Still don't own Harry Potter. Any OC's in this story are mine, though.
Mm-kay. Another chapter for y'all. Thank you for all the reviews and comments on this story! I really appreciate it. :)
I am sorry for any delays that may come to my update schedule.
Alright, that shall be all for now. Stay safe, all of you.
Chapter Four
Of Sortings and Sandwiches
The Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 22/06/1996…
The Headmaster's office was doused into expectant silence as the Sorting Hat was placed upon Hermione's head.
His best friend was seated on a wooden, thin-legged stool; her legs daintily crossed at the ankles and her hands clasped in her lap. Her expression — what little of it that he had caught, before it had been buried beneath the Hat's woollen brim — was calm, composed, and seemingly without a worry in the world.
Only Harry himself, though, had seen the nervousness and anxiety in the set of her shoulders, the brief dart of her tongue to wet her lips, and the fleeting glance she had stolen towards him before her eyes had disappeared from sight.
He had tried to put on a brave front for her, but to be honest, he too was as scared as his best friend appeared to be.
After the events of three days' prior, Harry, Hermione and Sirius — along with James, Lily and Rosalyn — had all proceeded to the Headmaster's office, in order for the visiting teenagers to be Sorted.
It had been decided, over healthy servings of fruit salad and yoghurt, that he and his best friend would attend Hogwarts in the term starting on the first of September, 1996 — the equivalent of their sixth year, back in their old dimension. As a result, both individuals would need to be Sorted by the Hat resident to the Headmaster's office.
After all, according to Dumbledore and the item in question itself, no student had ever attended the illustrious school without being briefly put under the Sorting Hat's brim.
They had also decided to hold the event within the Headmaster's office, as no one present had seen why it would be necessary to subject Harry and Hermione to the curious and undivided scrutiny of the entire Hogwarts student population.
The main reason why the witch was nervous — and, coincidentally, the same reason why Harry himself possessed a slight case of the heebie-jeebies — was the slight chance that she would not be Sorted into Gryffindor, with her messy-haired best friend.
In hindsight, though, such worries proved themselves to be baseless.
The Sorting Hat opened its mouth — what really amounted to a tear in the brown material just above the brim, shaped by Merlin-knew-what magic into a vague mouth-like shape — and some occupants of the Headmaster's office unconsciously held their breath.
"She shall be placed in…" the Hat began in a gravelly voice.
The animated piece of cloth then took a dramatic pause.
Doing so greatly increased the chances of Hermione hexing it into non-existence in a fit of sheer spite.
Harry somehow ascertained this knowledge from the subtle twitching of the girl's hands.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
A deep, quiet exhale rushed out of his mouth; his shoulders slumping downward in relief. Polite clapping filled the air as Dumbledore removed the Sorting Hat from Hermione's head.
The newest addition to the House of the Lions also let out a shaky breath of relief, standing up to move towards Harry.
Rosalyn pouted, lightly slapping her thigh. "Rats! I was hoping you'd join me in Slytherin, but oh well. Guess it wasn't to be."
Harry turned to stare incredulously at his…counterpart? Friend? Sister? "You-you're a Slytherin?"
She met his gaze with a bemused and slightly defensive one of her own. "Well, yes, I am, Harry. Do you have a problem with that?"
Harry made an odd, flapping movement with his hands and his eyes squinted, as if he was attempting to visualise her as a member of the House of the Snakes.
Rosalyn, unfortunately, failed to discern any coherent meaning whatsoever from his seemingly random gesture.
"But…but…you're so nice," Harry stuttered confusedly, his expression declaring that the very concept of a nice Slytherin was completely and utterly foreign to him.
The witch's lips twitched into a small grin. James shared an amused glance with Lily. Hermione rolled her eyes, turning slightly to inspect a nearby bookshelf, which had been packed to the brim with esoteric tomes.
"I know I am," the fifteen-year-old Slytherin replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
She raised her hands upon seeing her mother's expression.
"I kid, I kid. Thank you, Harry. Oh, and why are you so surprised at my House? Are there no friendly Slytherins in your dimension?"
The boy merely snorted, images of an albino blond head and an aristocratic, sneering face flashing through his mind.
