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Who is the update goddess?
You know my name, people.
Ugh, sorry it took so long. I would have put it up over the weekend but my family came to visit . . . and well . . .
Let's just say, my family is complicated. I have one aunt who has depression, and another who wants to control everything.
Yea gods, my family reunions suck.
But . . . new chapter! Rejoice!
Ooh, and I updated The Huntress. So read and review that too!
Chapter Eleven: Flying
The spy of Voldemort stood in her compartment of the Hogwarts Express. Her friends, all powerful wizards and witches, were laughing, talking, and playing Exploding Snap. She was pretending to read.
Shewas part oftheir group.
But at the same time, she was apart from them.
Spying for Voldemort hadn't been her original task. Originally she'd just been the secret love of a Death Eater. But then the opportunity had arisen.
She'd done it for Him. For her love. Sometimes it seemed that her plan was working – He'd catch her as she was leaving the Dark Lord's chambers, and spin her in His arms, kissing her furiously.
And other times He ignored her, didn't wait for her outside. Once (only once) in desperation He asked her why she was doing it – why she was betraying Potty and Weasel. Why she was doing all of this.
"Do you trust me?" she asked.
"Of course," He replied, confused. He'd kissed her softly.
"That's why."
And there was no more discussion on the matter.
Eventually she would have to tell them. Break down, and tell them that she was the person responsible for the Abbot deaths, and the other Order members. They would start hating her then.
They never really trusted her anyway.
Harry watched Hermione and Ginny giggle behind the magazine with a mixture of wanting and love. Love for his sister – and love for Ron's sister. He loved her. And she loved him too. He was sure of it. Their dating the year before had proved it to him. If only she listened . . .
But she continued to ignore him. He had worried for her, and in return she pretended to bury any feeling she had for him.
Pretended, he hoped, because if she had really lost them, then he was in trouble. He was having a hard time forgetting her.
Right then, he was remembering the feel of her petite frame against his sturdier one. Where were they, near the lake? The imprint inflamed against his skin, even as she sat across from him, laughing with Hermione over something in a magazine.
Ginny, Ginny, Ginny, he thought. Ginny, Ginny, Ginny.
She had to hear his thoughts. She had to.
She didn't.
"Harry?" she breathed, looking across from him. With a start, Harry realized that he had been staring at her. "Are you all right?" It was his turn at Exploding Snap. Ron was staring at him with raised eyebrows. Ginny and Hermione had worry in their eyes. He turned away.
"Fine," he replied, and threw down a king, which promptly exploded. Ron's eyebrows disappeared in the force of the explosion. The group paused for a moment before dissolving into boisterous laughter, Luna included. Hers seemed a little forced, however.
Hermione, still shaking with silent laughter, took out her wand and grew them back.
"You should have made them bushier," Ginny told her, "as punishment for stupidity." The two retreated into the magazine again. Hermione's wand twitched. Luna, who was next to them, but reading The Quibbler, made a little sniffing noise.
"When eyebrows explode off in Exploding Snap, they go into the Sahara Desert and become Snuffling Exploding Hedgehogs," she told the compartment in general. Harry and Ron exchanged a glance of suffering grace, and returned to their game, Ron wriggling his new eyebrows experimentally.
Behind the magazine, Ginny and Hermione weren't actually reading. In fact, if Ron or Harry took the time to notice, they would have realized that the two were still reading the first-page ad for Madame Junkly's Amazing Acne Remover.
"Continue!" hissed Ginny, and Hermione tapped the magazine, using it as a Silencing Ward.
"So he taps the top of the keys, and tells me the golden one is for changing rooms, and the silver one is for the broom shed. Then . . ." Hermione trailed off for a moment, remembering the color Oliver's face had turned with her next statement.
Most would have found the color a little, well, unattractive. But Hermione thought that his brown eyes stood out with the magenta color. Those chocolate eyes. So familiar. Where, where had she seen them!
"Hermione!" said Ginny, poking her in the side with her finger. Hermione shook her head for a moment to shake the cobwebs. She hadn't seen Oliver since third year. She'd had plenty of time to forget where she'd seen his eyes, so it shouldn't have come up then.
Oh, god, confusing sentence, she thought, her head pounding.
"And then I said, oh god, I can't believe I said this: I presume your balls are in the shed?" murmured Hermione, turning red at just the thought of it. Her voice had lowered in volume until it became a whisper.
Ginny began to laugh again the magazine twitching violently, and Hermione self-righteously hit her.
"Prat," she said. Ginny shook her head.
"Prat-ette to you," she replied, and smiled. When Ginny smiled, she began to glow, her skin all pearly, and her eyes shining. No denying it, Ginny was a beautiful girl. Hermione had always harbored a jealously of Ginny. After a while, though, it became habit. Ron was brawn, Hermione was brains, and Harry and Ginny were the beauty. It was all terribly cliche.
"So," said Ginny, "what happened after that?" The magazine was steady again.
But before Hermione could reply the doors slid open to reveal:
Malfoy.
