A/N: Sorry about the delay again, but things are still very busy here.
Oh! I wrote two outtakes for this story. The first is the interlude between Ron and Hermione from the last chapter, and it can be found at the Yahoo! group for this fic. The other is a first person piece written from Draco's point of view as he observes the trio. It fits into the "When Things Start to Change" universe, and it can be read here at fanfiction.net by clicking on my name or at the Yahoo! group as well.
Disclaimer: They are regrettably not mine.
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"Did you know that Manicalt was responsible for over three-hundred people's deaths?" Hermione was hunched over the book she'd bought in Hogsmeade for what seemed like the thousandth time. Harry expected her to start quoting it at any moment, as it seemed she had read it just as many times as she had 'Hogwarts, A History.' Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail of messy curls, and her uniform was not at all in its usual perfect condition; her blouse was wrinkled and untucked, her tie was loosened over the top three undone buttons, one of her knee socks had completely fallen down around her ankle, and her skit was twisted underneath her. Her wide and alert eyes gave her the appearance of a person who had already overdosed on coffee and was craving more.
The way Ron was staring at her gave him the appearance of someone who was craving Hermione and could never possibly overdose on the indulgence. Apparently, he found her disheveled look quite attractive.
Harry rolled his eyes at the thought. This was just getting to be too much. Hermione was frazzled and rattling off trivia details about a deceased Dark Wizard, Ron was doing far more studying of the girl beside him than he was doing of the Potions essay in front of him, and Harry, though his own essay lay only half-finished in front of him, felt as if he could drop off to sleep at any second.
They really needed some excitement in their lives.
Not that being numbers one through three on the most deathly hit list in the world wasn't simply exhilarating, of course. But still...
Three weeks had passed since the Death Eaters had shown up in Hogsmeade, and they'd been relatively eventless. Nothing much had happened; just a few things here and there were even worth noting. Like the Monday before when Dean had mistook Parvati for Padma and kissed the wrong twin in the middle of the Great Hall, earning a slap from each sister and a very public dumping from Padma, who claimed that if he couldn't even tell them apart then he was definitely not worth her time. Dean was now very high up on the "Boys to Hate List" at Hogwarts, much to the amusement of all of his friends. Only a few other things had even been worth mentioning, like Natalie Macdonald, a second year Gryffindor, falling down half a flight of stairs and breaking her ankle. Or Jason Kristoff, a sixth year Slytherin, turning his hair a rather pukish shade of green in a Potions mishap.
Ginny had been released from the hospital wing the Sunday after the Hogsmeade visit, and she was claiming to feel quite fine. And though Harry couldn't help noticing that her skin was paler than normal and her eyes less vivid, he didn't say anything. He simply went along with the façade that she was trying so hard to present, pretending that he believed her and couldn't notice that she still appeared rather ill. Her fifteenth birthday had arrived in the first weekend of February, leaving her and Ron the same age for what would be a little under a month. Now that Harry had a reason to look, he noticed that she did, in fact, spend quite a bit of time with Colin Creevey, and, if he didn't know better, he would have guessed that Colin was a bit taken with her. After all, Harry had been a very close witness to a similar situation and was rather the expert at catching signals that suggested that one of the two might be interested in something a bit more involved than friendship. Ginny, however, seemed completely oblivious.
"Are you two done with your essays yet?" Hermione's question drew Harry out of his brief lapse in reality and brought him back to the library where he was sitting across from his two best friends.
He glanced down at the parchment in front of him and saw that he still had another foot to write. A brief look at Ron's proved that the redhead had even more. Hermione, of course, had finished her own essay a week before. And she wasted no time at chiding the boys on not following her example.
"You know, if you didn't wait until the last minute to do your homework, you might get better marks." She was scanning over the two paragraphs that Ron had managed to write. "And most of this doesn't even make sense."
Ron rolled his eyes slightly and slumped down a bit in his seat. He picked at a loose splinter of wood on the corner of the table with his thumbnail and ignored her as she continued to point out all of the things wrong with his essay. Harry was actually surprised; he had expected Ron to snatch his paper back and tell Hermione to mind her own business. But he didn't. He just sat there pretending to listen to Hermione's lecture.
Perhaps this was what the term 'whipped' meant.
"Are you listening to me?" Hermione asked briskly, setting the parchment down and looking very pointedly at the writer of the essay.
Ron looked up and grinned. "Of course. I always listen to you."
Hermione studied him suspiciously for a long moment before rolling her own eyes and reaching across the table for Harry's essay. She looked over it and then back across the table.
"Harry, are you aware that the topic is the hidden uses of Mondograss? Silverweed was in the last unit."
