AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, well, it's been six LONG weeks since I've updated this story, and judging by the various private messages I got from some readers (fans, some of you call yourselves, though I refuse to believe I'm worthy of having fans), people have been wondering just where the jolly Hell I've been. Well, let me say this: you can rest assured that wherever I was, I was NOT having a good time.
About 10 days before I was scheduled to post this chapter (so, late August), I took a head-first fall down three flights of concrete steps (complete with steel skid-plates) at work and busted myself up considerably. I was in the hospital for more than a week due to the injuries from my fall (which the ambulance driver and even the doctors said I was lucky wasn't fatal considering I used my face and head to cushion my fall and eventual landing). So, much of my time over the last six weeks has been spent lying on my back, unable to sit up comfortably let alone type up an adequate story chapter.
I had managed to get about half this chapter done before my accident, but all that meant was that the damn thing was taunting me to finish it while I lay recuperating.
I'm home now and mostly better. While I'm still recovering, I'm at least able to sit up for lengthy periods of time (though it does get painful after a while) and that means I've managed to complete this chapter.
I was leary as to the quality of this chapter, considering how, after six weeks, I was incredibly rusty where writing creatively was concerned. However, my beta assures me that she thinks it's "a fine chapter". That's good enough for me.
You cannot BELIEVE how happy I am to have finally finished this chapter. I HATE making you good people wait an inordinate amount of time between posts. I was tempted to post an update just to let everyone know WHY I wasn't updating...but I didn't want to give everyone false hope that a new chapter was posted, only to find themselves reading a notice that stated the chapter wouldn't be posted until further notice. I'm always severely disappointed when I see those sorts of updates, and I didn't want to disappoint you...my fans (if you'll allow me that slight burst of swelled ego)...any more than I already was.
So, here it is...Chapter 12. I hope you enjoy it!
THANK YOU KINDLY: A big Uncle BlackHawk thank you to CutewithAcapital-Q for continuing to be my beta on this. I really do appreciate the input. Thank you also to every one of you wonderful people who have reviewed this story for me (244 reviews as I type this). I respond to all my reviews, so you've all no doubt already received my thanks before, but thanks again! And thanks to everyone who PM'ed me, wondering where the Hell I was and when the Hell I'd get back on the stick and post a chapter. It's nice to know I was missed!
DISCLAIMER: As always, Harry Potter and all that stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling.
MIRROR, MIRROR
Chapter 12
"Reflected Enlightenment"
Ron did his best to avoid everyone the next day. He was still kicking himself over very nearly revealing everything to Hermione the night before. The whole business of ignoring who he was and what he knew and pretending to be the other Ron and knowing what he knew was threatening to give him a permanent headache.
He pretended to oversleep, so that the dorm would be empty when he finally got out of bed. Checking the Marauder's Map, he wasn't all that surprised to find that the mash-up of garbled letters that he took to be Harry Potter was nowhere to be seen.
"Where does that little bleeder disappear to?" Ron asked himself as he closed the map and got read for another day, "It's almost like he's --…bloody Hell, he's invisible!"
Ron slapped himself in the forehead for not figuring it out sooner. Harry must be using his dad's old invisibility cloak to sneak around the castle, unseen by even the Marauder's Map.
"Now what do I do? I'll never be able to track him down if he's invisible all the time. I need to talk to Dumbledore about this."
By the time Ron made it down to the Great Hall, it was nearly empty; as was his stomach. Constructing half-a-dozen quick bacon sarnies, Ron wrapped the lot in a napkin and shoved them in the pocket of his robe, intending to eat them on the go.
There was no sign of Dumbledore at the high table yet again, but Ron spied the next best thing; he hurried towards the dais and the staff table sitting upon it. Pink-clad Professor Umbridge was talking with Professor McGonagall, but the severe look on the Transfiguration teacher's face made it obvious that she wasn't enjoying the conversation.
"Excuse me, Professor McGonagall," Ron said, clearing his throat as he interrupted, "Would it be alright if I spoke to you for a moment?"
