Natasha's Pre-Fic Note: Normally we don't put our notes at the beginning of the fic, but I feel that this is necessary. It's been about a year since we last updated, and so I shall make it clear that THIS FIC IS NOW AU. It still takes place in fifth year, the Blaise in this fic is a girl, Sirius is not dead, etc. Now, on with the fic.
The Spaces Between Shadow & Night
by: Silver Prophet
the combined talents of:
silverphoenix & poetic licence
Chapter 13
Taboo
As they were led up to Dumbledore's office by a thin-lipped Professor McGonagall, Harry kept stealing glances at Draco, trying to gauge what he was thinking. The Slytherin was as composed as normal, staring straight ahead and paying no heed to anyone else, despite the fact that his hair was thoroughly messed up and his lips were red.
Harry could not help but wonder what he looked like, and kept trying to catch a glimpse of himself in passing suits of armour. However, either the house elves had neglected to clean the armour, or they were moving too fast, and so Harry could only see himself as a moving blur.
Hermione and Blaise hung back behind himself, Draco and McGonagall, whispering to each other and trying to stay out of McGonagall's line of sight and hearing. However, the Deputy Headmistress was clearly aware of their presence as when she commanded the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office to move, the turned to look at them before ushering them up the stairs along with Harry and Draco, although ordered them to wait outside the office itself.
Once Harry and Draco were inside the office, McGonagall said nothing to Dumbledore, but instead walked straight into his fireplace and disappeared, her face still set in a stony look of disapproval.
"Please take a seat, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy."
Harry looked around the office, blankly. Where exactly did Dumbledore expect them to sit? For once, the only seat that Harry could see in Dumbledore's office was the one that Dumbledore himself was sat on. Wordlessly, the headmaster gave his wand an impatient flick, and two squashy armchairs chairs spun into existence, coming to a halt facing the old man's desk.
Silently the two boys sat down, not looking at one another. Perhaps it was grim look on Professor Dumbledore's face juxtaposed against the armchairs that unnerved Harry most, but perhaps it was the fact that Harry heard a total of twenty-five impatient ticks from one of the clocks on the walls before Dumbledore spoke. Even the portraits on the walls, those that were awake anyway, were looking curiously at the old wizard.
"Do either of you know why I have asked you here?" Dumbledore asked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw that Draco looked as confused as Harry himself was. "I assumed that it had something to do with what just happened and Blaise and Hermione..." Draco trailed off timidly as the headmaster shook his head slightly.
"I shall be speaking to both Miss Granger and Miss Zabini about their lack of decorum later. I, however, am not concerned at the moment about the fraternising of a couple of my students, regardless of who they might be."
Harry had always found the expression 'reading between the lines' a peculiar one. How could you read between the lines? There was nothing between the lines except empty space. Except now he could see it. When Dumbledore said regardless of who they might be, he in fact meant even if they are both boys. This knowledge was somewhat reassuring.
Dumbledore continued, his hands folded on the desk in front of him. "As far as I am aware, you are aware of the situation concerning Harry's godfather, Sirius Black."
Draco looked even more confused, but nodded anyway.
"And you are aware of Lucius Malfoy's," Dumbledore paused momentarily, trying to find a delicate way of phrasing what he wanted to say, "allegiances, Harry?"
Dumbledore was asking Harry if he knew that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. He nodded. Of course he knew; it was a thinly veiled secret that only those who did not believe Voldemort had returned would not acknowledge, much like those who simply chose to ignore it.
"Good." The headmaster seemed satisfied with these answers. He nodded, processing this information.
"Sirius is missing."
His announcement rang around the cluttered office, and even the many ticking clocks fell silent. Harry felt like someone had punched him. Looking at Draco, he saw that the Slytherin showed the sort of look one has when told that a distant relative with whom one is only briefly acquainted has died: you have a connection with them, certainly, but, unless they happen to have left a vast amount of money to you in their will, you're not in the least bit concerned.
This look, after a moment, turned into one of recognition and loathing.
"My father."
Again, Dumbledore nodded and Harry went cold. "We believe that Lucius was heavily involved in discovering the location of Sirius."
Harry was glad that Dumbledore referred to Drano's father as Lucius - by not calling him Draco's father he made him sound more distant and less connected to Draco and so Harry could feel free to any hatred for him without fear of offending Draco. Judging by Draco's response to hearing this revelation that his father was involved in kidnapping, Harry had the feeling that Draco would not have taken any offence whatsoever.
