Chapter Fourteen
The Puffed Up Prat
"Hermione! GET BACK HERE!" Harry bellowed as Hermione dragged Draco out the front door and out onto the grounds.
"Harry, please, calm DOWN!" Hermione wailed, dashing past a group of second years going for a stroll.
"I AM CALM!" Harry roared, so loudly that the second years jumped and scattered as he approached.
"I can explain!" Hermione yelled, though she seemed to have no intention of doing just that, as she was running as fast as possible away from Harry.
"YOU HAD BETTER!" Harry shouted, stomping after her. "Hermione Granger, stop walking right now!"
Hermione, who had accidentally run straight for the lake and could go no farther without introducing herself to the giant squid, finally stopped and turned to face him, giving Draco the opportunity to collapse on the ground and shake with laughter.
Harry stopped about three feet from her, close enough to grab her if she tried to run again (which wasn't likely, with Draco on the ground and in no state to stand, let alone run). "Hermione," Harry said coldly, "you've always kept secrets from me and Ron. At first, I wasn't too worried—we've all got our secrets—but this is getting old. The Time-Turner. Lupin being a werewolf. Rita Skeeter. Now, it's Snape, and tattoos, and Oliver bloody WOOD… the gods only know what else you've kept from me, but I swear, Hermione, you had better tell me what the hell is going on, right now!"
Hermione hung her head. "I… I'm really sorry Harry. I… you're right, I shouldn't keep secrets from my best friends, but… well, it's embarrassing, really, this tattoo, and I didn't really think it was a big deal… I got it last summer, okay?"
"Since when are you the type to get a tattoo?" Harry demanded incredulously.
"I'm not! It's just… Harry… did you know I have friends?"
"What are you talking about? I am your friend."
"No… other friends. Friends from before Hogwarts. In the Muggle world. A whole group of them… but we didn't get to spend very much time together once I started going to school, or even talk much. It's not easy to find ways to send letters to Muggles via owl without them getting suspicious. But… well, the point is, this summer, when it was finally safe to go back to my own house and be with my parents and my friends… I went out with my friends. And they've grown up, Harry, they're not eleven anymore like they were when I left. The last time I saw them, except for this past summer, was before fourth year."
"How does this lead to a tattoo?"
"Well… we talked a lot about being friends forever, you know? About how no matter how far apart we were we'd always be friends. And… and we were partying a bit, nothing major, a few drinks, some music… but one of my friends suggested we should do something to show that we were friends. We talked about T-shirts, but someone else said we should do something really permanent. And they wanted to do a blood-brothers sort of thing."
"Where you prick your finger and mix your blood with your friends?" Harry asked.
"Yeah. Horrible idea, really, what with all the Muggle diseases… but with me being a witch, there's magic in my blood, so I couldn't do it anyway without breaking about six laws, and then someone got the idea for tattoos."
"And you said yes?" Harry demanded incredulously.
"I… well… Harry, things were different that summer. I'd just saved the world, I was so euphoric and proud… and yet things were so off. I kept thinking about how I'd move on to this future in the wizarding world, and leave the Muggle world behind, and there I was, surrounded by that world, and all the people I'd grown up with… I wanted a sign that it was a part of me. I wanted a sign that—for heaven's sake, shut up, Malfoy!"
"Go on," Harry urged. "Get to the part about Wood."
"Everyone thought it was a good idea, and I gave in. We all got matching tattoos. We wanted something strong and beautiful and hey, rose, dagger… it just worked. I don't know how it happened. I was mortified afterwards, absolutely mortified, and I swore I'd never tell anyone but Ginny found out when I came back to Grimmauld Place for your birthday, because we were sharing a room for the rest of the summer and everything, and… and… that's what happened. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It's just… I'm sorry."
"Okay," Harry said, taking a deep breath and trying to rein in some of his anger, attempting to calm down now that she was being honest with him, "let's move on. When, exactly, did Oliver see it?"
"Um…" Hermione looked even more reluctant to answer this, and even cast a glance behind her, wondering if meeting the giant squid would be so bad after all. "Well… do you, um, well, do you remember the Quidditch World Cup? The summer before our fourth year?"
