Harry Potter and the Test

Chapter 7





Staggering slightly, careful to take it easy for the sake of my left side, I made my way back to Gryffindor Tower, leaving the nurses' wing behind me. The swaddling had been taken off, since there was only so much one could do to help repair broken ribs. Such a cast didn't exist, leaving only rest and relaxation as forms of remedy.

It was early in the morning. I had been up most of the night, reading over some of the class material I had missed. Napping during most of the day, I decided to simply stay up and have the rare chance to bid the day a 'good morning.'

My watch read '5:12', a time when little happened, either here or in any place of the world. I was wearing my pajamas since it was the only article of clothing that Ron had brought me. Although it may have been the best choice for a hospital stay, it offered little protection against the chilliness of the halls. Shivering slightly, I neared the portal.

"Incognito," I murmured.

The Fat Lady smiled at me, waking up from her slumber.

"Good to see you back, Adam," she quipped. "On the mend already?"

"For the most part," I responded, slipping through entry as she moved aside.

The fire was dying, but flames appeared every once in a while. One of the logs on the grate broke in half, sending sparks and ash flying about, most of which was contained in the fireplace. As I neared it, ready to throw a long on, I noticed someone sleeping on the couch.

Hermione laid there, her hands clasped together, a replacement for a pillow. I could hear her soft exhales, coming at regular intervals. In her sleepwear, I wondered why she was down here and not in bed.

Upon further inspection, I found a stack of books just under the couch, resting on the floor. Perhaps six textbooks formed a substantial tower. Ranging from "Astronomy: Mapping the Heavens" to "Spelling out Spells," I could see that she had been studying all night as well.

Smiling slightly, I grabbed a throw that was hanging over the back of the sofa and unrolled it. Laying it along the length of her, she stirred slightly, but didn't speak, preferring to slip back into her snooze. I knelt down beside her, and ran my fingers through her hair, being sure not to wake the sleeping beauty.

Casting my eyes down to the books at my feet, I picked up the first, examining the spine. "Creatures of the Dark," it read.

'Hmmm.interesting choice for nighttime reading,' I thought.

The next book I picked up didn't hold any similarities to the others. It was thinner and floppy, a paperback in a sea of hard covered volumes. On the front, there was a single word: 'JOURNAL'

I held it in my hand for a while, wondering what to do.

'This is her private property,' I told myself. 'I can't invade it.'

Still, something inside me ached to see what kind of thoughts filled her mind, the feelings and thoughts that made her the magnificent person she was. However, knowing how much she trusted me, I held myself back form opening it. I simply remained knelt by her side, diary resting in my palm, waiting for a decision.

She shifted slightly, startling me. The journal slipped from my hand, landing on the floor with a soft 'thud'. As if destiny guided its pages, the book opened up to a certain page.

I couldn't take it anymore. Giving into my urges, I began to read what she had written on the cream-colored paper.

"Adam is really sweet; school's been a lot more exciting with him here, which is good, most of the time (wink)," she wrote in flowing cursive. I smiled at the comment, ecstatic over her feelings for me. The page was dated October, 15th.

'Last night.'

"He's the 'Ron' I've been waiting for."

My heart sank.

'Ron? What has he got to do with us?'

"I don't want to hurt him, but he has to know eventually. The longer I wait."

And then it stopped. The entry ended with the half-sentence and nothing else.

My mood had gone from joyful to confused within a few moments.

'What have I become involved in?' I asked myself, trying to clear this matter up on my own.

If Ron had like Hermione, why hadn't I noticed? He glanced at her occasionally, but never in the way I did, did he? Was I so concerned with making her my own, that I didn't take the time to consider the possibility that someone else valued her as much as I did?

Had I turned my back on a friend?







October slipped by quickly and November did likewise. The trees which surrounded the school were now barren, revealing the empty nests once hidden inside of them, now exposed to the world outside. Snow covered the ground by the end of November, and lined the window sills, giving everything a soft, heavenly radiance.

Hermione and I still hung out, but nothing much came of it; not that I didn't want anything more to come of the relationship, but I also wasn't in a hurry. With the issue of Ron now on my mind, it was difficult to think of her being my girl. If someone waltzed into my life, and started dating an interest of mine, I would take offense at it. And yet, how long had Ron been pining for her without making a move? How long did I have to wait?

