Chapter Four:

The Second Item

Trelawney had a violin and Ginny needed a violin. So naturally, it would be justified if, in the middle of the night, she snuck into the Divination room and… borrowed the violin! Justified. Entirely.

It was nearly midnight. Ginny lay awake, staring at the clock as the hour hand slowly inched closer and closer to the twelve. "C'mon, c'mon…" she whispered encouragingly. She had long since decided that any time before twelve would be too early—one never knew what Professor Trelawney would be up to at odd hours of night.

Ginny took her time sneaking down the halls, careful not to make much noise. She'd already noted that Trelawney's door was bewitched to open when anyone got close enough, which she thought was kind of (well, incredibly) stupid and slightly dangerous, but accepted since it would take the "breaking" out of "breaking and entering."

She quickly came to the bright purple door and stepped inside. Trelawney was happily snoring on a purple foldaway couch in the corner, mumbling something about bees, clover, and the end of the world. The violin sat on the table to her left.

"Dumbly, Dumbly, Dumbly—you make me so mumbly… no, crumbly… so bumbly… oh Dumbly…" muttered Trelawney, shifting on the lumpy sofa.

Ginny swiftly snuck past her and snatched the violin off the table, looking around cautiously to make sure that Trelawney wasn't awake, or, as she had always secretly believed, that the Ministry of Magic wasn't secretly spying on her. "That was easy," she thought suspiciously. "Too easy."

She dropped the violin on her toe.

"That's better."

She bent down to pick it up, checking to make sure all the strings were intact, and then, suddenly, in the corner, something caught her eye. Professor Trelawney's crystal winked back at her, illuminated by the light of the moon, almost hypnotic as it rested on its purple, metallic cradle. It was radiant and it was calling to her—had she ever really seen anything in that crystal ball—anything significant? Perhaps, tonight,—perhaps tonight she would find her inner eye—perhaps she possessed The Sight! Ginny peered closer and closer into the swirling mass of fog that was accumulating within the orb…

Ginny walked away with an all-encompassing knowledge, not of the secret to world-peace, the end of the world, or the location of a portal to all evil, but of the need… the universal need for Ron to wash his socks.

---

"That was humiliating," Harry moaned as he woke up the next morning, the embarrassment of the previous day's Potions class still very much with him. "Why couldn't you just hold the note?"

"What? And get humiliated myself?" retorted Ron, forcefully yanking on a particularly festive pair of hot pink socks. "Not a chance, mate—sorry."

"Sweet on Hermione, Potter?" called Seamus's voice from the door. "Too bad; I hear she's still got a thing for Krum." This was followed by scattered laughter and Harry burying his face in his pillow.

"Tell me we don't have Double Potions today," he groaned.

"Erm…" stuttered Ron, scratching his head, "well, if it makes you feel any better, your potion ruined that pair of Snape's shoes permanently…, and Peeves has stolen all of Snape's Self-Help books and is chucking them out the window right now."

"Thanks," Harry grinned.

"No problem."

Harry spent the entire journey to Potions that day staring at his books, trying to avoid the stares and hoping that by concentrating hard enough, he could avoid the sound of the snickers that were sure to follow him all the way to Snape's classroom. He felt almost as if he were reliving his 4th year—and come to think of it, his 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 5th, and 6th too. It seemed there would always be a time when someone was staring at him, for whatever reasons.

"Harry!" a voice called. Harry groaned inwardly, reluctantly turning around, sure it would be another person to ask him whether or not he was madly, madly in love with Hermione. "Harry!" It was Hermione; he could only imagine what she would have to say to him. "Harry, I need to talk to you." There was a note reading: "Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?" stuck to her back.

Harry turned to look at Ron, who grinned and nodded in understanding, continuing on to Potions, not wanting to be late again today.

"Harry—" Before Hermione could say anything, Harry reached around and tore the piece of paper off of her back, crumpling it and throwing it away.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Harry lied, "what did you want to talk to me about?" Only after hearing himself say the words did Harry realize just how stupid they sounded. Of course he knew what she wanted to talk about—why did he even ask?

"Well, it's about that note yesterday in Potions," she said, withdrawing a piece of paper from one of her books. "That horrible Skeeter woman has already managed to write an article about it—in record time."

Harry took the article, and cringed thinking of what it would say—more about him crying at night over his dead Mum and Dad?

Hogwarts' Shakespeare in Love?

By Rita Skeeter

While the elusive Harry Potter has managed to dodge the Dark Lord on several occasions, he has not been able to doge the rumors about himself and the attractive young witch who is constantly in his company—Hermione Granger. By his side through all of the turmoil that Harry's life has brought, slowly, this friendship has evolved into something much more significant.

"They're definitely a couple," Parvati Patil, a student at Hogwarts, was reported as saying. "I mean, he wrote her a love note and everything."

As recently as Monday, the young, infatuated Potter was caught writing a heartfelt love note to Granger.

"My dearest, darling Hermione, passion of my life," the note read, "My days and nights have been filled with the deepest regret; if you would but look my way, the world and its wrongs would be instantly righted. My heart belongs to you only, but—alas!—it seems you do not know it. So I leave you now, with the words of a poet:

" 'But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief

That thou her maid art far more fair than she.

Be not her maid, since she is envious.

Her vestal livery is but sick and green,

And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.

It is my lady. O, it is my love!

O that she knew she were!' "

Is there any more proof of this love than that? This reporter needs no further convincing.

Harry looked up at Hermione, slightly mortified. "Hermione—I didn't write that note, Ron did. I mean, he cast a spell on it so it would sound—er—romantic," Harry explained. He suddenly noticed Hermione's slightly crestfallen face. "Oh, but the last part was Ron's. I mean, it was Shakespeare's, but he came up with, well… um…"

"Ron knows Shakespeare?" asked Hermione, incredulously, albeit happily.

"Well, um—yes." Harry decided he'd rather get to the point than stumbling over technicalities.

"Wow," Hermione smiled. "That's… wow," she beamed, and she continued on her way to Potions, muttering, "that's… that's really something…."

And while, Harry, knowing full well he should have been happier about the situation, wondered, if only faintly, whether or not he would have been happier just taking the credit and leaving it at that. But only faintly.

---

Later that day, Ginny joined Ron, Harry, and Hermione in the Great Hall. "Hermione," she said, smiling, then quickly giving her an urgent look while Ron and Harry dug into their treacle tarts, "I need to talk to you."

"Oh, of course," responded Hermione, giving her two friends quick glances, then excusing herself from the table. In the hallway just outside the hall, she was free to speak once more. "What is it?"

Ginny smiled: "I've got the violin, but it was no easy task, I assure you. The next item on the list is yours, for sure."

Hermione smiled and nodded, "You have no idea how much this means to me, Ginny, and don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you. Thanks to you, I'm 20 percent De-Lusted already."

Ginny nodded as well, "I'm glad I could help, no matter how strange all this is, but I hope you know I've got to return this violin tonight, before Professor Trelawney notices it's missing…"

"You took it from a teacher?" gasped Hermione, overcome with shock. "Imagine what would happen if she found out—"

"It's Trelawney—she'll think it's a sign from the Great Beyond telling her to stop playing," Ginny reasoned. "Oh, and I've got some fabulous news to tell you about her and Dumbledore…."