Harry sat on the edge of his four-poster bed, bracing himself for the stares and comments he was bound to get. He thought he would be used to it by now, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him otherwise.
Heading downstairs he found himself at the portrait exit of the Fat Old Lady having avoided any awkward stares. Most students were already enjoying their breakfast in the Great Hall anyway, but a few were scattered around the Gryffindor common room, their noses pressed into books or essays being written. He pushed the portrait door open and was immediately met with Hermione's face.
"Hi," she said, holding two stacks of toast in each hand both resting on napkins, "Thought you'd like some toast ... and maybe a walk?"
"Oh, er, thanks," said Harry, as Hermione handed a round over to him.
They made their way downstairs as some students were now heading back to their dormitory after breakfast, and the whispers began to start.
"Why'd you think he did it?"
"How'd he do it I wanna know,"
" ... can't get enough attention ... "
The cold morning air was a relief as they headed outside. They headed further away from Hogwarts, around the Herbology greenhouses where a sweet aroma was wafting from and found themselves walking alongside the giant lake, which shimmered black and blue in the cold breeze, eating their toast in silence.
"Harry," Hermione began after Harry had finished his last piece, but was immediately interrupted.
"I didn't put my name in the - " Harry started, expecting that he would questioned about why he did it even by his friends, but she cut him off.
"I know you didn't. You'd have to be mad to do it," she said softly, "Did you see all of the professor's faces? Even they don't believe it."
"Ron does!" he said, a little too loudly that Hermione was sure she saw a tentacle briefly rise from the lake, "Fred and George too. You heard the others. 'can't get enough attention'. Yeah, right, everyone believes I did it ... "
"Oh Ron's just, well, being Ron! He'll come around once he thinks about it, and not everyone believes you did it, if you hadn't heard me earlier," she finished a little curtly.
Silence followed for a while, and Harry wondered why she had come to badger him about this when he just wanted to be alone. They continued walking past the lake and the Quidditch stadium towers seemed to rise higher and higher in the horizon while the courtyard and greenhouses grew smaller behind them.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, feeling a little ashamed at his outburst, "It's just - y'know," He could deal with the whispers, the comments, the looks, but Ron? He was his best friend. He knew him better than anyone. He was supposed to believe him.
Hermione suddenly grabbed his arm, looking at a tiny silver pocket watch she pulled out of her pocket.
"Oh gosh, Harry, I didn't realise we walked so far!" she proclaimed looking startled and spinning them both around, "It's half past eight, we're going to be late for History of Magic,"
And while holding onto Harry's robes pulled them along in a run, back towards the courtyard entrance, back along the side of the lake, past the sweet smelling greenhouses, up the steps and slipping into the Hogwarts front doors which were closing very fast.
"It's just History of Magic, Hermione," Harry said, his robes finally free and breathing a little heavy, "Binns is probably still asleep in his chair,"
"Come on," she insisted, and grabbed his arm again.
They took the steps two at a time, Hermione half checking she had all her books in her small bag and half keeping her eye on the watch. A marathon run and maze of corridoors later they finally reached the hall to Professor Binns's classroom.
"Oh no, oh no no no," Hermione panicked, grabbing her books and shoving her watch back inside her pocket, "We're late! We'll get detention! I don't get detention!" she exclaimed frantically as they finally reached the door and opened it as quietly as they could.
"Thanks for the toast," Harry whispered holding a stitch in his side as they made their way to open desks. Professor Binns had completely unnoticed their appearance and continued on his speech about the 17th century Wizengamot's decision on whether a cabbage was created magically or naturally.