Chapter Twenty.
Early the next morning, Harry and Hermione waited uncomfortably outside the infirmary door. It was chilly in the stone corridor, but Madame Pomfrey had flatly refused to let them in until her patient had woken up on his own. Harry couldn’t tell from her expression if she knew that they had caused Ron’s accident, but then she was always so snippy when anyone disturbed one of her patients that it was hard to tell. He envied Hermione for the warm plate she held in her hands, and wondered if it would be too ungentlemanly of him to offer to carry it for her.
Knowing how hungry Ron usually was at breakfast, and guessing that Madame Pomfrey’s healthy balanced option was likely to be presented to him before he left the infirmary, Harry had requested a large, greasy breakfast platter from Dobby, who was only too happy to oblige. Hermione hadn’t even had the heart to protest at the extra work he was putting the house elves to. She had simply fallen in at his side on the long walk up to the infirmary, and silently taken the breakfast platter off him “ putting a warming charm over it when it had started to cool. Harry was glad that she had thought of it “ he was feeling so nervous that if he had had to do it himself he thought he would have set the black pudding on fire.
His nervousness in itself was distressing. When had being around Ron ever made him nervous before? Harry knew perfectly well that while Ron could be jealous at times, he would certainly forgive them both for what was only an accident, and yet here he was, waiting meekly outside the infirmary as if he was waiting for an interview with the Minister for Magic. He couldn’t even talk to Hermione about it, and she seemed in no way inclined to talk to him. He found that her silence was beginning to be a bit off-putting “ she seemed to be alternately staring at him and staring down at the plate with a truly woeful expression. It made him feel like he had a target painted between his eyes. There were dark rings beneath her own, and Harry expected that she had lain awake for most of the night, going over and over the revelations that Neville had somehow forced out of them.
He hoped that she really did have some idea of what to do, because he was getting all too used to feeling trapped and helpless. It was made all the worse because he had no clue as to what to say to her regarding her issues with the Dementors. He couldn’t tell her that it didn’t matter, because clearly her own feelings on the matter were crucial, and mattered very much. Neither could he enthuse about how useful it would be, given the cause of her new talent in the first place. Harry suppressed a sigh. The truth was, he had to admit to himself, that he just wasn’t very good at finding the right words to say to her lately. He couldn’t pretend the he understood all the ramifications of her ability “ or what caused it “ and had only managed to fall into a restless sleep an hour or two before dawn by deciding to palm the problem off onto someone else. He winced internally at the phrase, but he really had no clue as to what he should do.
“You need to tell him,” Hermione said quietly, her voice breaking long minutes of silence. “As soon as possible. He’ll be so hurt if you don’t.”
“I’ll do it today,” Harry said, more to himself than to her, before blinking suddenly and trying to pull himself back to reality. “On one condition.”
“What?” said Hermione suspiciously. She wasn’t looking very pleased with him, Harry saw, and he couldn’t blame her. He sounded as if he were using Ron as a means of making her do something that she didn’t want to do. He was actually pretty appalled that he was doing it himself, and comforted himself with the fact that he wouldn’t really keep the information about the prophecy away from Ron. But he was fairly sure that Hermione would need a push to do what Harry had come to the conclusion was the only right thing to do.
“You have to talk to Lupin about the Dementors,” he said, as gently as he could.
“I don’t see the need for that,” Hermione said shrilly. She looked betrayed, and Harry winced.
“Yeah, you do,” he said. “Come on, Hermione. You’re always the one saying that we need to tell the teachers about things like this, and neither of us really knows what’s happening here. Lupin will help, and he won’t tell anyone if we make him promise not to. He hasn’t said a word about the Prophecy to anyone…”
“Harry!” Hermione hissed, looking scandalised. “You shouldn’t be talking about that out in the corridors! Anyone could hear you!” She eyed him acidly. “And what’s this “we” business? Planning on going with me, are you? Anyone would think you didn’t trust me.”
Harry just glared at her. He knew that there was no response that he could make to that that wouldn’t make her angrier, and he was annoyed that they were falling back into the same argument that they had had the night before.
Hermione wilted visibly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We’re going in circles here, aren’t we?”
“I don’t want a repeat of last night,” said Harry fervently. “But you’ve never been afraid to tell me when you thought I was doing something wrong. Well, now it’s my turn. You need to talk to Lupin. And yeah, I’ll go with you if you like, or stand outside the door if you’d rather talk to him yourself. But you’ve got to go.” He looked over at her. Hermione was biting her lip and staring at the floor, and she didn’t look convinced. Harry cast around for something else to say that might sway her. “Please?” he hazarded.
He thought she might be softening slightly, but a voice came down the corridor, interrupting them.