The fighting had continued, becoming even more frequent. Friends were now enemies and those who weren't enemies became suspicious, a move which often ended the relationship. Even though many relationships still remained intact, everyone suspected that it was only a matter of time until Hogwarts' became one big tavern brawl.

Dumbledore roamed the halls more often, and it seemed that his presence would cause all fighting to cease, another point which led Ron, Hermione, Harry and I to believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was behind all this. However, nothing showed up in the way of proof and for some odd reason, Slytherin wasn't turning up anything either. As odd as this may sound, we were a tad disappointed; they could usually look to them to be the perpetrators, but this time, they were suffering equally.

However, the real matter bugging me was the issue with Ron, perhaps to too much of an extent. I didn't even hear my name.

"Mister Barrowton," I turned around. Dumbledore stood there, staring down at me through his spectacles.

"Yes, headmaster," I said, not knowing exactly how to address him.

"I hope you are finding out why you are here."

"I'm trying." I stammered, attempting to respond as honestly as I could.

"Your grades are exceptional, and you are an excellent athlete," he said. His comment made my mind race wondering when the hurricane was going to hit.

"Thanks. I try." I repeated, absentmindedly.

"The real question is what are you doing all this for?" He began to approach me, slowly, still looking down the length of his nose at me.

"I.I'm not sure I understand."

"Many come here to become wizards, some to fulfill a family tradition, some to make friends." he explained. I wondered where he planned to go with this, so I merely stood there, nodding.

"You came for none of these reasons. So, why?"

I paused, trying to pinpoint an answer to the question, but I was at a loss of words.

"I'm not sure. I.I guess I'm still waiting to figure that out," I admitted, feeling quite defeated.

"Not to worry; just be on the lookout for when that reason decides to show up. Often times, it is a lesson that comes to us at our weakest moment." With that, he nodded softly and walked off, leaving me with my mouth slightly open, still trying to compose a sufficient response.







"Listen, Ron, I got to talk to you," I began, pulling up a chair in the library, sitting just across from him at one of the tables. After waving to get my attention, he dove back into the book he was reading, leaving me to talk to a cover.

"About what?" he asked, still not looking up.

I didn't have his full attention yet, and therefore, avoided giving my response quite yet.

"So.." I said, looking around trying to get an idea of what to talk about in the meantime, "you studying for the final exams coming up?"

"Yeah. It is hours of endless fun," he said, laughing like a madman. I laughed as well, knowing the amount of studying that I had put off, studying that would eventually force itself upon me within a few days.

"What can I help you with, Adam?" he asked, still perched behind a massive text. Boldly, I put a hand on top of the tome and pushed it down towards the table, allowing our eyes to meet.

"Um.I was going to ask you something?" I paused again, trying to choose my words carefully.

"Yeah." he said, prodding me along with his eyes.

"Were you.um." I stumbled, "thinking of asking Hermione to the Yule Ball?"

"Good question." He rested an elbow on the table and began to massage to non-existent whiskers that covered his chin. "I haven't really given any thought to it, but I suppose I'll give it a try."

I pursed my lips together, and nodded knowingly. He got the message.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well.Ron I need you to be completely honest.about.."

I stopped again. I couldn't get it out. My heart ached, and not in a pleasant way, like it did around Hermione. It was a sickening pain which seared my soul. Here I was coming between a friend and the girl he cared about, one I cared deeply for as well. It was the toughest position I had ever been in, and when the moment came, I couldn't say it.

'Would it be better not to speak?'

'Would silence be an act of letting my feelings for Hermione go, or being a friend?'

'Would it be possible to have both?'

".about." I tried again. Ron was now looking at me with a face a sheer boredom and impatience. Finally, giving up on me, he stood up, putting his outer cloak on.

"Look, Adam, you're a good man, but I can't talk to you like this; it's like you had a stroke or something." He smiled, pleased at his own wit and walked off with a casual wave of his hand.

Standing up, watching him walk off, I knew what I had to say, now.

"Ron, I'm falling for Hermione."

Instantaneously, he stopped dead in his tracks. His shoulders slumped slightly, as if he was feeling the full weight of such a comment of his fragile structure. He turned around slowly, the rest of his body following the lead of his head.

