Chapter Four: A Good Friend
After Transfiguration, Harry walked with Ron and Hermione to Potions. It seemed to Harry that a bit of time to cool down by himself during lunch was all Ron needed to reach his new headspace, which happened to be ignoring Hermione altogether. Though, Harry would much rather have them not speak at all than scowling and scoffing at each other all day.
As they descended the stairs to the dungeons, Harry felt a small creature play the drums inside him. Glancing over, Harry saw Hermione's contorted face and knew the same question made its way into her brain. "What if Snape had seen us?" They had taken a big risk by sneaking out of the Room of Requirement instead of waiting for him to leave, but Harry knew it was the right thing to do—something about Snape's face when he gazed into the mirror told him so. If he had seen them, his hatred would never dwindle again. It would be a fair assumption that they would find out the second their feet crossed the threshold of the door in a few minutes. Harry just wished they had documented the scene in the Room of Requirement somehow; It may have been the first emotion the greasy-haired professor had ever felt . . . besides anger.
Ron cleared his throat at the two, who were staring at each other in the corridor. They shook their heads free and continued to the class. Harry wasn't sure why, but he felt guilty. The anger that drove Ron throughout the morning had drained and what remained was a bit dismal, to say the least. Ron watched his shoes and took slow strides alongside them when he thought Harry wasn't looking.
The Gryffindors and Slytherins waited on either side of the Professor's door, waiting for them to be let in. They listened to the pitter-patter of step grow more and more distant as the stragglers from the last class vacated the dungeons. Soon, the door swung open and Snape was standing in the doorway. He stood to the side and let the classes fill in, and, as Harry moved to enter, an arm swung out in front of him.
"Not so fast," Snape said to him and the other students still in the corridor: Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Dean Thomas. "Hand over your essays." Harry heard Ron gulp.
"Sir?" Dean asked, stepping into view. "I don't understand. Aren't we to turn them in at the end of—"
"You won't be attending Potions today Mr. Thomas." Snape's gaze fell on Harry again, leering as he said, "You five are to meet Professor Sprout at the pumpkin patch. She needs able students to help her remove this year's . . . decor."
No one said a word, but Harry felt relief spread throughout his body. It was confirmed, he thought. There was no way Snape would let them leave if he had seen them in the Room of Requirement—he'd have cursed them right then and there.
"Now," hissed Snape.
One by one, the Gryffindors begrudgingly retrieved their essays from their respective bags and stacked them in Snape's hand. The second that Ron unlatched himself from his near barren parchment, Snape wheeled around and waved his wand behind him. The sound of the door slamming echoed down the corridor.
"At least he won't be able to make fun of us in front of the whole class," Neville offered as the five of them made their way back up the stairs.
"Right," agreed Ron. "The joke's on him anyways."
"What do you mean?"
Ron laughed for the first time since yesterday. "That was the worst essay I've ever written—he could have ripped me to shreds!"
"Me too," Dean admitted with a grin.
"Maybe we should walk faster," suggested Harry.
Eventually, they made it past the greenhouses and found themselves on the edge of the pumpkin patch, watching as a dozen other students in small groups made their way through the field, filling carts with giant pumpkins. Professor Sprout turned away from Hagrid and waved the new Gryffindor recruits over to where they stood next to a massive pile of orange.
"Hi, Hagrid," said Hermione as they wove over and in between knee-high pumpkins.
"'Ello you three!" he said.
Before anyone else could speak, Professor Sprout pointed to the last two carts a few feet away. "Right," she said cheerily. "Split into two groups and fill the carts with the best pumpkins you can find. Once you've done that, drop them off here and do it again until the only ones left are either rotten or too tiny to be Hogwarts-worthy jack o' lanterns. Oh, and make sure to lift them the muggle way, won't you? They are terribly hard to enchant once you've dropped them from midair. Got it?"
"Yes, Professor!" said Hermione and Neville.
Harry and Ron shared a look of amusement.
#
"Got it?" grunted Hermione as she and Harry struggled to lift the last "Hogwarts-worthy" pumpkin on the field. It also happened to be the biggest.
"Of course, I have it!" said Harry.
"Then help me lift it, will you?"
"I am!"
With some effort, they finally managed to get the heavy thing up to the edge of the cart and let it roll itself onto the pile, launching dust and pollen every which way. Harry leaned on the side of the cart as the pair caught their breath.