“Please? Please what,” it said fiercely, and Ginny stamped into view. One look at her face told Harry that she had not forgiven them for what had happened to her brother. “You had better be practicing. Please, Ron, forgive us for being such idiots? Please, Ron, we’re lower than Malfoy when he’s in the shape of a ferret, and we’ll never be so horrible again? Please, Ron, we didn’t mean to hurt you but we’re so damn selfish that we couldn’t help ourselves? Please, Ron, we know you were trying to help, even though we don’t deserve it…”
“Please just stop?” said Harry, embarrassed. He didn’t think he could feel much more ashamed than he already did. He could see tears in Hermione’s eyes and hastily took the platter from her shaking hands, thinking guiltily to himself that if she started bawling he was heading into the infirmary whether Madame Pomfrey liked it or not, and leaving her to deal with Ginny on her own. His red-headed friend had an expression on her face suspiciously like Mrs. Weasley’s after a prank by the twins had caused a minor explosion.
“We’re really, really sorry, Ginny,” said Hermione in a watery tone. “You don’t know how sorry we are…”
“It was an accident,” Harry added quickly. “We’d do anything to-” he stopped abruptly as Ginny waved a hand at him, obviously wanting him to shut up. She glared at them both for several long seconds, before her face abruptly cleared and she gave them both a small smile. “Okay,” she said simply.
“But it really was… what?” said Harry.
Ginny heaved a sigh. “I know. An accident. Believe me, he’s used to it. You grow up in a house with Fred and George and you get used to them. Chucking bludgers at him before he was five, they were.” Her expression hardened slightly. “It’s not good enough, though. Once was an accident, but if this happens again…” she leaned in close to them and her voice dropped to a whisper “I’m telling Mum. Is that clear?”
There was a lump in his throat, and Harry nodded desperately to remove it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Hermione nodding in turn, a fervent expression on her face. He was dismayed to see that her tears were coming faster than ever, and it looked as if she really was about to start sobbing in the middle of the corridor from sheer relief. He forced his attention back to Ginny. “It’s clear,” he said roughly, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. “It won’t happen again, I promise… And Ginny? Thanks,” he added on lamely. “Ron’s lucky to have you, you know.”
“Too right,” said Ginny, with a trace of smugness. She crossed over to Hermione and began to pat her on the back. “Ron’ll get over it,” she said bracingly. “There’s no need to make a fuss.” But Hermione had begun to bawl, and Harry, dismayed, bolted into the infirmary before either of the girls looked to him to provide some sort of comfort. Guiltily, he hid behind the door, his back pressed to it. Across the room he could see Ron suddenly sit up in bed and stare at him.
There was a tense silence, and the echo of a wail was heard through the door. Ron grimaced. “Bloody hell. Is that Hermione with the waterworks again?”
“Yeah,” said Harry hesitantly. “I couldn’t stay; I don’t know what to do when she gets like this.” He was silent a moment. “She’s really sorry, you know,” he blurted. “We both are.”
“I should sodding well think so,” said Ron. “Do you know what disgusting things that woman has been forcing down my throat half the night?” He glared at Harry assessingly, then seemed to find his obvious remorse a little amusing. The corner of his mouth twitched, and another wail echoed through the door.
“Pair of bloody idiots, the pair of you,” he said finally, grinning. “You want your heads knocking together.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, a bit weak-kneed with relief.
“That breakfast?” said Ron, looking slightly perkier. “Madam Pomfrey was trying to feed me grapefruit this morning. Grapefruit.” He looked revolted. “Do I look like a girl to you? Disgusting muck.”
“I know,” said Harry again, chuckling. “It is. Did I ever tell you about my aunt putting Dudley on a diet of the stuff?”
Ron snorted with suppressed laughter. “I would’ve liked to see that. Fat beggar could probably have inhaled it without noticing, he’s that huge. At least he was last time I saw him.” He waved Harry over. “Don’t just stand there, give it here.” As Harry handed the plate over, and fussed over the cutlery, Ron waved him away, scowling. “Don’t start,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with me, you know. I’ve had worse.” He speared a sausage with a look of absolute pleasure, and went to take a bite before stopping to wave it in Harry’s face menacingly. “Sort it out, did you?” he said.
“I think so,” Harry replied. “I need to talk to you sometime today. Privately. There’s some stuff you need to know.”
Ron groaned through a mouthful of sausage. “I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“There’s not a lot to like these days,” Harry said gloomily.
Ron chewed meditatively. “There’s sausage,” he said, spearing another and offering it to Harry in a heroic gesture. Smiling, Harry took it, feeling that if nothing else, at least things between him and Ron were alright.
“Cheers,” he said, grinning, as the door opened and the two girls came in.
“Don’t say it,” Harry said five minutes later, his teeth gritted. “Just don’t say it, Hermione.” He should have known that she would have been right, and he felt a bit bad about not listening to her “ again “ but he really wasn’t up to having it pushed in his face right now. Still, the look of hurt that passed quickly over her face made him feel worse. “Sorry,” he said grumpily, taking a swig of Ron’s pumpkin juice as much to hide his face as anything. “I didn’t mean that.”