"Hem, hem," Umbridge squeaked, "Can't you see that your instructors are in the middle of a conversation? What business is it of yours to interrupt?"
Ron opened his mouth to say something, but McGonagall beat him to it.
"It's quite alright, Dolores," the deputy headmistress said, standing up, "Weasley is one of my prefects; no doubt this is Gryffindor business. Come, Weasley, we'll speak out in the entrance hall."
Professor McGonagall descended the dais and made her way out of the Great Hall faster than Ron would have ever been able to believe her capable of. Once in the entrance hall, she led him to the same unused corridor he'd been in with Fred and George.
"I want to thank you, Weasley, for rescuing me from that insipid conversation," the professor said once they stopped walking, "Dolores Umbridge is completely insufferable. Ten points to Gryffindor for your excellent timing."
Ron couldn't help but smile, "Thanks, Professor, but I really did need to talk to you."
"Out with it then, Weasley," she said, nodding.
"I need to see Dumbledore," he said plainly.
"Mr. Weasley, the headmaster is a very busy man," McGonagall said, her mouth a firm straight line, "He can't be expected to grant an audience to a student just because the student wants to have a chat."
"But --…"
"However," she said, raising a hand to stop his protests, "Considering your special circumstances, I'll see what I can do."
"My special…? Does everyone know about me?" he asked, once again wondering why Dumbledore instructed him to keep things under wraps when he was off telling half the school's faculty.
"Only those most trusted by Dumbledore, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, "So please remain calm."
"Right; sorry, Professor," he said sheepishly.
"Off with you now, Weasley; classes have begun, and I'm sure Professor Sprout misses you already."
Herbology went by mercifully quickly, with Ron partnering up with Susan Bones in an attempt to continue to avoid Neville and Hermione. Yes, he'd had a nice long talk with Hermione, and some things had been resolved, but the fact of the matter was that he had come very close to telling her everything, and while it seemed as though it was perfectly acceptable for Dumbledore to go around spilling the beans to everyone he thought might get a chuckle out of the situation, Ron still felt bound to keep everything a secret.
That didn't stop the shy smiles from Hermione to keep being thrown his way every now and again, giving him hope that, even if he had to keep his true identity a secret, maybe he wouldn't have to be completely alone anymore.
Double Potions followed Herbology, and it was nowhere near as easy to deal with as Herbology had been. Snape was his usual charming self, taking pleasure in berating and belittling and penalizing the Gryffindors every chance he got. The Slytherins, as always, were smug and pompous, and Ron couldn't help noticing that Harry seemed smuggest of all. He sat back and allowed Draco Malfoy to do his work for him. If Snape noticed, he said nothing.
Worst of all, for Ron, was the fact that he hadn't done his assigned essay on moonstones. This cost him points and a failing grade, though for whatever reason, the Potions master was reluctant to give him detention. Perhaps their previous night's confrontation was still fresh in Snape's mind, and he didn't want a repeat.
At the end of the double period, it was time for lunch, and everyone – Gryffindors and Slytherins alike – began making the trek up out of the dungeons towards the Great Hall. Ron made a point of dragging his feet and bringing up the rear.
Every day at every meal, Ron had noticed that Harry did not show up in the Great Hall. This had Ron curious. Where was he going and what was he doing? Today, Ron was going to do his best to find the answer to those questions, even if it meant skipping a meal. (He still had a couple of bacon sandwiches leftover from breakfast in his robe pocket, so he wouldn't be going completely hungry.)
As Ron expected, when everyone else had started filing into the Great Hall for lunch, Harry separated from the pack. The bespectacled Slytherin made his was up the marble staircase, prompting Ron to follow him at a distance.
Once he was out of sight of the other students, Ron fully expected Harry to don his invisibility cloak and disappear from view, making it easier to steal around the castle unimpeded, and making it next to impossible for him to be followed. Ron was pleasantly surprised when Harry remained visible the entire time.
"Why doesn't he use the cloak?" Ron pondered as he continued to trail the other boy, "If I had the bloody thing, I'd certainly wear it if I was going to sneak around the school in broad daylight."