Actually, Harry had no idea that the topic was about Mondograss. A quick glance at his assignment page told him that he'd turned to a page from a month earlier without even realizing it.
"I know what the topic is," he said evenly, taking his essay back. "This is just the introduction."
Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Are you both aware that the O.W.L.s are in..."
"Sixteen weeks!" Harry finished shortly. "Yes, Hermione. We are very aware of that." He glanced across the table at Ron, who was still picking away at the wood, obviously doing his best to avoid the argument altogether.
Great bloody lot of help he was.
"You don't have to be rude," Hermione said, pushing her nose slightly into the air. "I was just trying to help you, you know."
"I think the Countdown to the O.W.L.s Calendar that you bewitched for our dorm room is help enough."
Hermione stared at him for a brief moment before they both turned expectant looks to Ron. Ron, however, simply got extremely interested in removing the splinter and didn't look up to meet either of their gazes.
Harry made a mental note to tell everyone he knew that Ron was officially whipped.
"I'm tired," Harry announced, sending an unnoticed glare in his best friend's direction. "I'll finish this tomorrow."
"It's due right after breakfast," Hermione protested.
"Then I'll do it during breakfast."
"You'll get a horrible grade!"
Harry groaned. "I'll get a horrible grade anyway! It's Snape, remember? He'd fail me for breathing if he could!"
"Pity I can't, isn't it?"
The deep cold drawl was unmistakable, and Harry closed his eyes briefly in defeat before slowing turning around to face the very same Snape he'd just been referring to. The professor was smiling rather icily at him, his eyebrows raised in what appeared to be amusement and his arms crossed over his chest.
"Waiting until the last possible minute to finish your assignment, Potter?" he asked keenly. "I believe I assigned that essay a week and a half ago, didn't I?"
"No, sir," Hermione spoke up. "It's only been a week."
"Was I speaking to you, Miss Granger?" His head snapped in her direction, and he shot her a rather unflattering look. "And good God, you look a mess! Regardless of whatever activities," he shot a brief glance in Ron's direction, "you have been engaging in, you should still at least attempt to look presentable. I know that might be a difficult task, but you could at least try."
Hermione turned bright red, and her eyes filled with tears as she reached down to pull up her fallen sock and tried to twist her skirt around to its proper position. Harry felt blood rush to his ears, and his vision grew blurry as it so often did around the Potions professor. There was absolutely no excuse to go around insulting people, especially Hermione, who had never been anything but respectable and intelligent to all of her teachers, the bastard in front of them included. Ron looked so furious that Harry had a half-thought of Ron jumping up and decking the teacher, though thankfully he had enough sense and control not to.
"And you should do something about your hair. It should be properly restrained, not just tossed about and pinned up carelessly." Snape was on a roll, and Harry had had too much.
And anyway, Snape had absolutely no room to criticize anyone else's hair when his looked as if it hadn't seen shampoo since Voldemort's first rise to power.
He looked straight at the professor and very evenly said, "Leave her alone."
It was a wonder that Snape's neck didn't break as he snapped his head in Harry's direction. "Excuse me, Potter? What did you say?"
"I said to leave her alone," Harry repeated slowly.
"Do not think that just because you are worshipped by some brainless idiots that you have the right to start giving your professors orders, Potter," he said snakily. "You will respect me, do you understand?"
Harry ignored his question. "Hermione didn't even do anything!"
"Your friend, I am afraid," Snape went on, "has a problem with impertinence. It is a trait most unbecoming of a young lady, and I do not tolerate silly little girls who think they know more than people who are over twice their age." He looked once more to Hermione. "Just because you know more than these two does not make you intelligent, understand?"
Hermione was quite obviously still fighting the tears that were threatening to fall.
Ron appeared to be trying to decide which Unforgivable Curse would cause Snape the most pain. Harry was glad that his best friend wasn't even attempting to speak.
"She was not being impertinent!" Harry protested loudly. "She finished your damn essay the day you assigned it, and she was just pointing out that you were wrong!"
Harry shut his mouth immediately, realizing far too late that he had gone far too far.
"Twenty-five points from Gryffindor and a detention, Potter." Snape glared at him. "And I will make sure that the Headmaster knows that you apparently find yourself so far above the rules that you think it is okay to swear at your professors. Not to mention cite them as wrong," he added evenly.
Harry didn't say anything. He didn't reckon that pointing out that he would never swear at any of the other professors was a good idea. And he didn't trust himself enough not to reach for his wand and practice the very same curses Ron was apparently concentrating on.
With another long glare, Snape turned around and stalked toward the exit of the library, his black robes flowing lazily behind him.
