Author's Note: This story was born out of a challenge posed by a good friend of mine. This was the challenge:
-Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione
-learning a ridiculously difficult spell causes disastrous (and hilarious) results
-Neville gets a new pet that earns him much attention from the ladies (Romilda Vane)
-something from the Muggle world finds its way into Hogwarts
-Harry and Ginny get a helping hand from Professor McGonagall
-some new mythological creature
-Shakespeare quote
-someone tries to figure out the physics of an awkward situation
In keeping with the comedy of the situation, this story is decidedly AU. Harry, Ron and Hermione are attending their seventh and final year at Hogwarts. Dumbledore is alive. Voldemort has already been defeated.
Enjoy. :)
The Soul of Wit
"What is it?"
In the Gryffindor House common room at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, several people were clustering around a round table. On the table lay a long, thin cylinder of plastic, which narrowed to a silver-tipped point at one end. It was something alien and incredible to most of the teenagers now examining it.
"It's magnificent, isn't it? A true miracle of — what was it again?"
"'Science,'" someone supplied.
"Right, science. And here we all are, stuck in the — what was it?"
"'The Middle Ages.'"
"Yes, those. Stuck in the Middle Ages, using antiquated implements — quills and ink and so on. What lunacy!"
"'What fools these mortals be!'"
"Exactly. I mean, why didn't this come up beforehand? Will someone please answer me that? It's so simple! So brilliant! It's a paragon of fluid writing ease! It's the epitome of modern scientific progress! So why, why isn't everybody using them?"
"No one ever really thought of it before, I reckon. It doesn't really fit with the ambience of the school as a whole. I mean, you've got your dribbly candles and your cauldrons and your magic wands. I mean, what I'm saying is, you don't really ever consider your ball-point pen," said a round-eyed boy assiduously.
"Right you are, my lad, right you are. But as I was saying, it's a brilliant idea! And here's another for you – PROFIT."
There was a pause. Then — "What?"
"Okay, okay, look. What I'm saying is, these could make a big splash, you might say, in the Hogwarts student body. So, if we were to… look, Owen, how many of these things do we have?"
"Well, I only brought two packs," said the round-eyed boy dubiously. "But there's like twenty of them in each pack."
"Brilliant! Then… if we are frugal with the supply, and we do some careful marketing… why, we'll be rich before the month is out, or my name isn't Savio Bochelli!"
"For homework you will all write me three rolls of parchment on the subject, to be handed in next class," McGonagall announced as the bell rang. A few querulous voices were raised in protest, but McGonagall's steely gaze and authoritarian stance stopped them in their tracks.
"The N.E.W.T.s are, as I'm sure you are all aware, comprehensive examinations," she said sharply. "This means that they will cover virtually everything you have learned since the day a little over six years ago when you first arrived. With the possible exception of the school song."
She stared haughtily around at the seventh years, all of whom sported half-bored, half-gloomy expressions – except, of course, for Hermione, who was looking eager.
"Allow me to elucidate: you may expect a significant workload," McGonagall finished. "Class dismissed."
"First day back, and she gives us three rolls to do," Ron groaned as he, Harry, and Hermione followed the rest of the class into the corridor. "Three rolls. That's going to take me all night."
"Oh, stop carping, Ron," Hermione said, irked. "McGonagall's right! This is our N.E.W.T. year! I can't believe I wasted the summer like I did. I could have been preparing!"
Ron stared at her in horror, but before he could retort, he ran headlong into Lavender Brown, who had been walking in front of them and had now stopped with the rest of the crowd.
"Sorry," he said to her hastily.
"It's all right," Lavender said, rather coldly, and she turned around again to whisper something to Pansy.
"What d'you reckon's going on?" Ron said, craning his head to see what had stymied the flow into the Great Hall.
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," said Hermione, and she began to push her way through the confused crowd. "Excuse me! Head Girl coming through! Head Girl coming through!"
Ron and Harry exchanged looks and then followed the path she was determinedly forging. The crowd finally parted to reveal two boys in Gryffindor robes. One of them, a skinny boy of average height and Italian features, was holding something black and cylindrical aloft and orating to the crowd.
"This, ladies and gents, is a great day! A glorious day! A day of monumental and long-lasting innovation here at Hogwarts School! Here in my hand, my friends… is the future." He brandished the item dramatically, then lowered it. "And now, for a limited time, you can purchase the future of writing implements for the ground-breaking price of three Sickles. Three Sickles, folks! Three Sickles for one of these little beauties. Three Sickles for a miracle. In pristine condition, fresh out of the packaging. Get them while they last!"
Seeming to have finished, the Italian boy and his round-eyed companion turned and walked through the crowd towards the Great Hall. Hermione rushed forward and seized the boy who had been speaking. "Excuse me," she said sweetly, "but is that a ball-point pen?"
The boy looked her up and down. "Fascinating, aren't they?" he said, flashing white, even teeth. "Beautiful little writing miracles. Shame we've all been using quills all this time."
"Yes, well, I don't think they'll be very well received by the teachers," Hermione said sternly. "I think you'd better check with Professor McGonagall before you go around selling them to people. They don't really belong at Hogwarts."
"Oh yes? Why not?" the boy wanted to know.
"Ambiance," said Hermione airily. She whipped out a quill and a slip of parchment. "What's your name?"
The boy backed away. "Why should I tell you?"
Hermione gave him a saccharine smile. "Because I'm Head Girl," she said. "And I asked you nicely."
"Oh," said the boy. He considered for a moment, then flashed another smile. "Savio. Savio Bochelli. Pleased to have met you, Head Girl."
Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Come on," she said to Harry and Ron, and she turned and strode into the Great Hall. Harry was about to follow when Savio caught him by the arm.
"Wait up a minute, Harry," he said. "Can I have a word?"
"Well, I—" Harry began, but Savio went on before he could finish.
"Splendid. Now, listen, Harry, I know we don't know each other all that well, but I can tell that you are a man of vision. You are a man of vision, aren't you, Harry?" Harry opened his mouth, but Savio only paused long enough to flash one of his lightning-quick smiles. "Good. I thought so. Now, Harry, I confess myself a mere neophyte at this sort of thing, but I have a feeling that you and I could work something out that would be highly beneficial to both of us. I believe it's called… celebrity endorsement."
Harry stared at the boy, who couldn't be older than fourth year, utterly perplexed. "What the hell are you talking about?" he said, beginning to feel annoyed. "Look, I don't know who you think you are, selling ball-point pens for ten times what they're worth, but if you're suggesting that I should be a part of it, you can just take that idea and stick it –"
Savio waved his hands, a reassuring grin on his face. "Harry, Harry, I don't think you quite understand me. It's easy. You tell everyone how great the pens are – I'm sure you'll agree that they are great, won't you? You tell them that, and you'll be in for… oh, I think fifteen percent of sales," Savio said magnanimously. "Because it's you, Harry. What do you say to that, old chap, eh?" He gave Harry a friendly clap on the shoulder.
