CHAPTER 8
A/N: In this chapter, there are references in
the domain of relationships which are based on book 6 :-)
Impatient mental patient: thank you very much for pointing out the continuity error with Galleons in a Muggle bar :-) The mistake has been corrected.
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Ron jabbed at a piece of bacon, stuffed it into his mouth and shoved his breakfast plate away. He gave Harry a significant okay-I'm-ready-to-tell-you-what-happened look and stood up. Harry got up, raised an apologetic eyebrow at Hermione, who speared a piece of sausage with unnecessary violence, and followed Ron out of the hall.
"It was a fiasco," Ron said after a minute of silent walking, or rather, stamping on his part.
Harry shook his head questioningly.
"Krum was there," Ron growled, "and Hermione asked him if he would like to join us at our table. He said yes."
"Krum was there?"
"Yeah. Quidditch match in London. Team's been accommodated in Hogsmeade. He was having a drink in The Three Broomsticks."
"Ron…Krum is only a good friend of Hermione's."
"Good friend?" Ron, who was already tall, seemed to tower with dented pride.
"They were talking to each other and I was just sitting there like a stoned goblin!"
Harry suspected that Ron had actually retreated from the conversation himself because of jealousy.
"And afterwards, Hermione accused me of being grouchy and stuff." His ears reddened with embarrassment.
"Ron, mate, Hermione likes you. I guess that when you…er…got quiet during the conversation, she actually wanted you to sort of override Krum and get back her attention."
Ron groaned.
"You are so lucky you're gay, Harry. You don't have to worry about how girls tick."
Harry laughed.
"Lucky? I have the feeling that I'm the only gay guy in this school…At least, the only guy who has come out."
"Any bloke you fancy?"
Harry shook his head.
"Nope."
"Choosy, eh?"
"Hey, even if I did find a bloke, I wouldn't know whether he's gay or not."
"What about this so-called gaydar thing?"
"Still needs to be fine-tuned, I guess. Hasn't had much opportunity to be in action. Now about Hermione, Ron. How about asking her out again or something?"
"That won't work, mate. We…had a bit of a tough conversation on our way back to Hogsmeade."
"You quarrelled?" Harry asked directly.
"Yes, she said that I shouldn't have asked her out if I didn't mean it. I told her that I did mean it and that she was getting worked up about nothing. She said that Krum knew how to behave like a gentleman." Ron snorted bitterly and kicked the wall.
"Ron, just let a few days pass and talk things over with her. Just tell her you like her. How long do you want to keep dragging this on?"
Ron went scarlet.
"Tell her I like her? I can't possibly do that, Harry."
"Well, find another way to tell her. Just…make it clear to her, Ron."
"Who says she'll have me?" Ron muttered, staring at the floor.
"I say so, Ron," Harry said steadily, patting his friend's arm, "because she cares for you."
"As a friend."
"I'm sure it's more than that, Ron."
"Yeah, well, I'll see. I'll follow your suggestion and let things settle down for two or three days."
But that evening, it was with a sinking feeling that Harry watched Ron strike up a conversation with Lavender Brown. Hermione's face fell and she got up to go to the girls' dormitory.
"Hermione, please wait," Harry said softly, wondering why his two friends had to be so obtuse.
"What is it, Harry?" she asked him tersely, clutching a book to her chest.
"Ron told me about your date."
"Oh," Hermione said glacially, casting a withering look at the red hair sticking over the upper edge of the sofa.
"'Mione, Ron likes you very much. He's just jealous of Krum, and he's insecure because of his older brothers, and Ginny being the only girl after generations and rows of boys, because of me and my fucking fame…"
Hermione didn't say anything, but her eyes softened.
"You're going right back there, 'Mione, and you're going to join the conversation."
"I can't do that, Harry!"
"You will," Harry said grimly, taking the book from her and steering her away from the staircase to her dormitory, "because you and Ron are meant for each other and it's perfectly obvious to me."
Hermione blushed deeply.
"Harry, I-"
"Go. Do what Ron should have done during your date."
Hermione looked confused.
"Come on, know-it-all," Harry said affectionately, giving her a brotherly hug, "you know what I mean. Ron was too, you know, resigned to get back into the conversation between you and Krum…"
She smiled at him.
"You're so sweet, Harry." She squared her shoulders and marched towards the sofa. Harry crossed his fingers and went up to his dormitory to work on his wooden bird. He picked up a knife with a V-shaped blade in order to carve the feathers. The butternut wood was soft and easy to carve, and of a warm brown shade. It was easy to forget that he had Occlumency the next evening…
When Ron joined him in the dormitory, Harry put aside the bird, which he hoped would be over in eight or ten days. To Harry's consternation, Ron was looking rather disgruntled.
"Hermione just barged in on our conversation. Chased Lavender away," he said. Harry gritted his teeth.
"For Merlin's sake, Ron, just kiss her!"
"What? But…I mean…I can't…She would-"
"I think action might achieve better results than words in this case," Harry said.
"You really think so?"
"Yes, I do!" Harry exclaimed, waving his chisel in Ron's face.
"Er…Okay," Ron said, eyeing the chisel anxiously.
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Severus's mouth was a thin steely line as he waited for Harry to appear for his Occlumency lesson. He could still feel the hustler's body underneath him. The sordid exchange of money when it was over. The hustler looking at him with a gaze which clearly said that the only way people would ever sleep with Severus Snape would be for the sake of money. Severus did not blame him in the least. The man had been very honest, counting the money and holding out his palm.
"You've given me more than you owe me."
Severus had stared at him, wondering how he could afford to be honest when he was doing the work he did.
"Keep it. Your life's challenging enough," he had muttered.
The man had shrugged.
"Thanks. You get used to it. You've got to."
And back in the dungeons, Severus realised how used to the dungeons he was. How used he was to being a hermit, giving and receiving hatred.
There was a knock on the door. Severus opened it with a non-verbal spell, and Harry Potter walked inside. Severus noted that the youth's startlingly green eyes seemed to be the only vibrant colour in the room. Potter had grown, he thought. He was not tall – he would never be tall. His stature suited his light build. The young wizard was looking at him warily, waiting for him to say something.
"You need a book to read, Potter. Plunging directly into the subject matter was obviously too much for your cerebral processes to digest. Reading, Potter, will save rather than create a waste of time in your case."
He rose and gave Harry a book.
"Thank you, sir."
Severus's mouth twisted into a sarcastic smile.
"You are learning manners. How admirable."
Harry turned the book over carefully, passing his hand across the old cover and reading the title: Mastering the Art of Mental Magic.
"You will have read the whole book by next week," Severus said. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but he closed it and nodded.
"I will try. Sir."
"Trying is not enough," Severus said, suspicious about Harry's uncharacteristic compliance. "Please sit over there and start reading book. May I add that I want the book back without the slightest scratch on it."
"That, sir, will be a rather difficult task," Harry observed, looking pointedly at a series of scratches on the cover.
"Without the slightest additional scratch on it," Severus said coldly.
Harry nodded and sat down at the desk which Severus had provided for him. He opened the book carefully. Severus watched him with narrowed eyes before returning to his own desk and grading a stack of Potions essays. The minutes crept past. At the end of the lesson, Severus ordered Harry to close the book.
"I will be asking you questions about this book, Potter. Quite a few questions. Dismissed."
Harry stood up and left the room, holding the book underneath his arm.
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