Harry's heart was beating unbelievably fast as they took their seats in Mrs. Figg's booth. He was actually going to find out his OWL results. His career would depend on these next few sentences Mrs. Figg was going to announce.
Harry quietly took a seat in the corner of the booth, waiting for Mrs. Figg to open her mouth.
Harry and Ron gave each other worried, anxious looks at the sight of Mrs. Figg's disappointed expression.
"Ron and Harry." She stated, although Harry did not know why.
Harry's heart raced faster.
"All I'm saying is that you both seemed to have roughly the same amount of 'Outstandings', 'Exceeds Expectations', 'Acceptables', and 'Dreadfuls'."
She flinched at the last word, but Harry's reaction was worse than that. His heart sank horribly to his stomach, his brain was jammed with anger, and his body froze at once. Nor he or Ron would be able to become Aurors.
"Dreadful? We got Dreadfuls?" Ron shouted angrily. He seemed to be able to function properly, unlike Harry.
Mrs. Figg gave him a sympathetic smile.
"One each."
Harry knew exactly what subject. It was History of Magic.
Ron seemed to know, too, because he slumped down in his chair, looking like he was about to cry.
"Mum's going to kill me," he said miserably.
Hermione cleared her throat.
"I told you two to work harder this year…" she started, but Ron cut her off.
"Sorry if we don't love to work all the time like you," Ron snapped angrily.
Mrs. Figg looked uncomfortable.
"Well, I'd better get going," she said quickly. "Bye, Harry. Nice to meet you two," she said, then swept away.
Hermione seemed to like Mrs. Figg greatly after she'd found out what her OWL results were; in fact she started chatting away at how Mrs. Figg was a truly understanding, kind woman, and Ron slumped down further, his head disappearing under the table.
Harry had never felt so worthless in his life. He wasn't cut out to be an Auror, after all.
Hermione finally stopped babbling, her eager expression fading away into pure sympathy.
"We should order our food," she said quietly.
The breakfast was not as happy and cheerful as Harry wanted it to be. It was stony and silent, with Hermione occasionally trying to get them to talk, but Ron and Harry just sat there; staring at their food with disgusted looks on their faces.
Once they'd begun to walk home, Harry spoke up, the first time since Mrs. Figg had announced their results.
"Boy, I can hardly wait until our real OWL results arrive," he said bitterly, kicking a rock down the sidewalk.
Harry suddenly felt Hermione grab his hand and squeeze it tenderly. He looked up, shocked.
"Don't worry," she said softly. "It's going to be fine."
Ron's head shot up at once. His eyes moved from Harry and Hermione's tightly wrapped hands, to Hermione's wistful face, to Harry's shocked expression, and immediately he jerked out of his angered thoughts.
"I'm not feeling that great either," he said loudly. "I mean, were stupid enough not to listen to Hermione?"
After finishing the sentence, he looked hopefully at her.
Hermione laughed, dropped Harry's hand, and instead of grabbing Ron's, patted him awkwardly on the back.
Ron's eyes turned to slits, and he fell back into his reverie.
Harry raised his eyebrows. Was it just him or did he notice Ron giving Hermione a look that said "I like you"? Was Hermione giving him the same look?
Harry shuddered at the thought. That was impossible.
When they got back into Harry's house, Ron muttered that he needed to send his mother a letter and Hermione quickly excused herself, bounding upstairs after Ron.
Harry walked into the kitchen. The Dursleys were round the table, eating breakfast. There was a cheery mood in the room, as Harry was not there to bother them.
"I'm back," Harry said hollowly.
Uncle Vernon didn't turn around; Aunt Petunia looked up slightly then returned to eating her grapefruit quarter; and a look of terror shadowed Dudley's pink, round face.
"W-where are your f-friends?" Dudley stammered.
Harry tried not to laugh aloud. Dudley was supposed to be a heavyweight champion, not some lost puppy in the middle of a thunderstorm beside the highway.
As Dudley continued cowering, Harry turned to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.
"I was thinking - could my friends and I sleep in the living room? There's not much space in my bedroom." Harry said politely.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged horrified, anxious looks. They could not say no, yet if they said yes, what would happen to their neat living room?
Uncle Vernon turned purple as he answered.
"Yes," he grunted ruefully, turning back to his grapefruit quarter.
Harry quietly thanked them and headed up to his bedroom to tell Hermione and Ron the news.
Once he opened the door and walked in, he noticed an air of fury about the room. Ron was angrily rummaging in his trunk, socks and shirts soaring across the room, one narrowly missing Harry's forehead. Hermione was sitting on Harry's bed, reading The Darkwald Theory, but for the first time Harry saw that she wasn't paying attention; it was upside down and she was scowling at Ron.
"I, er – I asked the Dursleys," Harry said, confused. Hermione set down her book and looked up at him, and Ron stopped tossing clothes across the room.
"They said we could sleep in the living room," he explained.
Hermione smiled, and Ron cheered.
"That's great, mate. I'm sleeping furthest from Hermione; she snores like an elephant half-asleep."
Harry turned away so that Hermione could not see him laughing, but Ron noticed and sniggered.
"I don't care where I sleep," Hermione said, her nose upturned. "Just as long as it's not near Ron, he tends to wet his bed occasionally."
Harry raised his eyebrows.
Hermione turned up her nose even higher and strolled out of the room, leaving her book lying opened on Harry's bed.