"I don't think so," snapped Harry, reaching up to brush Savio's hand off his shoulder. "You're on your own. Sorry."
He left Savio looking disgruntled and swept into the Great Hall, sitting down at the Gryffindor table next to Ron and Hermione.
"What kept you?" Hermione wanted to know as Harry spooned potatoes onto his plate.
"That kid wanted me to help him sell the pens," Harry told her. "Called it 'celebrity endorsement.'"
Ron whistled through his teeth. "Did you kill him, or just break both his legs?"
"Oh!" Hermione humphed, disgusted. "That just about does it! That Savio Bochelli is such a quack, I could just –"
Ron looked up from his food, laughing. "Does anyone actually say 'quack'?" he asked. "Besides you, of course."
Hermione continued as if he hadn't spoken. "—I could just spit," she fumed. "Of all the depraved schemes Hogwarts has seen, this is the worst!"
"Oh, I don't know," Harry said mildly, his anger eaten away by amusement. "I still think Tom Riddle manipulating Ginny in our second year was a little worse."
"At least that was a mature evil scheme! This is for money! This is just – it's puerile! It's unbelievable!"
"Are you going to eat that?" Ron asked, pointing at Hermione's steak.
She ignored him, busy rummaging through her bag. "I know I have my badge in here somewhere. Do you think I can give someone detention for being an ostentatious little sleaze?"
"Hermione, I've known you for six years," said Ron, his mouth half-full with Hermione's abandoned steak. "By now I think you can do anything."
Neville took Trevor out of his pocket and set him, with great care, onto the rock. I'll just keep an eye on him, he thought to himself, watching the toad crawl to the top of the rock, where a scrap of meager sunlight was shining determinedly, having fought its way through the dense trees.
Neville took a carrot out of his other pocket and tried to pull the lint off of it. Then he looked around the Forest. "Binky?" he called hopefully.
There was no answer from the dark trees. Even at noon, even just inside the Forest, where he was now, it was dim. He wondered if he dared to go further in to look. "Binky?" he called again. "Don't you want your carrot?"
There was a rustling far-off within the Forest, and soon Neville could hear hoofbeats. It wasn't long before Binky emerged, trotting between the trees with ease.
"Binky!" Neville cried with relieved exuberance. "I was getting worried! Wow, look at all that dirt. You must have found a really good patch of mud. But don't worry! I brought the brushes."
He held out the carrot to the horse, who ate it hastily. Then he bent down to pick up his currycomb. "Where's Trevor?" he said aloud, noticing the conspicuous lack of toad on the rock. The rock was now in shade, the sunlight having shifted to another area. Neville's brow furrowed as he searched for the toad. Binky snorted impatiently and butted Neville from behind, looking for more carrots.
"Trevor!" Neville cried, espying the toad among some leaves a few feet away, basking in the shifted sunlight. Okay, thought Neville, that's fine. Trevor will just follow the sun. No problem.
He turned and patted Binky on the neck. "Whew, you really are dirty, aren't you?" he said in surprise as a cloud of dust rose from the big horse.
Neville hummed a little tune as he curried Binky, pausing occasionally to rub the dirt out of his eyes. In addition to being filthy, the horse was also shedding, losing his long winter coat to make room for his shorter summer coat. Dirt and dirty hair had soon covered Neville from head to toe. But after half an hour of dedicated grooming, Binky emerged shining, white once more. Neville stood back to admire his work.
"Ah, there you are," he said cheerfully. "I knew it was you under that mess."
Suddenly, Binky's head jerked up, ears pricked and nostrils flared. Perplexed, Neville turned to see where he was looking. Through the trees, he could make out the shapes of some people coming towards them. Obviously unused to forging through nettles and branches,
"Yoo-hoo!" trilled a female voice, sounding strained but determinedly gregarious.
The leader of the group, and, Neville inferred, the speaker, finally came into view. Neville was surprised to see that it was Romilda Vane, Harry's stalker of the past year. What could she possibly want with me? he thought anxiously, wondering if she was still chasing Harry and thought of him, Neville, as a conduit to her prey.
She smiled prettily at him, pulling twigs out of her loose hair. Behind her came several other girls, whom Neville vaguely recalled seeing around before, always in her company.
"Oh, she's beautiful!" Romilda breathed. Neville followed her gaze and saw that she was looking at Binky, who, bored with the newcomers, was nosing around on the ground for something good to eat. He raised his head when she walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, peering at him in wonder. "I love horses," she murmured. She looked at Neville. "What's her name?"
"Er," said Neville, "he's actually not a she. Not that he's quite fully a he. But he's more of a he than he is a she."
Romilda was still stroking Binky's neck. "Oh. So… what's his name?" she persisted.
"Oh. It's Binky," Neville said.
"He's gorgeous," she said, and her posse made little noises of agreement. "How long have you had him?"
"Not long," said Neville, and, suddenly uncomfortably conscious of his appearance, he tried to use Binky's brushes to brush the dirt and hair off of his clothes. "My uncle won him in the lottery a couple of months ago, and he let me have him."
"Wow," Romilda said, her eyes wide. "He must reelly trust you to let you take him like that. Your uncle, I mean."
"Not really," Neville said, bemused. "He just doesn't like animals much. He said he couldn't think of anyone who loved – er, who was as good with animals as I was, so he said I should have him."
"Oh," she said. "You must be reelly, reelly good with animals, then."
"Oh, yeah," Neville said. "Really good with them." Her attention was giving his ego a boost, and he was beginning to feel more confident.
whoever they were were moving slowly and noisily.
"Hello?" called Neville, feeling worry creeping into familiar place. "Who's there?"
"So do you ride him?" Romilda wanted to know.
"Oh, sure," said Neville airily, although his conscience told him that calling a few bareback jaunts – on which he'd only ever gone so fast as a brisk walk (which had terrified him to his very soul) – "rides" was pushing it. "All the time," he added further to quell his more truthful side.
"That is so cool," Romilda said admiringly. She smiled at him. "Maybe you could teach me how sometime," she suggested.
"Sure I could," said Neville, thinking quickly. "But my saddle and stuff is actually not here right now. But later, sure. I'd be happy to."
"That will be lovely," Romilda said, smiling again. "The girls and I were just on our way to lunch when we remembered hearing that you were coming down here. Would you like to join us? I'm sure your other friends would understand if you sat with us just for today."
Neville swelled. She'd said "other" friends. That meant that she felt that they were friends, he and she! Wow! he thought. "Okay," he said, pretending to have had to consider it.
She smiled beatifically and led the way out of the Forest. Neville waited until her back was turned to scoop Trevor and his brushes up and to give Binky a hasty, embarrassed kiss goodbye. Then he hurried after her.
