::: A/N: OMG!! I actually got reviews!! *Bounces up and down* Thank you
all! You have no idea how much I appreciate your feedback! :::
[Sapphire]: Thank you, I'm glad you like it, and I'll update as soon as I can! ^-^
[Piperkeen]: I'll check it out!
[Lady Priestess]: I'm not sure if it's H/H yet, but they definitely have feelings for each other! And don't worry, Hermione's undoubtedly gonna come back ;)
[Bob]: Thanks! ^-^
[Sparkle-eyed Dreamer]: That's a good suggestion. I know my chapters tend to be short, but it's due to my tendency to get straight to the point of things.
[usha88]: Thanks, and like I said to Lady Priestess, I'm not sure if it's H/H yet, but they do have feelings for each other ;)
[Ana]: I will!
Chapter 10
McGonagall stormed down the hallway after the boys, her head spinning with rage. She could not believe that students could act so foolishly . . . especially Harry.
*'Sure, I can understand that he lost one of his best friends, but how could that drive him to the point of insanity?!' She thought. 'Ron has two menaces for brothers he can learn from, Draco and his friends have practically been raised to stir up trouble, but Harry! And at Hermione's funeral!'*
She stopped in her tracks as a thought popped into her head. Professor Dumbledore would not be in his office. He was supposed to make a speech at the funeral.
"Boys!" She yelled down the hall. They were walking far ahead of her, but stopped at her call. "Boys, go to my office!"
McGonagall turned around and started walking the other direction. One quick look behind told her the boys were doing the same. As she continued, she kept thinking.
*'Well, I suppose that he hasn't yet gotten over her death. And why should he have? He lost both his parents, and even after almost fifteen years, he still isn't completely over it. I'm just surprised that Harry's taking it harder than Ron . . .'*
WHOMP!
McGonagall stepped back, painfully realizing she had just walked into her office door. "Ow!" She said in her frustration. Her nose had been first to encounter the hard surface of the door, followed by her forehead. Rubbing the tip of her nose, she quickly looked around hoping that the boys had not seen her moment of embarrassment. They were far down the hallway, and didn't seem to notice anything.
"HEHEHEHEHE!!!!" But a loud, high-pitched roll of laughter revealed she had one witness.
Whipping around, McGonagall found herself looking at a painting. Its background was one of a fancy library. It had tall bookcases filled with books of many shapes and sizes, which would have ordinarily intrigued her. However, the only thing grasping her attention at the moment was the librarian, doubled over and laughing hysterically. McGonagall recognized her. She had been there for as long as McGonagall had taught at Hogwarts. Her name was Martha, and McGonagall hated her. Her face went slightly red, from both blushing and anger.
"What are you laughing at?!" She snapped. Martha took deep breaths, trying to stop laughing. Finally, holding herself in a forced upright position, she grinned.
"Excuse me, Professor, but this is my first time seeing an adult, and teacher at that, run into a door!"
McGonagall furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. "Why is that so funny? All people are entitled to make mistakes!"
On the verge of laughing, Martha replied, "Of course they are. I've seen many teens do the same, but that's only because they're tired or just plain stupid!"
The librarian burst into laughter again, leaning on a table nearby. Her face hot, McGonagall clenched her teeth. Glancing briefly to her right side to make sure no one was watching, she pulled out her wand.
"Wicktirmaeus Ganthamo!" She whispered, pointing her wand at the books piled on the shelf above Martha's head. The books shivered, and then fell onto her head.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Book after book fell on Martha. She stopped laughing, and instead let out a small shriek. She was soon completely buried in a pile of books.
"Who's laughing now, Martha?!" McGonagall put away her wand, and turned. She almost jumped upon seeing Harry, Ron, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle only two feet away, watching her intently.
McGonagall felt truly embarrassed. "What are you doing here?" She asked without thinking. Then, recovering her thoughts, she snapped, "Get into my office!"
They filed into the classroom with astounded, bewildered and amused expressions on their faces.
McGonagall quickly followed, closing the door just as the librarian screamed, "MINERVA!!!!!!" Holding the door shut behind her, she said, "I trust you all understand that you are not to mention this to anyone." Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle exchanged smirks.
Her office was unique compared to that of all the other teachers. Gilded maroon draperies covered the walls, giving the room a medieval flavor. At the far end, the hangings parted, revealing a large, stone fireplace.
On the right was McGonagall's desk, facing the rest of the room. On one side of the desk stood a silver column. At first glance it seemed solid, but upon closer inspection one could see that it was made of spheres cascading over each other and disappearing into the wooden surface.
Parchment was spread over most of the desk, with the exception of the column and an inkwell resembling a small fountain spouting emerald green ink several inches into the air. On the floor, which was covered by a Persian carpet, was a tall marble pedestal holding up a black stone statue of a cat.
Opposite the desk were five chairs, arranged as if expecting their arrival. "Now," said McGonagall, breaking the silence, "Please sit down."
Harry and Ron sat in the two chairs closest to the door. The others moved hesitantly towards their chairs. McGonagall took her seat in an armchair behind her desk.
"First of all, I wish to express my extreme discontent at the behavior you displayed. I should expect better conduct from you. As a result, twenty- five points will be taken from your houses for each of you . . ."
"A-A-ACHOO!" Her lecture was cut off by an enormous sneeze from Ron. When McGonagall looked at him, she saw him doubled over with his hands over his nose. Harry looked disgusted, trying to brush some boogies off his robes. She paused. "There is a tissue box next to the cat." She gestured toward the black cat statue.
Ron quickly walked over to the statue, wiping his hands on his black robes and sniffling. He stopped in front of the statue as he reached for the pink, floating tissue box. He reached too quickly, and knocked over the statue instead.
Ron made a grab for it, and looked relieved when he caught it. He held it with both hands, looking at it, as if amazed that he grabbed it in time.
"Thank you."
"A-A-A-A-A-A-H-H-H-H!!!!!!!!" Shocked by the cat's response, Ron's hands shook as a girlish scream escaped his lips. The statue was sent flying into the air. Ron suddenly realized what he had done, and made several desperate grabs for it. When he caught it, he tossed it back and forth between his hands, as if it were a hot potato. When he finally gained control, he held the statue as far away as possible. Ron looked at it as if it were a bomb about to go off.
"I say, do be careful, I'm very fragile you know," The cat said casually.
Ron still looked terrified. "He talks!"
"I prefer to be called Ramdeon, if you don't mind!" The cat seemed very annoyed. "And of course I talk. I'm a statue!"
Ron still seemed too shocked to speak.
"What's the matter, Weasley?" Draco ringed into the conversation. "Startled by a measly kitty?"