His face.I'll never forget his face. It's the look you have when you've really lost something, something that mattered more to you than anything, something no one could possibly value as much. It's a look you wear when you're hurt more than you know, and even if you did understand how deep of a wound you possessed, you wouldn't know how to mend it.

'What have I done?'

"You what?" he said, his tone fluctuating as he spoke. Even though he was far from yelling, his voice carried such emotion that everyone on the library had turned to him.

"I.I have feelings for Hermione," I said, looking at the ground as I spoke, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Sheepishly, I played with my hands, not knowing what else to do in such a situation. My mouth was dry and my face was red with embarrassment.

"Well, you're not the only one." His voice all of a sudden grew very husky, almost bringing out a new side of Ron. I grew nervous, realizing that the friendship I had cherished was now gone, almost as if it hadn't existed in the first place. An insurmountable wall now severed that link, leaving me alone on the other side.

"Ron, I'm sorry.I'm.s-.." I stopped again. Ron's lower lip began to quiver, but he bit it hard, hiding its movement from the curious eyes which surrounded him.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, breathlessly, nodding rapidly. That said, he turned and left the library, throwing a sideways glance at me before the door closed behind him.

Standing there, I exhaled and ran me hand across my damp brow. Noticing all the attention that now was focused on me, I felt it was time to make my exit as well.

"Well, that went well," I remarked somberly. My head down, I slipped out the door, conspicuously.







"You look amazing," I whispered into Hermione's ear as we strolled down the corridor, on our way to the Great Hall. She was wearing a flowing maroon dress, which hugged closely enough to show off her feminine features, while being modest at the same time. Her hair had been straightened except for at the end, where it was curled upwards a bit.

"Thank you," she whispered back blushing slightly. "You don't look so bad yourself."

I had spent most of my money down at Diagon buying a new robe for the formal occasion. It was fine hand-sewn wool and I managed to have the Gryffindor crest sewn onto it. A gold cord tied it off around my waist, and I wore a new set of dress shoes, skinned to perfection by Hagrid out of courtesy.

Entering the hall, we were taken aback by how lit up the room was. More candles had been added and yet, snow managed to fall from the ceiling, giving everything a true feeling of winter; this made sense since it was Christmas.

Numerous trees adorned the hall, most of them standing against the wall at various points, with the exception of one, which stood at the middle of the room. Adorned with glinting spheres and golden tinsel, it shined in the light; its boughs were white, collecting snow which had fallen over the past hour.

The most striking feature about the whole event was how many people were packed into the room. It seemed as if every one in the fourth year and up was attending the ball. Decked out in their best, I could see that this was the place to be tonight.

"Mister Barrowton, Miss Granger," McGonagall greeted us by the door.

"Hello," Hermione replied, beaming.

"How are you this evening?" I asked her.

"I am well, thank you, hoping that none of the trouble that has become so regular here makes its way through the door."

"Agreed," I replied, leaving the matter at that.

Walking into the crowd, we made our way over to the refreshment table. Jostled about, I saw the faces which had looked up at me during Quidditch games. Now, I was seeing them face to face. Giving out apologies, the reply was always 'that was some shot' or 'Draco avoiding you?' Rather than take the time to fight back the bombardment, I simply let them fly over my head and continued onto the punch bowl.

"It's good to see you two here," I heard Ron say. Standing on the other side of the table, his arms folded, a drink in one hand, he looked very refined. With one eyebrow raised, he bade us a good evening by shaking his cup. My stomach tightened.

'This could go very wrong very quickly.'

"How are you this evening, Ron?" I asked, peaceably. I acted busy, reaching for a few glasses.

"Oh, I'm fine, just watching over the punch bowl, making sure no one dirties something so pure and pristine." Piecing out the last few words for emphasis, I picked up on the meaning wrapped within his words.

"Ron, I thought you had a date," Hermione said innocently. "You said you wouldn't come without one. Now I feel awful," she confessed, clearly fraught over the matter.

"Well, it was just a matter of Adam asking you before I could," Ron concluded, taking a sip of his drink.

"You never even asked me, Ron." Hermione's voice was painted with sympathy; she knew something was awry, but didn't know quite what it was.

"Man, is it warm in here or is it just me?" I asked, tugging at my shirt collar.

"It's just you," Ron replied snidely.