"Well. If there are any, I haven't encountered them before," he replied, sticking his hands into his pockets.
Sirius took that opportunity to offer his own input.
"Going by the existence of certain, greasy-haired...individuals, Harry, I don't think anyone would blame you for thinking that."
He only smirked, completely unrepentant, in response to the half-glare that Lily sent his way.
James glanced towards Dumbledore, who was observing the proceedings with a twinkle in his cerulean blue eyes. "All right, then, Headmaster. If that will be all…?"
The Headmaster tipped his head in response, the sparkle increasing in luminosity. "Indeed, James. I shall speak to you all at a later point in time — please do make sure to enjoy your holidays. I daresay that they shall be quite interesting."
Fawkes, perched upon his golden stand in a corner of the old wizard's office, melodiously trilled his agreement.
James grinned slightly. With the centenarian wizard's invitation, he tossed a handful of Floo powder into the ornate fireplace sitting to his right.
"Potter Manor!"
"After you," bade the tall man, gesturing to the frolicking flames a similar shade of grassy green to his wife's eyes.
Lily smiled warmly at him, herding her daughter, Sirius, Harry and Hermione — she was, James had noticed at some point during the last hour, starting to treat the latter two as her own children — into the small, viridescent blaze before disappearing into it herself.
With a final nod sent towards Dumbledore, James followed after his family and stepped into the flaming hearth.
Soon, a still quiet fell in the Headmaster's office; broken only by the soft crackling of the fire.
The old wizard sighed.
He slowly made his way to his embroidered, leather-backed armchair; the idle mutterings and conversations of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts wafting into his ears.
When Dumbledore slumped back into his chair, Fawkes trilled again, swiftly swooping down to deftly steal a sherbet lemon from his human's bowl.
The Headmaster received a distinct sense of amusement and mischief in the sound that emanated from the cheeky phoenix thereafter.
His attention was drawn to a Snitch-sized ball of elaborate silver, serenely sitting within a small container on his cluttered desk. One which, had a Muggleborn seen it, could only be described as a quaint little egg cup.
The sphere of metal was pulsing periodically with a baby blue glow, denoting the fact that someone was rapidly approaching the entrance of his office.
By the time that Dumbledore had rearranged his features into benign benevolence, his hands clasped calmly before his seated form, the oaken door opposite his desk was pushed open.
The slightly wobbly figure of one Sybill Trelawney promptly wandered into his domain, her brown eyes magnified comically wide and an almost obnoxious aroma of herbs wafting in with the Divination Professor's entrance.
Before the Headmaster could even rise out of his seat, the woman drunkenly collapsed into an armchair — hastily conjured by Dumbledore himself.
"He…Headmaster Dumbledore," she slurred, eyes heavy-lidded and completely glazed over. Her hands, her elbows placed precariously upon the arms of her chair, flapped uselessly in the air as she tried to communicate some concept which Dumbledore was not privy to.
"Yes, my dear?" he enquired, staring with concern at the inebriated woman.
"I have come to you to…to…"
She tapered off into silence, her chin falling to her chest.
While it was not unusual for the Divination Professor to consume the occasional wine, this level of intoxication was quite rare indeed.
"Are you alright, Sybill? What appears to be the problem?"
The woman swelled to a proper seating position, her gaze momentarily clearing of alcoholic influence. The gaudy beads lying around her neck and wrists clacked loudly with her sudden movement. "The planets—Oh, Albus, the Stars—what they have predicted has finally come true…"
Trelawney trailed off again, her body slumping against the back of her chair as her head tipped limply to the side.
"Sybill? What has come true?" Dumbledore unsuccessfully asked, brow furrowed.
He was thoroughly unprepared for the answer that he was presented with.
From somewhere unidentifiable a heady sense of foreboding sunk into the room, washing across its occupants and forcing them into stillness.
Even the previous leaders of Hogwarts, placed in eternal suspension within their animated portraits, were compelled to cease in their various activities.
Feeling bands of apprehension take form in his gut, Dumbledore noticed with a slight start that all sound had abruptly stopped registering in his brain.
Or, rather, there was no sound for his mind to take in; instead, only a near-tangible, expectant silence.