Finding his voice, Harry asked, "What's being done to get him back?"
Dumbledore said nothing.
"Something's being done, isn't it?" Harry demanded, feeling completely and utterly betrayed. "You're not just going to leave him in the hands of that bastard as you..." realising what he had just called Lucius Malfoy in front of the headmaster, his face flushed and he stammered, "Well, I erm, I mean that..."
Draco on the other hand, said, "I shouldn't worry. My grandparents weren't married until he was three months old, so doesn't that technically make him a bastard anyway?"
Harry did not know, and the headmaster did not respond to his question. Instead, the headmaster addressed Harry. "Sirius's rescue is still being planned - it has not been confirmed yet that he has been kidnapped by Lucius, although this is our most likely theory. We would also need to use quite a few people for this and, quite frankly, we haven't got that sort of muscle yet."
Harry only vaguely registered what Dumbledore was saying, although from what he could gather, he had people working for him, Harry did not know whom, but there were not enough of them. He felt sick. Surely all Dumbledore would have to do was alert the Ministry. After all, they had Aurors and Enforcers and... Except that was exactly what Dumbledore could not do. Sirius, as much as Harry hated the fact, was still a wanted fugitive. Even if the Aurors were to retrieve him from Malfoy Manor or wherever Lucius Malfoy was keeping him, Lucius would no doubt just get thanks from the authorities for capturing this 'dangerous' criminal.
"I think I should go," Harry said after a moment. "I want to be alone." He stood up, pushing his chair back angrily. The whole situation was so... stupid. Wouldn't things have just been easier if Sirius had stayed in Azkaban?
I shouldn't think like that, Harry scolded himself, as he wrenched open the door to the headmaster's office, Dumbledore not attempting to make Harry stay. As he stepped through the door and nearly ran down the stairs, he only caught a glimpse of Hermione and Blaise's confused faces from where they were sat on the stairs, waiting to go into Dumbledore's office.
I really shouldn't think like that.
Hermione had been pestering Harry for the last half and hour, ever since they had left Potions, trying to get him to show her his last Potions essay, which Snape had marked with the official OWL grading scheme. Hermione had been positively glowing about her O, although she told him she needed to do a lot more revision if she wanted to get a top E, but Harry had been rather embarrassed by his D. He had yet to show it to her, but he doubted that she had actually noticed this as he had been somewhat withdrawn since the news of Sirius's disappearance. Draco had clearly informed the girls of what Dumbledore had told them, and all three had been suitably quiet about the whole affair, not mentioning it unless Harry did.
It was another month until the OWL exams. In the meantime it was the Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin Quidditch match the following weekend (merely a formality to decide second and third places in Harry's opinion; Gryffindor were winning by more than enough points to clinch the title again, and Slytherin and Ravenclaw were quite evenly matched. Hufflepuff had clearly lost the championship, although they had been surprisingly upbeat about it.
However, this weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend and Harry was not going to let a bad Potions mark get in his way of ruining it. He and Draco were planning to spend the day with the others, although Alena had said something about being a fifth wheel and had said vaguely that she had plans. Harry had been sure she was lying, but Alena insisted that she was only going to stay with them for 'a Butterbeer or two'.
Harry was now sat pouring over The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe after Draco had recommended it. He had given it a raving review, and, to Harry's annoyance, had accidentally given away several important parts of the plot. Turning the page, he recalled seeing a boxed set of all the Narnia books in Dudley's bedroom back in Privet Drive. However, like all books that Dudley owned, they were just there to look good and had in fact been collecting dust for the last ten years.
To his left, Hermione and Seamus were being sickeningly couple-like, Hermione's Potions notes forgotten. Ron was playing a game of chess against Ginny on the far side of the common room, and Harry was sure that Ron kept looking over at him. Fred and George were staging a duel while the other seventh years looked on, some sporting minor injuries or even tentacles from spells that had missed their target. Matilda was staring intently at the twins, although she looked distinctly bored.
Was it just Harry, or did the auburn haired seventh year look not so much like the girl he'd first spoken to at the beginning of the year, as a walking skeleton. As he sat staring at her, she suddenly looked over at him, her eyes locking with his for a second, and making Harry feel rather faint. She might not look the same physically, but her eyes had the same intense, driven passion that had always been there.
