Child-of-scorpio – Check my favorites list, under my profile, there should be a few marked in there. Often I find more good ones by checking author profiles of stories I like… If someone writes ONE good story, chances are they've written another. Happy Hunting!
Shahrezad1 – (perking up, looking around) Cookies? Candy? I'm feeling inspired… And lets see what Ginny thinks she's figured out, shall we?
MetroDweller – Lets face it. Men like blonde bimbos in tight clothing. Fortunately for the rest of us, having the real thing right at hand is usually much more interesting. (wink, wink). Anywhoo… back to our story…
Java, lilyflower-hp, Mrs.SakuraPotter – You want more, you got more.
Moonglaze – Now, did I say that the final battle's in the Forbidden Forest? (pursing lips and looking at the ceiling) Hmm…
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Chapter 6
Hermione moaned and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I can't believe we just did that," she said for the millionth time in the last hour.
Ginny sighed, tired as well. "Look, you want to know what the heck's going on, right? And how else were we supposed to find this stuff?"
Hermione yawned and sat forward again, reaching for yet another glossy tome. "The Young and Innocent Years of Harry Potter: An Unauthorized Biography of the First Three Years," she read off the spine. She cast Ginny a disgusted look. "Why'd they stop at three? Why not go to five?"
Ginny snorted. "Beats me," she said, looking over the stacks of books they'd, um, 'taken' from the library at around two am. "I didn't even realize that there'd been this much written about him."
"The Boy-Who-Lived," Hermione murmured. "Who saved the wizarding world and then disappeared for the next ten years. How could a writer resist?"
Ginny snorted, and half-yawned. "Some of this stuff is really stupid," she told Hermione, flipping pages. "Like how this one says that Harry was actually sent to live with gnomes in southern Italy, and that he was supposed to return under an assumed name."
Hermione yawned again. "Gnomes? Garden gnomes? Right. Like a human baby would even fit in a gnome hole." She rubbed her head wearily. "Ok. What do we have so far?"
Ginny reached for her faithful notebook. "We know that there was a prophecy about Harry," she said. "We know because that's what Voldemort went to go get at the Department of Mysteries." She flipped a page. "We know that it was broken and no one heard what it said. We know that after Sirius died there, Harry changed."
Hermione took over now, ticking things off on her fingers. "Since then, Harry has been much moodier, darker and depressed. Following the incident with Bellatrix last year, he began disappearing for periods of time and refusing to tell us where or why." She sighed. "You know, if it was anyone but Harry, we could suspect him of having some kind of secret fling."
Ginny winced, it actually hurt to think. "Please," she said in a pained voice. After all, there wasn't any point standing on ceremony with Hermione. They'd shared a few too many secrets this past summer in her bedroom.
Hermione grinned tiredly. "But it IS Harry, and there's no way he's seeing a girl without it getting back to us somehow." She yawned again.
"So we're back to the prophecy, the one no one knows and no one will ever hear because it was broken," Ginny said, staring down at the books covering the table, books written about the life and times of one Harry Potter.
Hermione shook her head. "I can't believe we didn't think of it before," she said, sounding aggrieved. "Just because no one can hear it now, doesn't mean someone hadn't already."
"I still say it was Dumbledore who told Harry," Ginny said thoughtfully. "That's something else that's been going on since Sirius, Harry's been kind of cold to him. And you know how Harry hates having things, well…"
"Yeah," Hermione sighed, closing the book in front of her. "It would explain a lot." She propped her chin on her hands. "But what IS the prophecy?" she wondered.
Ginny leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes, glancing at the clock. Bloody hell, it was four in the morning. People would be getting up soon. Hermione was flipping idly through her notebook, scanning the various things Ginny had jotted down.
"You've really been thorough," her friend said, studying another page before reading on.
Ginny shrugged. "Yeah, well…"
Hermione sighed. "It's hell, isn't it," she mused. "Stupid gits don't deserve all the stuff we do for them."
"I still say you should snog Ron senseless and see what happens," Ginny said, closing her eyes. "Just not in front of me. I might be scarred for life."
"Gin," Hermione said absently. "What was it Harry said at dinner that one night?"
"Look on the last page," she said, not opening her eyes. Damn, she was tired.
"You're my best damn friend, Ron. All of you. And you can't help, anyway," Hermione read aloud. "We can't help him, he says. We can't…" Hermoine's voice trailed off. After nearly a minute of silence, Ginny opened her eyes and stared at her friend.
"Well?" she demanded. "That's what brought us here, to researching the prophecy, remember?"
