Chapter 2
The Heat Thickens
The Hogwarts Library – or The Nap Room, as it was officially known by the less motivate pupils – was a haven of knowledge. In total, it boasted over seventy thousand volumes of books pertaining to a variety of subjects from magical kite-making all the way to Charms to make one more charming. It also had a different name: Hermione's Temple of Tranquility (or Hermione's Second Bedroom, as Harry and Ron would call it, much to the brunette's annoyance). One could get lost for hours, days, months – even years in the endless tomes. Not willingly, of course. No, it was for the simple fact that most students had it on their own good authority that spending time in the Library when the time for homework was past was deadly dull.
Hermione, though, was one of the rare living souls who would willingly trounce herself with volume after volume of books for hours and call it "playtime." Most people called her mental and she knew it, but it didn't faze her so much anymore. No one understood that learning was just a natural part of who Hermione Granger was. Just like some witches and wizards, like Harry and Ron, identified with Broomsticks and flying, Hermione's pot of gold was spouting facts about the Goblin War of 1656 at rapid speed and reciting the precise ingredients and directions for creating the Blood Replenishing Potion without the aid of a book.
Learning was a part of her. Even to this day, she could never adequately put into words what her relationship with learning really was. All the brunette knew was that her bookish tendencies brought her comfort and she didn't gain nearly as much pleasure from a good cup of tea as she did from her textbooks.
That was why the resident Bookworm of Gryffindor was holed up in her usual spot, towards the back near the Runes section, stuck in yet another book (Practical Application of Glamour Charms) before her Arithmency class next hour. She also happened to be seething.
Instead of calming her, like they normally did, the books did little to calm her absolute disdain for Ronald Weasley at the moment. And Harry wasn't that far behind, either! The nerve of them, throwing a party in the Common Room! On a school night. Serving alcoholic beverages on school grounds – of all things – to underage student. On a school night. Sacrilege! If that wasn't unforgivable enough, Ronald then had the nerve to call her a kill joy, which resulted in Finnigan and the rest of the drunken Gryffindors in the room to call her a buzz-kill!
It wasn't the being labeled a buzz-kill that had Hermione so on edge. No, it was more than likely the fact that Harry had heard all of this and had just stood there. Well, laid there might have been more accurate. Granted, he may have been drunk off his mind at the time but Hermione had seen the messy-haired git laughing at her! Both of them were! Having her two best friends sit there and do nothing while she was being patronized by her drunken housemates was as low as it got for Hermione Granger. She believed in honour and decency; instead, she was rewarded with witless accusations and no defence.
Neither of them even had the decency to apologize, which made the humiliating situation just that much worse. Of course, Ron probably didn't even have any recollection of it, if his priceless, deer-in-the-headlights, bewildered stare following the massive slap she had bestowed on him at breakfast had shown. Harry, she wasn't so sure about. He had been looking far too smug and full of himself than for his own good. To her, it could only mean that firstly, he remembered and found the whole situation hysterical, or secondly, that he simply liked to see Hermione worked up.
It didn't matter though. She had made up her mind and was not going to speak to either of them until they racked up the courage and apologized. Of course, if they couldn't remember, Hermione was also aware that she could be in for a rather lonely rest of the year...
Slamming the large, dusty tome in front of her shut, Hermione shoved the book aside and buried her head in her hands. They were only four weeks into the school year and she was nearing her wits end. The homework that the Professors doled out was piling higher and higher and Hermione, already taking Advanced Runes and double Arithmancy, didn't need drama with Harry, Ron and her housemates to add to the load. If she was going to stick to her self-imposed exile of both boys, than that meant her social circle had been cut down to Ginny, Parvati and Lavendar: All girls. Hermione, even though she got on very well with her girl friends, was not one for gossip and glamour as were Parvati and Lavendar, or sports and mischief, as was Ginny.
She would probably be seeing more of the library this year than ever. Which was sad, really, considering that it was her last year at Hogwarts and all...
She didn't have much time to contemplate this, though, as she noticed the shadow of a tall, towering person stretched over her desk. Hermione looked up, hand going instinctively to her wand, and noticed to her immense displeasure, Draco Malfoy. He towered above her with his patent smirk on full-blast. Honestly, were his muscles frozen in that position or what? Hermione heaved a sigh of annoyance and fought the urge to hex him to pieces right then and there.