Ron didn't have long to think about Harry's continued visibility before he found himself on the second floor, making his way down an all-too-familiar hallway as quietly as he could. When he saw Harry enter an even-more-familiar bathroom, things started to fall into place for the redhead.
"Is that where Harry's been going all this time?" Ron asked himself as he crept down the hall, "He's been going to Myrtle's bathroom?"
He moved up to the girls' bathroom and listened at the door; the only thing Ron could hear from within the lavatory was Moaning Myrtle's whimpering.
"Harry?" Ron pushed open the bathroom door and called out to the Slytherin boy, half-expecting to be hexed as soon as he entered the lavatory. There was no sign of Harry Potter.
"What are you doing here?!" Myrtle snapped, her head passing through the door of one of the cubicles to glare hatefully at Ron, "Come to steal from me again?"
"Where'd Harry go, Myrtle?" Ron asked, ignoring her comment about stealing. He had a fairly good notion of where Harry went, but he wanted some sort of confirmation from the ghost girl.
"The mean boy with the glasses?" Myrtle whined, "He called me a Mudblood and laughed at me for being dead."
"So, where'd he go?" Ron asked again, turning his back on Moaning Myrtle and making his way towards the sinks…the sinks where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets lay hidden.
"I don't know; I was in my cubicle," Myrtle explained, "I don't like being called a Mudblood."
"Of course not," Ron said, reaching out and running a finger along the snake shape scratched into one of the copper taps, "Is that all he did? Called you a name and laughed at you and then he just vanished?"
"He said something," the ghost girl admitted, "But I was too distraught to hear him."
"Of course you were," Ron grimaced.
"This isn't the first time he's been in here, you know," Myrtle said, "He comes in several times a day."
It all made sense to Ron now. Everything he had seen in his counterpart's memories and everything he'd experienced on his own seemed crystal clear now. Harry was going down into the Chamber of Secrets. His eyes had flashed red because he was no doubt under the sway of Tom Riddle's diary. Ron felt slightly giddy as all the pieces fell into place, like watching a chessboard and seeing how every possible move would play out until he eventually declared "checkmate".
"All I have to do is destroy that diary and Harry stops being evil…and I can go home!"
Ron punched the air and whooped for joy. He could fulfill the prophecy and complete his mission. Things were definitely looking up for Ron Weasley.
"Hem, hem."
Ron turned swiftly on his heel and came face-to-face with Professor Umbridge standing in the bathroom doorway.
"I do hope you have a reasonable explanation for being in the girls' lavatory, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge said, her bulging eyes glaring at him beadily, "Or am I to believe that this is part of your prefect duties? Seen someone lurking about again, did you?"
"As a matter of fact, yeah I did," Ron said, not wanting the toad-faced professor to give him detention, but not wanting to reveal too much to her, either. He didn't trust her. "I did see someone, but it just turned out to be Moaning Myrtle."
"Who?" Umbridge asked, looking about. She was obviously unfamiliar with the temperamental ghost girl.
"Me!!" Myrtle wailed, poking her head through one of the cubicle doors again. She startled the pink-clad professor and made her jump nearly a foot in the air.
"You stupid ghost!" Umbridge snapped, holding her hand to her chest as if she feared her heart might stop, "How dare you frighten me that way! Do you have any idea who I am?!"
"No," Myrtle giggled, before moving back through the door to the cubicle and diving headlong into the toilet, causing it to flood.
Professor Umbridge immediately began stepping back as fast as she could to keep out of the way of the water. Ron followed her out of the bathroom, fighting the urge to smirk at the DADA instructor's first meeting with Moaning Myrtle.
"Myrtle lives in this bathroom, Professor," Ron explained, "So it's pretty well abandoned."
"She's a ghost, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge said, once she was sure she'd backed far enough away to avoid the toilet water that was seeping out from under the bathroom door, "She doesn't live anywhere."