Moments passed without a word being said. We stood by the table, waiting for someone, something, anything to happen. While couples danced, held in the embrace of another, the three of us stood over the punch, trying to predict what the other would do next and plan a way to keep it form being said.

"Care to dance?" I asked.

"Yes, I would." Hermione accepted the elbow I offered.

'Perhaps this will work.'

"Ron, could I save a dance for you?" she asked him, almost pleading.

"No, I'll be good."

"Please, Ron, I would really."

"I said I'm fine," he replied, brusquely, his mouth full of cookie.

"Well, I'll see you soon," was Hermione's only response. She seemed hurt, frowning as we left Ron behind, disappearing into the mob of waltzers. Taking her hand in mine, I wrapped by other arm around her waist and began to fall in line with the music. A soft piece by Chopin, we shifted easily around the floor, careful to avoid the footsteps of others.

Her chin resting lovingly on my shoulder, she began to speak.

"I wonder what is wrong with Ron?"

"Probably just frustrated that he couldn't get a date as amazing as you," I replied smoothly. Although I may have appeared to be cool and calm on the outside, I was quite the reverse internally. My conscience was eating at way at me, letting me know loud and clear that I should not be the one cradling Hermione in my arms.

'I'm a horrible friend.'

"Adam, are you okay?" I had grown tense over the thoughts and she must have noticed.

"Oh, I'm fine," I replied, trying to relax my uptight muscles.

However, the remarkable girl she was, all my attempts were to no avail.

"Something is bothering you," she said, as if I didn't need to confirm her assumption.

"I think Ron wanted to go with you." My words were jagged sounding, almost like I was physically chocking on the syllables.

"I know he wanted to. That's why I'm wondering why he didn't even try."

I didn't answer her remark, even though I knew why he didn't.

'Did she need to know?'

The question wasn't whether or not she needed to know, but whether or not I was man enough to tell her. Enough attention had been paid to me over the past few months; I preferred to discuss the matter outside. Leading her by the hand, without a word, she followed me to the edge of the crowd and out a set of doors which had been opened to aid in the circulation of the air inside.

The snow fell lightly outside as well, and the night took on an angelic glow, reflecting the light of the moon, scattering its rays all about. The flowers which once silhouetted the school were long gone, but the holly and evergreens now took center stage and harbored ice crystals, making them sparkle.

"Adam, what's wrong?" Hermione asked me as we stood on the steps leading down to a whitened field.

"I have to tell you something."

She gave no response whatsoever, but merely waited for me to speak.

"I know why Ron didn't ask you."

"How come?" she inquired.

I sighed, knowing what this would most likely do to the rest of the night. However, any sour grapes I reaped would only be from my planting them.

"I told him I had feelings for you," I said, half looking at her, half staring off into the distance.

"And." Her eyes were wide with anxiousness.

"He got really mad and hasn't spoken to me since." I reached back and scratched a part on my neck which itched; anything was preferable to standing and doing nothing.

"That's why he's been avoiding me. Adam, why did you have to go and do that?" Her demeanor had changed abruptly, shifting from demure to livid within a span of a few minutes.

"Because I found out that he liked you and.and I wanted to take you to the Yule Ball." I said the last bit in a pleading manner, hoping that she would look at the positive side of the issue. Clearly, she didn't.

"Wait a second.how did you find out that he liked me?"

"Now, you're gonna be really mad. When you were sleeping on the couch a few weeks ago, your journal was there."

Horrified, she stepped back from me, clutching her chest involuntarily.

"I didn't mean to read it. It slipped out of my hand and when it hit the floor, I."

"I've heard enough, Adam!" Tears began collecting in her eyes, tears of anger and frustration.

"How could you do this to me?!? You're not a man; you're just a.a..I'm so mad I can't even think of an insult!" She held her head in her hands, overcome with ire. I just stood there, my mind replaying all of the awful things I had done. Over and over, I saw the steps I shouldn't have taken, ones that should have been avoided at all costs, steps I took nonetheless out of selfishness.

"Hermione."

"Don't talk to me, Adam! I was wrong about you! I was." Not even bothering to finish her thought, she spun around and took off, walking back inside. I remained alone, with only the snowflakes to dance with.

"Merry Christmas, Mister Barrowton," I muttered, disgusted with myself.