A/N: Still writing this on holiday…which is pretty insane to think about. This holiday's turned more from a holiday into a writing retreat, from the looks of things, and I'm all for it. Anyway, a new case is introduced this chapter, with a little timeskip forwards to Christmas because, if I never skipped anything, season 1 would take a million words.
I know some people wouldn't mind that lol, but I would like to finish this fic someday. Even if it does look like things will stretch out to 7-800k or even more words by the end, since each season will take a Hogwarts year, ending with the final year.
Anyway, not much more to say other than kudos to whoever got the Christmas Carol reference in the chapter title.
As always, comments/reviews always welcome. I love to read them, and they always put a smile on my face.
Without further ado, enjoy!
Season 1 Episode 8 - Ghost of Christmas Past (Part 1)
The Lads were enjoying a spot of wizarding chess, as Ron often called it, in the Gryffindor common room. Red and gold lined everything around them, as though glittering spectators to the match taking place in the common room centre. Seamus and Dean and Neville huddled around, all in close, shoulders nearly touching, as though a private secret was shared between them.
Across from them, the girls all watched in intrigue, halting their typical gossip sessions for a few seconds to witness something not out of the ordinary for anyone in Gryffindor. Though they knew nothing about chess, they did know that the situation of the match was laughable.
Naturally, they laughed.
Cackled.
Annoying Harry Potter to no end.
The winds outside were silenced by the castle's insulation, despite the weather growing colder over the last month and three weeks since that special Halloween. Clouds lurked over Scotland, some dipping down to watch the game taking place in Gryffindor Tower. The sun had long since dipped below the Great Lake horizon, allowing the moon to watch with a steely gaze, as though analysing the game.
What scene was the entirety of Gryffindor, and indeed mother nature outside it, fixated upon?
To put it simply, Harry was getting smashed by Ron.
No, not in that way, for those with rather dirty minds who jumped to conclusions before thinking them through.
Although, with the way the match was going, as lopsided as a chess match could be, Harry was starting to think it might have been better if it had gone that way.
One flash of that image in his mind was enough to repel the thought. And repel it fast. He'd have to make sure never to drop the soap in his dorm room showers, or in the quidditch team showers if Ron ever managed to make it in as keeper.
A prospect which looked unlikelier and unlikelier as his time at Hogwarts wore on. Ron was never the one to join practice, after all, despite the urging of Ginny and the Weasley twins and Harry.
One fact never changed, however. That Ron was an ace at wizarding chess. The master coordinator, strategist, tactician (Ron had taught Harry that one), able to move chess pieces in a way he couldn't anything else in his life.
Particularly when it came to homework.
Harry was privy to that fact far too much. The bloody idiot had asked him for answers over a thousand times in four years, which was a feat in itself, with Seamus keeping count because Seamus, like Ron, hadn't anything else to do with his life.
Oh, and getting rejected by Melanie probably had something to do with Seamus' saltiness. A fact Harry was always quick to mention, should Seamus begin chatting shite to the rest of them.
"And that's checkmate," Ron said a few moments later, leaning back and basking in glory.
He had, indeed, destroyed Harry…on the chess board, that was. Harry's king took a bow, knelt down, and allowed its head to be smited off. It crumbled into a thousand pieces, scattering across the table, all whilst Harry watched with a scowl.
"Lucky win," Harry muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
Harry knew from experience not to say a word. It would only end one way—and that was badly. Ron after a chess win was like what Voldemort would be if he won the war—arrogant to a fault.
Perhaps not the best example, comparing his best mate to a genocidal freak—but Harry couldn't think of anything else in the moment.
Was he salty?
To anyone with a brain cell, hell yes.
"I've never seen Harry lose this bad," Parvati said, strolling over and taking a look at the game. "This must be a record or something."
"Do you even know what's going on here?" Seamus said.
"Nope," Parvati said, popping the 'p'. "But I don't need to be a chess player to know the person with one piece left at the end was getting their arse smashed."
Harry winced at her words, since that image came to mind again. God, just why had he thought of that? It would probably haunt his nightmares, and his dreams—no, just nightmares. Harry would never dream of that happening to himself.
Shaking himself back to the present, Seamus and Parvati were now set in a random argument about who was better at chess—likely none of them since neither of them played—whilst Dean, Neville, and Ron watched on with smirks.
The argument, naturally, could only have one conclusion.
The conclusion they all expected.