Hermione had still not returned by dinnertime that evening, so Harry, Ron and Ginny sat down at the Gryffindor table without her.
"I'm starving," Ron moaned, reaching for the potatoes.
"You're always starving," Ginny said dismissively. She pointed up at the teachers' table, cocking her head. "Who's that?"
Harry followed her finger and saw a hunched figure in black robes and a low-brimmed hat sitting beside Professor McGonagall. "No idea," he said.
The words were hardly out of his mouth before Dumbledore stood, clearing his throat. Silence settled on the Hall.
"A very good evening to you all," said Dumbledore, gazing benevolently around the room. "It is my sad duty to announce, by request of Mr. Argus Filch, that the ball-point pen has been added to the list of objects banned from Hogwarts."
The Great Hall stirred in susurration as people shifted and whispered to their companions. Quiet returned only when Dumbledore held up a hand, and it was a resentful, loud sort of silence.
"I must warn you, therefore, that any pens that are found by teachers, staff members, or student leaders will be confiscated and will not be returned to you. So, I advise you to stow them away until the summer vacation.
"I must keep you just a little longer from your meal," Dumbledore continued serenely as another wave of impatient murmuring rose. "But this news, at least, is of the good sort. It is my pleasure to present to you the former TriWizard Tournament champion of Durmstrang, and now, I believe, a full-time professional Quidditch player: Mr. Viktor Krum."
A round of applause followed this pronouncement, considerably more enthusiastically from the female portion of the audience than from the male portion, and Harry, Ron, and Ginny saw that the undistinguished figure in the low-brimmed hat was indeed Krum. As they watched, he raised his hand to give a reluctant little wave in acknowledgment of the applause.
Oh, great, thought Harry, and sure enough, he saw that an ugly expression had marred Ron's features.
"What is he doing here again?" Ron spluttered. "Does he really think anyone actually wants him here? Because no one does!"
He had the bad luck to have said this just before someone female and desperate in the crowd cried, "Marry me, Viktor!" His face twisted even more in disgust. He stood up from the table. "Let's just go," he said to Harry and Ginny, and without waiting for a response, he started to walk out of the Great Hall. Harry looked at Ginny.
"Oh, brother," she said, irked. She shoveled the spoonful of pie she'd been holding into her mouth and stood up. "We'd better go after him."
They rose and tried to sidle inconspicuously out after Ron, and were relatively successful at being unnoticed, since everyone was focused on Krum, but Harry thought he saw Dumbledore raise an eyebrow in mild query.
They climbed the stairs to Gryffindor House in turbid silence. Ron was clearly fuming. When they finally reached the common room, Ron looked around crossly and said, "Where's Hermione?"
Harry shrugged. "Probably in the library," he said.
"Probably not," Ron snapped. "Probably she's off with dear old Vicky. I'm going to go look for her."
He made to storm out, but Harry caught him by the shoulder and pushed him back.
"I think you're being a little unfair, Ron," said Ginny severely. "Hermione's with you now. She's not going to go running around with Krum. That's just not like her."
Ron opened his mouth to retort angrily, but Harry hastily interjected. "Look," he said. "Ginny's right. Hermione's probably in the library, I'm telling you. I'm sure she's just reading up on past Heads, seeing if she can get away with slapping Savio with detention. You stay here, Ginny and I will go and find her. Okay?"
Ron was still looking tempestuous, but he allowed himself to be steered toward an armchair, and he made no move to follow when Harry and Ginny left the common room.
Ginny snorted impatiently when they were safely outside and on their way to the library. "He can be such an ass," she said, shaking her head.
"Yeah, well," said Harry, "Merlin help us all if she is with Krum."
There was a pause, and then Ginny said fervently, "Yeah."
They were walking quickly, and they reached the library a few minutes later. They scanned the tables and shelves, but Hermione was nowhere to be seen. "Hermione?" called Harry, his heart sinking.
"Shh!" snapped Madam Pince, her brow furrowed in an angry 'V'. "This is a library, young man!"
"Sorry," Harry whispered. "You haven't seen Hermione Granger, have you?"
"No," said Madam Pince, annoyed, and she disappeared again.
Ginny sighed. "We'd better get back to Ron," she said heavily.
Harry followed her back up the stairs. "Maybe she went to the Owlery," he suggested hopefully.
"Yeah," agreed Ginny. "Or down to dinner."
They walked more slowly on the way back up, out of dread of Ron's reaction, but finally they clambered through the portrait hole, only to find Ron and Hermione standing on opposite sides of the room. Both looked positively irate.
"—told you already – a million times – I was NOT with Viktor!" Hermione was shouting.
"Yeah, right!" Ron yelled back. "Oh, I'm sure Dumbledore told you he was coming, you being Head Girl and all, and you've been out all day… CAVORTINGwith him, and then you didn't come to dinner because you were avoiding me!"
"I was not avoiding you! I was in the library, Ron! You know, that place where I practically live? I was checking up on past Heads, obviously! What is the matter with you?"
"This is not what I need right now!" howled Ron, gesturing wildly at his books, which were scattered on a table. "Look at all this bloody homework I have already, look at this! You choose today to go off with Krum?"
"I WAS NOT WITH KRUM!" Hermione squalled. She took a deep breath, and when she continued, it was in a calmer, more imperious tone. "And you have no one but your sorry, dilatory self to blame for all that work. I got mine done ages ago."
Harry and Ginny exchanged glances as Ron flared up in answer, and, without speaking, they turned and climbed back through the portrait hole to seek asylum elsewhere.
They were wandering aimlessly when Harry suddenly remembered that he'd promised to teach her how to perform Singing Charms. "Hey," he said, "let's go find an empty classroom."
"Ooh, Harry," said Ginny, giggling.
"Oh, no, not that," Harry said quickly. He paused. "Well, maybe a bit of that. But I'll teach you Singing Charms."
"Oh, capital," said Ginny in her normal voice. She flung out her arms theatrically. "I want to sing like Idina Menzel!"
But they soon found that finding an empty classroom, usually so simple at Hogwarts, was easier said than done. All of them, even those that hadn't been used for decades, seemed to be occupied. Finally, they found the Transfiguration room vacant, and they slipped inside.
"Perfect," whispered Ginny. "Let's—"
"Wait," hissed Harry. "We should check her office. Just in case."
They crept stealthily across the classroom to McGonagall's office door, which was open a crack, and peered carefully around it. What they saw inside made both their hearts leap, for indeed McGonagall was seated at her desk, her austere countenance bent in concentration over a stack of papers. By mutual and silent agreement, Harry and Ginny began to ease back from the door, lest McGonagall catch them watching her; but as she moved to scribble a grade on the paper before her, Ginny saw something in the professor's hand that elicited a loud gasp from her.
It was a ball-point pen. Long, and black, and silver-tipped… and quite unmistakable.
