In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 36: Suspension
While Ron vaguely noticed Harry leaving for his Friday morning run, Ron went back to sleep for a bit longer, until the shaking started.
"Time to get up!" Hermione said, loudly.
Ron cracked his eyelids, the pain from the light was only softened by her knockers above her trousers. She pulled the covers off the bed, Ron's morning wood sprung to life.
"At least the sheets dried quickly," Hermione said.
"You—" Ron started.
Hermione pulled on Ron's ankle, dragged him out of bed. He fell onto the floor.
"You're being mean," Ron said as he stumbled up to a standing posture.
"Get moving!" Hermione shoved Ron out the door, into the bathroom. "Now, unless you're expecting me to bathe you—"
"Will you?" Ron put on a puppy dog face.
"Now you're being a git!" Hermione snapped.
Ron recognized the glare, the one that was determined he do something, the one that she continued as he backed into the shower. She drew the shower curtain between them. Ron got the message, Legilimency not required.
"Besides," Hermione said, "We need to discuss how to get Harry to see Madam Pomfrey."
"Why?" Ron asked as he turned on the water.
"Oh come on!" Hermione said, "His nightmares! I could've had two pints of piss if I had that fetish!"
Ron wasn't certain how to steer this conversation, he admitted to himself that Harry needed help, but the wrong type of help would be worse than no help at all. He poked his head out of the shower curtain.
"Do you?" Ron asked.
Hermione threw a wet wash cloth toward his face. Ron ducked back in, used the curtain as a shield. The cloth hit with a splat, slid down onto the linoleum floor.
I'm being serious!" Hermione said, "He needs something—"
"Like he'd agree to see Madam Pomfrey," Ron said as he washed himself, "Even if that'd help, which I doubt, I think he's got to want the help, we can't impose it. In the meanwhile, we can be understanding—"
"Just because you've got the fetish—" Hermione said.
"I didn't say that," Ron said, "It's complicated."
Ron hurried up before he turned off the water. He drew the curtain back open, grabbed a towel, and stepped out to dry.
"We can be his friends—that's as much as we can do. If it's a broken arm, it's easy to get him in, but this—sorry, I think it'd go wrong to try."
"You're impossible!" Hermione slapped him as he slipped past her, she glared at his grin.
Ron rounded the corner into Gia's bedroom. Hermione followed, but paused as Harry came up the stairs. Ron glanced, saw as she saw, Harry sans shorts.
"Harry—shorts optional?" Hermione asked.
Harry stopped at the top, glanced down, to the front of his mesh jock strap.
"I wondered about the breeze," Harry remarked, "Bit nippy…"
"Boys," Hermione muttered as she entered the bedroom.
Harry continued into the bathroom, the water came on in the shower.
"Ready," Ron said.
Hermione's eyes scanned him, from his shoes to his trousers with a belt, to his bare shirtless chest.
"At least you've got your tie…" Hermione tugged at the strip dangling from his neck.
"Very funny," Ron said, "Harry managed to drench my shirts last night. Hold on!"
Ron activated his Portkey while Hermione held on; the Portkey yanked on them momentarily before it pushed back, and they tumbled back into Gia's bedroom
"Know how to work it—?" Hermione asked as she stood up.
"Not now," Ron grumbled, "Stand back—quick check."
Ron activated the Portkey, his wand in hand. It pulled him through Noigate until he landed in Hermione's bedroom. He noticed the small bundle on her bed when Linda Granger entered with a hammer and nail.
"Oh," Linda said, "I thought you two were at—"
"We are—were—she is," Ron said, "What's that?" Ron watched Linda draw out a small leotard. She handed it to him.
"It's Hermione's old ballet costume," Linda said.
Ron grinned as he held it up.
"I figured she'd appreciate this after I noticed she had mounted your Quidditch Robe," Linda said, "Don't you agree—?"
"Dunno about her," Ron said, "Have you considered the living room?"
"That sounds better," Linda said, "Don't let her be late for school."
Ron grinned as he activated the Portkey. It whisked him back, and Ron landed in Gia's bedroom as Harry came in.
"You forgot me!" Hermione snapped.
"Your Mum says 'Hi'," Ron said.
Harry raised his eyebrows as he watched.
"We need to try your Portkey Harry," Ron said as an owl delivered a letter, addressed to the three of them.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Mr. Harry Potter, Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Miss. Hermione Granger,
Mr. Paul Prewett was beaten this morning. Implicated in this attack are Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.
Pursuant to the Governors resolution 96112, you are suspended from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry until seven in the morning on Tuesday, November 19, 1996.
Albus Dumbledore
"If I hurry," Harry said, "I can catch up with Gia." With his trousers in hand, Harry rushed out the door.
"What now?" Hermione asked.
Ron grabbed his book bag before he held up the Portkey. Hermione held on as Ron activated it. They landed back in her bedroom.
"One of Dad's shirts should fit you," Hermione said, "We can talk about Harry's nightmares—"
"Drop it!" Ron ordered.
"What?!" Hermione stammered, "He's getting nightmares—when Madam Pomfrey could give him a potion—"
"They aren't going to vanish, not before You–Know–Who is vanquished," Ron said, "It ain't going to be solved by drowning him in something from a bottle, so drop the matter. Anyways, we can't do nothing until Tuesday, so I suggest London, I've got an errand to do."
Ron pulled out a small roll of parchment.
"Where you going?" Hermione asked.
"London," Ron replied, "Stay or come with me?"
Ron left the bedroom, left the house, shirtless except for his Gryffindor tie. Hermione followed.
"Just a tie, really?" Hermione asked.
"Distinctive," Ron stated.
They made it onto the 0852 to Waterloo, took two seats facing each other a short table.
"Typical!" Hermione said, "I don't like how you're handling Harry's nightmares!"
"Nothing wrong with nightmares," Ron replied.
"Pissing? Shoving? Cold sweats?" Hermione said, "Those aren't normal."
"You're blaming the victim," Ron said, "Once You–Know–Who is vanquished, they'll go away."
Hermione leaned forward, held Ron's tie, her brown eyes stared into his.
"Madam Pomfrey could do something for them," Hermione said.
"Yeah, right," Ron said, "Voldemort's torturing, so you're pushing a potion!"
"You said his name!" Hermione said.
"Suppose Harry's rubbing off," Ron said.
"His nightmares have been getting worse since summer," Hermione said, "Haven't they?"
