Chapter 60: Hermione Trouble

Though Hermione had meant well, Harry was furious with Hermione. He had been the owner of the best broom in the world for a few short hours, and now, because of her interference, it was a possibility that he would never see it again. What sort of state would it be in once it had been subjected to all sorts of anti-jinx tests?

I too, was furious with Hermione. As far as I was concerned, the stripping-down of a brand-new Firebolt was nothing less than criminal damage. Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for the best, started avoiding the common room, as well as us. Harry and I supposed she had taken refuge in the library and didn't try to persuade her to come back. All in all, we were glad when the rest of the school returned shortly after New Year, and Gryffindor Tower became crowded and noisy again. Wood sought Harry out on the night before term started.

"Had a good Christmas?" he said, and then, without waiting for an answer, he sat down, lowered his voice, and said, "I've been, doing some thinking over Christmas, Harry. After last match, you know. If the Dementors come to the next one...I mean...we can't afford you to - well -"

Wood broke off, looking awkward.

"I'm working on it," said Harry quickly. "Professor Lupin said he'd train me to ward off the Dementors. We should be starting this week. He said he'd have time after Christmas."

"Ah," said Wood, his expression clearing. "Well, in that case - I really didn't want to lose you as Seeker, Harry. And have you ordered a new broom yet?"

"No." said Harry.

"What! You'd better get a move on, you know - you can't ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!"

"He got a Firebolt for Christmas," I said.

"A Firebolt? No! Seriously? A - a real Firebolt?"

"Don't get excited, Oliver." said Harry gloomily. "I haven't got it anymore. It was confiscated." And he explained all about how the Firebolt was now being checked for jinxes.

"Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?"

"Sirius Black," Harry said. "He's supposed to be after me. So McGonagall reckons he might have sent it."

Waving aside the information that a famous murderer was after his Seeker, Wood said, "But Black couldn't have bought a Firebolt! He's on the run! The whole country's on the lookout for him! How could he just walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?"

"I know," said Harry, "but McGonagall still wants to strip it down -"

Wood went pale.

"I'll go and talk to her, Harry," he promised. "I'll make her see reason...A Firebolt...a real Firebolt, on our team ...She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do...I'll make her see sense. A Firebolt..."

Classes started again the next day. The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for our enjoyment, and we spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs.

The first Divination lesson of the new term was much less fun; Professor Trelawney was now teaching them palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry that he had the shortest life line she had ever seen.

It was Defense Against the Dark Arts that Harry seemed keen to get to; after his conversation with Wood, he wanted to get started on his anti-Dementor lessons as soon as possible.

"Ah yes." said Lupin, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end of class. "Let me see...how about eight o'clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough...I'll have to think carefully about how we're going to do this...We can't bring a real Dementor into the castle to practice on..."

"Still looks ill, doesn't he?" I said as we walked down the corridor, heading to dinner. "What do you reckon's the matter with him?"

There was a loud and impatient "tuh" from behind us. It was Hermione, who had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armor, repacking her bag, which was so full of books it wouldn't close.

"And what are you tutting at us for?" I asked.

"Nothing," said Hermione in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her shoulder.

"Yes, you were. I said I wonder what's wrong with Lupin, and you -"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" said Hermione, with a look of maddening superiority.

"If you don't want to tell us, don't." I snapped.

"Fine," said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off.

"She doesn't know," I said staring resentfully after Hermione. "She's just trying to get us to talk to her again."

One Thursday night, while Harry was off practicing with Lupin, and Hermione was wherever the hell she was, I sat down in the quiet of the common room, writing a letter to Bill.

Hey Bill,

Thanks again for the book of different currencies that you sent me. I actually read this one.

It's kind of barmy here now. Harry got a Firebolt for Christmas, can you believe it? A genuine Firebolt! But Hermione's paranoid ass ratted it out to McGonagall because there was no sender, so now the teachers have it, checking for jinxes because they as well as she think it's from Sirius Black. So none of us are talking to her.

Hermione is great and all, but she has the annoying habit of butting into things that she does not understand, as well as not paying attention to how others feel. She still doesn't properly take notice to her dumb cat and his mental behavior. She never corrects him when he tries to attack both me and Scabbers. She always says "he's a cat, that's what they do." but still. There is more to it than just that. If I didn't hate the bloody thing so much for what he has done to Scabbers, I would get into him if the situation was the other way around.