The second he was gone, Harry turned back around to Hermione, who was very close to losing the battle she was raging against her own tears. "Hermione, don't listen to him," he said instantly. "You know he's nothing but an asshole."
She just shot a downcast look at the table and bit hard into her lower lip. For someone who could punch Draco Malfoy, banter with the Slytherins, and row for ages with Ron, she had never been able to take any sort of criticism from the teachers, including the slimy git that resided in the dungeons.
When the first tear finally broke through and slid down her cheek, Ron let out such a slur of swearing that Harry was just waiting on Madame Pince to come rushing over and take even more points from Gryffindor. He shot Ron a look that gave away his worry, and Ron, after opening and closing his mouth wordlessly several times finally shut up with a very loud huff of indignation.
"Please don't cry," Harry said softly, moving to where he could sit on the desk in front of her. "He's not worth it."
"I know." Hermione brushed away at the tears as she spoke quietly. "I know he's not."
"He's just some miserable old man with no life who wants to make everyone else miserable, too." Ron spoke with such a certain vengeance that it was nearly impossible not to believe him, and Hermione brushed away the last of her tears, obviously determined not to allow any others to fall.
She looked up slowly at Harry. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble," she said softly.
"You didn't get me in trouble," he said assuredly. "I got myself in trouble."
"You really shouldn't swear at a teacher." Even now, she found it impossible to resist scolding him.
Harry actually rather enjoyed it; it gave him a sense of normalcy.
"I know. I'll keep that in mind."
She smiled half-heartedly at him. "And I'm sorry for nagging you so much about your homework."
"Nah," he shrugged his shoulders. "If you didn't nag me, how would I ever get anything done?"
Hermione managed a laugh, though it was clear that she was still struggling. It was better than nothing, though, and Harry grinned at her once more to let her know that things were fine. "These chairs are bothering me, though, so I'm gonna work on this upstairs in the dorm, okay?" He leaned over and tugged at her ponytail. "But I promise it'll be done by breakfast."
She jerked her head back. "It better be," she said seriously, though her eyes gave way to the light that she was teasing.
"Yes, ma'am." He slid off the desk, and she stood up, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him.
"Goodnight." She pulled back slightly and smiled at him- a real smile.
"Night," he returned, leaning in to peck her quickly on the cheek, something he'd never really done before.
Of course, it was in a completely innocent, non-attracted, platonic way.
Releasing her from the hug, he walked around her chair, and on his way out, he slapped Ron across the back of the head, still not fully forgiving him for being so totally whipped that he wouldn't even side with him in an argument. Ron, as if able to read his mind (they were a couple of Trelawney's top students, after all), looked up at him sheepishly and shrugged.
Harry rolled his eyes, gathered up his books, and left.
Hermione, still standing, reached for the elastic that was holding her hair up and started tugging at it to release it, but Ron caught her elbow. "No, leave it up."
She turned around to look at him, her forehead wrinkled slightly in confusion. "Why? It probably really does look a mess."
Ron, still hanging onto her elbow, sent her an embarrassed smile. "It looks... nice."
She hid her own smile at seeing him flustered. She enjoyed the fact that he still got embarrassed sometimes when trying to pay her a compliment, and his pink blush was something she knew would always be attractive.
He was just adorable. Really.
Teasing him, she said, "And what? I guess you think this uniform is nice, too, huh?"
It was her turn to blush when Ron scanned his eyes down and then back up her body. "Yeah, actually," he admitted quietly. "It looks much better this way."
She rolled her eyes and reached up to fix her top three buttons, but Ron, who still had her elbow, pulled her arm back down. "That looks much better, too."
Hermione stared at him in half-shock for a moment before bursting into laughter. "You are a pervert," she said pointedly.
"Really?" Ron grinned. "Didn't think you'd noticed."
She rolled her eyes yet again and jerked her arm back haughtily. "You'd be surprised," she muttered, turning back around to face the table and his still unfinished essay. "Now, are you going to finish this or not?"
Ron leaned around her and propped his elbow onto the table, resting his chin in his hand and looking up at her. "Are you going to help me?"
She looked down and considered him for a second. Finally giving in, she sighed dejectedly. "You know, I should be mad at you for not taking my side earlier."
Ron's face fell slightly. "I..."
"But I'm not," she finished. "I would be incensed if you had taken Harry's side, though. I guess I can't censure you for not wanting to incriminate yourself by staying neutral."
"If I had any clue what you were saying, I'm sure I would agree," Ron said seriously, and she laughed, turning on her heel to face him again. He leaned back in his chair and watched her.