The low-hanging fruit, perhaps the lowest in the world, that anyone could take.
"Didn't that Melanie girl reject you last year?" Parvati said, and all the Lads held in their laughter. Covered their mouths and coughed, heads low, nearly under the table so Parvati didn't notice.
Seamus' forehead vein looked ready to burst, much like Harry's chuckle. Bubbling in his chest, and he clamped down on the impulse to laugh. Let it froth a little bit, before the sensation disappeared.
After all, the Lads had all come to an agreement the year before, a few weeks after Seamus had been publicly humiliated in the worst way, with one Melanie Sanders writing 'NO' rather blatantly with her wand's sparks for all to see.
"You lot can rib me all you want," Seamus had said in their dorm room, with the door closed. "But if anyone outside of us does it, please don't laugh. Don't think me head could take it, you know."
A pact of solidarity between the Lads had formed as they agreed. The bond of their friendship kept their mouths shut when all they wanted to do was laugh as Parvati walked off victorious during the argument, head held high, spine straight.
Parvati spoke to Lavender for a few seconds, before her eyes lit up and she walked back across to them.
But instead of Seamus being her target, or anyone else in the Lads, she pinned her gaze on Harry.
I don't have a good feeling about this, Harry thought.
"Lav just told me something interesting," Parvati said, that impish smile painting her features as she sauntered over. "Want to know what that is?"
She enunciated her syllables, especially 't', as though gossip was dripping from each letter.
Harry did, in fact, not want to know what she was talking about. Not when she kept glancing over at him, that evil smile plastered all the while.
"I heard from Lav that Harry's been hanging about with a girl from Ravenclaw," Parvati said. "Any guesses who the lucky girl might be? I'll take pick 'ems."
If you say it like that they'll get the completely wrong idea.
Unfortunately, Harry's thoughts couldn't be heard by anyone other than his frustrated self. And no, before Ron asked with gleaming eyes after a chess victory, Harry wasn't frustrated in that way.
To make matters worse, every eye within Gryffindor, from the girls opposite to the Lads beside him, fixed itself to Harry, and Harry alone.
He could feel his face going red from the attention. And that redness, like his skin was turning spicy, could mean a million different things to a million different people.
Harry did not want them coming to their own conclusions. From experience, he knew that was the worst outcome when it came to someone like himself.
Boy-Who-Lived with the fangirls that, of course, tended to reach conclusions outside the stratosphere in the best scenarios. Outside the observable universe in the worst.
"Who's the girl?" Seamus said, eager to get the attention off himself.
Bastard, that voice inside Harry shouted.
Unfortunately, no one could hear that voice.
"Wouldn't ya like to know?" Parvati said in a sing-song voice, with an airy tone. "It's G—"
"No one," Harry said, voice strung tight like beads packed together. "It's no one, all right, so drop it."
Well, if anything was going to get the eyes off him, that wasn't it. In fact, they stared even harder. Like wands with spells jabbing into the side of his skull.
Heck, even the moon outside, and every star in the night sky, seemed intent to know Harry Potter's secret as if they were a part of the Hogwarts rumour mill.
"You all right, mate?" Dean asked, leaning over to get a closer look at him.
Neville, from beside him, held a worried gaze. But he didn't say a word—that boy was too empathetic, and knew Harry probably better than Harry knew himself.
"Never knew Harry would react like that," Parvati said, as though collecting the reaction in her storage of gossip, ready to dish out like her brain was a restaurant of underground Hogwarts information. "Interesting…interesting, indeed."
Harry Potter had just been destroyed in a game of chess, and now was about to be destroyed if Parvati revealed that he and Granger had been galivanting around Hogwarts together. Not mentioning, of course, that they were solving mysteries, not going on dates.
Parvati would, with or without a shadow of a doubt, insinuate that they had been doing private things, sparking Granger into the Hogwarts spotlight in a way that the quiet Ravenclaw girl didn't deserve.
Harry would never forgive himself if he allowed that to happen.
It's not just that, though, is it?
His mind's question was correct. After their last meeting at Halloween, when both were trying to avoid the rest of the castle, Harry didn't know what to think. That he had seen Granger in such a vulnerable state, and that Granger had heard him cry too…
What did that mean?
Surely it meant that they were closer than mere strangers thrust together by the necessity of solving mysteries lest they be punished for failing?