"It's stress, Mione," Ron said, "From school, a Minister, and things; you know. Alleviate those, and his nightmares will lessen."
"Pomfrey could help with his symptoms." Hermione said.
"Just how do you think Harry will react to that?" Ron replied.
"He'd appreciate the concern," Hermione said.
"You're kidding yourself," Ron replied, "He'd crucify you."
"And, we can't do anything until Tuesday," Hermione grumbled.
Ron switched seats, sat next to Hermione, rested his legs on the table. He caught her brown eyes.
"You will tell nobody about this," Ron whispered, "Nothing is to be done."
"Are you serious?" Hermione asked.
"Never more so," Ron replied.
Hermione breathed deeply.
"Something is bothering Harry, so it bothers me," Hermione said, "He is getting stressed, but I'm worried it's more than that. I'd feel much better if he saw Madam Pomfrey."
"We need to do what's best for Harry," Ron said, "First, the stress is extreme, the scar worsens things, so are the acts in his name; nobody can honestly say they'd be better off in his position, can you?"
"No," Hermione said as she shook her head.
"Second, this is something we must guard for Harry with zealous secrecy," Ron said quietly, "If we told Pomfrey, how soon until everybody knows? Dumbledore, Lupin, McGonagall, Sirius, Gia, Hagrid, and who knows who else! How soon until it leaks into The Daily Prophet? Any guesses to Harry's reaction? Not as pretty as when Voldemort learns of it."
"Double down," Hermione said, "But Madam Pomfrey's a healer, she can be sworn to absolute secrecy."
"Third," Ron continued, "Going to Pomfrey would destroy Harry's self–respect and trust in us; her inevitable potion would cheapen him in his eyes."
"After the tournament," Hermione said, "He was given a Dreamless Potion."
"He didn't like it." Ron replied, "One can take that for only so long; mind altering potions are then needed, they'd change Harry."
"You've given this thought." Hermione said, "Strange."
"Felt compelled to do the research," Ron said, "Because a true friend of Harry's will not press this matter any further, unenlightened. If Harry really needs help, then let him go into Pomfrey; don't push him, badger him, or otherwise pressure him into that. In fact, best if you totally don't worry and forget about it."
"Forget about it?" Hermione snapped.
"Yes," Ron said, "We help him cope during the nightmares, but drop it, totally. Pretend it didn't happen, play the guy, so don't let it phase you."
"You're asking for a cover–up," Hermione retorted.
"No, respect for Harry," Ron said, "He deserves privacy. I'm guarding it, are you?"
"Of course," Hermione said, "But you're hiding—"
"Nothing of significance to the conversation," Ron said, "Even you—abducted not long ago. What if Veritaserum or other Memory technique was used? You'd spill everything you knew."
"Are you implying—?" Hermione asked.
"Information not known can't be spilled—" Ron replied.
"You are implying—" Hermione started.
"We're not spies," Ron said, "Unless you're immune, stuff can be pried from us, even you."
"So—" Hermione started.
"I suggest dropping the discussion," Ron said.
"You're dodging—" Hermione started.
"Forget the entire conversation," Ron said, "We've got—twenty minutes to Waterloo, I'd like to use it."
"Avoiding the subject," Hermione said.
"I'm not breaking confidence with Harry," Ron said.
"You're keeping things—" Hermione replied.
"We all keep things in confidence," Ron said, "You with Gia, I do with you, and so forth. Respect, don't pry."
"Still—" Hermione started.
"Calm down and get a grip," Ron said, "Use your beautiful brain." He grinned.
"What you're covering is—" Hermione started.
"Nothing," Ron said, "Absolutely nothing."
"You two can really conspire," Hermione said.
Ron grinned a bit wider.
Harry didn't remember actually running the full distance from the house, but instead suddenly found himself caught up as Gia, Richard, and Jen turned onto Ashton Lane.
"What's the matter?" Gia asked.
"Suspended," Harry said, "Can I tag along?"
"I could use the extra todger," Gia remarked.
"You're coming?" Jen asked.
"Why not?" Harry replied.
They walked past the shops that opened conveniently in time for the morning rush of students. Some entered the candy store, which included Dudley who just left the tobacco shop. At the end of Ashton Lane, they took the path through the trees, across the bridge over the string, to come to grassy fields on both sides. Ahead on the left was Smeltings with Noigate Public School on the right, both on Smeltings Boulevard. On the corner of the field on the right was a bunch of portable classrooms; a big block building on the edge of that. A small skewed block building behind. To the far side was the scaffolding, moulds, crane, construction trailers, and crew that worked on rebuilding the old building, a building that was destroyed back in May.
"Takes them a while," Harry said.
Snuffle ran, pursed a cat into the woods.
"It's a big building," Gia said, "The mini auditorium was the only thing that survived, and they don't have the advantage that your school does."
"Even there, it takes time," Harry said.
"Of course, they restore the gymnasium first," Richard said, "The science wing should be more important than pleasing the jocks."
"It was quick to build," Jen said, "They figure the new building won't be ready until next fall."
"Be glad Roger petitioned the Headmaster," Richard said, "Otherwise, you'd be using porta–loos all day long—if you're planning on being civilized, which, please do, because some of us have to be in there all–day–long."
"There's no cafeteria," Gia said, "We have to use Smeltings."
"That ought to be fun," Harry retorted.
"Yeah, right," Richard said, "They're obnoxious."
Neville glanced over at the empty desk in Charms, a happy absence given what he had witnessed that morning, the savagery warranted more than a mere suspension as far as he was concerned.
"Your essay," Professor Flitwick said, "Conjured fudge versus real fudge, tell me the differences, the advantages of one over the other, including a taste test." He flicked the wand in his wrist, platters appeared on each table. "Be sure to tell me which one you think is from Honeyduke's and which is conjured. Only I know where each platter came from."
Fingers went onto the platter, even Neville admitted to himself they both tasted good.
"Strike the word 'everybody' there," said Ernie Macmillan, as he and Seamus Finnigan puzzled over a sheet of parchment.
"It's got to be 'everybody'," Seamus Finnigan said, "Says so in the school rules."
"May I be of assistance?" Professor Flitwick asked, "Doesn't quite look like the assignment, does it?"
"Thank you for the fudge," Seamus Finnigan said as he took a bite.
"We're forming a school council," Ernie Macmillan said, "Take care of issues that are…beneath certain staff to address."
