Hello, my lovely, blessed readers! I hope you'll join me today in the latest piece of this epic monstrosity. Perhaps this chapter should be called "Hormones: In Which Harry's Heterosexuality is Sadly Revealed."
...Though I'm not above slashy subtext. And perhaps future 'alternate scenes.' Harharhar.
Enjoy! And drop me a line. All reviews are welcome.
Chapter Thirty-Three: The Right-Ole-Gryffindor Sort of Thing
The day of the Hogsmeade weekend, of Malfoy's detention, and of Harry's chance to steal back his dad's map dawned rainy and cold. He said goodbye to Malfoy, who was serving his time by pruning Greenhouse Three, in front of the doors of the Great Hall. As the other boy left for outdoors, the gusts of frigid air battered at the castle and at Harry. Before long a flood of students poured over Harry and out the doors into the icy rain towards Hogsmeade, and his time had come.
Although the weather was so ghastly, the halls were empty and most of the remaining older students were busying themselves in the library. Harry wrinkled his nose at the notion, then started towards the Gryffindor Tower.
It was lucky they'd had the map; he knew every corner of the castle and had no trouble finding the headquarters of All Ye Saints of Hogwarts. Pulling the invisibility cloak over himself, he stood quietly in the corner waiting for someone to come along and reveal the password. He must have been there only for fifteen minutes, though they were to him uncommonly long minutes, before a first-or-second year scampered up to that revolting portrait of some fat woman and said, "Higglewash."
Harry grinned wolfishly under his cloak. Run along, little piggy, he thought happily. He was in his element now; sneaking and poking around brazenly, with Malfoy, usually, by his side. He waited a few minutes to make sure the little boy was gone, then took the cloak off and said, "Higglewash" to the portrait.
The woman's brow wrinkled in confusion at the sight of him, but she admitted him with a swing anyway. Once he'd clambered inside stealthily, he put the cloak back on and crept over to a corner.
He'd been in the Gryffindors' common room twice before, both times uninvited and both times with Malfoy in tow. This time he was alone, and this time he had a lot less to watch out for. The only people littered around here were the majority of the first and second years, who weren't allowed any Hogsmeade visits yet and who were thankfully all facing away from the portrait hole. This was too easy.
He took the cloak off and walked toward the stragglers as if he'd just gotten in. "Oy, you lot," he said harshly, "clear out, hear me? I've got work to do."
The younger students all whipped around to look at him warily. They wouldn't recognize him, he hoped, but then again they themselves knew their minds were too focused on the freshness of Hogwarts. They wouldn't possibly know the face of every upper-year Gryffindor. It only took a few minutes for Harry to persuade them that he had a long studying ahead of him for O.W.L.s and they scattered out.
Now Harry put the cloak back on and made his way up the stairs to the Seventh Year Boys' dormitory. There was no one in there; he kept the cloak on just in case, a lesson that Malfoy still hadn't learned.
The twins' beds were on the far side of the rooms. It was obvious—fireworks poked out of the hangings on the beds, parchment was scattered all over the floor, and the other inhabitants of the room had constructed a sort of fort between their beds and the twins' to ward off the explosions and any other strange happenings. The two were notorious for mishaps.
Harry wasn't impressed, however; you couldn't live with James Potter and Sirius Black without developing a sort of immunity to being awed by this kind of thing. Uncle Lupin himself had confided to Harry that many of their house-mates had petitioned to kick Sirius and James out of the tower in their day, or to give them one of their own. Harry made his way to the far side of the dormitory and began rummaging through the trunks and the beds, even prying up loose floorboards.
This was his father's map, damn it, and no two-bit comedians were going to steal it from him.
Despite his determination, the search led him nowhere. He glanced out the window (how unused he was to the notion of having windows in a dormitory) and saw that the sky was darkening through the blurred, rain-stained glass. People would start returning in about half an hour. He put the strange-looking sweets, the funny instruments, and all the rest of the Weasleys' dubious property roughly back where it had been.
Sighing with frustration, Harry made his way downstairs. He'd have to try to get the map back another time, but it would be harder—he couldn't wait for the next Hogsmeade weekend. But if he got caught now, it'd all be for nothing. This was, Harry would reflect later, one of the biggest differences between him and Malfoy: Harry knew when to quit.
There was a problem with his retreat, he saw when he was back in the common room. For there, curled up on the sofa, was a redheaded girl: the littlest Weasley.
From her wet hair, Harry knew she'd come in from outside. She was shivering slightly and staring into the merry fire that crackled in the hearth. Her fierce-looking cat was against her side, but she didn't seem to be aware. Harry could see that her eyes were slightly glazed and half-closed from watching the flames.
She wasn't facing the way out, nor did it seem like she would notice the portrait hole swinging open of its own accord. But something rooted Harry to the spot—something in the way her long, wet curls stuck to her face, contrasting like ringlets of blood on white horizons; the yellow glow of the fire on pale, cold skin; even the up-and-down movement she made with her slow breathing. Under the cloak, Harry felt his face go warm and something in his chest jumped a little. He was a little scared and confused by what was happening, and tried to pass it off as simple curiosity.
However long he stared, as transfixed by her as she was by the fire, he didn't know, but it was too long. The portrait hole suddenly swung open behind the both of them, and as Harry broke away from his daze angrily, a crowd of Gryffindors surged in. The Weasel girl sat up quickly and watched as the new arrivals tramped in mud and rainwater and noise; Harry nearly cursed aloud as he moved to avoid the pack. In all the confusion, he was able to slip out of the common room and make his way back to his own.
Down in the dungeons, he finally removed the cloak and a few moments later Malfoy was beside him, mud-splattered and scratched up (the plants in Greenhouse Three had nasty dispositions). "Well?" Malfoy asked. "Did you get it back?"
Harry shook his head with a frown. "It wasn't there. They must carry it on them."
Malfoy glared bitterly at the floor. "Lousy prats. What are we going to do?"
Harry shrugged. "I'm thinking confront them. Tell them the map is my dad's and that giving it back is the right-ole-Gryffindor sort of thing to do."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Do you honestly think that'll work?" he drawled.
"Of course not, we'll just attack them. I'm not delusional," Harry responded.
He went to bed that night trying to understand the feeling he'd had in the common room with the girl; failing this, he turned to quashing it. But the dream he had completely ignored his efforts.
This time, he was the one to approach Tom in the clearing. Now there was a frozen pond lying in the midst of the trees like a giant mirror, and the older boy was already there, kneeling by it with one leg. As Harry drew closer, he saw the Weasel girl's face in the pond and froze.
"What's going on?" he asked Tom quickly.
"She's pretty," he replied, ignoring Harry's question. "Has a sort of feral look about her, doesn't she, Harry?"
Harry shrugged. "Nothing special." The anger he felt at her for confusing him like this had returned, intensified by his bewilderment at having someone intrude on the place he shared with Tom.
The boy laughed. "If you say so, Harry. That only makes it easier for us both."
Harry was, for the umpteenth time that day, bewildered by this, and no sooner had he opened his mouth to ask Tom what he meant did the dream end.
---------------------------------------------