Trelawney — heckled by many for being a fraudulent Diviner — seized up, her back arching off her royal purple seat as her hands gripped its arm rests tight enough for the whites of her knuckles to be visible.
The woman appeared to be wholly unaware of her situation as her eyes rolled back into her head.
A voice — far too hoarse and gravelly to be produced by human vocal cords — ripped itself out of her suddenly open mouth.
Last time, Dumbledore thought in some distant corner of his mind, his features alight with alarm, it had definitely not been like this.
Her back arching even further, Trelawney began to speak.
"Foreseen aeons ago in the Tapestry of Lady Fate, heralded in primordial times within Destiny's core,
Sanctioned by the Keeper of the Gate and brought into being by the omnipresent Nothingmore,
They who fall shall be able to vanquish the Knights, roaming through lands unexplored.
Beloved and matched by the Sicilian Queen, harnessing the power known only by the one with the Gift,
Emerging from the Great Barrier unwhole, the Bearer of Tseiqami's Wand shall cleave the Darkness asunder.
Their victory shall shake the very foundations of reality, propelled by rippling bands of thunder.
Be vigilant, young ones, for the end of an era draws near…"
Dumbledore's face went white.
A silence — almost heavier than the one of before — manifested in his office once the eerie voice ceased its speech; the Divination Professor listlessly sagging back in her seat.
The Headmaster's expression then turned unreadable, intelligent mind awhirl with ardent activity.
Thoughts and theories were discarded almost as quickly as they were made; the centenarian wizard trying (and failing) to come up with any individuals who would fit the mentioned criteria.
Well, work it out one step at a time, Albus. This 'Nothingmore', judging by the context in which it was used, is — presumably — a place. It shall have to undergo further consideration, as I currently do not know of any location going by that title, Albus thought, staring pensively out of the nearest window. The Wand of Tseiqami… hmm. I vaguely recall a story from my youth, which briefly mentioned this Wand, but the details of this memory vexingly elude my mind. Another subject for later consideration, then…
Trelawney blinked out of her stupor, sitting up to glance at her newfound surroundings curiously. "Oh. Oh! Hello, Albus."
She did not get a reply, as the old wizard was staring absently out at the expansive grounds of Hogwarts, occasionally running a weathered hand through his long, white beard.
"What was I saying? I've completely forgotten," the suddenly sober witch then said, again attempting to speak to the still far-away Headmaster.
Silence was her only response.
Shrugging slightly, Professor Trelawney decided to drop the issue. She climbed to her feet and soon ambled her way out of the office, leaning heavily on nearby stone structures for support.
Noticing that her throat felt awfully dry, Trelawney daydreamed about the nearest thirst-quenching drink.
That bottle of cherry chardonnay, sitting untouched on her shelf, back in her tower, was looking all the more attractive by the minute…
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Entrance Hall, Potter Manor, Lancashire, 22/06/1996…
A still, peaceful quiet settled in the expansive entrance hall of Potter Manor, which was currently devoid of occupants.
It was promptly and gently broken by the soft whoosh of the Floo terminal activating.
Out of the ornate hearth strode a figure, its head trailed by lengthy tresses of auburn hair and dressed in robes of a simple forest green. Lily looked about the large room, sending the ash caught in the crevices of her clothing into non-existence with a slight flick of her wand.
In that same instant her husband stepped out of the fireplace, shaking his head like a dog and watching as black, dust-like particles slowly fell to the stone floor.
James glanced at her, immediately noting the absence of their daughter and the interdimensional travellers.
"Where do you think they are, Lily?" he asked. Her nose wrinkled as she Vanished the cinders littering his body and the ground. "I could swear that they entered the Floo before the both of us…"
She shrugged. "I don't know, James. The Floo probably did that thing again. I really think we should get it fixed soon."
Whenever one used the Floo Network to enter Potter Manor, she and her husband had found, it had the awfully regular tendency of completely disregarding the order in which a group of people entered said Network. It was a recurring problem — one that James had promised to get fixed; yet, for reasons still unknown to Lily, had not as of today — that resulted in it being impossible to predict who it would be that exited the Floo on the other side first.
Somehow, it also resulted in the time gaps between arrivals being highly varied and irregular.