Hermione seemed to shake herself, and looked at Ginny, eyes gleaming. "What if it's even simpler than that?" she said. "What if it's one of those things that we just never think to assume?"
"Like?" Ginny asked, heart starting to beat.
Hermione leaned close, looking excited. "No one can help him," she said again. "What if THAT'S the prophecy?"
Ginny stared at the Head Girl, whose eyes were shining, despite the bags, who was practically radiating brilliance. "Damn, you're right," she breathed. "No one can help him. He's got to do it himself." She said, thinking out loud. "No one can help him… help him what?"
They stared at each other a moment before reality sunk in. "Shit," Hermione whispered, Ginny not even blinking at the unfamiliar curse word from the straight-laced girl. "No one but him… can kill Voldemort."
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Harry was whistling as he headed for McGonagall's office. Quiddich Captain, he thought cheerfully. Had he really been thinking it would be too much work, he thought with a grin. Idiot. No one in their right mind considered quiddich work.
He rapped on the door of his Head of House's office. He needed to work out a schedule and book the pitch…
The door opened and Professor McGonagall looked at him. Huh. He was as tall as she was, he realized for the first time. "Yes, Mr. Potter?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.
Harry shook himself mentally and smiled at his professor. "I need to see about scheduling quiddich practices, ma'am," he said.
"Ah, yes indeed," McGonagall said briskly, bustling back to her desk and picking up what looked like a calendar. "You're being very prompt about it, I'm glad to see." She shot a look at him over the top of her spectacles. "I suppose I do not need to say that I would be highly displeased to have the trophy leave my desk this year?"
Harry grinned at her in complete understanding. "No ma'am," he said. "I'd be rather upset, myself."
"Excellent," the professor said, flipping pages. "Only Hufflepuff has signed up for times so far, so you still have quite a few good choices."
Harry scanned the calendar as she handed it to him to look. Considering, he mentally figured how when would be the best times to practice. If he could avoid the early morning times except for emergencies, his team would most definitely be grateful…
Ten minutes later, Harry was handing the calendar back, his practice times magically inked in so that the other heads would know the pitch had been booked for those times. Five days, three hours each, one Saturday afternoon session for four… it wasn't too much, was it? After all, he'd fly all day if they'd let him.
"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall broke into his thoughts. Harry looked at her to see that the Transfiguration Professor was giving him quite an intent stare. "I have noticed quite a change in your spellwork over the past year. Indeed, in the past week," she said, eyes fixed on him. "Is there something you would like to discuss, perhaps?"
Harry resisted the urge to wince. Damn. Sooner or later, someone was going to catch on to his increased abilities. He'd thought it would be Hermione. "No ma'am," he said politely.
McGonagall studied him. "Quite a bit rests on your shoulders, Potter," she said, voice unexpectedly kind. "There is no shame, no weakness in letting others help share the load."
Harry sighed, looked down, and then back up. He wasn't sure if she knew the prophecy or not, but… "Maybe, but there's danger in it," he said quietly. "And I'm fine, professor."
She watched him another long moment, then sighed. "No, Mr. Potter, I don't believe you are. But then, none of us truly are," she said. She waved her hand at her office door. "You may go." Harry'd only made it a few steps before she called his name again. "Oh, and Mr. Potter?" He turned and looked at her. Professor McGonagall smiled. "Congratulations on making captain. No one has earned it more than yourself."
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Harry found out after dinner that six days of practice WAS apparently too much. He was currently being yelled at by all six members of his team. "ARE YOU BLOODY CRAZY?" Ron was shouting, along with everyone else. "DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH TIME THAT IS…"
Harry finally got sick of it all. "Enough!" he yelled and somewhat to his surprise, they all shut up. Sure, they were all glaring at him, but they were all quiet. "Look," he said, uncomfortable for a brief moment with being the center of attention. "I know it's six days of practice, ok? But it's only three hours during the week, and one afternoon on the weekend. AND," he held up his hand to forestall Colin Creevey's open mouth. "I made all the times after classes and before dinner. No early morning, no late night. Plenty of time to get back and have dinner and do schoolwork, or to sleep in on the weekend. Hell, nothing conflicting in the evening if you've got something special lined up." He looked at Ron on that one, trying for a pointed look, but his dense friend was too busy glaring.
