It's been three days, but they're making it.
They hide their emotions in the curl of fingers and the hardening of smiles. Grins curve over their face like whips and words bubble up their throats that never reach the air.
It seems like the world is still against them. The professors are keen-eyed and they seem to never stop watching them, and the headmaster is the worst. His eyes are constantly on Harry, but they've switched back to positive twinkling.
Slytherin is still casually neutral in public. A Gryffindor snaps abuse at Harry and an upper year stomps over and carefully puts a hand on his shoulder, face dropping to a scowl. The other person leaves, the Slytherin drops his shoulder like it's on fire, and they go about their day. Slytherins must have a unified front in public, no matter how many times the word mudblood slithers around the room too fast for Hermione to catch who said it.
Theodore is still bad. He's loved on from taunts and teasing and started rumors, not making any more direct moves against them. Magic crackles between Hermione's fingers when she sees him and Ron's hands tighten on his wand. Draco hasn't ever bothered them again, quietly focusing on his studies.
But they weren't able to stop the Howler. It arrived the next day, delivered by the same old owl that lost a feather dropping the bright red letter on the table.
Ron froze. Harry eyed it curiously. Hermione had her wand out.
Then it exploded into furious words and hissed breathes and sentences that curled Ron's shoulders.
"Disgrace to the family! My youngest boy in Slytherin! Just wait until your father gets home!"
And more and more and more. There are sneers from across the room.
Harry and Hermione share a look and then they are gathering food far sweeter and more filled with sugar than anything else. They pile it on his plate and give him a nudge to shock him back into wakefulness.
The eyes of the Great Hall are on him.
And slowly, Ron starts eating.
His brothers still haven't made a move yet. It's almost worrying.
Harry hasn't been attacked yet, and he's finished healing. Hermione and Ron are with him at all times. They only talk freely in their room, when they're far away from the hisses from the Slytherins and the shouts from the Gryffindors and the scrutinization from the professors.
Hermione always has her Hogwarts, a History book with her, nose buried deep. Whenever a teacher passes her without so much as blinking, her lips twitch and they laugh to each other in silent shuffles and taps of feet.
She didn't grab anything too dangerous from the potions room, but the Forbidden Forest is a treat too sweet to ignore. It won't be long until they can sneak out and gather what they will, and Hermione already has a list of things they will find.
But they can't risk it yet, not with the stories of the monsters that lived underneath the cover of its trees. They've sat around the lake before, pretending to do homework, but scanning out a path that they could run to get there without detection.
Ron reads his ritual book for hours at night after doing his homework. Hermione learned a bluebell flame charm that lets one stay inside a little jar so he doesn't have to use the torches, and though purple moons stamp themselves underneath his eyes he has never looked more alive.
Harry is the one who he goes to for ingredients. In only a few days he's learned his way around, he knows how to stand behind someone and not have them notice him, and if any teacher dares challenge him his lips quirk up and his eyes widen until he is just innocent, innocent, innocent.
He needs white candle wax and a knife. In a day, Harry comes back with an armload of candles, a knife, and the path to the kitchens. There's still a secret pulling his lips into a smile, but they don't push.
But now it is Friday and it is their first Potions class. Hermione was scampering around in their room, quizzing them on everything she could think of. Harry had dutifully answered back, Ron too busy in his ritual book. He seemed to never put the thing down, and ever since he had gotten Hermione to charm the cover he never went anywhere without it. To be frank, Harry couldn't wait to see what he started to do with it.
But then they were perfectly changed with books in bags and wands against their wrists and then they were marching through their commons. Draco was quietly talking with a dark-skinned boy - Blaise Zabini - and he didn't look at them. Rumors were of his father being very angry but also insanely curious about the trio of them.
Theodore, of course, scowled as they walked by. They didn't say anything.
The classroom was cold but not overly so, and the desks were half book room half burner. They found a table for four and quickly covered the remaining spot with their bags, sitting quickly.
The students file in and then the door is opening with a bang, black robes swishing in. Snape raises an eyebrow at their placement but says nothing, immediately moving into role call. Everyone is there and on time. You don't disobey Snape.
There's a speech that gets Hermione's eyes flaring and crackling like a fire. Her fingers dance over the edge of her book.