"This was quite fun," said Hermione, ridding her hands of dirt. Her bushy hair was matted to her forehead and neck, and Harry felt like he was dying; sweat rolled down his back like he'd just come out of a shower.
It was an hour after classes ended, but they were finally done. The only other people were a group of Hufflepuffs on the other side of the patch, who were already making their way over to the pumpkin pile. The pile was so absolutely massive that it came up to Hagrid's shoulder before he left. Ron, who was helping Professor Sprout stack the carts, made his way over to the Hufflepuffs as they arrived to help them add their load of new pumpkins onto the pile. As they stacked their cart and left the field, Harry and Hermione drove their full one up to Ron.
"Little help?" said Harry.
Ron sighed at the sight of their full cart but still helped them unload (taking the time beforehand to stretch his legs and arms). Minutes passed as the three of them stacked giant pumpkins on top of each other in silence. During lunch, after hearing Hermione and Ron scoff at each other the whole time, Harry felt comfortable with the silence; he could pretend that nothing was wrong. But now, the silence was getting to him. And even though Hermione's mood had been unusually cheery as they searched the field, he could see it getting to her as well. Harry watched as she tried to shoot Ron glances to spark a conversation, but he just continued stacking.
"I'll take it, dears," Professor Sprout said as she took their now empty cart. "Thank you for all your help, you're free to go." She packed the last cart on top and charmed the stack to follow her a few feet off the ground as she left for the greenhouses.
"Finally," said Harry, wiping sweat from his brow. "I thought we'd be here until dinner. Let's go find Seamus and ask for his Potions notes, shall we?"
"Actually," said Ron, wringing his hands nervously. "I'll see you two later."
"What, why?"
"I—er—promised Neville I'd help him find a nice shirt . . . for the dance, y'know?"
"Oh, well . . . see you later, I suppose."
"See you later, mate," said Ron, giving them both a half-hearted wave goodbye before turning around and trekking up the hill towards the castle.
"Bye, Ron," said Hermione quietly, but his back was already facing her.
"So . . ." said Harry when Ron finally disappeared over the hill. "What have you been so cheery about?"
Despite how she may have felt after seeing Ron's depressive state, Hermione smirked.
"Have I been?" asked Hermione. She adjusted her bag and started towards the Training Grounds; Harry walked with her, utterly bemused.
"Well, yeah," said Harry. "You haven't stopped smiling since the last bell rang."
"Hmm. If you say so."
Harry frowned at her but said nothing. Once the two of them made it past the walls to the Training Grounds, they headed up the path for the Owlery, all the while chatting about the day's classes, though most of Harry's thoughts strayed with what was going on with Ron. He hoped that his friend would snap out of it soon . . .
After a short walk up the inclined path, Harry and Hermione arrived below the solitary tower. Harry was still sweating a bit from the hours on the field, and the sight of the hundred or so steps to the Owlery made him groan.
"Don't be baby," giggled Hermione, ascending the steps. "C'mon."
"Who are we writing—can't it wait 'till later?"
Hermione stopped and turned around to face Harry, who was gaping at her from the bottom top of the steps. "I told you I had something to do after classes, didn't I?" she asked. "This is it."
"It really can't wait?" he asked.
"No," Hermione said simply. "It can't."
So, against his better judgment, he followed her up the steps, and the sound of hundreds of owls hooting softly grew louder. They reached the doors and Harry sighed in relief at the sight of a few school owls sleeping on their stoops on the first floor; they wouldn't have to make the climb to the top of the tower itself.
"I'll wait outside, shall I?" asked Harry as Hermione began composing her letter. Still grinning, she nodded.
Harry pulled himself onto the stomach-high wall of the steps and dangled his legs over the side, gazing out at the afternoon sun. It hovered closely over the tallest hill and emitted an unwavering blanket of orange October light across the grounds. Far below him, two birds used their wings to trick worms out of hiding and the sight of it oddly made his stomach growl.
"Hermione?" he called into the Owlery after a while. "Dinner's starting soon, are you done yet?"
"Almost," she called back. "I'm having trouble deciding."
Harry turned around and swung his legs over the other side of the wall. "Deciding what?" he asked. Hermione emerged from the Owlery, scrutinizing her letter with a twisted face.