I somewhat feel bad for not speaking to her, but I also can't bring myself to go at it with her anymore. What would you do if you were me?

Write me back when you have the time.

Love,

Ron

Ravenclaw played Slytherin a week after the start of term. Slytherin won, though narrowly. According to Wood, this was good news for Gryffindor, who would take second place if they beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increased the number of team practices to five a week, meaning Harry had double to do along with Lupin's anti-Dementor classes.

Hermione, whose immense workload finally seemed to be getting to her, was looking rather rough. Every night, without fail, Hermione was to be seen in a corner of the common room, several tables spread with books, Arithmancy charts, rune dictionaries, diagrams of Muggles lifting heavy objects, and file upon file of extensive notes; she barely spoke to anybody and snapped when she was interrupted.

"How's she doing it?" I muttered to Harry one evening as I sat with Harry, as he finished his essay on Undetectable Poisons for Snape. Harry looked up. Hermione was barely visible behind a tottering pile of books.

"Doing what?"

"Getting to all her classes!" I said. "I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday's lesson, but Hermione can't have been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Ernie McMillan told me she's never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she's never missed one of them either!"

Harry shrugged, not looking the least bit interested. Two seconds later, however, he was interrupted again, this time by Wood.

"Bad news, Harry. I've just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She - er - got a bit shirty with me. Told me I'd got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn't care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first." Wood shook his head in disbelief. "Honestly, the way she was yelling at me...you'd think I'd said something terrible. Then I asked her how much longer she was going to keep it..." He screwed up his face and imitated Professor McGonagall's severe voice. "As long as necessary, Wood"...I reckon it's time you ordered a new broom, Harry. There's an order form at the back of Which Broomstick...you could get a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy's got."

"I'm not buying anything Malfoy thinks is good." said Harry flatly.

January faded into February, with no change in the bitterly cold weather. The match against Ravenclaw was drawing nearer and nearer, and Harry still hadn't ordered a new broom. He was now asking Professor McGonagall for news of the Firebolt after every Transfiguration lesson.

"No, Potter, you can't have it back yet," Professor McGonagall told him the twelfth time this happened, before he'd even opened his mouth. "We've checked for most of the usual curses, but Professor Flitwick believes the broom might be carrying a Hurling Hex. I shall tell you once we've finished checking it. Now, please stop badgering me."

While Harry went to Quidditch practice, I went upstairs and read the letter from Bill I had gotten at lunch. He was very angry at me, telling me that Harry and I should feel the same way about the broom and should be happy that the teachers was seeing to it, and that while he did understand how I felt, I shouldn't be but so hard on Hermione, especially with all her extra workload. He also said that I should reach out to her.

Later on that night, while the others were asleep, I slipped down to warm my feet. It was very cold in our dorm that night. When I got down there, I seen Hermione hunched over parchment with a huge book on her lap.

I couldn't help feeling bad for her.

"Mione, what are you doing?" I said, surprising her.

She looked over at me, eyes barely open. "Not that it's any of your concern, but I'm finishing my runes essay for Arithmancy. It's due on Monday." she said in a very annoyed, but very tired voice.

"So? You have all weekend to do it." I said, sitting down beside her.

Hermione looked at me as if she couldn't figure out why I was being so concerned for her.

"I have another four essays to complete, along with a new star chart, and I have to study for our Potions quiz." she said.

"Hermione, tell me the truth. How are you doing all this?"

"I can't tell you."

"But-"

"I said I can't tell you, okay?" she snapped.

"Fine. You can't tell me. That's just fine. Just don't kill over. Matter of fact, go to bed, you look bloody exhausted." I said firmly.

"I'm almost done...I'll go then."

"Have you eaten at all today?" I asked as I reached into my pocket.

"I...I honestly don't remember." she said, looking sleepily at me.

I pulled out a caldron cake I had planned on eating and threw it at her. "Eat this. I don't care about all the sugar, just eat it."

"But-"

"I said eat it."

Hermione unwrapped the cake and took a small bite. Within seconds, she had consumed the whole thing.

