Chapter 7: 3-4 November
Hermione sat with Bella the next night and Ron the night after that. The last Quidditch practice before the match against Slytherin had been nothing short of horrific. Some combination of Ron's nerves and angst about Hermione must have really been getting to him, because he failed to save every goal the Chasers aimed his way. He'd started yelling at other members of the team in his frustration and even had Demelza Robbins in tears by the end of practice.
"Ron, you're my best mate, but carry on treating the rest of them like this and I'm going to kick you off the team," Harry said on Friday night once the others had packed up and left the team locker room. But Ron merely shrugged.
"It's fine. I resign...I'm pathetic."
"You're not pathetic and you're not resigning!" shouted Harry. "You can save anything when you're on form, it's a mental problem you've got!"
"You calling me mental?"
"Yeah, maybe I am!" Harry retorted. He was trying to insight some kind of fight in his best friend, some thirst to prove himself, but Ron simply was not ambitious that way. They glared at each other for a moment, then turned toward the locker room door, his broom slung over one shoulder.
"I know you haven't got any time to find another Keeper, so I'll play tomorrow, but if we lose, and we will, I'm taking myself off the team," he said and before Harry could respond, he was walking the other way and calling over his shoulder,
"I expect I'll go and see her. At least then I won't have to deal with the common room tonight."
Harry nodded and continued packing up his quidditch things. He was aware that in some subconcious (or even conscious) part of his mind, he'd been trying to ignore Bellatrix. For some reason, as he drifted off to sleep at night, she was frequently the last thing on his mind...and not just concern about what she might be capable of or plans to interrogate her or use her as bait for Voldemort, as Ron and Hermione had suggested...no, his thoughts of Bellatrix were images of her. Playful and innocent, waiting for him to bring her dinner and talk about Quidditch and the gossip of the day. Dancing with her in her orange dress on Halloween. Playing Exploding Snap with her and Luna.
And sometimes, they went deeper than that and that was what scared him. Those dreams that delved into the fantastical. Waltzing with an arm around Bella's waist instead of Parvati Patil's at the Yule Ball. Caressing her face instead of Cho Chang's under a sprig of miseltoe in the Room of Requirement...then leaning closer, close enough to smell her hair and that musky shampoo she used. Feeling the arch of her high cheekbones in one hand as he pulled her face to his with the other, kissed her, tasted her on his tongue...no. He could not think this way. Why would he want to think this way? She was a monster. She killed-no. He didn't want to think about that either.
If by some miracle we win, I'll go and see her again, he told himself. And this fortunately brought his mind back on Quidditch. He did not want to lose the upcoming match; not only was it his first as Captain, but they were playing against Draco Malfoy and the Slytherin team who were always happy to use any leverage against Harry they could get. He couldn't be beaten at Quidditch by a Death Eater-even a symbolic victory would be too much, and yet, what was there to be done about Ron's nerves?
And then he remembered.
"You don't have to use it...Ron just has to…"
"-think I did. Bellatrix...you're brilliant!"
"We Slytherins are known for tricks like that."
Harry felt a little guilty using her idea when he wasn't speaking to her, but then again, if her trick helped Gryffindor win the match, he'd be speaking to her again anyway and then it wouldn't matter. Thinking fondly of the little bottle of Felix Felicis still locked away in his trunk, Harry decided his team might have a chance after all.
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The Great Hall was a roar of sound when Harry strode to the Gryffindor table on Saturday morning. Fortunately, he'd slept signficantly better than he had been earlier in the week. Unfortunately, he'd once again dreamed about Bellatrix, her couch in the Room of Requirement, and doing a lot more than talking with her on it. Sighing at the chorus of boos and hisses from the Slytherins, he looked up at the ceiling reflecting the weather conditions outside. The sky was a cloudless, perfect blue and the rays of sunlight streaming in promised a certain degree of warmth. Honestly, they couldn't have asked for more ideal conditions.
He took a seat beside Ron, who was staring weakly into an untouched bowl of hot cereal. Gryffindors waved and cheered in their direction, but Ron ignored them.
"Cheer up, Ron!" called Lavender Brown from a few seats down. "I know you'll be brilliant!" But he ignored her, too. Eager to get Ron's mind off of Quidditch, Harry shot him a knowing look and asked as casually as he could,
"How're things with our friend?"
"Same as usual, but she...did say she's going to try and watch the bloody match from her tower. As if I need someone else seeing me humiliated," Ron said glumly.
"It's not that. She's probably just bored, I expect. You'd be bored too if you were her." Plus she played Quidditch when she was here, maybe she wants to reminisce...or cheer for Slytherin...he almost said and then immediately cut himself off. He'd been so careful not to let on to anyone how well he was getting to know her. Then, his eye caught on the pitcher of pumpkin juice on the table in front of him and he refocused on the plan.
"Tea?" Harry asked Ron. "Coffee? Pumpkin juice?"