James nodded, writing himself a mental note to get the Floo repaired. Removing his deep blue over-robe, he held it out in his right hand.
The garment disappeared soundlessly, taken by Blinky — one of the Potter House Elves — to its storage place in a nearby closet.
Lily moved closer to the fireplace, arms crossed and disposition expectant.
The sound of rushing air then came from the mentioned location. Turning on the spot, the Potter patriarch spied the form of Sirius Black appearing in a swirl of black robes and green flame.
The man stepped out of the fire and looked around curiously; a fond, reminiscent half-smile playing his lips.
"Ahh. Feels good to be back," he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the roof far above him — the flat, uninteresting underside of the floor above them.
"You've been here before?" asked Lily, gesturing with her wand again. Sirius flashed her a grateful smile as the embers disappeared from his clothing.
"Yes, I have. Well, actually, that would be an understatement," he replied, strolling over to inspect a portrait mounted on a nearby wall. Its occupant, some distant ancestor of the Potter family, curiously examined him right back.
The red-headed woman frowned at the decidedly empty stone hearth, arms still crossed, as if she was trying to make her children appear by sheer force of will.
"Oh? How so?"
James just about managed to restrain the smirk that threatened to break out upon glimpsing her expression.
"When I was a teenager, back in my dimension," Sirius began. He again attempted to convince himself that he had, in fact, travelled to another plane of existence, and wasn't simply dreaming.
Unfortunately, he was not very successful.
"My dear family and I had a few…disputes, shall we say. Eventually, it got to the point where said arguments got a tad too intense, and I ran away. Your other self, Prongs—" Here, he nodded towards the mentioned individual.
Said individual blinked at the casual mention of his Animagus's name — not many people knew about it. In fact, practically no one at all, except for a few choice people.
"—thankfully invited me to stay in Potter Manor until I had regained my bearings. And, at some point down the line, it was decided that I could stay there indefinitely."
Sirius suddenly decided to pull a face at the detailed portrait before him.
The poor figure suspended within looked awfully startled at the black-haired man's abrupt change in expression.
Lily sighed audibly. James lost the battle to retract the grin from his face.
"So, yeah, you could say that I know the place pretty well."
"Interesting," the Healer replied.
Silence then fell upon the entrance hall; each of the three finding something or other to occupy themselves for the time being.
Lily continued to stare at the fireplace, her frown becoming more pronounced as her foot tapped impatiently on the stone floor. James stepped towards a nearby window, gazing out of it and taking in the lush gardens — meticulously kept by the Potter House Elves — that were presented to his eyes.
Sirius took to making increasingly childish — and, admittedly, amusing — expressions at the various portraits situated around the expansive room, who each looked highly (and rightfully) perturbed at his actions.
When the quiet had gone on for about three minutes, along with the teenagers failing to appear, the red-headed woman actually began to feel concerned.
Luckily for the sanity of whoever was manning the Floo Network Authority's help desk, the undulating green flames flared to fill the entire fireplace's interior and the forms of Hermione and Rosalyn promptly materialised therein.
The two witches stepped out of the hearth, automatically straightening their clothing and seamlessly resuming their conversation.
"—you know that the transportation method of Flooing was, in fact, discovered by accident?" Rosalyn disclosed, her hands gesturing ardently.
Hermione shook her head, an intrigued expression on her face. "Really? How was it discovered?"
Brushing an errant curl out of her face, the younger redhead in the room began to explain herself.
Lily helpfully vanished the ash upon their clothing — which, expectedly, the two subjects of her spell did not notice, as they were currently engrossed in a discussion about Potions experiments involving Floo powder — and looked about for the third, missing individual.
"I wonder where Harry is," Hermione said, when Rose had stopped speaking, glancing back curiously at the orange fire within the black-stoned hearth.
Her conversation partner also looked behind her and into the fireplace. "Oh, don't worry, Hermione. You see, the Floo normally does stuff like this. He'll be here soo—"
She was interrupted by a vaguely boy-shaped blur shooting out of the suddenly green fire with enough speed to rival a bullet.
There was a slight thump as it landed a good ten feet away from the harmless conflagration, eventually coming to a stop next to the entrance to the main hallway.