He'd been to the Den a few times after Halloween, masking his movements with his invisibility cloak so no one realised his whereabouts—he was the castle celebrity, after all. He and Granger had gotten along fine, of course, eating whatever treats Harry had pilfered from the kitchens, sometimes chocolate frogs, whilst chatting until curfew.
But neither of them had mentioned that evening.
Not in the slightest.
They got along as if nothing had happened.
Pretending as though that day didn't exist. Had never existed.
"Just drop it, all right," Harry repeated, narrowing his eyes, and the rest of them got the message, especially Lavender, sitting on the sofa opposite, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I don't need more rumours in my life, believe me."
A silence rung through the spot where the fourth year Gryffs sat in the common room. And only an idiot, with the emotional range of a wooden ladle, would break the awkwardness.
Thankfully, one was available, and his services were free, at that.
"Who fancies a spot of chess?" Ron suddenly roared, to which everyone rolled their eyes and the earlier tension dissipated.
Parvati looked apologetic, as did Lavender, and Harry forgave them through eye contact and a little smile. They were just chatty, after all, not evil bints trying to overtake Hogwarts through information control or something malicious like that.
Harry focussed again on wizarding chess, trying to put what had happened behind him.
"I don't mind a match," Neville said, speaking up in a way he hadn't done at the beginning of the year. And again, Harry was pleased to see his progress.
He was pleased to see all his friends progress.
Still, Harry didn't want them to know about him and Granger chilling together. But why? It was a question he couldn't answer, but perhaps the reality lay somewhere within himself, at a depth he hadn't explored before.
Perhaps it was to protect Granger from the attention that came with being linked to Harry Potter of all people. Perhaps it was because Harry didn't want the second-floor library to be flooded with people, with those like Lavender or Parvati circulating information as fast as those Japanese bullet trains Harry had once overheard Uncle Vernon talking about.
Uncle Vernon had then gone on a racist rant about the Japanese, lowering Harry's opinion of him even further if such a thing was possible, but Harry didn't want to think on that now.
Perhaps Harry viewed Granger as a secret, just for himself, away from the limelight of Hogwarts, away from the stares and gossip and random looks. With the Den being a place he could genuinely be himself without worrying about who was there, much like his dorm room.
Well, if Harry thought the connection between him and Granger would be a top-tier secret, he was in for a rude awakening.
Far, far worse than getting smashed by Ron, whether in chess or in that other way.
Far, far worse.
Harry wouldn't be ready for it at all.
Having had no friends until her fourth year at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger didn't think she'd ever adjust to the feeling of being woken up by Farah, who was as early a riser as they came. Being an early riser, of course, wasn't an issue in and of itself. The early bird caught the worm, as the adage went.
Good for the early bird, of course. No one would deny that.
Except, if that early bird now went and woke up all the other birds who just wanted to have a near-Christmas lie in, then that would be quite annoying, wouldn't it?
"Wakey, wakey," Farah said, ruffling Hermione's bushy hair. "Gotta wake up before the crows, don't you?"
Where the hell had she gotten that phrase from? Did she live on a farm or something, making early wakeups a normal thing that everyone did?
Hermione had already woken up from Farah's earlier loud bang as she opened her trunk and took her things out before a morning shower. But Hermione now pretended to be asleep, clamping her eyes shut and rolling over in bed.
Please, just leave me alone for now, she internally begged.
Unfortunately, Farah didn't hear her thoughts.
Farah wasn't one to give up easily. It was, after all, that same tenacity with which she forced her way into Hermione's life in the first place.
"Early bird catches the worm, 'Mione," she said, using the nickname she'd come up with about a month ago, much to Hermione's annoyance.
It turned out that friends often had nicknames for each other. And the more annoying the nickname, the more used it became. If only Hermione had known that fact before nearly flipping her head the first time Farah used it.
Naturally, Farah used it every day now, to the point where Hermione just plain didn't care anymore.
"Can the early bird please let the other birds sleep?" Hermione groaned into her pillow, attempting to block out all sound coming from the entity known as Farah.
Hermione didn't know about the other houses, but Ravenclaw's bedding, to put it one way, was positively fabulous.
The pillow was as soft as they came, far softer than the one Hermione had at home. It cushioned her face like a tight hug from her mother, and smelt fresh everyday even though no one seemed to wash it. Hermione had once even spent an entire day holed up in her dorm due to feeling ill, and at the end of the day, the pillows were still fresh, as though some spell automatically washed them.
Strange, indeed.