"Oh, gods," muttered Hermione, and removed the Silencing Ward.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasel, for sitting in the presence of your betters," sneered Malfoy. Hermione sighed, closed the magazine and put it on the seat next to her. Her wand twitched into her fingers.
"This is really getting old, Malfoy. Can you come up with some better insults, or was that one the only one in your . . . witty . . . repertoire?" she asked. The space was perfectly timed. Everyone except Luna sniggered. Looney Lovegood was watching Malfoy with some interest.
"Oh, I'm so scared of the new Potter brat," he said, and the two gorillas at his back snickered unconvincingly.
"Don't worry about it," replied Hermione, "Everyone's scared of some things. No shame in admitting it."
"Come now, Potty, not letting the little sister kill me all by herself, are you?" asked Malfoy, turning to the easier one to goad.
"When she's doing such a beautiful job? Of course not," Harry said, smiling at the look of shock that flittered across Malfoy's face before the cool mask was settled back.
"Where were we?" asked Hermione. "Oh, yes, you were leaving." Smiling, she flicked her wand, and the compartment door slammed such, right into the left side of Malfoy's face. He stumbled back, and the door slid shut, and locked with a click.
"That's going to leave a bruise," snicked Harry. Ginny giggled behind her hand and the two exchanged a Look.
"Good timing, Hermione," said Ron, and slapped her on the back. Hermione oomphed with the force of the pat, but managed to hold onto her seat.
"Looks like the castle is coming up," said Luna, who had been the only one watching the window. Through the howling wind, the rest of the group could see the towering castle drowned in clouds and precipitation.
The boys were kicked out so the girls could changed, and finally, in pouring rain, the train pulled up to Hogsmeade Station.
Hermione waved good-bye to her friends, and under the needles of cold rain, she pointed the second years to the carriages, drawn this year by creatures that were visible to her. Hermione ignored the phenomenon for a moment, and pointed a gaggle of first years to Hagrid, whose waving was exaggerated, but shouts were lost in the roar of the rain.
She shivered at the droplets hitting the back of her neck like needles, and took it down from her ponytail to protect it. Her shirt, skirt, and robes clung to her more than she liked, but she tried to ignore it.
By the time she had extracted a poor third year from a group of fifth year Slytherins, the carriages were all moving up to the castle. With a sigh, Hermione resigned herself to a long walk up to Hogwarts. She pulled the robes around her, and was about to step into the mud . . .
"Do you need a ride?" asked a now-familiar burr behind her, and Hermione turned to find herself looking into the chest of the new quidditch coach. Very well defined, very visible in the transparent shirt, chest. She looked up into the face of Oliver, whose brown hair was plastered to his head.
"What? No one can App –" she said, and then noticed the broom in his left hand. "No, no, I don't ride," she replied, then repeated the message. She cut it off halfway during the third repetition because three times would have not only been pathetic, but rambling.
"Why not?" he asked, and smiled. It lit up his whole face, and Hermione realized that he became very attractive when he smiled. Actually, he was becoming rather attractive no matter what his face looked like, but she didn't remark on that.
"Because I'm afraid of heights," said Hermione, and it felt okay to tell Oliver the secret that even though Harry and Ron didn't know. She didn't have time to wonder at the phenomena because she couldn't feel her fingers.
"Don't worry, I won't let you fall," said Oliver, and before she could stop him, she was sitting in front of him on the broom.
"Oh god," muttered Hermione, and covered her eyes with her hands as the ground disappeared from under her feet. She tried to focus on something other than the feeling of her stomach rising up to take the place of her brain. Something else.
Anything else.
So she found that there was a warmth spreading across her shoulders. Then down her back, and slightly down her arms.
She reveled in it for a few moments, before realizing that the points of heat were wherever Oliver was touching her. The heat didn't feel wrong, or uncomfortable. So Hermione opened her eyes.
And what she saw (i.e. fifty feet of open air below her) caused her to let out a little squeak, and start to slip over the side of the broom. A scream was about to tear it's way out of her throat when she was settled.
"Whoa," said Oliver, and wrapped his left arm around her waist, and pulled her back on the broom, flush against his body. The heat spread farther, and Hermione didn't really notice that Oliver didn't let go of her.
Finally he began to lower the broom, and when they landed on the steps of the front entrance, they were pulled apart by the flow of students from the carriages, which had just arrived. Hermione yelled a thanks, but she wasn't sure that he heard her.
For a few seconds she tried to push against the tide of students, but it was useless.
Eventually she turned back to the school, and tried to find her friends in the crush of students.
Oliver could still feel her body against his as he sent his broom to his rooms. Dammit, this wasn't going to be easy.
He took in a few deep breaths to steady his heart rate, and stripped off the dripping robes. His white shirt underneath was also soaked, and he dried it off with a wave of his wand. He missed the admiring glances of some of the female students at his strong biceps and stomach muscles that the wet, clingy shirt revealed.
Then he slipped back on the dry robe, and passed through the students into the Great Hall. The Sorting Feast was about to begin.
And goddammit, he'd missed this place.
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