The shocked silence that had fallen with the figure's entrance was broken by Sirius' not-so-thought-out-remark.
"Good Merlin, Harry. Do you always exit the Floo like this?"
He was rewarded with twin glares to the back of his head. The black-haired man, all of a sudden, had the intense urge to keep his mouth shut for the foreseeable future.
For his continued safety, in the least.
Harry, his face ridden with soot and glasses askew, tiredly raised a hand in a so-so motion.
"Not always like this, Sirius. Sometimes…sometimes I fly even further, sometimes I don't go anywhere at all. It varies quite a lot."
He painfully pulled himself to his feet as Lily marched purposefully towards him.
"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked upon reaching him, her gaze concernedly perusing his form for any blatant injuries.
"I'm fine," he replied, gingerly probing for sore spots on his waist.
A raised eyebrow was his only response.
"I'm fine," Harry asserted again. He hissed as his finger came into contact with an affected region.
The Healer clicked her tongue disbelievingly and drew her wand. "Mm-hmm. Sure you are. Now, stand still for me…"
The other occupants of the entrance hall were treated to the rather amusing sight of Harry attempting to wriggle away from the eldest female Potter, while the mentioned witch ran her short stick over him and performed various diagnostic charms.
Once that was done — and after receiving no alarming reports — the red-headed woman began to fuss over him, straightening his glasses and brushing the soot out of his robes and hair.
Harry dutifully squirmed about, as all teenagers were wont to do when doted upon by their mothers, but he secretly relished the feeling of someone other than Hermione actively worrying over his well-being.
His mother eventually nodded, satisfied with the his now presentable appearance. She stepped back and looked over to her daughter.
"Okay, I'm going to get started on some lunch now. Rose? Would you please give our guests a tour of the house?" she requested. On a whim, the woman glanced at the other side of the entrance hall.
She noticed rather quickly that her 'mature' husband had joined Sirius in his mission to traumatise as many portraits as possible, by virtue of pulling progressively more juvenile faces.
The witch could even attest that the dark-haired man had, at one point, jumped up and down on the spot, producing an odd mix between a call of a monkey and the bray of a donkey.
James, instead of acting as someone his age should have, only howled with laughter; having to place a hand against a nearby wall to prevent himself from collapsing to the floor in a pile of hysterics.
Lily threw her hands up.
She spun on the spot and stalked into the hallway, muttering under her breath about incorrigible husbands and immature adults.
"Sure, Mum," Rosalyn accepted with a giggle, though her mother was no longer close enough to hear her.
She turned to face Harry and Hermione, whose expressions gave away their varying degrees of amusement.
The girl grabbed both of their hands and pulled urgently, walking backwards and towards the winding staircase.
"Come on, guys. I'll show you around my humble abode!"
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Potter Manor, Lancashire, 22/06/1996…
The manor was huge, to say the least.
It was a simple yet elegant affair. Three stories tall, Georgian in style and containing a large but modest number of rooms. The hallways were lined with paintings of his ancestors and various family pictures, denoting James, Lily and Rose — along with occasional appearances of other people — in a multitude of settings and backgrounds.
In short, the entire building had a very homely atmosphere.
Harry smiled slightly as he looked at an animated photograph of his father gleefully cheering as a six-year-old Rose, her little face scrunched up in determination, managed to get her broomstick to rise a few metres off the ground.
A rapidly approaching Lily marched towards the two, wand drawn and her features twisted with abject fury and worry.
The fifteen-year-old chuckled to himself as the small, animated figure of his mother started berating an equally tiny, black-haired silhouette for allowing their child to fly upon the thin stick of wood.
Trailing after Hermione and Rose as they walked in the direction of the library — the two witches were currently engaged in a 'fascinating' conversation about reagents used in the Wiggenweld potion; whatever reagents meant, Harry had no clue — he took a glance out a nearby window.
A luscious expanse of greenery and flowerbeds met his gaze, along with elegant garden ornaments placed strategically to round off the tasteful image. What looked like three hoops resident to a Quidditch pitch hovered just inside his vantage point from the transparent aperture; floating majestically in the soft daylight and the gentle melody of birdsong.