Perhaps another mystery for her to solve, alongside the mystery of how on earth Farah managed to wake up so early every day and keep her sanity.
And why on earth she was now tugging at Hermione's shoulder, attempting to roll her back over in bed.
Does she have the emotional range of a pillow or something? Didn't she get the obvious signal that I want to sleep in a little, for crying out loud?
Hermione ignored the snide voice that constantly lived within her, and decided to give up, because it seemed Farah definitely wasn't going to.
After all, Farah had been like this for the last week, constantly elated every day.
What was the early bird trying to wake Hermione up for, you ask?
"Christmas decorations ain't gonna do themselves, you know," Farah said, beaming now that Hermione was awake. Fay, another friend of Hermione's, was already awake and sitting on her bed, rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes. She'd gotten used to the program and didn't fight it anymore.
That first day was hell, but the less said about that the better.
"Do we have to do them this early, though?" Hermione said. She glanced at the time. Six o' clock in the morning. Great. Breakfast started from seven and continued all the way till half eight, so she still had time to sleep—
"Yes we do!" Farah declared, rolling the sleeves of her robes up. Which had the extraordinary and never-before-seen effect of them falling back down again, because robe sleeves were about a mile wide. "We have to win the competition!"
"Yeah, that," Fay muttered, drowsiness causing her every word to turn to the verbal equivalent of mush.
Having friends meant learning things about each other that weren't known before. Things such as Fay turning to a zombie when tired, and Farah turning to a productive freak when the clock struck five am.
And having friends also meant that Hermione learnt things about herself—such as the fact that being woken up by said friends was rather annoying.
"What happens if we decide to sleep and not win?" Hermione muttered. "It's not like it counts towards our OWLs next year or something?"
"This competition is more important!" Farah declared, smacking the post of Hermione's bed with a hand. Causing the whole frame to shake. "Crikey, Hermione. You of all people should understand that, why don'tcha?"
"Explain that one to me," Hermione muttered, wrapping her covers tighter around herself but not rolling over. Rolling over would be a death sentence.
"Yeah, explain that," Fay whispered, head lolling as if she really was a zombie.
"Y'know the second years are trying harder than anything to win this, and we can't let 'em. Them girls ain't getting one over us, no way."
"Just because your little sister is in that year—"
"This has nothing to do with no sibling rivalry!" Farah said, her words doing nothing to convince Hermione of their truth. "But we got pride, don't we, pride as fourth year Ravenclaws? We gotta prove ourselves the best, y'know, and that means taking this seriously."
"Seriously," Fay repeated, too sleepy to think of anything but what was directly in front of her. That thing being Farah and her adamant words.
"And taking it seriously means, I assume, waking up at six am to read fashion magazines for decoration ideas?" Hermione muttered.
"Exactly," Farah said, grabbing a few of said magazines from her bedside desk and chucking one to Hermione. "Seventh years are judging, and they know loads of advanced spells, so we need to wow them proper. First time this is happenin', after all, can't let the guard drop for a second."
Farah was right on that fact, anyway. Hermione couldn't let her guard drop and sleep, because Farah's demonic form was waiting for her, in the shadows, to fall asleep so she could wake Hermione right back up again.
Hermione grabbed one of the magazines, still lying under her bed covers. She sighed, wiped her eyes, and sat up in bed. The backrest cushioned her spine like her armchair in the Den had for over three years.
Her eyes were still blurry, given the morning, so she quickly washed up and brushed up before returning to her bed. To her bed's right were that of Fay and Farah. To her left was the bed belonging to the final girl in Ravenclaw's fourth year, Lissa Fran.
If Hermione was anti-social for three years, that girl was positively hostile. She was as reclusive as they came, unwilling to speak other than asking for the salt at dinner and telling them when they were doing something she didn't like.
Often doing both in the rudest ways possible, as though their existences were a blight on her life. She wasn't a bully, however. She only gave reactions, not actions.
Thankfully, she had nothing to say about the idea of decorating the dorm, much to Farah's relief.
Now, curtains were drawn around Lissa's bed, blue curtains that hid her as though she was drowning in the sea. Hermione sighed once again, wondering why Farah and Fay went after her instead of Lissa.
You're not hostile, that's why, that voice inside Hermione said. You don't actively hate others. You just stay away from them, hiding in that library.
But Hermione remembered something her mother had said, when the primary school bullying first started. Hermione had never used the information, but it still kept its space in her mind, as though waiting for the right time to come out.