"My, you get awfully busy during the summers," Draco choked out.
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Harry screamed, his barely-controlled temper bursting free.
Draco started to reply, and then suddenly his mouth clamped shut—and his lips exploded outward.
"What on earth…?" Hermione said, staring down at his lips, which were so big they wouldn't have been out of place on Grawp.
Draco made a strangled, startled noise in his throat… and then his nose burst out over his lips, as though both nose and mouth had been magnified, quickly followed by his ears, eyes, and, slowly, the rest of his head.
"MMPH!" Draco screamed as his head, now almost as big as the rest of his body, began to rise off the ground. Harry and Hermione stared in horror.
Draco started flailing his arms and legs, his body rising to follow his head. Within a few seconds, Draco was completely airborne, drifting away on the light winter breeze, back towards the castle… and as he lifted higher, so did Hermione's arm.
"Oh, no," Harry whispered, flashing back to the day he'd blown up his aunt Marge, knowing he was going to get in deep trouble for this.
"Harry!" Hermione yelled, snapping him back to the present. Draco was starting to lift her off her feet like a large helium balloon. Preparing for the inevitable, Hermione jumped up and grabbed Draco's legs, clinging tightly so she wouldn't be dragged through the air by her wrist. This seemed to slow Draco down, but only slightly; he was still rising higher and higher.
"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, and made a running leap, grabbing her around the knees. He'd hoped it would bring Draco back down… but Harry and Hermione simply weren't heavy enough.
"POTTER!" Draco screamed, finally able to speak again—but his voiced was as enlarged as his head. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?"
"Lean towards the castle!" Hermione shouted. "We'll climb in a window!"
"Don't worry! I think I know how to deflate him!" Harry called, knowing nothing of the sort but determined to try before they floated off into the wild blue yonder—or over the wild blue ocean. He wasn't chained to Draco; Hermione would dangle, but Harry would die.
"NO!" Hermione yelled. "We're too high! We'll fall! And don't get your wand out, you might drop it!"
Harry groaned, knowing she was right but not liking it anyway. They were now thirty feet above the ground, which was too risky to jump; injuries he could handle, but if he landed wrong—like, say, on his neck—he could end up with some incurable problem or, worse, dead, and there would be nothing Madam Pomfrey, or St. Mungo's for that matter, could do. Besides, he couldn't just leave Hermione to fly off into the sunset with Draco, and that chain made it impossible for them to rid themselves of him without also riding themselves of Hermione—which was a real shame, in Harry's opinion.
"Gargoyle! GARGOYLE!" Draco shouted as they approached a nearby tower.
"AAAAAHHHHH!"
"Swing to the left!"
Harry did his best to throw himself to the left without letting go, and they inched past the sharp stone wings of a gargoyle, narrowly avoiding it.
"There! Lean that way!" Hermione shouted.
"Where?" Harry demanded, as neither he nor Draco could see her point; Harry could only see up her skirt, and Draco was having trouble moving his enormous head.
"There! That open window!"
Harry began to swing back and forth, trying to sway their strange little group to the window above them so that he could hook his legs on something and anchor them… and then, inside the room, pacing around in front of the window, he saw one of the four people responsible for this whole mess—Oliver Wood.
Harry didn't care what secrets Oliver was keeping, and how they concerned Hermione, and just what Oliver had done with her during the summer of the Quidditch World Cup and how he'd seen the tattoo she'd gotten this past summer—all he cared about was getting down.
"WOOD! HELP!"
"Oh, no, not Oliver," Hermione moaned quietly above him.
Oliver looked around in confusion before spotting Draco's inflated head outside the window, which slowly floating past, higher and higher but getting closer, Hermione clinging to Draco's legs with her eyes tightly shut, and finally, one arm firmly around Hermione's knees and the other reaching for the window, was Harry.
Oliver dived for the window, missing Harry's hand but grabbing Harry's leg and yanking. Oliver braced one foot, then the other, against the wall beneath the window ledge, pulling with all his might, fighting the hot-air-balloon-force of Draco's head.
"What the hell is going on?" Oliver demanded as he tugged Harry's legs into the window. Harry was finally drawn inside enough for Oliver to seize his waist, pulling even harder, while Harry tried to haul Hermione closer.
