topic of discussion at the house tables at dinner, alright? These stupid rumours have got to stop. It's…well, it's embarrassing. Our students don't have to know about our personal lives."
Ron nodded, finally serious. "Look, Hermione, sorry I was acting like a jackass. I totally understand."
"Good," Hermione smiled in relief, the colour fading from her cheeks. "And, I mean, Professor McGonagall was right," she added lightly. "Whatever we do on our own time is no one else's business."
Ron winked, causing Hermione to blush again. "Gotcha." He followed her as she started back up the staircase, grinning to himself.
"Ah, Hermione," he murmured to himself. "The McGonagall impression will be your downfall."
"I heard that!"
Ron grinned and headed up the stairs. But for some reason the grin felt like a mask of sorts; inside, he felt strangely bothered, but by what, he didn't know. Harry's worried words just kept echoing over and over again in Ron's head.
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Heh…that was fun to write. And now, in conclusion of this chapter, I have only one thing to say…
Stupid floppy disks.
Oh yeah, and review! ^_^