"You are?" asked Dean Thomas, moving quickly over to the table, "Count me in!"
"This class is about the merits of fudge," Professor Flitwick said, "Be certain to get your assignment finished in time for Tuesday's lesson."
Professor Flitwick flicked his wand, the desk tables rearranged themselves in a group formation.
"I think a few of you left your quills at home," Professor Flitwick said, as he snapped his wrist, quills flew over onto the table, "I'll be at my desk if anybody needs me, grading the fifth years' homework."
Justin Finch–Fletchley was among those smiling, they understood the hint as well as Neville. Professor Flitwick could not formally support the endeavor, so he deliberately overlooked their not staying on their assigned task.
"So, they get a vote?" asked Anthony Goldstein.
"They must, if it's to be a student council," said Parvati Patil, "Three against everybody else."
"So don't skip the elections," said Seamus Finnigan, "I'm tired of this all, aren't you?"
Neville nodded, he too was getting tired of it.
Hermione accompanied the shirtless Ron through the streets of London. She frequently glanced at his Gryffindor tie, hung from the neck, sway between his nipples.
"Could've taken the Underground," Hermione grumbled as she noticed the Barbican tube station as they walked along Goswell Road.
Hermione felt his left arm wrapped around her back, his left hand on her left shoulder.
"I didn't know which line," Ron said, "The way on the streets, I do know."
"They've got maps," Hermione said.
"All I have are directions," Ron said.
"Where are we headed?" Hermione asked.
"Guess," Ron replied.
Hermione wasn't going to play the guessing game, she simply observed as they walked along Goswell Road, crossed the A501, and continued until they entered Islington. Ron walked them past the pub, turned.
"You're lost, aren't you?" Hermione asked.
"No," Ron showed his slip of parchment.
Ron stopped in front of a building of fire–brick red, between two white–bricked buildings. He let his arm down as he consulted his parchment, punched numbers into the pad, and opened the door. Ron entered first, Hermione followed up the stairs. Two flights up, Ron turned, knocked on the door to flat 203.
A lion howled, a bit of fumbling could be heard from within, before the door opened. Wearing a dark blue bathrobe, cinched tight around the waist, Percy Weasley glared at them.
"Yes?!" Percy demanded.
"We need to talk," Ron said as he shoved past his brother, turned around in the small living room, in front of the large windows.
Hermione closed the door as she slipped in. Percy spun around, his glare remained at his younger shirtless brother.
"You're trespassing," Percy scolded, his face hinted of green anger, "Just because you've got red hair—"
"Rather I shout out your callous attitude from the street?" Ron said, "Or should we roe on Diagon Alley until your employer hears about you?"
"It's fact! It's pragmatic! And it's real!" Percy argued, "Muggles are not wizards! They lives are uneventful, boring, and unproductive! Mingling reflects badly on your career!" Percy pointed at Hermione.
"Listen to yourself!" Ron said, "You're justifying Lucius Malfoy's dogma—"
"Sometimes he was right!" Percy exclaimed.
"Are you actually defending Mum's murderer?" Ron said, "He murdered her before my very eyes, so don't tell me it didn't happen!"
Percy stepped back, against the fireplace mantle.
"No," Percy said, "Of course not—"
"Where do your loyalties lay?" Ron asked as a hint of twinkle glanced across the blue surrounding his pupils.
"You shouldn't have to ask," Percy said, "Perhaps I was a bit overbearing—I'm sorry. Dad's noble ideas got him a token cupboard at the Ministry and an ocean view at Azkaban. And now, I see what could be a promising Quidditch career spoiled by murdering rampages with your friends—"
"We have NOT spilled a lick of blood," Ron said as he pointed, "Yet, we have been repeatedly framed by some rogue impostors running around with barrels of Polyjuice Potion having one bloody good time at our expense. Voldemort—"
"Blimey!" Percy said, "Didn't Mum or Dad—"
"Afraid of his name?" Ron said, "He's on the rampage—"
"Minister certified him dead!" Percy said, "Fifteen years—"
"Why worry about his name then?" Hermione asked.
Percy glared at her.
"He—he might come—back," Percy stammered.
"Too late," Ron said, "He murdered yet again, last night!"
"H—how—" Percy said, "You still should avoid the appearance of being Harry Potter's friend for your own sake—"
"Way, way too late to back out," Ron said, "I'll be killed regardless just to spite Harry, either because I'm a friend, or because I was a former friend. I'm trapped and so are you. Voldemort has agents inside the Ministry, now, as we speak—just why do you think you were hired?"
"I'm a good—" Percy protested.
"You make for a good snoop," Hermione remarked.
"Or be used," Ron said, "Hold a rule book to your face and you could wind up doing Voldemort's handiwork. Can you trust Harry's word that Voldemort is alive and means us no good?"
"Uh…" Percy did a bit of searching, his face blushed with pinkness. "Yes."
Percy walked solemnly into the single bedroom, he closed the door behind him. Hermione sat on the only futon sofa in the room, her hand patted next to her, and Ron sat down next to her. She smelled a light odor of Ron's scent drifting up from his armpits, a familiarity she felt disarming.
"You're being hard on Percy," Hermione said.
"He's a Weasley," Ron said, "And he's resentful of the poverty Mum and Dad lived in; we didn't have a castle, nor a vault of Galleons. Percy's right that if they had held Malfoy's opinions, they would have done better in eyes of the Wizarding World, but that wouldn't make them right."
"I…never had a necessity unfulfilled, most wants for that matter, because dentistry is a lucrative profession," Hermione said, "I didn't really understand poverty before I met you."
"Don't get me wrong," Ron said, "They had priorities, so we never starved, always had food on the table, a roof over our heads, and a place to call home. Having to beg for a bed better than what was inherited from your older brothers? Or not having the coolest thing on the playground, that's where it stung."
Percy returned with a business like composure, Ron stood.
"Next time, could you owl post me before you come, like I had asked?" Percy said as he cinched his bathrobe, "Even hitting page on the intercom below could've given me a few minutes."
Ron's eyes focused on Percy's, a near scrutiny, when Percy flinched.
"You feel like Professor Dumbledore—" Percy said to Ron.
"You're older," Hermione said.
"It's his stare," Percy said, "It's like that Headmaster's."
"Really?" Ron beamed, his eyes started to twinkle, "Like it?"