Before Harry could start daydreaming about playing his favourite sport again, the three teens reached the library.
Rosalyn stopped at the threshold, turning to face himself and Hermione. "Are you both ready?"
He nodded. His best friend indicated her own assent, attempting to peek around the other girl's figure. "Yep! We're ready."
"Are you sure, though? The Library can be a bit daunting to those seeing it for the first time," the redhead said warningly. Her message was somewhat ruined by the slight grin she was wearing.
Hermione rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. The sheer idea of the books held within the library had banished any hesitance of talking to the relatively unknown person. "I'm sure we'll be fine, Rose."
The other female raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you're certain…"
She pushed open the oaken double doors with a theatrical flourish. "Behold, my dear lady and gentleman. The fabled Library of House Potter."
They proceeded into the mentioned room and the young bookworm froze on the spot, her eyes gaining an uncharacteristically wide appearance.
The room looked as if it stretched from the ground floor and all the way to the attic; the crisscrossing of wooden support beams arching high above them. Towering shelves dominated the space, all packed to the brim with a myriad of esoteric tomes and manuscripts. Large bay windows featured in the walls, along with comfortable couches, armchairs and worktables dotted around the room sporadically.
Holding centre stage was an ornate lectern; a single book and feathered quill placed prominently upon its wooden head.
Hermione practically salivated at the sight of the innumerable books lining the various racks and shelving.
"Hermione?" asked Rose concernedly, noticing the girl's state and attempting to gain her attention.
There was no reply. Instead, the other witch approached the lectern, running her hands reverently over its surface.
"Hermione? Are you okay?" their host tried again.
A sound of pure happiness escaped from the mentioned individual's mouth as she read the title of the thin tome resting on the podium.
The Magical Index of the Ancestral Library of Potter.
"I think you've broken her, Rose," Harry commented, highly amused. Not even the infamous library at Hogwarts had incited such a reaction in his best friend!
Rosalyn became slightly distressed.
"No, no, don't worry," he placated when he saw her expression. His smirk widened. "She's okay. All we can do in this situation is wait for her to snap out of it."
Hermione took that moment to unconsciously support his statement.
"Sweet Merlin," she whispered breathily, almost worshipping the magical index with the softest of caresses. Harry's merriment increased by at least a factor of ten. "I think I'm in love."
"See? She's fine. Completely fine."
Rose relaxed, looking marginally comforted.
Having figured out how the Index functioned — she hadn't been coined the Brightest-Witch-Of-Her-Age for nothing — Hermione suddenly marched off in a seemingly random direction, searching for a certain tome.
Upon reaching the appropriate shelf destination, the young witch retrieved her book and quickly proceeded to the nearest beanbag. She plopped herself down therein and promptly began to read her manuscript.
A slight pop to Harry's left heralded the appearance of a House Elf. It was dressed in a fitting uniform, artfully coloured in matching tinges of maroon red, elegant silver and bright gold.
The crest of House Potter sat proudly upon the small being's breast.
Even the fifteen-year-old boy recognised the seal, given the fact that he was standing in the ancestral library of the mentioned house. That sigil was practically everywhere!
"Greetings, little Master and Mistress," it squeaked, beaming at Harry and Hermione. "I bes Blinky, a Potter House Elf! It bes nice to meet yous!"
Harry replied with a little wave. His best friend was so engrossed in her book that she had not even noticed the elf's entrance.
Rosalyn squatted down, smiling at the uniform-clad figure. "Hey, Blinky. This here is Harry and that—"
She nodded towards Hermione, who looked completely at ease as her fingers turned another page of her book. However, the girl remained blissfully unaware that she was being talked about.
"—is Hermione. What can we do for you?"
"Mistress Lily bes calling yous," the elf replied. He excitedly rocked back and forth on her feet. "It bes times for lunchies! Little Master and Misstresses bes coming down right-away for little Master's and Misstresses' mealies!"
Harry had to take a few seconds to translate whatever she had said into coherent English.
Rose, judging by her expression, possessed similar problems as he.
Nevertheless, the girl quickly recovered her wits. "Oh, thanks, Blinky. We'll be down in a few minutes."