'Fancy a bit of stuffing with your table there, Granger?' The arrogant Slytherin asked in a booming voice. Hermione rolled her eyes.
'Sod off, Malfoy.' She elected to ignore him and moved to reclaim her recently discarded book when the blonde-haired boy beat her to it and hefted it from her grasp with no effort at all. She looked murderous now, but he paid her no mind.
'Practical Application of Glamour Charms?' He smirked at her in his typical Malfoy way that made him number one on Hermione's Most Hated list. 'Primping for the Yule Ball, Granger? If you ask me, you could use a good primp. Maybe do something about that gigantic shrub that's been growing out of your head your whole life.'
That was the last straw. Hermione shot up out of her chair, and held her wand threateningly under Malfoy's chin. It was now Draco Malfoy's turn to feel the true rage of Hermione Granger.
'Listen, you slimy, good for nothing ferret!' She hissed. 'I'm the Head Girl and you are really toeing the line now, Malfoy. If you don't get out of here right now and stay the hell away from me, I will personally deduct two hundred points from Slytherin House for slandering the Head Girl and harassment! Are we clear?'
Her threats, though, did not seem to frighten the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy at all. Rather than sod off, as she had hoped he would, her threat only seemed to encourage Malfoy.
'I meant no offence, Granger. I was merely stating a fact.' The Slytherin said nonchalantly. When Hermione pressed her wand tip even harder against his chin, the Slytherin stepped back, hands up defensively but, as usual, that infuriating smirk never left his face. 'What do you know, Potty called it spot on this time!' He declared triumphantly.
Hermione, nostrils flared dangerously, looked annoyed at Malfoy. 'What are you on about now, Malfoy?'
Malfoy's face suddenly lit up in delight. 'You mean, you don't know what they're saying about our dear, Head Girl today, Party Foul?'
'Party Foul?' Hermione repeated, confused. Her wand was still trained on Malfoy and he treaded carefully along, so as not to be cursed within an inch of his life. Not like it's worth much anyway.
'Why, yes. That's what they're calling you.'
'And what does this have to do with Harry?'
Malfoy only smirked in response.
Hermione considered his words for a minute. 'Potty called it spot on.' Obviously it was something about Harry. But what did that have to do with her suddenly being a 'Party Foul'? Malfoy must have been losing his mind... Hermione suddenly froze. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked as if he could have burst with joy at finally getting one over Hermione Granger.
It suddenly dawned on her! Hermione's eyes flashed with utter rage. Harry Potter, you are so, so, dead! Her wand hand began to tremble with suppressed rage and suddenly, Malfoy looked less smug about his supposed victory. He conscientiously took a step back. Still, not to be outdone by Granger, he decided to shoot back another barb.
'Calming Draught for your nerves, Granger?' He had the audacity to sarcastically proclaim to the furious Head Girl.
'Two hundred points from Slytherin!' Hermione shouted so loud it drew the attention of a couple Hufflepuffs a few stacks down. 'Draco Malfoy, get the hell out of here!'
Knowing where he was beaten, the blonde-haired Malfoy pranced arrogantly out of the Library as he was told, the loss of points not seeming to phase him. A very large part of Hermione hoped that with this victory given to him at last, he could finally sod off and die in peace. She was absolutely livid.
Had Harry really labelled her that way? Was she now the laughing stock of the school because of someone she thought was her best friend? Yes, she was being dramatic now and she knew it but being kept up half the night by a rowdy party, going downstairs to break said party up only to be assaulted by members of her own House and being able to do nothing about it, despite being the Head Girl, then having a run-in with her best friends the following morning, Hermione thought that she was dealing with the situation admirably. There had been witches who had killed wizards for far less.
If not for her keenly-attuned senses to the time when class typically started, Hermione would have been late for her second-hour Arithmancy class. Conscious of the time, she aggressively shoved her books in her bags and stomped up to the Eastern Wing. She would deal with a certain dark haired wizard after class.
(~*~)
While Hermione was faithfully taking notes and plotting ways to kill him in Arithmancy, Harry was sitting through another boring Charms lecture with Professor Flitwick droning on and on about, ironically, Memory Charms. The short and stout Professor assured them that they wouldn't be practising them in class given their dangerous nature but the theory behind them was important to know, since it was not only a Ministry standard for dealing with muggles who may have seen what they shouldn't have, but they were also a common weapon in the depraved acts of mad Wizards.