"No," Percy said flatly, "I find it offensive."
"Get used to it," Ron said, "And I won't abandon Harry—flat out. Nor will I endorse him quitting Hogwarts, that's been heavily discussed; our odds are better having Harry still in attendance. I have an idea—"
"We're doomed," Hermione quipped.
"Hermione—" Ron groaned.
"She is right," Percy said, "You need to be careful—at least get Harry to break up with that muggle, there's plenty of proper witches—"
"That won't fly," Ron said, "Harry will be Harry and he hates the interference that fool Fallerschain is—"
"Minister Fallerschain deserves respect," Percy said, "Potter is still out of control—"
"It's his double that needs to be reigned in!" Ron said, "And we think the bloody git is coordinating with whomever Voldemort has working in the Ministry. You're in the best position to help—you're an auditor!"
"But keep up this charade of hating Ron and Harry," Hermione said, "You don't want to be found out."
"Besides," Ron said, "You might find the link to Hogwarts—the Minister audited—"
"Speaking of Hogwarts," Percy said, eyes on Ron's tie on his bare chest, "Today is a school day if I am not mistaken—"
"Suspended—" Ron said.
"Which means dungeons—" Percy quipped.
"Technically, we are not allowed contact with any other student," Hermione said as she counted on her fingers, "Aside from ourselves and Harry."
"Keep that up and you might make Head Girl," Percy said.
"I hope not," Ron said, "Mind if we borrowed your fireplace? I'd like to visit George and Fred—"
"No pranks," Percy said, "One trip only."
"Ta," Hermione said.
"Good day," Percy said, "I need to get ready for work, I'm already late because of you."
Hermione followed Ron, Ron threw powder in as they entered the fireplace.
"Gringotts Wizarding Bank!" Ron shouted.
Hermione wondered as they spun, stepped out to a goblin in a security uniform.
"Business?" the goblin asked.
"Yes," Ron said, "I'm curious to a debit card."
"This way," the goblin said, "You have your key, of course, right?"
"Yeah," Ron said as he felt his tie, "Right here."
"Ron, you've got a vault?" Hermione asked, "Anything in it?"
"You think Puddlemere United stiffed me?" Ron said, "It's got a bit—don't tell Malfoy."
"You never said anything," Hermione said, "It would've been a perfect comeback."
"Malfoy'd steal it," Ron said, "Let him wallow in his ignorance."
The goblin pointed to a teller.
"I'm Griphook," said the goblin behind the desk, "Time is money."
"I'm here for a debit card," Ron said, handing his key over.
"Very well, if you intend on interacting with muggles," Griphook said, sliding over a sheet of parchment, "Sign this release of liability waiver and authorization for debit card."
Ron signed.
"Look right there," Griphook said, pointed to a bulb.
Flash!
Bright light captured Ron's tie over his shirtless chest.
"Do not lose it," Griphook said as he handed a card over, along with Ron's vault key key.
"That was easy," Ron said.
"Time is money," Hermione said.
Ron put his key into his tie, admired the card as they returned to the portal, his nipples showed in the picture. Ron shrugged, added it to his tie. They stepped onto the platform.
"Weasley Wizarding Wheezes!" Ron shouted.
"Miss. Prescott, for the final one of the lesson," said the tall Mr. Hyland, his eyes on Gia, sitting next to Harry.
Gia grabbed the paper, stood up.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
A boy of good intentions,
A nemesis of dark intent,
A boy, under false accusations,
A nemesis that accuses.
Marked for death, the boy struggles,
Eternal desire, the nemesis pursues,
Losing the parents the baby boy knows,
Apparent that the nemesis pursue.
A boy must summon his might,
The nemesis will fight,
Who will win, who will lose,
Nobody has the sight.
Some applause.
"It's good," said Roger, nearby.
"Bit dark and unrealistic, but good," Mr. Hyland said, "Can we hear it a second time?"
Gia coughed, focused.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
A boy of good intentions,
A nemesis of dark intent,
A boy, under false accusations,
A nemesis that accuses.
Marked for death, the boy struggles,
Eternal desire, the nemesis pursues,
Losing the parents the baby boy knows,
Apparent that the nemesis pursue.
A boy must summon his might,
The nemesis will fight,
Who will win, who will lose,
Nobody has the sight.
A bit more applause.
"May I have a copy?" Mr. Hyland asked.
"Sure," Gia said, "This is my only one."
"Come back after lunch," Mr. Hyland said, "I'll make a copy."
"Ta," Gia said as she handed it over.
Ring!
A deluge, a crowd, left the portable classroom. Harry and Gia were one of many headed through the maze of trailers packed as tightly as legally permitted.
"That was spooky," Jen said, "I agree with Mr. Hyland—"
"It's reality for somebody here," Gia said, she squeezed Harry's hand.
"I agree," said an ebony skinned, black haired blue eyed boy of average height, "I'm Stuart, didn't catch your name."
"Harry," Harry replied.
"I'm Travis," said a short boy, with nearly shaved brown hair above those brown eyes, who was rubbing the small earring on his left earlobe.
"Spooky and he made you repeat it," Stuart said to Gia.
"It wasn't even finished before the start of class," Gia said.
"They're all like that," said Travis as they crossed onto the grass.
Across the grass, the path, they came to the doors of the Smeltings cafeteria, entered. Harry stood next to Gia as she joined the queue leading toward the counter marked 'NPS'.
"Day's definitely different with you along," Gia said, "Plan to make it a habit?"
"Today—Monday?" Harry said.
"Maybe," Gia said as she gave him a quick kiss to the cheek, "Though you should probably use the time in other ways."
"Chicken," Gia said to the lady behind the counter.
A chicken burrito fell onto the tray, before it slid down the counter.
"What'd you mean by that?" Harry asked.
"Certainly there's things you could be studying," Gia said, "Try to put a stop to things?"
Harry grumbled, but carried her tray of food from the counter. She stopped by the vending machine, tossed in a twenty pence coin, grabbed the soda can, before she also grabbed a bottle of green Tobasco. They went to a table, she sat first as he placed the tray down.
"Don't forget to eat, yourself," Gia said to Harry.
"When I'm hungry," Harry replied.
Richard and Jen sat down across the table. Stuart and Travis joined them.
"You are the only person to go to school when they don't have to," Richard said to Harry.
"It's fun when there's no expectations," Harry replied.
"What are you doing here?" came the demand.