"I'll explain later," Harry grunted, straining with the effort of holding on.
Oliver pulled Harry inside, far enough that his feet touched down. "Grab Hermione and hold her so I can turn around and get a better grip," Harry told Oliver.
Oliver reached out and grabbed Hermione's foot. "I got her."
Harry let go of Hermione's legs and turned around, reaching for her again—but before he could grab her, Hermione's shoe came off in Oliver's hand, freeing her completely from his grip and causing something of a rubber band effect.
"Hermione!" Oliver yelled as he landed hard on his back, still clutching her shoe. Harry made a wiled grab for her but missed, nearly falling to his death out the window.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Hermione screamed as she and Draco shot upwards like a rock fired from a slingshot.
"AAAAHHHH!" Draco yelped, too busy trying to get his hands up to push them away from a tower they were zooming straight for to let out a proper yell.
"OLIVER! Damn him!" Hermione wailed. "I knew as soon as he became a teacher here—"
"Shut up, Granger! I SO do not care!" Draco yelled as his head scraped the tower.
"I can't hold on much longer!" Hermione whined, wishing she had just cut off his arm at the beginning of this whole mess. Then Harry would never have found out about her accidental tattoo, and Ron wouldn't be angry, and Oliver never would have let slip that he'd seen her tattoo. God, if she didn't fly off to her death while clinging to Draco's legs, she was going to be in so much trouble…
Suddenly, Hermione felt something wrap around her ankle, and she shuddered to a halt so abruptly that she nearly let go of Draco's legs. Looking down, she saw a thick rope of blue light, tied securely around her ankle and leading back down to the window of the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. About forty feet below, she could just make out the forms of Oliver and Harry, both pulling hard on the magical line from inside Oliver's office.
"I take back the rude things I just said about Oliver," Hermione breathed in relief, thanking every god she'd ever heard of for Oliver Wood, knowing that the spell anchoring her was too advanced for Harry to know. "He's wonderful. He's awesome. He's—"
"I still don't care, Granger," Draco said wearily, relaxing slightly and trying to calm down now that they were about to be rescued.
Inside the office, Harry and Oliver were pulling the conjured rope back inside the classroom slowly, foot by foot—which was by no means easy. Hermione and Draco, when combined, weren't exactly light, and between the wind and Draco's head's determination to see the world from a bird's eye view, tugging them back to the window was made even harder.
"Just… a… thought…" Harry grunted, "but I don't… think Malfoy's… gonna fit… through the… window."
"We'll handle… that… when Hermione's… safe," Oliver panted. "Harry… take the end… and tie it… to something heavy…"
Oliver took over the pulling on the rope, straining a bit more but holding his own, having always been well-built. Harry grabbed the end of the magical rope, from which Oliver's wand was dangling, and looked around for something weighty enough to anchor Hermione and Draco while Harry and Oliver tugged them all the way inside.
"Hurry, Harry," Oliver said, "I think… his head's getting bigger!"
Harry's eyes finally rested on Oliver's large mahogany desk, and he dashed forward and began tying the rope to one of the legs as fast as he could without damaging Oliver's wand. "Okay, it's tied!" Harry called, and headed back to help Oliver…
And promptly tripped over the blue light rope, smacked into Oliver, and sent them both flying to the side.
Hermione felt a slight jolt, but didn't have time to wonder about it before she shot up into the air again; she could hear two shocked yells, a loud CRASH! of breaking glass and an anguished cry of, "MY DESK!" from below.
A strong yank on her leg nearly pulled her off of Draco, and she found herself falling at an alarming rate. She closed her eyes, certain that this was the end, that somehow Draco's head had deflated and they were going to go crashing back to the ground…
Then they were flying upward again, as though they'd bounced off some invisible surface, and only when they bumped gently to a stop did Hermione open her eyes and glance around.
They were hovering in the air, some twenty feet away from the wall where Oliver's window was, and below them, fifty or so feet down, half-sunk into the ground, was a large wooden desk, which she assumed was Oliver's.
"Hermione!" Harry bellowed from the window. "You okay?"