"For the dance . . . to wear . . ." she said distractedly.
"I'm sorry?"
"Oh—er—I can't decide which dress to ask my parents to send me. Which do you think, blue or orange?" Across from him, Hermione leaned against the wall next to the door and awaited his answer.
Harry snorted. "You're going to let me pick?"
"Well, yes. Why not? Which do you think would look better?"
Harry put his hand to his chin and thought about it for a moment, trying not to blush. It was awkward having to think about something like that right in front of her. Soon, his thoughts became a bit more manic as his mind strayed from "what color would look best" to "how would it look on her."
"Orange," he blurted out stupidly once he realized he'd been thinking for far too long.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Why orange?"
"It's more . . . Halloween-ey," he said with a laugh.
She giggled and jotted it down. On top of the wall, Harry watched her write in silence and fidgeted in his spot a bit, thinking more about the dance. He hoped that Ron would be in a better mood by then so that they'd be able to at least have a conversation or two and the night wouldn't be a complete waste. Whoever she was planning on taking was lucky; Harry bet that Hermione would look just as nice in either dress.
Soon, he found himself thinking about the night before again.
"No one's asked me yet," Hermione had said to Ron, "but I . . . I'm pretty certain that someone will."
"Who?"
"A good friend!"
Hermione finished the letter and folded it, then looked back up to Harry for a moment. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and let her gaze slowly fall to her feet as she nudged a pebble across the ground. Was he supposed to say something?
("A good friend!")
Harry gasped at his sudden realization, startling Hermione. "Oh!" he shouted. "You meant me!"
Hermione burst out laughing harder than Harry had ever heard her laugh before. He was sure that everyone in the castle heard it too. She doubled over, gripping her stomach and dropped to the floor against the Owlery wall, and before he knew it, he was laughing too. How couldn't he have seen it earlier? He had been so stupid! Eventually, their combined laughter died down, and they both looked up at each other again; his stomach fluttered when their eyes met.
"Yes, silly," said Hermione, still giggling. "Who else?"
Harry smiled at her and chuckled. "I feel so stupid," he said.
"Don't feel too bad, I wasn't going to let us leave until you figured it out."
"What?"
"No, really! I'm actually impressed." She held up the folded letter. "Getting your opinion on the dress was only phase one. I also planned a really drawn-out discussion about the dance where I'd sigh and mumble and . . . well . . . anyway, it doesn't matter anymore, does it? Dinner's starting," she said, getting up to her feet.
"You couldn't have just asked me?" said Harry as the two of them entered the Owlery once more.
Hermione woke up a school owl and tied her letter to its leg. It chirped dutifully and flew off in the direction of Hogsmeade. "It's traditional that the boy asks the girl, Harry," said Hermione. "Speaking of which . . ." she said, stopping at the top of the Owlery steps as they began to descend them.
"Er—what?" said Harry. Hermione crossed her arms at his perplexed face.
"You still haven't asked me."
"Oh," he said, suddenly very aware of how messy his hair was. "Right, well . . . Hermione . . . would you . . . do you want to . . . go with me? To the ball?"
Hermione smiled. "I should certainly think so."
#
Harry half expected Ron to be missing from the Great Hall when he and Hermione arrived a few minutes after dinner started, but their red-headed friend was sitting alone where the three of them usually sat with his chin resting on his hands. Harry shared a look with Hermione before joining him in the empty seats across from him.
"Finally," sighed Ron, and he joined them in stacking food onto his plate.
Ron seemed different throughout their meal, Harry thought. Like earlier, he wasn't very talkative, but he didn't seem as sad or solemn. Nor did he seem angry. He even spoke to Hermione directly a few times, making eye contact and everything. Harry wasn't sure what to make of it besides that he must be feeling more like himself, and it didn't help that every time he tried to figure out Ron's headspace, his brain betrayed him, displaying images of the upcoming dance instead. He was going with Hermione. . . . She wanted him to ask her—he did—and now they were going together. The thought of it all made him care very little about concealing the grin on his face, and he was pleasantly surprised to see one just like it on Hermione's too.
Harry thought about it all for a moment. Why did she want him to ask her—why did she want to go with him at all? Did she like him too? No, Harry told himself. You're just friends. Friends going to a dance together—it happens all the time. His smile was beginning to fade when another voice spoke from deeper within him. "Why didn't she ask Ron, then?"