Before Ron could answer, Ramdeon said, "Excuse me? A measly kitty? I'll have you know I was ruler of all of the mighty Ancient Egypt long before you were born!" Ramdeon stuck up his tiny nose.
"If that's true, how did you become a statue?" Malfoy asked smugly.
"That's none of your concern!" Ramdeon snapped. He glared at Draco. His transformation was obviously not a story he was willing to tell.
"Can we please continue?" McGonogall asked after patiently waiting for the conversation to stop.
Ron nodded, placing the cat on the column before sitting in his seat. One second later he jumped up, ran across the room, grabbed a tissue from the tissue box and returned.
"Now, I hope you boys are now fully aware of the extremity of your conduct - "
"And embarrassing conduct it was, indeed!" Ramdeon interrupted. "Why, if it were up to me, each of you would be slapped with my slippers - "
"Ramdeon, please stay out of this!" It was McGonagall's turn to interrupt.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry Professor, it's just that I can't stand such irresponsible, ignorant, conceited, untrustworthy, mindless, inconsiderate, arrogant - "
"Ramdeon! Enough!"
He finally became quiet and still like a normal statue.
"Now," McGonagall continued, "I believe there is nothing more to say. I hope you have learned a great deal from this . . . "
"Yeah, never touch a statue that doesn't have duct tape over its mouth," she heard Ron whisper to Harry.
" . . . so I will keep you no longer. Good day."
The boys stood and left the room. She believed she saw Ron steal a quick glance at Ramdeon as he was leaving.
McGonagall sighed when the door closed. She sunk a little lower in her chair. Ramdeon came alive again and jumped onto her desk. He silently walked over to her, standing in her view.
"Are you okay, Professor? I'm sorry if I upset you . . . "
"Oh no, not at all, Ramdeon," she told him. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" He cocked one of his tiny eyebrows.
"I'm sure."
Just as she said this, the door opened. Professor Dumbledore walked in, again closing the door behind him.
"Good morning, Minerva, Ramdeon." He said.
"Good morning Albus," McGonagall answered.
"Good day, Professor," Ramdeon said brightly.
"How is your arthritis?" Dumbledore asked him.
Ramdeon sighed. "Unfortunately, it's not getting any better. My doctor says I should've done something sooner. At least a thousand years sooner, he told me." He shook his head. "I doubt that would've done any good, unless his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather was a doctor."
He jumped from the desk to his column, allowing McGonagall and Dumbledore to talk. Dumbledore sat in a large chair that appeared behind him.
"I just saw the boys leaving. I trust you didn't punish them too harshly."
McGonagall gave a forced smile.
"Oh, and there seems to be a very upset lady in the painting across your office. She is angry about something, but I didn't catch exactly what it was." Dumbledore gave her a hard look. "There seems to be something troubling you."
McGonagall straightened up. "I'm just concerned about Harry and Ron. Much time has passed, but they are still very distressed." She paused. "Do you believe it is the right time to tell them about Hermione?"
"No," Dumbledore said softly, but without hesitation. "It's still too early for them to handle it. You see, Minerva, if we were to tell them now, they would become overexcited and no doubt open the Nesskrad Room themselves. Such an event would be disastrous, since Hermione is not yet ready to come out."
Dumbledore sighed. "I know how you feel Minerva. But as much as we want to give them hope, we must remember the consequences."
"You're right." McGonagall and Dumbledore stood up at the same time. "I just wish that Hermione will soon finish."
Dumbledore smiled. "So do I."
While getting up to leave, he said, "Good day, Minerva. Ramdeon."
"Good day," They both responded in an echo. The door closed once again, leaving McGonagall alone with an ancient cat and her thoughts.
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Chapter 11
"This is gonna be so boring. Any idiot can groom a tree!"
"Don't be so sure, Ron," Harry replied as they walked toward the greenhouse together. "You never know what surprises Professor Sprout is hiding."
"Hmm . . . maybe she's gonna make us groom man-eating plants . . . "
It was still the day of Hermione's funeral, only at 3:40 in the afternoon. The weather had cleared up significantly, preventing the students from excusing themselves from Herbology. However, the setting still showed signs of heavy rain. The mud underneath their shoes made a soft squishy sound as they continued. The air smelled damp. The sky, Harry noticed, was gradually clearing up.
*'It's as if someone was weeping up there,'* Harry thought, looking up. *'Someone weeping for Hermione . . . What if someone was up there, crying at Hermione's funeral? What if raindrops were actually tears of grief? What if . . . '*
"HARRY!!"
"What? What?" Harry glanced around nervously, as if just waking up from a dream. His eyes were widened in confusion.
He saw Ron raise his eyebrows and roll his eyes in annoyance. "Geez, Harry, you should at least PRETEND to listen when someone is trying to have a conversation with you!"
"Sorry," Harry quickly said, setting his mind back to what was happening.
They stepped into the greenhouse, joined by other students. The soft squish beneath their feet was replaced by the hard, concrete surface. A faint mist hung around them. The plants were thriving in the weather, reaching out as far as their green stems could go. Professor Sprout, her mouth in the shape of a smile, was standing at the far end writing something on a green chalk board. Harry noted that she was dressed completely in green, as if celebrating the weather.
*'Celebrating,'* Harry silently repeated to himself.
Professor Sprout stepped back from the board, placing the chalk on a wooden table nearby. The big words written read "Grooming Magical Plants". Harry heard Ron give a small groan as they sat down on two seats next to each other in the middle of the room. The plants wove around the outside of the greenhouse, making it seem more like a tropical rain forest than a classroom.
Once the other students had been seated, Professor Sprout cleared her throat and began.
"As you all can see, the plants are thoroughly enjoying today's weather." She waved her hand in the lazy circle, referring to the green around them. "But this is not only perfect weather for them to thrive in. It is also the perfect time to trim them!"
*'Enjoying. Perfect time.'* The words hit him hard like a pile of weightless bricks. He almost winced.
"Therefore," she continued, "I am going to give each of you a pair of trimming scissors much like this one . . ." She held up what resembled a normal pair of scissors, except thicker and bent in an eagle's beak kind of shape at the end. "Now, I'm going to give you a demonstration of how this should be done."
Professor Sprout walked to one end of the room, where she picked up a medium-size tree by the pot and struggled until she lifted it on the table. The tree was visibly shaking, but there was no wind.
"Now, as you can see, this one is very nervous. And grooming does sometimes hurt them."
The tree started to shake violently.
"But to calm it down, say, 'Serenous Zelathai' and point your wand like so."
All eyes were on the tree as the professor rolled up her sleeves, took her wand out of her pocket, and pointed it. "Serenous Zelathai!"