"Oh, I'm just fine, Harry!" Hermione yelled. "I'm just GRAND!"
"Hold on, Hermione!" Harry shouted.
"GEE, DO YOU THINK, POTTER!" Draco screamed, his voice echoing around the grounds.
"I'm coming, Mione!" shouted a new voice, and Hermione looked around in bewilderment.
Zooming towards them on a broomstick was Ron, a determined look on his face. "RON!" she called happily. Draco groaned.
Ron stopped his Cleansweep next to her, hovering in midair and giving her a lopsided grin. "I leave you alone for two seconds, and look what happens," he said, shaking his head.
"You don't know how happy I am to see you!" Hermione cried, on the verge of bursting into tears in relief. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but knew letting go of Draco would land her in a world of pain.
Ron looked at her, her head in between Draco's knees, clinging tightly to Draco, a thick blue cord of light wrapped around her ankle. Her hair was even bushier than usual, windblown as it was, and the look on her face could only be described as pitiful. Ron actually had an urge to go "Aw." He looked up at Draco, who was doing his best to look down, but found this rather difficult due to the buoyancy and size of his head.
"Climb on," Ron said, maneuvering the broom beneath her and letting her drop down onto it. She released Draco's legs, then quickly grabbed hold of his ankle; letting him go put a strain on her wrist and had caused Draco's body to tip and float sideways.
"Oh, thank you," Hermione said breathlessly, leaning back against him. Ron put his arm around her waist and she laced her fingers with his, her other hand holding tightly to Draco.
Ron pointed the broom at the ground and down they went, Hermione with her eyes tightly shut (she wasn't a big fan of flying, and had already had more than enough of it for one day). "By the way, Malfoy," Ron called, "that's a nice look. Now your head matches your ego."
"Both bigger than they should be," Hermione giggled, feeling pretty close to happy. She had Ron, the crisis was averted, and in some strange roundabout way she secretly thought the accident with Oliver's desk and window served him right for letting slip that he'd seen her tattoo.
They reached the ground, but were at a loss as to what to do; not even Hermione knew how to literally deflate someone's head, and they couldn't just walk into the castle; the broom's power and the anchoring weight of the desk were all that kept them from floating off. Still, they couldn't fly far while trailing a huge desk.
"What now?" Ron asked.
"Hmm," Hermione said thoughtfully. Giving the desk an appraising look, Hermione pulled out her wand.
Madam Pomfrey was having a nice, normal, patient-free day. She hadn't had to treat any students for anything—injury or prank war related—since the scales she'd removed from Harry, Ron and Hermione, and she was enjoying her most peaceful weekend since the year started. She was sitting in her office, her feet propped up on her desk, mug of soothing chamomile tea in one hand and an old issue of Witch Weekly in the other, when she heard the voice of her most frequent patient.
"I am so, so, so sorry, Hermione!"
The groan that left Madam Pomfrey's lips could have come from a dying animal rather than an exasperated nurse. Wearily putting down her tea and magazine, she stood and turned to see just what horrible fate had befallen Harry Potter now… and gaped at the sight before her.
Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were climbing off of a Cleansweep Nine just inside the door, Hermione looking bedraggled and Ron looking rather amused. Standing apologetically next to Hermione was Harry, who looked like he felt horribly guilt about something. Oliver Wood was standing near the doorway, looking torn between running (he kept shooting worried glances at Harry, for some reason), comforting Hermione, and checking the condition of a large mahogany desk, which was covered in grass, mud and broken glass, tied to Hermione's ankle by a Pavorian Spell, and blocking the bottom half of the door. Blocking the top half of the door was an abnormally large head, which couldn't seem to get through the door. All Madam Pomfrey could really see of it was a lot of blond hair—but it didn't take long to figure out just who the head belong to, as the owner's right arm was stretched towards Hermione's left, no doubt connected by an invisible chain.
"That's it, I've had it," Madam Pomfrey said irritably. "If you lot don't graduate on time, I quit."
End Notes: Readers who've been with this story from way back when will notice a few major changes in the tattoo and Oliver tales. I wanted them to seem more plausible, and I'm doing my best to get them that way. I hope it's still as funny as it was back then.