By the time that the three of them made it to the common room for the night, Harry had barely done any thinking about Ron. Hermione sat on the rug in front of the fire reading a thick book while he and Ron sat on the couch, doing their schoolwork. For an hour, the only sound emanating from the three of them was the scratching of quills and the turning of papers.
"She said, 'yes'!" shouted Neville, appearing next to them. Ron beamed at him, and Hermione's head popped up from behind the coffee table.
"Way to go!" said Ron.
"Who?" Hermione asked as Neville collapsed onto the couch beside Harry.
"Luna . . ." said Neville, closing his eyes in bliss.
"Luna Lovegood? You're going with Luna?" Her head shot over to Ron. "Did you know?"
Ron smiled proudly.
"You're not mad that she bruised you?" said Harry. Neville shook his head at him. "Or flung you against the castle wall?" He shook his head again.
"Or that she believes in—oh, what were they . . . nargles?" said Hermione.
"You guys don't like her?" asked Neville.
"It's not that," said Harry. "She's just a bit odd, is all."
"Do you like her?" asked Hermione.
Neville blushed a deep red. "Yeah, I think so. She's great, isn't she?" Hermione said nothing. "Ron?"
"Yeah," said Ron, "she's great." Harry watched as Ron gave Hermione a long look out of the corner of his eye . . .
It wasn't long after Neville had left when Hermione snapped her book closed and stood up. "I'll see you two in the morning," she said and headed for the dormitory stairs.
Harry worried for a second whether she'd leave without speaking to him, and he was relieved when she stopped next to him. Smiling, she shared a look with him for a moment before wrapping him in a tight hug, which he returned gratefully, wondering if they would become more frequent now. "You should probably tell Ron we're going together," Hermione whispered, tickling his ear with her breath.
"Yeah," Harry said quietly, letting go. "I should . . ."
Hermione chewed on her lip for a moment, and the two of them stared at each other for what felt like the hundredth time since the Owlery. Harry could feel the grin working itself back onto his face but, again, he didn't stop it.
"I'll see you tomorrow," said Hermione, smiling wide. Harry watched her go as she turned for the steps, climbed them, and closed the girl's dormitory door behind her. It dawned on Harry then that Ron, only sitting a few feet away, had probably just seen his and Hermione's interaction. For a moment, Harry considered not saying anything and going to bed—he felt that if Ron got angry again after what he had to say it would be completely his fault, but, seeing as he'd just figure it out on his own if he said nothing, Harry cleared his throat, but didn't get the chance to speak.
Ron looked up from his assignment with a tired face and said, "So . . . you are going with her, aren't you?"
Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Yes," he said, "but I didn't lie earlier. She didn't ask me until after the pumpkin patch—well, technically I asked her. She—er—wanted me to figure it out on my own."
For a moment, Harry let silence fall between them again, but, eventually, it became unbearable. "I know you like her," he said. "But I like her too . . . a lot."
The look in Ron's eyes made him feel terrible. "Since when?"
"Third year."
Ron said nothing.
"I didn't do it to hurt you," said Harry. "It's just . . . I don't know. I usually leave it alone, y'know—I know you like her and all. But we've been spending so much time together recently and it's been so hard not to say anything, so, when I realized it was me she wanted to take, I—"
"I get it," said Ron finally. "I had a feeling."
Harry raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"It's just," started Ron, "you guys keep leaving me to do . . . whatever it is you've been doing. I've seen the way you look at her sometimes. All that one-on-one time—it was inevitable you'd start dating. I should've guessed she meant you."
"Dating. . . ?" asked Harry, feeling his face reddening.
"What I'm trying to say is: I'm not angry; not anymore. At least . . . well . . . at least you're not Krum, I mean."
"We're not dating, Ron," said Harry. He expected this to elate Ron—that he would jump out of his seat and sprint up the stairs to the girl's dorm and pound on the door—but his friend's face twisted into thorough confusion instead.
"What do you mean?" said Ron.
"We're just going as friends."
"But you like her."
"Well, yeah."
"And she likes you back."
"I . . . I think so."
"So . . ." said Ron. "Why would you be going as friends?"
Suddenly, Harry's mouth was very dry.