It had begun interestingly enough, with Professor Flitwick explaining that with a strong enough mind, the tampering effects of a Memory Charm could be resisted. It all had to do with one's mental stamina, Flitwick explained in his squeaky, enthusiastic tone. Harry found the whole theory behind it to be very similar to Occlumency. By the time Flitwick had gone off the proper way to cast one and on to the bit about mental shields, Harry had immediately tuned him out.
Flanked by Ron, who was sitting next to Seamus, both boys looked just as bored as he was by the whole lesson. He began to consider his options. None of them wanted to be here and besides, Harry reckoned that since he was an accomplished Occlumens already, he had a decent handle on the whole Memory Charms thing. Incidentally, he had also read through the chapter dealing with the subject three nights ago during one of his and Ron's always ill-fated study vigils (Hermione wouldn't let either of them leave her until they at least proved they'd digested most of the chapter).
Pulling a spare leaf of parchment out of his book, Harry silently cast a severing charm on a bit of it and hastily scribbled down on it. He balled it up as quietly as possible, so as not to draw the Professor's attention.
'Psst,' Harry threw the crumbled piece of parchment at Ron to get the redhead's attention. Ron, shot him a questioning look. Harry gestured to the bit of parchment that had bounced off him, onto his desk and Ron, knowingly, unscrapped it.
It read: 'Wanna bunk off?'
The redhead's eyes glowed and he nodded with his fullest approval. Harry pointed at him to ask Seamus. Ron quietly mouthed the question to the Irish boy and he, as well, decided that enough was enough with this stupid lesson.
It was usually difficult to ditch a class, especially in the small Charms classroom. If it were the twenty Gryffindors alone, Harry would have considered it suicide and called the operation off. However, Seventh Year Advanced Charms was mixed with Ravenclaw and as such, there were about fifty students in total. Couple that with the fact that Harry, Ron and Seamus were sitting in the back and that Flitwick had neglected to take roll that morning, it was easy enough to do if you were smart about it. Harry had seen enough people do it before to know how to cut out effectively which, albeit, wasn't something he did very often anyway.
The moment the little Professor's back was turned to the drawing board; all three boys silently crept out of the open archway, successfully making their way out unnoticed (except by Dean Thomas who looked a little put off that he wasn't invited).
Once they were a safe distance down the hall and they were certain they were not in any danger of running in to any Professors, did they dare speak to one another.
'What do you guys wanna do?' Ron asked, his voice echoing in the deserted hall. The corridors were all empty since classes weren't set to let out for another hour or so.
Harry shrugged. 'Dunno. I was thinking of going to the Common Room and going over a few drills I was thinking about for Quidditch this year. What do you guys think?'
Ron, just pleased to be out of the classroom, agreed and so did Seamus. When they arrived in the Common Room, they were pleased to find that it was still empty, which would allot them the space and privacy to do as they pleased.
They chose a table by the window with three easy chairs. Ron collapsed into one dramatically.
'Blimey. Only two classes and I'm already ready to be done.'
Harry smirked. 'Don't get too comfortable. We've got Divination with the Snakes next.'
'Merlin's balls! I thought we had Nap Time with Hufflepuff on Mondays!' Seamus exclaimed.
'I'm afraid not, mate. Plus we have them again in Potion later.'
Ron groaned and Harry, chuckling, pulled out a makeshift chart from his bag and placed it onto the table for both boys to see. At the prospect of Quidditch, they left their troubles at the door and immediately set out to tweak the schedule placed before them. Harry was rather proud of it. With nothing to do over his first hour and finding flying surprisingly unfulfilling without anyone else along, Harry had instead used the time for something more constructive. He devised a training schedule for the Gryffindor House team that he hoped would prove to be rigorous and effective.
Ron and Seamus seemed to be impressed.
'Dang, Harry. This is going to be one bloody hard season if we keep this up year-round.' Ron noted, referring to the segment of the chart that had lined out a running routine.
Although Quidditch was played on brooms, Harry felt that the whole team could benefit hugely from a true physical routine instead of the run-of-the-mill scrimmages on brooms. Their reflexes would be improved, they would be more agile in the air and the Beaters would have more strength to direct the Bludgers. In short, this routine was designed to give them that extra edge and anything that could put them further ahead of Slytherin House was good in anyone's book.
'"Two laps around the lake daily in the morning and a team run of four laps around the Quidditch pitch at the start of every practice,"' Seamus whistled. 'It's going to be a tough sell, mate, but ya know, I think it might just work.'