The tree suddenly stopped moving. It was completely still.
"This spell paralyzes your plants, and also numbs its limbs and leaves to it can't feel anything." She picked up her trimming tool. "Now, here is the important part. Trimming a plant is an art. It takes skill, grace and agility. After all, you don't want to still be working when the spell wears off." She pulled leaves away from each other, gently searching for dead ones. "Oh, dear, this one has a lot of dead leaves," she said audibly to herself.
She finally found one brown, dry leaf in a cluster of green. She lifted the branch for all to see and used her trimmer as a pointer to indicate it. "See this one? I simply slip this between the leaves and cut it off at the bottom, being careful not to pierce the green part. Also be careful not to accidentally cut off any other leaves. You might also see a cluster of dead leaves." She indicated a branch that was tipped with brown, wrinkled leaves. "Once again, trace the brown until you get to the green, and cut it off at that point. Simple, right?" She asked while slicing off the cluster.
"That's all you need to know. Here are the trimmers . . ." She gestured toward a toolbox filled with miniature versions of her own. "I'm going to pair you up and I'll leave you to choose a plant and do the rest. Let's see . . ."
She scanned the room, taking in her choices.
"Okay, Ron, why don't you work with . . . Oh, dear! Excuse me! I almost forgot! Please stand up, Aurora!"
The heads shifted, looking at the girl standing up. She was obviously shy, as her eyes darted nervously around the room. Harry recognized her as the raven-haired girl at the funeral.
Professor Sprout walked over to Aurora, placing her hands on both of her shoulders. "Everyone, please welcome Aurora Wellington, our new addition not only to our class and the Gryffindor House but to our school!"
A very pathetic applause followed. Barely anyone clapped. Aurora blushed at their lack of interest.
Professor Sprout shot a piercing glare to everyone before talking once again.
"Well then, please sit down," she told Aurora. She sat, her eyes glued to the desk as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. After a quick study, Harry could easily tell the feeling portrayed in her emerald eyes and soft cheeks. Total embarrassment.
Harry caught himself and rapidly diverted his gaze. Why was he looking at her?
"So, on with business," Professor Sprout announced. "Ron, you go work with Neville - "
Ron made another groan only Harry could hear.
" - And Harry, you can work with Aurora . . ."
Harry's eyes widened in dread. *'Oh . . . Bloody . . . Hell . . . No!'*
He stole a glance to where Aurora was sitting. Her eyes were still down. Except for her posture and hair color, she looked nearly exactly like Hermione. His eyes started to scan her, but he quickly whipped his head away. At that moment he started mentally banging his head against his desk.
*'NO . . . WHY THE HELL AM I LOOKING AT HER ANYWAYS?'*
After he felt he had punished himself enough, or about the equivalent of three consecutive minutes, he noticed the other students standing up and going to meet with their partners. Harry rose to do the same.
*'Okay . . . this isn't going to be so bad . . . I just have to avoid looking at her in that way, that's all . . . that should be easy enough, right? Sure it is!'*
While Harry had a little mental conversation, he saw Ron giving him a wink. Harry raised an eyebrow. *'What was that about?'*
Harry took a deep breath and walked over to where Aurora was still seated. He halted and looked down at her. She still didn't move. He heaved a silent sigh.
"So . . ." Harry started, trying to make conversation, " . . . do you have a plant in mind?"
Her response was so quiet he could barely hear her. "No."
" . . ." He didn't know what to say. " . . . Then, why don't we get up and look for one before all the good ones are taken?"
She did not say anything, but instead got up quietly. Her face slowly lifted and their eyes met.
They were bright, emerald green, specked with small pools of light reflections. They easily compared to a gem or diamond. Her lips sat, a blushy pink, on pale white skin that was free of any zits, crevices or bumps. Her small nose was in the middle of her face, and her thin eyebrows were perched, nearly completely covered by black bangs that stretched down and stopped where her eyes started. Her jet-black hair ran down her back with streams flowing on her shoulders. It looked like a black waterfall, a waterfall with a color opposite of what it should be, but it seemed somehow just as pure and sparkling. She blinked at his gaze, exposing her long, curled eyelashes.
There was one part that struck him hardest. Her eyes. They were bright green, just like his own. He had never seen any like his before - and these were much more hypnotizing.
Harry nearly gasped. *'She's . . .'*
He couldn't finish the sentence.
In a swift moment she turned away and strode to one plant. It was a tree, no more than three feet tall. The tree carried heart-shaped leaves and small flowers. The flowers seemed white from far away, but upon closer inspection they were actually pink. Its fragrance, which carried across the room to where Harry was standing, was beautiful.
"I like this one," Aurora said. She lifted one of its green leaves. "It's a cherry tree. It's Japan's most important tree. Its blossoms are called sakura in Japanese, and many girls are names Sakura after them. It represents serenity . . ." Her eyes were still fixed on the plant. "It's very beautiful."
*'Beautiful . . .'* Harry thought.
He caught himself and again mentally banged his head against his desk. *'NO!! DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN IT!!'*
Harry snapped himself back into the real world. Aurora was awaiting his comment.
"Sure . . ." He said. "I'll lift it to your desk if you get us two trimmers."
"Okay," she said softly. Perhaps he was just imagining it, but he fancied he stole a glance to him while walking away.
Harry walked over to the cherry tree, bent down, and lifted the pot inside which the tree stood. It was surprisingly heavy. With much difficulty, he stumbled across the room and was so anxious to get rid of his burden he dropped the tree on the desk. It landed with a huge "BOOM!".
Aurora had returned, and handed him his trimmers. He took them. Both gave a tiny flinch when their fingers met.
Turning away, Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it at the tree.
"Serenous Zelathai!"
Nothing seemed to happen, but only because it was just as still and silent before.
Putting his wand back into his pocket, Harry bent down slightly and started to trim it. Aurora took a spot across from him, also standing with her face bent toward the leaves. Harry kept his eyes focused on the leaves. In fact, he was so focused that he forgot to look for dead leaves. All he cared about was keeping his eyes away from her.
Every so often, however, the two would press apart the leaves and peer through at the same place and same time, so instead of seeing more leaves and flowers they would each see a green eye. But, when this happened, both immediately retreated and searched somewhere else, each silently laboring at overcoming the desire to look into the other's eyes.
Harry looked up at the clock after what seemed like hours of endless dodging only to discover that there were thirty more minutes left in class. He sighed inwardly.
By the time the class ended, in his mental world, his desk was broken in two and he had a splitting headache.
Finally, Herbology was over. Harry was delighted to be able to put away his trimmers, drag the tree to its place, and dash out of the room without giving Aurora a single glance.