The elf grinned toothily and, in that one moment, Harry was reminded very strongly of Dobby.
"All-righties! Blinky bes going now!" And with that, the small being disappeared with another pop.
Harry smiled slightly. "So, that was Blinky? He's nice."
"Yep," Rosalyn responded fondly. She took a step towards the library's entrance. "He's one of the many house elves bonded to our family, and he has looked after us very well in the time that we have had him. We still haven't quite managed to teach him how to speak proper English, however."
The boy suddenly let out a low chuckle.
"What is it?"
"Don't worry. It's nothing," Harry dismissed with an incomprehensible gesture of his hand and another chortle.
"Oh, come on Harry. You can't do something like that to me. It's just plain mean and impolite."
"Fine," he mock-grumbled. The Slytherin surreptitiously pumped a fist in victory.
The boy started to walk towards the other witch in the room. "It's just that, back in our fifth year of Hogwarts, my best friend here decided to push for more societal awareness into the plight of the house elves. And at one point, she had even put together a whole manifesto of campaigns and knitted various articles of clothing for the poor little elves. I think she'd called her club the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, or something like that."
The redhead snorted, having quickly figured out the unfortunate acronym.
"Interesting. But while her intentions may have been sincere, had she been aware that the elves actually like doing work? With practically no payment at all, when one would normally expect a worker to be dissatisfied with these terms?"
Harry blinked. His best friend had indeed not been cognizant of that little fact.
For that matter, neither had he.
"No, I don't think she was aware of that," he commented absently, rubbing a hand against his chin. "If she had been, however, I think that many arguments could have been avoided."
Rose nodded sagely, despite previously being oblivious to the existence of said arguments.
Upon reaching her relaxed form, the black-haired teen tapped the subject of their conversation on the shoulder. "Hermione? We have to go now. It's time for lunch."
"Heh?" came the eventual, highly intelligent reply.
"It is now time for lunch," Harry enunciated slowly, as if talking to a behind-the-curve child. He received a sharp kick to the shin for his cheek. "Which means we have to go downstairs to eat it."
It took a few seconds for his words to register in Hermione's brain, and the content smile slowly slipped off her face.
"But…but…the books…"
She genuinely looked as if she was going to cry.
Harry tried very hard indeed to keep his amusement from showing. Rosalyn was marginally more successful than him in that regard.
"The books will still be here when you come back," he stated, gently extricating the ridiculously thick tome titled The Essence of Magic from her hands. The boy then grasped her wrist and tugged.
"But Harry, my book…I haven't even gotten to the interesting parts yet…"
"I know, I know," Harry acknowledged. "You'll be able to continue reading after lunch, Hermione."
Rosalyn looked inordinately entertained by the events playing out before her. The messy-haired boy shot the girl a glare.
When it became apparent that his best friend would not budge, he gave up his endeavour on trying to get her into a standing position. Instead — along with a mental why not to accompany it — he simply slipped his arms around her back and under her knees, picking the witch up in one swift motion.
Harry marched determinedly towards the door, noting in some distant corner of his mind that either he was stronger than he'd originally thought, or Hermione was lighter than she appeared.
In that same crevice of his head, he hoped it was the former.
His dimensional counterpart appeared on his left side; her face maroon with suppressed laughter.
The three teenagers — two walking; one happily being carried — proceeded out of the expansive library and into the winding halls of Potter Manor.
"We're going to hold this over her, aren't we?" the redhead said, after a few minutes of silence. It was structured more like a statement than a question.
Hermione somehow did not hear her; having been distracted the odd yet awfully pleasant feeling of being carried for the first time by her best friend.
There was a decidedly non-Gryffindor aspect to Harry's replying smirk.
"Oh, yeah, Rose. Totally."
~ooOOooOOOooOOoo~
Author's Note:
15/09/2020
And there we have it. Another instalment of Respective Counterparts, hopefully enough to satiate your desires for the time being.
TomHRichardson: We shall find out what happened to her in due course. :)
Greatest amount of thanks to those who helped me come up with the prophecy. Wouldn't have been able to do it without you!
And, as always, thank you to my various beta readers. You have been a great help.
Alrighty. Ta-ta for now.
Avaxius