Harry turned, Dudley in his gray Smeltings uniform stood there, his clothes reeked of tobacco, with a large open box of a meat–lovers pizza.
"They're here so I'm here," Harry pointed to Gia, Richard, and Jen, "So, scram."
"Why should I?" Dudley said, "Your fellow freaks aren't here."
"Hocus pocus," Harry said, his fingers flinged out toward Dudley.
"No, don't you dare!" Dudley protested.
Harry glanced at all sixteen slices of Dudley's pizze, the urge came, and the slices jumped within the box.
"Should I?" Harry asked.
Dudley moved away quickly as the others at the table snickered.
"Good one," Jen asked, "What were you referring to?"
"Never mind," Harry said, "I just knew how to scare him."
"You know him?" Travis asked.
"I disavow him as my cousin," Harry said.
A bit of laughter.
"He's about as messed up as that bloke in your poem," Stuart said to Gia.
"Think not," Richard said.
"A messed up life," Stuart said.
"What's up on the schedule?" Harry asked, not terribly interested, more as a diversion.
"Double Gym," Richard said, "After Calculus."
"That sounds tough," Harry said.
"I'm in Advanced Algebra," Gia said.
"You like it?" Harry asked.
"Like your school," Gia said, "Teachers find a way to make you take classes despite their statements about them being optional'."
"Yeah," Harry replied, "I know the first class I'd drop if it weren't required."
Harry leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, turned his head and rested it in his arms. Gia loaded a fork with chicken from her burrito.
"Here," Gia said. Harry opened his mouth, let her shovel in the load, before he ate.
"You're funny," Jen said to Harry.
"Don't spook him," Gia said.
"Very funny," Harry said, dryly.
Harry sat there as lunch and talk continued.
"Please," said Dean Thomas to Professor McGonagall, on the second floor, just outside the Stone Gargoyle, "We're sure on this."
Ernie Macmillan and Seamus Finnigan nodded. Cho Chung, Roger Davies, Justin Finch–Fletchley, and Malcolm Baddock behind them.
Professor McGonagall read the first line, "We, the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry hereby institute a student government…"
"This is highly irregular," Professor McGonagall said.
"We researched the rules and bylaws," Justin Finch–Fletchley said, "You're obligated to consider this."
"I must consult with the Headmaster," Professor McGonagall said.
"You're stalling," said Seamus Finnigan said, "Are Potter's … advances working on you too?"
"You are out of line," Professor McGonagall said as she stepped onto the ascending staircase.
"Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said as soon as she entered the office, "I had the most wonderful cup of tea this morning, the spirit within me feels better than I have in months. I've asked the kitchen for the secret, alas, more cups have not done the trick."
"This is more pressing," Professor McGonagall said, handing the sheet of parchment over, "Seems that Mr. Thomas, Mr. Finnigan, and Mr. Macmillan, with wide support from their peers, have elected to form a student council."
"They do have that right," the Headmaster said, "We are obligated not to interfere."
"It's unfair to Potter," Professor McGonagall said.
"We are also not obligated to assist this student council," Professor Dumbledore said, "Is that all?"
"Tonight?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"Until later," Professor Dumbledore said.
Professor McGonagall left the office.
By early evening, Ron and Hermione boarded the 1557 train from Waterloo. They sat in two open seats next to each other.
"That was fun," Ron said, "Despite the museums."
"There's more to London than museums," Hermione said.
"I know," Ron replied.
"Your brother?" Hermione asked, "Percy?"
"How'd you—?" Ron started to ask.
"Been friends for years," Hermione said, "Honestly think I wouldn't pick up a thing or two?"
"Still dunno about Percy," Ron said.
"That's really bothering you," Hermione said, "Isn't it?"
"Yep," Ron said, "I want to trust him, but my instincts can't."
"He is your brother," Hermione said.
"Bugger," Ron replied, "That's what makes it difficult! I want to, but I can't."
Ron stared at those brown eyes next to him.
"You told him some things," Hermione said.
"Nothing that isn't in the papers or otherwise damaging," Ron explained.
"How much, I'm curious," Hermione said, changing the topic, "I promise not to stick you with bills."
"Really want to know?" Ron said, "Swear to keep it quiet?"
"Yes," Hermione said.
Ron leaned over, whispered, "Four thousand."
"You're kidding," Hermione said.
"Ask Harry," Ron replied.
"Have you told anyone?" Hermione asked.
"You're the first, and only one," Ron said, "Of course Harry and the coaches know, that's it."
"Harry?" Hermione asked.
"Same amount," Ron said.
"He's not said anything," Hermione said.
"To him?" Ron replied, "Little bit to a big pile."
Brakes screeched as the train began to slow for Noigate. Ron and Hermione stood, went to the end of the carriage, and waited. They left the train a moment later.
"Catch up with Harry?" Ron asked.
"That'd be nice," Hermione said.
They made their way to Pine Court, walked along.
"Hey Ron!" came the shout.
Ron and Hermione stopped, waited for Richard and Jen to catch up with them.
"And how was your day?" Richard asked.
They continued walking.
"Went to London," Ron said, "She insisted on visiting the Tate Modern—what's with pianos strung upside down anyways?"
"You just wouldn't understand even if I spent a year explaining," Hermione said.
"Why are you always demeaning him?" Jen said, "He's a nice bloke—"
"Making your moves?" Richard asked Jen.
"Be careful there Osborn," Jen said as they entered the dining room of 26 Oak, through the glass door from the back yard. Snuffles paced through to the living room. "You don't want your lights punched out like Harry—"
"What happened to Harry?" Ron asked Jen.
"I heard he got knocked out in the locker room—" Jen said.
"That's not what happened, nobody touched him," Richard said, "Gia called it a panic attack, but it looked like a seizure to me."
"His scar?" Hermione asked.
"That's all?" Jen said.
"Gia had to come in to calm him down," Richard said, "I don't see—"
"His scar has acted up before," Ron said, "Neither of you get it—Harry can take punishment all day long and not utter a single complaint. With the pain of his scar acting up, you'd be offing yourselves—it's torture, and it is not trivial."
"It's just a scar," Richard said.
"It's much, much more than that," Ron said.
Ron left the dining room, Hermione followed, and went up the stairs into Gia's bedroom. Ron loosened his tie, turned around, let himself fall backward on the unmade bed. Hermione squatted by the bookshelf.