"Well, in answer to your earlier question," she said primly, "yes, I will help you. But I'm not writing it for you," she added instantly. "That's no proper way to learn."
"Of course it isn't," he agreed firmly. "Not proper at all."
Hermione pursed her lips and perched herself onto the desk just as Harry had. She crossed one leg over the other, her foot jingling slightly as she once again reached for the essay and scanned it.
"Really," she said after a moment, "this isn't all that bad. It's just not detailed enough is all. At least you got the topic right," she added with a grin, glancing up and catching the look he was giving her. "What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.
Ron shrugged noncommittally. "Nothing. You're just really pretty is all."
"You flatter me," she said in mock-drama. "You're just sucking up, so I'll write your paper."
He shrugged again. "Maybe."
Hermione's mouth fell open in an indignant gasp. The Mary Jane clad foot that was jingling over her knee kicked forward in an attempt to hit his chest, but Ron caught it just in time.
"But probably not." He grinned at her as he released her foot and reached for the parchment in her hand.
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Two hours later, Harry heard Ron come up to bed. He knew it was Ron because Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all sleeping already, just as Harry was pretending to be. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to his friend; he was just more adept to keeping to himself late at night.
It was completely normal for him to be awake after everyone else was asleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night of sleep, and though he spent most of his days battling the incessant need to nap, he couldn't help the insomnia that seemed to overtake him each night.
There was so much to think about.
Obviously with Voldemort rising once again to power, Harry was worried that he might not be witness to his sixteenth birthday, but he usually tried not to think about it too much. Of course, trying and succeeding were two very different things, as he'd learned long ago. What worried him even more was the possibility that his best friends might not see their own birthdays.
Harry had accepted his Fate long ago, but he was still having trouble adjusting to the idea that Ron and Hermione were expected to accept the same. It just didn't seem right.
As far as Harry could see, they didn't even have anything to do with all of this, other than the fact that they happened to be friends with him. They'd never had attempts on their lives by Voldemort or any Death Eaters. They'd never caused the Darkest Wizard of all time to live in exile for thirteen years. Their parents had never been murdered by the same Dark Wizard.
And yet there was some ancient prophecy that included them as much as it did him.
It just didn't make sense.
Harry was just thankful that neither of them seemed to be plagued with the same horrible visions that he saw each time he closed his eyes. He saw things that no person should ever see, especially a child of fifteen years old. He often found it difficult to think of himself as a child when he felt more like fifty than fifteen; he'd been through more things than most people twice his age. He'd had enough heartache to last him three lifetimes.
And he was just fifteen.
He heard Ron get into bed and saw the last light in the dormitory go out, leaving the room blanketed in thick darkness. Harry lay back against his own pillows and stared aimlessly up into the blackness. His Potions essay was done, copied mostly from Dean, who had given him his paper and just said to make sure he changed enough to not get caught. There were a million other things that he could be doing instead of lying pointlessly in a bed that he knew would not help him sleep. The O.W.L.s were, after all, only in sixteen weeks. There was a Transfiguration exam coming up at the end of the week, and Professor Lupin had assigned them a two feet long essay on the punishments for using illegal curses that was due the following Wednesday. But, as usual, Harry wasn't in the mood to do any homework.
Stretching, he sat up and reached under his pillow for his wand, whispering a quiet "Lumos!" that he hoped his roommates didn't notice. A stack of parchment was sitting on his beside table, and Harry reached through the hangings to retrieve a few empty sheets and the self-inking quill that Hermione had given him for Christmas.
He would write to Gia.
That always made him feel better.
He was getting quite used to exchanging stories with her via owl post, as they had no other choice. And with his endless nights of sleeplessness, his letters were continuously getting longer and more detailed. Of course, he never wrote to her about his nightmares or any of the reasons he was even having them in the first place. He somehow didn't think she would take too well to knowing that he was wanted dead by hundreds of evil wizards around the continent; he preferred for her to stay with the belief that Hogwarts was simply a magnificent place of wonder and fantasy. He wrote instead about Quidditch practices, his classes, his friends, and the latest pranks that Fred and George had decided to pull.
Things were just safer like that.
Worrying about Ron and Hermione was tiring enough. He didn't want to worry about Gia worrying about him. There was simply no point in it.
Perhaps ignorance really was bliss.
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I know this one was sort of pointless, but the next chapters are pretty rough and angsty, so I decided to go ahead and knock this one out of the way.
I would love it if you would leave feedback!!!
Don't forget to check out the outtakes. The Draco one is here at fanfiction.net and at the Yahoo! group. The Ron/Hermione one is only at the Yahoo! location.
The URL is: groups.yahoo.com/group/when_things_change/
Check them out!!!