"Hey, wait up!" Ron yelled from behind.
Harry stopped to let Ron catch up and matched his pace as they walked back toward the castle.
"Harry, you know what the Americans would say about HER?"
Harry wasn't exactly listening, so he didn't catch the last part. His mind was somewhere else.
*'Her eyes . . .'*
He sighed. "What would they say?"
"They'd say . . ." He dropped his voice very low. " 'Dude, she's hot!' "
"Who's hot?" That word grabbed his attention.
Ron gave him a look.
"The new girl, you idiot!"
"The new girl . . .?" Suddenly he realized it was Aurora. His mind made very quick connections.
*' Aurora . . . she reminds me of Hermione . . . and Ron is calling Aurora hot . . . so he's saying Hermione's hot too . . . WAIT A SECOND! HERMIONE, HOT! NO!'*
"EW! RON! NO!"
"What?!" Ron replied, angered by his negative reply.
"RON, Aurora and hot do not belong in the same sentence!!"
"And why not?!"
"Because . . . because . . ." Harry was at a loss for words. "Just, no, okay?! Just . . . NO!"
"What the bloody hell's up with you? Any moron could see that she's hot!"
With that, Ron stomped off. Harry felt his blood starting to boil . . . But suddenly, he was overcome by a realization. He closed his eyes.
*'That's what I'm afraid of Ron . . . that's exactly what I'm afraid of.'*
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::: A/N: It's midnight, and I'm the only person up. The night is so dark and threatening. *Shrieks* WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?! Oh, geez. Were crickets created to freak out people in the middle of the night? If they were, they're doing a darn good job! :::
Chapter 12
*'I wonder if they're thinking about me.'*
That was all Hermione could do in her lonely, dark cell. Sit and think.
She thought about people. She thought about her experiences. She thought about what everything meant. That was all she did since the thrill of flying wore off.
Now she was thinking about her second year, when she was petrified. In many ways, being petrified was similar to becoming a ghost. Hermione remembered not being able to move, though her mind and body strained to. Her vision was of sparkling whiteness, outlined with the blurry shapes of bodies. When people spoke to her, she heard a faint whisper, almost an echo. She did not always know what was going on, though she could sometimes recognize the voices. She remembered hearing one masculine voice speaking to her once, in the night. The person was holding her paralyzed hand in two of his own.
"You'll be all right, Hermione. I know you will." ***
Though she couldn't hear very well or see the face above her, she knew exactly who it was. She remembered trying to move, to give him a sign that she could hear him, but she couldn't.
*'I know Ron was worried about me too, but Harry was the one that snuck into the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night to talk to me.'*
A question rose and racked in the back of her mind ever since that happened.
Was it that their friendship was stronger, or was it that Harry was simply less shy about expressing his feelings than Ron?
She was always somehow reminded of that question, every day. It came out of a look, a comment, or a gesture. *'Perhaps I'm just fantasizing. Maybe he's just a good friend, and I'm reading too much into it.'*
However, the same could be applied to Ron. Though he didn't show his feelings as much as Harry, it was obvious he tensed whenever she entered the room. Once again, Hermione asks herself, is it just her imagination or is it real? Does it really mean something?
Hermione looked around. Same room. Same candle. Same mirror. But something on the floor across the room caught her eye. She couldn't make out the dark shape, but she could see it because it was a slightly different shade of black compared to the surroundings.
Not having the energy to fly, she got on her hands and knees and started to crawl over to the spot. Coldness met her hands where they settled on the floor, but she kept crawling. As she got closer, she began to see the shape of a paper. It was a paper. She picked it up and sat back on her heels.
It was a piece of parchment, seemingly a note. She couldn't make out what was written on it in the blackness so she made her way across the cold, stone floor to the candle. Once there, she held the parchment to the dim, flickering light.
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows when she saw scribbles of words in a different language on the note. She had expected it to be in English, but it definitely wasn't.
*'What's the use of leaving a note that isn't legible? And who left it there? And why?'*
Her mind was suddenly clouded with the many unanswerable questions sparked by one small piece of parchment.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Hey Harry, did you hear?" Ron stepped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor commonroom, where Harry and several other students were busy doing their homework. Harry looked up from the essay he was writing for Defense Against The Dark Arts on pixies. They had long before gotten over their argument after Herbology, and were speaking to each other again.
"Hear what?" He asked as Ron neared the chair Harry was sitting in and their voices became softer.
"There's gonna be a dance next Friday. They just announced it," Ron told him.
"Oh." Harry didn't have much more to say to it. He began to turn back to the essay but Ron continued.
"You're going, aren't you?" he asked, disappointed by Harry's reaction.
"Sure." *'Heck, why not? I don't have anything else to do.'*
"Are you going to ask Cho Chang to the dance?"
Harry took a moment to answer. "I guess."
"Great! So, um, you don't mind if I ask the new girl?"
*'Huh?'* He raised an eyebrow like he always did when he did not understand something. "Why would I mind?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Come on, Harry. I saw the way you were looking at her in Herbology. I know you have a thing for her." Ron's lips formed a light smile at the last comment.
Harry was glad they were speaking quietly enough that no one could hear them. He didn't feel comfortable discussing such matters in earshot of anyone else.
"Ron, I don't know what you mean, but even if I did I wouldn't mind at all." That was a complete and total lie. The problem was that he KNEW what Ron meant, and he did feel a twinge of jealousy when Ron announced that he was asking Aurora. But he never would have admitted it to Ron or to himself.
"Okay! See you later!" In an instant Ron was out the door.
*'He must have a huge crush on her. He's running as if a herd of rhinos was after him.'*
Harry refused to tell himself that he liked her, too. Somehow, it didn't feel right. Perhaps it was because the memories of Hermione reminded him of how he cared for her. He felt that pursuing his feelings for Aurora would be . . . forgetting Hermione.
Harry shook his head to dismiss the thoughts and returned his attention to the three-foot essay due the next day.
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Ron returned about a half an hour later, his head hung in disappointment. He lifted his eyes to meet the questioning look on Harry's face.
*'She turned him down.'*
It was apparent judging by Ron's expression. His face bore a deep frown, and his eyes were slightly squinted. From anger? Or could it have been from a hint of sadness?
*'Aurora doesn't seem the type of person to reject anybody. She must have had a good reason for refusing.'*
"You won't believe who asked her first." Just as Harry predicted.