Harry tore his eyes away, forcing himself to concentrate on Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy's current predicament.
When he tried to get to sleep that night, he could not get those eyes out of his head.
At around half past eight the following morning, someone whistling in his dormitory awaked Harry. Scrambling for his glasses, Harry shoved them onto his face, missing his right ear as he did so. Seamus' green-clad form swam into view. He was sat on his bed, tying up the laces on his trainers. Harry struggled into a sitting position, rearranging his glasses to their correct position.
Seamus noticed Harry at this point and bit his lip. "Did I wake yeh?" he asked. "Sorry 'bout that."
"'S'alright," mumbled Harry pushing back the bed clothes. "What time it is?"
"Nine thirty four and fifty three seconds," was Seamus' reply as he looked at his watch.
"Thanks."
Within ten minutes, Harry somehow managed to get washed, dressed and his hair into a reasonable state. All without putting his foot in his hat once.
Practically running into the common room, Harry found it empty, save for one lone figure that was sat reading the latest edition of a magazine called The Quibbler. Harry wondered what it could be about, as he had never heard of it before. On closer inspection, the person proved to be Matilda.
"Not going to Hogsmeade?" Harry asked quietly.
She looked up at him, her unblinking gaze giving Harry a slight chill. "My other half thinks it isn't a good idea. For once I'm inclined to agree." She gave him a grin, despite herself. "Are you going?"
"Yeah, I'm supposed to be meeting the others. Where is George, anyway?"
"Getting me some breakfast." At that moment, a familiar redhead appeared through the portrait hole, carrying a heavy-looking tray of breakfast foods. "Speak of the devil," Matilda added.
Plonking the tray down on the table beside Matilda, George grinned at Harry. "Hang on, "he said a moment later. "Aren't you going to Hogsmeade with Hermione and Seamus?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Well, I just passed 'em - they're on their way to the Entrance Hall."
Harry rolled his eyes. No doubt they were so wrapped up in each other that they had forgotten about him. Grabbing a piece of toast from the tray, Harry called, "Thanks!" as he ran out of the common room.
He arrived only moments after Hermione and Seamus. Looking at them, Harry had a feeling that he would not be able to pry one from the other for the entire day. Draco and Alena were also present, chatting quietly and looking like complete opposites. As usual, Alena was wearing her trademark rainbow socks and black boots while Draco had opted for a more conservative charcoal grey-and-black ensemble.
When he saw Harry, he gave him one of those rare smiles that actually reached his eyes. Alena happened to see this as well, and she rolled her eyes in mock disgust, although she greeted Harry with a fierce hug that nearly knocked him off his feet.
They chose to walk down to Hogsmeade as it was a pleasant day, although the breeze carried a cold chill with it. Harry found this rather unnerving for some inexplicable reason, but said nothing.
Walking down the path towards Hogsmeade, they stopped for a moment while Alena tied up her shoelace. Looking around, Harry noticed that they were stood outside a small farm; several sheep were milling around, and a couple of Crups were barking noisily, wagging their forked tails. From somewhere there was the sound of a cockerel. Harry looked at his watch. It was a little after ten. Weren't cocks supposed to crow at dawn? He had a vague suspicion that this was a bad omen, but then decided he was being paranoid; all those years of Divination with Trelawney were bound to have affected him in some way.
As they approached the Three Broomsticks, Harry was half-listening to Alena and Seamus' animated conversation about the dismal performance put on by the Holyhead Harpies in their last match. Alena guided them over to an empty table (it was far too early to be busy, although there were already several patrons in the pub), her boots clunking loudly on the wooden floor.
"I need coffee!" Draco announced loudly, and Hermione and Alena seconded this. After finding out what everyone wanted to drink, Hermione and Alena went over to the bar where Madam Rosemerta was busy polishing a pint glass. Harry watched as the landlady greeted them warmly.
"Harry? D'you think I should... y'know, invite Hermione to my house over the summer?" Seamus asked, bringing Harry's attention back to the table. "Only, me mam keeps telling me to do it, but I think it's too soon."
Harry was surprised at this question. "Why are you asking me?"
Seamus looked embarrassed. "Well, you're her best friend. I thought maybe you'd know what she'd say if I asked her."
"You'll never know what she'll say unless you ask her," pointed out Draco coolly.