McGonagall's head had jerked up at Ginny's gasp. "Mr. Potter! Miss Weasley!" she cried. "What are you—"
She broke off, glanced at the implement in her hand and sighed. "Oh, I see. I… trust I can count on you not to report this to Mr. Filch?" she said.
"Oh—" Ginny began, embarrassed, but Harry interrupted her.
"Certainly you can, Professor," he said coolly. "But in return, we have a favor to ask."
McGonagall eyed him suspiciously. "And that would be?"
"Ginny and I are in something of a predicament," Harry went on. "A quagmire, you might even say. You see, I've promised Ginny that I'll teach her this spell… and there's a curious shortage of empty classrooms in the castle this evening."
"I suppose I should have learned to expect this sort of audacity from you by now, Potter," McGonagall said sharply. "I'm sure you're aware that unsupervised magic is not permitted at Hogwarts." Seeing that Harry was about to reply, she raised a hand and continued, "Therefore, I will assume that you merely intend to discuss the theory of the spell in question with Miss Weasley. This, of course, is highly encouraged." She rose from her chair and gathered the papers she had been correcting. "I will be in the teachers' lounge," she said. She paused, and then went on, "In the interest of avoiding interruption in the course of your discussion, I suggest that you lock the door."
And she swept past them and out of the classroom, closing the door behind her.
"Okay," said Harry when McGonagall had left. He rubbed his hands together, grinning. "Let's get started."
Ginny hopped onto the desk behind her. "Okay," she said cheerfully. "Make me a star."
Harry pulled his wand from his pocket. "Well, first of all, the incantation is 'Canterasio'," he said. "And the wand motion goes like this--" he demonstrated. "But you've got to be really careful. It's a tricky spell, and it's easy to get it wrong. And I've heard that it can go really wrong." Harry paused, turning his own counsel over in his mind. "You know, maybe we shouldn't be doing this. I don't want you to get hurt."
Ginny jumped down from the desk and locked her arms around his neck. "I'm shocked," she said. "Is this what Harry Potter looks like when he's backing out on a promise?"
"I'm not--" Harry began, but she cut him off.
"That kind of thing has serious consequences, Harry," she said severely. And so saying, she extricated herself from him and sat back down on the desk, arms folded stubbornly across her chest.
Harry cursed violently in the privacy of his own head. "Okay, okay," he relented. "But this is against my better judgement."
"I'll be careful," Ginny said angelically, unfolding her arms. She hopped off of the desk again and brandished her wand. Her forehead wrinkled for a moment. "What is it again?" Then her brow smoothed again. "Oh, I remember." She raised her wand. "Magnetasio!" she cried.
"No, no--!" Harry yelled, panicked, but it was too late. No sooner had the botched spell escaped Ginny's lips than Harry felt inexplicably drawn to her. He struggled, but the force controlling him was not something he knew how to fight. He took one step towards her, then another – and soon he was clinging to her.
Ginny stared at him. "What are you doing?" she demanded, looking down at his hands, which were clutching at her waist for dear life. "Did I get the spell wrong?" she wanted to know.
"A little," Harry replied through gritted teeth. He strained against the invisible, intense attraction.
"Which part?" Ginny persisted. "Was it the incantation? It was the incantation, wasn't it? Harry, are you okay? You're turning kind of purple."
"Yes, it was the incantation," Harry responded. He gave up what was obviously a losing fight and collapsed against her, his sides heaving.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, inspecting him with some perplexity. "You're holding on to me rather tightly. I may have bruises tomorrow."
"I'm sorry," Harry said into her neck. "It's not me. I think you may have accidentally done some sort of attraction spell."
"Oh," Ginny said, comprehension dawning. She paused. "Do you think you're the only one affected? Or is it... everyone?"
"I don't know," Harry replied. Considering the latter scenario, he had a sudden mental image of the entire male population of Hogwarts with its hands all over Ginny. "Maybe we should stay here until it wears off," he added quickly, disturbed. "Just in case."
"Good idea," she answered.
They stood in comfortable silence until Harry said, "I would just like to point out that I knew this was a bad idea."
"All right," Ginny said amiably. "But still, as far as faulty spells go, this one's not so bad. I mean, it could be worse."
"It could definitely be worse," Harry agreed. He thought he might be getting lightheaded from the smell of her hair.
"Want to play twenty questions?" Ginny asked after a while.
"Sure," said Harry. "You want to go first?"
Back upstairs, silence had returned to the common room. Ron and Hermione had run out of things to say to each other (and besides, both their throats were sore from all that yelling) and had been reduced to trading poisonous glares.
Finally, Hermione broke eye contact, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "Oh, whatever," she snapped. "Let me know when you're ready to apologize, Ron." And she stalked out of the tower. Ron stared after her, his mouth open, but he could not articulate appropriate words of outrage.
He stormed out of the common room and down the tower stairs. He was in a foul mood. Hermione! The girl drove him mad. Stupid brooding, good-looking, successful Krum with his stupid brooding and his stupid good looks and his stupid success. He thought he could just swoop in with his brooding and his good looks and his success and whisk his, Ron's, girlfriend away. Well, he had another think coming! As though Krum's return could simply annul Hermione's year-long running relationship with Ron!
But could it? Wasn't that what was worrying him?
Where the bloody hell were Harry and Ginny? He'd never needed someone to vent at more. Where could they have gone? The library? The Quidditch pitch?
No, wait – hadn't they said something earlier about Harry teaching Ginny some sort of spell later in the day? Probably they were holed up in some classroom somewhere, having a grand old time. They didn't know what was about to hit them – three hours of pent-up, frustrated anger and misery in Weasley form.
"Is it smaller than a breadbox?"
"Yes."
"Is it a Snitch?"
There was a pause. Then, sulkily: "Yes."
"What was that... six questions?"
"I can't help it," said Harry crossly. "I've run out of good ideas."
"All right," said Ginny. "Shall I go, then? Or maybe we should do something else."
"Like what?"
"Oh, I don't know. Is it wearing off yet, do you think?"
"No," said Harry shortly.
"Oh."
"My leg is cramping."
"Mine, too. Maybe we could get over to that desk and sit down," Ginny suggested. "Want to try?"
"I'm game if you are."
They shuffled awkwardly over to the desk, still as good as glued together. "Now what?" Harry asked when they were beside it.
"I'll try to sit down, and you just... follow," Ginny said.
"Well, that won't be a problem," Harry muttered. His face was still pressed immovably against Ginny's neck.
Moving with great care, Ginny eased herself onto the desktop. Harry had little choice but to follow, groaning mentally. His back bent horribly as the strange force held him fast to her.
"Oh, dear," Ginny said. "This isn't working. I'll try to bend a different way."
It was at this moment that Ron, who had been perusing the classrooms of the castle in search of them, found them.