"Interesting assortment of books—Advanced Chemistry, Historical Magic, Magical Drafts and Potions, Algebra, Advanced Drama, Unfogging the Future, and so forth," Hermione said, her brown eyes glanced at Ron, "How do you know what Harry feels from his scar?"
Ron pulled out his wand, levitated a soccer ball into the air.
"You know how Harry is about not mentioning pain," Ron said, "He slipped once—just once, enough for me to get a clue, that's all."
"Just because you got yourself the Gringotts Debit Card—It doesn't make you an expert‑‑" Hermione said.
"Those two things are utterly unrelated," Ron said, "I would've thought you would be doing your essays by now—"
"Not with my books and notes at Hogwarts," Hermione replied, "Though I could do a bit of light rereading—Muggle and Magical books mixed together—is that legal?"
"So long as he's not enchanting the Muggle ones," Ron said.
"That act got scrapped," Hermione said.
"That doesn't mean it was wrong," Ron said.
"Cut that out!" Harry complained as he entered the bedroom, eyes fixed on the levitating soccer ball.
Hermione turned her head, eyes on Harry. Ron let his focus on the ball wane, it fell, hit the floor–board of the bed, and flew out the door; it made a racket as it bounced down the stairs. Ron pointed his wand, closed the door behind Harry.
"You're not supposed to do magic—" Harry scolded.
"What do you remember?" Ron demanded.
"It's a muggle house!" Harry said, "They grilled it into our heads the first year—" Harry said.
"I meant your scar," Ron sat up, blue eyes locked onto green, "Richard said—"
"It was nothing—" Harry said.
"Liar," Ron said, reading the deceit from the tip of Harry's mind, "What specifically do you remember?"
Ron caught Hermione's glances as she tried to figure out the jump in logic.
"If you must know," Harry said, "Voldemort knows of our suspensions and is demanding to know where we're being kept—like he'd guess here."
"This is serious," Hermione said.
"Since we can't be found at Hogwarts," Harry said, "Somebody bore the brunt of his fury."
"Glad we took Dumbledore's terms," Ron said as he swallowed.
"We need to tell—" Hermione said.
"Against the terms of the suspension," Harry said, "But if you want to tell Sirius to tell Dumbledore, that's your affair. As for me, I'm going with Gia to a study session over at a friend's of hers."
"On a Friday night—?" Hermione stammered.
"Yes," Harry said, "See you two later."
Harry put his jacket back on and left the bedroom.
"That settles it," Hermione said, "My place."
Hermione tugged at Ron and they left the house into the cool evening, book–bags over their shoulders.
"Professor," said Oliver Wood as he ran up to Professor McGonagall late Friday, "Can I join you?"
"For a short bit," Professor McGonagall said as she left the castle, climbed up onto the waiting carriage. It was unseasonably warm, she almost didn't need her shawl.
"I tried finding Potter before I heard he was—" Oliver Wood said as he joined her, "I wanted to give him these." He held up a pair of tickets with Puddlemere United vs. Chudley Canons stamped across them.
"I'm sure he will appreciate them," Professor McGonagall said, "Have you tried using an owl?"
"Oh, didn't think of that," Oliver Wood said, "Owls can get intercepted, can't they?"
"All post can be intercepted, naturally," Professor McGonagall said, "It's how we screen incoming parcels for anything malicious."
"Got an idea," Oliver Wood said, "Hogsmeade for the weekend?"
"Just tonight," Professor McGonagall replied, "One gets paid for performing the lessons, but does that salary include the time required to grade, to prepare? Not really, on the house, you see, that's the nature of the job."
"I simply can't believe that Harry would—" Oliver Wood said.
"It was not Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said.
"Everybody is saying—it's why they formed that student council," Oliver Wood said.
"Most likely the same culprits that attacked on Halloween while Mr. Potter was at the Puddlemere United Halloween practice, fraternizing," Professor McGonagall said, "Albus knows exactly where Harry, the real Harry, was when the attack occurred, which was not in Gryffindor Tower."
"You know, for a fact, that Harry's innocent?" Oliver Wood asked.
"Absolutely," Professor McGonagall said, "Unfortunately, the Headmaster was stripped of any discretion in the matter."
"Why not just tell everybody where he really was?" Oliver Wood asked.
"You will have to ask the Headmaster yourself," Professor McGonagall said, "Security is the reply that I've gotten."
"They're really turning on Potter," Oliver Wood said.
"I admit this is wearing me thin," Professor McGonagall said, "Seeing Mr. Potter bear the brunt of the student's hatred. To deny them a student council, if they so choose it, would only serve to inflame the hostility."
The carriage arrived in Hogsmeade.
"See you Monday," Oliver Wood said as he went for the Post Office.
Professor McGonagall headed for Honeydukes.
Saturday morning, Ron crossed his legs on the sofa in the library of Hermione's home. He laid the book between his legs, the paperback spine of Teenage Victims rested against the bulge of his trousers, flipped through the pages.
"You're…motivated," Linda said, coffee cup in her hands, "Learning anything?"
"Sure, about what I figured," Ron said, "Just be a friend…I think."
"You've got a big family, and had a mother with a generous heart," Linda said, "I think you learned from them."
"Maybe," Ron said as he kept shuffling pages, "Anything to help—"
"Are you studying without me?" asked Hermione as she entered, Harry just behind her.
"Your Mum was just telling me about—what'd she do?" Ron asked, the book already closed.
"Dentistry," Hermione said, her disbelief at the forefront of her mind.
"Yeah, about that," Ron said to Linda, "Torture, right?"
"Take care of your teeth!" Hermione said to Ron.
"Some procedures do seem like torture to the patient," Linda said, "Depends on their tolerance to the Novocaine, though it's best to be numb. Root canals and crowns can be painful, simply because you're drilling and cutting, can't be helped."
"Fascinating," Hermione said, dully.
"Ron, got plans?" Harry asked.
"Um…." Ron muttered.
"Come," Harry said.
Ron got up, followed.
"Only you two?" Hermione asked, "Your homework—"
"Yep, just us," Harry said, "And this is much more important."
"What is it?" Ron asked. His glances at Harry's eyes were instantly refuted by Harry's staring at the carpeted floor they walked across. "You're—"
"Come on!" Harry said, "Hurry!"
Ron followed his friend into the fireplace. Harry dropped the handful of powder.
