AN - Sorry for the delay getting it to you folks, having some internet troubles. They should be on the mend by tomorrow. Thank you Drew and Mariale-26 for your comments. Please, anyone who makes it here leave an honest review on what you like and don't like. It helps me evolve as a writer and it's great motivation. Enjoy!
The next weeks were a flurry of activity for Harry...an exhausting breeze. Each morning, Harry woke up for a sparring session with Brad. He was getting better, even going so far as to land a light blow on the operator. The hit surprised Harry, though, and Brad capitalized, winning the fight easily. It was a solid lesson in taking the initiative and rolling with it.
Classwork was no lighter than it was before, though his ability to study with Hermione had greatly helped the stresses of homework. It was still a little awkward. As Harry had expected, Ron pigheadedly refused to apologize to Hermione; for her part, she didn't demand one. There was a little tension when the three of them were together, but they were able to work through it.
In the evenings, Wood was holding extra Quidditch practices. Harry was stuck using Cleansweep Five from the school stock, an incredible step down from his old Nimbus. It just wasn't in the same caliber. It was slower to respond and not nearly as fast at its top speed. Harry was sure he was using it to its best potential, but he was far from convinced it would be enough.
The Ravenclaw team was no pushover and Gryffindor would have their work cut out for them. This was a sentiment shared by Wood, as he was constantly telling Harry that there wasn't room for a single mistake. Work hard, be smart, don't miss anything, pay attention! Every practice.
Added to that, the Patronus lessons were every bit as draining and difficult as the Professor had proclaimed. He felt he was making little headway, though Lupin seemed to think otherwise. Thus far he'd managed a small sputter from his wand, but nothing more.
He understood now why it was considered such a difficult spell. Dementors were bad enough to make some of the most hardcore evil wizards feel as though there could never be happiness in life again. He was a teenager, far less life experience to draw from. The wand motion was simple, the incantation easy enough to remember and pronounce.
The difficulty came from how the spell was powered. The happiest memory you could summon. He had a lot going against him there. Thus far, his life hadn't exactly been a breeze. His parents were dead, he grew up in a home that was…less than nurturing. He had to fight trolls and three-headed dogs, cruel teachers, giant snakes… There wasn't a large pool of happiness to draw from, and thus far the things he'd tried were just not enough.
Still, he had to admit, it wasn't a bad time in his life. He had his friend back, and that was something. He really seemed to have more friends too, at least for now. The operators were always near and willing to help, to share their experiences and have fun. He knew they were there on a job, but they felt like friends. That was something anyway.
"Hey, airhead," Ron jabbed him in the side, pulling Harry from his introspection. "You going to ask again?" He was, of course, referring to the Firebolt. Harry was making a rather annoying habit of asking Professor McGonagall at least once a week if his broom was ready for him, cleared of the possibility of evil curses.
As time passed, the urgency he felt only increased. They were only a week and a half away from the game against Ravenclaw. He was starting to seriously fear that he would be mounting a Cleansweep come game day.
"Of course," he whispered, not wanting to draw the ire of their Transfiguration Professor just before asking for something.
"She can't keep it forever, can she?" Ron asked it as though the answer was an obvious no, but Harry knew better. She absolutely could keep it forever if she thought it necessary. He just had to hope that wouldn't be the case.
It felt like a long wait until the end of class, but when it was finally over he stayed behind. Ron gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up and then stepped just outside, obviously not leaving completely. He would wait to hear the news this time around.
"Professor?" Harry asked. The Professor was facing away, working on cleaning the chalkboard. She turned to him sharply, her face as stern as ever.
"Mr. Potter, if you put half the effort you've put into pestering me about your broom into your coursework I suspect you might well be ahead in the class." There was little hint of amusement in her face, though it did soften a bit. "As it so happens, I am in fact finished with your broom. You'll find it's been delivered to your bunk in the tower."
"It's done? It-wasn't-cursed?" He asked the last question so fast it almost sounded like one word.