"Well, whatever you want to call it," Ron replied, turning away and rolling his eyes, "She does it in that bathroom…usually in the U-bend of one of the toilets."
"That does not excuse you…a boy…from being inside a girls' lavatory, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge said stepping up to him and grabbing his sleeve as if to drag him away, "Perhaps a night of detention will --…"
"There you are, Mr. Weasley."
Ron and Umbridge both looked up to see Professor McGonagall standing at the end of the hallway looking severe as usual. Ron could have sworn he saw the look on her face become more severe once she noticed Professor Umbridge walking with him.
"I just caught your prefect lurking in one of the girls' lavatories, Minerva," Professor Umbridge said with a squeak of glee in her too-high voice, "Surely that isn't part of his assigned duties."
"Surely not," McGonagall said, shooting Ron a look of supreme displeasure, "I think perhaps this requires a most severe punishment, Mr. Weasley."
"Excellent!" Umbridge squeaked, clapping her hands excitedly, taking pleasure in whatever horrible fate awaited the redhead.
Ron gave Professor McGonagall a confused look and when she shot him a meaningful look, he seemed to get the message and decided to play along.
"But, Professor…"
"No buts, Weasley," McGonagall replied sternly, "Come along…now. And once I've finished disciplining you, I think perhaps a letter to your mother concerning your activities might be in order."
"Anything but that!" Ron exclaimed, the very thought of what his mother might say if she thought he was making a habit of lurking about in the girls' loo sent a shudder of fear through him, even though he knew it was all an act; the fear was still real.
Umbridge's squeaky giggles as they left her behind in the second floor hallway sent another shudder through Ron. She seemed to take pleasure in the misery of her students. Or, perhaps, it was just in his misery, since he'd never seen how she interacted with other students. Either way, he was quite sure that Umbridge would rank along with Snape and Lockhart as his least-favorite teachers ever.
"Honestly, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said as they moved down the stairs towards the Transfiguration teacher's office, "What were you doing in the girls' lavatory? This sort of…deviant behavior…is unacceptable."
"Professor, please…I'm no pervy git. I was in there because of…err…you-know-what."
McGonagall gave him an arch look, "I beg your pardon, Mr. Weasley?"
"You know…the thing I'm not supposed to talk about, but Dumbledore has already told half the staff about…"
"I assure you, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said in a voice that sounded a bit annoyed, "It is a great deal less than half the staff who know your secret. For your sake, I do hope your reasons for being in the girls' lavatory are genuine…"
"Professor…I wouldn't lie to you," Ron said, feeling that, for the most part, that was true, "Besides, with what I just figured out, I'm very close to doing what I need to do!"
McGonagall gave him yet another significant look…something of a sad smile, or so it seemed to Ron. "That is excellent news, Mr. Weasley; you're no doubt anxious to return home."
He nodded and smiled enthusiastically. Anxious to return home was an understatement.
Once they were seated inside her office, Professor McGonagall took a tartan tin out of her desk and opened it, offering Ron a cookie. He gratefully took one and popped it in his mouth. He blushed as he noticed Professor McGonagall watching him with a bemused look on her face.
He swallowed quickly before speaking. "You're not really going to punish me for being in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, are you?"
"As long as you can promise me that you were honestly in there because of your mission, Mr. Weasley, and not for some other motive."
"I swear, Professor," Ron said sincerely, "I found something out that I really need to speak to Dumbledore about."
"Fine, then, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said, handing him the biscuit tin again, "Have another biscuit and then get back to the Great Hall; your lunch period will be over soon. When Dumbledore returns from his travels, I'll let him know you need to speak with him."
"Thanks, Professor," Ron said, smiling. He got to his feet, nicked another biscuit from the tin, and headed for the door.
After lunch, double Charms went by relatively quickly, and before he knew it, Ron was seated in the Defense Against Dark Arts classroom for his very first lesson at the hands of Professor Dolores Umbridge.
Immediately upon starting class, Umbridge ordered the students to begin reading from Wilbert Slinkhard's Defensive Magical Theory. Unenthusiastically, the students did as they were told and began reading in silence.