"WHAT are you DOING to my SISTER?!" he yelled, his voice reverberating around the big room, loud as a Howler.
He started to stride angrily across the room to them, despite Harry and Ginny's panicked protests. He'd only gone a few paces when the force seemed to take hold of him, and it began to drag him, wide-eyed and struggling, towards Ginny.
"Oh, now, this is just sick," Ron moaned when he was firmly attached to the duo.
"I never thought the first boy to touch me there would be my brother," Ginny remarked cheerfully.
"Can we not talk about this, please?" snapped Ron. "What have you two been messing around with?"
"I was trying to do a Singing Spell, but I buggered up the incantation," said Ginny. "Instead of 'Canterasio,' I said--"
"Forget I asked," Ron interjected, disgusted. "Honestly!"
There was silence. Then Ginny said, "Want to play twenty questions?"
It was so late when Hermione returned to the common room that it was totally deserted. She sighed and started for the girls' dormitory. What a day! She was still so angry with Ron, she could scream. He had a lot of nerve, accusing her of – what had he said? Oh, yes – CAVORTING with Krum.
"Her-my-oh-knee?"
She spun around. Okay, so the common room wasn't quite deserted. "Hi, Viktor," she said resignedly.
"Are you okay, Her-my-oh-knee?" He was sitting in an armchair by the fire, now facing her where she stood at the foot of the stairs.
"I'm fine," she answered, crossing her arms over her chest uncomfortably.
"You don't sound fine," remarked Krum.
Hermione sighed. Well, he was right, wasn't he? She wasn't fine. And she did need someone talk to. She needed to vent lest she explode into a MILLION FRAGMENTS of FRUSTRATION. She could feel herself losing grip on sanity.
"It's just that I'm a bit angry, that's all," she conceded.
"With Ronald?" Krum asked.
"Yes. With Ron," Hermione agreed.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
"Is it... the Quidditch pitch?"
"No," said Ginny gleefully. "That was twenty!"
"All right, what is it, then?"
"It's... a CLOUD," Ginny answered as if divulging the very secret of life.
"Merlin, Ginny, how the HELL were we supposed to guess that?" Ron demanded. His mood, which had not been all that wonderful when he'd first come in, had steadily declined over the course of the last few hours, and he was now decidedly cantankerous.
"Hey," Harry said, interrupting Ginny's retort, "I think it's wearing off." He was suddenly able to distance himself from Ginny. It was only by a few inches, but he was no longer pressed against her.
Ron pulled himself away, too. "Hey, you're right," he said, sounding slighty more cheerful. "Whew."
It wasn't long before the attraction had atrophied into nothing, and the three exhausted Gryffindors were finally able to climb up the stairs to the common room, where the fire in the grate was beginning to burn itself out. Ron and Harry bade Ginny good night and climbed the stairs to their dormitory.
"It's got to be past two," Ron moaned, yawning sleepily. "Maybe we should just skiive off Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow. Hagrid would understand."
Harry had to admit that sleeping in sounded positively grand to him, but before he had a chance to say so, they had reached their room – only to find the last person in the world Ron wanted to see at that moment asleep on a cot.
"Krum?" Ron hissed at Harry, indignant. "Krum's been assigned to OUR room? Why? Why?"
Harry shook his head, shrugging wearily. "Let's just go to sleep," he said, not wanting Ron to start a fight with Krum – especially not at two o'clock in the morning.
Ron made rather a lot more noise pulling his sheets down and getting into bed than was necessary. "This is probably your fault," he whispered to Harry through the bed curtains. "Probably since you were both TriWizard Champions, Dumbledore figured he'd feel welcome here. Well...!"
Harry sighed, but Ron seemed to have finished, so he turned over and went to sleep.
"Good morning!"
Harry groaned as he drifted back into consciousness. Surely it couldn't be morning already? It felt as though he'd only just got to sleep.
He opened his eyes blearily to be confronted with the cheerfully smiling visage of Viktor Krum. "AaaAAaaargh," he said.
"Hello, Harry!" Krum said, ignoring Harry's yell. "It is very good to see you again!"
Harry peered over at the next bed. Ron was awake, too, sitting up against his pillows with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched.
"Is it morning already?" Harry asked, largely in order to avoid telling Krum that it was good to see him again, too.
"Yep," said Ron stonily. "And I'm never going to be able to get back to sleep now." He threw the covers off and knelt next to his trunk. "I need a Frog," he muttered by way of explanation.
Harry had to agree. If sleep was no longer an option, chocolate sounded like the best idea in the world.
"Oh, how interesting!" Krum exclaimed, inspecting the box in Ron's hands. "I have never seen Chocolate Frogs in English before. May I see, Ron?"
"Sure," Ron said airily, tossing the box onto Krum's cot. "I'm going down to breakfast," he told Harry, and he stalked out of the room.
"So," said Harry to Krum, not wanting him to feel unwelcome. "Are you sitting in on any classes or anything?"
"Oh, yes," Krum replied, busily reading the Chocolate Frogs box. He looked up. "This morning I am going to... Care of Magical Creatures, taught by Professor Hagrid."
"Oh," said Harry, his heart sinking. "Oh. Well, Hagrid's awesome. You'll have a good time."
Krum nodded in agreement.
"Listen, I'm going to go down to breakfast, too," said Harry, thinking that he'd better warn Ron. "See you in class."
"And what sort of chimerical beasts will we be – er – learning about today?" asked Draco Malfoy with transparently contained malevolence.
Hagrid gave Draco an exasperated scowl, partly because he was annoyed by the emphasis on "learning", but also because he wasn't sure what the word "chimerical" meant. "Tha's enough out of you, Malfoy," he said. Then, turning back to the rest of the class, he grinned and continued, "Got a real treat for yer today. Give us a sec."
He disappeared behind his house and emerged carrying a covered glass tank. He set the tank down on the grass and, pausing for dramatic effect, he whipped off the towel with a flourish.
There was a moment's silence, and then, as one, the class leaned forward to see what it was that was inside the tank. Several tiny furry insects were scurrying around on top of a large leaf, apparently surprised by the sudden influx of sunlight into their sheltered environment.
"Oh!" Hermione said, leaping back from the tank, waving her hands excitedly. "I know what these are!"
"Of course you do," Ron muttered in a low voice, regarding with seething hatred the adulating gaze with which Krum was watching Hermione.
"And vhat are they, Her-my-oh-knee?" Krum asked in a husky voice that was obviously meant to be seductive.
"Und vat are vhey, Her-my-oh-vee?" mimicked Ron so that only Harry could hear. He scowled.
Hermione was blushing. "Er, they're Glumbumbles," she told Krum hastily.
"Tha's right," said Hagrid, oblivious to the awkwardness around him. "Five points ter Gryffindor. Now, who can tell me what they do?"