"Anything," he said, stirring absently at his cereal. A few minutes later Hermione made her way up to the table.
"How are you both feeling?" she asked.
"Fine," said Harry, who had just made a small show of tipping his little gold potion bottle over the pumpkin juice he was handing Ron. "There you go, Ron. Drink up." Ron had just raised the glass to his lips when Hermione spoke, alarmed.
"Don't drink that, Ron!"
"Why not?" Ron demanded. Hermione was now staring at Harry as though thoroughly scandalized.
"You just put something in that drink."
"Excuse me?" said Harry.
"You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry, and he made another show of stowing the bottle into his pocket, but not without making sure Ron first caught a little glimpse of gold.
Smiling for the first time in days, Ron picked up the glass and drained it all in one gulp.
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Quidditch conditions couldn't have been more ideal if Harry really had given Ron lucky potion. Along with the perfect weather, it turned out that Slytherin's best Chaser, was out of the match due to a practice injury. And, perhaps most surprisingly, Draco Malfoy had called off sick and Slytherin was playing Harper, their back-up Seeker, instead. Harry knew anything that occupied Malfoy so thoroughly as to make him miss Quidditch could mean nothing good, but he had little time to dwell on this, as the match was set to begin in just a few minutes.
"Hey…" Ron said suddenly, halfway through pulling on his Keeper's gloves and staring wide-eyed at Harry.
"What?"
"I . . . you . . ." Ron had dropped his voice, he looked both scared and excited. "My drink . . . my pumpkin juice . . . you didn't . . . ?"
But Harry said nothing except, "We'll be starting in about five minutes, you'd better get your boots on."
The Quidditch pitch seemed to shine in the sunlight when the teams stepped out onto it. Most of the school had taken a side on this notoriously competitive match, including the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and even some of the teachers. With a sideways glance in the direction of the castle, Harry couldn't help but wonder what side she was cheering for. If she could even see the match at all...
"Captains shake hands," said Madam Hooch as she got ready to release the Quaffle, Bludgers and Snitch from their crate. And after Harry nearly had his hand crushed by the new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart, she held her whistle to her lips. "Mount your brooms. On the whistle . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ."
At the shrill sound of the whistle rising above the din of the crowd, Harry kicked off from the ground and was off into the air.
He shot straight up above the pitch and began to circle the outskirts, keeping one eye out for the golden snitch and the other on that backup Slytherin Seeker, Harper, who turned out to be a scrawny fifth year boy with a face like a rat.
"Well, there they go, and I think we're all surprised to see the team that Potter's put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help. . . ." the voice of Zacharias Smith from Hufflepuff oozed out of the commentator's microphone and Harry visibly cringed. Harry had disliked from Smith about as long as they'd known each other.
"Oh, and here comes Slytherin's first attempt on goal, it's Urquhart streaking down the pitch and —Weasley saves it, well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose. . . ."
The match continued to play on in this fashion as Harry continued his hunt for the snitch. Smith took every opportunity he could muster to say rude things about Ron, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team, but despite this, Ron saved every goal the Slytherins attempted and Ginny, Demelza and Dean had Gryffindor leading sixty points to zero less than an hour into the game. Harry found he was actually enjoying himself, watching them from on high as he circled. It was like all his anxiety from earlier in the week had abated and Gryffindor could do no wrong. Eventually, Harper started tailing him. This annoyed him-he sped down and back up again, dodging around the gold hoops and other players in an attempt to get the Slytherin seeker off his tail-and then he saw it. They both did.
The Snitch was speeding along high above them, glinting brightly against the clear blue sky. Harry leaned down on his Firebolt to accelerate. He was neck-to-neck with Harper. They both had their hands outstretched. Harry had the faster broom, but Harper's arms were longer...he was grabbing for the snitch.
"Oi, Harper!" yelled Harry in desperation. "How much did Malfoy pay you to come on instead of him?" Harper turned around to glare at Harry, missing the snitch, which seemed to fall right into Harry's oustretched hand.
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The atmosphere in the locker room was jubilant.
"Party up in the common room, Seamus said!"
"C'mon, Ginny, Demelza!"
Harry couldn't stop grinning. Theyd' won the match. Beaten Slytherin. Ron had proven himself more than capable of being the best Keeper for the team. They were going to have a party...and then Harry was going to see Bellatrix again. He and Ron met Hermione just outside the locker room.
"I want a word with you, Harry," she said. "You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, it's illegal."
"What are you going to do, turn us in?" demanded Ron. Not in any mood for bickering, Harry rolled his eyes.
"I didn't spike Ron's drink with Felix Felicis if that's what you're on about."
"Yes you did, Harry, and that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!" Hermione exclaimed.
"I didn't," said Harry as he pulled the tiny bottle of Felix Felicis, still tightly corked, out of his jacket pocket. "I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking." He looked at Ron. "You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself." He pocketed the potion again.