"Not that we can find, no. I do hope you'll use it well, Mr. Potter. As Professor Snape so kindly reminded me this morning, if we lose again this year it'll make 8 years in a row."
"Of course," he readily agreed. He didn't intend to let anyone else win.
"Was there something else Mr. Potter?" McGonagall asked. Harry hadn't realized he was still standing there. With a quick "no,"he was out the door. Ron followed him just as excitedly to his bunk, where, true to the Professors word, his Firebolt lay like a treasure. They wasted no time getting it outside for a test flight.
Of course, they couldn't make it outside without a healthy congregation of Gryffindors wanting to know what was going on. Once they saw the Firebolt, news spread like wildfire. Eventually, most of Gryffindor had followed Harry and Ron out to the Quidditch pitch. Hermione was there as well, a mixture of joy and concern on her face.
"Hey, nothing more you could have done," Mike said from next to her, his hand comfortingly rubbing the small of her back. It was a small gesture she'd seen done to others a thousand times, but it was one of her favorite things. A little sign that he wanted to be close enough to her to touch.
"I know, I really hope it's safe." She didn't take her eyes off the sight as the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team surrounded Harry, looking at his new broom. There were pats on the back and a general buzz of excitement.
"McGonagall and Flitwick looked hard, Hermione." Mike knew because he walked in on them performing their tests. Harry would have been white in the face if he'd seen the state of disassembly they'd had his broom in. Mike had no idea there could be a curse on individual straw strands that could affect the entire broom. He was less worried about the broom being cursed than he was about the broom falling apart while he flew it. Did they even think to check for that shit?
"I know, if anyone was going to find something it'd be them." She sighed and leaned against him. It was still surprising toher just how comfortable she'd become with him in such a short time. She leaned on him, hugged him, kissed him, held hands…she'd never let a boy be that close to her and it all somehow felt completely natural. She rather enjoyed it, though she still couldn't fathom letting a different boy that close.
Mike, while having some still-attractive boyish qualities, was rather adult for his age. He was smart and dedicated, strong. He was a joker, always looking to make others smile. That was one of his best qualities. And they weren't childish jokes, not always. He had this sixth sense about humor. He knew when a childish joke would be good, when a prank would be better, and when to shut-the-heck up and be a little more grown-up.
And he listened! Not only did he put up with, tolerate, her constant talking about learning and knowledge, he actively listened. He seemed genuinely interested whenever she talked. He had no idea what that meant to her. So far in her life, only adults had provided that for her. Never before had a boy, or girl for that matter, genuinely cared about the things she was interested in.
It was funny, because he'd told her more than once that he was nowhere near as passionate about learning as she was. Conversations with the other operators confirmed it. He was definitely not a bookworm. But when she talked about something, he listened. He asked intelligent questions and remembered later down the road when she referenced it. It was a puzzle for her, but not one she felt needed solving right now. Things were still new and exciting, the why didn't feel as important to her. She wasn't quite ready to look this gift horse in the mouth.
Her introspection took all of a split moment, and she was brought out of it as Mike shifted his arm from behind the small of her back to a more natural place around her hip as she leaned against him. His hand rested on her abdomen, not too high and not too low. Close, comfortable, and not trying to push anything along. She doubted another boy in the castle had that self-restraint.
At the same time, Harry shot off like a rocket. She held her breath for a moment, fearing that the broom was actually going to hurt him. Her fears were unfounded, however. He zipped across the pitch at high speeds, turning faster than she'd seen before. It really was exciting to watch and she found herself smiling along with the rest of the crowd. Harry was a nimble Quidditch player already. With this broom, he was absolutely going to be a force to be reckoned with.
For almost half an hour, they watched Harry get a feel for the broom. When Harry came back down there was a lot of cheering and congratulating. Harry let Ron take the broom for a spin. He couldn't stop shouting as he went, obviously exhilarated. Once he made it back down, Hermione stood with Mike watching the two of them for a few more moments.
"You wanna head back up to the common room or stay here?" Mike asked her. She stood there for a moment, enjoying being in his arms. There wasn't much else to see here, the celebration couldn't last a whole lot longer.
