Scene 2: In Which Harry Walks Into a Trap

It was the end of a long, particularly grueling day of preparing for the N.E.W.T. level exams, enduring Hermione's niggling and nagging, and losing the Quidditch Cup to Slytherin. Both Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were in dreadful tempers.

"What would Fred and George say if they could see this loss?" Ron moaned, throwing himself, wet Quidditch robes and all, onto the red and gold couch in the Gryffindor common room.

"They'd probably be too embarrassed to talk to us. They might even disown you," Harry said glumly.

"Oh, stop it, you two!" Hermione interjected. "It's just Quidditch!"

Ron and Harry both snapped at Hermione simultaneously. "It's not just about Quidditch!"

"Oh? Then what is it about?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm?" The two boys looked at each other darkly.

"It's about beating Malfoy," Harry said finally.

"Yeah, have you noticed that the Slytherins have started singing "Weasley is Our King" again?" Ron said.

"Oh, you two are so childish sometimes!" Hermione said, turning her attention back to Advanced Arithmancy by Smarta Thanu. Harry and Ron just rolled their eyes and turned their conversation to Malfoy.

"He's such a…"

"Ferret?" Harry supplied. A grin crossed Ron's face.

"Yeah, that was great, wasn't Harry? Hey, wouldn't it be fun if we could kill Malfoy?" Ron said dreamily.

Harry agreed. "We could trick Crabbe and Goyle into giving us the password to the Slytherin dormitories, then we could sneak in and stab Malfoy to death. It wouldn't be that hard."

"Maybe we could slip poison in his pumpkin juice at dinner. Dobby would wet himself with excitement about helping you," Ron said.

"Or we could kidnap him, drag him to my aunt and uncle's house and have Dudley sit on him!" Harry and Ron were laughing hysterically at themselves at this point, and were still only half-joking.

Hermione slammed her book shut. "Honestly! You just can't shut up and let a girl study in peace, can you?"

"We'll shut up if you help us murder Malfoy," Ron offered, trying to contain his glee and failing miserably. Hermione stood up suddenly.

"Well, if that's what it takes…" she said irritably, crossing over to the portrait hole. Ron and Harry exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed Hermione out of the common room.

"Where are we going?" Ron ventured to ask.

"To Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," Hermione snapped. "And don't ask questions."

Harry noticed that Hermione was beginning to sound a bit like his aunt and uncle, but he kept his mouth shut as he didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of Hermione's lectures.

When they had finished making the Polyjuice Potion in their second year, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had carefully stored their cauldron and a small stock of ingredients in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Breathing a sigh of relief that Myrtle was nowhere to be seen, Ron and Harry looked expectantly at Hermione. "Ron, I need to make a Dissolving Potion. Can you get me the ingredients?" As Ron scurried off to do Hermione's bidding, she turned to Harry. "Harry, I need you to go back up to the tower and ask Dean Thomas if you can borrow the bowling ball and pins that he got for Christmas."

"But Hermione, we were just up there!" Harry protested.

"Well, I wouldn't be down here doing this if it weren't for you, would I? If you want Malfoy dead, you can go get that bowling ball!" Hermione's eyes were blazing, and Harry could see that she was close to throwing a fit.

"Alright, I'm going," Harry said, holding his hands up in surrender.

As Harry exited, Hermione found herself tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for Ron. "Ron! What in bloody hell are you doing over there? A Dissolving Potion is really basic; you only need a couple of ingredients!"

"But I don't know which of those ingredients you need!" Ron called from the small cupboard under the sink, where they had hidden their stash of potion ingredients.

"For Merlin's sake, Ron, how thick can you be?" Hermione marched over to push Ron aside and rummage in the cupboard herself. "Make yourself useful, why don't you?" she said. "Go to the kitchen and ask for the largest knife you can find."

Ron snorted. "Sure, if I'm not too thick to find the way," he said sarcastically.

The next day ("The Dissolving Potion needs to simmer for twelve hours, Ron, we can't do it now. Besides, it's midnight; Malfoy's not going to be wandering the halls at this time!" Hermione had said.), the trio found themselves in the hallway where Malfoy and his cronies were most likely to be found: the dungeon floor. They had set their trap, and settled down just around the corner to wait for an unsuspecting Malfoy to walk through. And they waited. And they waited. And Malfoy didn't come.

Harry stood up and stretched. "I'm going to get Quidditch Through the Ages," he said. "I'll be back soon."

"Can you get Advanced Arithmancy for me, while you're up there?" Hermione requested.

"Sure," Harry said, and set off, ambling up the stairs to Gryffindor tower.

Hermione called after him, "Remember, Harry! Take the door on the right when you come back!"

Harry still hadn't returned when Ron and Hermione heard footsteps echoing down the corridor.

"It must be Malfoy!" Ron whispered joyfully. "Pull the rope…now!" And Hermione gave an enormous tug to the rope which she held in her hands. It pulled down a ramp, which set the bowling ball in motion to knock the bowling pins over the edge of the shelf that they rested precariously on. The pins knocked over the potion-proof cauldron of Dissolving Potion, which dissolved the rope that held a large cleaver.

Harry stood in front of two identical doors. He vaguely remember Hermione shouting at him which one to take, but the memory was floating somewhere in the back of his mind where he couldn't quite catch it…Right, Harry though. Right, right! And he walked through the door on his left.

He knew something wasn't quite right. Am I lost? he wondered. A sudden noise from above made him look up just in time to see the knife dropping down on him from above. He had walked into his own trap.

Hermione looked horror-stricken at Harry Potter's body, cut cleanly in half and spurting blood all over. She leaned down to pick up a ripped and soaking object on the floor. "My book," she whimpered. "It's ruined!"