"Mr. Weasley," Umbridge said in her saccharine sweet voice, "Since you saw fit to miss our first lesson, I want you to start reading at Chapter One in order to catch up with the rest of the students."
Ron shrugged and flipped open the book to "Chapter One, Basics for Beginners". He began reading, but quickly found it to be incredibly boring. He absentmindedly began tapping his wand on the page he was reading only to have Umbridge come over to him and grab his wrist.
"Wands away, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge said shortly, "There is no need for anyone to have a wand out in this class."
Ron looked around and noticed for the first time that he was the only one to actually have his wand out. "What about when we practice the spells we're learning?"
"You must raise your hand if you wish to ask a question in this class, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge said, turning her back on him and moving to the front of the class.
Ron shook his head and snorted at the ridiculous rules the new DADA instructor was instituting, but he raised his hand just the same. Umbridge, however, kept her back turned for several minutes, as if purposely ignoring Ron and his question. When she finally turned around, she huffed indignantly before calling on him.
"What is it, Mr. Weasley?"
"You never answered my question," Ron said, keeping his hand up, "When we practice spells, will we be allowed to take out our wands then?"
"There will be no practicing of spells, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge replied, looking at him as if the very suggestion was completely ridiculous, "You will learn the theory behind defensive magic, and, provided you study the theory hard enough, you should have no trouble performing the necessary spells for you exams."
"So, we're just gonna read about this stuff and never actually learn how to do it?" Ron asked, a bemused smirk on his face, "That's completely barmy!"
"No, Mr. Weasley, that is safe!" Umbridge said, glaring at him with her bulging eyes, "For too long, the safety conditions here at Hogwarts have gone unchecked, and far too many students have been injured in what is supposed to be a safe environment."
"How is not learning spells to defend ourselves supposed to keep us safe?" Ron asked. By this point, the other students had abandoned their reading and were watching the exchange between Ron and Umbridge with rapt attention, murmuring in agreement with Ron's assertions.
"Who do you expect to need to defend yourself against?" Umbridge countered.
"Slytherins, for one; you can never trust those greasy gits," Ron said, causing several murmurs of assent from his classmates.
"Dueling other students is against the rules, Mr. Weasley, as a prefect I expected you to know that," Umbridge squeaked condescendingly, "Or perhaps you've been too busy sneaking into girls' lavatories to pay attention to the rules."
Ron blushed and gritted his teeth as the other students laughed and started whispering about him and what he might be doing in the girls' bathroom. He put his hand down and glared angrily at the pink-fuzzy-sweater-wearing professor.
"Now, if there are no more silly questions," Umbridge said in a falsely sweet tone, giving Ron a meaningful look, "Let us all get back to our reading."
Once classes were over for the day, the students from his DADA class were still whispering about him and the girls' bathroom, so Ron made quick work of his dinner and, after retrieving his broom from his dorm, headed out to the Quidditch pitch to get in some practice.
As usual, flying managed to calm his nerves and help him collect his thoughts. He thought back to his discovery that morning, of Harry entering the Chamber of Secrets.
"Now I know where he's disappearing to all the time, but I don't know what he's doing down there. He's a Parselmouth, so maybe he's got something planned for the basilisk."
Now more than ever, Ron needed to see Dumbledore. It didn't make sense for Harry to want to unleash the basilisk on the school as had been done in Second Year, because if he did, everyone would know he lied about killing it. So, there had to be something else, some other reason The-Boy-Who-Lived would be rattling around in Salazar Slytherin's old stomping grounds.
"Harry's possessed by Tom Riddle's diary, so there's no telling what he could be capable of. Ginny did so many weird, horrible things when she was possessed…killing Hagrid's roosters, writing messages in blood…picking students for the basilisk to attack."
Ron shuddered at the idea of his baby sister doing the bidding of the darkest dark wizard the world had ever seen. Luckily, the basilisk had failed to kill any of the students it attacked…including Hermione. He shuddered again at the memory of the bushy-haired girl lying, petrified, in the hospital wing.
