CHAPTER 31: REPITITION DOES NOT EQUAL BELIEF
The next Quidditch match would be between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, which meant that America felt the slightest bit of conflict about supporting his own team. Canada seemed to be conflicted over whether to support his own house team or his friend's team. In the final few days before the match, however, he seemed to make up his mind to support Hufflepuff, if him saying to Harry, "I hope you aren't a sore loser, eh," with a nasty grin on his face was any indicator. Despite his reputation as a paragon of niceness, Canada could be really competitive sometimes.
America was pretty sure Canada's prediction was going to be wrong. Harry's team had been training pretty much every day, and the sessions he'd dropped in on looked really good. So he was in very good spirits when he went into his dormitory the evening before the match to find a slinky and yo-yo (long story). Then he saw what laid within and his spirits fled as if they'd been exorcised.
By some stroke of luck, good or bad it was impossible to ascertain, America ran into Harry at the top of the stairs. "Dude, somebody took everything out of your trunk and threw it around the room! It totally looks like a hotel room the morning after a rock band stays in it, but less throw-up and broken beer bottles." Harry's eyes widened and he rushed through the door. America felt he was kind of expected to follow him, and did so.
Harry seemed shocked by this sudden invasion of privacy. He and America were just putting the sheets back on his bed when the rest of their room-mates entered. Dean swore loudly. "What happened, Harry?"
"No idea," said Harry. Ron was examining Harry's scattered robes. America noticed that all the pockets were hanging out.
"Someone's been looking for something," said Ron. "Is there anything missing?"
Harry, starting to look truly panicked, hastily began picking his things up and putting them into his trunk. America and Ron exchanged a look. America was relieved to see the worry curling around his abdomen like a snake reflected in Ron's eyes. When Harry finally finished putting his things away, he came closer and said to the two of them in an undertone, "Riddle's diary's gone."
"What?"
America shrugged. "Meh, it seemed pretty evil anyway. Totally not a loss." Harry gave him a swift glare before jerking his head towards the dormitory door, signalling that they should get out of hearing range of their room-mates. They hurried back down to the Gryffindor common room, which was only half full, and joined Hermione, who was sitting alone, reading a book called Ancient Runes Made Easy. America got the feeling that Hermione and the author's idea of 'easy' was every other person on Earth's idea of 'ridiculously hard my brain is melting just looking at this'.
Harry quickly explained what had happened to her. Looking aghast, she replied, "But – only a Gryffindor could have stolen – nobody else knows our password…"
"Exactly," said Harry.
America started tapping his foot impatiently. "Then let's go find out who did it, dudes! C'mon, let's go! Why are we all just sitting around?!"
"Er, it's not like we can just ask, mate," said Ron. "I mean, do you really think asking, 'Did you steal the magical diary from Harry?' is going to get us an affirmative?"
America put on a pronounced pout, crossing his arms over his chest. "Party pooper. What do you suggest we do? Just wait around and hope that whoever did it feels bad and gives it back with a note of apology?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you the one saying that the book was pure evil and would destroy the world or something? I thought you'd be glad to see it gone."
"Well, yeah, but, you know… it's the principle of the thing." After a few moments of being stared at, America let out a harrumph and threw up his arms. "Fine, fine, we'll do it your way! Just sit around and do nothing. Great plan, dudes."
*time skip*
By the time he woke up to bright sunshine (Sunshine in Scotland? Who knew?) the next morning, America was so excited about the match he had pretty much completely forgotten about the missing Necronomicon.
"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" said the hilariously named Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading his team's plates with scrambled eggs until they were hidden behind a veritable mountain of the stuff. "Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast."
America thumped him playfully on the shoulder with enough force to send him face-first into his plate. "Yeah, come on, dude, you got a game to win!" Despite both his and Wood's encouragement, Harry still looked thoroughly distressed when they left the Great Hall to get his Quidditch things. Then, just as the Boy Who Lived set foot on the marble staircase, he froze.
Suddenly he let out a loud shout, causing Ron and Hermione to jump away from him in alarm. America stayed where he was. The shout hadn't been that loud, at least by his standards. "The voice!" said Harry, looking over his shoulder. "I just heard it again – didn't you?"
"Wait, seriously?" That definitely hadn't been what America was expecting. "Oh, fu-"
Hermione clapped a hand to her forehead. "Harry – I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!" And she sprinted away, up the stairs.
"What does she understand?" said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.
"Loads more than I do," said Ron, shaking his head.
"Wish she'd tell us some of it," grumbled America. "Maybe then she won't have to be a living, breathing encyclopaedia."
"But why's she going to the library?"
America snorted. "Dude, you've known Hermione for almost two years now, and you haven't figured out that her reaction to things is always 'run to the library'?" Ron nodded in agreement.