And then there are questions. "Class! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
She pauses but then Hermione's hand is in the air. He looks around once before calling on her, eyes curiously blank.
"The Draught of Living Death, sir." Her tone is nothing but mild and calm. Harry and Ron don't trust it for a second, and there's something a bit too sharp in the way she curls her fingers over the edge of the table.
"Correct." His voice is equally blank. "Five points to Slytherin."
"And what-" he strides forward until he is uncomfortably close to the front of the class. "-would I get if I added ashwinder ash to that?"
Hermione is frowning. Ron is too.
But Harry knows snakes, and after a second he is raising his hand.
"Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"It would crystallize. The potion, I mean, sir."
"Very good. Another five points." And then he is whirling back up to the front of the classroom, robes snapping behind him. "Well? Write that down!"
There is a smile on Harry's face that barely covers his flashing amusement. That question wasn't in the textbook, nor in Hermione's other potion books. He just knew it.
They are assigned a potion, and Hermione makes it perfectly. They help, as there is no other person sitting at their table for Ron to pair with. Smiles flicker over the table.
A couple of wormwood circles slip into Hermione's sleeve. They don't say anything.
He checks their potion and awards them five more points. Then they bottle it up, place the vial on his desk, and leave.
Their next week passes much the same, at least to the teachers.
The professors adore quick, clever Hermione, who answers the questions correctly every time they ask. Ron powers through the spell, and if his match isn't quite shiny enough he's also the one who got it first and made his last the longest. Harry turns in the homework assignments with careful, neat handwriting that scrawls on for pages, twisting from topic to topic.
But Snape still doesn't trust them. He has noticed that he is left with fewer potion supplies after each class, strange ones that never seem to connect. The smell of fire and blood drift under their door as Ron stays up late. The wallpaper full of snakes shudder and shake as Harry walks into rooms, and the fireplace of a snake's head glows brighter as he enters.
Their grades are perfect, they are the picturesque students, and the other Slytherins leave them alone physically for the most part.
And then there is a summons from Dumbledore to Harry, and another for Ron, and a third for Hermione. There is no reason on the paper.
They are spaced an hour apart, using free periods. Harry will have to skip lunch to make his. It's a choice that straightens their shoulders and curls their lips. Tomorrow.
That night, Ron finally puts his book to good use.
He uses a holly branch that fell from a tree that he pulled through the corridors and into their room. It's only as thick as a finger and about a foot long, nearly the exact shape of a wand.
They sit in a circle, torches burned down. Bluebell flames in vials flicker around the room, dull and muted. Magic presses heavily down on them all.
He has a metal needle in his hand, one that Hermione Transfigured for him. It was held over a flame, the tip growing more and more red until it is sizzling in the air.
Hermione had already cut up the end of the stick into three little chunks, tiny circles only a quarter of an inch thick. Harry sterilized the knife, the edge sharpened over the last hour. Ron had the book open on the edge of the circle.
She slowly handed Ron one of the circles. He took it, something sparking in his eyes. Pressing the tip of the metal to the wood, he began to burn a mark into its surface. Flames flashed over his fingers.
He did the second. Then the third.
And then he collapsed backward, breathing hard.
Harry and Hermione pounced on the circles, grabbing the knife. They each cut their thumbs and pressed the blood on the mark. Ron slowly rose, doing the same.
Something crackled between them.
Harry eyed the mark. "It looks like a lightning bolt."
"Eihwaz. Means yew tree and protection. As long as you have that with you, spells shouldn't do as much damage." He was still almost panting.
They laughed together, tucking the wood into pockets.
Yay~!
First ritual!
I know it's kind of tame, just burning wood with a bit of blood. But remember, this is Ron's first dally with rituals that are meant to have a permanent effect. So be nice to the poor boy! He's trying his best.
Like I said, this story is going to be going faster by leaps and bounds. So just sit tight - we might be at Fluffy next chapter, who knows?
Well, we'll actually be at the meetings with Dumbledore. They should be fun to write!
Also, do you guys think that the trio should become Animagi this year, the next, or their third? Who should get it first? And should they be magical creatures or not? That might be interesting!
Also - what's a cool poison that can be found in the Forbidden Forest? Have fun!
Anyway! Please read and review!
Frost OUT!