::: A/N: Okay, to some of you it may seem painfully obvious who asked Aurora, and to some of you it'll take a little sitting down and scratching your head. But I think most of you can figure it out. ***I know this didn't happen in the book, but it could've and I'm making it up anyways. :::
[Sapphire]: Thank you, I'm glad you like it, and I'll update as soon as I can! ^-^
[Piperkeen]: I'll check it out!
[Lady Priestess]: I'm not sure if it's H/H yet, but they definitely have feelings for each other! And don't worry, Hermione's undoubtedly gonna come back ;)
[Bob]: Thanks! ^-^
[Sparkle-eyed Dreamer]: That's a good suggestion. I know my chapters tend to be short, but it's due to my tendency to get straight to the point of things.
[usha88]: Thanks, and like I said to Lady Priestess, I'm not sure if it's H/H yet, but they do have feelings for each other ;)
[Ana]: I will!
Chapter 10
McGonagall stormed down the hallway after the boys, her head spinning with rage. She could not believe that students could act so foolishly . . . especially Harry.
*'Sure, I can understand that he lost one of his best friends, but how could that drive him to the point of insanity?!' She thought. 'Ron has two menaces for brothers he can learn from, Draco and his friends have practically been raised to stir up trouble, but Harry! And at Hermione's funeral!'*
She stopped in her tracks as a thought popped into her head. Professor Dumbledore would not be in his office. He was supposed to make a speech at the funeral.
"Boys!" She yelled down the hall. They were walking far ahead of her, but stopped at her call. "Boys, go to my office!"
McGonagall turned around and started walking the other direction. One quick look behind told her the boys were doing the same. As she continued, she kept thinking.
*'Well, I suppose that he hasn't yet gotten over her death. And why should he have? He lost both his parents, and even after almost fifteen years, he still isn't completely over it. I'm just surprised that Harry's taking it harder than Ron . . .'*
WHOMP!
McGonagall stepped back, painfully realizing she had just walked into her office door. "Ow!" She said in her frustration. Her nose had been first to encounter the hard surface of the door, followed by her forehead. Rubbing the tip of her nose, she quickly looked around hoping that the boys had not seen her moment of embarrassment. They were far down the hallway, and didn't seem to notice anything.
"HEHEHEHEHE!!!!" But a loud, high-pitched roll of laughter revealed she had one witness.
Whipping around, McGonagall found herself looking at a painting. Its background was one of a fancy library. It had tall bookcases filled with books of many shapes and sizes, which would have ordinarily intrigued her. However, the only thing grasping her attention at the moment was the librarian, doubled over and laughing hysterically. McGonagall recognized her. She had been there for as long as McGonagall had taught at Hogwarts. Her name was Martha, and McGonagall hated her. Her face went slightly red, from both blushing and anger.
"What are you laughing at?!" She snapped. Martha took deep breaths, trying to stop laughing. Finally, holding herself in a forced upright position, she grinned.
"Excuse me, Professor, but this is my first time seeing an adult, and teacher at that, run into a door!"
McGonagall furrowed her eyebrows and frowned. "Why is that so funny? All people are entitled to make mistakes!"
On the verge of laughing, Martha replied, "Of course they are. I've seen many teens do the same, but that's only because they're tired or just plain stupid!"
The librarian burst into laughter again, leaning on a table nearby. Her face hot, McGonagall clenched her teeth. Glancing briefly to her right side to make sure no one was watching, she pulled out her wand.
"Wicktirmaeus Ganthamo!" She whispered, pointing her wand at the books piled on the shelf above Martha's head. The books shivered, and then fell onto her head.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Book after book fell on Martha. She stopped laughing, and instead let out a small shriek. She was soon completely buried in a pile of books.
"Who's laughing now, Martha?!" McGonagall put away her wand, and turned. She almost jumped upon seeing Harry, Ron, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle only two feet away, watching her intently.
McGonagall felt truly embarrassed. "What are you doing here?" She asked without thinking. Then, recovering her thoughts, she snapped, "Get into my office!"
They filed into the classroom with astounded, bewildered and amused expressions on their faces.
McGonagall quickly followed, closing the door just as the librarian screamed, "MINERVA!!!!!!" Holding the door shut behind her, she said, "I trust you all understand that you are not to mention this to anyone." Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle exchanged smirks.
Her office was unique compared to that of all the other teachers. Gilded maroon draperies covered the walls, giving the room a medieval flavor. At the far end, the hangings parted, revealing a large, stone fireplace.
On the right was McGonagall's desk, facing the rest of the room. On one side of the desk stood a silver column. At first glance it seemed solid, but upon closer inspection one could see that it was made of spheres cascading over each other and disappearing into the wooden surface.
Parchment was spread over most of the desk, with the exception of the column and an inkwell resembling a small fountain spouting emerald green ink several inches into the air. On the floor, which was covered by a Persian carpet, was a tall marble pedestal holding up a black stone statue of a cat.
Opposite the desk were five chairs, arranged as if expecting their arrival. "Now," said McGonagall, breaking the silence, "Please sit down."
Harry and Ron sat in the two chairs closest to the door. The others moved hesitantly towards their chairs. McGonagall took her seat in an armchair behind her desk.
"First of all, I wish to express my extreme discontent at the behavior you displayed. I should expect better conduct from you. As a result, twenty- five points will be taken from your houses for each of you . . ."
"A-A-ACHOO!" Her lecture was cut off by an enormous sneeze from Ron. When McGonagall looked at him, she saw him doubled over with his hands over his nose. Harry looked disgusted, trying to brush some boogies off his robes. She paused. "There is a tissue box next to the cat." She gestured toward the black cat statue.
Ron quickly walked over to the statue, wiping his hands on his black robes and sniffling. He stopped in front of the statue as he reached for the pink, floating tissue box. He reached too quickly, and knocked over the statue instead.
Ron made a grab for it, and looked relieved when he caught it. He held it with both hands, looking at it, as if amazed that he grabbed it in time.
"Thank you."
"A-A-A-A-A-A-H-H-H-H!!!!!!!!" Shocked by the cat's response, Ron's hands shook as a girlish scream escaped his lips. The statue was sent flying into the air. Ron suddenly realized what he had done, and made several desperate grabs for it. When he caught it, he tossed it back and forth between his hands, as if it were a hot potato. When he finally gained control, he held the statue as far away as possible. Ron looked at it as if it were a bomb about to go off.
"I say, do be careful, I'm very fragile you know," The cat said casually.
Ron still looked terrified. "He talks!"
"I prefer to be called Ramdeon, if you don't mind!" The cat seemed very annoyed. "And of course I talk. I'm a statue!"
Ron still seemed too shocked to speak.
"What's the matter, Weasley?" Draco ringed into the conversation. "Startled by a measly kitty?"