"We can go back," she said. They turned and walked hand in hand back to the common room, chatting idly about whatever came to mind. As they were reaching the top of the stairs leading to the Gryffindor common room, they heard Sir Cadogan challenging someone.
"Step back, you dog!" he shouted. Hermione and Mike crested the stairs to see both of the sentries on duty watching on as Neville and the painting struggled with each other.
"Problem, Neville?" Mike asked. Neville looked at him sheepishly.
"I can't remember the password," he admitted. It wasn't outside the norm for the poor fellow. More than once he'd been locked outside the common room. The sentries were forbidden from assisting students inside, lest a Polyjuice potion be in play. They were stuck watching on and it was a more colorful event for Gryffindor, as Sir Cadogan was by far the most aggressive painting. "I wrote it down, but I can't find it."
"Neville, buddy..." Mike sighed. "You can't do that." Not writing down passwords was a 101 level security measure, for exactly this kind of scenario. The password was due to change after tonight anyway, so at least they didn't need to reset anything. It could be a headache. "What if someone got a hold of that?"
"I know, I just keep forgetting it." Neville looked miserable and Mike felt bad. Not wanting to incur further wrath, he decided not to mention he'd not only written the password down, but the next one too. He'd figured it could give him a chance to memorize it. He didn't want to worry them or cause any more headaches, so he kept silent about it. Hermione gave him a comforting squeeze of the shoulder and murmured the password. Sir Cadogan opened the door, suspiciously eyeing Neville the entire way.
"No more writing them down, man." Mike patted Neville on the back and they entered the common room, due for a little silence before the return of the crowd at the Quidditch pitch.
Hermione and Mike found a spot in front of the fireplace to sit and chat. When the congregation came back from the Quidditch pitch they could hardly hear themselves think. The duo opted to sit silently while they had their makeshift party.
The Weasley twins were breaking out an assortment of trick sweets, which were very popular. The operators wisely didn't accept any of the treats. Soon, however, the partying died down and things got quieter. It was then that Ron came over to Hermione.
"So, satisfied?" he asked, a little snootier than was necessary. Mike rolled his eyes a bit but allowed Hermione to speak for herself.
"Yes, I am. I'm glad that it wasn't cursed." She readily admitted it. She was a Gryffindor too, and wanted to see them win the house cup as much as anyone. Well, perhaps a little less, since some of them would have happily risked Harry's safety for a better shot.
"Maybe next time you won't overreact, huh?" Ron was obviously feeling a bit high and mighty. "Anything you want to say?"
"Are you seriously fishing for an apology?" Mike couldn't help himself. Sometimes Ron could be so pigheaded. "She was right, shut up and go to bed." Mike's tone left little room for argument. Ron stood there for a moment longer, then went off to bed.
"He can be such a jerk," she sighed, leaning back into him.
"Yeah, he's just rubbing it in because he's probably never been right against you before," Mike gave her a playful poke to the ribs which earned him an elbow in kind. She smiled at him nonetheless and opened her mouth to speak. Whatever she was going to say would remain a mystery, as Ron thundered back down the stairs.
"I warned you, HERMIONE!" Ron shouted. Mike stood quickly, leaving a surprised Hermione on the couch. Ron was carrying his bedding with him.
"What's the prob-" Mike started, but Ron wasn't paying any attention to him. He only had eyes for Hermione.
"I TOLD YOU TO WATCH YOUR MURDEROUS CAT!" Ron shouted at her. She stood up with a look of genuine confusion on her face, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline.
"What are you on about, Ron?" Her voice quivered but she managed to maintain a straight face.
"THIS!" He threw the ball of sheets past Mike, who wasn't expecting it and failed to intercept it for her. It struck her in the chest and she caught it, feeling something wet. She dropped it on the couch as she saw blood on her hands and shirt. "Two can play this game, Hermione! I'll kill that blasted cat next time I see it!" He threw a pinch of orange fir from his hand towards her. It didn't make it far, but the point was made. He'd found the orange fir with the blood.