Oh! I wrote two outtakes for this story. The first is the interlude between Ron and Hermione from the last chapter, and it can be found at the Yahoo! group for this fic. The other is a first person piece written from Draco's point of view as he observes the trio. It fits into the "When Things Start to Change" universe, and it can be read here at fanfiction.net by clicking on my name or at the Yahoo! group as well.
Disclaimer: They are regrettably not mine.
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"Did you know that Manicalt was responsible for over three-hundred people's deaths?" Hermione was hunched over the book she'd bought in Hogsmeade for what seemed like the thousandth time. Harry expected her to start quoting it at any moment, as it seemed she had read it just as many times as she had 'Hogwarts, A History.' Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail of messy curls, and her uniform was not at all in its usual perfect condition; her blouse was wrinkled and untucked, her tie was loosened over the top three undone buttons, one of her knee socks had completely fallen down around her ankle, and her skit was twisted underneath her. Her wide and alert eyes gave her the appearance of a person who had already overdosed on coffee and was craving more.
The way Ron was staring at her gave him the appearance of someone who was craving Hermione and could never possibly overdose on the indulgence. Apparently, he found her disheveled look quite attractive.
Harry rolled his eyes at the thought. This was just getting to be too much. Hermione was frazzled and rattling off trivia details about a deceased Dark Wizard, Ron was doing far more studying of the girl beside him than he was doing of the Potions essay in front of him, and Harry, though his own essay lay only half-finished in front of him, felt as if he could drop off to sleep at any second.
They really needed some excitement in their lives.
Not that being numbers one through three on the most deathly hit list in the world wasn't simply exhilarating, of course. But still...
Three weeks had passed since the Death Eaters had shown up in Hogsmeade, and they'd been relatively eventless. Nothing much had happened; just a few things here and there were even worth noting. Like the Monday before when Dean had mistook Parvati for Padma and kissed the wrong twin in the middle of the Great Hall, earning a slap from each sister and a very public dumping from Padma, who claimed that if he couldn't even tell them apart then he was definitely not worth her time. Dean was now very high up on the "Boys to Hate List" at Hogwarts, much to the amusement of all of his friends. Only a few other things had even been worth mentioning, like Natalie Macdonald, a second year Gryffindor, falling down half a flight of stairs and breaking her ankle. Or Jason Kristoff, a sixth year Slytherin, turning his hair a rather pukish shade of green in a Potions mishap.
Ginny had been released from the hospital wing the Sunday after the Hogsmeade visit, and she was claiming to feel quite fine. And though Harry couldn't help noticing that her skin was paler than normal and her eyes less vivid, he didn't say anything. He simply went along with the façade that she was trying so hard to present, pretending that he believed her and couldn't notice that she still appeared rather ill. Her fifteenth birthday had arrived in the first weekend of February, leaving her and Ron the same age for what would be a little under a month. Now that Harry had a reason to look, he noticed that she did, in fact, spend quite a bit of time with Colin Creevey, and, if he didn't know better, he would have guessed that Colin was a bit taken with her. After all, Harry had been a very close witness to a similar situation and was rather the expert at catching signals that suggested that one of the two might be interested in something a bit more involved than friendship. Ginny, however, seemed completely oblivious.
"Are you two done with your essays yet?" Hermione's question drew Harry out of his brief lapse in reality and brought him back to the library where he was sitting across from his two best friends.
He glanced down at the parchment in front of him and saw that he still had another foot to write. A brief look at Ron's proved that the redhead had even more. Hermione, of course, had finished her own essay a week before. And she wasted no time at chiding the boys on not following her example.
"You know, if you didn't wait until the last minute to do your homework, you might get better marks." She was scanning over the two paragraphs that Ron had managed to write. "And most of this doesn't even make sense."
Ron rolled his eyes slightly and slumped down a bit in his seat. He picked at a loose splinter of wood on the corner of the table with his thumbnail and ignored her as she continued to point out all of the things wrong with his essay. Harry was actually surprised; he had expected Ron to snatch his paper back and tell Hermione to mind her own business. But he didn't. He just sat there pretending to listen to Hermione's lecture.
Perhaps this was what the term 'whipped' meant.
"Are you listening to me?" Hermione asked briskly, setting the parchment down and looking very pointedly at the writer of the essay.
Ron looked up and grinned. "Of course. I always listen to you."
Hermione studied him suspiciously for a long moment before rolling her own eyes and reaching across the table for Harry's essay. She looked over it and then back across the table.
"Harry, are you aware that the topic is the hidden uses of Mondograss? Silverweed was in the last unit."