"I didn't ask you, Malfoy," Seamus said, casting a hard glare at the Slytherin.
The girls returned with the drinks a couple of minutes later, giggling about some private joke before sliding into their seats. Draco eagerly poured himself a large cup of coffee while Harry watched him, amused, before picking his glass of pumpkin juice from the tray.
He nearly dropped his glass however, at the sound of breaking glass. Draco smirked in amusement at this, and Hermione said, "It's probably just Zonko's. You know that some of the demonstrations can get a bit lively."
"Lively?" echoed Seamus. "It sounds bloody deadly."
That was when all the windows in the Three Broomsticks blew out, sending glass flying everywhere and patrons scrambling to get out of the way of the debris. People were screaming, a sound that added to the chaos and confusion. There was a loud crack and a group of black-clad wizards with masks appeared in the middle of the pub, their wands out and eyes barely visible behind their masks.
When the glass had started flying, Harry and the others had ducked under the table, although not early enough to avoid injury - Hermione was sporting a nasty gash on her cheek and Draco's knuckles were bleeding.
"What's going on?" hissed Alena.
"How'm I supposed to know?" Draco replied, collected as ever. If the situation had been different, Harry would have rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.
"Everybody up!" The voice was magically distorted - it could have been male or female, young or old; no one could tell. All Harry knew was that if he got out of this situation he would be having nightmares about that voice for a long time.
Despite the fact that he could feel himself shaking, Harry and the others reluctantly crawled out from under the table. There was something about the tone of this voice that told you that you should not disobey it.
Harry felt the group of Death Eaters stare at him, for he recognised the robes and masks from the previous year, instantly recognising him. Judging by their reactions, they had not known he was there.
"Harry Potter," another voice hissed. Harry was not sure which Death Eater it came from. He, for Harry assumed it was a he, sounded faintly surprised. "Come here."
"No." Even Harry was surprised by the firmness of his tone.
One of the Death Eaters raised his wand, pointing it. "Avada Kedavra."
Madam Rosemerta was dead.
"Come here," the voice repeated. "Or someone else will die."
"No."
Two of the Death Eater's shot spells into the air, making the ceiling crack, and sag dangerously in the middle. Bits of plaster and cobwebs began to float down, covering the tables and people's robes with a fine white powder. Someone started coughing and was immediately hexed by a Death Eater.
"Very well. Who shall be next? One of your friends, perhaps?"
This time the wand was pointed directly at them, and as the cry of "Avada Kedavra!" went up, Harry felt as though everything had suddenly slowed down. There was a flash of green light, and a glowing green ball of energy shot out of the end of the Death Eater's wand, speeding towards them, agonizingly slowly.
Even as the curse was uttered, Seamus reacted, throwing himself across the table in a valiant aim to stop the curse from hitting Hermione. He succeeded.
Hermione began to scream at the sight of Seamus' body as there was another loud crack and a group of wizards in purple robes Apparated into the pub, firing spells at the Death Eaters. Some managed to escape, others were incapacitated.
Patrons were picking their way out of the rubble, even as the Aurors gained the upper hand, most nursing injuries of some kind. Just as the last Death Eater was magically subdued, a greying wizard with a beard nearly as long as he was tall let out a yell. "The ceiling! It's going to collapse!"
More confusion. People scrambled for the door. Clawing and fighting their way to get out. A loud creaking sound. Harry stood there in shock, only realising that he was not having another nightmare when he felt someone tugging on his sleeve.
"Come on, Harry," Alena was saying urgently, her voice rather distant. "We have to get out of here." Harry nodded mutely, turning around to where Hermione was stood, staring wordlessly at Seamus' body.
"Hermione," commanded Draco in a forceful tone. "We have to go."
Hermione shook her head. "I can't." Her voice was strangely high-pitched.
"Yes, you can," Draco growled, forcibly taking a hold of her arms and pulling her with him. Harry looked at Seamus. He looked like he was sleeping.
Seamus was in fact two or three inches shorter than Harry, but a lot more solidly built whereas Harry was ganglier. Somehow, Harry couldn't be sure how, he managed to hoist Seamus over his shoulder and run out of the pub, nearly wrenching his shoulder out of joint in the process.
The entirety of Hogsmeade had arrived at the scene by now. A brief look around told Harry that some other Death Eaters had hit Zonko's just before the attack on the Three Broomsticks. Aurors were desperately trying to calm the crowd and he spotted Professors McGonagall and Flitwick trying to round up the Hogwarts students.