Before Ron could answer, Ramdeon said, "Excuse me? A measly kitty? I'll have you know I was ruler of all of the mighty Ancient Egypt long before you were born!" Ramdeon stuck up his tiny nose.
"If that's true, how did you become a statue?" Malfoy asked smugly.
"That's none of your concern!" Ramdeon snapped. He glared at Draco. His transformation was obviously not a story he was willing to tell.
"Can we please continue?" McGonogall asked after patiently waiting for the conversation to stop.
Ron nodded, placing the cat on the column before sitting in his seat. One second later he jumped up, ran across the room, grabbed a tissue from the tissue box and returned.
"Now, I hope you boys are now fully aware of the extremity of your conduct - "
"And embarrassing conduct it was, indeed!" Ramdeon interrupted. "Why, if it were up to me, each of you would be slapped with my slippers - "
"Ramdeon, please stay out of this!" It was McGonagall's turn to interrupt.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry Professor, it's just that I can't stand such irresponsible, ignorant, conceited, untrustworthy, mindless, inconsiderate, arrogant - "
"Ramdeon! Enough!"
He finally became quiet and still like a normal statue.
"Now," McGonagall continued, "I believe there is nothing more to say. I hope you have learned a great deal from this . . . "
"Yeah, never touch a statue that doesn't have duct tape over its mouth," she heard Ron whisper to Harry.
" . . . so I will keep you no longer. Good day."
The boys stood and left the room. She believed she saw Ron steal a quick glance at Ramdeon as he was leaving.
McGonagall sighed when the door closed. She sunk a little lower in her chair. Ramdeon came alive again and jumped onto her desk. He silently walked over to her, standing in her view.
"Are you okay, Professor? I'm sorry if I upset you . . . "
"Oh no, not at all, Ramdeon," she told him. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" He cocked one of his tiny eyebrows.
"I'm sure."
Just as she said this, the door opened. Professor Dumbledore walked in, again closing the door behind him.
"Good morning, Minerva, Ramdeon." He said.
"Good morning Albus," McGonagall answered.
"Good day, Professor," Ramdeon said brightly.
"How is your arthritis?" Dumbledore asked him.
Ramdeon sighed. "Unfortunately, it's not getting any better. My doctor says I should've done something sooner. At least a thousand years sooner, he told me." He shook his head. "I doubt that would've done any good, unless his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather was a doctor."
He jumped from the desk to his column, allowing McGonagall and Dumbledore to talk. Dumbledore sat in a large chair that appeared behind him.
"I just saw the boys leaving. I trust you didn't punish them too harshly."
McGonagall gave a forced smile.
"Oh, and there seems to be a very upset lady in the painting across your office. She is angry about something, but I didn't catch exactly what it was." Dumbledore gave her a hard look. "There seems to be something troubling you."
McGonagall straightened up. "I'm just concerned about Harry and Ron. Much time has passed, but they are still very distressed." She paused. "Do you believe it is the right time to tell them about Hermione?"
"No," Dumbledore said softly, but without hesitation. "It's still too early for them to handle it. You see, Minerva, if we were to tell them now, they would become overexcited and no doubt open the Nesskrad Room themselves. Such an event would be disastrous, since Hermione is not yet ready to come out."
Dumbledore sighed. "I know how you feel Minerva. But as much as we want to give them hope, we must remember the consequences."
"You're right." McGonagall and Dumbledore stood up at the same time. "I just wish that Hermione will soon finish."
Dumbledore smiled. "So do I."
While getting up to leave, he said, "Good day, Minerva. Ramdeon."
"Good day," They both responded in an echo. The door closed once again, leaving McGonagall alone with an ancient cat and her thoughts.
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Chapter 11
"This is gonna be so boring. Any idiot can groom a tree!"
"Don't be so sure, Ron," Harry replied as they walked toward the greenhouse together. "You never know what surprises Professor Sprout is hiding."
"Hmm . . . maybe she's gonna make us groom man-eating plants . . . "
It was still the day of Hermione's funeral, only at 3:40 in the afternoon. The weather had cleared up significantly, preventing the students from excusing themselves from Herbology. However, the setting still showed signs of heavy rain. The mud underneath their shoes made a soft squishy sound as they continued. The air smelled damp. The sky, Harry noticed, was gradually clearing up.
*'It's as if someone was weeping up there,'* Harry thought, looking up. *'Someone weeping for Hermione . . . What if someone was up there, crying at Hermione's funeral? What if raindrops were actually tears of grief? What if . . . '*
"HARRY!!"
"What? What?" Harry glanced around nervously, as if just waking up from a dream. His eyes were widened in confusion.
He saw Ron raise his eyebrows and roll his eyes in annoyance. "Geez, Harry, you should at least PRETEND to listen when someone is trying to have a conversation with you!"
"Sorry," Harry quickly said, setting his mind back to what was happening.
They stepped into the greenhouse, joined by other students. The soft squish beneath their feet was replaced by the hard, concrete surface. A faint mist hung around them. The plants were thriving in the weather, reaching out as far as their green stems could go. Professor Sprout, her mouth in the shape of a smile, was standing at the far end writing something on a green chalk board. Harry noted that she was dressed completely in green, as if celebrating the weather.
*'Celebrating,'* Harry silently repeated to himself.
Professor Sprout stepped back from the board, placing the chalk on a wooden table nearby. The big words written read "Grooming Magical Plants". Harry heard Ron give a small groan as they sat down on two seats next to each other in the middle of the room. The plants wove around the outside of the greenhouse, making it seem more like a tropical rain forest than a classroom.
Once the other students had been seated, Professor Sprout cleared her throat and began.
"As you all can see, the plants are thoroughly enjoying today's weather." She waved her hand in the lazy circle, referring to the green around them. "But this is not only perfect weather for them to thrive in. It is also the perfect time to trim them!"
*'Enjoying. Perfect time.'* The words hit him hard like a pile of weightless bricks. He almost winced.
"Therefore," she continued, "I am going to give each of you a pair of trimming scissors much like this one . . ." She held up what resembled a normal pair of scissors, except thicker and bent in an eagle's beak kind of shape at the end. "Now, I'm going to give you a demonstration of how this should be done."
Professor Sprout walked to one end of the room, where she picked up a medium-size tree by the pot and struggled until she lifted it on the table. The tree was visibly shaking, but there was no wind.
"Now, as you can see, this one is very nervous. And grooming does sometimes hurt them."
The tree started to shake violently.
"But to calm it down, say, 'Serenous Zelathai' and point your wand like so."
All eyes were on the tree as the professor rolled up her sleeves, took her wand out of her pocket, and pointed it. "Serenous Zelathai!"