Harry spread his hands, trying to appeal to their common sense. He hoped. "I want the cup, guys, I really really want it. But I tried to find a way to get it without completely ruining our lives." He paused and then pulled a rueful face. "And frankly, lets face it. McGonagall wants to keep it badly enough that she'd authorize me to make you work day and night." There were a few reluctant smiles at that. Thank god. He was afraid he was going to get burned in effigy.
"Fine," Ron grumbled. "But you gotta tell 'Mione that she has to wait until the evening to do homework with me. 'Cause I'M sure not being the one to break that news." There was a spurt of relieved laughter at that, and the tension eased.
"How about we owl her?" Harry suggested, grinning. "Look, everyone, first practice tomorrow, ok? Suit up and be on time, and lets get started." There was a scraping of chairs as the rest of the team started to leave, including Ginny and Ron. "Hey Ron, you got a minute?" Harry asked.
His mate shrugged and sat back down. "Sure. Maybe we'll get lucky and Ginny will break the news to Hermione." Harry grinned a little absently as his eyes followed the redhead across the room to where their other friend was sitting. She'd been watching him today, with serious, solemn eyes that seemed to be looking for something. He'd been tempted to delve into her mind to see if he could find out… but just couldn't. Not to her, not to any of his friends. He refused to go looking in their heads without them knowing.
He was jostled out of his thoughts by Ron's elbow. "Something you want to tell me?" his friend said with a gleam in his eye. Harry realized his was still staring at Ginny.
His face tightened, and he turned away. "No," he said.
Ron raised an eyebrow and lounged back in his chair. "No?" he said. "Seems to me you spend a lot of time looking at my sister, for someone who doesn't have anything he'd like to share."
Harry blew out a breath. Merlin, this was getting to be one of his nightmares. The one that usually ended in all six Weasley men pounding on him for thinking impure thoughts about their beloved baby sister. "No," he repeated again, and quickly moved to turn the conversational gimlet back on his buddy. "Unless there's something YOU'D like to say…" he trailed off, glancing significantly back across the room.
This time it was Ron who looked, flushed and then stared determinedly at the floor. "Nope," he said, uncomfortably.
Harry smirked for a moment. Hah. Take that. Then he made himself focus again. "Look, I was thinking about how we're going to need plays…" he began, and Ron leaned forward. "You're the strategist, do you think you could come up with some? Something new, that those slimy gits won't know."
"You're the captain, don't you want to do this?" Ron asked considerately, but with that greedy gleam in his eye. Oh, he wanted to do this, Harry smirked silently. He knew his man.
"A good captain knows how to delegate," he grinned. "And lets face it. All I do usually is fly around looking for a little ball. You're down in the middle of it all. Plus you've kicked my ass at chess for the last seven years."
Ron smirked and puffed out his chest. "I could give you a few ideas," he said. "Like how about this…" and they fell into deep discussion of feints and passes.
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Ginny was settled at a table with her homework, trying to concentrate on Charms and not on the handsome Mr. Potter, who was still arguing plays with her brother, when the portrait door opened and Professor McGonagall walked in.
"Mr. Potter," their Head of House called. "A word, please," she said.
Harry got up and crossed over, and the two of them stepped back outside. The portrait closed, and for the life of her, Ginny couldn't concentrate on her work. Everything Harry did and said seemed to have taken on a whole new meaning and depth. How many people knew about the prophecy, about what Harry had to do someday? She wondered.
The portrait opened again, and Harry stalked in, looking stiff and furious. "Oi, what'd she say," Ron asked.
Harry muttered something low, that Ginny couldn't hear, but Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Snape? Again? After what happened before?" her brother asked before Harry just shook his head and headed for the dormitory stairs.
Ginny looked away from the retreating back of the black-haired boy as her brother dropped down next to her, scowling absently. Hermione looked up from her place across the table. "What is it now?" she asked worriedly.
Ron glared at the tabletop. "Harry's got to take Occlumency with Snape again," he said. "Even after all the shit hit the fan at the end of fifth year."
Hermione grimaced. "At least Snape's mellowed some, with Professor Stone, I mean, Snape. Maybe it won't be so bad." Her voice was uncertain however, and privately Ginny agreed. She couldn't see this being anything but bad, either.
Ron grumbled something under his breath, and then looked at the two of them. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask, why were the two of you so tired at breakfast this morning? I don't think I've see you guys dragging like that before."
Hermione looked over at Ginny, their eyes met. They'd debated whether to tell Ron, who wasn't always the best with secrets and staying calm. Ginny finally nodded, and Hermione turned back to a now puzzled-looking Head Boy.
"We may have figured out what it is Harry's been hiding," she said in a very low voice.