As gently as he could Harry laid Seamus down, trying not to look at him. His eyes were still wide open, a look of determination immortalised on his face. Draco had handed over the shell-shocked Hermione to Alena's care, and saw this. He pulled off his jacket laying it across Seamus' chest. A wave of his wand and it was transfigured into a black sheet.
"Harry! Hermione!" Bill Weasley was pushing his way through the crowd towards them, wand drawn and looking flustered. "Are you all right?" His long hair was a mess; somehow it had escaped from his usual ponytail and now hung limply around his worried face.
"Seamus isn't," Hermione said blankly, as though she were making idle conversation about the weather, and looking at the black sheet with wide, glassy eyes. Alena looked to be on the verge of tears.
"Oh, God." Bill was pale beneath his freckles. "Malfoy. Rhysen. You two okay?" The Slytherin girl nodded and Draco managed a meek 'yes'.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor waved over one of the Aurors, a young woman with short, violently blue hair. She gave him a less-than-cheerful greeting of "Wotcher, Weasley," before Bill told her in a choked voice about the casualty. She nodded and left, shouting something incomprehensible to one of her colleagues.
"Some Healers will be here in a minute," Bill said quietly. "That looks like it hurts," he said to Draco, nodding at his injured knuckles.
"I hadn't noticed," Draco replied in a distant voice, only then realising that he had somehow been injured.
"Are they doctors?" Harry asked.
Bill had to think about this. "Something like that," he said after a moment.
"Professor Weasley," Alena sounded like a shadow of her former self. "I think Professor McGonagall is coming this way."
Looking up from where he had been focusing on his shoes, Harry saw the tartan-clad professor heading in their direction, occasionally stopping to order Hogwarts students back to the castle.
Bill nodded, licking his lips. "I'll go and speak to her," he told Alena, his voice watery. "She should know about ... She's the Head of House ... I think that ..." Bill did not seem to be capable of complete sentences. He finished with an "Oh, God," and strode quickly over to the Head of Gryffindor.
The next few hours passed in something of a blur. Harry's mind could not quite register everything that was happening; memories of the Triwizard tournament mingled with images of the Three Broomsticks and faces. So many faces.
The masks. Hermione's chalk-white face. Alena crying freely. Draco's lip red from blood where he had bitten through. Bill's ashen expression. McGonagall crying.
Somehow, he was not entirely sure how, he found himself sat on the hard stone floor of the Charms corridor. There was silence. None of the suits of armour could be heard. Peeves' banging and catcalling had been put on hiatus. Apparently, even the poltergeist had some sort of respect.
"Is he a ghost?" Harry asked.
"I don't think so." Moaning Myrtle was unusually subdued. "And even if he was he wouldn't be much fun to share a toilet with. He likes to sing in the shower and he's never on key."
A pair of blazing green turned on the ghost. "Myrtle! That's... do you have any respect for the dead?" he asked angrily.
She blinked owlishly at him from behind her thick, ghostly glasses. Her bottom lip trembled. "That's right!" she exclaimed. "Forget I'm dead. No one cares about Myrtle. She's just a ghost. She doesn't have feelings."
"I …"
"Oh, don't bother apologising." Myrtle crossed her arms haughtily. She sniffed, tossing her pigtails over her shoulder. "Anyway, death's nothing to worry about - it happens to everyone eventually."
"It's not supposed to happen today."
"Who's to say that it wasn't?" Loudly, Myrtle sniffed, although Harry was glad that she was not trying to persuade him to share her toilet with him. She seemed to have a lot of say on the subject of death. "You won't see him again if he hasn't appeared by now - he'll have gone on."
"Gone where?"
Myrtle shrugged. "Well, I don't know. I chose to stay here when I died so I'm not allowed to know."
"What do you mean?"
"I was so scared when I died. And angry. So I chose to stay. I'm just an imitation of what I once was, Harry." Myrtle sniffed loudly. "No one really knows how it works. I hear that they study it in the Department of Mysteries. Course, the only people who truly know what happens are dead, aren't they?"
When Harry eventually found his way back to the common room, he was surprised to find Hermione sat with Ron. Fred and Ginny were sat there too in silence, the chess set lying forgotten on the table. Ginny had clearly been crying; make-up stained her face, her eyes red. Fred's eyes were trained on the floor.