"Lots of people who hurt other people are actually in pain themselves," her mother said.
"I don't get it, Mum," Hermione had said, because how would a seven-year-old girl understand that her bullies, the ones hurting her, were being hurt too?
"They want to cover up that pain. They want no one to find out what's really going on. So, they target other people, or push them away by being rude to them. Then, they don't have to tell anyone what's really going on under the surface."
Hermione, at seven years old, hadn't understood the message. And even now, after her life experience had doubled since then, the nuances didn't sink in properly.
And maybe it would never sink in.
And maybe it had nothing to do with Lissa Fran in the end, anyway.
Hermione moved her mind away from that trail of thought and back to the magazine Farah had given her. They all looked at the magazines on Farah's bed, leaning over the sides, flipping pages with bleary eyes and sleep the first thing on at least two of their minds.
Ideas cropped up, but none really stuck out to them. But they couldn't dally for too long, because only a week remained before Christmas, and decorations, even magical ones, still took time to set up and get perfect.
And apparently, the seventh year Ravenclaw girls judging the competition were particularly harsh. To wow them, they would have to go above and beyond, which didn't do anything to settle the nerves in Farah's heart.
Nerves which caused her to wake up Hermione and Fay at six am to get to work.
See how it all connected?
"I give up," Fay said, flopping her head onto Farah's bed and letting out a massive breath. Her words, however, due to tiredness, didn't go past single clauses. "We getting presents?"
"Presents?" Hermione asked, only then realising exactly what Fay was on about.
Christmas presents…you know, the thing that friends and family got for each other when that time of year came around. For some reason, despite now having two friends in the world, Hermione hadn't thought of getting them Christmas presents. The idea hadn't even entered her mind until Fay's words just then.
"Yeah, presents, Hermione," Farah said. "I was gonna head to Hogsmeade and buy some proper nice ones for the both of you. I guess we could all head there together sometime, make it a trip proper, and go our own ways to buy stuff 'fore getting butterbeers."
Heading to Hogsmeade with friends? Hermione had to stop herself from smiling at the concept. She hadn't gone there due to the worsening cold over the last month and a half…but a trip with Farah and Fay didn't sound too bad.
Farah gave a wink, something Hermione didn't dare do in case her other eye decided to shut out of sleepiness. And then Farah's demonic self would come out to wake her back up.
"Gotta get ya something good for your first one," Farah said, smiling at Hermione. "And I hope you do the same for us. But—oh, crikey, please ignore me on that one. I don't mean to put pressure on you—"
"It's fine," Hermione said, and it really was fine. More than fine, actually.
She might not have had friends for most of her life, and she might never adjust to the feeling of having them…but that didn't mean she wasn't appreciative of Fay and Farah. They made her life brighter, at the very least, even in the darkness of pre-sunrise Scottish mornings whilst leaning over the same bed and looking at Christmas decorations in fashion magazines of all things.
"I'll buy you both something nice," Hermione said, as if making a promise to herself. "As well as my parents, too. I've saved up enough pocket money to do that, thankfully."
"Yeah, was about to ask about that," Farah said, leafing over a page and inspecting it in the dim light. "You don't go home for Christmas holidays, don'tcha? To spend it with your folks?"
Hermione shook her head. "I owl them the presents and see them at Easter, which is when I get mine because Mum and Dad still haven't gotten used to using owls. Tests after the new year mean that it's not the best idea to go home for Christmas if I'm to maintain that top spot ranking."
Fay snorted. "Makes sense for you, Hermione." She wiped her eyes, finally ridding herself of the sleepiness, at least from what Hermione could see. "That number one spot is like the pride of Ravenclaw. Even if people are too scared to say it to you."
"People are scared of you for sure," Farah said. "Kinda like how they were of that Harry Potter right at the beginning of first year, if ya remember properly. Now he's like some idol thingy, but back then folks would shake if he so much as looked at them."
At Potter's name, Hermione's body froze. If she was getting Fay and Farah presents, as well as two for her parents…then shouldn't she get Potter something, too?
Sure, he wasn't a friend in the typical sense (they didn't even call each other by their first names, for crying out loud). But they'd solved cases together…and that counted for something, surely?
Halloween had harrowed Hermione, honestly. Her and Potter crying on the library's second floor was something she'd never forget. Both the sense of feeling vulnerable in front of someone else for the first time in so long—
As well as the embarrassment—God, the harrowing embarrassment—at being seen like that. She could never live it down, the only consolation being that Potter had also cried. So they held each other's secrets like pearls in their palms, glass pearls that could crush at the slightest squeeze.