"Now, go to bed. This will be here in the morning. I don't even wanna hear a protest. Just go." I said, pointing towards the girl's staircase.

Hermione nodded and got up, dragging her legs up to the steps. She didn't say a word. She was probably way too tired to speak. I didn't go back to my dorm, until I heard her door shut.

The next couple days I had fallen into the routine of going downstairs to see if she was still studying. The next night I had seen her face down into her work, sleep. I managed to get her to lay on the couch, where I laid a throw blanket over her. The second night, when I myself was way too tired to go and check, I made sure to leave her some pumpkin pasties and a note saying that if anybody but Hermione touched them, they would be hexed into oblivion. I had seen that she hasn't eaten that whole day.

One evening while Harry was off with Lupin, I had sat down with Dean and Seamus to do our homework together. McGonagall had came by, asking about Harry. When we told her that we hadn't seen him all evening, she had left, but I spied the Firebolt behind her back

"Oh shit!" I said excitedly. "I bet she came to give Harry back his broom!"

"Brilliant!" said Dean. "Right in time for the Slytherin match too!"

I jumped up, left my work, and sped off after her. I ran into Harry as I turned the corner.

"She gave it to you? Excellent! Listen, can I still have a go on it? Tomorrow?" I begged.

"Yeah...anything..." said Harry ecstatically. "You know what - we should make up with Hermione...She was only trying to help..."

I hadn't told him about what I had been doing for her the past couple night, nor of the conversation we had. I didn't know why I didn't tell him, I just chose not to.

"Yeah, all right." I said. "She's in the common room now working - for a change."

We turned into the corridor to Gryffindor Tower and saw Neville Longbottom, pleading with Sir Cadogan, who seemed to be refusing him entrance.

"I wrote them down!" Neville was saying tearfully. "But I must've dropped them somewhere!"

"A likely tale!" roared Sir Cadogan. Then, spotting Harry and I: "Good even, my fine young yeomen! Come clap this loon in irons. He is trying to force entry to the chambers within!"

"Oh, shut up." I said.

"I've lost the passwords!" Neville told us miserably. "I made him tell me what passwords he was going to use this week, because he keeps changing them, and now I don't know what I've done with them!"

"Oddsbodkins," said Harry to Sir Cadogan, who looked extremely disappointed and reluctantly swung forward to let them into the common room. There was a sudden, excited murmur as every head turned and the next moment, Harry was surrounded by people exclaiming over his Firebolt.

"Where'd you get it, Harry?" asked Parvati.

"Will you let me have a go?"

"Have you ridden it yet, Harry?"

"Ravenclaw'll have no chance, they're all on Cleansweep Sevens!" said Fred.

"Can I just hold it, Harry?"

After ten minutes or so, during which the Firebolt was passed around and admired from every angle, the crowd dispersed and Harry and I had a clear view of Hermione, the only person who hadn't rushed over to us, bent over her work and carefully avoiding our eyes.

"I got it back," said Harry, grinning at her and holding up the Firebolt.

"See, Hermione? There wasn't anything wrong with it!" I said happily.

"Well - there might have been!" said Hermione. "I mean, at least you know now that it's safe!"

"Yeah, I suppose so," said Harry. "I'd better put it upstairs."

"I'll take it!" I said eagerly. "I've got to give Scabbers his rat tonic."

I took the Firebolt and, holding it as if it were made of glass, carried it away up the boys' staircase.

I went upstairs, opened the dorm room door,and walked over to Harry's bed to place his broom on his bed.

I then went to my own bed to check on Scabbers, but when I got there, my heart dropped. The sheets were ripped, there was red splotches of what appeared to be blood on them, and on the floor were ginger hairs. Not from my head, but from Hermione's mangy cat.

"Son of a bitch!" I cried out as I gathered up the sheets and stormed out of the room.

"LOOK!" I bellowed, striding over to Hermione's table, shaking the sheets in her face.

"Ron, what -?"

"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!"

Hermione was leaning away from me, looking utterly bewildered. Harry looked down at the sheets, trying to make out the stains.

"BLOOD!" I yelled into the stunned silence. "HE'S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?"

"N - no," said Hermione in a trembling voice.

I threw the cat hairs onto her book and stomped off. Fuck that cat. And fuck her too.