Actually, Harry had no idea that the topic was about Mondograss. A quick glance at his assignment page told him that he'd turned to a page from a month earlier without even realizing it.
"I know what the topic is," he said evenly, taking his essay back. "This is just the introduction."
Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Are you both aware that the O.W.L.s are in..."
"Sixteen weeks!" Harry finished shortly. "Yes, Hermione. We are very aware of that." He glanced across the table at Ron, who was still picking away at the wood, obviously doing his best to avoid the argument altogether.
Great bloody lot of help he was.
"You don't have to be rude," Hermione said, pushing her nose slightly into the air. "I was just trying to help you, you know."
"I think the Countdown to the O.W.L.s Calendar that you bewitched for our dorm room is help enough."
Hermione stared at him for a brief moment before they both turned expectant looks to Ron. Ron, however, simply got extremely interested in removing the splinter and didn't look up to meet either of their gazes.
Harry made a mental note to tell everyone he knew that Ron was officially whipped.
"I'm tired," Harry announced, sending an unnoticed glare in his best friend's direction. "I'll finish this tomorrow."
"It's due right after breakfast," Hermione protested.
"Then I'll do it during breakfast."
"You'll get a horrible grade!"
Harry groaned. "I'll get a horrible grade anyway! It's Snape, remember? He'd fail me for breathing if he could!"
"Pity I can't, isn't it?"
The deep cold drawl was unmistakable, and Harry closed his eyes briefly in defeat before slowing turning around to face the very same Snape he'd just been referring to. The professor was smiling rather icily at him, his eyebrows raised in what appeared to be amusement and his arms crossed over his chest.
"Waiting until the last possible minute to finish your assignment, Potter?" he asked keenly. "I believe I assigned that essay a week and a half ago, didn't I?"
"No, sir," Hermione spoke up. "It's only been a week."
"Was I speaking to you, Miss Granger?" His head snapped in her direction, and he shot her a rather unflattering look. "And good God, you look a mess! Regardless of whatever activities," he shot a brief glance in Ron's direction, "you have been engaging in, you should still at least attempt to look presentable. I know that might be a difficult task, but you could at least try."
Hermione turned bright red, and her eyes filled with tears as she reached down to pull up her fallen sock and tried to twist her skirt around to its proper position. Harry felt blood rush to his ears, and his vision grew blurry as it so often did around the Potions professor. There was absolutely no excuse to go around insulting people, especially Hermione, who had never been anything but respectable and intelligent to all of her teachers, the bastard in front of them included. Ron looked so furious that Harry had a half-thought of Ron jumping up and decking the teacher, though thankfully he had enough sense and control not to.
"And you should do something about your hair. It should be properly restrained, not just tossed about and pinned up carelessly." Snape was on a roll, and Harry had had too much.
And anyway, Snape had absolutely no room to criticize anyone else's hair when his looked as if it hadn't seen shampoo since Voldemort's first rise to power.
He looked straight at the professor and very evenly said, "Leave her alone."
It was a wonder that Snape's neck didn't break as he snapped his head in Harry's direction. "Excuse me, Potter? What did you say?"
"I said to leave her alone," Harry repeated slowly.
"Do not think that just because you are worshipped by some brainless idiots that you have the right to start giving your professors orders, Potter," he said snakily. "You will respect me, do you understand?"
Harry ignored his question. "Hermione didn't even do anything!"
"Your friend, I am afraid," Snape went on, "has a problem with impertinence. It is a trait most unbecoming of a young lady, and I do not tolerate silly little girls who think they know more than people who are over twice their age." He looked once more to Hermione. "Just because you know more than these two does not make you intelligent, understand?"
Hermione was quite obviously still fighting the tears that were threatening to fall.
Ron appeared to be trying to decide which Unforgivable Curse would cause Snape the most pain. Harry was glad that his best friend wasn't even attempting to speak.
"She was not being impertinent!" Harry protested loudly. "She finished your damn essay the day you assigned it, and she was just pointing out that you were wrong!"
Harry shut his mouth immediately, realizing far too late that he had gone far too far.
"Twenty-five points from Gryffindor and a detention, Potter." Snape glared at him. "And I will make sure that the Headmaster knows that you apparently find yourself so far above the rules that you think it is okay to swear at your professors. Not to mention cite them as wrong," he added evenly.
Harry didn't say anything. He didn't reckon that pointing out that he would never swear at any of the other professors was a good idea. And he didn't trust himself enough not to reach for his wand and practice the very same curses Ron was apparently concentrating on.
With another long glare, Snape turned around and stalked toward the exit of the library, his black robes flowing lazily behind him.