The tree suddenly stopped moving. It was completely still.
"This spell paralyzes your plants, and also numbs its limbs and leaves to it can't feel anything." She picked up her trimming tool. "Now, here is the important part. Trimming a plant is an art. It takes skill, grace and agility. After all, you don't want to still be working when the spell wears off." She pulled leaves away from each other, gently searching for dead ones. "Oh, dear, this one has a lot of dead leaves," she said audibly to herself.
She finally found one brown, dry leaf in a cluster of green. She lifted the branch for all to see and used her trimmer as a pointer to indicate it. "See this one? I simply slip this between the leaves and cut it off at the bottom, being careful not to pierce the green part. Also be careful not to accidentally cut off any other leaves. You might also see a cluster of dead leaves." She indicated a branch that was tipped with brown, wrinkled leaves. "Once again, trace the brown until you get to the green, and cut it off at that point. Simple, right?" She asked while slicing off the cluster.
"That's all you need to know. Here are the trimmers . . ." She gestured toward a toolbox filled with miniature versions of her own. "I'm going to pair you up and I'll leave you to choose a plant and do the rest. Let's see . . ."
She scanned the room, taking in her choices.
"Okay, Ron, why don't you work with . . . Oh, dear! Excuse me! I almost forgot! Please stand up, Aurora!"
The heads shifted, looking at the girl standing up. She was obviously shy, as her eyes darted nervously around the room. Harry recognized her as the raven-haired girl at the funeral.
Professor Sprout walked over to Aurora, placing her hands on both of her shoulders. "Everyone, please welcome Aurora Wellington, our new addition not only to our class and the Gryffindor House but to our school!"
A very pathetic applause followed. Barely anyone clapped. Aurora blushed at their lack of interest.
Professor Sprout shot a piercing glare to everyone before talking once again.
"Well then, please sit down," she told Aurora. She sat, her eyes glued to the desk as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. After a quick study, Harry could easily tell the feeling portrayed in her emerald eyes and soft cheeks. Total embarrassment.
Harry caught himself and rapidly diverted his gaze. Why was he looking at her?
"So, on with business," Professor Sprout announced. "Ron, you go work with Neville - "
Ron made another groan only Harry could hear.
" - And Harry, you can work with Aurora . . ."
Harry's eyes widened in dread. *'Oh . . . Bloody . . . Hell . . . No!'*
He stole a glance to where Aurora was sitting. Her eyes were still down. Except for her posture and hair color, she looked nearly exactly like Hermione. His eyes started to scan her, but he quickly whipped his head away. At that moment he started mentally banging his head against his desk.
*'NO . . . WHY THE HELL AM I LOOKING AT HER ANYWAYS?'*
After he felt he had punished himself enough, or about the equivalent of three consecutive minutes, he noticed the other students standing up and going to meet with their partners. Harry rose to do the same.
*'Okay . . . this isn't going to be so bad . . . I just have to avoid looking at her in that way, that's all . . . that should be easy enough, right? Sure it is!'*
While Harry had a little mental conversation, he saw Ron giving him a wink. Harry raised an eyebrow. *'What was that about?'*
Harry took a deep breath and walked over to where Aurora was still seated. He halted and looked down at her. She still didn't move. He heaved a silent sigh.
"So . . ." Harry started, trying to make conversation, " . . . do you have a plant in mind?"
Her response was so quiet he could barely hear her. "No."
" . . ." He didn't know what to say. " . . . Then, why don't we get up and look for one before all the good ones are taken?"
She did not say anything, but instead got up quietly. Her face slowly lifted and their eyes met.
They were bright, emerald green, specked with small pools of light reflections. They easily compared to a gem or diamond. Her lips sat, a blushy pink, on pale white skin that was free of any zits, crevices or bumps. Her small nose was in the middle of her face, and her thin eyebrows were perched, nearly completely covered by black bangs that stretched down and stopped where her eyes started. Her jet-black hair ran down her back with streams flowing on her shoulders. It looked like a black waterfall, a waterfall with a color opposite of what it should be, but it seemed somehow just as pure and sparkling. She blinked at his gaze, exposing her long, curled eyelashes.
There was one part that struck him hardest. Her eyes. They were bright green, just like his own. He had never seen any like his before - and these were much more hypnotizing.
Harry nearly gasped. *'She's . . .'*
He couldn't finish the sentence.
In a swift moment she turned away and strode to one plant. It was a tree, no more than three feet tall. The tree carried heart-shaped leaves and small flowers. The flowers seemed white from far away, but upon closer inspection they were actually pink. Its fragrance, which carried across the room to where Harry was standing, was beautiful.
"I like this one," Aurora said. She lifted one of its green leaves. "It's a cherry tree. It's Japan's most important tree. Its blossoms are called sakura in Japanese, and many girls are names Sakura after them. It represents serenity . . ." Her eyes were still fixed on the plant. "It's very beautiful."
*'Beautiful . . .'* Harry thought.
He caught himself and again mentally banged his head against his desk. *'NO!! DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN IT!!'*
Harry snapped himself back into the real world. Aurora was awaiting his comment.
"Sure . . ." He said. "I'll lift it to your desk if you get us two trimmers."
"Okay," she said softly. Perhaps he was just imagining it, but he fancied he stole a glance to him while walking away.
Harry walked over to the cherry tree, bent down, and lifted the pot inside which the tree stood. It was surprisingly heavy. With much difficulty, he stumbled across the room and was so anxious to get rid of his burden he dropped the tree on the desk. It landed with a huge "BOOM!".
Aurora had returned, and handed him his trimmers. He took them. Both gave a tiny flinch when their fingers met.
Turning away, Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it at the tree.
"Serenous Zelathai!"
Nothing seemed to happen, but only because it was just as still and silent before.
Putting his wand back into his pocket, Harry bent down slightly and started to trim it. Aurora took a spot across from him, also standing with her face bent toward the leaves. Harry kept his eyes focused on the leaves. In fact, he was so focused that he forgot to look for dead leaves. All he cared about was keeping his eyes away from her.
Every so often, however, the two would press apart the leaves and peer through at the same place and same time, so instead of seeing more leaves and flowers they would each see a green eye. But, when this happened, both immediately retreated and searched somewhere else, each silently laboring at overcoming the desire to look into the other's eyes.
Harry looked up at the clock after what seemed like hours of endless dodging only to discover that there were thirty more minutes left in class. He sighed inwardly.
By the time the class ended, in his mental world, his desk was broken in two and he had a splitting headache.
Finally, Herbology was over. Harry was delighted to be able to put away his trimmers, drag the tree to its place, and dash out of the room without giving Aurora a single glance.
