Harry knew that they were looking at him again.
It didn't seem to be in the same way, though, with Snape. Snape seemed to be looking at Harry in a way that seemed somehow ridiculously intense, as if every part of him was being scrutinised and analysed. Much to Harry's surprise, the angry disgust that seemed to characterise the man's interactions with Harry didn't seem to be present.
Ron didn't seem to notice this time, thankfully. For a few days after the previous time he would start shaking with laughter every once in a while when he thought about the supposed love triangle. It had gotten to be very annoying for Harry.
Harry propped his head on his hands and gazed at the enchanted ceiling, which was clouding over. He did not want to think on why he was always the subject of contemplation, even now, so late in the term that all the students who had been initially very excited to see the real Harry Potter had stopped gawking at him every time he passed and only considered him to be another annoying first-year.
On his left, Hermione was chatting with Ron about the mystery of the parcel-that-was-nearly-stolen-but-wasn't. Ron had come up with the moniker, and it seemed to Harry that wizards perhaps appreciated hyphens a little too much. Hermione, in a way that seemed sensible to Harry, was arguing that because it was such a small thing that it could fit into Hagrid's pockets, it probably wasn't Merlin's staff, or the rod of Taukney-Iber. However, Ron was adamant that Hagrid's pockets were probably as big as the rest of him, and was Harry really sure that the parcel was small?
They gazed intently at him, and Harry, startled out of his unfocused gaze at the sky, fumbled for a second before telling them that it really had been that small. Measuring with his hands, he said, "Probably about the size of a squished cricket ball if it were square."
Ron, of course, had absolutely no idea what that meant.
"Why would you make a ball of crickets? How would it stay together- do you play with them like snowballs?"
In what seemed like an uncharacteristic way, Hermione didn't bother trying to explain, but nodded to Harry. Great.
"Err… Cricket's a game… there's sort of like a team of beaters that hit the ball one at a time to make runs and the other team has to get the ball and return it to the stump, so they can't run too many times. Or something like that."
Ron was looking more confused than ever. "Why are they running?"
Harry didn't really know. He suspected that if he asked Ron why the snitch was worth 150 points and ended the game rather than having a time limit the red-haired boy would tell him it was because "that's the rules, Harry." He was quite tempted to reply in that manner, but Hermione solved his dilemma for him.
Grabbing the handle of her heavy bag, she stood up, and told them briskly, "There is half an hour left of the lunch break, so that means we have half an hour for us to look everything up in the library."
Ron, used to her by now, grabbed a couple of strawberry tarts and didn't bother protesting as he stood up. Harry didn't either. He was quite relieved that he wouldn't have to explain cricket any more- perhaps he could find a book on it. Although most wizards seemed startlingly confused when confronted with muggle things, so maybe there wouldn't be. Harry suspected that whatever there was, it could hardly be worse than his own understanding, as he had spent most of sport-time running away from the balls that Dudley and his gang seemed to accidentally throw towards him even when the class wasn't playing dodgeball.
In the library, they headed towards an empty table that sat next to a window overlooking the grounds. It was a little colder, as the glass didn't keep the cold air outside very well, but it meant that it was easier for them to read, because the library wasn't very well lit.
Hermione settled down with her latest pile of books, a series not unlike muggle encyclopaedias that covered "Modern Magical Innovations- from 1750 to the present." Harry personally thought that anything invented in the eighteenth century didn't classify as modern, but that was the wizarding world for you. It seemed that they all lived longer than muggles, the way Ron talked about his harridan of a great-aunt Muriel, who was actually his father's great-aunt.
After flicking through one of the encyclopaedias (1800-1850), Ron turned back to Harry, who was perusing "What your grandmother hid in her attic: a guide to arcane magical artefacts," which he thought just might mention something likely to be guarded by a three-headed dog.
"Harry," he whispered, "You know that cricket thing- you didn't tell me why they were running."
Heaving a sigh, Harry whispered back, "They run because it's part of the game."
"But what are they running from?"
Why was he doing this, again? "It's how they score points- they have to run a certain distance, and they get a point if they do it. It's like scoring goals- they need to run more times than their opponent to win."
Ron nodded, still looking confused. "I see. They aren't running away but they are just running because if they don't they will lose."
"Close enough."
Turning the page, Harry tried to become more interested in the book, but somehow reading about enchanted snuff-boxes wasn't holding his attention.
He gazed out the window onto the deserted grounds, telling himself that if he gave himself a break, he would be able to concentrate better afterwards. Harry wished it would just snow. The air was dense, almost heavy, and bitterly cold. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, and Harry admitted that he kind of wanted to experience playing in the snow with his friends. Dudley had enjoyed pelting Harry with snowballs, and making forts with his friends, but Harry had never been able to throw any back at him for fear of retribution.
"Harry…"
It was Ron again. Hermione gave a small disapproving sniff without her eyes leaving the page.
"Harry, why is it called cricket?"
He stifled a groan.
"I don't know. It has nothing to do with the insect, though. Why is quidditch called quidditch?"
Ron closed his book. "It's named after the place it originated in, Queerditch Marsh." He looked as if he was ready to enjoy a monologue on the history of Quidditch. "In-"
Hermione cut him off with a hissed, "We are meant to be reading. Have you found out what was in the parcel?"
"Err…"
"No, you haven't. If you can't read at least be quiet, and if you can't do that go and chat somewhere else, but if you do that I don't think much of your dedication to finding out the mystery."
Harry knew that Hermione was clever, but this surprised him. She could clearly see what would motivate Ron. By reminding him of the mystery, of the intrigue, he wouldn't get distracted- well, not as much, anyway.
Ron, with a disgruntled noise, opened his book again, but Harry had had an idea.
"Hermione…"
This time, she closed her book with a brisk snap and turned to face him.
"What is it this time? I swear, if it is about sport I shall scream."
Harry was surprised at what must be exaggeration. Hurrying to reassure her, he said, "No, it's to do with the parcel. I was just thinking about something."
She rolled her eyes. "Well, what was it?"
Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see that Ron had quietly closed his book, but wasn't moving in an attempt to stay off Hermione's radar.
"Well, you know how you can collapse camera tripods so the legs sort of slide into themselves?"
"Harry, what on earth-"
"I was just wondering if Merlin's staff of the rod of Talky-Iber could be collapsed like that."
Hermione was sounding even more exasperated now. "First of all, it is the rod of Taukney-Iber, and secondly, no."
"But, why not? It would make sense- more portable, you know."
She heaved a sigh, and said slowly, "Harry, they can't be collapsed that. It is a very muggle idea, and it would ruin the integrity of the magical object."
Harry, very quietly, said a small, "oh". He opened his book again, and scanned the page on snuff-boxes just in case before flipping over to read about vanishing cabinets.