The second he was gone, Harry turned back around to Hermione, who was very close to losing the battle she was raging against her own tears. "Hermione, don't listen to him," he said instantly. "You know he's nothing but an asshole."
She just shot a downcast look at the table and bit hard into her lower lip. For someone who could punch Draco Malfoy, banter with the Slytherins, and row for ages with Ron, she had never been able to take any sort of criticism from the teachers, including the slimy git that resided in the dungeons.
When the first tear finally broke through and slid down her cheek, Ron let out such a slur of swearing that Harry was just waiting on Madame Pince to come rushing over and take even more points from Gryffindor. He shot Ron a look that gave away his worry, and Ron, after opening and closing his mouth wordlessly several times finally shut up with a very loud huff of indignation.
"Please don't cry," Harry said softly, moving to where he could sit on the desk in front of her. "He's not worth it."
"I know." Hermione brushed away at the tears as she spoke quietly. "I know he's not."
"He's just some miserable old man with no life who wants to make everyone else miserable, too." Ron spoke with such a certain vengeance that it was nearly impossible not to believe him, and Hermione brushed away the last of her tears, obviously determined not to allow any others to fall.
She looked up slowly at Harry. "I'm sorry I got you in trouble," she said softly.
"You didn't get me in trouble," he said assuredly. "I got myself in trouble."
"You really shouldn't swear at a teacher." Even now, she found it impossible to resist scolding him.
Harry actually rather enjoyed it; it gave him a sense of normalcy.
"I know. I'll keep that in mind."
She smiled half-heartedly at him. "And I'm sorry for nagging you so much about your homework."
"Nah," he shrugged his shoulders. "If you didn't nag me, how would I ever get anything done?"
Hermione managed a laugh, though it was clear that she was still struggling. It was better than nothing, though, and Harry grinned at her once more to let her know that things were fine. "These chairs are bothering me, though, so I'm gonna work on this upstairs in the dorm, okay?" He leaned over and tugged at her ponytail. "But I promise it'll be done by breakfast."
She jerked her head back. "It better be," she said seriously, though her eyes gave way to the light that she was teasing.
"Yes, ma'am." He slid off the desk, and she stood up, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him.
"Goodnight." She pulled back slightly and smiled at him- a real smile.
"Night," he returned, leaning in to peck her quickly on the cheek, something he'd never really done before.
Of course, it was in a completely innocent, non-attracted, platonic way.
Releasing her from the hug, he walked around her chair, and on his way out, he slapped Ron across the back of the head, still not fully forgiving him for being so totally whipped that he wouldn't even side with him in an argument. Ron, as if able to read his mind (they were a couple of Trelawney's top students, after all), looked up at him sheepishly and shrugged.
Harry rolled his eyes, gathered up his books, and left.
Hermione, still standing, reached for the elastic that was holding her hair up and started tugging at it to release it, but Ron caught her elbow. "No, leave it up."
She turned around to look at him, her forehead wrinkled slightly in confusion. "Why? It probably really does look a mess."
Ron, still hanging onto her elbow, sent her an embarrassed smile. "It looks... nice."
She hid her own smile at seeing him flustered. She enjoyed the fact that he still got embarrassed sometimes when trying to pay her a compliment, and his pink blush was something she knew would always be attractive.
He was just adorable. Really.
Teasing him, she said, "And what? I guess you think this uniform is nice, too, huh?"
It was her turn to blush when Ron scanned his eyes down and then back up her body. "Yeah, actually," he admitted quietly. "It looks much better this way."
She rolled her eyes and reached up to fix her top three buttons, but Ron, who still had her elbow, pulled her arm back down. "That looks much better, too."
Hermione stared at him in half-shock for a moment before bursting into laughter. "You are a pervert," she said pointedly.
"Really?" Ron grinned. "Didn't think you'd noticed."
She rolled her eyes yet again and jerked her arm back haughtily. "You'd be surprised," she muttered, turning back around to face the table and his still unfinished essay. "Now, are you going to finish this or not?"
Ron leaned around her and propped his elbow onto the table, resting his chin in his hand and looking up at her. "Are you going to help me?"
She looked down and considered him for a second. Finally giving in, she sighed dejectedly. "You know, I should be mad at you for not taking my side earlier."
Ron's face fell slightly. "I..."
"But I'm not," she finished. "I would be incensed if you had taken Harry's side, though. I guess I can't censure you for not wanting to incriminate yourself by staying neutral."
"If I had any clue what you were saying, I'm sure I would agree," Ron said seriously, and she laughed, turning on her heel to face him again. He leaned back in his chair and watched her.
"Well, in answer to your earlier question," she said primly, "yes, I will help you. But I'm not writing it for you," she added instantly. "That's no proper way to learn."