"Puddlemere United Club Room!" Harry exclaimed.
They spun, stepped out into the into the wood paneled room with trophies on the shelves and plaques on the walls.
"Here?" Ron asked, recognizing the room.
"Gets better," Harry said taking the steps to knock on the door of Coach Meyer's.
"Come in," said the voice.
Harry and Ron entered the office. Coach Meyers stood in his white trousers, the jacket adorned in blue.
"Wood said—" Harry started.
"Here," Coach Meyers slid an envelope over
"Thank you," Harry said.
"Out the door, first right," the Coach replied.
Harry and Ron left the office, crossed the club room, and went out.
"This is…" It came back to Ron as Harry opened he envelope, revealed the Chudley Canons on the tickets. "He did!"
"Who are you wagering on?" Harry asked.
"Like you've got to ask," Ron said as they took the right, headed up the stairs, some cheers and applause already in place.
"We'll have to thank Wood later," Harry said.
"Yeah," Ron said as he came to the handrail.
Below them, the Quidditch Pitch they played on the previous week. Harry reached forward, pulled back fast.
"Ward," Ron said, "Keeps fans from falling over, and protects players. You think last week was the first time matches have been tampered with?"
"No," Harry said, "Rather obvious when you put it like that."
Katie Bell smiled, waved, as she flew past.
"Good morning," came the familiar voice.
They turned, need no introduction to recognize Professor Dumbledore, in robes of white and blue.
"Hello Professor," Harry said.
"You are suspended," the Headmaster said, "Stick to Albus, for today."
"Um…" Ron muttered.
"Minerva will be back momentarily," Professor Dumbledore said, "Have a seat, make it a feast."
A wave of the wand, several chairs turned into a low triangular table, in time for Professor McGonagall to return carrying a small rod. Professor Dumbledore moved to his chair to the right side of the table.
"Good morning gentlemen," Professor McGonagall said, "I see you got Oliver Wood's message."
"Yes," Harry said, pointed for Ron to sit closer to the handrail.
"Good thing this is club seating," Professor Dumbledore said, "Have a seat."
Harry and Ron sat across from their professors. Professor McGonagall set the rod down, it expanded into a table cloth with a buffet.
"You performed magic," Professor McGonagall said to the Headmaster, "You know what it does!"
Ron glanced at her beady eyes through her square glasses, realized she wasn't trained against the snoop, understood the concern to be deep.
"Should've expected this," Harry sighed.
"It's the Chudley Canons!" Ron said. His eyes drifted to the flying orange and black players headed for the locker room.
"Oliver Wood made no details known to either of us," Professor McGonagall said.
"It's fine," Harry said.
…
A bolt of red crossed the Quidditch Pitch, struck Stanly Emsworth just short of the orange and black player before the goal, he fell and the Quaffle was caught by Chudley Chaser Mary Cutlers.
Boos.
"Did you see that!?" Ron stammered as he watched Assistant Coach Kline tackle the man running back toward the locker rooms.
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"A time out has been called," said Bert, over the wireless, "An irate fan of the Chudley Canons decided to take matters into his own hands."
"I know they're down, but that's not the way to handle it," Ron stammered, he turned in his seat.
"It's professional Quidditch," Harry said, "Stakes are higher."
"I know that," Ron said, his gaze turned onto Harry.
"Nothing like that happened last week," Harry said.
"Precautions were taken," Professor Dumbledore said.
"How many—?" Harry started.
"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed.
Ron felt the gaze from Harry, the penetrating glance. Ron glanced at the clean plate before Harry, returned his glare back toward Harry.
"What?!" Harry demanded.
"Have you ate?" Ron retorted.
"Spoke with Remus," Professor McGonagall said as she returned, "All is fine."
Ron glanced at her eyes, sensed a bit of hesitation, before he returned to Harry's.
"She lied," Harry implied.
"Eat," Ron thought.
"Not hungry," Harry retorted.
"Liar," Ron snapped, "Tell them?"
Harry shook his head.
"Is there a problem?" Professor Dumbledore asked.
"No," Harry said.
"Then eat," Ron thought.
"Fine!" Harry snapped.
Harry grabbed a handful of buttered popcorn from the bowl, brought it up. Quickly, the kernels grew dark legs in his hand, eyes formed, and brown spiders emerged.
"You found the chocolate!" Professor Dumbledore said.
Harry inhaled, began to blow toward Ron.
"Oh…professor!" Ron threatened.
Harry blew fast, Ron jumped back in his seat as the spiders sailed toward him, before they darted at the last moment to land on the Headmaster's plate. Ron inhaled, focused on the Deputy Headmistress before Professor Dumbledore beat him to the punch.
"Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said, "Charm broke—can you—?"
"It's the third time," Professor McGonagall said, "Weasley, Potter, can you help?"
"Help what?" Harry asked.
"Because he needs help in the little wizards' room and I'm a witch," Professor McGonagall said, "You're both capable of performing the charm, you can borrow my wand if you left yours—"
"My wand will suffice," Professor Dumbledore said, "Gentlemen?"
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"Emsworth has been innervated," Bert announced, "The match will resume momentarily after the penalty play."
Harry and Ron stood. They followed Professor Dumbledore's slow pace out the door.
"Dinglebat!" said the familiar voice, with the jeweled spectacles of a Rita Skeeter, her acid–green Quick Quotes Quill already set upon parchment, "Will the students benefit from the truancy you're extending to Potter? I—"
Professor Dumbledore's hand was quick, the wand drawn. It disillusioned Harry and Ron. Professor Dumbledore collapsed.
"Never mind," Rita Skeeter dismissed as she strolled away. Ron felt Harry's hand as they knelt next to the old man, the breathing very shallow.
"Albus—!" came Professor McGonagall, running with a bag, "My goodness!"
"He just—" Harry started, his disillusionment failed, "We can—"
"Get back to your seats," Professor McGonagall snapped as Notley approached, "NOW! RUN!"
Harry and Ron ran, returned to the table.
"What's that—?" Harry started.
"I just need to get his—" they heard Professor McGonagall's voice.
"Hurry," came Notley's voice.
Professor McGonagall came back.
"We'll come—" Harry started.
"That's out of the question as you're both on suspension," Professor McGonagall said, "Even our little unplanned rendezvous is outside the rules, you cannot return to Hogwarts."
"We—" Ron started.
"I must hurry," Professor McGonagall said, "Enjoy the match and I'll owl you later."