“You can’t have known, mate,” said Ron distractedly. A few minutes earlier, as Harry’s face had purpled with rage, Ron had ripped the Daily Prophet out of his hands (the delivery owl had managed to find Hermione even in the hospital wing) and he was now poring over the newspaper, the edge of which was dangling into the remains of his bacon and eggs, and turning translucent from the grease. “Bloody hell,” he moaned, finally pushing the paper to one side. “This is not good. Harry, you’ve got to find a way to explain this!”
“It was my explaining that started this mess!” snapped Harry, and then winced as something sharp kicked him in the leg. He scowled over at Hermione.
“Keep your voice down, Harry,” she said calmly, although the two boys could see that it cost her an effort to do so. Still, she was right “ breakfast in the Great Hall was always a noisy meal, but Madame Pomfrey’s infirmary was not. Ginny had left them a few minutes ago, but the school nurse kept popping in and out, scowling at them when they raised their voices above a whisper. Harry couldn’t see why “ there were no other students in the hospital wing to disturb. “And it wasn’t you that started it.”
“I didn’t make it any better though, did I?” said Harry. He was furious with himself, and with the Prophet. When would he learn to think? He pulled the paper over towards him again and stared at the front page article, hoping against hope that he had imagined how bad it was.
GOBLIN INFLUENCE EXTENDS WELL BEYOND GRINGOTT’S!
It has long been no secret that the stranglehold of the goblins over
the wizarding world’s financial affairs has allowed them to meddle in
places where non-humans have no business being. But have the goblins of
Gringott’s Bank finally pushed too far?
The disgraceful episode reported yesterday by the Prophet, where
dozens of frightened witches and wizards “ many of them with small
children “ were locked out of the safety of Gringott’s Bank during a
Death Eater attack have caused much dismay. Readers are wondering
(and who can blame them?) if this was a deliberate ploy by the goblins
to expose the inhabitants of the wizarding world to further attack “ see
the Letters to the Editor, on pages 3-5.
But even if these creatures are not in league with He-Who-Must-Not-
Be-Named, the long arm of their influence is looking increasingly
sinister. Yesterday evening, the Daily Prophet received a letter from
Harry Potter, decrying our coverage of this ghastly event in the
strongest terms. Yet it appears that this letter may not be what it
seems: the angry tones, poor spelling, and incoherent argument do
not speak to the abilities of a boy lauded even by the famous Chocolate
Frog cards for his outstanding studentship. Furthermore, Mr. Potter, a
student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, could not
have been anywhere near Diagon Alley on the day of the attack, and is
thus “ if the letter is indeed written by him, whether in sound mind or not “
unaware of the true horror faced by his fellow wizards.
The Daily Prophet is privileged to reveal that not only does Mr. Potter
hold an extremely large account with Gringott’s, but that he was visited
at Hogwarts not so long ago by one Sniphonk, a Gringott’s banker. Could
this unlikely defence have been coerced in any way? Surely a race so
degraded as to refuse aid to terrified families would have no problem
blackmailing or otherwise influencing a young boy with no apparent
wizarding guardian…?
Disgusted, Harry crushed the paper into a ball and threw it aside. “They didn’t even get his name right!” he snapped. “Sniphonk! Who ever heard of a goblin called Sniphonk! And what are they going to think of me-” He turned to Hermione in near-panic. “You don’t think they think I set them up, do you?”
“Surely not,” Hermione said, although she didn’t sound altogether certain.
“Might be an idea to check,” offered Ron, picking bits of newsprint out of his bacon.
“I don’t think they’ll be too happy to take my calls at the moment,” said Harry dismally.
Ron gazed at him for a moment with what looked very like pity. “Hello?” he said. “Remember me? Your best mate, the one with a Gringott’s curse-breaker for a brother? Bill will talk to you “ no matter who else doesn’t. He can make them see reason. I mean, if they haven’t seen it already. And I’m sure they have,” he added hastily, if unconvincingly. “No one can believe that rubbish.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Harry said darkly.
“Well there’s not a lot that you can do about it now,” said Hermione. “Although that’s a good idea of Ron’s.” She turned to him. “Do you really think Bill would be able to help?”
“Dunno,” said Ron, shrugging. “Can’t hurt to ask though, can it? And he’ll be alright with it “ Bill’s cool. It’s not like he’s Percy, after all.”
“D’you know where he is?” said Harry. “I mean, he’s not back out in Egypt again, is he?”
“No,” said Ron. “He’s back in Britain “ all the better to suck up to Fleur, I reckon. You know “ English lessons.” He snorted. “If you believe that you’ll believe anything. You should be able to get him through Gringott’s in Diagon Alley. Just owl him “ you
could use Floo powder even, I think. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Hermione nudged him. “I expect Lupin has some,” she said grudgingly. “You could check with him later today, I suppose.”
Harry looked at her in astonishment, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. He felt a sudden, unaccustomed urge to hug her, and promptly swiped a bit of bacon from Ron’s plate, stuffing it in his mouth to avoid embarrassing himself. He couldn’t resist surreptitiously squeezing her hand, though “ after wiping it on Ron’s bedclothes to get the grease off it. He thought he saw a small smile in return, and there was an answering pressure on his fingers.