Everyone looked expectantly at Hermione, but she was so embarrassed by Krum's attentions that she turned to Ron and buried her crimson face in his shoulder. Ron brightened up at this, slinging a protective arm around her shoulders and fixing Krum with a belligerent stare.
"Anyone?" Hagrid said, drawing the class's attention away from Hermione.
Finally, Lavendar Brown raised her hand. "Erm, I think I read something about them in Potions one time. Aren't they used in Dejection Drafts?"
"Excellent, Lavendar, another five ter Gryffindor," said Hagrid. "Glumbumbles are an ingredient in most potions that cause sadness. Who can tell me why?"
Hermione's muffled voice emitted from within the folds of Ron's cloak. Ron bent his ear to listen. Then, straightening up, he recited, "Glumbumbles secrete a fluid that causes melancholy."
"Good," Hagrid said, beaming, oblivious to Hermione's mortification, and he bent over to open the tank. "Now, we're going ter be wearing gloves, but be careful when you're holding 'em. You might start feelin' a bit sad, tha's all."
"Oh, yeah, great," scoffed Ron to Harry over Hermione's head. He jerked his head at Krum. "Like he needs anything more to keep him frowning." He puffed out his chest. "When we all know all he does is brood all day about losing Hermione to a real man."
Harry ignored him, too busy watching apprehensively as Hagrid opened the lid of the tank. "Now, " Hagrid grunted, "divide yerselves up into pairs an' come and get a Bumble and some nettles. Tha's what they like ter eat."
Krum made a beeline for Hermione, who was still hiding in Ron's cloak. Harry could see that the tips of her ears – all that was visible of her face – were still extremely red. He traded glances with Ron, and they agreed tacitly that, this time, Ron and Hermione would pair up, and Harry would be the one ousted from the trio.
Well, I'm not working with a Slytherin, Harry thought, and he looked around at his Gryffindor compatriots, all of whom seemed to already be paired up. Except for -- "Neville!" he called, waving an arm, and Neville came trotting over.
"Hi, Harry," said Neville. He held up the insect in his hand. "I've got our Glumbumble."
"Great," said Harry. "So are we just supposed to feed them?"
"Yeah, I think so," said Neville. He produced a bunch of nettles from his pocket and handed some to Harry.
"Thanks. So how are you?" Harry asked, trying to make conversation. "It seems like you're never around these days. What's going on?"
Neville nodded. "I've been spending a lot of my free time with Binky."
"Binky?"
"Oh, yes. My uncle won him in the lottery – he's a Granian, you see. He's really nice. Hagrid's letting me keep him in the Forest," explained Neville, uncharacteristically garrulous.
"Wow, neat," said Harry, injecting enthusiasm into his voice. His exhaustin was making it difficult to concentrate on Neville's new pet.
"Yeah," agreed Neville. "Actually, Harry, there was something I was hoping to talk to you about."
"Sure," said Harry. "What's up?"
"Well, you remember Romilda Vane?"
"How could I not?" Harry asked, making an effort not to grimace.
"Well, apparently she likes horses, and she's found out about Binky," said Neville. "And, well, she hasn't really been leaving me alone!"
Harry paused. He'd been about to say, "Well, just try not to let her bother you. She'll come up with other prey to obsess over soon enough." But Neville's tone as he'd said it hadn't been exactly disgruntled, had it? No, he'd sounded... proud. "That's so cool, Neville!" Harry said, taking a shot and praying he was right.
Neville's face lit up. "Thanks, Harry!" he said. "She's really nice, isn't she?"
"Oh, yeah, she's really nice," Harry lied. It doesn't count if you're lying to be nice, he told himself. He sighed and gave the Glumbumble the rest of his nettles.
The events in Care of Magical Creatures had converted what had been sizzingly angry tension between Ron and Hermione into mere strained relations. Although still not ideal, this – along with Krum's being hustled off by the giggling Lavendar Brown and Pansy Patil – allowed the trio to walk back to the castle and up the stairs to the common room in relatively comfortable silence.
But the reduction in tensions quickly proved to be nothing more than the calm before the storm. Krum was waiting for them when they reached the common room, and he had a murderous expression on his craggy face. "I vish to speak vith you," he said to Ron, his tone formal but threatening.
Ron looked defiant. "Oh, yeah?" he jeered.
"Now wait just a minute--" Hermione began, but neither boy was paying her any attention.
Harry looked around. The rest of the room was deserted – everyone was already at lunch. He clapped Hermione on the back. "I'm just going to go and... do something else. Good luck," he said apologetically, and then, feeling only the tiniest twinge of guilt, he skedaddled.
Hermione looked from Ron to Krum and back again. The two boys were glaring at each other with open hostility. Krum seemed to have been spurred into action by Hermione's display of partiality towards Ron in Care of Magical Creatures.
She wasn't sure which one of them started yelling first, because the second joined in so quickly after the first that their voices blended into one chaotic and incoherent mess of outrage and righteous indignation. She'd never realized any two people could be so LOUD. She put her hands over her ears in self-defense.
"ENOUGH!" she screamed over the riotous noise, cutting both boys off mid-tirade. She shut her eyes.
Silence, thick and heavy, returned. Hermione opened her eyes again and looked around to inspect the damage.
Ron was looking desolate, his ears tinged magenta and his hands deep in his pockets. Krum was busily examining his fingernails. Hermione could feel the awkwardness filling up the room and bit her lip, wondering what to say.
Regret gnawed at her. She should, she reflected, have been more understanding of Ron's jealousy from the outset, instead of provoking matters into this state. He was, after all, her boyfriend – and she did care about him – but sometimes he pushed her, irked her, into saying and doing things that she always wished, later, that she could take back.
The level of discomfiture in the room was now nearing the ceiling, and Hermione searched desperately for something to say to break the writhing silence. Suddenly, a memory came to her, as random memories often do in such sweaty situations, of a conversation she'd had with her father over the summer. He'd been trying to explain – she racked her brains – Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation. Force = ... she thought, wrinkling her forehead. F = mass 1 mass 2 divided by... no, wait, there's a constant somewhere in there. F = G, that's it, F = G mass 1 mass 2 divided by r squared! She felt a grin spread uncontrollably across her face. Oh, the triumph of recollection!
But wait: if she remembered correctly (and she thought she did), "r" represented the distance between the two bodies. And it looked to her as if she was standing a lot closer to Krum than to Ron.
That doesn't seem right, she thought muzzily. I should be standing closer to Ron. He's the boyfriend; the gravitational force between us should surely be greater than that between me and Viktor. Otherwise, what's the point?
She was aware that she wasn't thinking very clearly, but she'd rather be thinking hazily about something that was unimportant than be thinking excruciatingly clearly about the awkwardness in the room. She began to edge away from Krum and towards Ron, determined to shift the balance.