Harry nodded. 'Yea, I figured I'd need some support in selling this one to them. I was going to run it by everyone today, actually. I'm glad you guys like it.'
'It's brilliant! I mean, mental because of all the running, but brilliant! Slytherin won't stand a chance at all this year!'
'But how are you going to make sure everyone actually does the running?' Ron asked seriously. Typical Ron, Harry thought. When it came to classes, he couldn't be bothered to work out the knots but make it about Quidditch and he was all business.
'I thought about that and there isn't really any way that we can be sure whether they are or not. I mean, we could always ask that if someone doesn't see a team member up and ready to go in the morning, they can tell us but I doubt anyone's going to go and tattle on someone. So I figured we'd probably be able to tell just as well by the fitness of the team. 'Reckon that after a couple weeks we have people about to kick it after two laps around the pitch, that should tell us that they're not sticking to the regime.' He explained it carefully and thoroughly. Seamus and Ron both nodded in agreement.
Seamus was about to comment when suddenly, they heard the portrait swing open. Harry glanced at the clock and felt his heart stop with a bolt of fear. Classes weren't supposed to let off for another hour, no one should be here now. The horrible realization that it could be McGonagall coming to bust them quickly dawned on him and Harry paled slightly. He didn't even want to imagine how much trouble they would be in if they were caught bunking off.
It turned out to be none other than Dean Thomas. The dark-skinned Gryffindor looked slightly miffed but none too cross as he approached them.
'Thanks for letting me in on it too, guys.'
Harry grinned sheepishly at him. 'Sorry, mate. You were on the other side of the room and Flitwick was on your side too. We couldn't risk it.'
'Yea, that's what you get for being such a grumpy, old-arsed loner,' Seamus teased. Dean threw a stinger at him that nipped the Irish boy right in the foot. He chuckled when Seamus jumped and did and awkward little jig from the pain which, consequently, caused Harry and Ron to both laugh as well.
They couldn't risk a full-out hexing war though. McGonagall was most likely in her study, which was adjacent to Gryffindor Tower, and if a fight broke out to their typical standard, then it would most likely attract her attention. Which would be bad – very bad. Harry broke it up, desperate to keep the peace.
'Next time, mate, we'll let you in on it too. Just don't sit so far away.' Harry laughed.
Dean, looking somewhat mollified by that answer nodded. 'It's all good.' He then gestured at the parchment on the table. 'What's that ya got there?'
'Harry's made a more intense training schedule for the Quidditch team,' Ron explained eagerly. Seamus, completely calmed down, had reclaimed his seat at the table.
Dean sat heavily on one of the chairs and pulled the parchment over to him. He scanned it, thoroughly impressed by the looks of it. Harry smiled.
'Wow! This looks like a Premier League regime.' Dean whistled.
At Ron's confused expression, Harry mouthed, 'Muggle sport.' The redhead nodded.
'I'm introducing it to the team today and I'll need your support. Ron and Seamus are already in and we think this is going to be a tough drive. You with us?'
Dean, of course, nodded. 'Definitely! We'll pound Slytherin into the ground if everyone sticks to this, that's for sure!'
Harry, satisfied and feeling quite smug at devising something lauded as being so useful, leaned back in his chair. He didn't bunk off class for nothing. If only the Professors could see that skipping class didn't automatically mean they were messing around and being useless. They could be just as productive outside the classroom.
'So how did you manage to escape, Dean? Weren't you sitting toward the front?' Ron asked.
Dean's expression became both devious and sagely, in a way that only he could pull off. 'That, my good man, is something for the master alone to know... Plus, Flitwick had to go into his office to get something so I just walked out the door when he left.'
'Ha!' Seamus exclaimed, leaping to his feet. 'I knew it! You just don't have our craftiness at outwitting the teachers. We left right under Flitwick's nose!'
Harry, in support, chuckled and went right along with Seamus. Picking on Dean seemed to be the natural thing to do at the moment. 'Did you leave a note on your desk as well?' All three boys, at that, burst out laughing and Dean glared on.
'Oi! You're right clever ones to talk, Potter and Weasley. At least I don't have to worry about what Hermione will say later! I can bunk off in peace!'
'You can also sod off in peace,' Harry chided good naturedly.