"I don't know what I'd have done if she had died…"
Ron did his best to wipe that thought from his mind. Hermione was alive and well and if he wanted to ever see her again, he needed to concentrate on the job at hand: dealing with a possessed Harry Potter.
"Harry destroyed Riddle's diary by stabbing it; all I need to do is find the diary, destroy it, and Harry will be back to normal. But where would the diary be?"
Ron continued his circuit around the Quidditch pitch, looping past the goal hoops, doing his best to get a feel for what he might be required to do if he got the spot as Keeper. Of course, his mind wasn't really focused on Quidditch, so his flying was a bit sloppy.
"When we found the diary back home, Harry used to keep it locked in his trunk. Of course, that was before we knew what it was…and before Ginny ransacked his stuff in search of it. If this Harry is keeping it in his trunk, I'd need to sneak into the Slytherin dungeon to find it. Wish I had Harry's invisibility cloak…it would certainly make that job easier."
Ron decided to put the thoughts of his mission out of his head for a bit and concentrate on practicing. There wasn't much he'd be able to accomplish until he spoke to Dumbledore anyway. Besides, tryouts were tomorrow and if he had any hope of actually making the team, he needed all the practice he could get.
"Where have you been?!"
Ron made his way through the portrait hole, his broom at his side, and looked up in time to see a disgruntled Hermione rushing towards him. He gave her a confused look as he finished crawling through the hole and stood up.
"Huh?"
"Do you know what tonight is?" Hermione asked as she reached him.
"Yeah…it's Thursday," Ron replied, still not sure what she was so angry about.
"No, it's our turn to patrol the halls," she replied as if he should already know that, "You're a prefect, remember? We should have started our patrol almost ten minutes ago!"
"I know I'm a prefect, Hermione," he grumbled, not liking the way she was talking to him, "No one's gonna care if we start our patrol a bit late. Relax!"
"I care!" she snapped, pushing past him to start making her way out through the portrait hole, "You may not take your responsibilities seriously, but I do!"
"Oy!" he yelled, tossing his broom aside and following closely behind her, crawling out into the hallway outside Gryffindor tower, "You have no idea what I do and don't take seriously…what kind of responsibilities I have to shoulder!"
Hermione stopped where she was in the hall, blinking at him, mouth agape. Obviously, she hadn't expected such a vehement comeback from him.
"What sort of responsibilities?" she asked, looking at him curiously.
"Well, besides prefect duties," he replied, "Angelina Johnson is practically demanding my presence at the Quidditch tryouts tomorrow, and she expects me to be good because I'm a Weasley."
"Quidditch," snorted Hermione derisively, turning her back on him and heading down the hall to begin their patrol, "There's more to life than Quidditch."
"Says the girlfriend of a professional Quidditch player," Ron muttered under his breath, moving after her.
"What was that?" she asked, turning to look at him.
"Nothing," he replied, "Nevermind."
"That can't be the only responsibility you meant," Hermione said as they made their way down the seventh floor corridor, "What else?"
"Just forget it, Hermione," Ron replied in aggravation. He knew he couldn't tell her about his real responsibility, so he wanted the subject dropped as soon as possible, "Let's just get this patrol over with."
They went on with their patrol and remained completely silent for well on half-an-hour before Hermione broke the silence.
"So, I couldn't help noticing that you've been avoiding me all day," Hermione said bluntly as they made their way down to the sixth floor.
"Err…well…uh…yeah, I reckon I was," Ron admitted, blushing. He hadn't expected her to call him out like that, "If it makes you feel any better, I was avoiding everybody."
"No; oddly enough, that doesn't make me feel better," she replied, "Do you mind if I ask why you're avoiding everyone?"
"I do mind, yeah," he said, not looking at her, "I'd really rather not have to lie to you."
"What would you need to lie to me about?" she asked, stopping in her tracks, "Does this have anything to do with that comment you made about not living long enough to take the OWLs? If you plan on hurting yourself, it's my duty as a prefect to notify Professor McGonagall."