Ron was tapping his foot now, beating an agitated staccato on the stone floor. Hermione studied him. He was probably, what, a hundred and forty pounds? Whereas Krum was more sturdily built than Ron, stockier, and undoubtedly heavier. She sighed. She'd have to compensate for their disparity in mass by shortening the distance between her and Ron even further. She edged towards Ron some more, and she became so caught up in the physics of the situation, so intent on concentrating on gravitational force and not on uncomfortable reality – that before she knew how close she was getting to Ron, their shoulders were touching and both boys were staring at her as if she had gone absolutely, raving mad.
She felt the blush rising in her face, spreading down her neck and back to her ears. She didn't know what to say. She could feel the twisting discomfort eating away years of her life like acid.
And then Ron – thank the gods for the boy! She could have kissed him right there, in front of Krum and all – reached out and wrapped her shoulders in his lanky arm, and the familiar support gave her the dignity to fight back the blush and to tip her chin a little higher.
The atmosphere in the room had changed. Now, instead of three angry and uncomfortable individuals, it was two against one. Now, only Krum was angry and uncomfortable. She felt a surge of sympathy.
"I'm so sorry, Viktor," she said as gently as she could. "I'm with Ron now."
"But you said – you were angry--" Krum began, his brows drawing tightly together.
"I'm sorry," repeated Hermione. "But I really am with Ron."
Silence settled in the room again for a long moment, and then Krum nodded. "I understand," he said slowly. "I... vill go and pack. Goodbye, Her-my-oh-knee."
He turned and went up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Ron dropped a quick peck on the top of Hermione's head and then followed him upstairs.
Where is he going? Hermione thought desperately. Anxiety bit at her. Surely he wasn't going to... rub it in? No, she decided, not Ron. She collapsed in an armchair. All that anger and discomfort and physics had worn her out.
Ron found Krum folding his clothes neatly and putting them in his trunk. "Hey," he said, trying to sound offhand.
"Hello," Krum replied stiffly.
"You can have the Frogs," Ron blurted out. "I mean, I don't really want them. They're yours to keep," he said munificently.
"Thank you," Krum said. He picked up the box, which had still been on the bed, and studied it for a moment before sliding it into his trunk. Then he closed it and stood, levitating the trunk behind him.
"Vomen! I do not understand them," Krum declared. "I vish you better luck than I have had so far."
"Thanks," Ron said.
Krum paused when he got to the door and turned to face Ron again. "She likes Shakespeare," he said softly. Then he was gone.
Ron sat down on the bed after Krum had left, thinking hard. Shakespeare, he mused. What the bloody hell is Shakespeare?
He sat there for another few minutes, and then, seeing no other alternative, steeled himself and trotted downstairs to the library to look it up.
Hermione wandered down to the Great Hall, not wanting to see Krum when he finished packing and came down from the dormitory. Embarrassment had mixed with uncomfortable sympathy in her stomach to create a strong urge to avoid him. Besides, he probably didn't want to see her, either. He had already said "goodbye."
The Great Hall was in its lunchtime peak by the time she entered, and it was a tight squeeze to slip in across from Harry and Ginny at the Gryffindor table.
"Hey," said Harry. He looked apprehensively at her. "So how did it go with Krum?"
"Oh, that," said Hermione, as if she'd already forgotten all about it. "Erm. Fine, I guess."
Harry gave her a look that said he didn't believe her, but being Harry, he didn't push. "Okay," he said agreeably. "Ginny and I were just discussing who they should get to be Minister of Magic now that Fudge is in the loony bin."
"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "You can't call St. Mungo's that! It's not politically correct!"
Harry shrugged. "If I'm talking about Fudge, I can call it whatever I want."
Hermione had to agree with him there. "Well, I think they should get—." She cut off suddenly, catching sight of something behind Harry and Ginny. Her eyes narrowed in disgust. "Ohhh, that slimy little jerk," she breathed.
"What? Who?" Ginny wanted to know. She turned in her seat to look, and Harry quickly followed suit.
A clot of people was growing once again in the entrance to the Great Hall, and the three Gryffindors could just make out, there in the center of it all, the smiling countenances of Savio Bochelli and his round-faced companion.
"That's it," said Hermione furiousy, standing up to see over the heads of the people between her and Savio. "Is he selling those pens? Is he selling them? Can you see if he's SELLING THEM?"
It would have been a relief to be able to quell Hermione's rage, but Harry and Ginny could clearly see, much to their dismay, that an exchange did indeed seem to be taking place. Money was flowing in one direction, pens in the other. The people in the cluster were falling over themselves trying to press their Galleons into Savio's waiting palms.
"All right!" Hermione cried triumphantly. "He's definitely not allowed to be doing that. Those pens are on the list of banned objects. I've got him!"
She smoothed her shirt, took a deep breath, and started walking, sedately and confidently, towards Savio. She didn't look back to see whether Harry and Ginny were following her. Harry looked at Ginny. Ginny looked at Harry.
"Should we go along?" Ginny whispered.
"Are you kidding? Miss Hermione going bonkers on some idiot who tried to get me to participate on his dumb scheme?" Harry pushed back his chair. "Never. Coming?"
They had to jog to catch up with Hermione, whose pace looked deceptively slow. She had a glint in her eye that should have, by rights, killed – or at the very least, caused internal hemorrhaging. But no one in the crowd paid her the slightest attention, all too busy trying to get their pen fix. She tried to push her way through the growing mass of people to get to Savio, but she was shoved back repeatedly. "Wait your turn!" snarled a desperate sixth-year girl.
"Excuse me!" Hermione screeched, losing patience. "This is your Head Girl speaking! ANYONE WHO DOES NOT GET OUT OF MY WAY IN THREE SECONDS IS GETTING A MONTH OF DETENTIONS! I AM NOT JOKING! ONE... TWO..."
Hermione broke off, because at the prospect of a month of detentions, "two" was enough. The path to Savio was suddenly miraculously cleared. Hermione marched up to the Italian boy, who remained cool and collected even in the face of her wrath. He gave her a jaunty grin as she approached. Both the illegal contraband and the money had disappeared from sight.
"Head Girl!" Savio cried with feigned delight. "What a pleasure it is to see you once again. And how can I be of service to you today?"
"You've gone too far this time, Savio," Hermione said. "Give me the pens."
"And the money," came Ron's voice from behind Harry. "Give her the money, too. We're – er – we're confiscating it, too."
"When did you get here?" Harry hissed to Ron.
"Just a second ago. I saw the crowd," he hissed back.
"Savio, what you're doing is against the rules," Hermione said, ignoring Harry and Ron. "You need to give me the pens."
"I do have the common good at heart, you know," Savio said, an altruistic (and, Hermione suspected, spurious) gleam in his eye. "Stopping me would be to the detriment of all."
"Oh, I'm sure. Tell me, why is it so advantageous to the common good to be charged a hundred times what something's worth? I'm a Muggle-born, Savio. I know how much pens cost. You can't fool me." Hermione had her hands on her hips and was looking at Savio as if he were a rat trying to struggle its way out of a trap.