"Of course it isn't," he agreed firmly. "Not proper at all."
Hermione pursed her lips and perched herself onto the desk just as Harry had. She crossed one leg over the other, her foot jingling slightly as she once again reached for the essay and scanned it.
"Really," she said after a moment, "this isn't all that bad. It's just not detailed enough is all. At least you got the topic right," she added with a grin, glancing up and catching the look he was giving her. "What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.
Ron shrugged noncommittally. "Nothing. You're just really pretty is all."
"You flatter me," she said in mock-drama. "You're just sucking up, so I'll write your paper."
He shrugged again. "Maybe."
Hermione's mouth fell open in an indignant gasp. The Mary Jane clad foot that was jingling over her knee kicked forward in an attempt to hit his chest, but Ron caught it just in time.
"But probably not." He grinned at her as he released her foot and reached for the parchment in her hand.
************************************
Two hours later, Harry heard Ron come up to bed. He knew it was Ron because Dean, Seamus, and Neville were all sleeping already, just as Harry was pretending to be. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to his friend; he was just more adept to keeping to himself late at night.
It was completely normal for him to be awake after everyone else was asleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night of sleep, and though he spent most of his days battling the incessant need to nap, he couldn't help the insomnia that seemed to overtake him each night.
There was so much to think about.
Obviously with Voldemort rising once again to power, Harry was worried that he might not be witness to his sixteenth birthday, but he usually tried not to think about it too much. Of course, trying and succeeding were two very different things, as he'd learned long ago. What worried him even more was the possibility that his best friends might not see their own birthdays.
Harry had accepted his Fate long ago, but he was still having trouble adjusting to the idea that Ron and Hermione were expected to accept the same. It just didn't seem right.
As far as Harry could see, they didn't even have anything to do with all of this, other than the fact that they happened to be friends with him. They'd never had attempts on their lives by Voldemort or any Death Eaters. They'd never caused the Darkest Wizard of all time to live in exile for thirteen years. Their parents had never been murdered by the same Dark Wizard.
And yet there was some ancient prophecy that included them as much as it did him.
It just didn't make sense.
Harry was just thankful that neither of them seemed to be plagued with the same horrible visions that he saw each time he closed his eyes. He saw things that no person should ever see, especially a child of fifteen years old. He often found it difficult to think of himself as a child when he felt more like fifty than fifteen; he'd been through more things than most people twice his age. He'd had enough heartache to last him three lifetimes.
And he was just fifteen.
He heard Ron get into bed and saw the last light in the dormitory go out, leaving the room blanketed in thick darkness. Harry lay back against his own pillows and stared aimlessly up into the blackness. His Potions essay was done, copied mostly from Dean, who had given him his paper and just said to make sure he changed enough to not get caught. There were a million other things that he could be doing instead of lying pointlessly in a bed that he knew would not help him sleep. The O.W.L.s were, after all, only in sixteen weeks. There was a Transfiguration exam coming up at the end of the week, and Professor Lupin had assigned them a two feet long essay on the punishments for using illegal curses that was due the following Wednesday. But, as usual, Harry wasn't in the mood to do any homework.
Stretching, he sat up and reached under his pillow for his wand, whispering a quiet "Lumos!" that he hoped his roommates didn't notice. A stack of parchment was sitting on his beside table, and Harry reached through the hangings to retrieve a few empty sheets and the self-inking quill that Hermione had given him for Christmas.
He would write to Gia.
That always made him feel better.
He was getting quite used to exchanging stories with her via owl post, as they had no other choice. And with his endless nights of sleeplessness, his letters were continuously getting longer and more detailed. Of course, he never wrote to her about his nightmares or any of the reasons he was even having them in the first place. He somehow didn't think she would take too well to knowing that he was wanted dead by hundreds of evil wizards around the continent; he preferred for her to stay with the belief that Hogwarts was simply a magnificent place of wonder and fantasy. He wrote instead about Quidditch practices, his classes, his friends, and the latest pranks that Fred and George had decided to pull.
Things were just safer like that.
Worrying about Ron and Hermione was tiring enough. He didn't want to worry about Gia worrying about him. There was simply no point in it.
Perhaps ignorance really was bliss.
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I know this one was sort of pointless, but the next chapters are pretty rough and angsty, so I decided to go ahead and knock this one out of the way.
I would love it if you would leave feedback!!!
Don't forget to check out the outtakes. The Draco one is here at fanfiction.net and at the Yahoo! group. The Ron/Hermione one is only at the Yahoo! location.
The URL is: groups.yahoo.com/group/when_things_change/
Check them out!!!