Ron stopped walking and turned, gawking at her. He quickly played back their conversation from the night before and realized what she was talking about. Once again, Ron Weasley wished he could kick himself for the things he'd said to her.
"I'm not gonna hurt myself," Ron said honestly while trying to come up with a believable explanation for what he'd said, "It's just…err…I had this dream, yeah? And when I told Trelawney about it, she said I'd be dead by Christmas."
"Divination," Hermione snorted derisively, "That class is just a lot of rubbish. And Professor Trelawney…well…she's just a charlatan! 'Broaden your minds; use your inner eye to see the future'…ha! I am so glad I dropped that class."
"I dunno," Ron countered, shrugging, "She must be legitimate enough to have gotten a job here. She's been teaching here for years."
"I can't imagine why," she replied, shaking her head, "Maybe Dumbledore was doing someone a favor and kept her on out of pity."
"Or maybe she's for real, but nobody believes in her because she spends all her time acting like a complete loon," he said, shrugging.
"Please tell me you don't believe in her," Hermione laughed, "I thought only complete twits like Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil believed in that rot! You don't actually believe you'll be dead by Christmas, do you?"
"You have to admit," Ron said, starting to walk again, "A lot of stuff happens around here that could kill a bloke."
"You do land yourself in the hospital wing an awful lot," Hermione admitted, hurrying to catch up with Ron.
"That just goes hand-in-hand with being…" Ron was about to say 'That just goes hand-in-hand with being Harry Potter's best mate", but he stopped himself before he said something else that would raise more questions.
"Being what?" Hermione asked, making Ron stiffen up and grimace.
"Err…what?" he tried playing dumb.
"Getting hospitalized goes hand-in-hand with being what?" she asked more clearly, looking curiously at him.
"Nothing; nevermind," Ron grumbled, refusing to meet her eyes, "Forget I said anything."
"It's no wonder no one knows what to make of you," Hermione replied softly, looking away from him.
"What?" he stopped in his tracks looking at her.
Hermione stopped as well, but continued to look away from him, gazing out one of the windows into the darkness of the school grounds. "One minute you're being completely horrible…the next minute you're being nice and almost sweet…and then you're being all mysterious. What am I…what are we…supposed to think about you?"
"Err…" Ron blushed as he tried to figure out what to say to her, "You have to believe me, Hermione…I don't like keeping things from you. If I could tell you the truth, I would."
"Why?" she asked suddenly, turning on her heels to look him in the eye, as if trying to figure him out by gazing into his very soul, "Why would you tell me the truth instead of, say, Neville? He is your best friend."
"Err…" he had no idea how to respond to her. He was blushing deeply and starting to sweat.
"What makes me so special that you're suddenly coming to my defense and trying to be nice to me?" she asked, stepping up closer to him, "Why did you rescue my cat? Why does Neville keep telling me to give you a chance and to stop holding the past against you?"
"Erm…uh…" he started backing up, as if getting some distance from her would make it easier to come up with a believable answer that didn't reveal everything to her. Within three strides of his long legs, however, his back was against the corridor wall.
She kept moving towards him, her face still seeming to be searching for an answer in his eyes. "What is it, Ron? Tell me."
"B-bloody buggering Hell," Ron gulped as she got within a foot-and-a-half of him. He couldn't tell her the truth…no matter how much he wanted to. He silently began wishing for something…anything…to come along and provide him with a distraction.
He never expected his wish to be answered.
"Well what do we have here?!"
-- END CHAPTER 12 --
AUTHOR'S END NOTES: Yet another cliffhanger ending...I hope no one's out there screaming for my head because of it. :-)
I hope that was worth the six week wait you folks had to endure. I HOPE there will be no more of those extended hiatuses (hiati?) in the future, but no one can ever really tell for sure.
If you feel up to it, let me know what you thought about this chapter.
Whether you review or not, check back in (hopefully) two weeks for the next chapter.
Until then, in the immortal words of New York news anchor Ernie Anastos...Keep on f***in' that chicken!