Harry was obviously still shaken by the voice, but people were now emerging from the Great Hall behind him, talking loudly, exiting through the front doors on their way to the Quidditch pitch. Canada made his way through the crowd and tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Harry, you should be getting a move on, eh," he said, eyes twinkling playfully. "I understand if you don't want to get beaten, of course, but that's no reason not to try."
Harry nodded and raced off in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. America, Canada and Ron all walked down to the Quidditch pitch together, arguing about who would win all the while. They only stopped when Canada went off to join his fellow Hufflepuffs in the stands. America and Ron settled themselves in amongst the other Gryffindors, the anticipation in the air so thick it could almost be mistaken for toxic gas.
Everyone cheered and booed appropriately as the teams walked onto the pitch. Harry looked a bit more anxious than he usually did before a match, but from this distance it could have easily been America's imagination. The balls were released, Wood did a quick warm-up flight around the goal-posts, and everyone got so excited America was seriously worried they might form a mob and march on the teams if they didn't start soon.
The teams mounted their brooms, and the whole stadium held its breath… and then Professor McGonagall came hurrying onto the pitch, holding what looked like a purple microphone. And wizards say they don't need Muggle technology… "This match has been cancelled," she called. Everyone shouted and booed, America included. What the hell, dude? We were just about to win the Quidditch cup! Don't pretend you don't care, we all know you want to see the other houses crushed under our heel! Oliver Wood clearly had a similar reaction, running over to McGonagall and saying something to her. She ignored him and continued, "All students are to make their way back to the house common rooms, where their Heads of House will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!" She lowered the megaphone and – America had to squint to see it – beckoned Harry over. After a quick, unheard exchange, they started heading to the castle. What?! Harry was heading back without them?!
"Aw, HELL naw!" America stood up and ran after them, Ron right behind him. Canada joined them as well, Kumajiro lumbering behind and displaying the ursine speed and agility many people underestimated. They caught up with the two of them quickly. America opened his mouth, quickly pulling together the best argument he could for why Professor McGonagall should drag the three of them along.
That argument died on his lips when she simply looked at them sadly and said, "Yes, perhaps you three had better come, too." America was so shocked and confused that he couldn't come up with anything to say as they made their way back to the castle and up the marble stairs. He had been expecting to be lead to McGonagall's office or something, so he was even more puzzled than he already was when he recognized the path to the hospital wing.
"This will be a bit of a shock," she said in a gentle voice America never would have thought her capable of. "There has been another attack… another double attack."
America and Canada both simultaneously let out swears that under normal circumstances would have gotten them docked points or at least detention. Since apparently these were not normal circumstances, McGonagall let it slide and simply pushed open the hospital wing door.
It was one of those moments were you can only absorb so much in a situation in so much time. At first America could only see Madam Pomfrey leaning over a girl who looked to be in her fifth-year who he didn't recognize. Then his eyes slid to the bed next to her and he could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a moment.
"Hermione!" Ron groaned.
It was her, lying utterly still, eyes open and glassy. America's breath caught in his throat and died. How did he breathe again? He couldn't remember. Looking into those empty eyes sent him back… back to battlefields, back to packed hospital wards full of victims of some epidemic, back to the bedsides of friends who had been able to be lifelong friends with him, without him being able to return the favour… She's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead, she's going to get better, she's just Petrified, she's going to be okay again…
He could barely comprehend Professor McGonagall's words. "They were found near the library. I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them…" America tore his eyes away from Hermione's face to see a small, circular mirror in the Professor's hands. All four of the boys shook their heads, their gazes all dragged back to Hermione as if she were exerting a strong gravitational pull. She's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead…
"Matthew, I am afraid you'll have to go back to your common room on your own," said Professor McGonagall heavily. "I will escort these three back to Gryffindor Tower. I need to address the students of my house in any case."
A/N: Sorry this chapter is a bit late, guys. I had a bit of trouble writing the first part. Not the sad part, that part came very easily, which is rather worrying. I THINK WE ALL NEED HUGS NOW! \(T-T)/ Thank you all for your suggestions about courses! I don't think I'll make a final decision until I start writing the next book. Anyways, ignoring all the sadness, time for Q&A! To SoulxMakaLover37: You can? I've never tried it. I don't think I could use my current one, since my family seems to be using it as a shelf as well as a musical instrument. And for the second question... probably everything would be different. I don't know, I find it hard to imagine. I'd probably just spend all my time huddled up in a corner trying not to cause anything discomfort. To TheChibitalian: Nothing springs to mind. And I'm afraid if I told you a scary story it would probably be longer than the actual chapter. If I tell a story, I need to tell it properly. Sorry! I still love you in a friendly platonic way! To Natekleh: I think I came across the name somewhere. Let me Google it... Huh. I'm afraid to read too much about it in case I spoil myself, but it looks interesting. I might watch a playthrough of it some day. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada and friends confront Hagrid. See you all next time!