'Well all I can say is that I'd hate to be you, Potter, after Granger finds out her new nickname today.' Dean smirked, sensing his victory. Harry's eyes widened. Out of reflex at the mention of Hermione in any sort of a mood, Ron sunk into his chair and swallowed heavily, suddenly becoming very disturbed by where this conversation was headed.
'What does that mean?' Harry asked nervously.
Dean, aware of his advantage, decided to go in for the win. 'Didn't you hear? Word on the street is that yours and Seamus's new nickname stuck.'
Harry's brows knit together in confusion. New nickname? He racked his brain for a minute, and suddenly, his memory took him back to the boy's fun little conversation in the Great Hall at breakfast a few hours ago. Harry's heart began to beat five times faster. But they had been joking around and besides, as far as he knew, no one was around to hear them! There was no way no one had heard them; therefore, the only way it could have been spread around was if one of them decided to start using it. Which meant...
'So which one of you sods started it?' Harry asked, becoming deadly serious. He glowered at Dean and Seamus. He knew Ron wouldn't have said anything. He knew just from this morning that messing with Hermione Granger had some right foul consequences. So, in a deduction that would have made Scotland Yard proud, Harry came to the conclusion that it had to have been either of the two other boys who put the word out there. Seamus was the first to jump in.
'I didn't say anything, mate!'
'You know I didn't.' Ron pointed out plainly.
'Well, I didn't either.' Said Dean.
Harry, still glaring, was not so satisfied with their answer.
'There's no possible way anyone else could have found out about the Party Foul comment because we were the only four sitting at the table and I'm absolutely certain no one was sitting at the House tables behind us. So don't tell me you didn't say anything because it had to have been one of you! Seamus? Dean?'
'Honestly, Harry, we didn't say anything!' Dean shouted. 'Me, Seamus and Ron had Herbology all morning! D'ya think we'd bash on Granger in bloody Herbology with those stupid, imbecile plants that bite you in the arse all through class?'
'Then who could it possibly have been?'
'Malfoy?' Ron offered weakly. Draco Malfoy was Ron's go to guy scapegoat for all of his problems in the world, after all. Harry actually considered the possibility. It was common knowledge that Malfoy was a slimy git. If not Seamus and Dean, then why not him?
'Did you see him in the Hall at the time?'
Ron shrugged. 'I didn't look but I'll bet her was there.'
'I saw him.' Seamus said suddenly. Harry's eyes instantly narrowed. 'Looked over at the Snakes and the ugly sod was laughing about something with Goyle and Zabini before we left.'
'That's probably why the bloody little git was laughing!' Ron snapped finally. 'I'll bet he was eavesdropping and then thought it would be a right laugh to spread it all over the school and then blame it on you, Harry!'
'But how would he have heard us? He was sitting on the other side of the room.' Harry mused. They had now completely abandoned Quidditch and the sheet of parchment laid out on the table before them. Their focus was now on Malfoy and the seemingly impossible feat they were certain he had accomplished.
'Extendedable Ear, maybe? Fred and George are selling them to everyone. They're a real hit. I don't reckon it would be too hard for that bloody sod to get his slimy hands on one.' Ron offered. His was contorted in a vicious glare. Murdering Malfoy was clearly very evident on his mind and if one looked closely into Ron's eyes, they might even be able to see the scenario playing out in them.
Harry recoiled inwardly at the notion that Malfoy was eavesdropping on them with the very items of a family he had deemed 'blood-traitors' and 'useless filth.' If what Ron said was right, then it definitely made sense and suddenly, it wasn't hard at all to put the blame on Malfoy. He glared inwardly. Draco Malfoy was going down this year. It was now official.
'Right then,' Harry said tensely, 'I think you all know what this means. Not only are we going to crush Slytherin in Quidditch this year, but Malfoy is going to pay. This is the year that bloody damn ferret finally gets exactly what he's deserved these past seven years!'
Dean, Seamus and Ron both applauded and whistled, as if they were in the lockeroom after practice and Harry was giving them one of his pre-match pep talks.
Ron grinned with devilish glee. 'I've been waiting for someone to say that since that git bumped me on the train first year.'
'Yea, I know what you mean. I honestly can't stand that bloke. He think he's so amazing – like he owns the school or something. Dirty King of Snakes is going to wish he never messed with Gryffindor!'
And thus was born a dynamic foursome of Malfoy hate, united with one common goal: To make Draco Malfoy's final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sheer torment. After all, they owed him.