They'd shared that moment together…didn't that deserve a present? Just to cheer him up, at the very least, even if he did probably receive like a hundred presents a year what with his celebrity status.
Would Potter get her a present in return? Or would Hermione be embarrassed further for thinking there was some sort of camaraderie between them that Potter didn't see?
Hermione didn't know, so she flung the thought from her mind and turned back to the fashion magazines. The professors had already given the holiday homework, which Hermione was itching to get to. But Farah and her schemes would prevent her every step of the way, so Hermione had to let Christmas day pass before finishing what work she had.
Was she looking forward to decorating the dorm for the Ravenclaw girls' competition?
Hermione would have to say she was. Even if Farah did take the whole thing a lot more seriously than the rest did. Probably to one-up her younger sister Sarah—allegedly, since Farah would die before admitting such a thing.
While Hermione somewhat enjoyed her sleepy research with FF (the term she gave to Farah and Fay combined), one entity within the castle stewed in unrest.
An entity that would make its intentions known.
At dinner today.
And, in the process, whip Potter and Hermione's lives into a frenzy they had never anticipated.
Hogwarts dinners were typically a grand affair, especially for a young Harry Potter who'd only ever known family dinners in the form of cold fish and chips on an even colder wooden table whilst staring at the cold eyes of his aunt and uncle and, who could forget, one Dudley 'Dudles' Dursley.
And, as Christmas rolled around each year with the festivities taking over the castle and its residents, Hogwarts dinners grew grander and grander until Christmas day arrived, then New Year's Day, and things only died down when the second term settled matters into some semblance of normalcy.
You know, classes, homework, house rivalries, pesky nifflers, and the like.
Today, a week or so before Christmas day, was no different. The Great Hall was decked in its usual banners representing the four houses, but added to that were the spices of Christmas. Baubles hanging from the ceiling, as though the typical stars glittering in the Hogwarts skyscape had lowered some of their charms. The chandeliers glowed brighter, as if such a thing was even possible, and sparkled with magical energy.
Not to mention anything of the tantalizing food, dripping with sauce and savoury goodness—a fact Ron would be willing to talk for days about, considering the way in which he stuffed himself on a daily basis. Growing boys needed to eat, but they were all growing and didn't eat as much as the chess master.
Nevertheless, ghosts whirled around, wearing special Christmas outfits (though how they changed clothes, Harry hadn't a clue), muttering sweet nothings beneath their breath. They'd likely gone through a thousand Christmases already, so the fact they still felt joy at the holiday was a miracle.
Though one Nearly-Headless Nick gave Harry odd looks, which he ignored and drummed up to nothing but Nick feeling under the weather and just looking odd in general, what with his near-severed neck and all.
In any case, the happiness of the castle, it appeared, depended on the happiness of its inhabitants. And when Christmas came around, Harry Potter at least was as happy as could be.
Because Christmas was a time of family.
And with all the presents Harry received—from Sirius, from Remus Lupin (who had to sneak his present to Harry because a DADA Professor wasn't allowed to play favourites), from Hagrid (who didn't care about such rules and just gave a present anyway), from the Lads…
It was a reminder that Harry did have a true family away from the Dursleys.
A reminder that, even though he had tried, Voldemort couldn't take away Harry's bond with those around him. His real family, and that was why Christmas always settled a warmth in his chest that nothing else could.
Always made his skin tingle, his mind fly, his heart soar.
He glanced around at his friends, the Lads. Ron—stuffing his face with tarts and pudding, in that order, one hand holding each for efficient and maximum consumption. Dean—working his way through a shepherd's pie, bit by bit. Seamus—who wasn't even eating, just watching Ron with wide eyes whilst counting the number of bites under his breath. Neville—nibbling on a chicken piece, smiling at Harry when he noticed his gaze.
Harry's real family.
And the thing about the Lads, his real family, was that—
"Oi, who do you think Parvati was talking about Harry being with?" Ron said through a mouthful of food. "I don't even know the fourth-year ravens. Do you lot?"
—they didn't mind poking fun at each other whenever possible.
Something which, in this situation, wasn't playing in Harry's favour.
Like, at all.
