Chapter Seven:

Boxers and Broomsticks

Hermione wasn't about to miss the Quidditch match that Saturday—Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, the first game of the year. She arrived early, but not early enough: almost all the seats were already taken. She squeezed in next to Ron, who seemed to be goggling at something down on the field too hard to pay attention to much else. "The game hasn't started yet, has it?"

"No," Ron said, looking dazed. Hermione followed his gaze and wasn't surprised to find that he was staring at the newest addition to Hogwarts Quidditch: cheerleaders. Naturally, it had been Draco Malfoy who had suggested that the teams would have more spirit if they had cheerleaders.

"Stop that!" she said sternly, and Ron promptly put both his eyes back in his head.

Almost the instant he did, the game began and the cheerleaders started cheering enthusiastically: "H-A-R-R-Y—what does that spell—Harry!!!"

"You can tell they're all in love with him," Ron said, scowling slightly. "They'll be singing their song soon," he commented, slightly depressed now that he couldn't stare at the cheerleaders without Hermione whacking him.

"What s—"

"We've got Harry Potter!

Could he get any hotter?

He's got the greenest eyes

And it comes as no surprise:

We all love his body!

'Cause he's such a hottie!
He's at the top of his class!
And he's got the greatest—"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor if the cheerleaders don't sing something a little more appropriate!" McGonagall called, grabbing the commentator's speaker and barking at the screaming cheerleaders.

"Oh. They have a song," said a sullen Hermione.

The game seemed to drag on and on for both Ron and Hermione, who only looked up every few seconds to make sure that the game was still going on and once when Cho Chang fell off of her broomstick. It quickly started raining and it was an hour before Gryffindor finally won as Harry captured the Snitch and the cheerleaders were content to start screaming again.

"Congratulations, Harry," said Hermione, perking up instantly at he thought of getting out of the rain and getting her robes dry, rushing over to him.

"Thanks," Harry grinned, wiping the raindrops from his glasses as the three of them went inside, a host of third years following them asking for Harry's autograph rather desperately, stalking them until they went up the stairs.

"If you thought this game was bad," Ron whispered to Hermione, "you won't want to come to the next game. Next game, when all the cheerleaders scream 'Could he get any hotter?' all the Gryffindor girls will scream: 'He couldn't if he tried.' And they're adding a verse about how if you look deep into his eyes, you can see the ocean."

"Oh please, Ron," Hermione groaned, not sure if he was being serious or not and looking around to see if Harry was listening. Instead, he was making a mad dash to the Common Room to pick up his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, which he had left there that morning.

"It's not that great, you know," Ron said, as he stopped outside his dorm, casually swatting at the mistletoe that continued to dangle above his head.

"What is?" asked Hermione, sounding distracted.

"His ass!" exclaimed Ron, frustrated that Hermione didn't know what he was talking about. A group of students walking down the hall quickly turned around and went in the other direction.

"Actually…" muttered Hermione, thinking about it, wondering why she hadn't predicted Ron's entirely predictable reaction to the situation any earlier.

"I mean, it's not like I've checked it out or anything…," Ron said, very uncomfortably, leaning on the dormitory door, "it's just…"

"Right, Ron… whatever," said Hermione as she walked away, happy to be both out of the rain and to have some time to herself for a while—perhaps time to start working on mixing the ingredients for her potion—she was forty percent De-Lusted and counting.

"Wait a minute—have you…?"

The door slammed Ron's purple face before she could even answer the question.

---

"What d'you mean I've got spattergoit?!" shouted an enraged Harry, sitting up straight in his bed. Hermione was looking down at him then looking back at her book in deep concentration.

"It's pretty clear, Harry—it doesn't look like smallpox," she said, "or chickenpox, and I'm positive it's not cowpox… and Ron's freckles can't be contagious…."

Ron forgot to be offended when he saw the remedy. "Oh, Harry, looks like you've got to go stand naked in the moonlight," laughed Ron, thoroughly amused.

"What d'you mean I'VE GOT TO GO STAND NAKED IN THE MOONLIGHT???" shouted Harry, more enraged than ever. This one year, this one Voldie-free year, and he had to go and get spattergoit—Harry was beginning to think he was cursed. "Where did I even get spattergoit?" he wondered.

Hermione was still reading, her eyes fully concentrated on a dusty copy of Thin Witch, Thick Witch; Healthy Witch, Sick Witch. "You've got to be standing in eels' eyes, it says here… and it's got to be a full moon… that's very important…."

"ABSOLUTELY NAKED?" repeated Harry, feeling absolutely baffled. He didn't feel comfortable about the prospect of standing out on the Quidditch field naked, or going anywhere naked—just the word "naked" was making him feel sick. "Not even boxers?"

"Nope," Hermione said, sounding completely unperturbed by the prospect, flipping a few pages ahead. "Not even the ones with the shamrocks on them—"

"How do YOU know about my Lucky Shamrocks?!" gasped Harry.

Hermione quickly changed the subject. "According to these lunar cycle charts, the next full moon is this Friday, Harry—you're in luck—"

"Yeah, how do you know about Harry's Lucky Shamrocks?" asked Ron, turning on her, his face now matching the color of his hair.

Harry glared at the both of them with obvious fury. "How do you BOTH know—"

"Valentine's Day," Hermione said, cutting them both off, "the next full moon is Valentine's Day."