Hard Knocks
"One minute he was about to score, and the next—I don't know!" Eliana babbled, gesturing pitifully at her now-boyfriend, the fourth-year Ravenclaw Chaser Andrew Boot.
"He was hit with a bludger, I'd say." I judged, trying to calm her without taking time away from my patient, who was still in dead faint from the pain of hitting the ground.
"Is he going to be all right?" She worried, twisting her hands almost comically.
"He'll be fine, El," I declared, making shooing gestures with my hand. "But I need you out of here for the next half hour. You can visit after that. Tell the team the same thing." I heard her start to shuffle her feet. "Go." I ordered.
"I'm going." She confirmed, her voice very unhappy. Poor Andrew Boot really just needed a nice pain potion and a moment to gather his wits, but I planned to heal his bruises as well. I set to work, happy to have a task to accomplish.
I'd spent the morning after leaving Harry's house hoping I'd done the right thing. I couldn't see any other decisions I should have made—though there probably were some—but I kept searching. The fact was, the night didn't turn out like they do in romantic movies. Nobody was going to live happily ever after. And adult or not, I hated it. I hated it and I wanted it changed. Well that's just too bad for you, Arthur.
I was still feeling sour well after I'd shooed the Ravenclaw team, Eliana, and young Mr. Boot back to their common rooms. I even resorted to shooting vigorous cleaning spells around the infirmary to work off steam. It was no good; none at all. I was mad. I'd been mad for three quarters of a day. I stood next to a window with my hands on my hips. Life's just not fair, Arthur. I grunted.
At my sound, Byron crept out of my office and sat next to me. I spread my fingers over his head. "Well, old buddy," I mused, "it still looks like we're leaving England."
"Are you so sure, Anna?" Hermione's voice sounded behind me. I turned quickly, nearly upsetting Byron.
"Hermione." I smiled. "What brings you here?"
"This." She said shortly, pushing the Daily Prophet toward me. I took it, puzzled. "Look at the second column of the lower half of the page." I did as instructed, and I nearly dropped the paper.
"Hermione!" I squeaked, flummoxed and embarrassed. There on the front page of the entertainment section was a photograph of Harry and me walking out of the café the night before. He had his hand on my lower back, and I was smiling idiotically back at him. The headline blared: A Muggleborn Marriage?
"Have you talked to Harry?" Hermione brought me back to the present. I gaped at her a moment before answering.
"No—not today yet—not since this morning." I blurted.
"This morning?" Hermione raised her eyebrows at me.
"It's not like that." I insisted.
"Isn't it." Hermione deadpanned.
"No!" I bleated, blinking with panic and shock. "I didn't—I'm not—well I tried, but it didn't work—and I'm not—damn!" I flung my arms out from my sides, nonplussed.
"You need to talk to him." Hermione instructed.
"Do you know that he knows?"
"I'm not sure, no." Hermione said.
"I know." A deep voice said from the doorway. I flinched. Harry stood just inside the infirmary, looking awkward.
"What's all the squealing?" Abby asked happily, breezing in the door to take over for the night. I blinked at her.
"Nothing much, Abby." Hermione stepped in. She turned to me, passing the paper back into my hands. "I'll just get what I need from Abby, Anna." She looked me dead in the eye, willing me to play along and get out of the infirmary with Harry and the newspaper. I slapped a professional smile on my face.
"If you're sure you don't mind," I chirped.
"Oh go on, Anna." Abby smiled. "Byron wants to chase some students." Byron lumbered to his feet and sauntered toward the perky mediwitch. "Don't you, boy?" She cooed, patting him fondly on the head. Harry's head dipped, and I could see his shoulders start quaking. I walked toward him, gathering Byron on the way.
"Good night, Abby." I called, waving on my way past Harry. He fell in behind me.
"That was transparent," he muttered as we made our way down the hall.
"Well, we aren't all Aurors, Harry." I groused.
"Don't you think Abby had read the story, too?" He replied.
"What, afraid she'll think you're taken?" I scowled. He smirked at me. "Oh hush," I snapped. "You're in this up to your neck, too."
"In what?" He asked, slowing his pace. "It's just the Prophet." He came to a stop, peering at me. "What are you afraid of?"
I darted my eyes around the empty corridor, searching for words. I didn't really care that my photo was in the paper. I was a little embarrassed that I was staring up at Harry like a lovesick teenager, but that was just truth in advertising, really. What was I afraid of? Easy. I was afraid Harry would think I was just trying to marry him so I could stay in England. I was afraid of what he thought.
"It just…" I twisted my hands, still training my eyes on the castle stones. "I really do like you; I'm not just trying to marry you." I blurted. Immediately my face heated. Harry looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.
"So we'll tell them," he said, taking my elbow and pulling me along until I started to walk with him again, "that I," he paused, "have been trying to marry you." I stopped in my tracks.
"What?" I squeaked. "Tell who?" He turned back to me and put a hand on each of my shoulders.
"Classes will let out in a moment." He said calmly. I nodded. "Come on," he urged. Byron walked up next to Harry and looked at me expectantly. I joined them. We just beat the flood of students as we left the castle.
We went to Grimmauld Place first. I was confused, but no longer really willing to question the path we were on. I decided whatever it was had to be better than sitting in my room thinking the other shoe was going to drop, and at least Byron was there. Granted, he had forsaken me to walk next to Harry with his tongue lolling sideways. Males.
Snuffles and Byron tore up the stairs the moment we arrived. Harry seemed unperturbed. He walked me into the kitchen. "I'll be right back," he said. I wrinkled my forehead, but he was gone before I could question him. At least he was true to his word, and returned quickly.
"Harry, what are we…" I began. He ran his fingertips under my chin and brushed his thumb across my lower lip, cutting off my sentence.
"I told you." He smirked. He had not, I thought, but he was already moving and I was still following. "Byron's staying with Snuffles." He informed me.
"Harry," I fussed. He stopped short, and I nearly ran into him.
"Hang on." He said, wrapping his arms around me. I felt the tug in my stomach as he apparated us to a place I'd never seen. We stood near what looked to be the stone foundation of a destroyed house. A wild profusion of grass and flowers had grown up between the masonry. Harry caught hold of my hand and pulled me along as he strode to a corner of the foundation. He suddenly came to a stop and put his hand out.
To my surprise, a section of the view folded away, revealing a doorway. Harry sprung the locking charms and led me inside. He turned back to lock the door, and when he faced me again I was ready for him. I stood firmly with my arms folded in front of me.
"Harry." I demanded. "Where are we?"
"In a safe house," he explained, "where you will need to stay until the Wade verdict is announced tomorrow."
"I can't just leave like that…" I fussed.
"You can." He cut in.
I blinked, annoyed at the fuzziness of my brain. Why couldn't I think? Why had I gone along with this? Why had I even followed him out of Hogwarts? Damn it all… Wait a minute. Why did I follow him out of Hogwarts? "Did you jinx me?" I accused, putting my fists on my hips.
"It should be wearing off." He replied steadily. I glared at him. He looked back, unperturbed. Then I saw it. At first it seemed like a trick of the light. I squinted. No, that wasn't the light. That was bright red hair peeking out on Harry's head. And yes, those were freckles. My hand twitched toward my wand.
"I'll be going." The Harry / Fred hybrid chirped, as the effects of the polyjuice continued to wane. He gave a jaunty wave and slipped back through the door, setting a series of complex locking charms. As he did, the walls of the entry hall began to shine and fade, revealing a significantly plainer scene. I groaned dramatically. He'd locked me in a damn storage closet.