"Dunno," Seamus muttered. He glanced over at the Ravenclaw table, not even bothering to hide his gaze. He was about as subtle as a troll—oh, and did Harry ever mention that Melanie Sanders had rejected Seamus' confession in third year?
No, well he made sure to mention it then.
"Melanie's over there, you know," Harry told Seamus, pointing behind them.
"That's all you can say, you lucky sod. I got rejected—fine. But here you are chilling with a broad from Ravenclaw. From our year, is she, or older?" Seamus leaned in, face inches from Harry's, and licked his lips.
To clarify, Seamus licked Seamus' own lips.
Not Harry's lips.
"You're a dirty one if ya went for an older girl," Seamus said whilst Harry pushed him away and focussed on his own dinner. "Didn't know you like 'em like that, ol' Potter."
"I wonder which raven it is," Dean said under his breath. Though Dean was the second best in the year, smarter than most Ravenclaws…he would probably guess it quickly enough. "I do remember something near the beginning of the year, I do. When Granger came to the tower shouting and screaming about Harry."
Seamus smacked a hand on the table, raising troubled looks from Lavender and Parvati, who sat a ways away from them. Seamus ignored them and whispered. "I remember that. Screaming bloody murder mate, she was. Like a hyena."
Ron turned to Harry, having swallowed his latest serving of tart and pudding and, for once, not picking up another pair of pieces. "So is it Granger, then?"
Harry didn't want to lie to his mates, not this close to Christmas anyway, so he diverted their attention to something else.
The issue was, he didn't really make the issue any better.
In fact, one could say he made it worse.
"There's more than one Ravenclaw girl, you know," Harry said, though his eyes did unconsciously locate Granger amongst the Ravenclaw table, eating with two friends that Harry didn't know the names of. "And why would Granger want to hang out after getting that angry with me?"
"Let's play a game, then," Neville said, eyes brightening up. Though Harry was happy Neville was being more open, that also came at the cost of Neville now taking shots at his expense.
Please, Neville. Cut me some slack here.
But, Neville took the worst approach imaginable. The approach that was guaranteed to work, unless dinner ended in a few minutes.
There was still half an hour left.
"Let's ask him one by one, going through all the girls," Neville suggested, pointing to the Ravenclaw table. "That's bound to work, so I-I'll start. Is it the one at the f-far end, Harry?"
Harry didn't even bother looking to see who it was. "Not a chance."
"One beside her?" Seamus asked.
"Nope."
"What about the redhead?"
"Nope."
"Probably the one with bushy hair, am I right?" Ron suggested.
Harry paused for half a second.
Half a second too long.
"So it is her," Neville concluded, sounding way too happy with himself. "Smartest girl in our year, the one and only—"
"HERMIONE GRANGER," a voice from the front bellowed.
Making the entire Great Hall snap into silence like soldiers taking formation. Food forgotten, conversations halted, heartbeats only now slowing down after realising the castle wasn't under imminent attack.
The voice belonged to Nearly-Headless Nick. From the front. Where he stood—well, to be accurate, floated—whilst staring at the students.
"WILL HERMIONE GRANGER AND HARRY POTTER PLEASE COME UP HERE AND SPEAK TO ME? PEEVES SAID YOU TWO WOULD HELP SINCE YOU SOLVED MYSTERIES TOGETHER BEFORE."
A stunned silence circled the hall like everyone had lost their voices.
"Well…we're right, aren't we?" Ron muttered, as the shocked silence of the Great Hall persisted.
"Yeah…I guess you are," Harry muttered, looking over to where Granger sat stock still.
Granger stared wide-eyed at him. Eyes shimmering. And they held that gaze for a second.
Two seconds.
A third.
Before the Great Hall exploded into pandemonium.
A/N: Ooooh, I wonder what Nick wants, hmmm. Today's the last day of my holiday, so I thought I'd write up the next chapter of this and upload it cos why not. Hope you all enjoyed, especially since I had a blast writing this. Sometimes it's nice to get away from the nitty-gritty of solving cases and just have more fun moments before introducing the next case, which is what this chapter served to do in the first two scenes.
Also, HHr's blossoming friendship will now get complicated, I'm sure, because the castle's just found out about them thanks to Nick's absolute subtlety. That should be a fun idea to explore!
Do comment/review what you liked, disliked, etc., since I love reading them and they always make me smile. Next chapter will be posted after the holiday's up, because I need to rest before my flight in fifteen hours and writing another 5-6k today is just insanity.
In any case, take care wherever you are, and thanks for reading!