"There really wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice?" Ron said, astounded. "But the weather's good . . . and Vaisey couldn't play.. . . I honestly haven't been given lucky potion?" Harry shook his head. Ron gaped at him for a moment, then rounded on Hermione, imitating her voice. "You added Felix Felicis to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything! See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!"
"I never said you couldn't — Ron, you thought you'd been given it too!" But Ron had already stormed off into the sunset.
"Er," said Harry awkwardly, "shall . . . shall we go up to the party, then?"
"You go!" said Hermione, blinking back tears. "I'm sick of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done. . . ." Not wanting anything to dampen his good mood, Harry went up to the party alone.
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Music thudded on in the background when Harry slipped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. The victory party was already in full swing. Two tables draped in Gryffindor tapestries were brimming with drinks-butterbeer, firewhisky, rum punch and a variety of sweet italian sodas. Ginny and Dean lingered there, each with drinks in hand. Harry could scarcely join them, however, before the Creevey brothers appeared on either side of him begging for a match analysis and his signature on a few of the polaroid shots they'd taken. Then, he had to shake off a group of fifth year girls who were already drunk and offering to get him shots.
At last, he extricated himself from Romilda Vane, who was hinting heavily that she would like to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with him. As he was ducking toward the drinks table, he walked straight into Ginny, who was smirking and looking at something off by the fireplace.
"Have you seen Ron?" she asked. "He's over there, the filthy hypocrite." Harry followed her eyes to the squashiest armchair by the fire, where, in full view of the whole room, Ron was wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown it was hard to tell whose hands were whose.
"It looks like he's eating her face, doesn't it?" said Ginny casually. "But I suppose he's got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Harry." She helped herself to another drink and walked off back into the fray of the party. Hermione was going to be furious, Harry thought. He considered looking for her, making sure she was okay (though perhaps she didn't even know yet)...but then another thought crossed his mind-one that didn't involve any drama...he had to make right with her, thank her properly for her idea about the felix felicis...With a renewed sense of bravado, Harry eyed the drink table more thoroughly, wondering just what she might like best.
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Harry was more than a little drunk when he finally went up to see Bella that evening. After briefly looking around for Hermione and not finding her, he'd indulged himself in a butterbeer and a few shots with the team-one because they'd won, one because Ron and Lavender finally went off to hook up, and another just because it was Saturday.
"Harry?" He heard her before he saw her, just as he rounded on her little section of the Room of Requirement and his hand tightened slightly on the bottle of firewhiskey he was holding when he finally noticed her.
She was perched on the windowsill, which had magically extended itself so she could stretch out comfortably, looking out over the grounds in a white silk nightgown. Her long black curls were pulled in a loose ponytail over her left shoulder and Harry thought she looked prettier like this than she had even on Halloween. There was a certain softness to her, especially compared to the woman in black at the Ministry of Magic last summer...it was her, he couldn't forget that, but yet at the same time it really wasn't.
Harry set the firewhiskey down on the bedside table and pulled himself up on the windowsill beside her.
"We won! Bella! We won!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around her as he did so. He could feel the alcohol pulsing through him. "And Ron and Lavender hooked up. And now I am here...with the most beautiful lady in this castle."
"You flatter me," she whispered, but she smiled all the same as they pulled apart.
"You deserve to be flattered. You're beautiful. And I have been thinking about you all day," he could hear the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he also found it didn't matter.
"Did you see the match?" he asked.
"Bits...who was that idiot they had doing the commentary?"
"A moron from Hufflepuff no one can stand."
"Is there anyone from Hufflepuff who isn't a moron?" Her remark may have been rude, but her eyes glinted in that mischievous way that let him know she was only joking. Feeling the alcohol continue to course through him, Harry launched into telling her about the match-all about the successful trick with the luck potion, Ron's amazing saves, his race with Harper to the snitch (though he did drag this bit out a little to make his catch seem more spectacular than it actually was) and he was just getting to the part about his and Ron's confrontation with Hermione before the party when suddenly, he stopped.
He looked at Bellatrix, feeling like time had frozen for a moment as he fully appreciated how beautiful she really was. Her eyes, like warm amber watching him, flashing with amusement as he told her about all the things that in hindsight now seemed childish. Her nightgown was loose and flowing, slipping dangerously over cleavage like it was threatening to expose her, but wouldn't. Her lips, pursed in that sarcastic pout he used to despise. It felt like the room was getting hotter, pressing in on him, pushing him into one of those dreams he resented having but enjoyed all the same-Then his lips were on hers, and surprisingly, she fell into the kiss, even parting her lips to allow him access.
It was like kissing Cho, only magnified. All of his senses were heightened, had he ever felt so alive, so real?
Then, suddenly, Bellatrix pulled away. She shoved Harry aside and slid back to her own end of the windowsill.
"No," she said sharply. "None of that until you tell me what the hell has been going on."
A/N: Well, looks like there's no getting around it. He really has to tell her now...though how will he broach such a difficult topic? And how will she react?