"Cool your shit, Ron." Mike crossed the short distance between them and put a hand on his chest, pushing the hothead back toward the stairs. Brad came to help escort Ron back upstairs while Eric went to take a look at the sheets. Everyone else was completely silent. They consciously averted eyes from Hermione, who had silent tears running down her face.
Ron put up a half-effort fight to stay downstairs, but Mike gave him a hearty shove that told him resistance would end poorly. They went upstairs and after getting things settled, Mike went back downstairs to Hermione. Everyone else had left the common room to her. He gave her a tight hug and comforted her from the sudden confrontation, assuring her that it wasn't her fault.
The next week was a blur for just about everyone, but Harry took the cake as far as keeping busy. He was spending every evening learning everything he could about how his broom handled. The team practices, being held nightly until the upcoming game, were exhilarating and exhausting at the same time. The entire team was performing at the top of their game, working together strongly. The going theory was that Harry's new broom was the kick in morale they needed.
Hand-to-hand practice with Brad had been a little more relaxed during the week, being that he had so much else on his plate. They were more accurately described as a cardio workout than actual sparring. Brad insisted that it wouldn't be like that for long, just until after the game. He said that he was familiar with limits and told Harry he shouldn't "burn the candle at both ends."
The Patronus lesson was every bit as exhausting as Harry was expecting. He'd left the lesson dragging. He'd again managed to make a fizzle at the end of his wand, a "non-corporeal Patronus" as Lupin called it. It was no small feat according to the Professor, who had cheered him on. It kept the boggart/dementor from getting any closer, which was a win. It didn't last very long, however, and he felt disheartened. Lupin insisted they were making great progress, and Harry did his best to trust the Professor.
Regular coursework was the icing on the cake, bringing all of the stresses he juggled together in a neat little package. Two scrolls on illumination charms, a scroll on transfiguring tea cups into pitchers, three on what ingredients are best suited for energizing draughts and why...it was an incredible load of work. He was thankful to have Hermione helping him through the heavy coursework.
Ron couldn't say the same, though he wouldn't likely say it even if it was true. He'd tried to remain pigheaded when Brad told him off for the display in the common room. He was allowed to be upset, and he didn't have to be friends with Hermione if he didn't want to be, but that kind of behavior wasn't going to continue.
Ron reluctantly agreed, and since then Hermione and Ron had taken to completely ignoring the existence of one another. It was such a hassle in Harry's mind, the on again off again nature of Ron's friendship, at least with Hermione. What could he do, though? He'd-
"Harry, you listening?" Wood asked, breaking Harry out of his wandering mind. He caught an elbow in the ribs at about the same time and Katie Bell was giving him a sharp look.
"Yeah, sorry," he said. The last practice before game day was always a bit of a rush. A side effect of Harry's taking on of so many different projects was that he sometimes drifted off.
He listened intently as Wood divided the team evenly, not just in numbers, but in skill and experience. It wasn't going to be one of those fluff practices, an easy victory to boost morale before the big game. Wood wanted to win and he was going to make the team fight and work a sharp edge to earn that win.
Soon, they were out on the pitch. He was on the team opposing Wood. The entire Gryffindor class was watching them practice tonight. They often had a few spectators, especially at the last practice before a game. The Firebolt was a bit of a legend in Gryffindor, though. It drew everyone, who wanted to see it in action.
A high-pitched whistle and the game was started. Harry kicked off with everyone else and was disappointed to see Wood's team take the Quaffle. That disappointment was tempered by an adrenaline rush as a flash of gold passed his face. He tracked it and willed his broom to go after it. The broom obeyed with precision he was still getting used to and he almost passed the Snitch before he plucked it out of the sky.
There was a moment of disbelief in the crowd before the stands erupted in cheers. The practice game ended less than a minute in, before anyone could make a score of any kind. They took it as a good omen, and the practice went on with everyone performing at the top of their game.
By the time practice was over, every Gryffindor was buzzing. To an individual, Gryffindor was going into the game expecting to mop the floor with Ravenclaw, and no one could wait to see it happen.