Ron and Harry looked at each other.
"I don't wet the bed!" he said indignantly.
Harry quietly took a seat in the corner of the booth, waiting for Mrs. Figg to open her mouth.
Harry and Ron gave each other worried, anxious looks at the sight of Mrs. Figg's disappointed expression.
"Ron and Harry." She stated, although Harry did not know why.
Harry's heart raced faster.
"All I'm saying is that you both seemed to have roughly the same amount of 'Outstandings', 'Exceeds Expectations', 'Acceptables', and 'Dreadfuls'."
She flinched at the last word, but Harry's reaction was worse than that. His heart sank horribly to his stomach, his brain was jammed with anger, and his body froze at once. Nor he or Ron would be able to become Aurors.
"Dreadful? We got Dreadfuls?" Ron shouted angrily. He seemed to be able to function properly, unlike Harry.
Mrs. Figg gave him a sympathetic smile.
"One each."
Harry knew exactly what subject. It was History of Magic.
Ron seemed to know, too, because he slumped down in his chair, looking like he was about to cry.
"Mum's going to kill me," he said miserably.
Hermione cleared her throat.
"I told you two to work harder this year…" she started, but Ron cut her off.
"Sorry if we don't love to work all the time like you," Ron snapped angrily.
Mrs. Figg looked uncomfortable.
"Well, I'd better get going," she said quickly. "Bye, Harry. Nice to meet you two," she said, then swept away.
Hermione seemed to like Mrs. Figg greatly after she'd found out what her OWL results were; in fact she started chatting away at how Mrs. Figg was a truly understanding, kind woman, and Ron slumped down further, his head disappearing under the table.
Harry had never felt so worthless in his life. He wasn't cut out to be an Auror, after all.
Hermione finally stopped babbling, her eager expression fading away into pure sympathy.
"We should order our food," she said quietly.
The breakfast was not as happy and cheerful as Harry wanted it to be. It was stony and silent, with Hermione occasionally trying to get them to talk, but Ron and Harry just sat there; staring at their food with disgusted looks on their faces.
Once they'd begun to walk home, Harry spoke up, the first time since Mrs. Figg had announced their results.
"Boy, I can hardly wait until our real OWL results arrive," he said bitterly, kicking a rock down the sidewalk.
Harry suddenly felt Hermione grab his hand and squeeze it tenderly. He looked up, shocked.
"Don't worry," she said softly. "It's going to be fine."
Ron's head shot up at once. His eyes moved from Harry and Hermione's tightly wrapped hands, to Hermione's wistful face, to Harry's shocked expression, and immediately he jerked out of his angered thoughts.
"I'm not feeling that great either," he said loudly. "I mean, were stupid enough not to listen to Hermione?"
After finishing the sentence, he looked hopefully at her.
Hermione laughed, dropped Harry's hand, and instead of grabbing Ron's, patted him awkwardly on the back.
Ron's eyes turned to slits, and he fell back into his reverie.
Harry raised his eyebrows. Was it just him or did he notice Ron giving Hermione a look that said "I like you"? Was Hermione giving him the same look?
Harry shuddered at the thought. That was impossible.
When they got back into Harry's house, Ron muttered that he needed to send his mother a letter and Hermione quickly excused herself, bounding upstairs after Ron.
Harry walked into the kitchen. The Dursleys were round the table, eating breakfast. There was a cheery mood in the room, as Harry was not there to bother them.
"I'm back," Harry said hollowly.
Uncle Vernon didn't turn around; Aunt Petunia looked up slightly then returned to eating her grapefruit quarter; and a look of terror shadowed Dudley's pink, round face.
"W-where are your f-friends?" Dudley stammered.
Harry tried not to laugh aloud. Dudley was supposed to be a heavyweight champion, not some lost puppy in the middle of a thunderstorm beside the highway.
As Dudley continued cowering, Harry turned to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.
"I was thinking - could my friends and I sleep in the living room? There's not much space in my bedroom." Harry said politely.
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged horrified, anxious looks. They could not say no, yet if they said yes, what would happen to their neat living room?
Uncle Vernon turned purple as he answered.
"Yes," he grunted ruefully, turning back to his grapefruit quarter.
Harry quietly thanked them and headed up to his bedroom to tell Hermione and Ron the news.
Once he opened the door and walked in, he noticed an air of fury about the room. Ron was angrily rummaging in his trunk, socks and shirts soaring across the room, one narrowly missing Harry's forehead. Hermione was sitting on Harry's bed, reading The Darkwald Theory, but for the first time Harry saw that she wasn't paying attention; it was upside down and she was scowling at Ron.
"I, er – I asked the Dursleys," Harry said, confused. Hermione set down her book and looked up at him, and Ron stopped tossing clothes across the room.
"They said we could sleep in the living room," he explained.
Hermione smiled, and Ron cheered.
"That's great, mate. I'm sleeping furthest from Hermione; she snores like an elephant half-asleep."
Harry turned away so that Hermione could not see him laughing, but Ron noticed and sniggered.
"I don't care where I sleep," Hermione said, her nose upturned. "Just as long as it's not near Ron, he tends to wet his bed occasionally."
Harry raised his eyebrows.
Hermione turned up her nose even higher and strolled out of the room, leaving her book lying opened on Harry's bed.
Ron and Harry looked at each other.
"I don't wet the bed!" he said indignantly.