"Hey, wait up!" Ron yelled from behind.
Harry stopped to let Ron catch up and matched his pace as they walked back toward the castle.
"Harry, you know what the Americans would say about HER?"
Harry wasn't exactly listening, so he didn't catch the last part. His mind was somewhere else.
*'Her eyes . . .'*
He sighed. "What would they say?"
"They'd say . . ." He dropped his voice very low. " 'Dude, she's hot!' "
"Who's hot?" That word grabbed his attention.
Ron gave him a look.
"The new girl, you idiot!"
"The new girl . . .?" Suddenly he realized it was Aurora. His mind made very quick connections.
*' Aurora . . . she reminds me of Hermione . . . and Ron is calling Aurora hot . . . so he's saying Hermione's hot too . . . WAIT A SECOND! HERMIONE, HOT! NO!'*
"EW! RON! NO!"
"What?!" Ron replied, angered by his negative reply.
"RON, Aurora and hot do not belong in the same sentence!!"
"And why not?!"
"Because . . . because . . ." Harry was at a loss for words. "Just, no, okay?! Just . . . NO!"
"What the bloody hell's up with you? Any moron could see that she's hot!"
With that, Ron stomped off. Harry felt his blood starting to boil . . . But suddenly, he was overcome by a realization. He closed his eyes.
*'That's what I'm afraid of Ron . . . that's exactly what I'm afraid of.'*
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::: A/N: It's midnight, and I'm the only person up. The night is so dark and threatening. *Shrieks* WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?! Oh, geez. Were crickets created to freak out people in the middle of the night? If they were, they're doing a darn good job! :::
Chapter 12
*'I wonder if they're thinking about me.'*
That was all Hermione could do in her lonely, dark cell. Sit and think.
She thought about people. She thought about her experiences. She thought about what everything meant. That was all she did since the thrill of flying wore off.
Now she was thinking about her second year, when she was petrified. In many ways, being petrified was similar to becoming a ghost. Hermione remembered not being able to move, though her mind and body strained to. Her vision was of sparkling whiteness, outlined with the blurry shapes of bodies. When people spoke to her, she heard a faint whisper, almost an echo. She did not always know what was going on, though she could sometimes recognize the voices. She remembered hearing one masculine voice speaking to her once, in the night. The person was holding her paralyzed hand in two of his own.
"You'll be all right, Hermione. I know you will." ***
Though she couldn't hear very well or see the face above her, she knew exactly who it was. She remembered trying to move, to give him a sign that she could hear him, but she couldn't.
*'I know Ron was worried about me too, but Harry was the one that snuck into the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night to talk to me.'*
A question rose and racked in the back of her mind ever since that happened.
Was it that their friendship was stronger, or was it that Harry was simply less shy about expressing his feelings than Ron?
She was always somehow reminded of that question, every day. It came out of a look, a comment, or a gesture. *'Perhaps I'm just fantasizing. Maybe he's just a good friend, and I'm reading too much into it.'*
However, the same could be applied to Ron. Though he didn't show his feelings as much as Harry, it was obvious he tensed whenever she entered the room. Once again, Hermione asks herself, is it just her imagination or is it real? Does it really mean something?
Hermione looked around. Same room. Same candle. Same mirror. But something on the floor across the room caught her eye. She couldn't make out the dark shape, but she could see it because it was a slightly different shade of black compared to the surroundings.
Not having the energy to fly, she got on her hands and knees and started to crawl over to the spot. Coldness met her hands where they settled on the floor, but she kept crawling. As she got closer, she began to see the shape of a paper. It was a paper. She picked it up and sat back on her heels.
It was a piece of parchment, seemingly a note. She couldn't make out what was written on it in the blackness so she made her way across the cold, stone floor to the candle. Once there, she held the parchment to the dim, flickering light.
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows when she saw scribbles of words in a different language on the note. She had expected it to be in English, but it definitely wasn't.
*'What's the use of leaving a note that isn't legible? And who left it there? And why?'*
Her mind was suddenly clouded with the many unanswerable questions sparked by one small piece of parchment.
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"Hey Harry, did you hear?" Ron stepped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor commonroom, where Harry and several other students were busy doing their homework. Harry looked up from the essay he was writing for Defense Against The Dark Arts on pixies. They had long before gotten over their argument after Herbology, and were speaking to each other again.
"Hear what?" He asked as Ron neared the chair Harry was sitting in and their voices became softer.
"There's gonna be a dance next Friday. They just announced it," Ron told him.
"Oh." Harry didn't have much more to say to it. He began to turn back to the essay but Ron continued.
"You're going, aren't you?" he asked, disappointed by Harry's reaction.
"Sure." *'Heck, why not? I don't have anything else to do.'*
"Are you going to ask Cho Chang to the dance?"
Harry took a moment to answer. "I guess."
"Great! So, um, you don't mind if I ask the new girl?"
*'Huh?'* He raised an eyebrow like he always did when he did not understand something. "Why would I mind?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Come on, Harry. I saw the way you were looking at her in Herbology. I know you have a thing for her." Ron's lips formed a light smile at the last comment.
Harry was glad they were speaking quietly enough that no one could hear them. He didn't feel comfortable discussing such matters in earshot of anyone else.
"Ron, I don't know what you mean, but even if I did I wouldn't mind at all." That was a complete and total lie. The problem was that he KNEW what Ron meant, and he did feel a twinge of jealousy when Ron announced that he was asking Aurora. But he never would have admitted it to Ron or to himself.
"Okay! See you later!" In an instant Ron was out the door.
*'He must have a huge crush on her. He's running as if a herd of rhinos was after him.'*
Harry refused to tell himself that he liked her, too. Somehow, it didn't feel right. Perhaps it was because the memories of Hermione reminded him of how he cared for her. He felt that pursuing his feelings for Aurora would be . . . forgetting Hermione.
Harry shook his head to dismiss the thoughts and returned his attention to the three-foot essay due the next day.
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Ron returned about a half an hour later, his head hung in disappointment. He lifted his eyes to meet the questioning look on Harry's face.
*'She turned him down.'*
It was apparent judging by Ron's expression. His face bore a deep frown, and his eyes were slightly squinted. From anger? Or could it have been from a hint of sadness?
*'Aurora doesn't seem the type of person to reject anybody. She must have had a good reason for refusing.'*
"You won't believe who asked her first." Just as Harry predicted.
::: A/N: Okay, to some of you it may seem painfully obvious who asked Aurora, and to some of you it'll take a little sitting down and scratching your head. But I think most of you can figure it out. ***I know this didn't happen in the book, but it could've and I'm making it up anyways. :::