Professor McGonagall grabbed the bags, left the box.
"What happened?" Ron asked Harry, both still standing there.
"Like I had anything to do with it!" Harry said, "One moment—"
"You know!" Ron snapped.
"He's an old man," Harry said, "You're missing—Chudley's heading—"
Cheers.
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"Chudley scores!" announced Joe.
"They stand a chance," said Bert.
Ron stood against the railing, Harry stood next to him.
Two Bludgers converged onto Chudley Canons Paul Longmynd, who rolled on his Nimbus. Glitters of gold as painted golf balls rolled across the grass.
"BOO!" Ron exclaimed, one of the small chorus in the stadium.
Luke Sedgwick on his Firebolt, arm reached and intercepted the Quaffle, threw it to Katie Bell.
"Look there!" Harry snapped, pointed.
Above, Amy Greystok reached for the gold with wings, clasped her finger tight. Cheers.
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"Puddlemere for the win!" came Bert's voice.
More cheers, and Ron focused on Harry's grin.
"You would," Ron grumbled.
"It was a good game," Harry said.
"Good?" Ron started for the door.
"WAIT!" Harry barked.
Ron turned around, glared, "Why?"
"Dumbledore hid us," Harry said, "Best to wait for the stadium to clear."
Ron relaxed.
"Sure," Ron said, as he came back to the table, picked up a chicken wing and handed it to Harry.
"No," Harry quipped as he returned it.
Ron stared into Harry's eyes, felt the penetration. Ron thought about a Christmas feast, the last one his Mum ever made, the scrumptious chicken, the turkey, the gravy.
"Alright, alright!" Harry snapped, his stomach growled and he snatched the chicken wing, ate it.
"Because you never know when we'll be set upon," Ron said as he picked up the bowl of nachos, "I shouldn't have to beg for you not to starve yourself."
Harry glared.
They waited.
"Lets go," Harry said.
Down the stairs, into the club room, they turned into the fireplace. Ron dropped in the Floo Powder.
"Hermione Granger!" Ron exclaimed.
They spun, stepped out into Hermione's living room. Hermione and Gia were on the sofa, facing each other.
"Mum's going to kill you both," Hermione snapped.
"What?" Ron asked.
"The carpet," Hermione said.
Ron spun around, the ash footprints made a trail back to the fireplace.
"Oh," Ron said.
Gia came over to Ron, wrapped a tape measure around his waist.
"Sure," Harry said, "Go after him first."
Gia snorted.
"My Mum needs your measurements," Hermione said.
"Why?" Ron asked.
"All these … distractions," Hermione said, in a mocking tone, "To get suspended, my … confidence is at an all time low."
"Her Mum offered to buy us the ski gear," Gia said as she moved to Harry.
"How was I to turn that down?" Hermione asked.
"Don't!" Harry said firmly to Ron, "Come."
Harry went for the front door. Ron grabbed his book–bag and followed.
"Wait!" Hermione protested.
"We're headed to the pub," Harry said, "See ya tonight."
Harry led the way, left the house, Ron followed.
"Hermione—" Ron started.
"Start this?" Harry asked as he spun around.
"No," Ron said.
"The loft," Harry said as he resumed walking fast.
Ron panted a bit, followed to 26 Oak Street, where they went up into the attic. Harry closed the trapdoor.
"You're eager," Ron said.
"Didn't you catch him, Dumbledore?" Harry said as he pulled out Practical Legilimency and Occlumency. "I knew I have to shield myself from Voldemort, but this…guess it's the real test. Dumbledore may be weak, but he's sharp, how soon until he straps me down to force a lesson with Snape?"
"What's next?" Ron said.
"We're kinda doing the easiest defense already," Harry said, "Offering up a substitute memory, close but not quite. Lets practice."
Harry and Ron stood, faced each other. Ron gripped his wand in his hand.
"This is my most pressing—" Harry started.
"Legilimens!" Ron exclaimed as he flicked his wand.
Ron delved fast, caught Harry watched as Ron ate the nachos earlier. Ron worked as fast as his mind could, brought up the image of the pizza the night before in the back garden to Nate's, a slice that Harry had quickly palmed off to another. A single bite of chicken from the burrito and queasiness that followed.
"You're evil," Harry said.
"Fight it," Ron retorted, the gaze continued.
Ron worked his mind into Thursday, coming up blank when it came to food, when the memory changed. An English breakfast on a plate, with a side of cake. Harry's hand took the fork as the eyes of Fred, George, and the others back in Charlie's cabin watched the cake move into Harry's mouth.
"That's what you wanted, right?" Harry grumbled.
"One cup of tea and two tiny bites in three days?" Ron said, "Should we check Wednesday?"
"You're not my chef," Harry snapped.
"You can't survive on magic alone," Ron said, "People've tried, it doesn't end well."
"What are you hiding from me?" Harry said, "Legilimens!"
Ron panicked as Harry sought out that morning, in the small library of Hermione's parents, where Linda Granger was talking. A quick twist, and it changed to him on Hermione the previous evening, his man–hood buried into her.
"Interesting choice," Harry said.
"I remembered the essay," Ron said, "Fresh memories are better and stronger. Go easy for a bit?"
"Sure," Harry replied.
They raised their wands.
"Finite Incantatem!"
Ron was laying on top of Harry, chest to chest, as the floor beneath them vanished. They fell through the ceiling.
"Interesting," said Hermione, as she was already leaning back against the wall.
Ron and Harry landed on Gia's bed.
"What?" Gia asked.
"Absolutely plastered," Hermione said, "Yet, I can't smell it on your breath."
"Good stuff," Ron said as he realized he had to cover up.
Knock! Knock!
"Must be the Chinese," Gia said.
Hermione grabbed a credit card from her wallet. "Dinner time."
Gia and Hermione left the bedroom. Ron stopped Harry from following, hand against Harry's chest.
"I'm serious about the food," Ron said, "I love you and I do care, don't starve yourself on You–Know–Who's behalf, alright? Maybe a full meals too much, but can you at least try?"
"I…" Harry started.
"Promise to eat something every day and do it," Ron said, "I want to keep your secrets, secret, alright?"
"Suppose so," Harry grumbled.
"Swear it," Ron said.
"Alright," Harry said, "Yes,"
"BOYS!" Hermione shouted, "FOOD!"
Harry and Ron left the bedroom.