Curious as to why Hermione was sat by the Weasleys, Harry made his way over to them. Upon spotting him, Hermione rose and enveloped in him a bone-crushing hug. "God, Harry, I was so worried about you," she breathed. "Where've you been?" She began to sob into his shoulder, and Harry held her close to him.
"Just around," Harry told her blankly. "Please stop crying, Hermione. You're going to make me cry in a minute." He could already feel the tears prickling behind his eyes.
She sniffed putting back, her eyes watery with tears. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't help it. First Seamus, now this. I don't think it's ever going to be the same again."
"Now what?" Harry asked. Had something else happened?
"You mean you don't know?" Fred asked hoarsely. Harry looked at him, shaking his head.
Hermione looked fearfully up at Harry, as though she could not bring herself to say what she wanted. She bit her lip, and then took a deep breath. "Matilda … she died this morning."
Ron and Fred were waiting silently at the bottom of the stairs up the dormitories when Harry came down. Fred gave him a glum, "Hullo, Harry," and Ron nodded his acknowledgment that Harry was present.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't you go down for breakfast before lessons start?"
"We're waiting to see if George'll come down," Fred explained, shoving his hands in his pockets. "He hasn't left his bed since ... well, y'know ..."
Harry nodded. The last three days for everyone in Gryffindor had been in a trance-like state. A group of fourth year girls had taken to crying every time they saw one of the Weasley's or Hermione and almost everyone in the house would simply not mention what had happened - the word 'death' was like a taboo and various euphemisms were cropping up in place of it. Some members of the house even refused to acknowledge that anything out of the ordinary had happened.
In the fifth year dormitory, no one had touched any of Seamus' belongings and the half-eaten bar of chocolate on his bedside table had been left there. Dean Thomas refused to go to that part of the room, though he had respectfully drawn the curtains on Seamus' bed. Now it was as if Seamus was permanently asleep.
Neville had started having nightmares where he would wake up with a yell. None of the others would criticize him for this though, and Harry had even heard Ron tell a sobbing Neville that he was not alone in his nightmares.
"How is he?" Harry asked quietly.
"He won't talk to anyone." Ron's voice was wooden, but Harry could not tell if this was because he was talking to Harry or because he did not like talking about Matilda's death.
"Even me," Fred added. "I've never seen him like this before. I've never seen anyone like this before, except our great-aunt Ethel when great-uncle Baldrick passed away. 'Cept I was only five and I don't remember it very well."
From the staircase leading up to the girl's dormitories, Hermione appeared, sombrely dressed and looking more like she had the previous year, as though she had regressed into her old persona, who she had been before the summer and who she had been before Seamus had been a large part of her life.
"Morning Hermione," Harry said. She gave him a weak smile, walking over to him and the Weasleys.
"Is this some kind of meeting?" she asked, trying to sound upbeat, but her eyes betrayed the fact that she had barely been sleeping.
"We're waiting for George," Fred informed her, and Harry realised that he must have been telling this to almost every person who had come down the stairs.
"Is he still not down yet?" Hermione's eyes widened and she looked genuinely concerned.
"Nope," Harry said.
In a determined fashion, Hermione pushed back her sleeves. "I'm going to go and talk to him," she announced, looking much more like her normal self and already starting up the stairs.
"Hermione, I'm his twin and he won't even talk to me," Fred pointed out. "What makes you think he's going to talk to you?"
She paused, halfway up the stairs and turned around. "I said I was going to talk to him - he doesn't have to talk back."
When she had disappeared from sight up the stairs, there was a moment of silence before a door shut loudly. The three in the common room seemed to hold their breath. Would Hermione and George appear a moment later? Would Hermione come back down, defeated by George's silence?
As it was, neither of these happened. After a brief silence a voice, most definitely Hermione's, could be heard yelling from upstairs, though her words could not be heard. George yelled something back at her and she was quick to retaliate.
"Well," said Fred with a triumphant grin.
"Looks like she's got him talking again," commented Ron brightly, and Harry nodded, although to be honest he was more interested in what Hermione and George were fighting about.
"Breakfast, anyone?" Fred asked.
TBC
Natasha's Note: Erm, yeah. It's been a bit of a long time since an update, hasn't it? Patience is a virtue, and if you've been waiting for this, you are far more virtuous than myself.
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