"Well, all right. They're not exactly worth a Galleon each. But such is the nature of supply and demand. Show me a man who, having the necessary tools, wouldn't turn a situation to his advantage, and I'll show you a man who is either insane or lying or both. And seriously – and I'm being perfectly candid here – how is this a bad thing? Pens are so useful. So handy. Why should we, wizards, be going to all the bother of using quill and ink when, to Muggles, this little miracle is as pedestrian as a man walking his dog on the sidewalk? Let me be concise – why are they afforded such luxury when we are not?"
"Why are we afforded the luxury of magic when they are not?" Hermione countered. She shook her head. "Life's not equal, Savio, and it's not fair. You can't have everything."
"I can't say I appreciate this blatant censure," Savio retorted, losing some of his composure.
"That's okay," said Hermione sweetly. "You don't have to appreciate it. You just have to accept it."
"Listen--" Savio began, but Hermione had tired of playing games.
"If you don't give me the pens now, you're going to land yourself in a world of trouble," she said in a steely tone. "A month of detentions is just the beginning."
Savio looked like his world was crashing down around him, but he was clever enough to know when he'd lost. "Fine," he said shortly. Without his winning salesman smile, he just looked like an ordinary fourth year. He turned out his pockets reluctantly.
"Thank you," said Hermione, giving him a sunny smile. "You're making the right decision."
"Sure," said Savio dejectedly, turning to go. "See you around, Head Girl."
In the grate of the common room upstairs, the fire sputtered, spat, and then, at a flick of Hermione's experienced wand, flared into roaring, blinding life. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione watched it devouring its wood in comfortable silence for several beats. It was so late that they had the common room entirely to themselves.
Ginny released a sigh, leaning her head back against Harry. She was perched on the arm of his chair. "What a long day," she said faintly, gazing unseeingly into the flames.
"Two days," Harry corrected her. "Can you believe it was only yesterday morning that we met Savio?"
"That little prick," muttered Hermione.
"Let it go," said Harry soothingly. "You got him, didn't you?"
Hermione nodded, mollified, and silence once again reigned supreme, a feeling of sleepy contentment settling over the four Gryffindors like a warm blanket.
Ron saw his chance and cleared his throat. Now or never, he thought.
"Action," he pronounced proudly, aiming a sidelong look at Hermione, "is the soul of wit."
The others stared at him in perplexity.
"What?" said Ginny after a few seconds (during which Ron's ears darkened in hue by several shades).
"You mean, 'Action is eloquence,'" said Hermione, understanding dawning on her face. "Or 'brevity is the soul of wit.' The first is from Coriolanus, I believe, and the second is from Hamlet. It's not really a mix-and-match situation. Although one does wonder what Shakespeare would think of action being the soul of wit."
"Oh," said Ron, abashed. He was still rather pink. Hermione came back to reality.
"Have you been reading Shakespeare?" she wanted to know. "I love Shakespeare! You should read Much Ado about Nothing. It's my favorite." Her eyes lit up as an idea was born in the plunderous depths of her mind. "Oh! We should read it together!"
Ron brightened up. "Okay," he agreed, and he draped an arm, slightly possessively, around her shoulders.
Ginny yawned. The quartet returned to gazing into the firelight, and remained that way, rocking gently in the armchairs, comfortably entwined in each other's company, until the flames crackled into embers and the embers flickered into darkness.
Savio sat sullenly in the dull gloom of his dormitory. What a nerve that Head Girl had! Who, in all truth, had he been hurting, anyway? Was it so illegal for a man to try to make a Knut? Was this, or was it not, a capitalist society? No one was more pro-capitalism and anti-socialism than him, Savio Bochelli. No one! And he wasn't sure he liked the spiralling direction (as he perceived it) the world was taking towards the latter. The righteous indignation of a self-professed Good Citizen filled him to the brim, swelled his spirit and choked his capacity to recognize the less-than-ethical nature of his recently thwarted business endeavors.
He stared at the long, deep blackness that stretched out from the foot of the bed on which he was seated. He hadn't bothered to illuminate the room. The darkness matched his dark mood.
The indignation within him gradually evolved into stubborn determination. Would he be stopped so easily? Would he give in at the first obstacle? Would he relinquish his power at the mere request of one overbearing Head Girl? No! They could take away his pens – he'd find something better! Something even more attractive to the wizarding masses than fluid writing ease!
But what?
His brow wrinkled artistically as he pondered. The question, he decided, was this: What elements of everyday wizarding life, besides quills and ink, were outdated and inconvenient enough to warrant replacement?
He was still deliberating – becoming exasperated now and beginning to worry that he'd never be able to outdo his pen-flourishing self – whe the dormitory door creaked open and his former assistant, round-eyed Owen, entered. He jumped theatrically upon glimpsing Savio.
"Good Merlin, what are you doing here in the dark like this?" he squeaked. He trotted over to the candles on the wall and began to light them, one by one.
Savio blinked. Then he blinked again, slowly and deliberately. "Owen," he said carefully, as though afraid of chasing away an emerging thought, "Muggles don't still use candles, do they?"
"Good heavens, no!" Owen said, as if the very idea were laughable. He did not, however, laugh – because that would have been scoffing at something Savio said, and assistants really shouldn't do that sort of thing to their superiors unless that want to get replaced.
"So... what do they use instead?" Savio probed, still in the same cautious tone.
"Oh, electric lighting, of course," Owen said. "Or the electric torch for more on-the-go occasions."
"Portable. Intriguing," Savio breathed. "These electric torches, are they terribly expensive?"
"Oh, no," Owen said. "They're really quite cheap these days."
Abruptly, Savio leapt off of the bed. "Owen, my boy," he declared, "we are going to take Hogwarts by storm!"
Owen brightened up. "Like with the pens?" he wanted to know.
"The pens? The pens? What pens?" Savio laughed. "The pens were NOTHING, Owen, not compared to this! THIS is going to be sensational! They'll be talking about it for YEARS to come! Decades! Centuries! Millenia!" He paused and continued, in a weightier, quieter tone, "And I will be rich. And not just rich! So FILTHY rich, I'll have to bathe every ten minutes. In money! Oh, yes, I'll take a bath in Galleons every day! And I'll have a swimming pool of Sickles! Oh! The very possibilities!"
Candlelight waltzed with ambition in the glassy depths of Savio's eyes as he expounded, while, unaware and unsuspecting, Hogwarts slumbered peacefully on.
Author's Note:
The words, "WHAT are you DOING to my SISTER?" were originally spoken with the given inflection by Ross from Friends.
The words, "When we all know all he does is brood all day about losing Monica to a real man," were originally spoken by Chandler from Friends.
Thanks for reading! I appreciate your reviews.